~Chapter 4: The Deal

Time: Monday-11:21-AM

Countdown: 6 days, 13 hours, and 9 minutes left

Location: Molly Hooper's Apartment

"Wake up Mr Hooper, It's John Watson."

"How do you ordinary humans do it? Do you think this is all he does? Sleep?"

"Let us not generalize...On the other hand, he was asleep when I found him this morning as well…"

"It is simply impossible that this is Molly's brother. They are polar opposites."

"Not all siblings can be essentially the same such as you and Mycroft."

"Do not compare me to my brother, John. We are an entirely different matter."

"Whatever makes you happy, Sherlock."

Edward drowsily woke up after hearing a loud conversation mainly about him; not that he was lucid enough to understand it. He lifted his head and saw Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. He jumped out of the seat he was in, rubbing his tousled clothes. They had given him quite a scare. For one, they were invading his personal space and one can get easily surprised if the first thing one sees in the morning is two men who weren't in one's apartment a moment ago. "Wha...? What are you doin' 'ere? Somethin' happen to Molls?" He asked fervently, straightening his back with a worrisome countenance.

"Of course not, we would not be here wasting our time telling you if that was the reason," Sherlock answered with haste, wanting to reach the topic of discussion he desired. "Now that you are awake for once, care to illuminate which gang you undoubtedly distempered and where they reside at the moment? Being now, straight away, at once, toute-suite." The detective muttered, getting awfully close to the subject he was pressuring.

Edward subconsciously took a few steps back, his legs banging on the edge of the seat he had laid upon previously. "They own a restaurant as a front. Good place to do business under the radar, ain't it?"

"Yes, yes. Dare to give me a name?" Sherlock iterated, folding his arms.

"The Grey Wolf."

The tallest man in the room scoffed, slightly amused by Edward's short answer. "Of course, what an insipid name. The grey wolf; Turkey's national animal. Too straightforward. They might as well call it 'we sell drugs here'!"

"I don't see how anyone would think that, but-" John could hardly get a word in before his partner left the premises as though he had never come. The doctor muttered a curse under his breath and after giving an apologetic look to the younger man, he left. Edward was once again left behind; something that was happening to him increasingly. He was still unsure of what to think of it as he stood there for what felt to him like an eternity.

.,.,.,.,.,..,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Time: Monday-1:15-PM

Countdown: 6 days, 11 hours, and 15 minutes left

Location: Restaurant: The Grey Wolf

"Keep the change." Watson declared speedily to the taxi driver just as Sherlock stepped into the Turkish restaurant. The doctor soon caught up with his friend (who donned a fake moustache and round metal spectacles) who was standing in front of the reception desk.

"So, a party of two?" A young red-headed waitress, whose name tag indicated Petra, assumed after seeing John come up behind Sherlock.

"Yes." The detective simply answered, walking past the girl as he chose his own table next to the large glass windows plastered in the front of the establishment.

The waitress scurried behind the two men, prepping them with the menus and serving them with water. "I'll come back to take your order soon."

Both men looked at each other with understanding and started analyzing their surroundings. The building was large, yet it seemed that only a small fraction of it was utilized as the restaurant itself. To John, The Grey Wolf was fairly similar to the classy restaurant that he had dined at with Mary when he had seen Sherlock for the first time after his alleged death.

After a few minutes, Petra came back to their table with a small notepad in hand. "What can I get for you?"

"I think you have brought us the wrong menu. I would prefer the menu with the exquisite assortment of drugs on it." Sherlock declared in a serious tone, handing the menu back to the server.

The young woman only smiled, but Sherlock could see the anger he lit in her eyes. "Let me talk to the manager. I'm sure he can sort something out for you." She seethed, snatching the menus and looking around to see if any zealous ears had heard the previous comment.

"Well, that's one way to sniff out the Alpha Wolf. By invading his territory." John crossed his arms, readying himself to take out the gun he had holstered inside his coat.

"Directness has its virtues. It saves time, for one." Sherlock countered, strengthening the reason for his brazen action. "And I reiterate, time is not on our side."

"Point Taken."

The atmosphere became charged when two large thugs, dressed in all black, entered the dining area from the doors that lead to the kitchen and where the criminally inclined did their deals. Sherlock, who was used to risky situations, simply rolled his eyes. He was clearly not intimidated by the two men; he had gone against worse.

"Typical," Sherlock whispered to John as both men approached, "the waiter is frazzled when I talk about their inclinations toward narcotics and seemingly wants me to shut up, yet unleashes two men who do not carry gentle dispositions to come and- not at all discreetly-escort us to some back room." He let out a low snicker to accompany his jocularity toward the matter at hand. "As I had declared before, they stand out as much as a sign indicating 'We sell drugs here!'"

"Shut up, Sherlock. I hardly think it is the time to diss their inconspicuousness." John whispered back, taming Sherlock's erratic behaviour.

"Very well," Sherlock answered as the man on the left grabbed his arm, shoving the detective toward the back door with the second thug doing the same to John.

.,.,.,.,.,..,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

"Who are you?" A seat was pulled out in front of the two detainees, the only obstacle in between was a desk with accentuated knife marks on its wooden surface. A man sat down, presumably the higher power as the alpha symbol was inked into the back of his neck.

Sherlock, who was forced to sit by one of the thugs along with John, quickly observed a bottle of finished Buzbağ in a black bin beside the desk. The indicators where all there: this was the man who Edward had done hazardous business with. This was the mobster who threatened Edward…This was the monster who wanted to kill Molly Hooper because of a damaged wallet and hurt pride.

"Not important. I am here for some - how do you Turks call it? - 'recreational opium'. I hear you smuggle it in its purest and most optimal condition from your own country. So, are you open for business? I doubt the kitchen is closed Mr…?" Sherlock trailed the sentence off, waiting for the man to finish it.

"Omer…You look familiar…" The leader raised his eyebrow with menacing uncertainty, standing up and putting all his weight on the front of the desk to get a closer look at his two detainees. He was so immersed in figuring out the reason behind both gentlemen's (or at least Sherlock's) recognizable features that he fully disregarded Sherlock's latest suave assumption.

"I have been told many times that I resemble Sherlock Holmes! Fancy that!" Sherlock roared an amateurish laugh, flailing his arms in the air, his acting skills on full throttle. "It can be awfully annoying when needing to finish business transactions." John shot a quick glance at Sherlock, not even bothering to understand what in the world he was trying to pull. After working with him for a long time he finally realised to just play along - doing the opposite usually had more dire consequences.

"For sure, in our…off the books field of work, him being compared to a famous detective who works with Scotland Yard is bloody maddening!" John spoke up, waving his hands around in the same manner as Sherlock had done.

An unnerving silence came over the room as Omer continued to stare at his captives as if he was deciding whether he should kill them or believe them. His stare lingered and lingered and lingered until he let out a low chuckle.

"He much taller. Less…skinny and…pale." Omar paused between descriptions, a taunting smile still on his face. "Nothing like you."

Satisfied with his conclusion, he went back to his seat. "Let me ask again, who are you?"

"I don't like using names. Think of me as a businessman who is ready to make a deal, if you are interested."

"I am listening" The mobster leaned back in his chair as a small grin sat on his face.

Whatever Sherlock said next would determine the fate of Molly Hooper.