No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

JW Unmasked

"So what am I supposed to do again?" Celeste asked as they walked on foot through the woods towards the vineyard. It was warm for winter, and the sun shined weakly through the dense cloud cover.

"You just need to get in and stay safe. Hopefully he won't suspect anything and you can engage him in conversation, find out who's really behind this. When you do that you'll have to call me so that everything you hear, we do. That should ensure if anything happens we'll know what's going on," Sherlock explained quickly, going over what had been previously stated.

At that moment the detective stopped. They had come to the edge of the wood and were now looking out over a barren field with trellises and poles that the vines would slither up when they were in season. A few cottages dotted the surrounding hillsides and the small town could be seen in the distance, but everything was well out of earshot.

"Where is everyone?" John inquired in a low voice, referring to the empty hillsides and the lack of traffic they had encountered on the way there.

"Festival," Sherlock mumbled.

"Everyone is in the town center, celebrating something or other. That means the local police force will be occupied and no one would be around to witness any suspicious activity," Celestia elaborated, before Sherlock could continue.

"Skirt the edge of the woods before you go out in the open," Sherlock said, catching her wrist as she began to walk. Silently, she obeyed and began to walk away from them with her head held high out of habit.

"Why don't you put the call through now?" John suggested, running up to Celeste for a moment. She smiled and did as he asked, making sure her phone was on silent before calling Sherlock and dropping the device in her open pocket.

"Thank you, John. That's very nice of you to worry about me." She flashed him a reassuring smile and strode off. She walked around the edge of the cover of trees for several minutes before stepping out into the open tentatively. Celestia could almost feel the two men's stares burning into her back but she dared not turn around and risk giving away their position. She knew that the police would be here by the time she had made contact with the... whoever he was, but her heart still felt uneasy. She wasn't scared, she was uncomfortable; anxious to find out who this strange person was and slightly worried at what their motives might be.

Celeste shook her head quickly to rid her mind of the unpleasant feeling and felt her hand come to rest upon her phone in her pocket. Reassurance rushed through her as she thought of Sherlock waiting without a sound on the other end.

She laced through the poles of wood and saw nothing out of the ordinary before a voice hissed, startling her.

"Try the building," Sherlock's quiet voice suggested. Immediately she turned around and began to walk to an old stone structure on the edge of the rows. The door was modern and surprisingly opened easily with a subtle swoosh. The rough stone exterior gave way to polished cobblestone floors and gleaming medieval style lighting. The building was not large; it was only comprised of one room.

The interior was obviously redone, but Celestia couldn't help but feel as if she had been swept back in time. A rough wooden table and bench stood at one end of the room, and upon it were laid ancient looking tools and baskets to harvest the sweet fruit of the vine. In the opposite wall lay a fireplace. It, no doubt, would have been used for warmth before the thermostat, that sat nestled in the stone wall, had been installed. Nothing else adorned the simple room, reenacting the Middle Ages, except for an old wooden door mounted to the wall with huge cast iron hinges.

She coughed twice, a signal of her wellbeing to her life line across the hill and grasped the large handle. The door was heavy but finally it sprang free and gave way to a dimly lit stone staircase, spiraling down into the earth with only torches to light the way. Celestia hesitated a moment, then put one foot on the top stair and began her descent.

As her feet found the landing, she looked around to see another room entirely made of stone with an arched ceiling. The torches flickered in the cool chamber, putting off a dim light and leaving much of the room bathed in shadows. Celeste swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as she took a few steps forward. There in the floor was a huge circle, dug deep into the ground and lined with stone. She leaned curiously over it and realized it was an old wine press; where people would smash the grapes that had been harvested so that they could be turned into wine.

Suddenly, Celeste cried out as something made contact with her back and sent her sprawling forward into the pit. She groaned as she landed on her side, shocks of pain shooting though her hip and shoulder, an ache climbing through her entire body.

A pair of feet landed beside her, a tall figure's silhouette loomed before her crumbled being.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my little Celestia Firethorne," an all too familiar voice mocked. He leaned down over her, his hands casually held in the pockets of his black pants. "Aw, did you miss me?" he teased, running his finger down the side of her face tenderly.
Celeste lifted her head slightly, trying to squirm away from his touch. Her voice came out harsh, raspy, and weak.

"James Welsh."