No Vacancy at 221c: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Measuring Lives

Celestia darted forward, John failing to grab her arm as she flew towards the stage. Sherlock and John quickly followed, stunned by the scene before them. Mary was tied to a chair securely, her feet, arms, torso and hands all perfectly immobilized. She was fully awake, and looked as mad as a hornet, though perfectly silent due to her gag. Her eyes burned with anger, and her muscles strained constantly against the restraints. Across the stage stood a device quite familiar to two of the three dumbstruck onlookers. A crossbow, massive and deadly, broke the warm light with it's dark lines. The sand bag that John knew would set the weapon into action, hung precariously, dangerously, temptingly. It was aimed, of course, at none other than Mary Watson. The doctor was positively boiling with internal energy; volcanic, with eyes burning and an eerily calm composure. Though hesitant at first, the group rushed forward with a silent agreement. The meters seemed to take hours to accomplish and Sebastian was quite forgotten as they finally approached the stage, a mere four or five meters from Mary, who was slightly elevated on the platform.

"Oh, I wouldn't step any closer if I were you," a sarcastic voice taunted, stopping them in their tracks. Celestia seemed to have disappeared from John and Sherlock's minds as they stood like a stone wall in front of her, shoulder to shoulder. Though she was unfamiliar with her surroundings and much less informed than her colleagues, Celestia still felt a huge burden of urgency clouding her judgement and an annoyance at being excluded. If she was going to be here, she was going to do something, be useful, actually make a difference for once.

A face finally occupied the anonymous voice, poking around the wall separating the backstage from the actual platform. He appeared unarmed, though he would be a fool not to be. Or a genius. It's a fine line. Moran smiled slyly, winking at John and acknowledging Sherlock after a moment. "We are at a stalemate you must believe, but of course you are incorrect."

"Don't be daft, that's the most improbable of probabilities and a weak attempt to cause my friend and I to believe you more confident and imposing than you are, which of course is futile." The detective continued, "We are both armed so I do not see the point in withholding your intent from us."

"All I want is the girl," Sebastian said simply, folding his hands in front of him and rocking back on his heels. "Plain as that. Give me the woman, and Ms. Watson here goes free. No loopholes. No tricks. This will be it. I'll have what I want and making your life worse would no longer be a useful endeavor."

Sherlock whirled around, angling his body towards Celeste with one hand already in his pocket for his gun. He had hoped she would be overlooked, ignored in the dim lighting behind his tall frame. One look at Celestia's set mouth and hard features told him that he wasn't just arguing with Sebastian. "No. There is no way. You cannot take her." His words were desperate underneath the sternness of his tone. Subconsciously Sherlock had already stepped back in front of Celestia, ignoring the obvious mental struggle John was dealing with.

Was he being defensive? Not ignoring her, but protecting her? It was selfish to be thinking of such foolish matters, but Celestia still felt relieved.

"And what happens then? What if we don't hand her over, huh?" John questioned, almost afraid to ask.

"What if?" Sherlock declared, breaking off the criminal's reply. "John, don't be ridiculous!"

"In case you hadn't forgotten, Sherlock, she," he pointed to Mary," is my wife," he jerked his hand back towards Celestia, "and that is just some client of yours who we've known mere months!" The detective stared down at John's strained face in incredulity.

"Yoo hoo!" called Sebastian. The two men turned back to him, directing their hard glares at him. He now held a gun tightly in his hand. A single shot was fired, and it wasn't just a gun. It was the gun that shot the bullet that pierced the sandbag that was connected to the crossbow that was going to kill Mary. As the grains slowly began to drip, John lurched forward, desperately trying to size up the situation in such a short time frame. "Unlike the late Moriarty," rambled Moran, "I dislike too much game-making and frolicking." Red dots, indicating that there were snipers hidden somewhere, began to appear on the three people. "There's no hope, I'm afraid, for Ms. Watson anymore, thanks to your argumentative natures, good sirs. But perhaps there is still a chance for you. If anyone but the girl moves, you'll be shot down immediately. I'm tired of waiting."

Mary was struggling now, tears streaming down her eyes and her mouth obviously trying to make known some undisclosed message. She was acting so unlike herself. Why wasn't she quiet, proud in her death as John knew she would be unless something was wrong. The doctor himself was hyperventilating as the precious nanoseconds slipped through the air like sand in an hour glass.

"How do you measure one life against another?" Moran taunted.

Sherlock's hand were buried in his curls as his wide eyes exposed a brain burning with power.

Celestia was very quiet as time seemed to slow and her heart began to pound within her, threatening to rip out of her chest at any moment. She wouldn't be shot, Moran had said. She could run and have a chance of getting out alive. But Sherlock, John, Mary. They would die because of her.

A new thought crossed her mind, one that ended in the best way possible. One look at Mary's tear streaked face; the beautiful face of Sherlock, the one she loved; and the tragic expression of John, the one who had betrayed her, Celestia's mind was set.

So in that first moment Celestia decided and in the next moment she ran, she ran as hard as she could, pushing past Sherlock and leaping onto the stage, and in the last moment, as the arrow began to glide through the air, she fell. She fell hard, screaming out in pain as the tip drove itself into her shoulder. Her vision blurred and lights and sounds began to be too amplified to bear. Her heart filled her ears as the shaft was pushed further into her body as she hit the hard floor. Sherlock's cry was the only thing she cared about as she was jolted to her feet and carried off stage by an unfamiliar character.

So as quickly as it had begun, it had ended. The red lights disappeared as men left in a shadowy mass after the initial person had thrown Celestia carelessly over his shoulder, exiting backstage. The theater was empty, only whispers left trailing in the shadows. John wasted no time in leaping on stage and unbinding his wife. She crumbled to the floor with eyes wide as she looked up at her husband. Sherlock barely heard her as a huge shock wave hit him and sent his heart leaping and his mind buzzing and his eyes watering.

"You didn't know about the child yet."