LIMITLOCK FIC (A Sherlock and Limitless crossover)
I do not own Limitless T.V show, and the characters are not my own, however, the scene and the challenges that I have put them in, are my own, and the story will play out according to me. Hope you enjoy!
It had certainly been a long 5 hours for Brian Finch, who had listed, researched, and finally caught all of the FBI's 10 most wanted criminals, which, he had to admit, was a lot of work, even while on NZT, which boosted his senses and reflexes beyond any measure.
"Ok, let us go through the list again," Finch exclaimed to Naz Pooran, the head of the special operation taskforce at the CJC. "So, number 10 was Adrian Motley – a nutjob, and a case as boring as waiting for women to get dressed. Number 9, I believe, is in your custody already, Aaron Warner, the first criminal I caught, well not literally but you get the point, today. Number 8 – the name just slipped out of my mind, and I'm too lazy to use perfect recall, anyways, you have him now, and number 7 was killed by the number 4, who we have with us, sitting locked in the interrogation room, and number 6 is just coming in, and number 5 is already…" He was interrupted by Naz, who had an incredulous expression on her face, her thin frame slightly bent, as if she was exhausted herself.
"It is a one-time offer, Finch. Take it or leave it. I give you a holiday for today, and maybe tomorrow, if you want." Naz declared to Brian in a high-pitched screech, which was successful in being heard over his constant ranting. "How can I take a day off, when Rebecca is stuck in a dull meeting, Boyle is busy catching the number 2 on the most-wanted list, and Mike and Ike are on vacation." "Who am I supposed to celebrate this day off with, and besides, there are just 4 hours left in the day," Brian ranted on unconsciously. Suddenly, Brian's face contorted into a smile, and a look of complete surprise crossed his features. "Did you just say I can have tomorrow off as well? Hell yeah, I'm in!"
"You know I can dismiss you on spot for using a cuss word in my cubicle! And what about Rebecca, who is the prime of your concerns, what about her? Now you are going to just let her suffer in that dull meeting?" Naz mocked Finch, but he already had a reply, even before the banter registered completely in his mind. "No, I feel very displeased to leave Rebecca to her suffering, but you gotta understand this, that the nearby ice-cream shop is almost as if calling my name, and has experienced me walking past it several times, now that I have the opportunity, I intend to befriend the ice-cream guy, so I can have real friends, aside from those in the CJC. And besides, Rebecca and Boyle can always join me later!" Finch retaliated with an exasperated look, to which he was pretty sure Naz would give in to.
"Stop all that drama and acting, and now off you run, before I start having second thoughts!" As soon as he heard those words, he literally bolted out of Naz's cubicle, ripped his jacket off, changed to a casual tee and shorts, and out he went, running, towards the ice-cream stall. He was dimly aware of Naz smiling behind him, clearly enjoying that little banter.
When Brian reached the ice-cream stall, he had a wide expression of satisfaction on his face, because Naz never gave anyone a day off. Even Boyle, the best officer, without NZT in the whole task force, had never gotten a day off. Brian had set an example today and he was proud of it. He was pretty sure that when he entered the office, after his one and a half days off, people would start talking about him. Even more, than they already do, anyway.
Almost everyone in the task force knew Brian. They remembered him as the wasted, spoilt youth who the CJC themselves had given an offer for the job in the task force. The spoilt bastard, who had an almost miraculous transformation. Now he was the smartest in the whole of CJC. In just one day, he had gone from sitting wasted in the streets, to being one of the finest of the task force, which was a major development, even for his parents, and the people above him in the task force.
"How are you, my ice-cream man? Do I know you?" Brian cried out to the handler of the ice-cream stall, the one who prepared, and finally sold the ice-creams, thus earning money. Brian was feeling very positive now, so he would have done almost any dare, except the stupid ones that, sometimes, his friends used to give.
"Get away from my stall, sod. I'm already having a bad day, I don't want to see your face and make it worse." The ice-cream man told him, with a sunken expression, where his eyebrows were sunken down, and his face was a flurry of different emotions. "Why are you so rude man, what did I do to you? This is my first time coming here. If you keep greeting people with this attitude, you can lose your job, and then you will start drinking, that may be fatal to you, and the disease is incurable, and then you wait for your seventies or eighties, and then death, because your situation would be so helpless." Brian analyzed, "trust me, you don't wanna challenge my k0nowledge about people and general knowledge. And by the way, coming to the point, what did I ever do to you?"
"You came to my stall one night, all drunk, and then…." The ice-cream man started.
"Okay okay, one thing about me, I am changed now, I don't drink very much, except for in parties, and I'm sorry for whatever I did. You just got to understand that I'm a changed man, and this changed man is dying for a cone of Belgium chocolate chip ice-cream, with rainbow sprinkles and extra chocolate chips, please!" Brian interrupted and concluded.
The ice-cream guy handed Brian the cone sulkily, and almost immediately looked away. Brian sensing some more of the hate that the ice-cream guy had given him, went and sat away from the guy, on a bench, and proceeded to observe the world around him.
The ice-cream rejuvenated his senses and gave him a positive feeling about the day. A positive intuition, rather. That something good will happen. He looked back at the ice-cream man and saw what looked like tears streaming down his face. It was plausible that the ice-cream man had held as long as he could, and just when he thought no one was watching, he had let it all out.
The situation didn't take long to get awkward. Brian was bad with all these things, especially with comforting another human being, and NZT made that harder. His mind was in over-drive now, because he did want to help the man, but he could think of nothing to say to him.
Just for the sake of the sobbing man, Brian decided to use perfect recall, just so that he could remember what he had read, if he had read, about how to comfort somebody. As he went back, he remembered a book he had read a long time ago. The author had presented a relatively simple theory of comforting a crying person.
The first step was to identify the reason behind the emotions. It was certainly not plausible for Brian to just go right to the ice-cream man, and ask him the reason for his crying, because, as it is certainly evident, the ice-cream man and Brian had a bit of history between them, when Brian had come drunk to his shop and then had abused and stolen from him. So that wouldn't be an appreciated approach by both parties. So, what could he do?
Think, he told himself, think. He had almost forgotten that he was still on NZT, and he could just identify the problem by observing and analyzing the man himself.
Clothes, shoes, rings, beard, everything had to be considered. So, he got to work.
Brian had, just last week, received his advance payment for working for the CIA in a black-op. he had that money, in cash, in his wallet, and it equaled around 20k if he was not wrong, which often he was not.
It didn't take long for Brian to identify the cause, and he walked right up to the man and offered him the 20k.
"Why are you giving me this, kid? An ice-cream doesn't cost that much. With that you'll be able to buy around ten thousand ice-creams like the one you are now, so enthusiastically, devouring." The ice-cream man exclaimed. "Is it your son or daughter?" Brian asked keenly.
"I'm sorry, what?" The ice-cream man looked puzzled.
"Is it your son, or your daughter in a surgery?" Brian acutely replied.
"Son," said the man. "But how did you know? I don't remember telling you anything like that."
"Oh, it's perfectly obvious, ice-cream man. According to statistics, the biggest reason for people to cry is because of loss, either death or rejection, and yes, rejection does count as a loss. Now, if we put that in your perspective, you have tattooed a name on your arm, judging by the almost faded ink, you got it done around 10 years back, and judging by that faded ink again, you have, recently, tried to make the tattoo go away, and despite your try, it didn't, and since then, you have stopped trying, which is suggestive of either a divorce, or a death, but I'm willing to bet on divorce, because of your violent effort in getting that tattoo washed. Now, I'm willing to bet you did nothing wrong, and she just left you, which can be deduced from you working hard day and night, which is also suggestive of the fact that you are trying to make ends meet, possibly for your child, whose custody you have rightfully retained. Now, there is an advanced working hours board on your stall, which is suggestive of you working overtime, which may also be suggestive of the fact that you need more money, and since you are crying, something is wrong with your child, because a parent normally doesn't cry that hard, and the possibility of the spouse is out of question, since I recently deduced that you are divorced." Brian ranted, in a fast voice, as if explaining something very obvious to an amateur, which may definitively have been the case here. "And there was no way of guessing if it was the son or the daughter. So just keep the money."
Brian pushed the money towards the ice-cream man, who took it reluctantly, his hand shaking, and his mouth hung open, as if he had just seen a UFO in the middle of the sky.
Finally, the man found words, "all that is good, kid, but never call me the ice-cream man again, or I will end your supply of free ice-creams, which I am about to bestow upon you now."
Brian smiled and went away, and found himself a silent corner, facing the busy road, as he enjoyed his ice-cream, and looked out onto the street, simultaneously.
There were all kinds of people roaming the streets of New York – some with their children, and some bachelors, like him. Most people carried a Starbucks in one hand, and had headphones around their neck, temporarily disconnecting from the outside world, and going about their actual business, as they would do on any normal day. No one seemed to give a damn about the others, and it was often that people, disconnected from the world, bumped into each other, spilling each other's coffee, which often served as nothing more, but entertainment for Brian, who was now almost all alone on the street, since most people had already gone by their businesses, leaving Brian to wonder at the different mentalities that people were being born with.
Finally, he was bored and decided to go and enjoy at his flat, the only one way he knew how to enjoy – with his Sinbad.
As he entered his flat, provided to him by the CJC, he freshened up, and then he sat on the couch, switched on the A.C and got some comfy pillows, just to get into the mood and set the atmosphere.
There his dear Sinbad sat, her bottom as rounded as a tennis ball, and her body so smooth, so touchable. So white. And on her back, were the words 'Sinbad' inscribed in bold, Chinese black ink. Her neck. Oh, her neck! The most lovable part of her whole structure. Her neck was as thin as a demijohn's, which curved upwards, putting emphasis on her top, that she now, very gracefully, flaunted, when caught Brian staring at it. The whole sight of her was luring him to her, her chocolate body waiting to be held, to be touched, and to be used in the most animalistic way possible. And Brian dived right in.
Sinbad is Brian's bong, just to make things clear so that your interpretation is not of something gross.
He loved how, with every swig of the smoke, his body was affected. His heart started palpitating lightly, and he could almost see his lungs expanding to suck the smoke right in. It gave him a kind of a kick, that he just couldn't get from eating fatty foods, or by drinking a lot.
He got comfortable and pushed his head down onto the pillow, and his eyes shut automatically, and he drifted into a deep slumber.
"Hello, my name is Brian Finch and I just jumped in front of a raging locomotive … or train, or rail, or whatever you seemingly delusional people call a high-speeding vehicle that runs on magnetic tracks and is commanded by a driver who is ever so turned off.
Anyway, if my calculations are correct, the locomotive will stop within 1.3246 centimeters of my feet, and hopefully, will not kill me. And if it doesn't stop, well, then there wouldn't be any story to tell. Simple, right?
My heart thumped like a loudspeaker. My cardiac muscles contracting by the millisecond, as I saw the locomotive raging, hurtling at me at almost a blinding pace.
Oh My God, it is not going to stop! I wondered to myself, debating whether my calculations had gone incorrect somewhere. After about 3.334 seconds of clear thinking, I determined that there was no fault in my calculations. The train should stop where I predicted it to stop. Well, it should, unless…
Shit! I thought to myself. The one factor that was not based on math, which was just based on pure luck, was the driver's agility. In case you are wondering, yes, I had just assumed that the driver wouldn't have had a boring day at work today, I had just assumed that he would not have done any overnight shifts today, I had just assumed that he was not feeling sleepy, and most importantly, I had just assumed that he would be paying attention to the railway track while driving the locomotive.
Normally, I am a very reflective person and don't do many silly mistakes, but when I do, I do not simply let them go. Well, today is not the day. I figured that it would be best to encourage myself that I had lived a long enough life, having enjoyed all the pleasures that my life had to offer me, paying every debt that my life ever asked of me. I would be free at last. Free from all the pain of losing someone important, free from the failures and disappointments that we all have grown to become, free from the hustle and bustle of our everyday lives, and most importantly, free from the fear of failing. And suddenly, dying didn't seem so bad.
See the power of the human brain, one second, we believe something, and the next second, it's gone. Everything disappears so fast. Time flies.
The sound of the raging locomotive snapped me out of my shock, which left me in a daze. I desperately looked for changes in the distance or the speed of the locomotive or any other factor that, in any way, could affect the time it would take the locomotive to crash with me. And that is when I noticed the pungent smell that hung around in the air – the smell of turning gears, the smell of grease… spilling. This could just mean one thing, I wretchedly told myself, the locomotive was picking up speed.
My mind fumbled, and I could literally hear the gears in my brain turn, as I ran all the possibilities in my mind. If I take off now, I may not even make it to the platform in time, and if I don't make a run for it, I might die knowing that I could have done something in the final moment, I could have reacted. It was the last and the perfect opportunity, if I take off now, I would make the platform just in time to get out of the way of the locomotive. Perfect opportunity…
Yet, there I stood, stubborn as an elephant's leg – well, no bendin' in her. This is no time for jokes, I chided myself. The locomotive was still within my ears' reach.
The locks in my brain twisted, and my heart pulverized, it was thumping so loudly and heavily, it was almost in my chest now. My body was trembling, as if I had been drenched in iced water during Winters. The feeling was just horrifically gruesome.
Yes, I knew I would pay one day, I knew I would pay for being a jerk to my family, and friends, and my dates – unless somebody is wondering… but not this way. This is a horrible way to die, even for me, who deserves the ghastliest death.
I cannot die like this. Not here. My nerves were throbbing with a much-quickened pulse, and my whole system was on fire. I cannot die like this. Not here.
I cannot die like this. Not here.
I cannot die like this. Not here.
I cannot die like this. Not here.
I cannot die like this. Not here.
All the while, the train coming dangerously close to the distance I had predicted,
Closer, closer, closer, closer, closer
Until it crossed my predicted distance.
And it didn't stop.
And in that final moment, I was truly myself, no excuses. I had gained nothing, I had lost nothing. I was free, after all the pain and suffering, all my achievements and failures, wins and losses.
Truly, spiritually free."
Brian awoke with a jolt to the sound of a creak on his door. He was still on NZT, and he still had super-reflexes, he stood awake and noticed a tall, slender man standing next to his door, with a big, goofy smile on his face. The man wore tight trousers and a plain shirt, with a long overcoat, sitting on his outfit, quite lazily. Sitting atop his head was a, rather funny, deerstalker hat, and the man looked like he had just been high recently, and in his mouth, fixated right between his teeth, was a long pipe.
Author's Notes
This is my first ever story, so please read and review and tell me how it is, and if I should continue it. Moreover, this is a multi-chapter story, and I do have plot ideas in mind. So please tell me if you liked it, so I can start planning ahead.
Hope you enjoyed. Thanks.