A/N: The time has come, loves. Human Error is hitting its last four or five chapters. There may be a sequel, but I highly doubt it. However ya never know.
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF TORTURE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Chapter Nine
' I have a gift for you.' - JM
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, tilting his head curiously at the playful tone of the message. A week had passed since the true nature of his disappearance had been revealed and in that time, he hadn't heard a peep out of his criminal.
He froze, turning over the thought in his head.
Since when was Moriarty his criminal. Perhaps his Sire had been on to something when he'd hinted that Sherlock's feelings for the consulting criminal ran deeper than he thought they did.
"Why would he want you? You're filthy and used." His mind whispered and he gritted his teeth at the truth in their words, glaring down at the words printed on his screen. The voice was right. Why would Moriarty want him? To the criminal he was just an obstacle to conquer, a game to beat.
"And what of his behavior in the warehouse?" Asked another voice, contradicting the other one. "The flirting and the hand kissing indicate that he is interested at any rate. There's also the extreme jealousy he gave off before realizing that you saw Caderyn as a father figure. Plus he is, mighty possessive of you."
His frown deepened. While he had seen the jealousy of the criminal he had assumed that it was more due to the fact that he was paying him less attention rather than his close proximity to Caderyn. And Moriarty was a possessive man in general whether it be rivals or victims if they were his then he wanted it to be know. His amorous behavior at the crime scene had just been another part of the game, one that had been displayed since their meeting at Barts.
He shook his head, forcing the thoughts from his mind as he text the criminal back.
'A present?'-SH
'Well more like a few presents. The first should be arriving at Baker Street when you arrive.'
He raised an eyebrow stepping from his cab as it pulled up in front of Baker Street. On the step was a plain brown package, with his name scrawled across it in Moriarty's spidery scrawl. He kneeled and lifted it turning it over his hands curiously.
The box was about the size of a shoe box and the width and weight of a thick novel. He shook it lightly and smiled as he heard a thumping sound inside.
'Figured it out?' Moriarty text him and he frowned.
'It carries a slight scent of blood so its obviously a body part. The box is small and there is only on object thumping against the inside so a small body part, one that weighs the same amount as a book so not eyeballs, obviously. A hand.' He responded with a satisfied smirk. His criminal's response was immediate and full of pride.
'Correct.'
He chuckled softly, tucking his phone back in his pocket and heading inside to reconfirm his guess. Mrs. Hudson smiled at him as he entered, a tray of hot scones and fresh biscuits held in her small weathered hands.
"Good morning, Dear." She greeted. "Is that something for your case?"
He shook his head and she smiled slyly. "A gift from an admirer then?"
He blushed faintly, happy that he'd been able to keep his shame from her. The woman loved him like a son and he knew that if she knew of what had happened to him it would break her heart. She smirked deviously in response, the kind old lady act she kept around everyone else falling just for a moment to reveal the clever moll underneath.
"Is it from your Moriarty?"
His blush darkened. "He's not my anything!" He protested and she giggled, turning to walk up the stairs.
"What ever you say, dear. What ever you say." She replied.
He stared after her for a moment then took a seat on the stairs to tear open the package. When he did he gasped and stared down at the familiar hand inside.
A large tattooed hand swung down and met his cheek roughly, the thick rose gold ring on the index figure leaving a cut on his cheek. His assailant chuckled as he hit the ground and yanked him up by his hair to hit him again. He bit his lip, focusing his stare on the black scorpion tattoo curling around the back of the man's finger.
The hand was curled into a fist, the scorpion on the back displayed proudly under the blood coating the appendage. Blood pooled under the amputated appendage telling him that the person it had been removed from was still alive and beside slid between the fingers of the appendage was a folded piece of paper. He slipped it from the hand's grip, uncaring of the blood streaking it and opened it. It read:
He has many more. So does his friends.
Enjoy your gift. The next one shall arrive shortly.
His breathe hitched and he forced himself not to smile. Moriarty had figured out the identities of all the men and had captured them. He didn't even bother to ask himself if the criminal had the right men because he just knew that the man did. He wished he could've had just one of them but he knew that under Moriarty and his men they would suffer for their crimes against him. They would pay for what they had done and somehow that was enough for him.
Sebastian Moran was not a faint hearted man.
He'd seen the best and worst of what men could do, had experienced and given torture and killed innocents and monsters alike. More importantly, he'd witnessed every facet of Moriarty that there was from the psychopathic genius to the lovesick criminal (which weren't really all to different from each other if he were to be perfectly honest). All the same, he had never seen anything like what he was seeing now.
He'd returned shortly after dawn with all of the men his boss had requested and he hadn't been fully prepared for the pure unadulterated rage that had taken over the man's features when he saw them. The consulting criminal's dark eyes had darkened even more into deep abysses of madness, his lips curled into a snarl so dark that, for the first time in a long time, the sniper had found himself feeling fear in the presence of his friend. There had been no playful quips or taunts, no mocking smirks, none of it.
"Leave Garrett. Take the others to the basement. I'll deal with them later." He'd commanded and Sebastian had immediately obeyed, unwilling to get on the bad side of this Jim.
When he'd returned from his task he'd found Garrett chained to a chair with Jim pacing in front on him like a caged animal ready to attack.
"How dare you," The criminal snarled lowly at the bound man. "How dare you touch what is mine! No one, no one is allowed to break Sherlock Holmes but me! He is mine."
"I-I'm sorry! We didn't know, alright! We were drunk an' we were jus' lookin' for some fun. Not our fault the bitch got smart!" Garrett replied struggling in his bonds. Jim froze and Sebastian felt a wave of sympathy for the stupid captive, wondering what they had done to Jim's precious detective. A slow dangerous smirk crossed Jim's lips.
"Let's have some fun then, Jason." He purred, pulling a knife from his pocket. In a deceptively strong grip he grabbed the large man's wrist and began to saw it off, giggling as the man screamed and thrashed.
"Did he scream?" He snarled at the man as he worked. "Did he beg you to stop?"
"Please," Garrett sobbed. "Please let me g-go!"
His plea went ignored and the other man continued to saw at his wrist until his entire hand was separated from his body, blood gushing from the stump. He set the bloody appendage down and smirked evilly.
"Can't have you dying, now can we? The fun is just beginning." He grabbed the bloody stump and pulled out a cigarette lighter and Garrett jerked in his grasp, fear in his eyes.
"No, please! Ple-ahhh," He screamed as Moriarty lit the lighter and went about cauterizing the stump. He screamed and struggled as valiantly as he could but by the time Moriarty had finished he'd passed out from the pain. Jim sneered at him in disgust and put the lighter away, gently picking up Garrett's disembodied hand.
"Take him to the others. I want to know when he awakens."
Sebastian nodded and watched as he left the room, before turning to his friend's unfortunate victim.
"I pity you, my friend. You shouldn't have touched Sherlock Holmes." He rumbled, undoing the chains and heaving the man over his shoulder, knowing without a doubt that in Jim's mood, none of their captives would be leaving alive.
TBC...
