“The Continental isn’t some standardized hotel chain where every branch works exactly the same.”
John kept his eyes on the road as he explained.
“How a branch operates depends on its rank, location, and whoever manages it.”
Sherlock listened carefully.
“So New York’s Continental, for example, is members-only.
It isn’t open to the public, and absolutely no fighting is allowed inside.”
That part Sherlock knew.
John continued.
“Tokyo is different.
It’s a mixed-use hotel that’s open to ordinary guests as well.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
“Still no fighting?”
“Still prohibited.
But if something happens there, their first response is mediation.”
John glanced at him.
“New York doesn’t bother.
Break the rules there and they go straight to punishment.”
That made sense.
The Continental’s famous prohibition against violence had originally been written for the assassin world.
Once a branch started mixing ordinary civilians into the equation, enforcing the exact same rules with zero flexibility would inevitably create problems.
“And here?” Sherlock asked.
John’s expression became more serious.
“This branch is inside an active war zone.”
He paused.
“And we’re not that far from where one of the High Table’s Elders operates.”
Sherlock straightened slightly.
“So this place uses the bare-minimum version of war-zone rules.”
John nodded.
“Once the sun sets, the entire settlement goes into lockdown.”
“Inside the Continental’s territory, all violence is strictly forbidden.”
“People can exchange intelligence, weapons, supplies, whatever they want.”
“But when the sun comes up again?”
John’s gaze hardened.
“The safe-zone rules expire.”
Sherlock blinked.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the ban on violence stops applying.”
John shrugged.
“At that point, you’re in a war zone again.”
Sherlock stared at him for a second.
Then slowly rubbed his chin.
Helen had been listening just as closely from the back seat.
None of this was information an ordinary person would ever hear about.
Honestly, even Sherlock—who had watched all three John Wick movies in his previous life—had never known this side of the Continental existed.
He thought it over.
“Doesn’t that sound less like a hotel for assassins and more like a protected marketplace for intelligence brokers?”
John glanced at him.
To Sherlock’s surprise, he nodded.
“That’s exactly what it is.”
Sherlock looked over.
“The war-zone rules mainly exist to support weapons trading and intelligence exchange.”
John tapped the steering wheel.
“That’s why I suggested coming here first.”
“If Tony Stark is being held somewhere in this region, there’s a chance someone here knows where.”
Sherlock nodded.
That was reasonable.
His own information was painfully limited.
Even S.H.I.E.L.D.
and the military hadn’t managed to locate Tony.
Which mountain valley?
That was the problem.
The Middle East contained rather more than one.
Getting reliable intelligence before charging off into the desert was obviously the safer approach.
Sherlock did have one concern.
“What if the Ten Rings have people at the Continental?”
John glanced at him.
“If word gets out that someone’s looking for Stark, they could panic.”
Sherlock frowned.
“And right now Tony still has enough breathing room to hide in that cave hammering away at his little secret project.”
If the Ten Rings realized serious outside forces were closing in?
There was no guarantee they’d continue giving him that luxury.
They might move him.
Or simply kill him.
Still, when John finally drove them to the local Continental, Sherlock realized he’d been imagining the wrong kind of place entirely.
Calling it a “hotel” was extremely generous.
This was a town.
A battered, half-ruined settlement sitting in the middle of a war zone.
The sun was already sinking toward the horizon when Sherlock’s Raptor passed through the remains of the town gate.
Someone approached almost immediately.
John handed over five Continental gold coins.
In return, they received four heavy hooded robes…
and a large covering for the truck.
Sherlock looked at the robes.
Then at John.
John’s expression made it clear this wasn’t optional.
So Sherlock, Helen, John, and even Doro covered themselves completely before getting out.
Doro disappeared so thoroughly beneath the oversized cloth that she looked like a very short ghost.
The moment the doors were closed, an attendant threw the black vehicle cover over the Raptor and concealed it from view.
Another attendant led them deeper into town.
John spent one more gold coin to rent a relatively intact single-story house.
Considering the surrounding ruins, “relatively intact” was doing some heavy lifting.
Still, it had walls.
A roof.
A door.
Luxury.
The four filed inside.
John entered last.
Before closing the door, he carefully looked around outside.
Only then did he pull off his hood.
His expression turned serious.
“Until we leave this place, the robes stay on whenever any of us steps outside.”
Sherlock opened his mouth.
“No exceptions.”
John pointed directly at him.
“Especially you.”
Sherlock closed his mouth again.
“If you don’t want the entire region knowing that someone’s here looking for Tony Stark, then don’t give anyone even the slightest chance to identify you.”
Sherlock sighed.
“Fine.”
Helen was already helping Doro escape from the robe she’d gotten tangled inside.
Once the little creature’s pink head popped free, John continued.
“After sunset, this entire town becomes neutral ground.”
He nodded toward the center of the settlement.
“There’s a square in the middle where the intelligence market opens at night.”
He looked toward Sherlock.
“We’ll go there later and see if anyone knows something about Tony.”
Then John turned to Helen.
“And while we’re here, keep a close eye on Doro.”
“Doro absolutely cannot wander off.” New chapters come out on g.com first.
Helen hadn’t even gotten the chance to answer before Doro puffed herself up.
“Human, don’t worry!”
Everyone turned toward her.
Doro was still sitting in Helen’s arms.
Her chubby little face was arranged into what she clearly believed was an extremely serious expression.
“Doro won’t run around!”
She slapped one tiny hand against her chest.
“Doro will stay right beside Human!”
The effect would have been more convincing if she didn’t look like an adorable blob trying to impersonate a mafia boss.
Sherlock’s lips twitched.
John looked away.
Helen was already smiling.
Sherlock finally gave up and laughed.
He reached over and rubbed Doro’s head.
“All right, then.”
He nodded solemnly.
“In that case, Doro has an important mission.”
Doro’s eyes widened.
“Doro?”
“You need to protect Sister Helen.”
Doro immediately straightened.
“Human!”
Another determined chest-pat.
“Doro promises!”
That broke the last of them.
Sherlock smiled.
Helen laughed softly.
Even John’s expression relaxed.
Wherever Doro went, the mood seemed to lighten around her.
In the middle of this miserable trip through endless sand and war-torn territory, she was one of the very few things that could make the whole experience feel almost pleasant.
With Doro’s solemn promise secured, Sherlock stopped worrying about it.
He waved a hand.
Food appeared across the coffee table.
Bottled water.
Prepared dishes.
Snacks.
And, naturally— oranges.
“Doro!”
Doro immediately abandoned all pretense of being a responsible bodyguard.
The four gathered around the table and ate quietly.
Then they waited.
Outside, the sun continued its slow descent.
The last orange light faded from the horizon.
Night fell.
And the town transformed.
Torches flared to life throughout the ruined streets, illuminating walls and shattered buildings that had been almost invisible moments earlier.
Then—
Bang.
Bang-bang.
Bang.
A deliberate pattern of gunshots echoed through the settlement.
John, who’d been resting on the living-room rug, opened his eyes.
He stood.
Sherlock looked over.
John reached for his robe.
“Come on.”
His expression sharpened.
“The intelligence market is open.”
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