Sherlock ran as fast as he could back to the main entrance and the front doors, which were now open. He hesitated. A trap. They knew he was there. The presence he had felt.
He started to go back the way he came, when he heard Watson scream again. This time louder and with what sounded like great pain.
Even a great mind when faced with the loss of a loved one can throw logic aside and rush into danger, even a trap. And so he did.
But even so, he was alert to what might be laying in wait for him as he ran down the nave floor, between row after row of benches. No longer used for praying, they were cushioned with rich red velvet cloth cushions for the comfort of the Lord and Ladies who attended the ceremonial offerings. As well as the times when Queen Mary of Scots desired to address the royalty and the Lord and Ladies of her realm.
Nothing. Not a single moving shadow anywhere. He saw the spiral staircase that wrapped about a great golden gelded pillar with scrolls of ancient letters and gods inscribed and carved upon it. He struck the first step at a run and kept going. No turning back now he thought. But strange there was no resistance. What kind of a trap would seed the victim with fear of loss, and then abstain from throwing the knife of danger at them?
He reached the Triforium and stopped. Still no opposition. But Watson stood there with his back to him, holding his hat in his hands, his face in shadows, great flickering candles ensconced in holders along the many pillared structure casting dancing shadows everywhere.
"Watson, you all right?"
Watson said nothing.
Sherlock grew wary now; something was not right about the way Watson held himself. He came closer, his weapon steady upon Watson's back. "Watson, what has happened to you?"
Then he stopped. Something glistened on the floor before him. It came from the right where the Triforium opened up into another gallery, which had been recently finished to hold the artwork and statuary of DaVinci and Michelangelo. The trail came from there and stopped at Watson's feet.
"I suppose we had to meet this way sooner or later." Sherlock said, stepping back a pace, but keeping his weapon trained on Watson.
Watson slowly turned around, but what fit his clothing was not human.
Constable Evans did what he was not supposed to do. Not everything, but the one thing he had been strongly warned about.
"Come in Constable Evans." Inspector Bloodstone beckoned to him, rising from behind his desk which was piled with documents and folders. He reached out a hand to shake.
"I'm glad you decided to come back early. Let's have lunch together."
"Sir, we need to talk."
Inspector Bloodstone gave Constable Evans an aggravated look for a moment, but refrained from responding. Instead he motioned for the Constable to have a seat and he did, waiting for the Inspector to sit first before speaking to him.
The Inspector sat down, then clasped his hands behind his neck and nodded. "I suppose you have something to get off your mind. Well off with it!"
"I' m worried about you, sir."
"How so?" The Inspector asked, placing his hands in his lap.
"You haven't been acting...well...normal."
The Inspector smiled. "Would you prefer it if I hollered at you? Would that make you more comfortable?"
"Yes. It would...father, sir, Inspector."
The Inspector laughed. "I see what the source of your problem is. You don't really believe it's me."
He rose and went to the door, glanced both directions, then shut it behind him, making sure his back was to the door. "And why is that precisely, Constable?"
Constable Evans felt a flush of heat in his cheeks, then a cold sharp knife stab in his guts. Something was definitely wrong about the way the Inspector was examining him now. Like he was an experiment, a slab of meat on a counter, or a lesson to be learned. Well, in for a pound, in for a penny. He thought to himself, and then leaned forward to speak.
"Remember how strange Watson acted after he was contacted by that...that..."
"Yes, sir. But I wouldn't put it in exactly that word."
Inspector Bloodstone turned around and began drawing the curtains to his room, then the one on the door. He opened the door and caught the attention of the Duty Sergeant. "Please keep everyone away from my door for about fifteen minutes; I'm going to be very busy."
The Duty Sergeant nodded.
Inspector Bloodstone shut the door, and then turned around to face Constable Evans, who had stood so that he was as far from the Inspector as possible. "I think I'd like to talk about this later, father."
The Inspector nodded. "Sounds reasonable. How's the search for the Mummy creature going with the Baker Street Adventurers?"
Constable Evans was preparing to answer him when the Inspector rushed across the room for him, his hands outreached like claws.
Tesla and Edison leaped from the Tesla car and faced Westminster Abbey, the same time as Conan and Challenger pulled up and climbed out to be joined by Lady Shareen and Lord Graystone.
Tesla's device was so loud it almost hurt the ears.
"What in blood hell are you trying to do, Tesla, shatter our eardrums?"
Tesla switched the device off. The sudden silence was like a splash of cold water in the face after a hot day of sweating.
"I was trying to figure out a way we could hone in on wherever the creature had its hiding place or places. The items it had stolen repeatedly were important to it..."
"So you figured if we could scan for it..." Conan blurted.
"Then we'd know where to go." Challenger finished.
"Exactly." Tesla said with a smile.
He turned to face the huge antique structure before them. "And what it is telling us is that this place is the mother lode. The central place of the creature."
"How do we know there are not others?" Lord Graystone demanded.
Tesla frowned a moment, then looked him in the face. "We don't. But right now we know that's where Sherlock is."
Lady Shareen paled. "He's in great danger."
"As is Watson." Conan added, the hand holding his weapon shaking violently for a moment.
They all rushed for the front gates.
Tesla accidentally switched on his device again as he struggled to pocket it, and it began shrieking horribly, even louder than before.
Then a horde of zombies rushed from the other side of the gates, where they had been hidden, and spread out rapidly, surrounding them.
"Oh bloody hell!" Professor Challenger swore, then he tore into the nearest of the zombies with his fists, knocking them down with single punches as he strove to push through them to the Abbey.
John Pirillo"Writing fuels the heart and soul!" Science Fiction, Fantasy and Adventure Tales to Take Your Breath Away!