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Mummy is going to be very upset. We’ve been in this room five days, and I really wish the police would come and get us out, but I don’t want to face Mummy if she’s angry.
My baby sister and I got kidnapped five days ago. My sister is 13 months old, and I’m eight and a half years old. They’ve been taking good care of us, I guess. We get food and water and they change Amelia’s nappies every couple of hours, and they even left books. But I miss my family, and Miss Eliza, our nanny.
And I don’t know what they want with us! I think it has something to do with Mummy’s job – she works for the government – but they don’t tell me anything, and they always have masks on when they come in the room. Like Halloween masks, but it’s July.
Amelia starts fussing, and I go over to her crib. I grab one of the stuffed animals they left in the room and try to play peek-a-boo with her.
The door opens suddenly, and a man pretty much just falls in the room. He catches himself, so he’s still standing, but he looks like he’s gonna fall down any minute. And he’s not wearing a mask! He’s the first person I’ve seen without a Halloween mask in almost a week, except for Amelia.
The door slams shut behind him, and I hear the lock click.
The man and I stare at each other for several moments. He’s really tall and skinny, and he’s got dark curly hair, and his eyes are funny. They’re blue but also green and there’s some grey and some gold bits. I wonder what he’s seeing as he looks at me. It’s like he’s looking into my mind. I wonder if he can read minds.
I find my bravery and ask, “Who are you?” I stand in front of the crib, too. The man could probably throw me aside without any real effort, but I have to try to protect my baby sister.
“Sherlock Holmes,” the man says, and he has a really deep voice. “And you’re Ryan McAllister, and that’s Amelia.”
Well that makes me proper scared. I don’t know who he is, I don’t know how he knows our names, and while the bad guys have been nice to us so far, it doesn’t mean this isn’t some big boss coming to hurt us. Mr Holmes kinda scares me.
“Oh, please, I’m not here to hurt you,” the man says, sounding grumpy. “I was looking for you. Your mother is quite worried by now.”
“Are you the police?”
“No. I’m a consulting detective – I work with the police when they’re out of their depth, which is always.”
“So we’re sneaking out now?” I ask hopefully.
Mr Holmes gets a funny look on his face. I think this is the kind of look books describe as sheepish. “Well, no, I hadn’t counted on them kidnapping me too.”
“But the police know where you are, right? They’ll follow?”
Mr Holmes grins at me. “Oh, I never tell the police what I’m up to.”
“But, Mr Holmes – ”
“Sherlock, please,” he says.
“But, uh, Mr Sherlock, you said you work for them.”
“I said I work with them. Not the same. I tell them when I’ve solved it.”
I give Mr Sherlock an angry look. If he didn’t tell anyone, we’re still stuck here.
Mr Sherlock grins at me. “John knows where I was heading, and when I’m not there, he’ll find me.”
“Is Mr John a police officer?”
“Even better,” Mr Sherlock says with glee.
“But… how will he find you?”
Mr Sherlock shows me his left hand. He has a dull grey wedding ring on his finger. It’s not gold and shiny like every other one I’ve seen so far, but I’m pretty sure it’s a wedding ring. It looks like it could take a lot of abuse. Maybe that’s why his isn’t gold. I wonder if his wife is okay with him doing this – it seems like he’s used to bad guys trying to hurt him. His wife must worry lots.
“There’s a tracker in my ring,” he whispers. “It used to be in my phone, but they take my mobile all the time. No one’s taken my wedding ring yet. Shhh, it’s our secret, okay?”
“How did they get you?” I ask. Mr Sherlock is pretty skinny, but his shirt is really tight – does he not know how to buy clothes? – and I can tell he’s got muscles.
“…. dart.”
I don’t understand the word he says before dart, but before I can ask, he repeats it more slowly. “Tranquiliser. From tranquil, meaning calm. It puts you to sleep. It what they use on animals in zoos. And nosy consulting detectives.”
I think about this. “But, couldn’t they use this dart thing on Mr John?” I ask.
“They can try,” he whispers. “John – by the way, he’s a doctor, not mister – built up a resistance to them.” He explains before I can ask. “That means he’s so used to it it doesn’t put him to sleep anymore.”
I wonder who this Mr – no, Dr – John is. Mr Sherlock talks about him like he’s Batman or something. But then I think about how many people have been coming into the room. “Is Dr John coming with the police?” I ask.
Mr Sherlock shrugs. “Only if they don’t make him wait. John doesn’t do well with waiting when I’ve been taken.”
“But Mr Sherlock, there are like eight of them, if not more!”
Mr Sherlock grins at me, a huge smile that makes him look younger and a little goofy. “That’s not even the most he’s taken on at once. John is magnificent.”
He settles down on the couch and stretches out. He’s so tall his legs hang off the end. I pick up one of the books and read. Hopefully this John comes soon – I’ve almost finished all the books they left me. And Amelia’s been getting fussier. I don’t know how much time passes – not a lot, probably, I didn’t even read a full chapter yet, and I’m a good reader.
The door opens suddenly, and I figure they’re gonna take care of Amelia again. But this time, the guy in the mask just shoves nappies and a bottle at Mr Sherlock and growls at him, “Make yourself useful.”
Mr Sherlock looks alarmed and says, “What? You kidnapped an infant, you take care of her.”
But the man in the mask just leaves the stuff on the floor and leaves. Mr Sherlock looks at the nappies and then at Amelia. “I’ve never actually changed an infant. Still, how hard can it be? Morons do it every day.”
Personally, I think Mr Sherlock is a moron, too, running into this without police, but I don’t think he’d like it if I pointed that out. Mr Sherlock seems like the kind of guy who’s sure he’s always brilliant. Mr Sherlock picks up Amelia and looks around for a place to change her. He’s holding her awkwardly, away from himself under her arms. She’s squirming, clearly not comfortable.
“Would it have killed them to give me a place to change her?” Mr Sherlock grumbles. Finally, he gently puts her on the floor and stares at her clothes. He looks at me in horror and says, “It has snaps. Why does it have snaps?”
Mr Sherlock must not have kids, I think. I wonder if he or his wife want kids – I learned not everyone does. Maybe Mr Sherlock doesn’t but his wife does. The more time I spent with Mr Sherlock, the more curious I am about two people – Dr John and Mr Sherlock’s wife.
I sit down next to Mr Sherlock and pull Amelia towards me gently. I change her quickly – I’ve had lots of practice helping. Mummy and Miss Eliza both say I’m a good big brother.
Mr Sherlock watches me as I tickle Amelia’s tummy, and he says quietly, like he’s talking to himself, “I wonder if Mycroft was like that.”
“Who’s your Croft?” I ask.
Mr Sherlock laughs, but it’s not a mean laugh. More like I told a funny joke, although I don’t know what’s so funny about what I just said. “Mycroft is his name,” he explains. “He’s my brother.”
I wonder what a brother of Mr Sherlock’s would be like. Then I realise if they’re brothers, they’d both have the last name Holmes. And I have heard the name Mycroft Holmes, from Mummy. I remember a party Mummy threw and all the people who came. There were lots and lots of them, and we weren’t allowed to stay very long. “Is he tall like you, and never smiles, and wears waistcoats, and has dark straight hair, and speaks in really big words?”
“And dreadfully dull,” Mr Sherlock adds. “That’s him.” He gives me a look like he’s rethinking me. “What’d you think of him?”
I don’t know what to say. Mr Mycroft was kinda scary, like he knew all my secrets. Mr Sherlock has that look too, but he also looks like he doesn’t care, but Mr Mycroft seemed like he was filing it all away to use later. But I can’t tell Mr Sherlock his brother’s kinda creepy and feels like he’d be dangerous.
But Mr Sherlock looks at me and gives me a small smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not his biggest fan either, Ryan.”
Right. Apparently Holmeses are mind-readers. I say hesitantly, “He seems dangerous.”
Mr Sherlock nods. “Once, I would have said he is the most dangerous man you’ll ever meet. Today, I’d say he’s the second or third most dangerous man in the world.”
“Have you met the other two?” I ask. It’s scary to think there’s anyone more dangerous than Mr Mycroft. He says he’s a minor official, but Mummy told me the man practically runs the country. She’s told me that he can make almost anything happen.
Who can be more dangerous than him?
“I have,” Mr Sherlock says.
“Who are they?”
“One man was Moriarty, and I’m still not sure which of those two would be more dangerous. Moriarty was a master criminal, but he’s dead now. Killed by the most dangerous man you’ll ever meet.”
“And who’s that?”
Mr Sherlock grins at me. “John. John Watson is absolutely the most dangerous man you’ll ever meet.”
I try again to picture this mysterious Dr John. I already think he’d be really tall, taller than even Mr Sherlock, and with huge muscles, but now I’m also picturing a scary look and a mean way of talking. And apparently he’ll be here, because he’s the one who knows how to track Mr Sherlock. I don’t want to meet him anymore. He sounds even scarier than the bad men in masks.
Suddenly we hear a lot of crashes and thuds and cut-off screams. Mr Sherlock looks excited and says, “That’ll be John. About time, too!”
Amelia starts crying in my arms, scared by the noises. I rock her and try to shush her, but I’m pretty scared too, after Mr Sherlock told me John’s the most dangerous man I’ll ever meet.
“Most dangerous man in the world, really,” Mr Sherlock says.
“Did he bring the police?” I ask. Surely even the most dangerous man wouldn’t try anything in front of police officers.
Mr Sherlock listens to the noises for a moment and shakes his head. “No, that’s definitely just John taking them on.”
He gets up and sprawls out on the couch, looking bored. I guess it’s an act for Dr John. After several minutes, maybe ten or fifteen, the noises stop. No screaming or crashes or thuds. I’m not sure who won – Dr John or the eight or more men in masks. I’m not even sure who I want to win – I really want to get out of here, but I also don’t think I want to meet Dr John.
The door bangs open with a loud thud and then a loud crash as it hits the wall. I tighten my arms around Amelia, not sure what’s coming. Amelia’s still wailing, and I try to hush her so we don’t make anyone angry.
I look up, not sure what to do. Mr Sherlock is still sprawled on the couch and he doesn’t look worried. But then again, he has a crazy job, a dangerous brother, and knows this mythical Dr John.
Standing in the doorway is a pretty short man. He’s a lot shorter than Mr Sherlock. He’s not wearing a mask, either. He’s wearing an ugly jumper and blue jeans. He quickly jams something behind his back – so quickly I can’t tell what it was. When I can see his hands again, they’re empty. He has blond-brown-grey hair, and blue-brown eyes, and a kind face. He looks like a teacher or a normal dad. I sigh in relief. Clearly this isn’t Dr John, not after all Mr Sherlock said about him, and he doesn’t look like one of the bad men.
Mr Sherlock looks at the man and says, “Well, you took your time.”
“Oh, shut it,” the man says fondly. “Or I’ll leave with the kids, lock the door again, and forget to tell Lestrade where you are.”
Mr Sherlock shuts right up. I’m pretty impressed – I didn’t think anyone could tell him what to do and be listened to. Maybe his wife could too.
The friendly-looking man comes over to me and Amelia, who’s still crying. He crouches down and asks, “Is it okay if I take her? I’d like to check her over. I’m a doctor.”
I nod and let this doctor pick her up. He rocks her gently, murmuring softly to her. Amelia rubs her face against his jumper and settles down. I guess she thinks he’s friendly, and of course there aren’t any loud noises anymore.
“Shhhh,” the man says softly. “There we are, honey, you’re fine.” He hands her to Mr Sherlock and says, “Just keep her on your lap for a minute so I can look her over.”
I expect Mr Sherlock to protest, but he just puts his huge hands on her sides and holds her. The nice man – I don’t even know his name yet – looks her over, running his hands along her chest, tummy, and head. “Well, she’s definitely been fed regularly in the last week, heart rate fine, breathing fine, no obvious injuries.”
“The kids were a scare tactic,” Mr Sherlock rumbles. “To scare Cathy and make her do what they wanted. No intention of hurting them, at least not yet.”
The nice man turns to me and says, “Did they feed you? Enough water?”
“Yes.”
“Did they hurt you in any way?”
“No, they jut left us alone here.”
The man is very nice, but I’m worried that this Dr John will come soon, or that the masked men are gonna come and hurt us. They hadn’t yet, but surely after whatever fight we heard, they’re gonna be really angry. “Uh… what about the men in masks?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we be getting out of here before they come looking?”
“Oh, trust me, the ones that can still move are tied up,” the nice doctor says. “And I didn’t exactly leave many of them in good condition.”
I stare at him. This nice, quiet, short man fought some of them? He doesn’t look like he could win any kind of fight! “Did you come with Dr John?” I ask him, wondering when – or if – I’m going to meet this man.
“Dr John?” the man asks.
“Mr Sherlock told me Dr John was going to come for us because he – ” I stop, remembering the wedding ring tracker is a secret. “And that he’s the most dangerous man in the world!”
“Sherlock, do you think it’s at all possible you don’t terrify already frightened children?” the man scolds.
“What?” Mr Sherlock asks innocently. “I told them the truth. You are the most dangerous man in the world. Even Mycroft is scared of you.”
My mouth drops open. This is Dr John? The most dangerous man in the world is a short middle-aged guy who looks like a dad?
“Don’t listen to Sherlock,” the man says. “I’m John, and I promise I’m not scary at all.”
Mr Sherlock snorts. “You gonna leave the baby with me, then, John?”
“Oh, for the love of God, Sherlock, she’s not gonna bite.” But Dr John scoops her up and settles her on his hip like he’s used to kids. I figure Dr John has kids. Also, this “most dangerous man” thing is a joke between these two. Not a very nice one, since it had me pretty scared!
Then I wonder who took care of the masked men. Probably the police, although where are they? Maybe they thought they’d let a doctor here first to check on us?
“C’mon,” Dr John says. “The police will be here soon, and if everyone’s okay, we may as well be out front.”
“The police aren’t here yet?” I ask.
“God no. They weren’t ready when I called with Sherlock’s location,” Dr John says. “So I didn’t wait. They’re used to that by now.”
“But then who helped you? There were a lot of them here!”
“No one.”
Now I’m very puzzled. Is Dr John saying he did this by himself?
We hear some thumping noises, and Dr John hands Amelia to Mr Sherlock, showing him how to carry her on his hip. Mr Sherlock accepts this without comment, and Dr John walks out ahead of us. “Just in case one of them still has a death wish,” Dr John says.
One of the bad men is trying to get to us, and Dr John doesn’t even pause. He grabs the hand he didn’t tie to something and moves so fast I can’t tell what he did, but we hear a loud snap. The bad man screams. Dr John doesn’t even look like that was tough.
Oh my God. He really is dangerous. I look at him carefully. He looks so quiet and nice.
As we reach the front door, a man with silver hair opens it. “John, you really need to stop doing this,” he says.
Dr John raises an eyebrow. “Then don’t keep me waiting,” he says impatiently.
The silver haired man introduces himself as DI Lestrade. He looks like he knows both of these two, so I ask him about Dr John.
“John’s a good guy,” the DI says, “but he was a soldier, too, and a very good one. Sherlock wasn’t wrong when he said John’s dangerous, but he’d never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it.”
I look past the DI and see that Mummy is getting out of a car. I want to run to her, but I wonder if Mr Sherlock’s wife will come to get him. I ask the nice DI, and he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Sherlock’s married to John,” he explains.
I see now that Dr John is tenderly holding Mr Sherlock’s face, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Oh, I think. I knew already two men could love each other and get married, but I always forget that when I meet new people.
I run over to Mummy, who wraps me in a hug and says, “Oh, darling, we were so worried! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mummy,” I tell her. “I want to be like Dr John when I grow up, though!” I announce. Maybe not the most dangerous man part, but the doctor and soldier part.
Mummy ruffles my hair and takes Amelia from one of the police officers. “Until then, let’s go home, little man,” she says. That’s okay. I have lots of time to get as good as Dr John.