(PLANETARIUM; Alice’s POV: )

We entered the Planetarium through a back exit, we ran about, trying to find the projection room. I heard a bland voice that could only belong to a documentary narrator behind a fancy door. I shouted for the two.

“...composed mainly of hydrogen. Their light takes so long to reach us...” The narrator said in the back ground. We raced into the theatre through the door. As John stopped and aimed his pistol towards the Golem, Sherlock yelled at the top of his voice,

“Golem!” I scowled and aimed at the Golem next to John.

“... many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas.” The narrator informed. The Golem looked up, grunted in surprise, then snapped Cairns’ neck and dropped her to the floor. Her fingers dragged along the mixing desk and the footage went into fast-forward again, plunging the theatre into darkness. The Golem ducked down out of sight.

“I can’t see him. I’ll go round. I’ll go!” John said to both me and Sherlock. I began to run down to Sherlock, being extremely cautious of the man-monster in the same room as me. As the footage continued spooling and then stopping and playing before spooling again, light came and went in the room. Sherlock stared around as John hurried off. I arrived next to him and stood back-to-back with him, my pistol trained in front of me.

“Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” Sherlock shouted into the darkness, saying the Golem’s true name. I moved in front of Sherlock, trying to see ahead into the seats. Behind Sherlock, the Golem stepped out of the fluctuating darkness and clamped one hand around Sherlock’s mouth and nose while gripping his neck with the other. I immediately turned around and tried to find a open spot that wouldn’t injure Sherlock and I would be able hit easily in the dim light.

“John!” I shouted, still looking over the Golem and Sherlock. Sherlock grabbed at the hand on his face, struggling to pull it free as he was slowly suffocated. John raced over and stopped in front of them, his pistol held in both hands next to me.

“Golem!” John exclaimed angrily. He cocked the gun and pointed it at the Golem’s face, his hands and voice steady. I didn’t want to aim for his face; a bit too close to Sherlock’s for me to take that risk. I had lost too many people, seen too many innocents killed. I wasn’t going to take that chance.  

“Let him go, or I-we will kill you.” John corrected himself. Sherlock, whimpering in his efforts, continued trying to pull the man’s hand from his face. The Golem swung him around to the left and lashed out with his long right leg during a moment of darkness, kicking the pistol from John’s hands. I kept my gun trained on his huge figure, ready to fire. Dropping Sherlock to the ground, he surged forward and wrestled with John. Again, I couldn’t get a safe shot. I was getting angry at my helpless fear. As Sherlock got to his feet, the Golem shoved John into him, sending both of the boys tumbling to the floor. I finally had a clear shot, but the Golem had known I was there the whole time. He smirked and tackled me down onto John. Sherlock scrambled up again and took up a boxing stance in front of him, holding his fists up. He swung a punch at the man but he grabbed his hand and swung his other arm down heavily onto Sherlock’s shoulder, dropping him to the floor yet again. The Golem followed him down and clamped both hands onto his face, leaning his weight onto them. John and I had got up and behind him; John threw himself onto his back. The Golem roared, releasing Sherlock as he clawed at the hobbit on his back. He stood up with John still clinging to his back and spun around several times before finally managing to shake him off onto the floor. I took my turn and got shot the Golem in the left leg about mid-thigh. I felt victorious, but the fight was still going strong. As John groggily tried to get up, the Golem turned, yelling out in pain and assuming Sherlock was the one who had shot him, picked up the detective and skimmed him across the floor towards John. As Sherlock slid across the floor he grabbed at the pistol and managed to pick it up. The Golem ran for the doors. Sherlock rolled over onto his back and fired twice towards him but the Golem made it to the doors and disappeared through them.

“...long dead, exploded into supernovas.” The narrator drawled on. I lowered my pistol and walked slowly over to John, sitting down next to him. As the image of a supernova dramatically exploded on the screen behind him, Sherlock angrily slammed his hand down on the floor in front of him.

-Chapter 23

(MORNING, HICKMAN GALLERY. Alice’s POV: )

 Sherlock was standing in front of the Vermeer painting, looking up information on his phone. He called up subjects such as “Vermeer brush strokes”, “Pigment analysis”, “Canvas degradation”, “UV Light damage”, “Delft Skyline, 1600”, and “Vermeer influences”. John, Lestrade and Miss Wenceslas are standing behind him. I stood, sulking against a pillar behind them all.

“It’s a fake. It has to be.” Sherlock stressed.

“That painting has been subjected to every test known to science.” Miss Wenceslas insisted.

“It’s a very good fake, then.” Sherlock reasoned, spinning around and glaring at her. “You know about this, don’t you? This is you, isn’t it?” Sherlock accused. Miss Wenceslas turned to Lestrade, looking exasperated.

“Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?” She asked, unhappy. I scowled at the annoying woman. The pink phone rang. Sherlock snatched it from his pocket and switched on the speaker. My attention was gained and I walked up to the painting, determined.  

“The painting is a fake.” Sherlock said into the phone.  There was a faint sound of breathing over the speaker but otherwise there was no response. “It’s a fake. That’s why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed.” Sherlock insisted. Still, nothing but breathing. My eyes scanned over every detail of the painting, not finding anything and it was making me angry. “Oh, come on. Proving it’s just the detail. The painting is a fake. I’ve solved it. I’ve figured it out. It’s a fake! That’s the answer. That’s why they were killed.” Sherlock continued, getting upset as well. When the phone remained silent, Sherlock took a deep breath to calm himself.“Okay, I’ll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?” Sherlock asked. After a moment, the tremulous voice of a very young boy came over the phone’s speaker.

“Ten...” The young boy began. I clenched my fists and felt my face going hot. I looked desperately at the painting, only moving for Sherlock to look next to me. Instantly Sherlock spun and looked closely at the painting.

“It’s a kid. Oh, g*d, it’s a kid!” Lestrade exclaimed.

“What did he say?” John asked.

“Ten.” Sherlock said simply, hiding very well the desperation in his voice.

“Nine...” The boy announced.

“It’s a countdown. He’s giving me time.” Sherlock explained, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the piece of art.

“J*sus!” Lestrade announced, distraught.

“The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?” Sherlock rambled, stressed.

“Eight...” The boy warned.

“This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!” Sherlock ordered, spinning around and glaring at Miss Wenceslas. She flinched and opens her mouth, but Sherlock immediately held up his hand to stop her.

“Seven...”

“No, shut up. Don’t say anything. It only works if I figure it out.” Sherlock corrected himself. He turned back to the painting again. Unable to stand the tension, John turned and walks away a few paces. Lestrade turned to watch him, probably wanting to join in the pacing as well. I flung my hands up in frustration; even if I did figure it out, it wouldn’t help... Sherlock had to. I stormed off to Miss Wenceslas, giving her my worst glare and then standing next to Lestrade in disgust.

“Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face.” Sherlock mumbled to himself.

“Six...”

“Come on." John said urgently under his breath, turning back.

“Woodbridge knew, but how?” Sherlock stressed.

“Five...”

“It’s speeding up!” Lestrade noticed. I clenched my fists tighter.

“Sherlock.” John said urgently, glancing over to me worriedly. Sherlock’s gaze fell on three tiny dots of paint in the night sky. His mouth fell open as the penny finally dropped.

“Oh!” Sherlock exclaimed. I looked up in hope.

“Four...”

“In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!” Sherlock announced, looking at both John and I. Turning and shoving the mobile into John’s hands, he walked away from the painting, grinning as he pulled his own mobile out of his pocket.

“Three...”

“What’s brilliant? What is?” John asked, bewildered and worried. Sherlock rapidly typed “Astronomers” and “Supernovas” into his phone, then turned back and walked towards us, laughing in delight.

“This is beautiful. I love this!” He cried. My fists began shaking. I was angry at Sherlock. I could deal with it before but he... I breathed in and out slowly to try and calm myself down.

“Two...”

“Sherlock!” Lestrade said furiously, seeing my state. Sherlock grabbed the pink phone from John and yelled into it,

“The Van Buren Supernova!” There was a short pause, and then the boy’s plaintive voice came from the speaker.

“Please. Is somebody there?” He begged, crying. Sherlock sighed out a relieved breath and my fists loosened significantly. “Somebody help me!”

“There you go. Go find out where he is and pick him up.” Sherlock sighed, handing the mobile to Lestrade. He gave John a long look then turned and pointed to one of the dots in the sky of the painting.

“The Van Buren Supernova, so-called.” Sherlock said proudly, holding up his phone over his shoulder so that Miss Wenceslas could see the screen. “Exploding star; only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight.” He turned and threw her a triumphant look, then walked away. John dragged in a relieved breath, and then walked closer to look at the painting. I still stood where I was, calming myself down.

“So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?” John reasoned. He grinned over his shoulder at Miss Wenceslas, and then looked back to the picture again. His phone trilled a text alert. “Oh.” John said quietly. He dugs out his phone, still breathing heavily, and looked at the message which read:

“My patience is
wearing thin.
Mycroft Holmes”

He growled slightly, then looked up at the painting one last time.

“Oh Sherl…” John began, switching the mobile off and walking away, dragging me with him. Miss Wenceslas stared at the painting in shock.

Oh my! It seems I have accidentally done 2 chapters in one! ;) Anyway, vote, comment, enjoy fun peoples!! =)