Chapter Twenty-Six

I spent the next day with Scottie.  I didn't want to think about it, but deep down, I knew the reason: if Moriarty was going to pluck Scottie from this earth, I wanted to be with him when it happened.

Sherlock came with us, too, at one point.  But he mostly was in the bedroom.

"John?" Scottie asked in his innocent little kid voice.

"What?" I answered him.

"Why did you make me go to bed last night when the door came open?"

I scratched the back of my head.  "Um... Well, it's like this: If whatever was behind my door saw you, it might hurt you.  Do you want that to happen?"

Scottie shook his head.

"Well, then.  I sent you to bed."  Scottie didn't ask anymore questions, and continued scraping his violin.  Sherlock had taught him two cords, and he played them on loop.

By mid-afternoon, Sherlock was wanting to take Scottie on a walk and give him fresh air.

"Please!" Scottie was down with the idea.

I cocked my head at an angle.  "Can I come?"

"No. Stay and guard the flat.  There could be trouble."  Sherlock face turned to dead seriousness in the split of a second.

"But if you take him out, he could get hurt!" I soon remembered that Scottie was actually listening to us, so I stopped talking.

Sherlock shook his head.  "I don't really think so.  We'll just be walking."

I did that thing when you blow on your own face to get the hair out of your eyes, only I didn't have any hair in my eyes.  "Fine, alright.  He needs more fun in his life, anyway."

Scottie wore a bright smile, hugged me, and went off with Sherlock.  I might also note that he had taken his faded blue blanket.

I am now realizing how short of a chapter this will be.  There is not much to say, and I'll do my best to record everything that happened, but basically, Sherlock got home not as happy as he had left.

I met him as he walked in.  My eyes darted around, and noticed that something was missing.  "Sherlock," I began.  "Where's Scottie?"

Sherlock looked at me, his face was broken.  His eyes stared sadly at back at mine.  The pain was real.  He wasn't even trying to hide it.

"John..." he said.  "I-I don't know, I..."  Sherlock looked down.

My heart started beating faster.  "What?!" I asked frantically. 

Sherlock was still looking at the ground when he mumbled, "Scottie got away, or something... someone could have taken him... maybe Moriarty...John, I'm-I'm so sorry!"

The pain in his voice put a lump in my throat.

Sherlock looked back up at me, but didn't meet my eyes.  I watched as a single tear fell down his face.  He turned, and walked away.

I fell onto the wall; I lost my balance.  I clutched my stomach.

Scottie was gone.