Thanks, as always, to my betas, who hold my hand, tell it to me straight, lift me up, and make me better.
x-x-x
John winced as he heard the snick of the gun at the base of his skull being cocked.
"Hello, Susana," he said.
"Top o' the mornin', doc," she answered.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. "I knew it."
"Shame that knowledge didn't help you save your hide," she replied. Her free hand came around to remove the gun from John's holster. The man relieved Sherlock of his weapon as well.
Susana slid her pistol down to John's back and pushed. "Go on. Stand next to the 'genius' over there."
John complied, and the lanky man adjusted his stance, gripping a pistol in each hand now as he covered both of them as they stood side by side, facing Susana within the shady ring of trees.
Susana engaged the safety on John's gun and tucked it into her waistband. Stripped of her apron, of her pretence, John could see she was compact and strong and definitely acclimatized to violence. She held her gun steadily at the both of them.
"Hands up, gentlemen."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John remained stoic as they complied. Ambushed. Disarmed. Things really were not going to plan.
Susana squatted and picked up the rock John had been examining.
"Thanks," she said, looking up to Sherlock. "Been lookin' for this."
She stood and, in one smooth movement, pitched it far into the center of the lake.
"It won't matter," Sherlock declared. "We have more than enough evidence to convict Turner."
"Don't recall givin' you permission to speak," Susana said. She waved the gun towards a path along the edge of the lake, heading uphill to the east. "March."
John pursed his lips, glanced at Sherlock, whose face showed only mild irritation. Right. Not time to panic just yet.
He started moving along the path, Sherlock at his side.
Their captors remained silent as they made their way up the incline towards an escarpment along the border of the lake, about twenty feet above the water. John peeked out from under the brim of his hat to look at Sherlock, looking for some sign that the detective had a plan, but Sherlock gave no signal. As they came to the apex, Susana and Lanky positioned them with their backs to the lake, only a few feet from the edge of the cliff.
Of course, though John. Couldn't just shoot us. Had to be a fall. He looked over to Sherlock again, whose crystal blue eyes focused on some point among the trees behind their captors.
In that moment, Jack Turner appeared from the eastern woods astride a chestnut stallion, his gait as calm and smooth as his rider's demeanor.
"Ah. How dramatic," Sherlock said to Turner, unimpressed.
Susana's blow to the side of his head knocked Sherlock sideways into John, who braced against him to prevent his fall. The black Stetson fell from his head, rolling to the ground beside John's feet. Sherlock had bent over from the momentum of the blow, but straightened himself, glaring at Susana defiantly. Blood trickled over his temple, down along the skin in front of his ear.
John remained very still.
"Well, Mr. Holmes. Not feeling so clever now, are ya?" Turner said. He was strong and wiry, and certainly not ill, and he dismounted smoothly. He took two steps forward. Pulled out a cigar and cut the end off with a pocketknife. Lit it. Took a leisurely puff, staring out at the hazy morning sky.
John evaluated their options. Fight. Run. Jump. None of them were good.
Turner finally looked at them. "Didn't expect the yokels to get the drop on ya." He pointed the cigar at Sherlock. "Did ya?"
"Oh. Am I allowed to speak now?" Sherlock asked.
Turner waved his hand expansively. "Be my guest."
"Well, let's see," Sherlock began, looking upward as though he were trying to remember the details. "Considering everything I have got right, an amateurish ambush is hardly a concern. You, Susana, and Dr. Willows here-"
John glanced at Lanky, who startled.
"-have been desperately trying to cover up the fact that you did indeed lie in wait and murder Charles McCarthy in cold blood, nearly under the nose of his own son, I might add."
"And what does that tell ya?" Turner asked, eyes dark and gaze even.
Sherlock met his eyes with icy scrutiny. "That you're a killer. That you've got away with it before, often enough that you've become brazen. That you plan to shoot us so that our bodies fall into the depths of lake, and you expect that to be the end of it."
Turner frowned. "So why you grinnin'?"
John looked over to see the smug expression tugging at Sherlock's features.
"Alicia," he said.
And then John saw fear flicker in Turner's eyes. "What about her?"
"Before we left this morning, I wrote a letter to her detailing your crime; if we do not return unharmed, it will find its way into her hands."
Sherlock had done no such thing, but John did not react.
Turner scoffed. "A letter?"
"It will plant doubt in her mind. Her love for you will waver. She's a clever girl; you'll give yourself away, in a hundred little ways-"
John's eyes slowly scanned the scene for any advantage to be had. If Sherlock was resorting to bluffing, there wasn't much time left.
"She's a good person-what d'you think it'll do to her? Her faith in you shaken, her confidence in herself shattered. She'll become a broken, cynical woman, just like her mother; everything good in her will wither until she devolves into a reflection of her black-hearted father."
God, it's worse than I thought. He's laying it on thick. If John could tackle Susana, knock her into Willows, Sherlock might be able to handle Turner on his own. It really, really wasn't a good plan.
"She won't believe you," Turner argued, shaking his head.
"She doesn't have to believe me; she just has to doubt you."
"No." Turner pulled his pistol from its holster and leveled it at Sherlock. "You're bluffin'."
God damn it.
"I assure you that I am not."
"I'll kill ya. I oughtta kill ya for bringin' her into this at all," Turner said, taking another step towards Sherlock. John moved forward immediately, placing himself between the two men, arms out a bit from his side to shield Sherlock as best he could, and Susana and Lanky shifted their aim to John as Turner growled.
"I'll kill ya both just for threatenin' her!" he bellowed, so enraged he failed to notice the small movement off to his right.
John shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Says who? You?"
John lifted his chin to his left. "Says him."
Malcolm Reynolds stood calmly to the south, his gun trained on Turner in a smooth and sure extension of the long line of his arm.
The moment the three of them looked away, John's eyes flicked behind them to see Jayne and Zoe creeping up from the treeline. Susana planted her back foot as if to fire at Mal, and in an instant John rushed her, bending her wrist swiftly and disarming her. Dr. Willows raised his open palms in surrender as Jayne approached him, and Zoe focused on Turner. Having taken Susana completely by surprise, John was able to plant a kick at the back of her knee, forcing her to kneel.
He tutted at her as he retrieved his own gun from her waistband. "'Fraid not, Susana."
The woman scowled, but remained on the ground. Without taking his eyes off their captives, John handed Susana's gun to Sherlock.
Turner's eyes darted among the many guns aimed in his direction.
"Give it up, Turner," Sherlock advised.
"Why? So you can shoot me?"
"Oh, I won't shoot you. Not really my strong suit," Sherlock admitted.
"No." John allowed himself a thin smile. "It's mine."
Mal grinned at bit at that. "Or we could just skip the shootin' part," he suggested. His eyes moved to Jayne. "Tie those two up while Mr. Turner here decides his fate."
Jayne came forward, holstering his gun and yanking Willows and Susana away.
Turner glared at Mal, but the captain just smiled. "Alicia's fine, by the way."
The older man's eyes widened.
"She's back on the ship by now, I expect. Wouldn't you say so, Zoe?"
"Yes, sir." Zoe kept her eyes, and her shotgun, riveted to Turner.
"Very secure," Mal said, nodding. "She was in a right state when we couldn't find you at the house. Told her I'd make sure you didn't come to any harm."
Turner's arm wavered.
"After all," Mal continued, "you're a living legend."
Narrowing his eyes, Turner assessed Mal's features. The readiness seeped out of him and he lowered his weapon. "Xing jiao."
Zoe reached over and plucked the gun from his hand easily. She stepped back, now that Turner was unarmed and amply covered, and joined Jayne.
John maintained his stance, but Sherlock stepped towards Mal. "What do you mean?"
"You remember you said something about 'a rat'," Mal said.
"Yes, McCarthy's last words."
"And then this morning Zoe was talking about a 'black hat' and 'Jack Turner's place', and it all came together," Mal explained. "I imagine that's a common enough feeling for you, but I'll tell ya, it made fear claw up my back."
Mal gestured at Turner. "You've caught yourself a wanted man, Sherlock. This is Black Jack of Ballarat."
Sherlock's eyes sparkled in recognition. "Of the Ballarat Gang," he breathed.
John looked to Sherlock, reading the irritation on his face that he hadn't put the pieces together himself, and then glanced at Mal.
"Train robber," Mal filled in. "Held up the convoys from the gold mines in Victoria. Murdered whoever stood in his way-train engineers, sheriffs, wagon drivers."
Sherlock squinted. "And McCarthy knew."
Turner's features sharpened into an angry grimace. "Said I'd killed a cousin o' his. Said I owed him, or he'd tell everyone who I was, get Alicia taken away from me."
"So he asked for the farm. For money to bail out his feckless son," Sherlock surmised. "But this time he asked for something you were unwilling to give - Alicia."
Turner nodded.
John's brows drew together. "He asked for your daughter?"
"He had a grand plan. James and Alicia should get married." He shook his head. "My Alicia. Chained to that piece of niu shi."
A scowl crossed the man's face, and he looked as though he were about to spit on the ground. "So. He had to go."
"Wow. That's a really great story," Mal said, straight-faced. "It's got layers. Don't usually find that 'mongst the tales of lyin', thievin' murderers."
"Enough yappin'," Jayne said, frowning from where he and Zoe had Susana and Willows tethered to the pommel of the chestnut's saddle. "Let's just finish this and get off this damn rock."
"I agree," Turner said, and he bolted towards the edge of the cliff. John barely dodged the man, who flew past him and jumped off the escarpment.
Mal and John scrambled to look over the edge.
"Ta ma de hun dan," Mal breathed as Turner dove into the water below.
John looked back to see Sherlock swiftly removing his coat, and his heart stuttered in fear.
"Sherlock." A warning.
"No time to argue, John," Sherlock replied, and holstering the gun, he started to run towards the cliff.
"Sherlock!"
John reached out, his fingertips sliding along the silky fabric of a sleeve as Sherlock passed him and jumped off the edge.
x-x-x
I know, two cliffhangers in a row... I hope you find it in your hearts to forgive me...
Questionable Chinese:
xing jiao = fuck
niu shi = cow dung
ta ma de hun dan = mother humping son of a bitch
