Chapter 10: Something Wicked This Way Comes, Part 2
Hey guys!
I'm horrible for not posting for so long, but my courses at university, combined with a huge writer's block made me unable to write a single sentence…
I have to admit, I'm not entirely satisfied with those 2 chapters. They seem to me slightly rushed, but I really wanted to finish them, because I already have some awesome ideas for later!
Thank you for reviews, alerts and favorites!
I hope you enjoy! :)
Halloween Night
''I hope they leave soon.'', muttered Sherlock, gazing outside.
Children crowded Baker Street. The younger ones were along with their parents, whereas teenage companies were walking in all kinds of costumes, holding either paper bags or plastic Jack o' Lanterns full of candies.
A group of six kids dressed as zombies were throwing toilet paper around.
Sherlock snorted at the sight and slicked back some unruly strands of hair.
''It will be lovely dear, do not worry.'', came the sweet voice of Mrs. Hudson from the kitchen. ''And look at you! You are so handsome.'', she continued cheerfully.
Sherlock answered with a grunt and turned to look at Mrs. Hudson who was sorting large plates of cakes with colored icings, muffins, liqueur chocolates and other delicacies, on the kitchen table.
''You look nice too, Mrs. Hudson.'', he said gently and meant every word.
Mrs. Hudson was making a staggering Endora in her long purple dress and equally long green vest. Her hair was fixed and dyed with a ghastly orange temporary color and her eyes popped, due to the large amount of blue eye shadow on her eyelids. Still, it suited her perfectly well.
''Let me fix your mask dear.'', she said sweetly and approached him. He obediently went to sit in his armchair to make the task more convenient to Mrs. Hudson. She was the only one, apart from his Mummy, that he allowed to touch him in such manner.
Mrs. Hudson sorted the white half-mask on the right side of his face, applying more eyelash glue to help the mask stay longer on his face. ''There.'', she chirped and sorted his white muslin shirt. ''All sorted, Sherlock.''
''Thank you Mrs. Hudson.'', he said politely and allowed a small smile. ''WATSON!'', he then yelled, startling the poor woman.
''Don't shout!''
''She has been in her room for three hours.'', he grumbled. ''What could possibly be taking so-''
''Good evening everyone.'', came a happy voice from the threshold and both of them looked at Dr. Watson swirling around like a little girl.
''Oh!'', came a chirp from Mrs. Hudson.
''Oh.'', came a much more serious tone from Sherlock, whose Eyes had widened at the obscure Sight in front of him.
Joan was dressed as… a man.
More likely a weird kind of humanoid… more like an elf.
Somehow, she had managed to make her hair appear shorter, darker, and curlier. A pair of pointy ears was sticking out of the dark blonde curly mess. Moreover, she was wearing dark yellow pants, a white muslin shirt, with a green waistcoat and on top of it all a velvet dark crimson coat. From her belt, was hanging a small shiny sword, which seemed real and had a strange blue glow, probably from some kind of strange, glowing-in-the-dark paint.
Sherlock was fascinated by her transformation, looking up and down. ''Is that hair on your feet?'', he asked.
''Indeed, Holmes!'', she smiled.
''Darling you look lovely!'', chirped Mrs. Hudson.
''You too, Mrs. H!'', beamed Joan.
''Thank you dear.'', replied the old woman cheerfully.
''You look like a man.'', stated Sherlock.
''That was the point.''
''I will prepare the chips.'', announced Mrs. Hudson and went to the kitchen.
''So… what are you supposed to be?'', asked Sherlock, trying not to sound baffled.
''You're kidding, right?'', said Joan.
''I don't… kid.'', he said quite serious
''Ears… feet… sword with blue blade! Doesn't remind you of anything?'', she asked, while pointing at herself.
''No.''
''Sherlock! I'm a Hobbit!'', she said throwing her hands in the air. ''I'm supposed to be Bilbo Baggins, how could you not have guessed?''
''Who?''
Joan was looking at him, her mouth gape open. ''What were you reading as a child?''
''Many things that were useful.'', he said smugly.
''You've never read The Lord of the Rings? The Hobbit? The Silmarillion? The Unfinished Tales?''
''No.''
''Oh let it go, Joan.'', said Mrs. Hudson from the kitchen. ''Our Sherlock finds only boring things important.''
''It's not that.'', he replied. ''I simply see my brain as an attic. The more-''
''Yes, darling, we know.''
He snorted and turned once again at the direction of Joan. ''I thought you would dress more feminine.''
''And I thought you'd go for the gorier version of the Phantom of the Opera, not the romantic and sexy one.'', she replied cheekily.
Sherlock felt heat pooling to his high cheekbones. ''I didn't have the right tools for the transformation.'', he said plainly and sat at the armrest of his chair.
''I'm heading downstairs to see if the popcorn is ready.'', announced Mrs. Hudson, dashing outside the apartment.
Joan approached Sherlock and stood in front of him.
Sherlock's stomach tightened, the moment her hands moved to his neck, but refused to let any discomfort be evident.
''What are you doing?'', he asked calmly.
''The ruffles of your shirt are tangled to the brooch of your cape.'', she smiled, her eyes fixed around his neck and her fingers, as they methodically worked.
Sherlock swallowed softly. ''It's a very good disguise, Joan… it might prove useful in the future.''
''Are you thinking going undercover in the Shire?'', she chuckled.
''I meant that your ability to transform yourself might prove useful in future cases.''
Sherlock observed the soft wrinkles that formed in the corner of her eyes, as she smiled at his worlds. It was the first time he saw them… perhaps it was the first time he observed this plain, but bizarre woman.
''There.'', she said and withdrew her fingers.
Sherlock missed the gentle touch. He cleared his throat. ''Thank you. So… which annoying people have you invited?''
Joan tisked. ''I've invited some friends from work, some from the army, Mrs. H's friends and some relatives, Molly, Mike...''
At the sound of the names, Sherlock rolled his eyes.
''Oh, come on… it's going to be fun!'', Joan smiled. ''I've invited your brother too, but he had-''
''Whatever he had, it was a good excuse.'', he said nonchalantly. ''He never appears, Joan.''
''He told me he had a meeting with the French ambassador.'', said Joan nevertheless. ''And Lestrade will attend another party first.''
That caught Sherlock's attention. ''Is she? Did she tell you what party?''
''An old friend's Halloween party. She told me she would try to come as soon as possible.''
The doorbell rang. ''That will be our first guests!'', she said and went to stand on top of the stairs to greet the guests.
''Or more hobgoblins requesting treats!'', scoffed Sherlock and sorted his cape around his shoulders.
''Happy Halloween!'', smiled Joan at the friends of Mrs. Hudson who entered the apartment, followed by the landlady.
''This is going to be a long night.'', mused Sherlock and faked a smile.
The place was not as packed as Lestrade had imagined, the moment the car came to a halt in front of the venue's entrance.
It wasn't even a club to begin with… it was more of a mansion.
In front of the door, there was a couple wearing dark clothing and Venetian masks. As soon as they got inside, the street was quiet once more.
''Is this the right place?'', asked Jenny the driver doubtfully.
''This is the place, Inspector.'', he simply said, not even looking at her. His gaze was fixed to the view ahead.
Jenny sighed.
She wore her black domino mask and hopped outside the car.
The moment she closed the door, she heard the car tires. The black car disappeared in no time and Lestrade felt her stomach tighten.
Standing two meters from the dark front door, her gaze wondered upwards to the windows.
The cream-colored curtains blocked the view, but she could still see the shadows of people coming and going, holding tall Champaign glasses chatting and flirting.
No sound was coming from this building; sound proofed apparently, it seemed that the club respected its clients privacy and whatever secrets they were hiding; perfect place for a murderer to hide.
Lestrade walked slowly and stood in front of a window frame checking her reflection.
Her usually long wavy hair tucked neatly under a short, black wig with bangs made her appear completely different; at least to someone who had never met her. Her chocolate eyes had given their place to a pair of emerald green contacts… the ensemble was concluded with her wearing one of the most expensive floor length gowns she had ever seen in her life and probably cost more she earned in two months.
She shuddered at the fact that, not only the midnight blue fabric and line of the dress complemented her, but also it had the right measurements and was the size.
What was on with the Holmeses? They could get your measurements just by looking at you!
She sighed loudly and took a few breaths to calm herself.
She was already tense by the fact that this morning, when she walked into her living room, Mycroft's assistant Anthea, or Chloe as she was going by these days, was sitting comfortably in her favorite armchair tap-tap-tapping at her phone, as if she owned the place.
She was the one who had helped with the transformation and Jenny had to admit that the woman had done an excellent job.
She jerked a little when she heard a car stopping in front of her.
From the black shiny town car, two women, the one more stunning than the other, got outside, and while wobbling a little, made their way to the door.
They appeared to be quite drunk and they didn't take any notice at Lestrade's presence.
When they were gone, Jenny realized she couldn't wait any longer.
The fashion show had ended an hour ago and the party was on. If she waited another minute, she might lose vital information, or the murderer.
She discreetly checked her left hip, her gun in place and straightened her gown.
She checked the black piece of paper in her hands that was her ticket, her mobile and walked to the door.
She put her most dazzling smile and entered.
An eerie, weird music, composed by violins and a pipe organ was echoing from upstairs along with voices and laughs.
''Welcome to the Vampire Elite.'', smiled the lady behind a black, polished, round table, that served as a counter.
''Hello.'', replied Jenny and passed her the invitation and her fake ID.
The red haired masked woman checked both of them and returned the ID, keeping the small black ticket. ''You've missed the show I'm afraid, but you're just in time for the party.'', she smiled.
''That was my intention.'', said Jenny cheekily and the woman returned a smile.
''Well, Miss Maurer you have to hand me your mobile or any other recording devices you have. We respect our clients' privacy.''
''Of course.'', said Lestrade, handing her mobile. Not her mobile really… it was an old, piece of machinery she used for cases like this. Her mobile was secure in her holster, along with her gun. If anything went wrong, she had to call for back up immediately.
''Have fun.'', she said and motioned to the stairs.
Lestrade gave her a small smirk and ascended the stairs.
The music she had heard downstairs intensified the moment she stepped inside the huge hall.
The voice of a soprano was echoing clear from speakers she couldn't see.
Lestrade swallowed, as she found herself in huge, circular chamber filled with people, dressed in all kinds of couture dresses and masks.
She felt like she had just descended (well… ascended more likely), to the nine circles of Hell, from Dante's Inferno.
The air was humid hot, with a various mix of smells.
A series of swooping arches, circled the room and Jenny noticed that they led to either stairs or other corridors, as if it was some sort of mini tunnel system.
The whole place was rendered in a tasteful display of art nouveau; apart from the color on the walls.
The scarlet painted wall tapestries with hints of black coloring and gold tendrils curling like plants, creating patterns here and there, caused a massive discomfort to the DI. Not only the color was painful to her eyes, but it somehow made her feel even weirder and suffocated; like she was standing in the middle of a pit of fire.
''Yeap… definitely, Dante's Inferno.'', she thought.
The more she looked and walked around, the more she recognized the smells that had assaulted her nostrils as soon as she entered; A wave of perfumes, mixed with musk and alcohol.
Wherever she looked there were different colors, different masks, but she could practically sense the vanity of those people under their disguise… and her instincts told her that under one of these disguises was her killer.
Everyone was wearing a mask, even the waiters.
She kept walking around the room confident and with poise.
A waiter offered her champagne, which she kindly denied; she was on duty after all.
Her eyes were caught by a man dressed all in black with a black domino eye mask, similar to hers, save the small black crystals, which decorated the perimeter of the mask. He was talking to a young man; he looked so out of place and yet he blended in perfectly.
''He must be one of Mycroft's agents.'', she thought. She shook her head lightly as the images of last night threatened to come forward. Right now she had to focus on the operation, find her killer and tomorrow… tomorrow maybe close the case for good.
She would deal with the wooing of Mycroft Holmes later.
''Looking for someone?'', came a smooth female voice.
''Adler.'', she thought and turned, to see the woman standing behind her.
She looked… small. Not in a bad way… more like petite. But everyone looked small to her sometimes, especially when she was in heels.
Nevertheless the Woman was staggering at the very least.
Smooth pale skin, high cheekbones, and green eyes with heavy lashes… Lestrade could only imagine all of these, since half of her face was covered by a shiny golden mask, to match her champagne colored dress.
A smirk adorned her red lips; a smirk that could bring men and women of power to their knees… luckily for Lestrade, she had always preferred to be just a simple Detective.
''Not someone in particular.'', she answered in a low tone, blinking her eyes slowly. She was sure that Adler knew she wasn't expecting anyone, that she knew she was an outsider. Why else would she approach her so quickly? But that didn't mean she couldn't try and charm her.
''Irene Adler.'', she said, extended her hand. ''Owner of this lovely venue.'', she smirked.
''Camille Maurer, PI.'', replied Jenny, shaking Adler's offered hand. ''Lovely place indeed.''
''I'm glad you like it.'', she winked. ''PI you said?''
''Yes… I'm here for certain questions regarding the murders of those four girls.''
Lestrade saw Alder looking doubtful for just a few moments before she smiled. ''And why are you investigating these murders?'', she asked.
''Because the police are useless.'', shrugged Jenny playfully.
The woman chuckled and slowly brushed her hand over her waist. ''I might be able to help you with that.'', she said. ''Would you like to question me?''
''If you don't mind.''
Adler came as close as possible to her, her grip around her waist tightening. ''Oh, I assure you… I don't mind at all.''
Lestrade merely nodded.
''But not here; it's too noisy… let's go upstairs.''
That alarmed Jenny a little. ''We're fine here.''
''Oh, no love.'', replied Adler with determination. ''The things I'm about to tell you require privacy.''
Not only the club was tall, it was also huge; bigger than the first look allowed her to imagine. Jenny had the feeling that this venue was not only just a club for social occasions.
''What exactly is your club?'', she asked, as she followed Irene.
''A place where people can vivify their deepest desires.'', she answered, winking at her. She stopped in front of a cream-colored door.
She turned the golden knob and entered the room.
Jenny looked around before she walked in.
She had a bad feeling about this, but how bad it could get? She had her gun, she was trained and in a confrontation, Adler wouldn't be able to knock her unconscious.
Adler closed the door and Jenny took a proper look around the room. It was some sort of drawing room, or perhaps a small sitting area. Nothing more; far more simple than the main area downstairs.
The room was lighted mainly by the lamp light against the walls and a little by the street lights and the moon from the big windows.
''Please Camille, sit.'', she said and realized that Alder was already seated on the leather couch, patting the space next to her.
Lestrade walked and sat at the other end of the couch, feeling her gun pressing against her thigh.
''Now why would you accept to speak to me?'', she asked.
Irene seemed a little bemused, but quickly recovered. ''I thought I might help. Don't you want help Camille?'', she purred, drawing closer to her.
Lestrade crossed her legs, watching Adler's eyes as they moved along with the delicate rich colored fabric over her leg, falling, revealing some of her thigh.
Jenny smirked. ''I do need all the help I can get… It is after all what I'm paid for. But still… why in this room?''
Adler moved closer, now almost at hand's reach from her. She leaned forward, supporting her upper body on her arms. ''Because I'm planning to seduce you later.'', she said breathily.
''I wouldn't be opposed to that.'', smiled Jenny, but her brain had already figured out three possible exits which no one involved the door.
If things got physical, the last thing she would need was bumping on the crowd.
''Now… what do you know about the girls? Did you know them personally?''
''No… I only knew they were models, for Rebecca Jekyll. Nothing more. And before you ask, no… they didn't have any enemies, or anything. They were sweet and quiet creatures. That's all.''
She stood slowly walking to the window, to glance outside. Jenny braced herself for what was coming.
''But you're asking the wrong questions Inspector Lestrade.'', she said suddenly, her green eyes boring into hers.
Lestrade tensed for a few seconds, but smiled. ''I think you mistake me for someone else.'', she replied.
''Oh no, no. Don't do that!'', she purred, coming closer. She kneeled on the couch, her body towering over Jenny's. ''I'm afraid that your disguise wasn't enough. I know who you are Inspector Lestrade. I have seen your pictures in the papers. And I dare say…''
She put her hand against the sofa's armrest, leaning her body closer, thus trapping her. ''Those contacts don't do you any justice. If I were you I'd lose them.''
Jenny cursed her stupidity of following Adler. What was she thinking? Of course Adler knew who she was, that's why she had approached her.
She decided to be calm. Adler didn't seem willing to harm her… yet. ''Who do you work for?'', she asked slowly, her eyes never leaving hers.
''I work for many people, but two of my employees are quite taken by you.'', she smirked. ''I don't blame them. But don't worry they don't want you to get hurt. On the contrary.''
Finally she backed away, making herself comfortable once again on the couch. ''You've got it all wrong I'm afraid, Inspector. The models were a distraction for something greater… something your plain mind can't conceive.''
''I only care to find the killer. Your conspiracy theories are hardly my problem.'', spat Jenny.
''Oh don't get offended, love.'', replied Adler innocently. ''I'm simply saying that your case is not a simple crime.''
''It is as simple as a murder can be.'', said Jenny with determination. ''If you know something I would appreciate you tell me.
''And what do I win?'', she smirked, extending her leg, till her heel covered foot caressed her leg.
''I'll tell you what you win in case you don't tell me; a night in a cell.''
Adler smirked. ''My, my, Inspector. I've never thought you were that kind of woman.''
''I'm worse.'', said Jenny seriously.
Adler chuckled. ''Oh, pity. I thought you had a different kind of cell in mind.''
''I guarantee you, the first one isn't a pleasant as you think it is. Now tell me names.''
Like a feline, Adler stretched her well toned body and sighed in content. ''Oh, alright. Greta Crowley.''
Jenny's head snapped to attention. ''The assistant Greta Crowley?''
''Mhmm…'', she hummed languidly and continued. ''Crowley is more than an assistant. She is a skilled assassin, quite taken with the macabre, let's say. You might have noticed it; she likes creating art from her victims.'', she chuckled.
Jenny tried not to show the shiver that came down her spine, as she recalled the… art that the murderer had created. Instead she crossed her arms, her scowl deepening. ''And why would I believe you?''
''You can't.'', she shrugged playfully, closing her eyes. ''But you can confirm it… she is downstairs. Go find her. With a few threats, I'm sure she'll break. She might seem tough, but believe me… she's too fragile, our girl.'', she smirked.
Jenny remained stationary, eyeing the woman.
Adler sensed her gaze and slowly opened her lids. ''You're still here darling and your time is running out. Go and find her.''
''How do I know this is not a trap?''
Adler sighed and tilted her head further back; a gesture which showed that she was getting tired of the DI's suspicions. ''I've told you Inspector Lestrade; my employees do not care about your little murders.''
''Little?'', she growled, rising from her seat. ''Four girls were brutally murdered and you think that's little?''
Adler tutted. ''Don't get upset with me, Inspector. I told you; the case is deeper than you think. But if you only care about the killer, she is currently downstairs and won't be there for long.''
Alder stood up elegantly, coming to stand in front of her. ''You just have to go and arrest her that's all.''
''Who do you work for, Adler? And why are they interested in me?'', asked Jenny in a low voice.
Alder raised her green eyes and looked at her, a smirk adorning her blood - red lips. ''You have to understand something, Inspector.'', she started in a patronizing manner. ''You are but a simple pawn in a chessboard; a game conducted by two great minds and you are in the middle of something greater. It's your choice, whether to become a casualty or shine and be the winning party.''
''What the hell is that suppose to mean?'', asked Lestrade, her brows furrowed.
''Go and find your killer; ask no more questions.''
Adler raised her hand and tapped lightly on the gun at her hip. ''You might need this.'', she chuckled.
Lestrade didn't wait any longer and dashed off the room to find Crawley.
She entered the grand circular hall, now filled with more people than before. It would take a miracle to trace her, especially if she wore a mask, like everyone else.
She could remember her face and physique very well, but she could be anyone in here.
While turning around, in an attempt to trace her, her back bumped to someone's front.
''Forgive me.'', she said quickly, turning to see who it was.
Luck seemed to be on her side that night, when she came face to face with Rebecca Jekyll. She didn't seem offended, or angry; she looked exactly the way she looked when she was in the interrogation room; cold and eerie.
Dressed in a fabulous total black attire, the petite designer didn't seem to recognize her. She was ready to leave when Jenny gently caught her wrist.
''Miss Jekyll, I'm a great fan of your work.'', she smiled, trying to sound like a big admire.
The shorter woman glanced at her hand and then at her, her eyebrow raised. Jenny immediately released her hand and cleared her throat. ''I'm very sorry to bother you on such an occasion, but do you mind telling me where Mrs. Crowley is? I am a friend and it is about a very important matter.''
''Is it?'', asked the designer, her eyebrow still tilted, but no indication in her eyes that she had recognized her.
''Indeed. I'm sorry, I cannot reveal more.''
Rebecca hummed and turned to the person who was standing a few steps away from her. ''Mother.'', she called and Patricia Hall turned to approach her daughter. Jenny turned her head to the side, trying to look like she was searching for someone. Patricia shouldn't take a good glance at her.
''Yes, dear?''
''Do you know where Greta is?''
''Who asks?'', asked Patricia, now standing next to her daughter.
''A friend of hers.'', replied the designer somewhat annoyed; she obviously had greater things to do than discussing such trivial matters.
''I believe she went to the bathroom.'', said Patricia Hall finally.
Without so much as a grunt, Jenny left both women and hurried into the corridor, which led to the bathroom.
She closed the door behind her and locked it.
She noticed that only one stall was occupied and if she was lucky, Greta Crowley would come out at any moment.
She looked around for a while, breathing quietly and walking even quieter.
The bathroom was too luxurious; black marble prevailed almost everywhere, from the floor to the sink base.
Lestrade looked around to notice the deep golden color on certain areas on the walls and then a big circular window, overlooking at the city.
The sound of a flush and the soft click on the door's lock and there was Greta, looking at her with a question in her blue eyes.
She walked to the sink and started washing her hands.
''Greta Crowley.'', said Lestrade and the woman turned to look at her.
''Do I know you?'', she asked indifferently, turning the tap off and wiping her hands on the fluffy white towel.
''We've met before.''
''I don't recognize you, I'm sorry.''
''Did you commit the murders Greta?''
A chuckle escaped her lips, a look of pure amusement in her eyes. ''What?''
With a sharp move, Jenny removed the wig from her head, her hair falling freely like a dark brown cascade over her shoulders. She took the mask of off her face and threw it on the floor. ''You remember me now?'', she asked, throwing the wig on the floor as well.
''You're that Inspector, aren't you?'', she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, looking tall and intimidating, something that was more emphasized by the black fitted suit she was wearing.
''Yes. I'll ask you again; did you kill those girls and why?''
Crowley shook her head in disbelief and looked at the mirror, sorting her tight bun. ''You're mad.'', she huffed.
''Irene Adler seems to think you did it.''
At the sound of the name her hands paused and lowered. She turned to look at her, swallowing. ''What?''
Lestrade tried not to appear bemused, but she noticed a painful expression painting her features.
''Why would she do that?'', she asked, more like saying her thoughts aloud.
''Is it true then?'', asked Jenny, her hand slowly caressing her gun.
Suddenly a soft sound, coming out of nowhere, distracted Jenny who, out of instinct, glanced at the direction of the sound.
She thought she saw a small red glow coming from outside the window, but she couldn't be sure.
Because what followed was a sharp pain and the air escaping her lungs, as a strong fist landed on her stomach.
The fist then landed under her jaw, throwing her head back and Jenny collapsed with a grunt holding her stomach with one hand and her jaw with the other.
The pain was too much and tears blurred her vision. Before she could react, her gun was taken from her holster and the cold barrel of it was pressed against her temple.
''Be a good girl Inspector and don't fight.'', purred Greta in her ear.
'Why?'', she asked in a raspy voice. ''Why would you hurt those girls?''
''Because I was paid.'', she answered in a cool voice. ''Because I answer to a certain gentleman who wants what I want? Murder, mayhem… thrill.''
''That's not a good enough reason!'', hissed Jenny, fighting the tears that burned her eyes. She started coughing and she felt as her lungs would soon bleed. It was a stronger punch than it had appeared. ''What did you gain from their deaths!'', she said after the coughing fit had stopped.
''Didn't your mother teach you never to ask a woman such questions?'', she chuckled.
''You assaulted a police officer, you'll never escape!''
''I guess…'', she said thoughtfully. ''I suspect after your death, there will be a fuss… after all, I'm planning to make such a marvel out of you.''
Lestrade looked at her with horror.
The other woman chuckled. ''Imagine your lifeless body making such a lovely spectacle on a tomb of a cemetery. Perhaps I'll take more care with you, that I did with the others... maybe something more… artistic, shall we say.'', she chuckled. Nevertheless, I'll honor you properly, I guarantee that.''
''You'll never get away!'', hissed the Inspector, trying to hide her quivering voice.
''Oh I will. You see that big window over there?'', she replied, nodding at the big round window near the door. ''That's my way out.''
She stood, Jenny's gun pointed at her. ''It was a pleasure, Inspector. Such a pity you'll never know the truth.''
They say that your life flashes before your eyes, the moment you're about to die.
People believe those images are the most beautiful memories you've ever had. Scientists claim that this happens because your brain ''downloads'' all your memories, trying to find a way to escape your death.
Lestrade had always been a reasonable woman; she preferred the logical leads and methods. She believed what scientists said. But at this point her brain didn't seem to function; it couldn't find a solution… it simply froze.
It all happened incredibly fast. The sound of shattered glass echoed and a sharp, horrible cry escaped Greta's lips, who collapsed next to Jenny, her leg a bleeding mess.
She had dropped the gun, clutching her wound, her hands painted in the most ghastly red color.
Jenny had instantly covered herself from the millions of glass shards, her head tucked under her hands, her eyes closed.
When the glass-rain was over, she slowly opened her eyes, to see the window broken, Crawley on the floor with a terrified expression in her face and a horrible wound in her leg.
Then something broke the silence. Someone was… tutting.
A form materialized from the dark corner of the bathroom. A man, a strange man…
''Tut-tut Greta I'm very disappointed.'', said the stranger, his hands inside the pockets of his expensive suit. ''Didn't I tell you to just warn her, not kill her? I hate it when you disobey me.''
What Jenny was witnessing was completely surreal. Her mouth was gaping open, her eyes as big as saucers and her pain long forgotten.
''Why did you do that?'', she cried, tears running down her perfect cheekbones.
''Do you think I would let you kill our wonderful Inspector?'', he chastised the woman.
He then turned his eyes to the other form on the floor.
His dark eyes were calm behind her eye mask, but you could see the madness dancing in those black orbs.
''Forgive this… mishap, Inspector.'', he smiled and walked the few steps to her side. He kneeled, careful not to touch the floor and ruin his expensive trousers. ''My sniper caused such a mess.'', he chuckled, as he picked some glass shards from her hair.
Jenny was completely frozen, unable to form any words, unable to move. She helplessly watched him as he took a syringe from his jacket pocket, with a clear liquid inside and carefully took her hand, gently tracing the surface to find a prominent vein.
''I'm so sorry that we meet under such circumstances. But, I'll be seeing you again.'', he said and gave her a toothy grin.
She swallowed as he pierced the flesh and pushed the rubber piston.
The cold needle didn't hurt at all. It felt like a small bite from an insect. However, she felt the dizziness, the sudden darkness that enveloped her.
She tried to move but it was hopeless; she tried to speak back her lips were numb, as well as her tongue.
Her hearing though, was fine.
She heard his dark, sultry chuckle and his smile was the last thing she saw, before her eyes closed.
But the last thing she heard, was a pleading cry. ''NO, PLEASE!''
And then a gun fired…
And then there was darkness.
Fielding ducked under the yellow tape and made his way past the sea of uniforms and paramedics that filled the street.
''She's in the paramedics.'', said Sally, who appeared in front of him.
''I know.'', he replied firmly. ''How are things?''
''A dead woman and about a hundred terrified guests.''
''Good.'', he said dismissively and left Sally without further discussion.
Sally though caught up with him. ''I was waiting for you last night.'', she said softly.
Fielding stooped dead on his track, turning swiftly to look at her, his face showing his annoyance. ''Don't ever say that here again!'', he hissed. ''Are you out of your mind?''
''I can't stand being your doormat for much longer, Greg.'', she replied frustrated, but quietly. ''I have needs… needs for something more than just a shag. I cannot watch you pining for her!''
Fielding grabbed her arm with force and ushered her towards a parked police car, away from the prying eyes. Although everyone was occupied with questioning witnesses and collecting evidence, he didn't want anyone to listen. ''Are you out of your mind, Sally? Someone could hear us.''
''You don't deny it, do you?'', she smiled mirthlessly. ''You love her.''
''What I do with my life, is my own business!''
''She doesn't even care about you!'', she cried.
''Will you shut up?''
Sally went to say something, but a uniform interrupted them. ''Sir we canvassed the area and the buildings… no sign of the shooter.''
''He was probably a professional, it will be hard to trace him.'', he said thoughtfully, looking at the brunette. ''Gather the others, we're leaving.''
''Yes sir.''
As soon as the man left, Fielding turned to Sally again. ''Don't you ever dare do that again! You and I are through once and for all.''
Sally's features stiffened. ''You promised me something, Greg and I don't forget. You will suffer the consequences if you don't-''
''Are you threatening me, Donovan?''
''I'm warning you.'', she spat. ''You promised me her place in the force. I'm not forgetting that.''
''You're playing with fire, Donovan.'', he growled.
Sally stood her ground. ''Then you should have been more careful of the things you've told me, after every time we've slept together.'', she smiled cockily.
Fielding's eyes hardened. ''Don't tempt me, Sally.''
''Keep your end of the bargain.'', she said. ''I don't care what you'll do; kick her out of the force, assign her desk duties, whatever… just give me her place and you little secret is safe with me.''
With that Sally turned and walked away to join the others.
Greg wanted to chase her and give her a piece of his mind, but he knew that it was too risky with so many people around.
He turned to the other direction, spotting a seated figure on the back of an ambulance.
Jenny was tired… too tired.
Moreover, those bloody stitches had started to tingle. The blue ice pack, against her wound, had dulled the pain, but now was burning her forehead, so she decided to remove it.
''Ma'am, put that back.'', chastised the woman next to her softly.
''In a minute; it makes my headache.'', she replied wearily.
The paramedic shook her head.
''What's your name?'', asked Lestrade softly, but with a raspy voice.
''Ingrid Hastings, ma'am.'', replied the young woman politely.
Jenny slowly took her green contacts off, throwing them on the ground. ''What was I drugged with, Ingrid?'', she asked, her eyes shut from exhaustion, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.
''Copious amounts of morphine and sleeping pills. Your attacker wanted to make you faint fast, but he certainly didn't want to hurt you.''
''How can you be so sure?'', chuckled Lestrade.
The paramedic covered her bare shoulders with a shock blanket. ''In the state we found you, ma'am, if he really wished, you would have already been dead.'', she replied quite seriously, patting her sympathetically on the shoulders and left.
Lestrade nodded absent-mindedly. An image of her lying on that bathroom floor, the murderer dead and a crazy, unknown man sedating her, passed before her eyes.
But it was over! The case was closed! She could go home now, sleep for two days straight, and get her head together.
''But is it really over?'', whispered a small voice in her head. What did Adler mean? How did that man know who she was and was he the one who-
Lestrade's thoughts halted the moment she saw Fielding approaching her.
She took a deep breath and nodded. ''Sir.''
Greg raised his brow. ''Don't Sir me, Lestrade.'', he said.
Jenny merely grunted. She wasn't going to call him by his given name, if that was what he was thinking of…
The silence between them was unbearable. ''Any sign of the shooter?'', she asked after a while.
''No. He was clearly a professional. No bullet calibers, no prints, no nothing.''
''It wasn't her.'', she said absently. ''She confessed, but I'm sure it wasn't her.''
''She told you she did it, Lestrade. What other proof do you need?''
''She was a mere pawn… not the mastermind.'', she sighed.
''I'll look into it, I have to.''
''Jen.'', he said softly, grabbing her by the shoulders, making her face him. Jenny winced at the contact, something that Fielding realized and immediately released her. He cleared his throat, tucking his left hand in the flap pocket of his beige trench coat, the other hanging on his side. ''You did well… there will be a minor fuss, but you found the killer. But for your own sake, stop now.''
''Stop what?'', she asked, furrowing her brows.
''The witch hunt, Jen! She confessed; uniforms are now at her house looking for clues… she did it. That's enough.''
''Did you find Irene Adler?''
''Who?''
''The owner!'', she cried.
''Jen, there was no Irene Adler on that guest list!''
Jenny looked startled. ''What? Are you sure?''
''Positive.'', he nodded.
''She's the owner! How can not she be on that list?''
''What owner? What are you on about?'', he asked worriedly.
Lestrade took a deep breath to calm herself, since a wave of dizziness threatened her. ''Irene Adler; she is a partial owner of this club, she was there, I talked to her.''
Fielding was looking at her, as if she was crazy. He was shaking his head at her ranting and that angered her even more.
''Jenny, calm down.'', he said gently, yet firmly. ''There was no Irene Adler on that guest list. Now I'm going to tell you once more; stop!''
Jenny decided not to reply. She simply nodded in agreement. ''Yes, Sir.'', she said.
Let him think that this was wrapped up… she would get to the bottom of this.
''Good evening, Inspector.'', said a familiar female voice.
Fielding and Jenny turned and saw Mycroft's PA, tapping at her Blackberry. She was wearing a total black tight dress, which seemed to be her trademark and a cashmere coat on top. Jenny wanted to protest, tell her how tired she was to follow her to wherever Mycroft fancied to meet her, but her words died in her mouth the moment she saw the paramedic approaching the three of them.
''Evening.'', she replied curtly and then turned to the other woman. ''Can I go now?'', she asked eagerly.
''Yes, Inspector, you're free to go. You might feel nauseous in the next three to five hours, but that's about it. Just sleep and the drugs will wear off.'', she replied, looking at some paper sheets attached to a black clipboard.
She raised her head to look at her patient then at Fielding, then the strange woman with the phone. ''Is someone taking you home, ma'am?''
''I am.'', replied the PA.
Jenny tried not to grunt.
''No, I will.'', said suddenly Fielding, eyeing the PA.
She slowly raised her head, giving him a sultry smile. ''I don't think so, Chief Inspector. I have clear instructions to escort the Inspector-''
''From whom, exactly?'', he growled.
She chuckled, shaking her head playfully. ''A very important man.''
''Lestrade, we're leaving.'', growled Fielding, at the same time grabbing Jenny almost forcefully hoisting her up on her feet.
''Hey!'', protested Jenny. ''I'll take a taxi, alright?!''
Mycroft's PA looked at Lestrade. ''Inspector, would you like me to give you a lift to your house?''
''We don't need you!'', snapped Fielding.
''I don't recall asking you, Chief Inspector.'', she replied coldly.
Jenny looked both of them; she really wanted to get home and she most definitely didn't want to be in the same car as Fielding after last night. So the choice was quite clear.
''Let's go.'', she said wearily, walking to stand next to the PA.
The PA smiled triumphantly to the startled Fielding. ''If you will follow me.''
''Goodnight Sir.'', said Jenny to Fielding, who merely left in a hurry leaving the two women.
''Shall we?'', asked the woman softly.
''Yeah.''
She shed that ridiculous orange, shock blanket off her shoulders and left the ice pack. She then realized that it was actually quite chilly.
''Erm… I don't have my-erm…'', she mumbled, looking around.
''Your coat, mobile and gun are safe and sound in the car. Make haste, if you don't want to catch a cold.'', she smiled and walked to the direction in the luxurious black car.
To her big surprise and relief, the car stopped in front of her house.
She cast a concerned look at the PA, which she returned with an amused one.
''You can go, Inspector Lestrade.'', she smiled. ''Have a good night.''
''Thanks.'', she said and opened the door.
She turned to look at the younger woman. ''What is your name for tonight?''
The PA seemed thoughtful for a few seconds before she replied. ''It's back to Anthea; Chloe didn't really suit me.''
Jenny gave her a small smile. ''Goodnight, Anthea.''
''Goodnight, Inspector. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.''
She closed the door behind her gently and locked it.
With her eyes shut, she leaned her head backwards, sighing blissfully for what seemed the first time in a month.
The case was closed… but not for good.
Blindly, her hand found the switch and she turned the lights on.
''Jesus!'', she cried when she saw the form of none other, than Mycroft Holmes sitting on her couch. ''What are you doing here?'', she asked alarmed.
''I am here to congratulate you on your success.'', he replied simply.
Jenny swallowed when she saw his eyes roaming over her, a small smirk adorning his pink lips.
''Leave please, I'm really tired.'', she said slowly and somewhat politely. The fatigue was such, that she didn't have the power to be mean or bossy around anyone at this point; Mycroft Holmes or not…
''Do not fear, ma petite, I will leave.'', he replied.
Jenny chuckled, her eyes roaming around her living room.
''Ma petite?'', she repeated wearily, but slightly amused.
She had only been ma petite to her father and that when she was a ten year old… now, she wasn't as feminine nor as delicate as she would wish and certainly not small.
''You are absolutely gorgeous.'', he said out of the blue, drawing her attention to him.
Lestrade felt flustered and awkwardly walked to the kitchen.
She shed her coat, throwing it on the kitchen table and moved to the sink, to pour herself a glass of ice cold water.
''I must say it was a hell of a night.'', she said and took a sip, feeling the water running down her dry throat. ''I met the notorious Irene Adler.''
''Oh?''
''Yes.'', replied Jenny leaving the glass on the kitchen counter and walking into the living room again, while removing her heels. The pain in her feet eased as she felt the plush carpet under her toes.
''What did you think of her?'', he smirked.
She walked to sit on her couch, at a safe distance from where Mycroft was sitting. ''Like you've said she was the link I was looking for. She gave me the name of the killer willingly. Too willingly.''
Mycroft was looking at her the whole time, his fingers idly roaming over the rim of the glass of wine, he had freely poured himself the moment he came to her house.
He could see her impatience and determination to find out what was going on and why Adler had told her everything; but not tonight. She didn't have to know that he did it all for her... for her career.
She didn't have to know that the reports from her superiors were not at all… favorable.
Her bosses were not happy with Sherlock's involvement and how often she needed him to solve crimes; they considered her weak and a slight burden to the force.
That is why he interfered; that's why he sent her there tonight, with Adler at her heel. It was indeed risky, but it was all or nothing.
He did it all for her.
Not all of course, mind you; the murders of those four girls were the sick game of one particular lunatic; still, it didn't mean he couldn't turn things on his side, from time to time.
But she didn't have to know… not yet.
''Well?'', Lestrade asked impatiently. She was pretty sure he had listened to her question, although he looked as if he had drifted somewhere else.
''If you're asking if this was my doing, no my petite, it wasn't.'', he replied softly, taking a sip from his drink. ''I suppose Adler couldn't resist your charm.'', he smirked.
''Do you think I'm an idiot, Holmes?'', she asked, furrowing her brows.
''No.''
''Then tell me this; why wasn't her name on the guest list? Why wasn't she recorded as the owner of this club?''
Mycroft hummed thoughtfully. ''Tell me again, which were the owners of this… venue?''
Lestrade felt anger rising in her chest. ''Are you taunting me, Holmes?''
''No, Inspector.'', he smiled.
She sighed loudly. ''A Hamish Cavendish, his wife Catherine and Adler.''
He hummed again in agreement and smiled softly.
Then it dawned on her. ''Let me guess; Cavendish is Adler.''
''Indeed. You wouldn't expect a woman like Adler parading around with nothing more than her birth name… a woman like her needs an alias. Or more.''
''Then why did she tell me her real name?''
''Because she knew no one would believe you, since her real name wasn't in the venue's papers or guest list. She is indeed remarkable.''
In his last words, Lestrade felt a pang of jealousy. ''Is she?'', she asked trying to sound sarcastic, but the sound came more bitter out her mouth. Something that Holmes seemed to notice.
''Jealous, ma petite?'', he asked with satisfaction.
''Stop calling me that!'', she snapped, at the same time standing to her feet.
''Why not?''
''Because you're not my friend, or family, or-''
''Lover?''
It took her by surprise; what a small, insignificant word like this, coming from his mouth, could do to her. She maintained her composure though and she was very proud of it. ''Yes. You're not. So stop it.''
She walked back to her kitchen. She was too wired now and she needed a drink, then a nice hot bath, her pajamas and a good night's sleep. She took a glass from one of her cabinets and the bottle of scotch from another, courtesy of her old friend Greg Fielding.
''And please leave… I'm really tired.'', she said, loud enough for Mycroft to hear her.
She poured herself a glass and walked back to the living room taking a gulp, when her eyes landed on Mycroft's form again, now standing and observing her.
''Are you still here?'', she muttered and walked to the window. She drew one of the curtains lightly to see if the window was securely closed and to glance at the dark street.
She turned and saw Mycroft standing not one meter away from her, his hands in the trouser pockets, of his navy blue three piece suit.
''Could you just leave?'', she asked tiredly. ''I need to sleep.''
''You're not supposed to drink. You were drugged not two hours ago.'', he said smoothly and stepped closer.
''Once again, you're not my friend, you're not to tell me what I'm supposed to do.'', she replied, raising the glass to her lips, drinking the bittersweet substance.
He tutted.
She smirked. ''Do I vex you, Holmsie?'', she chuckled.
''Very much.''
''There's the door. Off you go.'', she said, motioning to the door.
Mycroft came even closer, making her back further against the wall.
''I do not like your tone, Inspector.'', he said in a husky voice. ''I'm not a dog you can 'shoo' off.''
Jenny felt the heat rising to her cheeks; a little fear and excitement clouded her mind.
''I'm a very patient man, Genevieve.'', he continued, his voice sweet and soothing, like honey. ''But I'm starting to get very, very upset with your behavior.''
Lestrade gulped, as he came even closer, realizing she had nowhere to go. Those images from last night played again inside her brain and she could feel her face and ears getting warmer and more flushed. And she was pretty sure her pupils were massive!
''If I upset you, you can go.'', she replied quietly, not trusting her own voice.
''Oh, you will not get rid of me so easily.'', he smiled.
''Is that a threat?''
''Threat, ma petite?'', he replied, sounding offended. ''I don't threaten those whom I desire; I simply have them.''
She snorted, taking a gulp from her scotch. ''Well, I don't know what's going on in that big, brain of yours, but let's get something clear; yesterday was a mistake and you will never have me.''
He sighed lightly. ''I'm tired of playing games with you, Genevieve. Just admit that you are attracted to me and we can take it from there.''
''Aren't you confident?'', she said in a singsong voice, flashing him a brilliant smile.
''I'm simply speaking the truth you do not wish to acknowledge.''
''Ok.'', she said raising her hands between their bodies. ''You had your fun, now leave.''
''I'm not here to have fun.''
''Mycroft, leave!''
''I'm not going anywhere.'', he stated.
She took another small gulp, watching his eyes as he narrowed them.
''I told you, it's not good for you to drink in this state.''
''You're in my house, Holmes; uninvited, if I may add. So, I'll do anything I want… cheers!'', she smirked, bringing the glass once again to her lips.
''That's enough.'', he stated firmly, at the same time grasping the glass from her hand, throwing it on the floor.
The glass didn't make a sound as it landed on the carpet, spilling the remaining drink over the fabric.
Caramel colored droplets ran from her mouth as the rim of the glass disengaged suddenly from her lips.
''Are you out of your mind?!'', she cried, but Mycroft didn't seem to listen her. His eyes were focused on the drops that flowed past her lips, dribbling by the corners of her mouth, down her chin and her breastbone and disappeared inside her cleavage.
Jenny raised her hand to wipe the mess from her, only to have Mycroft clutching her wrist with gentleness.
Their eyes engaged; Jenny gulped, feeling her throat dry, her heart pounding in her chest.
Without a single warning, his lips landed on her jaw line, his tongue gently probing to lap the drink from there.
Her head was rushing from the drugs, alcohol and lack of oxygen. She gasped, gulping the precious oxygen she needed, as Mycroft's tongue traced her skin.
Lestrade knew it was wrong; she knew who that man was, but like last night, she didn't care at this point.
Her arousal was so great, she thought she would combust; her wide eyes were staring upwards at the ceiling, her chest heaving with anxious breaths and she could feel his long, lithe fingers working on the straps of her gown.
His tongue continued its exploration on her collarbone, until her reached the valleys of her breasts.
Mycroft raised his head and Jenny's eyes moved from the ceiling to meet his gray blue gaze. They were both panting and looking at each other.
Realization dawned on her and she tried to wiggle free.
Mycroft, ever observant, saw this, quickly linking their fingers together and pinning both of her hands on each side of her head.
They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity to Lestrade and at last, she spoke. ''So what now?'', she asked, her breath swallow as she stared up at Mycroft with heavy lidded eyes.
He didn't reply, merely kept looking.
The signs of arousal were evident on his face; but apart from the lust blown eyes and rough breathing, he had a serenity in his face that drove Jenny mad.
There she was, pinned against a wall in her house, aroused more than ever and there he was holding her back just looking.
''If I let go of your hands, will you promise to stay quiet, my dear?'', he smirked.
''I'm not taking orders from you, Holmes!'', she snorted and wiggled in his grip. ''I'll do as I choose.''
He tutted, shaking his head lightly.
''Let go, damn it!''
''And why would I ever do that?''
''Because I'm asking you to!''
''Before I let you go, I would like to proceed with last night's activities.'', he said, smiling lightly.
She gulped. ''We can't.'', she gasped.
He chuckled. ''Of course we can, ma petite.''
''I ca-''
Her words though died in her mouth, as his lips covered hers.
He slowly brought her hands over her head, holding her wrists with one hand, the other arm surrounding her waist, bringing her closer.
He brushed his lips slowly, sensually and a whimper escaped from Jenny's throat.
Jenny was bemused with herself. It felt good, too good in fact... it shouldn't feel that good, yet it did and she wanted to touch him so bad, to melt against him even.
''Myc-r'', she mumbled against his lips and he slowly let go, his eyes closed.
''Yes my dear?'', he asked hoarsely.
''You can let go.'', she replied, with an equally husky tone.
He immediately let her arms drop, his previously occupied arm now clenching her hair and biting her swollen lips almost painfully.
They disengaged for a while, breathing raggedly. With their eyes still fixed, he took the straps of the dress and lowered them, until the upper part of the gown had pooled around her waist.
Lestrade gulped as his eyes roamed over her seminude upper body and felt the urge to cover herself.
Mycroft snaked his left hand behind her waist, bringing her closer to his body and the other cupped her black laced covered breast.
Jenny suppressed a moan, closing her eyes just a little, resting her head against the wall.
''Genevieve.'', he whispered, making her eyes open again. ''We've passed the point of no return, ma petite. I don't want to, but if you tell me to stop, I will… just tell me you don't feel anything for me and I will go.''
Lestrade's stubborn side, the Detective, was telling her to look him straight in the eyes and lie to him. Get him out of her house and life.
But this was not what she wanted; there was nothing more she wanted at this point but him.
She swallowed thickly. ''What do you want from me, Mycroft?'', she asked quite seriously.
Lestrade's breath was labored, almost coming out like a whiz, as she awaited his answer patiently.
''You.'', he said finally. ''Just for tonight, ma petite… let go.'', he whispered, his thumb caressing her sensitive pick.
This time she didn't suppress any moan. The small cry that escaped her lips was like music to her ears, as she finally let go of her guards and surrendered to the man who called himself the British Government.
''And tomorrow?'', she panted.
''Tomorrow… we'll see.''
Notes: The gorier version of The Phantom of the Opera is the silent film back in 1925.
If you have a chance, watch it, because it is truly remarkable and horrific! In fact, it was so scary back then, that, during the unmasking scene, many people fainted in the theaters! Obviously now, it will not seem so scary, but at that time it was quite gory.
So, if you like those kind of films, it's perfect!
Also, the Endora, Mrs. Hudson is dressed as, is the chief antagonist in the TV series Bewitched. Just in case you didn't know. ;)