Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
The nursery rhyme rang in her head as she sat on the sofa, watching her favorite show: Live surveillance of John Watson and DI Lestrade. Both men were in a pub, at the bar, chatting and downing shots.
Three years. That was how long it had been since their first and –most likely- last adventure together.
Harlequin Moriarty had, in that space of time, watched them heal from the wounds she'd inflicted on them, watched them go about their daily lives.
The highlight of this drama so far was the fact that the army doctor was in a relationship with a woman. Briefly, she wondered if they'd get married. They seemed serious enough about it.
Flipping her laptop screen shut, the girl placed it beside her and yawned.
Beep.
The sound alerted her of a new message, so she took out her phone.
Quin, we've got to move. –SM
Ah. Sebastian, predictably. He was out on a job, probably bored out of his mind if he was texting her.
What, do you mean get a bigger flat? –HM
No, I mean we have to do a runner. –SM
Frowning, Harlequin was halfway through texting a reply when her phone rang, Temposhark's 'Don't Mess With Me' filling the air. She pressed 'answer', holding the device to her ear.
"Hello?" she asked.
A few seconds of silence before a hoarse, male voice replied, "Is this the consulting criminal?"
"No, this is the bloody Queen."
"You've sold us out, you fucking bitch. You better-"
She cut her mysterious caller off. "Okay, bastard, listen here. I haven't fucking sold anyone out, not a soul. So what's your problem?!" Harlequin demanded, getting up and pacing around her flat.
What the fuck is going on?
"Then why are my men getting raided in the middle of the night by the Yard?"
"That's your trouble."
Hanging up, she was about to sit down when her phone rang again, this time with a woman on the other end of the line.
"The police are here. Did you sell me out?"
"Fuck off," she snarled, hanging up a second time.
On and on it went, until Harlequin got fed up with taking calls. Switching her phone to 'silent', she bit her lip. Something was happening, definitely. Something in her own empire, right under her nose, and she knew not what.
She flipped open her laptop, and checked her emails. Perhaps there was one from Sebastian saying that the whole thing had been a joke. Instead, she got one from an unnamed address:
They all fall down.
-SH
Those initials, those words. Meaningless, yet meaningful. The true meaning of the message was startlingly clear: The complex web that Jim Moriarty had painstakingly spun around him was beginning to snap beneath his heir's feet, thread by thread.
Panic. It was bubbling up inside her and harlequin felt her windpipe close, cutting off the air from her lungs. Her legs were rooted to the spot, her hands balled into fists. A gasp issued from her throat.
SH… SH… No. Impossible.
It had to be Sebastian. The truth was too far-fetched not to be a big hoax.
A crazed laugh abruptly tore itself from her mouth, and she could breathe, could move. She started laughing. Continued until her sides ached, tears streaming down her face.
You're such a dumb bitch, Quin. What the fuck were you thinking?
Jim's web was too bloody strong to be torn down in a day.
The door opened, and she turned, still laughing. Sebastian Moran hurried in, bolting the door shut behind him, the duffel bag containing his sniper rifle in his right hand.
His eyes found hers, widened. "Pack up. We're leaving London now," he said. "And what's so bloody funny?!"
"It's a joke, isn't it? You think I'd fall for it?" she choked out, wiping her eyes.
Gripping her shoulders, he locked gazes with her. "This isn't a joke, Quin. Jim's clients are being thrown in jail as we speak. They think we've betrayed them, so they'll be sending assassins."
Her laughter dried up. Without another word, she entered her bedroom, grabbing her coat from the bed. Slipping it on, Harlequin checked that her knives were up her sleeves, her gun in her pocket, her dog tags around her neck, then stood staring at the toy chest containing the rest of her weapons.
I'll be back for this shit, she promised.
A crash could be heard from downstairs, footsteps thundering up. Heading for her flat.
"Let's go!" Sebastian yelled, appearing in the doorway.
Hands began pounding the door, trying to break through.
"Open the goddamn door, you fucking bitch!" someone was screaming. It sounded like her first called, the man with the hoarse voice.
Harlequin felt the walls around her close in, suffocating her. The sniper grabbed her arm, half-dragging her to the window. The pounding had reached its climax, the man still shrieking.
Suddenly, the door gave way, bursting open, and a dozen men dressed in black came swarming in, pointing guns at them. The moment they saw the sniper and the girl, they paused, regarding them silently.
"Go!" Sebastian broke the spell, shoving her out of the window. She didn't have any time to shriek before she hit the ground, landing on her back with a thud.
Living on the third floor has its benefits, evidently.
Seconds later, her companion landed beside her, on his feet like a cat. From upstairs came the sound of yelling, and he quickly pulled her to her feet.
She noticed he was still carrying his duffel bag, and he had blood running from the gash on his forehead.
This indeed is serious shit.
They ran, out of the alley, into the street, and adrenaline filled her veins, mixed with panic.
And around them the consulting criminal's empire fell apart.