Chapter 4
John sat by the kitchen table and ate his breakfast. Irene walked into the room and sat down opposite him, wearing a bathrobe.
"Is that my bathrobe?" asked John.
"I´m sorry. Do you want me to take it off?" she replied.
"No, it´s fine." he said annoyed. A long silence followed.
"So you´re alive... yet again." said John. Irene laughed at little and nodded.
"Yes, I suppose I am." she said.
"What do you want?" asked John. Irene´s smile faded and she placed her elbows on the table.
"I believe that you´ve been looking for some information about The Raven, is that true?" she asked.
"Yes, do you know anything?" said John excited. Irene stood up and said: "Get dressed. We need to see someone." John looked at her confused.
"But I..." he began.
"Now." said Irene without even looking at him. John looked after her and then quickly went to get dressed.
Irene and John stepped out of the cab which had stopped outside Trafalgar Square and walked towards Nelson´s column. Irene had been careful enough to hide her face so that no one could see it. Under one of the lions at the base, a young woman sat with her backpack and read a book. She looked up when they walked up to her.
"Did you find it?" said Irene, quietly enough for the people around not to hear. The young woman nodded so that her dark brown hair, tied in a ponytail, bounced.
"Great. Come on." said Irene and the two women walked away from the square, followed by a confused John. They walked into a small café and sat down in a tight corner.
"So?" asked Irene enthusiastically. The young woman opened her backpack and took out a file. She handed it to John who reluctantly took it. He opened the thick file and read it.
"Sebastian Moran. Used to be Moriarty´s pet. After he died, he took his place." said the woman.
"Where did you get this?" asked John suspicious.
"I have my ways." she replied and grinned. John put the file down and looked at her.
"So, you´re working for her?" he asked and nodded towards Irene.
"Emily here has been very helpful with many projects." said Irene. John looked back at the file and noticed something.
"Aren´t there any photos of him?" asked John.
"Unfortunately, no one has managed to take a photo of him. The British government believes that he´s using a false identity." explained Emily as she stood up from the small chair she had been sitting on.
"I need to go and run some errands." she said. "Goodbye, Doctor Watson. I´ll be seeing you very soon."
She winked at John and walked out of the café, leaving him and Irene alone. An long silence followed.
"What do I do now?" asked John at last. Irene shrugged her shoulders.
"I guess you just try to get killed." she said. John wondered if Sherlock had been able to help him, if he had been able to find out who Sebastian Moran was. He looked at Irene.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked.
"I owe a favour to someone." replied Irene.
John stepped inside 221B Baker Street and walked up the stairs. He noticed a red envelope hanging on the door. He opened it and ignored the black feather which fell on the floor.
This time, it wasn´t a letter. It was a photograph of... Sherlock, covered in blood, lying on the grey pavement in front of St. Bart´s. John´s hands shook uncontrollably as he turned the photograph over. On the back, someone had written:
Happy three years, John.
John stared at the photograph. He hadn´t realised what day it was. He ripped the photograph into tiny pieces and opened the door to his living room. He froze in his steps when he saw the state of the room. All the furniture had been pushed aside and photos hung all over the walls. Photos of Sherlock´s lifeless body lying on the ground. Photos of his dark curls, covered in blood. Photos of his stinging eyes staring emptily at John.
On the walls, a great number of red envelopes every photograph and on every envelope stood the same words and on the mirror, big letters formed the words:
Happy three years, John.
John stared into his apartment as the grief and the anger took over his mind. A whispering voice chimed in his head. John held his hands over his head, trying to make the voice go away. Finally, he couldn´t take it anymore. He rushed over to the first wall that he saw and ripped the photographs down. He ripped down every single photo and every single red envelope that he saw.
Then, he turned to the mirror. He grabbed the first thing that he could find and he threw it at the mirror. It shattered into a thousand pieces. John sat down on the floor, feeling exhausted and defeated. He began to cry hysterically. The Raven was winning. Moriarty was winning.
Where was Sherlock when you needed him the most?