WARNINGS for this chapter apply. Once again- they're clearly marked. It deals with Irene's idea of psychological torture.
CHAPTER 10
"… Damn the fuck it!" Anderson spat as he tried to match the bullet to a Colt of all fucking guns. This was hardly America, but he'd come up blank with all the rest of the usual guns and was now expanding his search parameters to ridiculous amounts.
"Nothing?" Molly asked as she scurried into the lab in a flurry of caffeine and toasted bread.
"No. All I know is what it isn't."
"Oh. That's… not good." She nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'm going to take it you haven't fared much better." Anderson sighs as he grabs a slice of toast.
"No. This… he's good. He really is. But I thought the bullet I found might be the same one." She holds up a specimen bag for his inspection and Anderson tilts his head at it.
"It looks like the same calibre…"
"Well?" Demands an imperious voice. Anderson turns to snarl at him, but Molly jumps in to stop any conflict.
"Well, the bullet from the hacker doesn't match any handgun that's been tested so far, but the bullet from the body might."
"The body. Of course there was a body, but it wasn't Lestrade. No- there would be far more mourning and gnashing of teeth and other sentimental displays. This was someone who looked similar- was tortured similarly, much like the man in the printer factory."
"Well, yes…" Molly smiled.
"Look here Sherlock, I'm running ballistic analysis on every gun there is…"
"You won't find a match. Moriarty would never let there be a match."
"And just how would he do that?" Anderson demanded furiously.
"Oh, there are any number of ways to fool the incompetent that generally live in the forensics laboratories…"
"Now look here- just because everyone seems to be out of commission…!"
"Of course everyone else is out of commission Anderson! That is what he wants! A game where he holds all the cards! A game that allows him to corner me and make me desperate, all the better to make me make mistakes and become… too tired to think, too normal to take him on…"
"Too anguished with grief to continue. And then he'll kill you." Molly said as her eyes brimmed with tears, handing him the note.
Sherlock scowled at the thing, obviously wanting to tear it apart but knowing that he needed all the leads he could get.
"So, no leads on the ballistics then." Anderson threw down his gloves in disgust. Sherlock gave him a speculative look, which was then followed by one of Molly. She flushed.
"Well, I'm going home to my shower in that case." Anderson added, heading for the door only to be faced with a very intense looking Holmes.
"No." He said. "No one is leaving, this is where we will be making our new base."
"Our…? Are you insane?!" Anderson nearly shouted at him. "I have a wife! And besides, you can't tell me Bart's is safer than the Yard! That's simply ludicrous!"
"It is safer! Look around you Anderson- I know every person that is supposed to be able to access this lab. You and Molly are well acquainted with them as well. There are several fire alarms, escape routes are more common, most areas are access card controlled and there are no cameras in here. It is harder to spy on us in Bart's. Thus, we are able to plan and discuss in relative freedom."
"Wait…" Molly interjected. "You want us to plan and discuss… with you?"
Sherlock scowled at her. "Is that not what I just said?"
Molly smiled at him, a happy little smile that had Anderson scowling and wishing that Sherlock would just stop being such an ass and appreciate the effect he apparently had on women. And men. Though Anderson was happy keeping that mental image far away from himself.
"So you want us to just hole up here for the foreseeable future, is that it?" He scowled at Holmes.
"Why not? Those of us who have not been kidnapped are just upstairs. I would have thought that moping by your mistress' bedside would be considered the sort of foolish emotional display you would be rather keen on participating in."
"Fuck you! You don't know a damn thing…!"
"Now, now boys! Let's not get into fights here! We have to work together- isn't that right?" Molly gave them both a wobbly little smile.
Anderson shot Holmes another poisonous glare, "Only if he stays the hell out of my personal life."
Holmes shot him a look of his own, before sneering a vicious "Oh, as if I care!" at him and throwing a file on the bench.
"Uhm, is that evidence?" Molly asked.
"No. That is a case my dearest brother has… insisted that I take. Look at it. Now. I am far too busy."
"Oh, I'm not really…"
"Molly, until such time as another person winds up dead from this you are of no practical use at all to me. I hardly expect you to solve it, but I do expect you to see whether or not it is worth my time."
"You are such a fucking prat." Anderson glared at him.
"It is the truth. Now, Anderson- status report on the three upstairs. Go mourn the fate that has befallen your one true love."
Anderson shot him one last venomous look before he stepped out of the room, surreptitiously glancing around the hallways. Just in case a demented axe murderer for hire was waiting for him. He was fine not ending up dying in some fucked up little game between two psychopaths. He liked living. Liked it almost as much as he liked having unrestricted access to his son.
When he finally got to the ward where they were keeping Sally and Dimmock he thought that maybe he should have been more prepared for this. Maybe he should have gone for the traditional flowers and get well card? Except for the fact that Sally would give him an indecipherable look and promptly either sit him down and explain the concept of their relationship to him again, or break it off. Neither were options he wanted to explore. So he went to the room that Dimmock was in first.
Dimmock was sitting up, looking for all the world like he'd gone ten rounds with Mohammed Ali and being fed ice chips by a nurse.
The nurse gave him a small smile before making sure that Dimmock was comfortable and leaving. Dimmock looked at him from his unswollen eye.
"… This is all going to hell, isn't it?" He asked.
Anderson swallowed. "Seems like it."
Dimmock frowned- it looked to hurt like the dickens- and gave the window a glance. "Do you think London'll survive it?"
Anderson blinked rapidly a few times, "I… think that London has survived fire, plague and bombings. She's a tough city. Barring the worst, she'll make it."
That got him a nod. "How's Donovan then?"
"Haven't been to see her yet." Anderson admitted, tiredness causing him to slump into the bedside chair with a wince.
"Ah." Dimmock still wasn't looking at him.
They sat in silence for a long, long time after that. Though when Anderson left, he really wasn't sure why.
NXNXNX
"Mrs. Taylor? Mrs. Taylor?" A female voice was picking away at the violent headache pulsing behind her eyes. And Chris cursed the woman for disturbing her in her misery.
Wait… what? Mrs?
Chris opened her eyes to a worried face and the obvious hospital décor. Lovely. Sherlock (the complete and utter prick) had gotten her shot.
This realization, of course, alerted her nervous system that it owed her a world of pain. She cursed inwardly and grit her teeth, grinding at them with a fervour she was certain that she had developed only after meeting the younger Holmes brother.
This assignment, right here, this was definitely going to kill her.
The nurse, all oblivious and annoyingly nurse-ey, gave her a sunny smile. "So glad you're with us again, Mrs. Taylor. Now, how do you feel?"
"… like I got shot." Chris managed to croak on the third try.
The nurse nodded in a far too serious manner. "Of course. So you remember getting shot?"
"Kind of hard to forget."
"Sometimes. Sometimes your brain needs to forget to cope with it."
Oh, like this was news to her? But she was a professional, damn it. And one with a severely under developed sense of fear. And, psychologists would try to tell her, something of a possible narcissistic personality disorder that made her feel quite invincible.
Though she wasn't feeling that invincible now.
"Don't worry about your husband, he'll be right back. He just got called away." The nurse looked around conspiratorially. "To Buckingham. Is he some sort of spook?"
Chris just arched a brow at her.
Which was when the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes walked in and snapped at the nurse to get the hell out so he could spend some quality time with his wife.
"Hi, Puddin'. Miss me?1" Chris sing-songed at him.
He gave her a predictably blank look.
"It's a quote." She sighed.
"Obviously not a useful one."
"I don't know. The look on your face when I say it is priceless. Like one of those Master Card ads."
This time she was graced with a glare. "Concentrate Woman!"
"I'm doped up on drugs! It's amazing I can even speak! Also- I dare you to do better after having gotten shot."
"Oh, please." He flicked a dismissive hand at her. "It's hardly an excuse to lie around moping."
"Actually, it is. You know it's not nearly as non-fatal as they make it look in those movies… I do love those movies though."
"You spend far too much of your life on inconsequentialities."
"Part of a good cover is being ready for anything. You're a one trick pony, I'm the pony that can ride a unicycle whilst juggling ten Saimiri sciueus2, quoting Star Trek TOS complete with brilliant impersonations of the entire cast- down to the very last Red Shirt."
"Do you ever make sense?" He snapped.
"I make sense. I make sense all the time. I'm a totally sensible person. Just not to you. But you're weird. So. It's really all your fault."
His glare could have levelled London, but really, she took out hardened criminals for a living. It just wasn't that scary.
"What do you remember? I doubt it was anything useful, but still."
"It was dark, and he was wearing a flat cap. Height was about 6'1", brawny shoulders… brown cargo pants… t-shirt."
"And that's all?" Sherlock sniffed disdainfully at her. "I thought you people were trained for this sort of thing."
"I got shot, Sweetheart. I wasn't in any shape to do more than trying to keep breathing."
"Useless." He dumped a laptop into her lap, causing a whoosh of air and a pained grunt to escape her. "Now- find John."
"… What?"
"John. Find him. Now. Pay special attention to ministers' wives." And with that he swooped from the room in a dramatic whirl of coat tails.
"I'm fine, by the way! Oh, yes, it hurts but not nearly as much as that time we decided to have sex on the kitchen counter and you forgot to tell me the stove was still on!" She yelled after him, a tell tale pause in his steps and all those around him's telling her that she'd gotten the last dig in.
"Hope you're fucking blushing right now, Sherlock Holmes. Asshole." She muttered quietly as she struggled into sitting position. "And I bloody well hope that when I die I at least take you down with me."
NXNXNX
"Oh, dear John. How rude you've been to me now." Irene Adler cooed at the man currently restrained in the chair. "Look, you've made me bring you back here. It's your own fault you know. Insulting a girl's hospitality like that."
John Watson looked up at her through the blood on his face- a pity that her guard had had to damage it. But the man had tried to pull off a daring escape during his feeding.
Irene climbed into his lap, her skirt riding up her thighs, and started playing with his sandy blonde hair. "You make it so hard on yourself, you know. If you'd just give it up and enjoy my… hospitality…" She jerked her hips forward and smiled at his grunt. "Your time here can be so enjoyable."
HERE BE WARNINGS FOR PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE!
She tugs at his hair and thrusts against him again.
"Miss Adler," he grits out, "this isn't hospitality."
She tuts at him. "Of course it is, John." She runs her hands down his shoulders and leans in to nibble at his ear. "I'm a very hospitable host."
"Wh-what are you doing?" He sounds slightly hysterical now.
"I'm showing you the benefits of being a polite guest, of course." She says even as she reaches for his zipper.
"Are you mad?" He yells, struggling against the bonds and the chair's weight.
"Only about you, darling." She purrs as she runs her hand over his penis. "Would you like me to have a go at you? Give you an outlet for all that energy?"
"Get your hands off me!"
She smiles as she moans out his name and jerks her hips theatrically against his, causing him to curse.
"Oh, John!" She pants theatrically, "That was lovely. You're so biiiiiiiig!"
END OF WARNING- YOU CAN OPEN YOUR EYES
He's red in the face and pointedly not looking at her, as he tries to control his body. She gives his penis one last friendly pat.
"Oh, relax John. I'm hardly going to rape you in a chair… this time. No, I have a much better way of controlling a man like you."
She retrieves her phone and waves it in front of his face. He keeps his eyes closed though, and she finally resorts to digging her fingers into his jaw to get his attention. His eyes look bleak and she pets his cheek.
"Now, now dear. No need to look so sad. All I have is the footage to ruin you."
She presses play and watches him pale as the video plays. It really does look as though they're having a seriously kinky bout of sex- or at least the orgasm resulting from one. She moves to the back of his chair and threads her hands through his hair, using it to jerk his head up.
"What will that do, do you think, to the two Holmes brothers? You having an affair with me, hmmmm? Will dear Sherlock ever be able to trust you again? I'd think about that, Dear John, before you try my patience again."
She shoves his head down and whispers in his ear. "I know all the ways to break a man, Doctor, and I'd hate to waste them on you."
She steps to the side when he throws up, nose wrinkled in distaste.
"I think, Doctor, that we understand each other perfectly now." And with that she turns on her red heels and jerks her head at the guards.
"You're not to touch him, boys. Turn off the lights and the heating. I want absolute silence and darkness. Three days."
"Yes, Miss Adler."
"We'll make sure the good Doctor becomes a polite, respectable member of society. Even if it breaks him."
NXNXNX
"Uhm, Oliver?"
"Yes, Minion Number Four?"
"You might want to have a look at this…"
"What? I'm busy."
"Uhm, well, yes, but this might be important…"
"Oh, fine. What?"
"The cleaning company that we're investigating?"
"Out with it, Minion!"
"It's registered in Agent Taylor's name."
"… Fuck."
NXNXNX
A/N: Uhm. Yes. That happened. Sorry?
Harley Quinn quote, she says it to the Joker, generally when she busts him out of Arkham.
The scientific name for the Common Squirrel Monkey.