Hey everyone! Before I start the story, I just wanted to thank my two reviewers. Yes, two. Yippee! (I hope you can hear the sarcasm).
Thanks VaticanCameos who thinks my idea is cool. Yes, that's right. My idea is cool. And, apparently, this person doesn't write very many reviews. So, I'm honored.
And, thank you Pachax, I'm sorry I distracted you from your studies. Good luck!
Alright! Now that I am done with that OVERWHELMING list of reviewers… onwards!
The tension was palpable down in the cramped basement at Moriarty's… house? Base? Erik really doubted the "most dangerous criminal the world had ever seen" lived here. So, where is here? Erik couldn't really see anything, and there was no one to ask. He was alone.
Jim sat in a cherry stained chair upstairs, directly above where his captive was currently sitting. He had to figure out the best way to go about this. He could go for the shock factor and go down himself. But, he really didn't want to get his hands dirty, especially with a little piece of dirt he picked up off the street. On the flip side, this was Sherlock business. He didn't want some idiot screwing things up. Well, no need to break the trend. He would send a lackey down. It was just a kid, after all.
Erik heard the fumbling of the lock a few yards away from him. When the door opened, he could hear, rather than see, that it wasn't Moriarty coming in to check on him. Steps too heavy, movements too clumsy. How… disappointing. No matter. He would get Moriarty down here soon.
Jim had moved into his office area, where he had booted up the surveillance system he had installed downstairs. He may not want to get his hands dirty, but he was interested in the proceedings. This boy had information. He just knew it.
A light flickered on right above him, and Erik felt his pupils contract at the sudden light. He blinked a couple times, trying to regain normal vision.
"Cliché" he murmured quietly.
"Excuse me?" the man asked, standing directly above him. He was rather tall. So, Moriarty was going for the intimidation factor. Predictable. Erik let his eyes sweep the perimeter of the room. Checking each niche in the wall for the tell tale glare of a camera. He didn't see anything. So, he went for the next best thing.
"Solas do mo toitíní, a dhuine uasail?*" He spoke as softly as he could for the man not to hear, but loud enough for any listening deviced.
"What?" The man said, clearly puzzled. Erik made sure to cough very exaggeratedly. He said it again, his voice raspy.
"Solas do mo toitíní, a dhuine uasail?" The man was clearly agitated, and he leaned in very close to Erik, his ear only a centimeter from his mouth. Erik leaned forward and bit the man's ear. Hard.
"Ow! What the hell?" The man jerked back violently, practically tripping over himself. His hand flew up to his ear, and came back red. And then, what Erik had counted on. The man glanced subconsciously at a shadowy corner of the room. It was a fraction of a second, but Erik caught it. That was where the camera was. The tall man was now disoriented and very angry. Erik wondered whether this was the best idea ever…
The next punch came quickly, but the orphan was ready. It hit him squarely in jaw, throwing his head sideways violently. Erik clacked his jaw back and forth, making sure nothing was broken. Nothing was, but his mouth tasted coppery. He spat out a bit of blood onto the floor. The man was backing away, and walking quickly out the door. Erik made sure to look over at the camera and grin widely for the audience before spitting out a bit more blood. He must have bit his cheek without noticing.
Moriarty stared at the screen, wondering what the hell had just happened. The kid was now grinning creepily at the camera, a bit of red tinting his teeth for effect. It took a couple of seconds, but Jim worked out what the urchin had done. He had tricked the lackey into giving away the location of the camera. By speaking… Gaelic? What? The boy must have known he would have understood… but how? And he had bitten Andrew's ear. Obviously he was dealing with something a little more complicated than he had anticipated. Sherlock had obviously taught his little pawn a couple tricks. Well, two could play that game. But that left the message. What had the boy meant by that? 'Light my cigarette, sir?' Moriarty's frown grew into a scary grin, one that matched Erik's. He loved puzzles.
Advanced apologies for the weird Gaelic thing. Okay, I used google translate. Guilty as charged. I hope no one is offended or anything. I guess it could either mean 'Light my cigarette, sir?' or 'a light for my cigarette, sir?' That's what I wanted it to mean, at least. I know Google translate is really stupid, so again, apologies to those who care. And also. THE LENGTH! It's so… short. *sobs* Well, it seemed like a good place to end it.
11-6: It has come to my attention through an anonymous reviewer that the correct term is Gaelic, not Irish. So I've changed it.
