Chapter 2
Judging from Moran's history with violence, it seems likely that the damage inflicted on the victim was done out of sadistic tendencies rather than for the purpose of extracting information. It would seem your state secrets may still be safe. Further investigation will of course be needed before I know for sure. SH
Thank you. I will take it from here. Don't even think about going undercover to find out more. MH
Sherlock laughed as he read the swift response from his brother. Then he turned to the mirror to examine himself. He doubted his brother would even recognise him if they were to pass in the street. His curls were messy and almost covering his eyes. He was in faded jeans, a football jersey and a battered leather jacket.
He got out his other phone, the one he had acquired specifically for this job, and composed another text.
Is that job still available? TS
The answer came just as quickly.
Yes.
Sherlock almost laughed at the brevity of Moran's text. He pocketed the phone, checked his wallet that there was nothing in it that would reveal his true identity, and headed out the door. He walked to the tube station and got on the Circle Line, heading east.
He got off at Moorgate and quickly headed towards the pub which Moran was using for meetings this week.
The tall blond man in the back of the pub looked up as Sherlock entered. He looked a little annoyed and was softly shaking his head when Sherlock came his way.
"You're like a dog, Stevenson. You come when you're called but you don't seem to use a single brain cell. Did you even look if you were followed?" he said, giving the younger man an unimpressed look.
Sherlock scoffed. "Of course I did," he said in his best Cornish accent. "I'm not an idiot, am I?"
"We'll still have to see about that..." Moran said, his voice flat as he kept his eyes on Stevenson's face. "What made you change your mind?"
"I had another job, but the boss was a total wanker. Thought I'd rather be working for you."
Moran smirked. "Don't expect me to be any easier, Stevenson. I only expect the best of you." He trailed a finger over the scar on his left cheek. "And I don't hesitate to show when I am displeased."
"I am aware of that," Sherlock answered. "I'll take my chances."
Moran nodded slowly. "Good. Payment won't go through me. You know that I don't do the financial side. I prefer to be... creative."
"Yeah, so I've been told. As long as the pay is good, I don't care where it's coming from."
"Perfect." Moran sipped his drink. "I'll contact you as soon as something comes along that is suited to your skills."
"Yes, Sir." Sherlock nodded in greeting before turning and heading back outside.
Moran narrowed his eyes a little as he watched him go, then focused on his drink again.
...
Sherlock made his way home, fighting the urge to buy a pack of cigarettes on the way. The smell lingered on the jacket and made it so much harder to resist. When he arrived at his flat, he found that the door was already open. The landlady had a key of course, but he could not be sure it was her who had led someone in. He paused on the stairs, then hearing familiar movement, sighed deeply and walked up the last few steps.
"Checking up on me?" he asked, as he walked through the door.
Lestrade turned around and stared as he saw Sherlock's outfit. "With good reason, it seems."
Sherlock let out an annoyed groan as he passed the man, heading for the kitchen. "I'm working," he said. Then he glared at him. "And before you make me really angry: I'm working on a case."
Lestrade pulled up his eyebrows. "Dressed like that?"
"Yes. A suit would have looked rather out of place at the pub."
"You don't go to pubs when you're sober."
"Unless I have to for a case." Sherlock got out a bottle of water from the fridge.
"But you're not on a case." Lestrade stepped closer to look at Sherlock's eyes.
Sherlock sighed and looked straight at him. "I'm doing Mycroft a favour."
"You know that's easy to check," Lestrade said, looking stern, but softening a little at the clarity he saw in Sherlock's gaze. "You do understand why we're worried, right? Seeing you dressed like that..."
"You don't trust me," Sherlock said flatly and took a sip of the water. "I know."
Lestrade sighed. "It's more a question of having to be certain that we can trust you. If I let you help in cases, it's my career that depends on it."
"I've told you, I'm clean. It's been three months now. When are you going to decide I can be trusted?"
"When you stop giving us the feeling that you're balancing on the edge, I guess," Lestrade said with an honest expression on his face. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, what kind of case are you on?"
"One of my brother's agents went and got himself killed. If you want to know any more you will have to ask Mycroft."
Lestrade nodded. "Be careful. Don't try to do anything on your own - and if the temptation is too much, don't go to pubs."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Not all pubs are dealer havens, you know. I know what places to avoid."
"Alright. If there's anything I can help with, call me."
Sherlock nodded. "I will." He took another sip of water and then headed for his laptop, the other man's presence no longer a factor as his mind was getting to work.
...
It was two days before Sherlock got another text from Moran.
Be at the back of the Spanish Embassy, 9 pm. Got a job for you.
Sherlock smiled and answered:
-
Will be there. TS
-He had four hours, so he did a little research on the embassy before changing into Thomas Stevenson, pocketing the gun he had 'borrowed' from one of Mycroft's men and heading out. As he walked up to the large dark building, he felt a thrill that he had been missing for much too long.
Moran stepped out of the shadows as Sherlock's footsteps sounded. "Stevenson."
Sherlock nodded. "Moran."
Moran gave him a calculating look. "That's Colonel or Sir, for you. Listen, it's a pretty important job, and the only reason I'm not doing it myself, is that I am needed elsewhere."
"Sure thing... Sir." Sherlock grinned. "What is it?"
"First of all, we need you to be discrete. Keep focused." He frowned at Sherlock's face for a moment to make sure he understood the importance of what was being said, before he continued. "You'll watch the main entrance. No-one is allowed to get in there. Do whatever you need to stop them. There are a few other ways to enter the building. Try to pay attention to those as well, as much as you can. But the main entrance is your priority, since there's the biggest chance someone would try to get in."
Sherlock looked at the large doors, then to each side, noticing the fire-escape and the service door at either end of the building. He nodded. "Got it, Sir." It was not what he had been hoping for, but at least it was a start. A possible way in.
Moran nodded. "Don't disappoint me." Then he waved to indicate Sherlock should take his position, and left.
Sherlock retreated into some convenient shadows and got his phone out pretending to be reading or writing something. He smiled wryly as he thought that smoking would have been an excellent excuse for hanging out in front of the building.
After one hour, Sherlock was getting extremely bored. A total of four people had passed the building in that time. A couple walking hand in hand. A woman in high heels and a mobile glued to the side of her face and a large man in a leather jacket. Sherlock had almost hoped that the latter was looking for trouble, so something, anything, would happen. But the man had simply given him a rather lewd look and then walked on.
Then, when he had been standing there for nearly two hours, things got worse. It started raining. Not just a drizzle but a right downpour. Within minutes he was soaked, the rain trickling down his neck and down his back in a very unpleasant manner.
When Moran finally arrived, the rainfall had lessened, and he pulled up an eyebrow at the sight of Sherlock. "So now you make a wet dog. Had any trouble?"
"Not really," Sherlock said, shaking the water from his hair. "Just some wisecracking prat."
Moran gave him a slow predatory grin. "You can go off now. Don't need you anymore."
Sherlock huffed. "I hope you have something a little more challenging for me next time."
Moran shrugged. "Can't really predict what it will be. This was a good task to start with anyway. At least you didn't bolt when the rain started."
"Oh yeah, like I'm going to be scared of a little water."
"Oh, you wouldn't be scared of it, but there would be enough people of your kind that would think that getting wet would be worse than the rage of their boss. Now off you go. Payment will follow."
Sherlock seethed at being dismissed this way, but he just drew up his shoulders and stalked down the street, wondering if he could get a cab to take him in his soaked condition.
…
No cabbie would take him and it took him almost an hour to get home. He took a long shower, trying to get warm, and then went to make a pot of tea. While it steeped, he turned on his laptop. There was a new email from Captain Watson.
To: Sherlock Holmes
Re: re: Col. S. Moran
Mr. Holmes,
Has my information been able to help you? Did you get any further in the case against Moran?
Please keep me updated.
John Watson
Sherlock sighed. This was just perfect. Now his source of information was making demands for attention. He really should have followed his instincts and told Mycroft to stuff it, when he had approached him about this case. But he had been desperate. Lestrade has refused to let him near anything remotely interesting since his latest relapse, and there had been no clients in almost two months. So here he was, with a new 'boss' who apparently took pleasure from making him stand in the rain for three hours, a brother trying to tell him how to do his job and now this: an overseas army doctor, demanding to be kept 'updated'. He almost just closed the laptop, but thought better of it.
***
To: Capt. J Watson
Re: re: Col. S. Moran
No news. S. Holmes
Then he settled back with a cup of tea, going over the data he had collected so far.
To: Sherlock Holmes
Re: re: Col. S. Moran
Do send me something when there is. I've given you my time, the least you can do is to return that favour.
John
He drank his second cup of tea while reading the message. He could not help but smile. There was something refreshing about this man. He turned off the laptop and, still smiling slightly, headed for bed.
...
It didn't take more than a few days before the next text from Sherlock's new employer arrived. He had called him into a private house this time, the streets around which were eerily quiet.
Moran was waiting at the back door of the house, a grim expression on his face. "It's a right mess we need to clean up. I wish he learned where his limits were. Just sometimes..." He sighed.
"He?" Sherlock asked, trying not to seem too eager. "Who are we talking about here?"
"The guy who did this." Moran opened the door and stepped inside
"Holy crap," Sherlock blurted out at the sight that met him. "One guy did this?" he asked as he looked at the bloody mess. "You're sure it wasn't more like a small gang and a pack of wild dogs?"
Moran shook his head. "Just him. The old man must have seriously pissed him off." He nodded at the dead man's head wounds, some of them clearly showing tooth marks, next to the bloody mess of empty eye sockets.
"Pissed him off? Who is this guy? The Hulk?"
Moran snorted. "Nothing like him. Let's get to work, there's enough to do here."
"So not big and green," Sherlock said as he tried to figure out where to start. "Got some bin bags? Gloves?" he asked.
"Done this before?" Moran smirked, getting the necessary supplies out of his bag.
"Something like it," Sherlock answered evasively. As he gathered the remains he tried to be subtle about studying them, masking his focus as mere morbid fascination.
Now and then Moran gave an approving nod at Sherlock's efficiency. "Good to see your stomach is strong enough for his work. Sometimes I really wish he cleaned up his own mess."
"Who is he? Someone working for you?"
Moran pulled up his eyebrows. "Do you really think a man who does this sort of thing is able to work for an employer?"
"S'pose not." Sherlock shrugged. "So who is he then?"
"None of your business. Your task is to do what I ask of you."
"Yes, Sir." Sherlock cursed under his breath as he got back to work.
When it was finished, Moran tapped Sherlock's shoulder. "You did a good job here. I'll make sure you'll get paid a bit more for this one."
"Thanks, Sir," Sherlock said, grinning. "I can't say it's been a pleasure."
Moran's smile pulled at the lines of his scar. "Better get used to it."
"So he's likely to get up to something like this again?"
"Who knows, with him," Moran shrugged.
"Well, I sure as hell don't," Sherlock snorted.
"Maybe that's for the best. Well, you can leave if you want. I'll get rid of those." Moran waved at the bin bags.
"No, it's fine," Sherlock said, almost too quickly. "I'll give you a hand. Where are we taking them?"
Moran frowned. "You don't get even more money doing this, if that's what you think."
Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe I'm just trying to make a good impression."
Moran snorted and for a moment his gaze slid down Sherlock's body in a rather unnerving way. "Right. I guess you can help getting some of the bags to the car. I can handle it on my own from there."
Sherlock suppressed a shiver. "Sure," he said, and picked up most of the bags.
Moran smirked as he let Sherlock walk in front of him. "Just to the left here, it isn't far away. Can't have people see us carry the remains of their late neighbour for too long." Amusement was clear in his voice.
Sherlock chuckled. "No, that would be bad." As they reached the car he spoke again: "So, is this what I'll be doing? Standing watch and cleaning houses?"
Moran shrugged. "It could be anything, really. Jobs like this will probably happen more often, I already told you that. But you know how it goes. Some thefts, some drugs... Anything you wouldn't do for money?" The predatory smirk had returned.
"Nothing off the top of my head," Sherlock answered with a crooked grin.
Moran nodded. "Good to know. Just put the bags in here," he said as he had opened the car trunk.
Sherlock did as he was told and then nodded a goodbye before heading home.
On his way he considered his answer to Moran, trying to determine if there was indeed anything he wouldn't do, not for money, but for the case.
When he got home his mind was racing and he needed to clear it. As he sat down at his computer, he noticed the email he had received from Capt. Watson a few days ago. Might as well humour the man, he thought, and began typing a reply.
***
To: Capt. J. Watson
Re: re: Col. S. Moran
You wondered earlier what kind of man would be willing to help out a sadist like Moran. I may have found the answer: a man who is, in his own way, even worse. S. Holmes
Moran takes pleasure from causing pain. But he is systematic about it. Cautious to some extent. He went to some trouble patching up his victims, keeping them alive for his pleasure. He can control his urges.
His benefactor seems to be a different type. From what I witnessed the man has no self-control. But that cannot be the whole truth, because in that case he would not be able to hold a position powerful enough to help Moran with the charges against him.
Therefore he must be a person who sometimes loses control. And when he does, he is extremely dangerous. Moran working for such a man could potentially be even more dangerous than Moran acting out of his own interests.
It took a couple of hours before Watson's answer came.
To: Sherlock Holmes
Re: re: Col. S. Moran
How do you suddenly know all this? Did something happen?
I don't know what to think about there being an even worse creep behind Moran.
Thanks for telling me what you found out though. I began to fear I'd never hear from you again. I really appreciate it.
John
Sherlock didn't see the mail before the next morning. He frowned. He had really told Capt. Watson a lot more than he had needed to, in order to fulfil his request to keep him updated regarding the case. He had surely not intended to write as much when he began his reply.
He smiled. He supposed that he had inadvertently used John as he would normally use the skull on his mantelpiece. By expressing his thoughts out loud, or in this case in writing, he had been able to view them from a new angle.
The ideas he had expressed to Capt. Watson had not been so fully formed before he began writing, so clearly it had worked. He supposed that at some point he should thank the man.