A Honey 'Verse Great Game

Prologue

He hated visiting prisons. Especially foreign ones. They were always so dank and dark and depressing. He smiled a bit to himself at his own alliteration but quickly composed his face back to smoothness when the guard turned to look at him.

He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be at home with his John. But he had promised John that he'd go see this inmate that was asking for his help. He hadn't wanted too but when John got that look in his eyes he knew better than to argue. Still, John was going to pay for forcing this indignity upon him.

He let his mind plan and categorize all the different ways to have his revenge on his husband as he was led through the security. The guard on the right was in the middle of a messy divorce, two children and a dog. The other one was meeting his almost girlfriend after work for drinks and hopefully more though the guard was nearly positive it wouldn't happen. He was probably right.

They waved him through the door to the visiting area with bored expressions. Another guard met him and led him down the hall to a large room with tables and steel chairs. She looked him over appraisingly and then seemed to shake off any attraction. Low self-esteem, thought she was larger than she actually was, a string of bad relationship and the only company she had was a…zinnia that was dying from lack of attention. He refused to feel any pity for her though. Self-help books were a dime a dozen and any of those would help her far more than his assessments would.

He silently took a seat at one of the tables and waited for the accused to be brought to him. He was rather entertained at the inventive images his mind was supplying for his revenge on his John. It was only too bad that John liked chocolate sauce on anything but his sheets.

Sherlock glanced up when the door opened again and then scowled down at the table. Guilty. Boring. Dull. What he wouldn't give for something, anything, to make him think. He was going insane with nothing to do but think us new ways to make John squirm and scream in ecstasy or irritation.

"Mr. Holmes?" Mr. Bewick asked hesitantly as he sat across from Sherlock. He was clean-shaven and clean but there was a look in his eyes that told his story. He wasn't remorseful at all. He was proud of what he'd done and simply didn't think he'd be caught. More fool him. Sherlock didn't help the guilty get off of the charges they brought on themselves. "You are Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and his scowl deepened. "Obviously," he drawled, who else would he possibly be? He waved a hand negligently towards the man. "Just tell me what happened from the beginning," he instructed in a curt tone.

Mr. Bewick wrapped his hands around each other and nodded slowly. He seemed to gather himself and drew in a breath to start his story. "We'd been to a bar," he said slowly and Sherlock kept his huff of exasperation to himself. He was already bored and the man had barely said ten words. John was going to be paying for this for years. "Nice place," Bewick commented. "And I got chatting with one of the waitresses," on purpose to make his girlfriend jealous no doubt, Sherlock surmised. "And Karen weren't happy with that," wasn't, Sherlock corrected in his head. Bewick gave a helpless shrug. "So when we get back to the hotel, we end up having a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?" Pride laced his voice for anyone that would care to notice. He'd engineered an argument so that he could kill his girlfriend and move on to someone new.

Sherlock let out a bored sigh and watched his breath cloud in the chilly air. Bewick glared and Sherlock simply stared at him in an effort to force him to move things along. He wanted to go home already. Belarus was even more boring than London at the moment. Mostly because John hadn't come with him but even if John had been here he'd still be bored nearly out of his mind.

Bewick finally relented and continued with his narrative. "She was always getting at me, sayin' I weren't a real man." The frown showed how insulted he was with that insult to his manhood.

Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. Enough was enough already. He was already bored beyond belief he shouldn't have to put up with the absolutely travesty of Bewick execrable grammar. What was wrong with the schools these days? Grammar was easy especially when speaking. "Wasn't a real man," he corrected the man aloud.

Confusion clouded Bewick expression and alleviated a bit of the boredom pounding on Sherlock's brain. "What?" He asked belligerently wondering if this skinny, alien-looking man on the other side of the table was insulting him too.

"It's not 'weren't', it's 'wasn't'," Sherlock explained in a bland tone. Grammar lesson over for the moment. Hope you learned something, he thought to himself though he held out little hope for that. Bewick was a mean, ignorant little man that thought the whole world owed him something.

Bewick's head nodded in a gesture of understanding but his eyes gained a coldness that would have made Sherlock feel a bit edgy if the other man weren't handcuffed. A part of his mind reminded him that he hadn't brought along his admirable shield. Should Bewick get loose John wasn't there to protect him. "Oh."

The two men shared a long stare. Then Sherlock's extremely limited patience gave out. "Go on," he encouraged if only to get this over with so that he could go home.

Bewick smirked as though he won something and Sherlock resisted rolling his eyes at the other man. Bewick wetted his lips with his tongue and gave a shake of his head. "Well, then I don't know how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands." A touch too much pleasure in the telling, so completely unremorseful for taking the life of a woman he'd claimed to love. "You know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives." Bewick leaned forward, earnestness painting his expression. Callouses on his fingers told the truth of that statement. "He learned us how to cut up a beast." His eyes shined in the dim light, pleasure suffusing them.

"Taught," Sherlock interrupted before he could censor himself. Though the confusion and growing anger in the other man's face was amusing. Still…there was that niggling feeling that he was baiting a lion without the tamer around to stop it from attacking. He really should have found a way to make John come with him.

"What?" Bewick snapped furiously.

"Taught you how to cut up a beast," Sherlock explained in his coldest tones. Obviously Bewick hadn't paid attention in school.

Bewick drew in a deep breath in an effort to center himself and put on a mask of amiability. Sherlock wasn't fooled in the least. "Yeah, well, then I done it."

"Did it," Sherlock corrected again, unable to stop himself. John was always on him about his impetuousness. Maybe he should listen sometime.

"Did it!" Bewick shouted and slammed a hand on the table. "Stabbed her over and over and over," he struck the table again every time he said 'over'. "And I looked down and she weren't…" Sherlock sighed and Bewick glared. "Wasn't moving no more," Sherlock stared at the ceiling in a vain attempt to call up his patience. "Any more," Bewick ground out. Bewick folded his hands together again and stared down at them. "God help me," he said softly. "I don't know how it happened, but it was an accident, I swear." He finally looked like the regretful lover he claimed to be but again it wasn't fooling Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, bit back a disappointed groan and uncrossed his legs in preparation to stand. Bewick's eyes widened. Sherlock put his palms flat on the table and stood up, pushing his chair backwards with a screech of metal on concrete. He refused to allow this man to know that he was even a little bit concerned about his ability to break out of those chains.

"Hey!" Bewick called after him as Sherlock walked away. "You've gotta help me, Mr. Holmes." Shrelock paused but kept his back to Bewick. "Everyone says you're the best." Oh he was but there was nothing he could or would do to help Bewick. He didn't assist the guilty he only found the truth and the truth was that Bewick had murdered his girlfriend. "Without you, I'll get hung for this."

Sherlock turned halfway around and smirked at the other man, looking just as pleased as if he'd found the crown jewels in his pocket. "No, no, no, Mr. Bewick, not at all." Sherlock's smirk widened. "Hanged, yes." Sherlock turned away and walked from the room. A futile trip but at least John couldn't yell at him for not going and John would be fine with him not taking the case once he knew the details. On top of that…there was revenge to be handed out. That would keep the boredom at bay for a few hours anyway. They would both enjoy the revenge. They always did.