Shadowing Moriarty

[solvescases]

"Ah, it would seem we are in the right place," Sherlock said, stepping through the sliding door as the lights came on. "And we were expected."

The room was long with a computer console setup on the far left with a large viewscreen keeping track of video cameras set all along the outside. At the far end of the room was a large mechanical device, humming and glowing as it seemed to be charging up a large round metal ring attached with wires and hoses. Sherlock hurried into the room, cane in hand. "Stop him, quickly!" he said to Watson as he ran in with him. "He's already turned it on!"

The scientist at the controls turned with a nasty grin on his face before throwing the final switch. There was a loud crack from the machine, almost subsonic in nature, as a large rip in time and space began to form inside the metal ring. Sherlock leapt at the man holding the lever, grappling with it and Moriarty for control.

The mixed signals from the computer caused the dimensional hole to wobble and waver, lights flickering throughout the room as it drew more current. The tunnel inside collapsing around itself as it fluctuated. The two men still struggled at the controls for a moment longer, Sherlock trying to gain the upper hand by using a baritsu judo hold but suddenly there was a loud explosion as the machine gave way under the strain.

Everyone was flung aside as a ring of energy exploded out of the vortex, killing all the lights. When Sherlock was able to pick himself up off the floor, the emergency red lights were on. He was covered in dust and debris from the broken room and Moriarty was gone. "Blast it," he said under his breath, trying to brush himself off and find out what happened to Watson.

He quickly pulled the rocks and debris off of a lone figure, lighting a match from his pocket to see better. The match itself was practically a relic in amidst all the technology.

Comments

[shadow_ag]

Lamont had been settled quite happily in his lab, having just returned from a successful venture into the darker alleys of New York. Returning from his task, cloak and hat in hand, he was in his abandoned chemistry lab. Margo and Vincent had left hours earlier at his instruction to go home and rest while he continued his business late into the evening. His initial inspection of the lab told him they had dawdled for a short time before realizing he intended to be quite late.

He was reaching out toward the hat stand to trade his cloak for a lab coat when the hair on his arms stood up, as if there was some electric force pervading the room. He looked about, concern and determination on his face as he tried to locate the source, but found it difficult to move.

With a blinding flash, he felt all his senses overwhelmed at the same time and shut his eyes to try and save them. Was there a trap in the lab? What was causing the phenomenon? His mind raced as it felt like he was briefly lifted into the air.

A moment later he felt his shoes tap down on the ground however the noise and light were still too much to figure out more, but then he was airborne again. This time the sensation was a familiar one. For being unable to see or hear clearly, he could feel the concussion of an explosion ripple through his core as it tossed him. Many a time he's been thrown and buried by explosions, and he didn't fight the tumble or put out his arms to break the fall, not wanting to risk injury.

The lone figure which Sherlock finds beneath the debris is breathing easily, and for all purposes seems to be unconscious. Lamont doesn't know who or what is pulling the debris off of him, but he will play the victim for now until he can determine the truth of the situation. Meanwhile, his sharp fedora has miraculously stayed on his head and he's clad in an impeccable evening suit. Spread below him is a black cloak, but folded as it is, it looks like nothing more than an evening coat which had been dropped onto the floor. He can only hope that the single automatic pistol hidden neatly below his suit goes unnoticed long enough for him to palm it into his cloak or hat so that any cursory inspection for injury only yields an empty gun brace.

He waits a moment before moving slowly, feeling sore from the tumble and not needing to act that part at least. With a faint groan he puts a hand to his head, finding the hat there and pressing a hand down on it as if it had been hit in the blast.