"They said they couldn't do anything until he was gone for 24 hours," she says, her tone bitter.
She stands up and pulls off her gloves, bundling them together inside out and tucking them back into her pocket, then pulls out her phone. She takes pictures of the bag and the cup from several angles, then turns on the flashlight and starts scanning the ground. "There are tire tracks here," she says, taking pictures of the tracks in the alley then closeups of the tire tread.
She sends the pictures to Sherlock along with brief descriptions. Then she calls Scotland Yard.
"Look, I have evidence that he was kidnapped," she says to the person who they palm her off on. "Yes, I'm sure. No, I...are you kidding me right now? Connect me to Lieutenant Smith. Yes, Smith. I'm a consultant, I've worked with him for...yes. Yes. What? Joan Watson. Watson. Yes, I...with Sherlock...yes, Sherlock Holmes. No...no I need to talk to him now. No, I can't wait, this is...hello? Hello? FUCK!"
Joan only barely keeps herself from smashing her phone on the ground. She turns away from Beard and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, then another, trying to get her emotions under control.
Her phone dings and she looks down at the text Sherlock has sent her.
no subject
She stands up and pulls off her gloves, bundling them together inside out and tucking them back into her pocket, then pulls out her phone. She takes pictures of the bag and the cup from several angles, then turns on the flashlight and starts scanning the ground. "There are tire tracks here," she says, taking pictures of the tracks in the alley then closeups of the tire tread.
She sends the pictures to Sherlock along with brief descriptions. Then she calls Scotland Yard.
"Look, I have evidence that he was kidnapped," she says to the person who they palm her off on. "Yes, I'm sure. No, I...are you kidding me right now? Connect me to Lieutenant Smith. Yes, Smith. I'm a consultant, I've worked with him for...yes. Yes. What? Joan Watson. Watson. Yes, I...with Sherlock...yes, Sherlock Holmes. No...no I need to talk to him now. No, I can't wait, this is...hello? Hello? FUCK!"
Joan only barely keeps herself from smashing her phone on the ground. She turns away from Beard and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, then another, trying to get her emotions under control.
Her phone dings and she looks down at the text Sherlock has sent her.
Opel Vivaro van, likely 2017