Author's Note: I've rewritten this chapter a couple of times, because it was important to me to get the confrontation right. I don't know if I like how it turned out, but I release it to you, dear readers. Thank you for all your support.
I do not own Sherlock.
Orion sat in his favourite chair, stuck once again. Trevor was around the house somewhere, he knew, because the last customer had left not five minutes ago. Orion thought about calling Trevor, but Trevor would come. When he could.
The door slammed open to Orion's room. It was Trevor, but he looked strange. Oddly pale and tilted. Then, as if by magic, Trevor flung himself onto the floor at Orion's feet, where he lay in an unmoving puddle, a small seep of blood on his scarf. Orion couldn't move to check on him. Before he could think about doing something, he noticed that, despite the fact that Trevor and Orion were the only ones in the house, a shadow still lurked in the doorway.
"Whadjoo want?" Orion snapped.
The shadow stepped into the room, and Orion recognized Sherlock Holmes. The man was dressed in his signature coat and blue scarf, with his curly hair sticking all over and a crazed expression in his eyes.
"S'good to see you, Mr. 'Olmes. Oi see the smack worked out for you," Orion said. "'Oo seem much 'appier than yesterday."
"It did work out," Holmes said. His voice was low and dangerous. Orion had faced dangerous people before. One didn't become a drug lord without occasionally dipping into dangerous territory. If he could stand up, he would show this young addict a thing or two.
"'Oo back for more, then?" he said, his voice casual.
"I'm here for something," Holmes said, entering a couple of steps into the room. The light from the room caught hold of Holmes's face. His eyes did not look like he'd used Orion's smack. In fact, Holmes looked clean, even cleaner than when he'd seen him the day before. And, Orion saw, Holmes was holding something, a long rope. Hmmm. Was that what he'd used on Trevor? Was that why Trevor's neck was red and bleeding, why he wasn't moving?
For the first time in a long time, Orion felt a twinge of fear. Perhaps bringing Sherlock Holmes to play wasn't the smartest idea he'd had. If Holmes hadn't used the drugs he bought, if he'd honestly not used, than he wasn't here for more drugs.
And that made him not a good person to have holding a rope over Orion's stuck body.
"I see," Orion said, feeling less than calm. "'Oo found out 'bout your lit'le doc. Found out 'oo 'ad 'im."
"His name is John Watson, and he is my friend," Holmes growled. "You kidnapped him. I owe you pain."
Holmes's eyes looked like they would like to cause Orion pain. "Whadjoo go and 'urt Trevor for, mmm?" Orion said, buying time to reach into the folds of his body for the gun he kept buried in a pocket. Holmes's eyebrows lowered, making his glare an unpleasantly scary one.
"Just a shadow," Holmes said.
"A shadow?"
"A shadow of what I'm going to do to you."
"Roight," Orion said, and brought the gun up to point it at Holmes's face. To his surprise, Holmes did not seem alarmed. In fact, he seemed jubilant. Orion's hand shook. "Wha's so funny? I'm 'bout to kill you."
"That would be tremendously ambitious of you," Holmes said, sounding almost bored.
"The other dealers, they said 'oo were gone soft for the doc, that 'oo didn't use no more. Zat true, 'Olmes?" Orion looked at Holmes's arm, where the detective had been scratching. He couldn't see Holmes's skin under the long-sleeved shirt, but he knew what that scratching meant.
"Using is boring," Holmes said. "There are other ways to keep one's attention, as you're going to find out."
With that, Holmes lunged forward and wrapped the rope three times around Orion's neck. He pulled, and Orion lifted up, the chair, still stuck to his butt, coming up with him. Orion shot off the gun, but the bullet went wild and hit the window. Holmes whacked the arm holding the gun, and Orion heard a crack. He dropped the gun onto Trevor's body, pulling his arm in to cradle it.
In one swift move, Holmes pushed the rope, the chair, and Orion over to the now-broken window. Glass shattered around them both, cutting into corpulent flesh as well as lean, pale flesh. Orion felt pain bite him all over, digging into sagging flesh that hadn't been punctured in a long time. Only the rope held in Holmes's straining arms kept him from plunging down the side of the house.
A thunder cloud swept over Holmes's face, the shadows in his features destroyed by the morning sun rising behind Orion. Orion considered shuddering. After all, if Holmes dropped him, it would be a long fall two stories down to the brown grass below.
When Trevor had suggested kidnapping the doctor friend of the mighty Sherlock Holmes (addict who played at being detective), Orion had thought Holmes would be a great customer again. Come for drugs once, maybe, to help his friend and then begging every day after. And Orion would be the man who brought Holmes to his knees. Jim Moriarty hadn't done it, but Orion could. Watson had been easy to kidnap. A little sedative in his tea and the man practically cried out for kidnapping. Then Orion had let him go, had baited the trap for Holmes and waited for it to snap around the man.
This wasn't quite how he envisioned this.
"We din't 'urt 'im," Orion protested, holding on to the rope around his neck as if it might save his life. "Anyways, 'oo are a white hat. 'Oo cain't throw me out a window. 'Oo 'ave to call the coppers, 'ave me arrested, all proper-like."
Holmes put his face up against Orion's, speaking softly into Orion's ear. Orion's eyes widened. Holmes's hand clenched, then unclenched, releasing the rope. And Orion fell, still encased in his too-small chair. He had almost no time to think, no time to consider the justice or the regret. Just time to fall. Right before he hit the ground, he heard police sirens coming towards him.
The words Sherlock Holmes had spoken were: "I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."
AN: Coming up last, a brief epilogue. Please review!
