Genre: Drama, angst, friendship
Spoilers: End of series 2, "The Reichenbach Fall"
Warnings: Spoilers, angst, some violence, mentions of drugs, swearing
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Fraud´s Qualms
January has been rather tepid for a winter month, and wet. Since I left Molly´s house, I have avoided taking up with a group again, only frequently met singular individuals I know who couldn´t provide me with useful information. The way my investigation proceeds, it could take years to get to Moran.
The result of three months in London is drab. What started out as an intellectual challenge has become tedious and frustrating. Where I formerly thrived on connecting clues, chasing offenders, I am now presented with only threadbare evidence of Moran´s presence. He is out there, but in the last six weeks I have, for all my efforts, come nowhere near the man. Instead, I am getting more itchy, aggravated and depressed daily, which doesn´t help me at all to focus.
My mind whirls with questions. Does alone really protect me? Doesn´t it just slow me down? Are my friends and family really protected by my absence from their life? On whose authority did I rob them of their decision to care for me? Am I really arrogant enough to assume that I am the only individual who is capable of ultimately and successfully destroying the web? I, Sherlock Holmes, "who always works alone, because no one else can compete with my massive intellect," as John termed it?
I must be just as deranged as Moriarty was, or, if not, ultimately desperate. Desperate to convince myself that I am no fraud.
I´ve lost all resources. John mourns me. Mycroft worries about me. And Molly, in all probability, curses herself for being considerate. As if to mock me, I find myself surrounded by sprayings and posters blurting out"I believe in Sherlock Holmes." Evidently people who have never met me do care, in spite of my downfall. They want a hero. I am far from being a hero. I don´t want them to care. I don´t need their support. What I need is to believe in myself. But I seem to lose that.
Mycroft would gleefully take me into his brotherly care, would I call for his help. He would triumph in the knowledge that he was right in his assumption that I can´t do this on my own. And I would never be able to forgive him. Thus, I am trapped. It´s like walking on a mountain ridge in the fog. I can´t turn back and I can´t divert.
My beacon, my compass, still anchors in Baker Street, and I have made it a – very risky – habit to pass it regularly, never at the same time, preferably in the night. My visits are intended to remind me of what is at stake, but I always leave with the same longing for an end, for my home.
I´m tired, and this is what propels me toward Moran much more rapidly than I would have thought probable.
It´s nearly February when I meet Brian at one of the disused underground depots I prefer to camp at. He approaches me with a malign grin, his eyes scanning my tired expression and skinny limbs.
"Hi there, Freak. Long time no see."
"My pleasure," I answer, cold resentment in my voice. "As you probably already assumed, I desperately needed some time off."
He draws his knife, patting his hand with the blade, regarding the steel. "Oh yes. I remember. Did it hurt?"
"Not too much. In fact, it was a pleasure I would honestly be only too happy to return to you."
"Never lost for the right words, ha?" he asks, eyeing me, his eyes narrowing. "You can´t pay me with words, you know. You´ll need money. Just think of the interest."
"Is this interest enough?" I retort and remove the silver bracelet from my arm to offer it to him.
"I thought that was part of your heritage," he mocks me.
"Well, yes, it is," I answer, weighing the solid material in my hand.
He reaches out to grab it, but I pull back. His gaze lingers on the scar on my arm and a spark of curiosity flickers in his eyes, but he says nothing.
"Only if you take me with you when the next delivery arrives," I demand.
He chuckles, the glint of interest in his eyes changing into amusement. "Anything you want, Challenger. Well, in fact if you are not occupied, you can come along... let´s see... oh yes, tomorrow. Meet me in Regent´s Park at the Long Bridge at eight." He pauses and chuckles. "Might even give you a chance to gather a little credit." With this, he leaves fast and swift, his features blurring with the dark.
Relief washes over me. Finally I might be able to get a closer look at Moran´s business.
If I hadn´t closed my eyes for tiredness, I might have spotted him retrieving his mobile.
The next day I can´t resist passing 221B on my way to Regent´s Park. I have just walked up towards Speedy´s, when a black limousine is slowing down beside me.
The sound of a violin, a busker eliciting the instrument a haunting tune of dissonant sounds, distracts me from noticing that the car is following me up to the next crossroad. Its doors open and two men in black suits approach me. Although they don´t seem familiar, I don´t sense danger. I think of my annoying brother instead, truly relieved that he has finally found me.
"Took your time, brother dear," is my last conscious thought before I feel the prick of a needle in my neck and strong arms around my waist, pulling my swaying body swiftly and roughly into the car.