Chapter 10

Lestrade sat at his desk staring at the pages of results regarding one "Sebastian Moran". He was implicated in over three dozen unsolved cases spanning twenty years. There was no photo available but his name was whispered by witnesses, victims, and criminals throughout the Continent. He seemed to have been working mostly in Italy before he dropped off the map close to six years ago. His contacts at Interpol had informed him that he was mostly a hired gun/interrogation expert. Worked for the highest bidder, no loyalty except to legal tender. He had ties to a major crime syndicate in Austria as well, but once again, no photo.

He sighed heavily and glanced at the two men pouring over paper copies next to each other on the couch.

"Have anything?" He asked hopefully.

Sherlock sighed, "How do we even know that she is telling the truth?"

"Beg pardon?" Lestrade said rubbing his eyes roughly. It was nearing five in the morning and the sky was starting to lighten in the east.

"Miss Adler." He huffed. "She said that she needed us. For what exactly?"

"We can ask her when she is brought in for questioning." Lestrade answered. "I have officers stationed outside of her flat. When she gets home, she will be able to fill us in."

"She won't go back there." Sherlock said dismissively. "She's far too resourceful for that."

"And intelligent." John said offhand.

"No." Sherlock replied. "Not smart. At least not when it comes to deception. She hasn't been doing this her whole life. She's learned it. She didn't develop it in her childhood so it must be something that she has acquired recently."

"How do you figure?" John asked.

"Her reactions at the bar." He said. "She is not a naturally guarded person. You saw how she approached the patrons, even how she approached us. She was open, friendly, entertaining even. It wasn't until we began questioning her after her little episode that she became much more closed-off. I'd say she hasn't been in the criminal game long. Probably less than five years."

"So what happened?" Lestrade asked.

"I'm almost sure that she was forced into this life." He said. "What kind of willing criminal works as a bartender? No one. She's not a willing participant because in her free time she makes an honest living. She could make more than enough money selling drugs or stealing things, but she doesn't. She lives in a crap flat with almost no possessions in a terrible part of the city."

"So she does need our help?" John asked.

"If she is working with Jim Moriarty than it is enough to assume that she is working for him." He said quietly. "It may be that she is luring us in to gain something. Money? Freedom? I don't have enough information."

"So what do we do with Miss Adler?" Lestrade chimed in.

"Until we know what her game is," Sherlock said hesitantly. "I have to assume that she is a plant by Moriarty. I think it is best that we have nothing to do with her. She is obviously a pawn and until proven otherwise, it would be best to keep away from her."

"And if she does need our help?" John said quietly.

"We can't save everyone, John." Sherlock said with a resigned sigh.

"What exactly makes you a monster, Miss Adler?" Mycroft asks evenly, though he's finally starting to see the entire picture.

"I can see it in your eyes, ya know." She said. "You totally get it. What I am. What I've been up to these past few years. Why do you want the particulars?"

"Call it a character study." He replied. "I want to see the story through your eyes."

He watched as her face, naturally open and delightful, shifted into a blank stare, a mask of objectivity that she uses as a defense mechanism. Mycroft doubts she is even aware that the emotional shift has occurred.

"I was a good person, Mr. Holmes." She begins. "But I wasn't just good. I was wholesome and charitable and sweet. I never did anything bad at least not from any biblical or legal standpoint. I never stole or cheated. I never smoked, did drugs, drank underage. I never even got a speeding ticket. I'm sure you figured out in your research, that I'm even still a virgin. But more than anything, I was tragically naïve. He couldn't have found a more pathetic little angel to corrupt."

"Tell me what happened." He urged when a hefty silence fell over the girl.

"I was given a choice." She said. "I could spend my final days being a good person and die with my conscience intact or I could survive and learn the tricks of the trade."

"What tricks are those?" He inquired.

"Well, Mr. Holmes." She said. "You're looking at Sebastian Moran's student."

Mycroft felt something icy slide down his throat to settle heavily in his gut. He had heard of Mr. Moran and even witnessed his work occasionally. Mr. Moran was a master at prolonged torture. The fact that this woman was in any way associated with him made his skin crawl. He had expected coercion, torture, mutilation, but he hadn't expected that she was the one committing the atrocities at the guidance of Sebastian Moran. He hid all of this away and settled his gaze back on the little monster-in-training.

"And how long did it take you to come to this decision?" He said.

"It doesn't matter now." She said. "Not really."

"How so?"

"Because the past is irrelevant at this point." She answered. "My arrangement with Jim is satisfactory."

"And what arrangement is that?" Mycroft inquired.

"I don't understand why you are asking questions that you already know the answer to." She sighed. "One weekend a month I meet up with Seb and am instructed on his techniques. And before you go thinking that I am simply taking notes or writing extemporaneous essays on the subject, you should know that it is a very hands-on course."

"How many people?" He asked before he could stop himself.

"You could guess." She said sharply. "But I can guarantee you would be seriously underestimating the number. A lot can happen in a weekend and people break so easily."

Mycroft almost missed it. He almost missed that ripple that crossed her blank features. But what he saw was enough to make an intellectual leap, "Like you?"

"Excuse me?" She said.

"Like you." He said more firmly. "You were referring to yourself just now. You broke easily."

She swallowed in response but didn't protest which made him confident to continue on, "They didn't even have to hurt you, did they? Just the threat of violence had you falling in line."

"I never claimed to be a strong person, Mr. Holmes." Was all she said. "I'm not like Dr. Watson. I'm not brave or courageous or righteous. I'm just weak."

"Regarding John Watson," He said. "You used Moriarty's criminal connections didn't you? To find out his potential safe house should the need arise."

He watched confusion settle on her features as she absorbed this information.

"What are you talking about?" She asked quietly.

"You didn't, did you?" He said, his mind quickly reorganizing previous assumptions.

"Didn't what?" She asked again. He watched as realization dawned on her. She went from confused to informed to furious and then jumped back to that blank, objective stare.

"You know who did." He deduced fluidly. "And you disapprove."

"I think that this meeting is over, Mr. Holmes." She said rising from her seat. "Give your brother and the doctor my best."

Mycroft let her walk away. He had some more checking to do. Apparently, this girl had an associate of some sort.