Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. All rights and characters belong to respected owners and authors.
Prompt: Who was the last person your antagonist held hands with?
Warnings: There is a torture scene. It is mildly graphic, but not like tying-your-enemies-entails-around-their-necks graphic.
Just a heads up to help you understand better:
Centered bold: Jim's inner voice
'Centered bold with quotations': Jim's inner voice in his memories
Centered italics in line with the bold: Jim talking directly to inner voice and his memories
Regular italics: Jim's thoughts
I swear it'll make sense sooner or later ;^^
Enjoy.
Saint Bartholomew's hospital is where I will end our game. It is where the game will begin.
This hospital, were it reeks of death and the living breathe stale air and the smell of bleach and sickness linger were ever you go, is where we set the board. All of our chosen pieces to our chess game will be placed in their seamless lines and then sent off to the inevitable slaughtered. This place is where I will have the pleasure of calling 'check mate' on the Great Sherlock Holmes.
It is men, and women I suppose, like Holmes and I, who are incredibly intelligent, who need to fall from their pedestals that are based on lies and truths alike. The men and women need to fall from grace in order to make a change in this cruel world with their rage. Those men need to be freed from their chains that society has entrapped them in, those chains meaning their 'correct' ideals of ethics and sympathy, their little compasses of right and wrong. Society -I have the strongest urge to call them Big Brother- hasn't even realized that they have corrupted a perfect piece of machinery or perhaps they have. They wish for anything that does not fit their norms to be obliterated. They have made my job arduous. I will have to chip away at Holmes until he is a basic man, and then warp his morals until nothing remains -if there is anything moral thing left in him that is. I will change him and morph him into something much better. So much like a phoenix, he will be reborn, and I will be the catalyst to his change by forcefully burning away his skin. I will be leaving behind something so new and raw and so disturbingly powerful that all men will fear. He will no longer be held captive by angels once I am done with him. If anything he will stand next to me hell and shake hands with the devil. It happened to me, so I'm doing him a favor. Really I am. If he were left on his own there would be no telling what would happen. Holmes would become this way on his own; I'm just speeding up the process because, to be completely honest, I'm tired of waiting.
I want to play already.
I let out a dark chuckle as the bleak, grey hallways of St. Bart's slide past while I walk aimlessly through them. They scream at me tales of mellow drama, of death, and the dull drum of everyday life of boring, stupid, little people. I hate the vile creatures. They crawl and swarm over each other and think they get closer to their god, I see them attempt it every day, only to fail and fall farther than before. I do have to admit that the strange little creatures hold some amusement for me. Their petty squabbles and their attempts to gain immortality play nicely into my plans.
The bugs will have a role to play in the man's fall. The man they once turned to, to solve their mysteries, suddenly turns into a fraud? They will be outraged. With their feelings of betrayal, barely concealed envy, and pent-up rage towards him, they will bring about Holmes' down fall and prepare my stage for the end of our great game. They will pour their hearts into tearing him down. They hold a grudging respect towards him, but the moment they have a reason to turn on him, they will take it and fly. They will sink their teeth in to that man. They will rip him to shreds.
Who ever said things have to go order? The beginning is where I find the end. Oh how poetic! Or would ironic be a better word? I do not care either way.
Of course you care, Jimmy.
I shake my head. It is not the time or place for her.
You cared about me right?
Focus.
Barts is not the flashiest place, or really even the best place to have our face down. There are far too many variables to depend upon, but it will have to do. I can only hope Holmes will already be on edge or at least close enough to it, so I can push him off of it. Or better yet, to ensure that Holmes is unhinged, I should just find his triggers, the things he holds closest to his metal heart, and destroy them. I will have to make him human.
What so bad 'bout being human? Feelings are not a weakness, you know. After all you would-
I heave a sigh.
Shut up.
It is heart breaking that I have to destroy such a beautiful piece of machinery. Considering the limited time I have it truly is the only thing I can do. This might be the greatest challenge I've had in quite some time. Getting the information I need about him will be... difficult, since I can't go about my normal way of interrogating people. I must remain unseen, unknown. So this begs the question of how on this green Earth will I get his triggers out if him, without him ever having to interact with me? I really only know what I do about him from the grape-vine, and who knows how much truth those rumors actually hold. People do tend to panic when a gun is held to their head, so who really knows.
I need to know why this place holds meaning to Holmes. I need to find why and who he comes here for. I do know he comes here for supplies for his cases, but who supplies him? Why on Earth would he need anybody though? As far as I am concerned he prefers to work alone. Why would a machine need 'friends'? Is that even the correct word to use in this situation? I know they are here though! Whoever this person is they're very good.
What does this place provide Holmes with? Freedom? Sanctuary? No, those things are trivial matters to Holmes; the only thing that matters to him would be the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline. Which brings me back to my question; why is this place is so important to that man? Dear God, I am boring myself.
Maybe if I find the person that is so important in this place first, I can manipulate them, and find the triggers from there.
I have to start with what I know. Holmes has some slight sentiment for this dreary little hospital. It's not the equipment that draws him in. He could get his supplies from anywhere else and it would also be ten times better than whatever shit is here. Something else makes him gravitate here. I assume it is a person because, like me, he must find something amusing in the pests. I know is not any if the medical staff up stairs or even the accountants and social workers. They are all pretentious bastards that get off on playing God. Or at least the closest they can get to being one. They would mess with Sherlock's God like ego. Can't have that can we? It isn't anyone simple-minded either. They would never be capable enough to keep up with him.
So this person is defiantly someone lower on the food chain, but still significantly intelligent, or at least able to think for themselves. Well at least enough to somewhat fallow his train of thought. Not even that, really, they just have to fallow Sherlock. They would have to be addicted to the adrenaline too. Perhaps this person would have some medical training. Maybe it's a-
"Jim! How weird, seeing you down here. What are you doing down here? I thought you worked upstairs with financials and technicians. I haven't seen you in a while. How are you?" her small high-pitched voice pierces my thoughts. I let out an internal groan.
Why her? Why now of all times?
The little Molly girl is frantically waving at me, while she says that, from down the hall, and from what I see out of the corner of my eye she's in a lovely little mood. Her hair is swinging around her and she has a little dimpled smile on her face. I can hear her marching towards me. Her pointy shoes click clacking on the grey tiled flooring. A horrible thorn in my side that girl is: always popping up when at the most inappropriate times. This has happened at least four times in the past couple weeks alone. Whether it's in the break room or anywhere else in this damned hospital, she always manages to find me. It is becoming really annoying, and I am quite sure she is somehow doing this on purpose.
The girl is so plain and boring. She always wanted to idle chatter about nonsensical, petty gossip over coffee none the less. A gross little thing that girl is. I have to fight to keep myself from groaning out loud and my eyes from rolling. It would kill the picture of 'Jim the nice IT guy' though. I simply cannot have that ruined. No, in the end, I need to use these people, so I have to be pleasant towards them.
But that doesn't stop me from thinking: kill me now.
I turn around to face her fully, "Oh, Hello Molly! I didn't see you there. Did I disturb you? I just wanted to browse about the hospital while I'm on break. There isn't much else to do, you know? But seeing your lovely face just made my day a little bit better! I'm okay or at least as well as I can get for an IT guy. How are you?"
This is so mundane. I've never truly understood why people idly chat. Just get to the damn point and move on. Damn social norms.
"I'm fine; it's just a friend of mine. He's been driving me up the bloody wall today. I would kill him if 1.) He weren't my friend, and 2.) he has a Detective Inspector of Scotland yard keeping tabs on him practically all day every day," she sing songs the first point and says the latter through clenched teeth, "Oh I forget the detective's name... lastrudel, lestraw? No...Oh! It's Lestrade! If it weren't for him, Sherlock would be in a ditch."
Oooooh. Molly Hooper actually has violent thoughts. Who would have thought? And to top it all off, the wonderful Molly Hooper, the one person who seems like she could do no wrong has done something naughty. The woman cursed! May the gods tremble in fear of the mighty Molly Hooper. But Lastrudel...? Really, Molly? Is that the best you can come up with?
"If I may ask, who is this friend of yours that has got you so wound-up? I don't think I've ever seen you angry- actually no-in April with the sugar versus salt issue. You ended up with the salty coffee, right? That was funny," I smile, she frowns and pointedly glares," Ugh... Anyways... Who on Earth would have a D.I keep tab on them? Is this guy a criminal or something? What's he doing here anyways?"
A potential ally maybe? I thought I hired most of the sheep, created contracts with the more exceptional criminals, and I believed I had gotten rid of the stupid ones that wouldn't cooperate. The man could have slipped through the cracks. This could be promising.
"Emphasis on the 'or something' bit. Maybe you've heard of him. His name is Sherlock Holmes.
So not a criminal after all, quite the opposite actually, but... Who, exactly, is this girl?
Molly Hooper
No criminal record. (I mean really that's the only thing that is absolutely outstanding about her. How in the world can someone be this much of a goody-two shoe at her age?)
Occupation: mortician. So she's well off financially.
Single. Bordering desperate perhaps? Rejection? Yes, judging from that small smudge of lipstick on the corner of her mouth. Cat -no she has multiple cats. Two different types of cat hair on her pants.
Her appearance is average. Blends into the masses. Upper lip too small. Too small of a nose. Mousey. Suffers from a minor case of insomnia, going by the light circles around her eyes. Perfectly average clothing choice. Brown eyes and hair. Leads an absolutely normal, boring little existence, since birth to the present. How on earth can she consider Sherlock Holmes a friend? She is nothing extraordinary! How can-
You know what, forget it. I don't even know why should I even feel need to analyze her. She isn't a threat. She can't mean anything. She is nothing. She is a mere speck of grime. A pawn if anything. I don't need to analyze her just because she simply associates herself with Sherlock Holmes.
I need to focus. It's all about the game; all about playing the simple-minded people, about fooling Sherlock Holmes. I just need them for my alibi.
My alibi has spanned my entire life, ever since Carl Powers. Back then it had been my mother who had vouched for my fourteen year old self. That had been before she had her first sneaking suspicions about my real self. Before she called me a monster and threw me out of our home. After I did her a favor, the ungrateful bitch. She never understood. She screamed and screamed, for what felt like hours, when I told her what I did for her. I learned that one is never meant to utter a word of truth in this world. When trying to fabricate my alibi, it has always worked well for me in the way that people are just attracted to me and believe in every word I mutter. If someone- one of those creatures- decided to point fingers at who is to blame for creating me, they need only to look into a mirror.
"Oh really? I'm a pretty big fan of him! I've read the papers, he's amazing! I didn't know you knew such important people, Molly!"
"Really it's nothing. He just comes 'round sometimes to do his experiments, and solve his murders and such. I only occasionally help him when he lets me." She twists her hair around her finger and fidgets. She is not used to much attention.
That's it! She's the connection to this place! She is the supplier! If I get closer to her I take one more step to get closer to him because, let me be honest, I don't know much about his personal relations. A plus side to this would be the one thing he would never expect. Little Molly Hooper being used against him. It's almost funny how fate just unfolds itself for me!
"It can't just be 'nothing' Molly! You're an attractive woman, he's foolish if he isn't trying to gobble you up and hide you away from the rest of the world. Hell, I'd do that."
Her eyes crinkle as she smiles wide, showing off her pearly whites. A blush blooms across her fair cheeks. Vibrant. Almost beautiful. Maybe she could be beautiful. Or maybe she is. I wouldn't know. I've never paid attention. I've never paid attention to Molly in general. She is like a ghost, an impression of sorts. I have only ever heard about her but I have never seen her enough to believe in her, or in her existence. I bump into her from time to time, more often in the past few weeks, I have gotten annoyed, but I never cared. I've never paid enough attention to anything as artificial as to how a person looks unless it had been a part of a job. This... This is different. I have seen countless numbers of beautiful, plastic people, hell I sleep with beautiful people all the time, but the way she smiles... it's honest.
She reminds me of someone.
'Come on Jimmy! You have 'ta learn to let go an' have some fun!'
The girl. Molly is like that girl. Molly is like the voice in my head, the girl of the voice.
The sun is blinding. I bite into an apple, and the juice runs down my chin.
The girl in a red sun dress holds out her hand to me.
'Let's go to the pool.'
I need to use her. She knows him. I should ask her out on a date and take-
"Would you like to go out with me for coffee sometime?"
Oh that's surprising. I never would have pegged Molly as being confident.
Ever.
Don't be so mean Jim. She didn't do anything to you.
"I-I would love to! How about today? When do you go on break or um get off of work?"
"I'm free now actually. Let's go now, I don't have much time left," Molly pipes.
I find myself being led out of the warm hospital and down through the busy, frosty London streets by the trivial girl.
This is so utterly ridiculous. How could I stoop so low? To be dragged around by Molly Hooper is almost as bad a dealing with politicians. It's pretty damn insulting I have to get information from her of all people.
I sigh. I can't think about that. It is far too depressing.
After we had walked for a few blocks, she suddenly stops in front of this small coffee shop. It's a little shabby around the edges, but maintained. It is well below my standards- She turns to me and smiles. How does she do that? She smiles with so much sincerity, it's shocking. It's like everything is slowing down. Her hair whips around her. Her lovely fair cheeks are on fire and her eyes radiate that same heat from the warm wooded depths of her eyes. My heart does this funny little leap in my chest -I suppose I can tolerate the stupid coffee shop. She chose it after all.
Molly beamed, "This is my favorite coffee shop in existence. It's run by Americans so they make the coffee decent, but their tea is superb..."
As we walk in she just keeps rattling on and on and on. About what, I am not completely sure. (Something about coffee and Americans.) I just have to keep on acting the part of an interested man. Simple conversation is so strenuous. I know I have to use this to my advantage. I know it is essential to find out what she knows about Sherlock and his heart. It doesn't mean I like it though.
"Molly, what's it like working with the Great Sherlock Holmes?"
"It's- well um- it's different. Every time he gets a new case it's almost stranger than the last. He gets really excited about the really unusual ones. Those are the ones the police tend to need help on; no one likes to admit that though, you know, because they need Sherlock to help them. The D.I. I told you about earlier, he's the one that gets the cases for Sherlock with Scotland Yard. The D.I. has known Sherlock longer than I have. He helped Sherlock through some tough times. I glad I only had to see the tail end of it," at the mention of this time, Molly has a haunted, hallow, faraway look in her eye. She shakes her head and continues, "His experiments are interesting as well. He truly is a genius, Jim. It's amazing that I can still learn about skills I thought I have already mastered completely."
Molly has a far off look in her eyes. Maybe there is more to her fascination with him. Could it be? She has a crush on him. How juvenile can one get before they are considered a child? Sherlock sure can pick them can't he? That thing I said earlier about using Molly against him just got a bit more dramatic. Now I can use the fact that she 'loves' him to my greatest advantage. Meaning she'll never shut up about him. Oh how the odds are ever in my favor.
I think I will need to get rid of the Detective. From what I can tell he serves as stimulation to Sherlock. Or protection perhaps. I can't touch the brother, so I'll take the Detective away and I leave Sherlock a little bit more unhinged and on edge. Perfect.
But I need more.
"Tell me about his deductions. How on Earth can he do the things his blog says does?"
"I don't know how his deductions work. He goes to this place he calls his Mind Palace. I guess that's just his special way of remembering things and storing them away. It's funny when he goes there. He tends to complain about people thinking too loud. I've been yelled at more than a few times when we first met for that. I've learned to avoid him when he gets into his moods."
"How interesting. What is he like?"
"Rude, but he is a genius." She crosses her arms effectively cutting off that avenue of conversation.
Sounds exactly like you, doesn't it?
I ignore her.
We chatter some more until Molly realizes the time.
"...well I think it's time for me to get back to work. This was fun. We should do this again soon, okay," she smiles hopefully. She knows rejection well.
"Of course I would love to, Molly," I smile back to her.
She gives me her number in exchange for mine. I am expecting a call from her very soon.
Molly turns to leave, but before she leaves, she says, "How about we go to a movie. How about a week from now? Is that okay?"
"With dinner?"
"Around six?"
"It's prefect," I grin.
I guess this wasn't a complete waste of my time. I can at least put the D.I Lestrade on my list.
I am going to set this man and his entire family on fire. His genes should no longer taint the human race.
He really is despicable.
I turn and face the blindfolded, chained man, and I really have to wonder sometimes how simple beings even function. Do they all act this way under stress? This man looks so pitiful. He has been down in the cellar for days, or has it been a few weeks, I don't know, but he smells of sweat, piss, and the heavy metallic smell of blood. He looks even worse.
The blood from his punishment earlier in the day is causing his hair to mat and clump together in odd tuffs. His skin is a pallet of colors. It shins pink and white for the burns, red for blood, yellow for puss and ageing bruises, green for infected blood flowing from the amputated stumps that remain of his fingers, blue and purple from his newest beatings, and black the bruising around his eyes from his lack of sleep.
He is a disgusting mess, and now he is curled up on the floor, like a simpering child. How on Earth does one go from a mercenary to this poor excuse of a man? He broke within the first few hours. How he ever made it into my small army confuses me to the core. After him I better take it up with the recruiters and put some bullets in their heads.
"Take it like a man should."
He cowers and moans. He's desperate. He claws at the floor, losing what looks like... the fifth nail, and he pulls at his chains. Most of his nails have been pried off but some to hang on for dear life. Clawing and the floor isn't going to help him. I don't understand why he insists on doing it. It probably hurts.
He's moaning for mercy and for a God that won't come. He knows I'm here now. He knows what's going to happen.
"Did I or did I not tell you not to kill that girl", I roar out at the pitiful excuse of a human being. I feel the spit flying out of my mouth. If it were possible I would be foaming at the mouth. This stupid man could have ruined everything!
Snot and blood dribble down his chin; he croaks out, "You didn't! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I didn't know what to do! She started screaming and I couldn't get her to shut up!"
"So you thought it was a good idea to kill her?"
"It-I- She managed to get a hand free, so I-I-I just hit her on the head! Just to knock her out! I didn't know I hit her so hard! I didn't think it could kill her! I didn't think I could kill her with a little hit on the head! I panicked! The man I met on the street said you were going to kill me after everything was done. So I ran! I'm sorry! I'm sorry... "
"I see the problem. You don't have a brain. Let me spell it out for you. Of Course she was meant to live, you stupid piece of shit! What in the bloody Hell do you think we're doing? We had her father paying us millions for her! We were going to kill her after you received the money. Don't you remember? That was the plan! You almost led Scotland Yard here in your frenzy. Well it's a good thing I found you first. Isn't Jason?"
The man starts to shake violently. His head rolls lifelessly on his shoulders until his chin comes to rest on his chest.
"Oh Mr. Todd. You were supposed to listen to me. I had such great plans for you," I take a deep breath," You made me lose a lot of money Jason. I'm very cross with you. You know my mother always told me to never trust a man with two first names."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know, I'm sorry..."
"Okay, well, you're getting really boring fast, how about this?"
I pull down his blind fold and tie it around his mouth. He starts to scream when he sees my gun, but at least it's muffled. It's much better than the sniveling earlier.
"See Jason this is how you get people to shut up properly."
I ready my gun and I crouch down in front of him.
I can feel his fear tainting the air. It lays heavy on my shoulders, but it feels magnificent. I'm getting chills running up and down my spine from the sheer anticipation.
I rest the barrel of my gun against the center of Jason's head, right in between the eyes.
This would paint such a pretty picture.
"You silly man. He was right you know. Of course I was going to kill you afterwards. Well you and your darling baby girl."
I smile and he starts screaming.
Suddenly Molly's ring tone chimes.
I slide my phone out from my pocket, I place finger over my lips," One word out of you and I will keep you down here for another week," I say, never breaking eye contact with Jason.
"Hello?"
"Hey Jim, Could you stop by the office today? I know it's your day off, but I want you to meet a friend of mine."
It's strange. He is starting to cry. I cock my head to the side. What a disgusting thing. I sigh and shake my head. Some people nowadays have no shame.
"Oh yes Molly dear I'd love to. I'll get rid of my trash then I'll be with you in a few."
"Okay! Bye Jim."
"Bye dear," I hang up the phone and slip it back into my pocket, "Oh where were we? Ah yes I remember."
BANG.
Grey for the brain matter splattered against the wall.
Damn it.
I got the bastards blood on my shoe.
The voice in my head is oddly silent.
(A/n)
So this is going to be my first multi chapter fic! I am super excited. I only have about one or two chapters left. I hope update within one or two weeks from now. So um tell me what you think about it so far!
Oh before I forget, the ring tone that Jim uses for Molly is a song called Close to You by the Carpenters. The Mirrormask version of this song was the inspiration for this story along with said prompt above^! ^w^
Edit: Jan. 20th 2015: Okay so the next chapter is taking far longer than I thought it would take so if you could be patient with me! Thank you!
Please drop a review, pm, or favorite!