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História A Case Of Baker Street - Capítulo 5

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Capítulo 5 - Chapter V

— Damn, if only we knew the place!

— John, open Google Maps, now!

I crawl my fingers through my pockets, and both are empty. My heart is racing, it must have stayed at the cafeteria and restaurant table.

— My cell phone stayed there, I'll get it.

— Let's go.

When we got there, our things were taken, both suitcases and my cell phone. I decide to speak to the site manager.

— Excuse me, sir, could you call your manager?

— Here I am, is there a problem?

— Well, it is... My friend and I are in an investigation, and when we chased the suspect, we ended up leaving our belongings here.

— You are not from here, are you?

— No, we are not.

— Huumn...

— English, we are royal police detectives. – Sherlock appears beside me, analyzing him, for sure.

— Royalty? Why, why didn't you just tell me?! Come on, come  on... – He walks into the establishment. — You know, my men probably took their bags and belongings to clear the table. So, there is no need to worry. – He smiles at us.

— Of course, I believe that there will be no harm if all of our things are intact. When resolving this case, make sure the Queen shall hear and speak on your behalf. – Sherlock says as we are taking an elevator.

As soon as we get to the requested floor, the manager goes ahead, and starts talking to some people who apparently work there, we stop in front of the elevator, in a place that looks more like an office, where there were several people using computers, and others walking around back and forth with suitcases or papers, I shift my gaze to Sherlock.

— Oh really? The Queen? – I speak softly so that no one but us both hears.

He looks at me, and we get that air of laughter. The manager goes back to where we were, and we try to be serious.

— I spoke to some of my employees, and they haven't removed anything from any table in the past twenty minutes. – I start to watch their employees talking to each other, and I see the man of the couple who had knocked us over, I smack Sherlock in the arm.

— I see... So, do you really know all your employees? – Sherlock says, and takes my arm, the manager looks at his arms.

— Yes, of course, why? – He smiles a little sideways at him, and I look to see if Holmes would do anything, he smiled too, I hold his arm in my hand, and squeeze a little.

— What are you doing? – I speak near his ear, softly so the other can't hear.

— Just watch. – He shifts his attention to the manager again, and smiles falsely. — If you know everyone, could you please tell me, what is the name of that one? – Sherlock points trying to disguise.

— Oh, sure. Wait... He doesn't work here. – The guys start walking around us, with a not very pleasant expression.

Sherlock runs and pulls me into the elevator. The door closes, and we begin to hear shots.

— We need to visit a house. – Sherlock says with the usual tranquility.

— What?! – I look at him incredulously. We have to know who those guys are, and get our stuff! Don't visit a home!

— Do you think I'm kidding? – He looks at me seriously, and the elevator door opens.

I don't answer anything and I take the lead. It doesn't take long for him to pass me, and start guiding the way. We took a taxi, and went to the blessed house, which by the way, is the Anne Frank Museum, the house that become a museum, to be clearer. We couldn't get in because we hadn't scheduled anything, but soon we noticed a square, and to our surprise, the cotton candy man was. Sherlock and I hid behind a bush, still close to the museum, the man arrives almost now, so we noticed his presence first. He answers the phone, and start screaming, cursing, and then throws the phone away on the track; but then hurry to pick it up, clean it, and put it to you ear again.

— We have our man. – Sherlock whispers without even blinking looking at him.

— Let's get him! – Whisper with blood in my eyes, I really need to know why that bastard caught my daughter, and how he did it.

— Easy, John. We need to wait for the right moment.

— You can wait, but I won't go. – I take my gun, which was around my waist, and put it in my hands.

Sherlock holds me by the leg on which he was shot, it hurts a little, but I can't, and I look seriously.

— John... Not now.

I pull my leg up, and get up for good, aim at the man's leg, and shoot. He falls and starts to moan in pain, I walk to where he is. He looks at me scared, takes a knife, and tries to kill himself. I am the interruption, standing on top of him, holding his wrist tightly with which he had a knife. People start to be attracted to that type of event.

— Where is she?!

— S-she who?

— My daughter! Rosamund Watson!

— John, that's enough.

— I don't know what you're talking about! Please get off me!

I squeeze my leg over the shot he took, it grunge of pain. Sherlock puts his hand on my shoulder, I look at him, and then I feel my tears come out. I never imagined that I would be able to cry with hatred and sadness at the same time. I turn my attention to him again.

— Who do you work for? – I try to calm myself down, so it doesn't look so bad in the eyes of people, and to the cell phone cameras around us.

— For me. – The bastard still smiles, I tighten his leg even more.

— For who you work?! – I forgot all those people around me, and I only saw him, in fact, not even he was visible to me anymore, I'm really blind with rage.

— Moriarty!

My vision returns, I focus on him with all my strenght, and punch him in the face.

— Who are you... – He interrupts me, crying, red and bleeding.

— Moriarty! Moriarty!

— Okay, who made that knife? – Sherlock shows him the knife, he smiles and whispers something.

— Answer!

Sherlock lifts me off him and looks at him closely, I get a little disoriented. My instincts buckle when I hear the pin of a grenade fall to the ground.

— RUN! – Scream at the top of my lungs.

I quickly grab Sherlock's arm and run behind a century old tree. I look at the lying man, he smiles and shouts:


The explosion could not be less, our luck was that tree, and the ambulances arrives shortly afterwards, probably because someone had called while I was still arguing with that man. Everything had happened so fast, that just now I could see how close I am to Holmes, he embraces me.

— We have nothing else to do here, let's go home.

— No. Sherlock! But what about that couple? And that shooting at the airport?

— Believe me, John. If little Watson was here, she probably must be a long way from us. Or... – He steps away from, and looks around. — Too close...

A car leaves, and calls our attention, I try to chase, but I can only see the end of the sign, which by the way, was British.

— Was her! Was her!!

— It's time to take a boat.

— What about our stuff? Our passports were all there.

He quietly takes out his cell phone, dials a number and puts it to his ear. After a while, I hear him speak:

— Yes, I need a duplicate of all my documents, and John's, for tomorrow. No, I'm not asking. He is not here.

— Oh, I am! – Sherlock raises his eyebrows at me, and hands me the phone.

— Hello?

— Dr. Watson, I saw what you did, thank you for saving his life.

— You're welcome, look, we just want the documents.

— I can help you find your daughter, you know, right?

— Yes, help us, please. – I end up pleading.

— Well then, try to be a good guy, take it and open the suitcase Sherlock is going to get, inside it will be some money for you to use wisely, and sleep around, while I can't get your documents.

— Okay, so why don't you bring my daughter right away?

— There are things I can't get into directly, and this situation is one of them.

— So what guarantees that I will obey you?

— Nothing, my brother is already obedient enough.

— Huumn. It was just that?

— Yes. Ah, there's one more thing...

— What else?

— Do not, by any means, stay away from Sherlock, remember that a branch is weaker than two. – He hangs up on me, I look at the phone, and meditate on what he said.

— John, have you stayed in Netherlands before? – Sherlock brings me back to the sad reality.

— What? No. I just drove by, but it was too fast.

— Good, that should be good enough.

— Ah, yes. Yes. Of course. – I keep looking at the lane where my daughter was, inside the car.

— Come on John, we'll have to find a place to stay.

I keep thinking about my daughter, feeling like a wretch, weak, useless. All the kind of happiness I had once had, now it was far from trying to find me, I never thought it was something that resulted from the use of drugs. But no, the world really lost the colors, the sounds, I had fallen into a kind of net in an unknown space, and black, without sound, without heat, without anything, just my shadow of sadness eating away at me, from my feet, and rising slowly, making me scream, unable to open my mouth, move, or anything like that.

— John?! – Sherlock is looking at me, with deep blue innocent eyes, did those eyes ever see what I'm seeing? Could it be that his eyes have already turned back, and did he see the darkness that fills us? — John! Let's go. – The cab had arrives, but so fast... How long have I been falling? I can only find out when I fall.

In a short time we had covered miles, Sherlock kept looking at me incessantly, all the way. The sadness of my emptiness rises like a volcano, and overflows in my eyes, I support mu head on my knees, throwing my body forward. Maybe I'm ashamed to show Sherlock, and the cab driver, that I am weaker and more fragile than many kidnapped children like mine. I forget the outside world, and enter the place where I keep falling, until finally I can see a kind of white glow at the end, it was Sherlock running his hand behind my back, and stopping on my shoulder. I open my eyes slowly, and turn my head in his direction.

— I know that look, John.

— You do not understand. – I sit in posture, a little nervous, looking at him, and taking his hand off me.

— I understand.

— No, you don't fucking understand!

— John...

— Of course you don't understand, nor is it normal!

I seem to give him a reality check, and he's immersed in something.

— Stop the car.

— Sir, I can't stop here, we need to be on a street with available parking lots.

— Stop the damn car! – The drive brakes sharply, I remove my belt.

I get out of the car, in the middle of the road, without looking back.

— John! 

I turn to Sherlock, and something hits me, clearly I must have been run over. I fall, and again I black out.

Notas Finais

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