i.
The doctor's words numb him like a drug. The few words that he does recognize don't mean much.
"Dying…"
"Not much longer…"
"Aneurysm."
"Pain…"
"Nothing we can do…"
Jeff Hope goes home, sits down in the same chair he's sat in for thirty years, and gets to work.
Dear Jim…
"My kids will need to be secure, of course. I don't… I need them to be safe."
"Of course."
"And my wife –"
"Ex-wife."
"… Something will need to be done about her. I can't –"
"Don't worry." The Irish man smiles, and Jeff knows in an instant he's made the wrong decision. "Jim will take care of everything."
I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.
The only world I'm destroying, Jeff thinks, is my own.
Everything is going according to plan until he meets Sherlock Holmes.
"Your instructions are simple, Mr. Hope. You're to offer him two pills; both are poisoned."
"But –"
"You children will be rewarded handsomely for your death. Unless, you course, you fail."
Jeff sighs and rubs his eyes. He's so damn tired, so tired of this all. The game is nearly over, he thinks, not knowing if that's a good thing or not.
Jeff takes the poisoned pill in his hand, knowing it's the last thing he'll ever taste, knowing he's about to subject himself to the same fate he's put four other people through.
He thinks of his kids. Samantha, Daniel, Michelle.
He thinks of his victims. Jeffery Patterson, James Phillimore, Beth Davenport, Jennifer Wilson, Sherlock Holmes – and soon – himself.
Jeff doesn't see what really kills him until it's too late.
The bullet rips through his shoulder, and he's grateful. He feels relief, like the bullet his heart has lifted the weight from his shoulders.
Sherlock is angry; he steps on Jeff's shoulder. Jeff doesn't care. He can see everything and feel nothing and it's a wonderful, blissful end.
He doesn't even get the chance to say goodbye.
Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator.
…
ii.
She remembers when she was a little girl, stealing pages out of books and writing codes to send messages to her 'friends'. She remembers watching her sister get maimed and mangled and brutalized so she'd have enough money to put food on the table.
General Shan has come a long way from the slums of Hong Kong, and she's not about to give that all up now so some selfish lackey of hers and get away with millions of pounds.
The assassin's shot comes straight and clear. Her death is quick and painless.
What does it tell you when as assassin cannot shoot straight? It tells you they're not really trying.
…
iii.
Jim remembers everything.
Every.
Single.
Detail.
Every.
Single.
Excruciating.
Second.
Every.
Harsh.
Word.
Every.
Bruise.
Every.
Every.
Trial.
Every.
Tribulation.
Every.
Scar.
Every.
Ordeal.
Jim remembers.
That is his curse.
Dear Jim, will you…
Dear Jim, please…
Dear Jim, help me…
Dear Jim, can you…
Dear Jim, I need you…
Jim is showered in attention. He revels in it. People love him. People need him. People want him. The affection is long overdue, and he will do anything to make it stay.
Jim really deserves this.
He deserves to see his plans come to fruition. He deserves to see everything he's worked for play before his eyes like a beautiful symphony.
The bomb at the pool is a fake, of course. Jim would never put himself in danger like that. The guns, however, are terribly, fatally real.
I will burn the heart out of you.
Jim isn't one to break a promise.
No one gets to me… And no one ever will.
Jim doesn't know how wrong he is.
Hey! So this wraps up season 1 of this story. This story will be a three-shot, with each chapter covering a different season. I love exploring the villains and their personalities, so this is extremely fun to write. I wrote this for the LWS Trope Bingo Card 3 prompt 'Author's Choice' and, well, this is what I chose! Please enjoy the next two chapters!