Repens

The moment they walked out the door a large middle aged Chinese man in scrubs approached them with a kind but worried expression. Sherlock and John were already alert yet neither expected this sort of surprise to early in the busy day ahead.

"Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

London accent. Medical man- surgeon from the looks of his smooth constantly scrubbed hands and dark circles under the eyes. Worked all night and appeared tired. He was second or third generation to live in England.

"Yes, and you are?" There was no time for meaningless chat. Not today. Not from anyone.

"I got this an hour ago," he handed a hardly used iPhone to the detective. "I showed Miss Hooper who told me where to find you."

The photo was of a few lockers. This man had obviously identified the one in question as Molly's work locker. She lead him here knowing that Sherlock would know what to do. A pleased smirk grew on the interested detective's lips. John looked over his shoulder trying to steal a peek. Then the good doctor's eyes found the startling message.

NEW PROBLEM -JM

"Thank you for your cooperation, doctor," Sherlock grinned, returning the mobile device.

"You are most welcome," the Asian answered with a small bow.

"Are you going back to the hospital?"

"Not for a few hours. In great need of rest," the friendly man sighed, wiping his brow of imaginary sweat.

"Thank you again," John shook the man's hand as Sherlock hailed the next cab that passed.

The helpful Asian began walking towards the main street as the team of two hopped inside. Once inside, John took a deep breath, not sure how to begin or if his friend even wanted to talk about it. The brilliant man had seemed pleased but was surely hiding the terror and anxiety he undoubtedly felt.

"So… Moriarty, texting again."

"A new problem. The first was my being in his way and now my being in a relationship."

"And the locker is Molly's?"

"Yes." John had expected more than a single word.

"So what? We investigate the locker? Shouldn't we tell Lestrade about-"

"Lestrade doesn't need to be bothered with any of this until we need him. Until then, we need every second. His team will only slow us down for now."

They arrived to St. Bart's and immediately found Molly. She wasn't surprised to see them yet something in her expression reminded Sherlock to be extra gentle when dealing with her. The lovesick woman was probably still getting over the fact that Sherlock was dating a beautiful intelligent younger woman.

"Have you been to your locker this morning?"

"No, I was waiting for you. Didn't want to touch anything."

"Good," Sherlock gave her a warm appreciative smile. "Shall we?"

Molly and John followed him to her locker. She turned the dial until the small door swung open, revealing a book. Sherlock took a step towards the locker as Molly moved out of his way, sharing a nervous stare with John. Neither were brave enough to ask questions as Sherlock examined the book.

It was Sleeping Beauty- more fairytales. The stickers on the spine and front cover told him it was a library book. Though the cover was old and faded, the black dragon guarding the castle tower was still taken note of. His thoughts instantly went to Steph, his princess locked in the tower guarded by the most dangerous dragon of all. Holmes found it ironic that an Asian man had been the one used to send the message- Chinese dragon? Was it a planned detail, symbolism, or merely chance? There was never any way of knowing which of Jim's planned details were useful until further in cases involving the criminal mastermind.

"How long has it been since you've been to the library, John?"

"A cab ride away I'm presuming?"

Sherlock called a few libraries asking if it was carried and checked out. The British Library was their place. That was so like Moriarty- using somewhere greatly respected and highly populated for part of his scheme. Plenty could go wrong. The two found the children's books and began their search. As they scanned the numbers, they became slightly nervous of what they were going to find.

Sherlock's long finger stopped when his eyes found the exact call number they were supposed to be returning. The call numbers were identical but the book on the shelf was completely different from the one in his hand. John remained silent, as he had most of the morning, only following until asked to do otherwise. As always, he had no idea what to do with the given clue so he found it best to let his friend deduce in peace. This seemed similar to their "blind banker" case.

It was a very early edition of The Little Mermaid with a familiar cover picture. His fingers flipped through the small novel's discolored pages, turning yellow on their edges. The title page nearly took his breath away. The author's name had been crossed out with a red felt-tip pen and the dreadful name printed beneath it: Richard Brooks. His mind recalled the original telling of the tale, much darker than the Disney film.

"The Little Mermaid?"

Sherlock's heart began to race with fear- Moriarty's intentions perfectly clear. The very thought made his stomach turn and chest crash against his lungs.

"The film, disregard it." He paused, the words not coming as easily as usual. "The original Danish tale was a lovesick girl who went to a sea witch, left with no voice and a deadly risk. Once she was given legs, she was made to feel as if she was constantly walking on swords, unbearable pain as if she was actually bleeding. If the prince didn't fall in love with and marry her she would never be given a soul and the morning after he married another she would die. In short, the prince marries another. The mermaid heartbroken and prepared to live a soulless life of pain as agreed. Her sisters sell their hair to the witch in exchange of a dagger. If she stabs the prince and lets his blood drop onto her feet, she will become a mermaid and the physical pain will be taken away. She's so in love that…" A sudden thick pause made John suddenly feel sick. The story could only end one way. But how was Sherlock's story going to end? "She loves him too much to end his life so she goes to the ocean and becomes living sea foam," another heartbreaking thoughtful silence. "She spares his life for hers."

His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket. The text was sent from Stephanie's phone but signed JM.

"Stephanie will find a way to-"

"I'll meet you upstairs," Sherlock darkly announced just before marching off out of sight.

John released a sorrowful sigh then found the nearest staircase, giving his best friend a bit of needed space.

The text read: FIND IT? 8 HOURS TO FIND HER -JM. Now angry and more determined than ever, Sherlock decided to skip the texting chat and get down to business. With trembling hands, he called the number, his heart threatening to beat up into his throat.

"I take it you found my little clue," the insane giddy voice answered.

"Don't give her any ideas. She has eight hours, is that clear?"

"I was just thinking about making our little mermaid a deal… one she can't refuse."

"I have eight hours before her life is further compromised."

"Something may happen. All depends on you, Prince Charming. Oh, and don't think about using your little GPS trick. As of this phone call, both of our phones have no GPS devices. No way for you to cheat and look up our location."

"What makes you think I haven't already?"

There was a sinister silence before the demon's words were sang through his audible smirk, "Because you probably haven't walked five shelves from where you found it."

Sherlock was exactly five rows over from where he began marching away from John.

"Eight hours," Sherlock hissed.

"Seven and fifty-eight minutes."

He cursed after hanging up on the twisted sod. It took a few moments to gather himself. He took another look at the book in his hand, the finned young woman who died for love. Then the photo registered. In his many cases the lead him to art museums, he had noticed John Williams' oil painting "A Mermaid" at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. Moriarty had lead him on a similar trail before. The criminal had an appreciation for art to say the very least. Sherlock couldn't help feeling that this was all a waste of time. Surly there was a loophole or part of the case he could simply rationalize through- saving them a bit of legwork and much needed time.

John couldn't see him like this, half mad and completely desperate, not this early in the case. This was only the start. Watson was looking around when Sherlock joined him at the front doors. The soldier's expectant stare dissolved into shock as Sherlock briskly made his way through the doors.

His friend struggled to match the quick pace as he began, "He is going to offer her life for mine. We have eight hours. All useful GPS devices have been taken offline. Why didn't I think of that? We could have traced her mobile just as we did Jennifer Wilson's." Sherlock swore under his breath as John tried to put everything together.

"The pink lady? Could it have been that simple?"

"Not sure. Too late now. BLOODY HELL!" Holmes pulled out his mobile and rapidly tapped the screen- research.

As Sherlock angrily hailed another cab, John nervously asked, "Where to now?"

We’re going to check on a painting. It was just sold to someone across London and I think it may help us."

With that, they were off across London to check on a painting. This was the trails Sherlock found a dreadful but necessary waste of time. Endless possibilities raced through his mind. Yet no thought overpowered the fear of his own mermaid doing something foolish to save him in vain. That would be his Stephanie, giving up her own life for him, satisfied with the few unbelievable days they had shared. But that wasn't enough for him. Not by a long shot.