Chapter nine: Alternate Meeting Pt. 9

At Roland-Kerr College, Jeff opens the door of a room and stands aside so that Sherlock can go in. Sherlock looks at him closely out of the corner of his eye as he steps inside the room. I step closer to Sherlock, as soon as both of us have entered the room, does he release the door. He then walks over to some switches on the wall and turns on the lights. We're in a large, still somewhat dirty classroom with wooden tables and plastic chairs. Sherlock walks further into the room, looking around.

"Well, what do you think?"

Sherlock raises his hands and shrugs as if to ask, what do I think about what? Am I supposed to be impressed by this shabby little classroom? I inhale and answer. "Well, the cleaner's aren't doing a very good job."

He ignores me and looks at Sherlock. "It's up to you. You're the one who's gonna die here."

Sherlock turns back to him, indignation in his stance; only after a long pause does he speak. "No, I'm not."

"That's what they all say." Jeff gestures to one of the tables. "Shall we talk?"

Without waiting for a reply, he pulls out one of the chairs and sits down. Sherlock takes a chair from the bench in front, flips it around once for good measure before sitting down in it. I sit in the chair next to Sherlock. He sighs; I cannot tell if it's because I chose to sit next to him, but ironically, I felt somewhat safer with him right there, I don't know why. "Bit risky, wasn't it?" Sherlock points out as he pulls off his gloves. Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid." He tucks his gloves away. "And Mrs. Hudson will remember you. Not to mention Tammy as well."

"You call that a risk? Nah." He reaches into the left pocket of his sweater. "This is a risk." He takes out a small, sealed glass bottle with a single pill inside it. He then puts it onto the table in front of him. There is a single large capsule inside. Sherlock glances at it but he doesn't even look interested in the least. "Ooh, I like this bit. Cause you don't get it yet, do you?" Sherlock's only answer is silence. "But you're about to. I just have to do this." Then he reaches into his right pocket, he takes out a duplicate bottle, with an identical pill inside it. He sets it down beside the other one, with a slight smirk on his face. Sherlock's brow doesn't even rise. "You weren't expecting that, were you?"

I shake my head and bite a fingernail. "That is so Princess Bride."

Sherlock glances at me and frowns. "Princess Bride?"

I nod. "Very similar circumstances, except both bottles were poison." His brows rose slightly. "But that man that suggested the proposition cheated because he had built up an immunity to the poison."

Sherlock shook his head. "That's impossible. No one can build up an immunity to poison."

"It's a fairytale, movie and book."

He glowers at me. "Well, you might have said so."

"I thought you might have seen it."

He shot me a look that suggested watching TV was for idiots. I rolled my eyes and turned back to Jeff, asking him to continue speaking now that we were done with our little tiff. "Sherlock Holmes. Look at you!" Sherlock turns his focus back to Jeff and I rub my arms, it's chilly in here and I now regret not taking the time to go fetch a coat. "Here in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it."

"My fan?" he asks, exhaling slightly through his teeth. Obviously having fans are as big an insult has having friends.

"You are brilliant." Sherlock replies nothing to the man's obvious admiration of his brilliance. "You are a proper genius. The science of deduction. Now that is proper thinking." Sherlock still hasn't blinked. "Between you and me sitting here, why can't people think?" I blink at the slight change in his voice as he looks down at the bottles angrily. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"

He looks up at Sherlock. Sherlock looks back at him for a long moment before making another deduction with his voice positively dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too."

"Don't look it, do I?" he asks soberly, but I can catch the upset notes. "Funny little man driving' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know."

I clear my throat. "I'm almost afraid to ask but…what'll happen to me?"

"Well…you're after him."

I shake my head. "I'm here to keep an eye on him; I'm not involved in any way, shape or form."

"You're his girlfriend, ain't you?"

"No." Sherlock and I chime in unison. I glower at him before asking. "Why does everything ask that?" He doesn't answer and I turn my attention to Jeff. "For God's sake, we just met today!"

"You two act like it's been longer."

I groan. "This is so Donna Noble and The Doctor." I hold up my hand without looking at Sherlock. "Don't ask."

Jeff observes with a smile that gives me the chills in my stomach. "Sorry, you two ain't gonna have longer."

Sherlock holds his gaze and then looks down to the table. "Okay, two bottles. Explain." I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, watching them as I feel the tension in the room begin to build. The game is on.

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle." Jeff explains. "You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die."

"Both bottles are of course identical."

"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."

"Why should I?" Sherlock makes a face slightly. "I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"

"I haven't told you the best bit yet." Jeff pauses for a moment. "Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one, and then, together, we take our medicine."

I shake my head. Said it was Princess Bride. At that moment, Sherlock starts to grin. Now he's interested. Of all the things to be interested in, why did it have to be this one?

"I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't." Sherlock looks down at the bottles, silently making his calculations. "Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. Holmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them," he asks, his gaze still fixated on the bottles. "you gave them a choice."

"And now I'm giving you one." Sherlock looks up at him. "You take your time. Get yourself together." Jeff licks his lips in anticipation. "I want your best game."

"It's not a game. It's chance."

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. Holmes, this is chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move." I cross my arms as he slides a bottle across the table towards Sherlock. He licks his top lip as he studies Sherlock's face. Sherlock just stares at the bottle, making his calculations. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one." Sherlock chooses to remain silent. After several moments, Jeff speaks again, using the time to bait Sherlock. "You ready yet, Mr. Holmes? Ready to play?"

"Play what?" He sounds disinterested. "It's a fifty-fifty chance.""

"You're not playing the numbers, you're playing me." Jeff's irritation let's Sherlock know that Jeff's patience is running thin and when that happens…people make mistakes. "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." Sherlock hisses back.

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance."

"Luck."

"It's genius. I know how people think." Sherlock rolls his eyes in irritation. Frankly, I don't think that Sherlock's in any position to criticize since Jeff did manage to get Sherlock here with simply words. "I know how people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my head. Everyone's so stupid, even you." Sherlock's gaze sharpens. "Or maybe God just loves me.

I shake my head. "I'm sure he does, as he loves everyone but don't assume that it means he loves your victims any less. And I am certain that you will be shaking in your boots when you see his wrath."

He looks at me. "Thought you said he loved me."

"Oh he does, as does each parent love their child. Don't assume that can get love without anger, it doesn't…work."

Sherlock straightens up and leans forward, folding his hands in front of him on the table. "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie." I blink and look at him as I catch the faint note of admiration in his voice. Sherlock lifts his folded hands in front of his mouth and gazes at Jeff intently. "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?

Jeff nods dismissively at the bottles. "Time to play." I realize that he wants to stay in control of the situation. But I know Sherlock isn't going to have any of that. Jeff had his fun, now it's Sherlock's.

Sherlock folds his fingers into that familiar prayer position in front of his mouth. "Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. 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." Jeff tries not to fidget under Sherlock's gaze. "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." Jeff's gaze slides away from Sherlock and for the first time, there's a hint of pain in his eyes. "Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and itstill hurts." He extends his index fingers. "Ah, but there's more." Jeff lifts his gaze back to Sherlock. "Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing is 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?" Jeff has control of himself again and his expression says nothing as he gazes back at Sherlock. The detective's eyes widen slightly as he makes his most important deduction. "Ahh." He exhales softly as he makes his piece de resistance of a deduction. "Three years ago, is that when they told you?"

"Told me what?" Jeff asks flatly.

"That you're a dead man walking." Sherlock points out.

Jeff shoots back at him. "So are you."

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?"

Jeff smiles. "Aneurism." He lifts his right hand and taps the side of his head. "Right here." Sherlock smiles in satisfaction. "Any breath could be my last."

Sherlock isn't satisfied, I can tell by the frown on his face. "And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can have on an aneurism."

I shake my head thoughtfully. Being around Sherlock for approximately two hours is enough to cause me to start thinking somewhat like him, on a downgraded level. "No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator." Sherlock blinks once as his gaze narrows.
Somehow, this is about your children.

Jeff looks away and sighs deeply. Ohh." He looks at Sherlock again. "You are good, ain't you?"

"He's warming up."

"But how?" Sherlock questions.

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing." He points out.

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me." Sherlock demands.

Jeff leans forward and whispers with a slight smile on his face. "I have a sponsor."

Sherlock leans forward on his elbows. "You have a what?"

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids." Sherlock has no reaction, but I'm disgusted. "The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see?" he smirks slightly. "It's nicer than you think."

I am shocked. "That…is…sick."

Sherlock frowns. "Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"

Jeff instantly demands. "Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?" They stare at each other for a moment. I'm tempted to add a comment, but I don't want to add to his desire for an appreciative audience, so I remain silent."You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you," Sherlock's head jerks sharply. "except you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that."

Sherlock's nose twitches in distaste. "What do you mean, more than a man?" Jeff doesn't answer. Sherlock then demands. "An organization? What?"

"There's a name no-one says, and I'm not gonna say it either." I sense that Sherlock's planning how to get him to confess the name. Jeff's a difficult one to get to talk, so I hope Sherlock won't have to do anything too drastic to get him to talk. "Now, enough chatter." He nods down to the bottles. "Time to choose."

Sherlock looks down to the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the other. "What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here." Sherlock points out. Sighing in exasperation, Jeff lifts up the pistol and points it at Sherlock.

My stomach jumps for a second and I swallow. "He's got a point…there."

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head." Sherlock smiles calmly at him. "Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option."

"I'll have the gun, please."

Sherlock's calm voice causes me to choke on the saliva I was swallowing. I look at him to find him calm and complacent. "What?" I hack out in shock. "No!"

Jeff seems slightly surprised. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock is still smiling broadly. "Definitely. The gun."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"You don't wanna phone a friend?" Jeff asks. "What about her?"

"She'll be fine." Sherlock smiles confidently. "The gun."

Sorry about the delay, but I had a severe throat infection and a fever, fortunately, after a visit to the doctor, I'm feeling much better now. I think I got all the typos, but I'm not sure, apologies if there's anything too out of place.