Well I'm nearing the end of A Study in Pink. I've already started working on The Blind Banker and will start posting that once this is done. If anyone has suggestions on titles for the second one I'd love to hear it. Please review, I love to hear your thoughts.
transcripts are of course from the wonderful Ariane DeVere.-
Disclaimer I own nothing.
Sherlock stepped out the front, and shrugged on his coat. The cab was parked on the curb and the man was leaning against the side. Sherlock could finally see his face. He was an older man with gray hair and rounded wire rimmed glasses. Sherlock looked over him gathering all the information he could. You know what that say, know your enemy.
"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes."
"I didn't order a taxi." Sherlock narrowed his eye stepping off the steps and closing the door behind him.
"Doesn't mean you don't need one." He countered. Jeff Hope, Sherlock remembered. He had seen the name when he pulled the taxi over earlier today. Well, not really pulled over. It was more of stopped bodily.
"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street." Sherlock thought back. He had seen him in the front driving, but he hadn't thought anything of it. "It was you, not your passenger."
"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer." Sherlock took a few more steps forward. The street was surprisingly and thankfully empty that night. The detective glanced up at the flat where Lestrade and the other officers were hunting down the phone. The phone that was in this man's pocket.
"Is this a confession?"
"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."
"Why?" Sherlock frowned slightly. More, there had to be more.
"'Cause you're not gonna do that." Hope said the hint of a smirk playing at the side of his mouth.
"Am I not?"
"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing." Hope leaned forward. "I will never tell you what I said." Sherlock stared at him. No, he would go tell Lestrade before it was too late and he got himself killed. Well...he should at least. After a minute Hope straightened walking around the front of the cab.
"No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result." Sherlock said. Hope stopped and turned back to him.
"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" He turned back continuing to the driver's side door. the man got into the car closing the door after him and preceded to ignore Sherlock. No, Sherlock wouldn't let him do this. He knew exactly what he was doing. It was not doing to work on a brilliant mind like Sherlock's. Sherlock bite his lip walking closer to the cab. He looked up at the windows of 221B possibly for the last time. He leaned down looking at Hope.
"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?" So much for too brilliant of a mind.
"Let me take you for a ride." The murder said turning to looking at him.
"So you can kill me too?"
"I don't wanna kill you, Mr. 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer ... and then you're gonna kill yourself." Sherlock felt a chill crawl up his spine. Hope turned to the front again, and Sherlock stood up thinking the situation over. He wanted to know. He needed to know how this man was able to talk people into killing themselves. Picking up a pill putting it in the mouth and killing themself. Sherlock hadn't seen anything like this. He didn't know, and he need to. Sherlock could see Hope smirk as Sherlock opened to back door and climb in. Hope started up the engine and they drove off. Sherlock wondered if Lestrade had discovered his disappearance yet.
"How did you find me?" Sherlock asked as he watch the London scenery pass.
"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!" Was it wrong that he felt proud that someone had been on his website even if it was a murderer? Probably
"Who warned you about me?"
"Just someone out there who's noticed you."
"Who?" Sherlock pressed leaning forward. He looked at the side of Hope's neck and noted a picture of a young boy and girl on the dash of the car. "Who would notice me?" Not that he wasn't flattered that someone had noticed him, but he was a detective. He wasn't suppose to be noticed.
"You're too modest, Mr. 'olmes." Hope said meeting his eyes briefly in the rear view mirror.
"I'm really not." Just ask anyone who has ever met me.
"You've got yourself a fan." Sherlock sat back nonchalantly in his seat.
"Tell me more."
"That's all you're gonna know ... " Hope paused dramatically. "... in this lifetime."
The cab drove on finally stopping in front of two identical buildings side by side. The Roland-Kerr College, Sherlock recognised. Hope turned off the engine getting out and walking around to the passenger door. He looked in at Sherlock.
"Where are we?"
"You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are." he was right Sherlock did, but how did he know that?
"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?" What was the reason he chose this place? Why did he chose all those places?
"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out." A bit anti-climatic. Sherlock was almost hoping for some meaning behind it.
" And you just walk your victims in? How?" Hope raised a gun pointing it at Sherlock. The detective rolled his eyes and turned his head. Even the smart ones can be so incredibly boring. "Oh, dull."
" Don't worry. It gets better." Hope ushered.
"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint." Sherlock reasoned. There was no way with four victims. At least one of them would have chosen the gun.
"I don't. It's much better than that." Hope said lowering the gun. What was he playing at? "Don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me." Hope walked away confidently, and Sherlock grimaced as he got out following after him just as the man predicted. Sherlock really hated this man.
Hope opened the a door peering in before holding it open for Sherlock. Sherlock looked at him closely before stepping into the room. Hope let go of the door letting it swing close after him. Hope walked to the switches flicking on the lights. They were in a large classroom with long fixed wooden benches and plastic chairs. A window showed into the window of the building parallel. Sherlock walked deeper into the room looking around.
"Well, what do you think?" The murderer asked. Sherlock shrugged a 'what'. "It's up to you. You're the one who's gonna die 'ere." Sherlock turned to him now.
"No, I'm not."
"That's what they all say. Shall we talk?" He said straight-faced gesturing to one of the benches. This guy was good. Play with the victims, but then what? Without waiting for a reply he pulled out a chair sitting down. Sherlock took a chair from the bench in front flipping it around and sitting down with a dramatic sigh.
"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you." Or, at least that what Sherlock was hoping on, but he'd never been the faithful kind. If Lestrade didn't show up it was possible he could die here. Sherlock didn't like those odds. Sherlock liked Lestrade he was the smartest of the Yarders, but this was a bit out of his league.
"You call that a risk? Nah. This is a risk" He reached into his cardigan pulling out a small glass bottle with a screw top. Sherlock could see a single large capsule inside, but the detective kept his a careful mask. He didn't get it, and that was not a welcome feeling for any Holmes. This didn't explain how he got them to take the poisonous pill.
"Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this." This time Hope reached into his right pocket pulling out an identical bottle with an identical pill and placed it next to the other. "You weren't expecting that, were yer? Ooh, you're going to love this." No, no he wasn't. Hope leaned forward on his bench.
"Love what?"
"Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it." The man said sitting back. Part of Sherlock just wanted him to get to it, but he needed to find out about this fan.
"My fan?" He prompted.
"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. "The Science of Deduction." Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?" Hope looked down angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?" He looked back up into the other man's eye. Sherlock stared him down a long time narrowing his eye before it hit him.
"Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too." He spoke his voice dripping with sarcasm that Hope seemed to ignore.
"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know." He held Sherlock's gaze for a few more seconds before looking back down.
"Okay, two bottles. Explain." It didn't seem he would get anything on his "fan".
"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die."He explained pointedly.
"Both bottles are of course identical." This was clever, very clever.
"In every way."
"And you know which is which."
"Course I know."
"But I don't."
"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses." He was clever. Really clever.
"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?" Even if he got it right there was no way of him knowing if Hope would just shoot him anyway.
"I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine." Sherlock grinned. Okay, now he was really interested. "I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Sherlock looked down at the pills in the bottles studying them properly now.
"Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. 'olmes?" Hope asked playfully.
"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice." It did explain it. Why no one panicked and was shot or refused, because they had a choice.
"And now I'm givin' you one." Sherlock looked up at him. "You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game." Hope said licking his lips. This wasn't good. Sherlock need to find a way out of this. Of course there was no sign of Lestrade.
"It's not a game. It's chance." There was no game about this, no trick, pure chance.
"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move." Hope reached up pushing the left bottle toward him. The older man brought his hand back leaving the bottle there. He licked his lips again.
"Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one." Hope looked at the bottles briefly before looking at Sherlock again. "You ready yet, Mr. 'olmes? Ready to play?"
"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance."
"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"
"Still just chance." Pity to see someone so smart rely on chance. He could be so well if he used reason instead. Still Sherlock had to admit this was pretty clever, and it had been interesting.
"Four people in a row? It's not just chance."
"Luck."
"It's genius. I know 'ow people think." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not this please. "I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead." Sherlock looked at him exasperated.
"Everyone's so stupid – even you." Sherlock's gaze sharpened on the man. "Or maybe God just loves me." Oh no, he'd gone too far. This a man thought too much of himself. He wasn't a genius, A god, he was a murderer. It was time someone cut him down to size.
"Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie." Which was true. Maybe if he had a better job that fitted his intelligence he wouldn't have resorted to murder. He could have actually done something. either way time to cut him down.
"So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?" Sherlock brought his folded hands up under his chin. He gazed at Hope intently. The other man nodded to the bottles.
"Time to play." Sherlock unfolded his fingers adopting his almost payer position in front of his mouth.
"Oh, I am playing. This is my turn." Sherlock smirked. "There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you." Hope struggled not to fidget under Sherlock's gaze. " But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them." Hope looked away and Sherlock caught a hint of pain in his eyes, and Sherlock knew he was on the right trace. "Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts. Ah, but there's more. " Sherlock extended his index finger. Hope looked up at the detective as he pointed at him.
"Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" Hope seemed to pull himself back together letting his face show nothing. Sherlock eyes widened as it hit him. "Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?" Sherlock asked softly.
"Told me what?" Dying, he was dying.
"That you're a dead man walking."
"So are you." Hope countered.
"You don't have long, though. Am I right?" The murderer smiled.
"Aneurism. Right in 'ere." Hope lifted a hand pointed to the right side of his head. Sherlock smiled satisfied he had been right. "Any breath could be my last." Wait, there was something wrong with this. Sherlock frowned.
"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."
"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism."
"No. No, there's something else." Sherlock said thoughtfully. "You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children." Hope turned away and sighed.
"Ohh." He turned back to Sherlock. "You are good, ain't you?" Sherlock mentally cringed at the other man's grammar, but seeing as the situation he didn't comment.
"But how?"
"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."
"Or serial killing."
"You'd be surprised."
"Surprise me." Hope leaned forward.
"I 'ave a sponsor."
"You have a what?" This didn't make any sense.
"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."
"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?" Sherlock frowned.
"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'olmes?" He responded instantly. They both stared at each other for a minute.
"You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that." The side of Sherlock's nose twitched in distaste. This was bigger that Sherlock had thought. This was more than a murderer, or a murderer and a sponsor. Also he was much more than "just a man", and he indented to show Hope this fact.
"What d'you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What?"
"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter." Hope nodded to the bottles, and Sherlock knew he wasn't getting any more out of him. Sherlock looked down at the bottles studying each one. "Time to choose."
"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here." Hope sighed in a mixture of disappointment and exasperation as he lifted the pistol.
"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head." For the first time Sherlock had a chance to see the gun in the light. He smiled calmly. "Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option."
"I'll have the gun, please."
"Are you sure?"
"Definitely. The gun." Sherlock said still smiling.
"You don't wanna phone a friend?" Sherlock smiled confidently.
"The gun." Hope's mouth tightened and slowly he squeezed the trigger a small flame coming from the end. Sherlock smiled smugly. "I know a real gun when I see one." Hope lifted the cigaret lighter and released the trigger putting the flame out.
"None of the others did."
"Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case." Sherlock stood walking to the door. Behind him Hope sat the lighter down turning his body to face Sherlock.
"Just before you go, did you figure it out ..." Sherlock stopped at the door half turning to the man. " ... which one's the good bottle?"
"Of course child's play."
"Well, which one, then?" Sherlock opened the door, but couldn't seem to make himself walk out. "Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" Sherlock closed the door.
"Come on. Play the game." Hope chuckled. Sherlock walked slowly back to the table and swepped up the bottle closest to Hope. he continued walking and Hope looked down at the remaining bottle regarding it with interest.
"Oh. Interesting." He hummed his voice giving nothing away. He picked up the other bottle as Sherlock looked down at the bottle in his own hands. Hope unscrewed the top tipping it into his hand. He held in up looking at it closely. "So what d'you think? Shall we?" He looked up at Sherlock.
"Really, what do you think? Can you beat me?" Hope stood facing Sherlock. "Are you clever enough to bet your life?" Of course he did... I mean- No, Of course Sherlock was a genius.
"I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you ..." Yes, God yes. More than anything. Sherlock unscrewed the lid of the bottle. "... so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?" He was right. Sherlock took out the small capsule holing it up to the light to examine it closer.
"Still the addict. But this ... this is what you're really addicted to, innit?" Yes, all the drug in the world couldn't compare to this. This rush of danger and being right. That the only thing keeping you alive is if you your smarter than the other. "You'd do anything ... anything at all ... to stop being bored." Sherlock felt his fingers begin to tremble in both anticipation and fear. The detective slowly began moving to the pill toward his mouth as Hope mirrored his actions."You're not bored now, are you? Innit good?"
Sherlock brought the hopefully not poisonous pill to his lips. A gunshot rung out and a bullet tore through Hope hitting the door behind him. Sherlock jumped dropping the pill in surprise. He quickly pulled himself together. If Hope was shot that meant someone wanted him out of the way. It just might have to do with his "fan". Sherlock turned, sliding over the desk behind him and hurried to the window. He bent down to stare through the bullet hole in the glass. The window of the building opposite was open, but the room appeared empty. Sherlock straightened up as Hope coughed his breath heavy. Sherlock turned he quickly walked back over snatching the pill off the table as he went. The detective held the pill up in front of Hope's face who just stared at him in shock.
"Was I right?" Hope turned his head away in disbelief. "I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" Hope didn't reply and Sherlock angrily hurled the pill at his face. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my 'fan'. I want a name."
"No." Hope said weakly.
"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." Hope shook his head Grimacing angrily. Sherlock lifted his foot placing it on the other man's shoulder on the wound. Hope gasped in pain. "A name. Now." Hope cried out in pain. Sherlock leaned his weight on the wound.
"The name!" Sherlock shouted a mania taking over his mind.
"MORIARTY!" Hope screamed his eyes closed and Sherlock watched his head roll to the side. Sherlock stood back. He'd never heard that name before, and if this was a crime organisation run in London that was saying something. Sherlock mouthed the word Moriarty testing the feel on his lips.
