Chapter Seven
Notes at the bottom now.
Molly was fuming. She burst through the doors of the police department and spotted Sherlock, Lestrade and Donovan talking in a small circle. They turned their heads when they marked her grand entrance.
Molly clenched her fists and walked over. However, before she made it half way, John Watson invaded her path and halted her.
"Molly…"
"Step aside, John. I need to speak with Sherlock. I know he did this."
John nodded and put his hands up. "Molly, listen to me," he whispered. "It's a sensitive situation right now and you need to calm down."
Her jaw tightened. How could she be calm when Sherlock just had her boyfriend arrested?
"I understand you're upset," John said. "I am, too. But…Sherlock, he's been having a rough time, I can tell, he's been taking drugs again – look at his eyes. He's a bit high right now. Don't start an argument with him. Not now. Please."
Molly's eyes widened. Everybody knew of Sherlock's recreational activities but she was sure he'd dropped them a long time ago. She didn't care though, she was beyond upset. She pushed her lips together and even if she was feeling the wrath of the gods, her face looked like an upset kitten at most.
John put his hands on Molly's shoulder to help calm her.
Sherlock, ignoring Donovan's measly argument, passed Molly an undetectable glance. She was wearing a horrible sweater which seemed two sizes too big, slacks that looked like they belonged to her grandmother, tennis shoes with mix matched socks, her new trench coat, and only one side of her hair was combed, the other side was frizzy and messy. She must've rushed out after taking a shower, didn't even bother to look in the mirror. Hm, she looked like Molly from two years ago; hideously unaware of her poor choice in attire.
John was cajoling her into leaving apparently because they walked into another room to talk. Molly caught his eyes and glared fiercely. He reprimanded with his usual stoic expression.
"Molly," John breathed, closing the door to the room to give them some privacy. "I know one of the judges owes Sherlock a favour after he buried some evidence of an affair."
"What?" Molly spat. "Isn't that against the law?"
John licked his bottom lip and almost smiled. "Do you think Sherlock really cares? A judge's IOU is more important and to Sherlock, more valuable than his wife's justice. He must've cashed it in and got a warrant to search Charles's flat, a real search – with forensics and everything."
"Oh my god…" Molly bit her nails. She was calming down and her wrath was being replaced by anxiety. She didn't want poor Charles in jail. He didn't do anything bad. Did he? "What did they find?" she asked tentatively.
"Arms."
Molly froze. Blinked and shook her head. "I'm sorry, what?"
"They found guns, Molly. Specifically the same type of gun the Headshot murderer used to kill his victims." He frowned. Molly gasped at the information.
"Why does Charles's have guns, Molly? They found two. One underneath a candy drawer and another in his bedroom," he said, rubbing his forehead. "You're the closest one to Charles. Lestrade and Donovan are going to want to question you, might want to call a lawyer." He shook his head unbelievingly. "What…what do you know about this, Molly? Because honestly, it's really not looking the thing right now."
Molly swallowed. "He never told me anything about a gun. Or guns…" She blinked. "How do they know it's the same gun?"
"They don't know it's the same, just from the forensics evidence about the bullet holes, they managed to find the type of gun used. It was a glock, actually. Usually only officers have those. Common but it's still odd."
They were silent for a few minutes. Molly pestered her hands and nails like she usually did when she was nervous.
"Do you think…," John started, regretting it immediately, "he might be the killer?"
Molly bit her lip and didn't say anything. Once upon a time, she dated London's most notorious criminal, James Moriarty. Although it was only three dates, and she was the one to end it, she always knew she was the type of girl weird creeps and psychopaths usually picked up and found attractive. She was naïve, innocent, and optimistic to a fault. Perfect target.
Oh, but she wanted to believe that Charles wasn't one of them. She wanted just one good thing, just one. Was it too much to ask?
###
After the right amount of persuasion and compliments to Lestrade, the detective inspector let Sherlock talk to Charles.
"Well you have me in cuffs now, Sherlock." Charles was in a chair, his wrists restrained with metal handcuffs. His fingers were laced together on top of a table with a carefully guarded expression alit his eyes.
"Right where I want you," Sherlock said, entering the room and standing before him. Lestrade was surely watching them from the mirrored room. Donovan was out questioning Molly, no less.
Charles forced a smile. "If you wanted foreplay, could've just asked. No need to drag a third party into our passionate affairs," he joked. His humour was a clever mask for the true anger that lied underneath his skin.
"Why do you have guns, Charles?"
"Protection."
"Or for murder." Sherlock lifted his brow.
"I am not. The murderer," Charles hissed. "I am not!"
"Your gun matches."
"You don't have enough evidence to keep me here for long," Charles reminded him. "I've got my lawyer too, you know? I'm getting out."
"Shut up. I don't need to keep you here for long."
Charles stared at him and then smiled knowingly. "Ahhhh, right. You, king of deductions and manipulations, you think you can get me to spill the beans?" he asked, tilting his head. "Please, do try. My can is empty."
"Do you even have any idea of the charges you're going to face for illegal possession of weaponry?"
Charles rolled his eyes. "Hello. Lawyer. Of course I know - my lawyer is coming with my permit. Was running a little late. Don't worry, things will get sorted out."
Sherlock watched him from the corner of his eyes as he paced back and forth across the room. "Consulting detective, inter-media connections, pretty and good-looking with the respect of friends and workforce – Charles you are the golden haired boy they always dreamed of. Don't you think your act is a little too perfect to be real?"
He smiled. "Only you think I'm perfect."
Sherlock paused and smirked. "Perfection only occurs in the realms of dreams, Charles. Not real life. That's why you're not who you say you are. So yes, I might see you as perfect and I realise that it doesn't exist, so neither do you," he concluded.
"I'm not perfect," he muttered. "Though I'm flattered you think so."
Sherlock stopped in front of him, his hands in his coat pocket. "Tell me, why are you here? What do you want?"
Charles regarded him curiously for a moment. "I'm not here to take your place, Sherlock. If that's what you think."
He arched a brow at his response but otherwise continued his passive glare.
"You're childish, ridiculous if you think the world revolves around you. I'm here out of pure luck, really. I met Sebastian out of coincidence, Lestrade afterward. I'm a brilliant man, Sherlock – you're forgetting that. And unlike you, I don't always get bored, I can be human. Sometimes I like to sit at home and watch movies with Molly, eat popcorn. I don't need cases so if you want me off them, just say so. I'm not going to dance around you anymore. It's tedious and frankly, getting quite boring," he growled.
Sherlock tried to read him, detect the lies. He couldn't, they were very well hidden.
"Those guns are for my protection, I promise. Picking up this job, I've been the interest of many bad people – they're after my head. Don't know how you found it so much fun living with a death note on your back. I assure you, I don't hold the same leisure interests as you. But if they decided to come for me, I would've had myself prepared. For my sake and Molly's - I wasn't going to let anyone hurt her."
Sherlock smirked. "Oh, you almost had me," he said sarcastically. "You really think I'm going to believe you're on the side of the angels?" Moriarty was the demon, Charles the angel and what was Sherlock, the neutral entity in-between? Was his life a novel? He laughed.
The door suddenly opened and Lestrade stepped him, a look of horror about his face.
"What?" Sherlock snapped.
"Murder."
Sherlock eyes opened wide. Murder? Another? Impossible. He flashed Charles a look who was but stunned nonetheless.
"Not too far from here. It's Headshot, Sherlock. No doubt about it." He stared at the both of them, more apologetically towards Charles. "Are you coming?" he asked him.
"No." Sherlock glared at Charles. He could have a partner. He need time to think. To really think. "Not necessary. Headshot isn't going to leave clues, not point in going. Besides, I can deduce more if I think."
"You can't stay in here with him," Lestrade added. "His lawyer just came."
Sherlock was angry. This wasn't going as planned, there wasn't supposed to be a murder - not when Charles was under confinement. This ruined everything. "Damn it!" he shouted.
###
After being questioned by Donovan, Molly was able to see Charles for a few minutes. Lestrade let her after Sherlock and his lawyer talked to him. She only had five minutes though.
"Charlie…"
Charles frowned when Molly walked in and sat down across from him. She held his hand and he held hers tightly.
"No worries, kitten. They can't keep me here for long. Sherlock's magic isn't everlasting," he consoled.
She bit her lip. "Right…"
They were quiet for a few seconds and then she asked. "Why do you have the guns? Why didn't you tell me about them? How did you get them?"
"Protection, Molly. I was going to tell you," he murmured, playing with her hands. "Forgive me. I didn't think Sherlock would bust in while I was showering with a squad from the police department and go through my underwear drawers for forensic evidence." He lifted his brows and smiled slightly.
Molly frowned but tried hard to smile. She failed despite her efforts. Her eyes watched Charles as he stroked her hand so lovingly. How can this man be bad? He couldn't it wasn't him, she told herself. Biting her bottom lip, her mind wandered back to Moriarty. She trusted him too. Had she made another mistake? No! She hadn't. Charles was a good, good man. She smiled at him.
"At least they didn't touch our photos," he added, forcing a grin. "Precious things, they are." He looked at her, almost longingly.
She chuckled slightly. "I'm sorry about him," she apologized. "Sherlock."
A small smile carved itself onto his lips. "You've nothing to apologize for, love."
###
Sherlock stormed out of the station and onto the street. He was waiting for a cab when he spotted Molly. Oh, fantastic.
She stomped to him. She still hadn't mended the other half of her messy hair. In the dark, she looked like a mad woman from a horror film.
"Sherlock!" she scolded. "How-"
"Dare I put innocent Charles behind bars?" he interjected. "Oh please, did you see how cosy he was in there? Nothing to fear because he had a henchman doing the dirty work all along," he muttered mostly to himself. He looked around and then lifted his hand to a nearby patrolling cab.
"H-he doesn't have any connections," she shouted. "You." She inhaled deeply. "You have no evidence! You have nothing to hold him to what you're trying to make him become!"
Sherlock ignored her and got into the cab. Molly wasn't having any of it. She grabbed the door and yanked it out of his grasp and got in next to him.
"What the hell are you doing!" he shouted.
"We are going to talk."
"There is nothing to talk about."
"Oh, we've got loads to talk about, Sherlock! The list just goes on and on."
"What. Ever." Sherlock groaned exaggeratedly.
"Ummm…" the cabbie turned around. "Where…what…"
"221b Baker Street, please," Molly said.
"Tell her to get out!" Sherlock commanded the driver.
"Excuse me?" Molly called out.
"If you want to leave, you can get out and find another cab, sir," the cabbie said. "It's not nice to leave a pretty lady out in the cold like this."
Sherlock slowly turned his wide frosty eyes towards the man. "Pretty? She's atrocious! A witch, a demon. Get out, Molly!"
"I'm not going anywhere so stop it!" she argued stubbornly.
They continued bickering for another few minutes until the cabbie got annoyed and kicked them both out.
Sherlock and Molly stood on the corner of the empty street as the driver pulled away, leaving them behind.
"Well, thanks a lot," Sherlock said bitterly.
Molly clenched her fists. She turned to him. "I heard about the other murder."
"Molly, I already told you, you don't count anymore," he repeated the words carefully without looking at her. "Therefore, your arguments are invalid and meaningless. I won't listen to them."
She pressed her lips together obstinately. She knew what he had said, she hadn't forgotten it. With another brave breath, she spoke. "Fine. I get it, I don't count but I-I think I understand why you're doing all this."
He didn't say anything. He turned around and began walking away.
Molly was relentless, she followed behind him. "You think you're incapable of love, right? You said it was a pointless emotion."
"Oh, please spare me," he begged theatrically. Not another Molly lecture on emotional importance, fairies and biscuits.
She continued. "You can love, Sherlock. You're already loving."
He halted and turned around. She collided into his chest and he took a step away from her quickly as if touching her was poisonous. "Loving? I think you're the last person to give any sort of advice on the matter, Molly. Seeing as you dated a criminal more than once. Pray tell, what makes you love psychopaths so much? Are they fun? Do you get off on putting yourself in a masochistic relationship?" He cocked his head curiously.
Her mouth widened but after this morning's remarks, he couldn't hurt her any deeper. "Charles is not a criminal. He was protecting himself and me – that's why he had the guns. Pure coincidence they were the same brand as the killers."
"I don't believe in coincidences."
She ignored him and his comment on psychopaths.
Sherlock smirked. "Didn't I tell you never to date anyone, Molly? Spare us, all your boyfriends end up being some type of mental criminal." He rolled his eyes. "You're not meant for love or domestic bliss. I suggest taking your cat as your only partner of interest. Molly the lonely cat lady has a nice ring," he added.
She frowned. "Now you're resorting to name calling?" she asked. "Please, Sherlock. You can't hurt me anymore. You've slashed deep enough, the last thing you can do is kill me."
He lifted his chin and squinted, leaning away from her. His eyes roamed hers searchingly.
"You love people, Sherlock," she said.
"I don't."
"You do. You love London, so you came back."
"London is not people. It's my home," he replied instantly.
"You love John, Mrs. Hudson, hell I'm half sure you love Lestrade as well."
He rolled his eyes.
She watched him act like a teenager who thought love was stupid and silly. "You love them like my father, actually."
"Molly," he admonished, almost pleadingly. If there was a lord, he would show him mercy. Now.
She swallowed and continued. "He loved me, and mom and my cousins too. We were actually all really close. But, when any of us girls bought a boy home – or even a friend – he'd become very…protective," she said. "He'd want to check everything out and sometimes, he was convinced they were bad kids even when they weren't and didn't let us play with them or go out with them."
"Piss poor job he did, giving you the green light on Moriarty."
"Sherlock, he's been dead."
He closed his mouth, an annoying pang of guilt hitting him somewhere. "Oh."
She looked at the ground. "I get it. Everyone is letting Charles in and you don't trust him. I'm so sorry…that you don't trust him and I'm sorry for letting things get out of hand. I should've been more careful with him. I didn't want to put him in danger, nor upset you. I j-just…I didn't know when you'd come back or if you'd come back or anything. It was all very confusing and I liked him and…and…." She ran her hands through her long hair.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. God, if he wanted to leave, he couldn't, even he wasn't rude enough to leave a crying girl on the streets. "Molly."
She did something then. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged Sherlock tightly.
He stiffened immediately. "Molly!"
She rested her head against the fabric of his coat over his chest, dismissing his protest. "I'm sorry I tried to turn him into you, Sherlock. I-I dunno why I did it," she whimpered, doing her best to hold back her tears. "I can't believe what I've done to him. I made him like this, encouraged him to be you and now you think he's a murderer and he's not and I…I just liked you, Sherlock. I'm sorry," she cried, her voice breaking. "Oh, god – I'm sorry to the both of you."
Sherlock was uncomfortable in her grappling bear-like hug. He couldn't move his arms and she wasn't letting go. God, this was the worst day of his life! Charles was going to be released as a free man, Molly was being emotional, John – that arse – ran away with Lestrade to the new murder scene and there was not. One. Damn. Taxi!
"Alright, Molly. Don't be pompous and take all the blame. You're not exactly the centre of this problem." Sherlock grunted, "Let me go. Now. If you please."
She sniffed and freed him of her hold. "Sorry…"
Sherlock straightened his jacket and collar. "Right, well. Its fine," he sighed and turned towards the street. Thank the heavens, a taxi. He waved and vehicle stopped. Sherlock opened the door and stepped aside for Molly. She looked at him confused. "Didn't you say we had things to talk about it? I'd rather not do it on the street."
"I thought we…were done." She was wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
"You mentioned a very long list of things."
She blinked. "But Charles." She pointed over her shoulder. "I should stay with him."
"He'll be busy with his lawyer. Two hours at least. I'll call a cab for you from my flat, you can leave then," he said. "No? Then, I'll go."
"Wait!" She took a deep breath and then ducked her head and climbed into the cab.
Sherlock took a step towards the cab and before he climbed in, he looked to his right where Charles was standing outside the station's front entrance. His lawyer was talking next to him, holding some papers. Charles was rubbing his wrists, his beady green eyes piercing him. Sherlock showed him a one-sided smile and then got into the cab, closing the door and driving away.
###
Lestrade sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he regarded the dead body that lay motionless on the carpet of Gregory Green's flat.
"What do we know about him?" he asked Donovan.
John had his arms crossed and shook his head pensively.
"Some type of I.T. tech, detective inspector," replied Donovan.
Anderson was kneeling near the dead body and looked up. "Maybe an hour or so. Fresh wound. Same as the others, nothing new."
John rubbed his bottom lip. "This means the killer's nearby then, right? I mean, shouldn't we look?"
"For what?" Lestrade asked, annoyed and angry. "We have no clues! We have nothing!" He had just had to arrest one of his best mates and now another murder. The department was going to be furious if he couldn't solve this in time. One more life and Lestrade would get the cut.
"Greg…" John frowned.
He shook his head and turned away. "Forget it." Running a hand through his hair, he found his pockets vibrating. Text = Sherlock. He opened the message, read and replied. He put the phone back into his pocket, expecting nothing more but it buzzed again. He groaned and opened the message. He stared at it.
"Shit."
###
Sherlock tossed his coat and scarf onto his sofa and then walked over to his armchair and fell into it. Oh, this day was terrible.
Molly walked in timidly and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror's reflection. "Oh, god! I look hideous!" She flustered while clawing the left side of her hair, aiming for symmetry.
"I told you. Why, oh why, that cabbie said you were pretty I'll never know," he mused.
She ignored him. Seemed to be the only thing she could do every time he passed a comment like that. Finally obtaining some sort of equality with her hair, she faced Sherlock, wondering what else she could possibly say to him.
"Can you make me coffee?" he asked before she opened her mouth.
"W-what?"
"Mrs Hudson left later this evening to meet with her nieces."
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Two days ago."
Molly gasped and then quickly made her way into the kitchen. "How the hell do you survive without putting food inside that belly of yours?" She remembered the Chinese takeout she cleaned up earlier. It was two days old? Disgusting.
"Solid food slows me down. Caffeine keeps me going," Sherlock muttered. He sat in his chair, facing away from her as he steepled his hands under his chin and closed his eyes. He needed to think. Really think.
He needed to enter his mind palace.
"Do you want a sandwich or something?" Molly asked, irritating him. Her voice broke his fluid concentration. He only brought her here to spite Charles and was all for kicking her out but he didn't for some reason. Molly didn't count anymore and he didn't have to care about her feelings.
Argh, Molly business was too complex. He set it aside into another folder and concentrated on the task at hand.
She opened the cabinet and found a box of pasta. "Or if you want something more filling…"
"Yes, whatever takes longer," Sherlock replied on edge.
"Pasta then…" Molly murmured and turned on the stove. "Sherlo-"
"Molly, do me a favour and be quiet for at least half an hour. I'm thinking."
She looked across the table at Sherlock who had his hands at his temples now, his eyes closed and his look of concentration sketched onto the contours of his face. "Um…okay." She waited for the water to boil.
Sherlock's vision was black at first. Slowly, he drowned out the sound of Molly clanking in the kitchen and replaced it by symphonic music. Bach. Entering his mind palace, he could see his endless collection of information slowly produce itself.
Loading…
He opened up all files pertaining to Charles: mental Images, conversations, videos, audio, items, locations and anything else with Charles written on it. Then he opened up his untitled file of the night of his attack. The resolution was terrible, dithered, but it would have to do. He compared the two. The attacker and Charles.
Bringing forward their cut-outs, he overlapped them. There was a difference in their height, for some reason the attacker was actually shorter. So they were different people. No surprise there. He put aside the attacker and Charles on each side of his vision and then began browsing for connections, anything out of the ordinary.
Sherlock replayed clips, starting with the first time he met Charles. Instead of focusing on Molly, he cropped her out and paid attention to Charles's expression. In .8 seconds, his face registered a hint of surprise.
He knew.
Charles knew him long before that day. Ohhhh, he recognized him and he lied about not knowing him. Why? Why would he do that? He screen capped the image, set it aside and opened up more files. Oh, things were getting interesting in the mind palace. He was seeing things he didn't even pick up before.
Next on his list was the murder at Shad Sanderson, nothing interesting picked up there, moving on. Sherlock browsed and zoomed in and out, cropping and cutting until he reached Lestrade's party. He played it over and caught something. Jane Wilmont bumped into Charles and Molly on her way out. There was an exchange. Down below, their hands had brushed – a message was sent! Oh, Jane! JANE! She was in on this – oh playing the part of the troubled girl who was soon to get a bullet in her head. It was a perfectly cliché cover, one he overlooked - brilliant!
But how? How did it all connect? What? Why? Questions began pouring in. He needed to match them with answers. He needed more data.
He brought up an image of Jane's body and then the attacker. Overlap. And Match. She attacked him, dressed as a man. Clever play, really, this entire time he thought the killer was a male. Jane was being watched by the police, knew she had to be at home all day on the fourth day of the murder after getting information, so she changed it up, killed on the third day, creating confusion and also anxiety. But why would she kill her friends? They travelled to America together – all of them for some charity event…
He dug deeper, expanding his search. Archives, missing links, everything. What if it wasn't a charity event? A cover, perhaps? The dates!
He searched for dates of their 'charity event' and connections with anything else specific and then somewhere in the back of his palace, something came forward and stopped in front of him. Blurred, it was newspaper heading with Wednesday, October 7th, 2012 – amulet stolen from museum.
Sherlock's eyes flashed open and he found Molly sitting in front of him with a plate of pasta in her hand. She was looking at him oddly. Molly found it insane how Sherlock behaved while 'thinking'. He had been moving his hands around, his head going left and right with his eyes closed. It was weird but she didn't disturb him.
"It's been forty five minutes, Sherlock. Pasta is kind of cold…" she said. "Do you still want it?"
She had been quiet as a mouse the whole time. Sherlock expected no less. Erratically, Sherlock jumped off the armchair and looked around his flat. "Trash it, don't need it."
"Trash?"
Sherlock filed through his desk and shelves. Everything was clean and not organized. Out of place! "Molly, where did you put my newspapers?"
"I threw them away."
"What?" he turned around and glared.
She flinched ever so slightly. "Is there a newspaper you need?"
"Nevermind. I'll find it online." He booted up the laptop.
"Sherlock, did you figure something out?"
"More than that."
"You solved the case?"
"Not all of it."
"Do you know who it is? The killer?"
"Yes."
She stood silently. "And?"
Sherlock didn't say anything. This wasn't good news for Molly. She became antsy but didn't pressure him. He was in his zone and quite frankly, she wasn't sure she would be ready for the answer. If Sherlock found Charles guilty, Molly would be devastated.
Sherlock typed skilfully and brought up the articles pertaining to the amulet. It was Wadjet, or 'whole one', an Egyptian symbol of the eye of Horus or Ra. Quite valuable. The amulet was stolen two months ago from an American museum. Jane and her friends must've all been in on it, something had happened and she was killing them off until one of them brought it forward.
Ohhhhhh! It was all making sense now. Well, a little. He was still uncertain of her true motives. One killing their friends never meant anything good. He could never killer John so this woman was clearly more insane in ways he couldn't even imagine. She was dangerous.
He closed his eyes, pacing back and forth through the room. In his mind, he brought up the list of fatalities.
First victim: Sarah O'Conner – history professor. This would be the woman who knew most about this 'amulet'.
Second victim: William Reed – A lawyer, he had his perks and knowledge of what and what not they could get away with.
Third victim: Peter Fitzgerald – employee at Shad Sanderson, financial. Good with money.
Fourth victim: Jacob Park – Freelance journalist, currently had been working on a museum piece – amulet. Got information, got people to talk.
Fifth victim: …
Sherlock opened his eyes and pulled out his mobile and texted Lestrade.
To: Lestrade
Who is the fifth victim?
SH
#
From: Lestrade
Gregory Green. I.T. Tech. Got anything?
Sherlock paused. Someone good with computers. And then there was Jane Wilmont. Based on his deductions, she was rather skilled – a fighter, the strong one – she did the leg work. It was like a team, a band of criminals stealing precious articles and selling them to clients: White collar art thieves. Charles was a family lawyer, dealt with wills and all that rubbish, what did he have in common? Where was his niche? Sherlock texted Lestrade back.
To: Lestrade
I know who Headshot is.
Jane's loft. Now.
SH
Note: We were reaching the end of this until Howlynn so graciously gave me a one up and told me I still had things to get done. She's right. (Can I extend this to fifteen chapters maybe?) Oh, what a great reviewer and a writer. I suggest for everyone to pay her page a visit and see if you're interested in her works. She's a wonderful writer. Additionally, Let me know if something is amiss in this...I'm a bit paranoid about the case. Thank you all for reading and commenting and reviewing and just everything!