John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt – Sherlock is my name too!
Pale hands with long fingers grip the paper with agitation. " Sherlock Holmes solves Jewel Heist" is the headline splashed across the front page. Sherlock this, Sherlock that! It makes life so difficult with a name like that in the papers. My name splashin' headlines almost daily. I glower at the headline refusing to read the article stamped below. I run my fingers through my hair in exasperation, brow furrowing. No doubt later there will be a tension headache. My phone rings through my small flat jarring me from my silence. It's a simple text.
It's all set up for you, in then out. Don't disappoint me- JM
I stare until the screen goes dark, this is it. This is my chance to prove myself. I compose a quick reply, my hands tremble with the thrill of the game. Before I can finish another message pops up.
347 West Warrington Bank, 2:31pm. I'm counting on you Sherlock- JM
Phone slipping into the nearest pocket. I pull my grey bellstaf over my shoulders and my green scarf around my neck. The game is afoot.
The London air is brisk and yet the streets remain crowded. This perhaps, is going to be more challenging than I first thought. I come upon West Warrington Bank as it aproches the 2:30 mark. Later than I would have hoped, I will have to move quickly now. I enter the bank with my head high and my eyes watching. I wave a badge as I pass security and move deeper into the bank. I have 30 seconds to get to my destination. I move quicker, my legs stretching to the furthest they can reach. Then I wait. My phone flashes the word, NOW, and I set out working the computer to open the vault. It should take me no less than 30 seconds. Im almost through the minimal security when I hear it, Sirens. Just my luck. My fingers type quicker and im in, I throw open the vault and grab the box marked 347 and turn on heel, right into the arms of Scotland Yard. Ah bloody hell.
The lights over head gave the room a garish off white glow, as if its only purpose was to blind me and leave me cofused. It wasn't working. I sat confortably in the folding chair provided, arms acrossed my chest and staring at the mirror I knbew they were watching me through. When DI Gregson came back he had a smile on his face. The kind that looked far to much like the cat that ate the canary. I looked at him with a blank expression, judging his reaction to my indifference. He looked at me as if he had already won.
'name?' his tone was smug, and I rolled my eyes.
'Sherlock' I said feigning disinterest. The look on his face, pure confusion, made me sit forward in my chair. 'What is it Detective Inspector? You don't think my name is fitting?' I ask with innocence. He blanches ever so slightly.
' You silly girl, tell me your real name!' he growles. He doesn't look as angry as he sounds but the trembling in his hand gives him away.
'What is the matter Detective Inspector Gregson? Is there something wrong with the name Sherlock?" I ask in a soft tone, the name Sherlock coming from my lips in a seductive whisper. He swallows roughly. Eying me as I shrug out of my bellstaff and remove my green silk scarf. His eyes dart to my cleavage before returning to me face.
'Don't toy with me miss, your are in a lot of trouble, your name. if you please.' His voice is strained as he tries to look at my face, scanning for lie.
' I told you, my name is Sherlock. Sherlock Agitha Fletcher. Age 19. Born and raised here in London.'
He sneers at me, coming to the conclusion on his own that I am lying. ' I am going to humor you, Sherlock.' He says my name with disgust. ' you were caugt robbing a bank today, in south London, is that right.'
I nod. ' yes, that would appear to be the case. You did catch me robbin' a bank in south London.'
He grins wider. ' and did you know that the box you stole fron the vault was empty? Cleared out just last week.'
I swallow painfully, panic washing over me before I could force it down. I had broken in, for an empty box. Moriarty had sent me in knowing full well the box was empty. That is the only way I would have been caught. If I had gone in after a box full of something that he wanted, I would have been a ghost in the bank.
'No. I had no idea the box was e-empty. ' my voice wavers at the end and I swallow the bile of panic rising in my throat. I take a deep breath as he turns away, composing myself. The only thing to give me away is my tembling hands which I have hiden in the folds of my coat.
' what were you after then? If you risked being caught for an empty box. What were you looking for? Hmmm?' he is now leaning against the far wall, looking me up and down. The look on his face sugest that he feels he has the upper hand and right now, im almost worried he does. His eyes flicker once more to my prominent cleavage and I instantly regret this blouse.
' sir, I sugest if you are going to continue this interiogation that you look up at my face and not my breasts. Or I will refuse to speak anymore and you can leave.' I say with a smug smile, anything to give me the upper hand. And then I sit up straighter sdjusting my shirt just enough to pull it lower and show the top of my black lace bra. When he speaks, his voice is rougher.
'what were you looking for?' he is now infront of me, leaning on the table.
I shrung non-commitedly ' oh I dunno, money? Hell. I wasn't told what was in the box.' I cross my legs.
He looks at me then jumps as my cell phone, that has been laid out on the table, goes off. He picks it up and checks the message.
DI Gregson, please relay my message on to DI Lestrade. I've Got it.- JM
without a word, Gregson leaves the room, taking my phone with him and I let out an shaking breath. Moriarty let me get caught. He promised me that if I did these things for him he would keep me out of the hands of the yard. Put me up in a respectable flat. Pay my mothers rehab… I growl and slam my fist aginst the metal table. Pain shoots up my arm and I push out of the chair. In at the mirror before I can stop myself. I slam my hands against it, and lean in. my face is that of grim determination.
' I have a message for Jim Moriarty. You tell him, that I am done doing his dirty work. ' I look up to the camera in the corner above me where I know he is watching. ' You hear that James! I am don't being your little lap dog. I don't care if your paying for my mother rehab. I am going to fine you and I am going to end you. After all. I o u. ' I write across the mirror as I speak. Then I slam my fist into it, shattering the glass and cutting up my now broken knuckles. As the adrenaline wears off I feel sick. I now have a room full of yarders. DI Lestrade is one of them. I recognize him from the telly. He stares, not directly at me, but at my broken and bleeding hand that I have resting on the table. Nobody has made a move to help me. The aching of broken bones twitches up my arm and the burn of broken skin only an after thought to the pain.
Im watching the watch on DI Gregsons' wrist tick away the time, 5 minutes, 10, 30… and my hand is no better. I grind me teeth together to keep from crying. I am usually far better than this at hiding what I feel, Moriarty made it so. But here, know full well that he is the reason I am about to be locked up for a bank robbery, I am terrified and I feel like the 19 year old girl that I am. When I speak again, my voice is unsteady. ' please, he's paying my mothers rehab…' I don't know where I am going with this. ' He promised to take care of me, until my mom was better. Said if I did small jobs for him that he would protect me. Keep me out of the hands of the yard. If I did…what ever he asked of me, without question. This was my last job. He promised me that this was the last robbery I would ever do. I assumed that he meant that my debt to him was paid with this. But now I understand that he meant that this was my last robbery ever because I would be caught and imprisoned. But jail time is far better than if I had succeeded and went back to him. He… likes to celebrate.' I almost whisper the last words. My voice has leveled out to this hollow falt sound that makes me sick to just hear. Lestrade pulls out his phone. I watch his fingers carefully. I can almost read what he is sending.
Moriarty. Come to the Yard. Someone you should speak to.-DI L
But before I can ask who he is texting, a man walks in wearing a coast and scarf far to similar to the ones that Jim bought me. My breath catches in my throat as he looks at me. His blue eyes icy and calculating sweep over me with speed and then he is looking away. But my eyes are glued to him. His dark curly hair, skin as pale as moonlight, blue eyes that carry so much knowledge. I watch his lips move. Full and pink. His voice is a a gravely baratone. He smirks. DI Lestrade does not look pleased, but he leave the room and I am alone with Sherlock Holmes.
There are times when I should be respectful and time when I should be open and forthcoming about everything. Im not sure what this time is. Sherlock stares at me with a cold gaze for a few moments before speaking.
' Sherlock Agitha Fletcher, age 19. Hair a deep red/brown, eyes green. Your mother is in rehab for uses of meth and heroine, a very leathal combination, likely that she wont live through the detox and she keeps relapsing. Your worried about her, but angery with her as well. The twitch in your left hand suggests that even though your have a very control expression on right now, you are scared and in pain from smashing the one way behind me. You are afraid of going to jail, and rightfully so, Moriarty promised to keep you safe if you did what ever he asked of you. Rob banks and jewelry stores and the like and when you were successful he would be in your home waiting for you, to celebrate. He used your body then. Told you that your were a good girl doing this for your mother. And then he would-'
'STOP! JUST STOP!' I cry out before I can stop myself. Tears stream down my face and I look at him with anger. My whole body is tremblingas I a remember the long nights where jim convinced me that he loved me, that I was his and… and… I shake my head to fight off the memory and stand. I am not very tall compared to , but I stand with confidence. For a brief moment he seems surprised by my outburst. Then he speaks again.
'Where is Jim Moriarty?'
'I don't know, he always comes to me, or sends me a text.' My voice shakes as I speak but I hold my ground infront of the worlds only consulting detective. He scans my face. Clearly looking for signs that I am lying. His phone pings.
Better watch out Sherly, the young miss Fletcher is on death road. –JM
He glowers at the text and turns on heel.
"Miss Fletcher, if you would come with me please.' He doesn't look at me. ' we need to speak with Lestrade and get you a Doctor for your hand.'
Capitan John H. Watson, Doctor. His hands work quickly over mine, as gentle as possible, removing the shards or mirror from my hand. He doesn't look at me but he doesn't have to. He stops for a moment and looks up.
'Sherlock, you are going to have to stop shaking, I know its hard but I will be able to move much quicker if you can. Okay?' his voice is gentle and I nod my head meekly. I can do that, right? I tense my body to keept from trembling and wait. My eyes fall over his shoulder and I gaze upon Sherlock, who has his hands steepled infront of his face, eyes shut.
'Don't stare Sherlock, its annoying.' He says without even opening his eyes. I tense even more, and John laughs.
'Don't worry, he isn't a people person. Anything rude he says to you just ignore.' John says as he finishes my hand. I nod, and stand up next to him.
'Thank you Doctor Watson, and Thank you Mister Holmes. Now if I am not going to be held here, I need to go back to my flat, I need a shower and a cuppa.' I do my best to keep the tremble out of my voice.
Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at me over his shoulder.
' that wont be happening Miss fletcher, your boss has sent me a message. You are to be put to death, by his hand probably.'
' he is going to kill me?' I scoff though i can feel my insides shake. ' I'd like to see him try.'