The Dame of Baker Street, Ch. 29
A.N.- There is a virtual tour of where Madeline is being held. After it's revealed I encourage you to go look it up, it might help if I don't explain some stuff all the way.
theimprobableone- Thank you, are you sure though? There are millions of stories on this site. But thanks!
zodiacgurl17- Heehee, I know I'm evil. I just really love me some cliffhangers.
RLMW- Couple spelling errors there set off my OCD. Thank you though! I did my best to try and keep with BBC's layout of the characters.
Grace- You're back! I have a pseudo twin (not related but we're a day apart and look alike- creepy) named Grace so I am automatically attached to your username. XD Yeah, Jim is kind of a spoilsport… jerk. It'll all get better though! (Not in this chapter…)
- Thank you! That's so sweet of you to say! Yeah, I couldn't keep Jim out of the picture, you've gotta love him! And the great thing is that I'm past BBC's plot so I can do whatever I want! (Within reason.) Mwahahah.
Uncontrollable-book-nerd: Here it is! Earlier than promised!
"Sherlock, calm down." John said cautiously. "You're not being rational."
"To hell with rationality," Sherlock bit out, pacing in his flat furiously. "I should have predicted that he would act at such an event. It was foolish of me to not be on my guard." Mrs. Hudson stumbled into the flat with a tray of cups and biscuits.
"Any leads?" She asked fretfully, John shook his head wordlessly and took the tray from her and placed it on the coffee table. Sherlock whirled around and John jerked the tray off of the table before his ex-flatmate's foot crushed the teacups as he stepped onto the table. Mrs. Hudson wrung her hands and left for her own flat. John slammed the tray onto the kitchen counter and stormed back into the living room and stopped Sherlock as he was spinning around to pace again.
"Okay, look. Stop. We can't just sit here and think about it, we've got to go get her." John said, holding up his hand and stopping the detective's pacing. Sherlock frowned and scowled at him.
"That's suicide. For Miss Carver and for us. Moriarty would be expecting us to come for her. This will take serious deliberation." He snapped, pressing his fingertips together and touching them to his lips in a praying motion. John crossed his arms and shifted his weight angrily.
"I think he'll be expecting you to plan it out." He said seriously. "It'd be better if we just went out to look for her."
"With what leads, John?" Sherlock ranted, "There's nothing to go on. Nothing to give us a foothold or purchase." The detective fisted his hands in his hair and spun in a tight circle.
"Then maybe you could call Mycroft?" John suggested tersely. Sherlock glared at him angrily.
"No, don't call him. I can find Miss Carver without his help." He said.
"Look, you're going to have to swallow your pride." John snapped at him, "Madeline's missing and you can't do this on your own- admit it." Sherlock narrowed his eyes briefly and grabbed his coat from its hook as well as his scarf and left the flat.
"Sherlock, where do you think you're going?" John shouted after him.
"As you oh-so-wisely said, sitting around won't do anything." Sherlock snapped sarcastically, "So start looking." He added, leaving the flat and storming down the sidewalk.
"Mrs. Hudson, stay here and keep an eye out. Maybe Madeline would come back." John called into Mrs. Hudson's flat before leaving 221 Baker Street and heading in the opposite direction that Sherlock had taken.
Sherlock tore down the yellow tape barring the entrance to the renovated carpark that he hadn't seen in two years. It looked untouched since the last time he'd visited it, but the detective stormed inside nonetheless. He picked up a discarded metal pipe and slung it into the depths of the parking deck. It resounded against whatever it hit with a reverberating clang, and Sherlock pulled out his gun and flashlight. He directed the light into the darkness and swept it around in a circle. The light travelled over the cement columns standing everywhere in the car park, and Sherlock immediately noticed the lighter patches in the cement where Moriarty's explosives used to rest. The detective ran his fingers over the patches and felt the texture of the concrete where the explosives had been removed. He swung his flashlight over the interior of the car park farther then took four short steps forward and stopped short.
Sherlock panned his flashlight beam across the floor in front of him and stepped back. A little white teacup lay in the middle of the floor, surrounded by what looked like red splatters of blood. Sherlock stepped between the splotches of red and looked into the teacup, a small hank of brown hair rested peacefully in the bottom of the cup. Sherlock slowly touched one of the red lines with his finger and felt only a cool, smooth substance instead of blood.
"Candle wax." He murmured, standing and stepping backwards until he could see the wax clearly. The teacup was resting in the middle of the "O", while the candle wax had been slung about to roughly spell the word "WRONG". Sherlock growled and scooped up the teacup before storming out of the car park furiously. His phone moaned and he quickly pulled it out.
That was risqué. And wrong. It read. Sherlock swallowed his simmering temper and typed a response.
You're not making clever moves. –SH He sent the message and waited only six complete seconds before the response.
Who, me? I'm playing my game how I'd please. –JM Sherlock's phone declared a second message only seconds later.
You should be careful, this round is going to be a gauntlet. Don't think about calling big brother, either. –JM Sherlock growled and stuffed his phone into his pocket and turned back to glare at the red candle wax before striding back to Baker Street, sending John a text to meet him there as soon as he could.
. . .
"Ooh Sherlock's missing it!" Jim crowed, Madeline furrowed her eyebrows and tried to open her eyes. When she finally did she found that her limbs were as heavy as lead and she was sluggish. Part of her neck felt cold, and her cheek was pressed against something hard and cold. Madeline slowly brought her hand to her neck and alarmingly felt at the shortened length of her hair on the right side of her neck by the base of her skull. She shivered and rubbed at the spot, then pushed herself up into a sitting position, vaguely aware that her hands were unbound.
"Good thing you finally woke up." Jim said, his voice echoing loudly from the darkness around her. Madeline pushed herself onto her knees and shakily tried to stand, but her knees felt like water and it took a few tries before she could actually stand. A bright light flashed on from above and blinded her for a second, and when Madeline's vision adjusted she saw that she'd been lying on a strictly painted argyle of yellow lines that intersected to make a cautionary space. Jim leaned over a railing on a catwalk above her and grinned.
"Lovely to see you awake and smiling, Miss Carver." He called to her. Madeline staggered and shielded her eyes against the light. Jim smirked and disappeared from the railing before he stepped into the circle of shadows rimming the light shining on Madeline and the diamonds. She took a hasty step back and wobbled as her vision swam and her legs went numb for a second. Jim laughed and flipped a light switch just out of sight of the limited light. More lights flickered on in the dark, chasing away the shadows and shining pale, harsh light on multitudes of pipes and tubes running all over the walls and ceiling. Moriarty spread his hands complacently and pivoted on his heel.
"Great, isn't it? You've lived her for how long- three years? - and you have no idea where you are." He said, Madeline rubbed at her wrists and swiveled her eyes around but jerked them back to Moriarty when he took a step forward.
"Don't come near me," She slurred, still fuzzy from whatever was in her system. Jim laughed and pushed a hand through his hair casually.
"If I wanted to you wouldn't be able to stop me," He teased. Madeline frowned at him and spread her hands by her waist to stabilize her balance. Moriarty stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked one foot out slowly and blew air from his cheeks.
"Phew, you completely missed it. Sherlock was completely in the wrong place! He messed up!" He bent over at the waist and chuckled, and Madeline took a wobbly step back. "Oh you should have seen his face- I had cameras set up at the old car park where you and the good Dr. Watson had joined me a few years ago. Sorry but I had to borrow a piece of your hair to incite him a little more." Jim brushed his finger by his hairline, and Madeline tugged on the shortened tuft of hair nervously, soothed only a little by the fact that Sherlock was looking for her.
"Although," Moriarty said, stepping forward a little more. "He messed up, and the way this game works is like this: if Sherly messes up- you will have to pay for it. He'll know, don't worry." He added when he saw Madeline's face blanch. "You won't go through anything for nothing. He'll know." Moriarty lunged forward and caught Madeline by her upper arm. Her brain processed the event and sent out a reaction only after she'd felt his hand close around her arm. She pulled backwards suddenly, but Moriarty jerked her arm forward and backward, jostling her head on her neck and making her knees buckle. Jim dragged her to one of the walls with considerable strength and flipped a set of handcuffs out of his pocket. He looped the chain around a pipe with a diameter of about four inches resting at shoulder level and slapped the cuff around one of Madeline's wrists, then snapped the other one shut around the other wrist.
She squirmed and tried to pull away from the pipe, but even when she shifted her arms she couldn't take more than a half step forward. She jerked her hands away from the pipe as hard as she could and winced at the numbness that reverberated through her hands when the cuffs jerked against the soft spots on the sides of her wrists. Jim watched her with raised eyebrows and laughed.
"And yet you still have no idea where we are. Little damsel you've gotten yourself handcuffed to the heating pipes of Parliament's basement." He said, spreading his arms jovially and spinning around to indicate the lattices of pipes weaving around them. Madeline felt her eyes widen and air return to her lungs.
"Help! Someone, help!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, wincing at the loud reverberations echoing off of the brick walls and the pipes. Jim laughed at the ceiling, adding his own echo to the fading reverberations of Madeline's screams and producing a cell phone from his pocket.
"It'd record better if you'd scream louder. Excellent effort, though even though nobody can hear. I have friends in the building staff who've posted signs to deter visitors and other maintenance staff. They've got everything handled, nobody's going to be disturbing us until Sherlock gets here." He snickered, the glee raising his voice a few octaves. "But the best part about this game is that there are no clues for Sherlock to follow, this one I'm going to make him work for. And like I said before- when he messes up, you get the fallout." Madeline pressed herself up against the pipes to get as far away from Jim's Cheshire grin as possible. She raised herself up a little bit on her tiptoes to relieve the numbness seeping into her hands but started when she felt the pipes begin to warm behind her. She squirmed and tried to step away from the pipes, even if it meant going towards Moriarty, but the handcuffs stopped her and only let her hold herself an inch from the steadily heating pipes while balancing on her toes. If she tried to stand on the flat of her feet the pipes would scald her skin like she'd touched a hot skillet. She hissed at the pain while Jim raised his eyebrows at her predicament and smiled.
"This'll be good for Sherlock's mistake today. Don't worry, those pipes run for fifteen minutes twice daily. They'll shut off soon." He said, watching Madeline twist away from the heating pipes and try to keep her skin away from the hot metal. Jim smiled at her and laced his fingers together.
"Don't worry, damsel." He said softly, "Sherlock will get here soon enough."
. . .
"John, he left me this." Sherlock growled, shaking the bag of hair in the doctor's face before tossing it to rest inside the white teacup. He splayed himself across the couch lengthwise while John rubbed at his eyes tiredly and snatched the bag into his hands.
"He yanked a shank of hair from Miss Carver's skull and planted it to let me know I was on the wrong lead." Sherlock mused. John held the bag up to his face and scrutinized it closely.
"These weren't yanked, Sherlock." He said, "There's no hair bulb or follicle. These were cut." Sherlock swung his legs around and pushed himself up from the couch. He grabbed the sample bag from John and used forceps to pull a couple of the hairs out and put them under his microscope.
"They were cut," He murmured, "On the opposite end of the dermic layer of the hairs. And look at this…" He pulled a couple of the hairs together and held them over an open flame, the hairs curled inwards towards Sherlock's fingers in an attempt to shy away from the fire and sizzled with a faint green flare amid a yellow flame. Sherlock shook the fire out and held the hairs close to his face.
"Dirt, so somewhere filthy. Maybe a shipyard?" He muttered before turning his attention to the cup
"White porcelain. John, have you seen this kind of cup before?" Sherlock called to John, who shrugged and disappeared from the flat and returned minutes later with Mrs. Hudson on his arm.
"She might." The doctor clarified. Sherlock handed the teacup to Mrs. Hudson and tapped his foot impatiently while she turned it over in her hands.
"I have a set just like these." The landlady said, handing the cup back to Sherlock. He snatched it back and stood from the table quickly, already reaching for his coat.
"Brilliant, where did you get them?" John asked. Mrs. Hudson rattled off an address and the doctor scribbled it onto a napkin, he thanked her quickly before making his way to the door and starting down the stairs.
"John, stop! Don't leave the flat!" Sherlock shouted from the doorway to 221 B. The doctor turned back and gave him a curious look that would have been accompanied by an angry protest, but he saw Sherlock staring at his phone with a stricken expression on his face. He tapped the screen once and winced when a recording started. At first everything was muffled, then something made a sliding noise like a recording device being removed from a pocket and the sounds clarified themselves.
It was someone screaming.
"Help! Someone help!" The voice shrieked, accompanied by echoing laughter.
"It'd record better if you'd scream louder. Excellent effort though, even though nobody can hear." Said a voice that made the hair in the back of John's neck bristle. The words blurred out briefly as whatever was recording moved and emitted a rustling sound before stilling and picking up words again. "-il Sherlock gets here. But the best part about this game is that there are no clues for Sherlock to follow, this one I'm going to make him work for. And like I said before- when he messes up, you get the fallout." There was a faint clink of metal in the background, but it sounded like popping white noise before Sherlock cut the recording off and stuffed his phone into his pocket.
"John, come back. We need to rethink our movements." Sherlock said lowly and calmly. John trudged back up the stairs and past a stricken Mrs. Hudson who stumbled back to her flat wordlessly. Sherlock collapsed into his chair with a huff and bent over his knees with his fingertips steepled intently.
"We've only got a limited number of moves." He mused, "So we can't just run out to check any and every lead that presumably presents itself." John pointed at Sherlock's breast pocket vindictively.
"Was that Madeline?" He asked, Sherlock ignored him and furrowed his brow in concentration.
"Their voices were echoing, and the hair sample burned yellow with a green tinge and gave off the aroma of burning charcoal." He mused.
"So they're somewhere underground." John guessed. Sherlock nodded but didn't give verbal confirmation. "But the problem is that the majority of London is underground." John added. "You've got the tube lines, not to mention those old deserted stations that they used as bunkers in World War Two." Sherlock rubbed at his chin in annoyance and frowned.
"Yes but where exactly is still the question." He muttered to himself. John picked up the white teacup and rolled it in his hands.
"Mrs. Hudson said she has these in her set. Here's the address." The doctor said, handing Sherlock the napkin he'd scribbled the address on. The detective snatched the paper between two fingers and frowned at it.
"Royal China Shop at 71 Regent Street." He said. "That's ten minutes by cab. John, come along we've got a lead." Sherlock stood from his chair and brushed himself off. John followed him to the door but hesitated in the landing.
"But Sherlock, if we're wrong about this Moriarty's going to take it out on Madeline and record it." He said uncertainly. Sherlock glared at him angrily and pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time.
"Are you questioning my judgment? I've determined a lead, and that's what we're going to follow. I've also calculated the risks, and Miss Carver should be fine." He snapped, frowning and striding down the stairs. He pulled over a cab with minimal effort and waited impatiently for John to climb in. Once he had, Sherlock gave the cabbie the address and they sped off to Regent Street.
"Do you sell this kind of china?" Sherlock asked the store clerk firmly, holding up the white teacup for reference. The clerk murmured something in Pakistani, to which Sherlock responded fluently with a sharp retort. The clerk raised his eyebrows in amusement and took the cup into his hands. He studied it closely and turned it over in his hands.
"No," He said in English. "We quit selling these few years ago, and this cup isn't from here- doesn't have the store logo scratched onto the bottom." He showed Sherlock the bottom of the teacup and tapped the bottom for emphasis.
"So who does sell them?" Sherlock growled, "I need to find a supplier quickly." The clerk tapped his cheek thoughtfully and typed a quick search query into the store's computer and clicked on a couple of links before swiveling the screen around to face Sherlock.
"These are now sold by a fancy site called ecups-dot-com." He said to the detective. Sherlock narrowed his eyes briefly and crossed his arms.
"Is there any way we could contact the company to check their sales?" He asked tersely. The clerk shrugged his shoulders and coughed.
"Not sure. You could email them, but they're notorious for not responding to mail." He said. Sherlock frowned and abruptly left the store. John bid the clerk good day and left after him.
"Sherlock, now what? What if Moriarty counts that as a wrong lead?" John fretted. Sherlock ignored him and kept walking. "Sherlock." John reprimanded him. "You're going to have to include me on this, goddamnit." The detective huffed and slapped his hands to his sides, turning to face John irately.
"He shouldn't, there was no lead to 'ecups' that we could have found without going to that store. And if he does count it there will be hell to pay." He snapped. "But now the question is how to contact the company if they don't respond to contact very well."
"You could always call Mycroft." John suggested, "He could easily make a phone call and get their entire shipping list, even people who've just visited their site." Sherlock shook his head and resumed walking.
"We can't, apparently that counts as cheating by Moriarty's book. He's already warned me not to contact Mycroft." He muttered, "That must mean our phones are being monitored, and Scotland Yard's and Mrs. Hudson's lines must be, too. Moriarty is trying to completely discourage us from seeking… counseling from Mycroft, which must mean the next clue is within my brother's power to find."
"Or Jim knows you'd have to contact Mycroft for the information and is doing his best to be waiting for when you have to turn to him with reciprocations." John added.
"You don't think I know that?" Sherlock snapped. "Of course he does, but perhaps there's a different way we could underhandedly contact my brother and get the information without triggering a line in Moriarty's spider web." He stuck his hands in his pockets and frowned before striding down the street to a petshop. The detective glared at the puppies tumbling over each other in the window and stepped inside. John followed him curiously.
"Do you have any Irish Setters?" Sherlock asked the young woman behind the cash register. She nodded and directed him to one of the puppies in the window. Sherlock smirked satisfactorily and bought the animal, although his expression made the girl look like she regretted selling the puppy to him.
"Excellent, John. Do you know what we have to do now?" Sherlock asked once they'd left the pet shop. He shoved the perforated box containing the puppy into John's arms and kept walking.
"I have no idea." John sighed, doing his best not to jostle the box and the puppy inside it. "What's your plan of action?" Sherlock smirked and sat down on a bench by the sidewalk. He held his arms out expectantly for the box and pulled the puppy out of it. He made sure to keep the animal in plain sight in his arms while standing up and walking down the streets with John following him out of confusion.
"Mycroft has people monitoring London's security cameras for me." The detective explained out of the corner of his mouth. "Even when he hired you to look after me he still had others looking for me on the streets. Much like me and my homeless network." John nodded quietly and followed the detective for another quarter of an hour before Sherlock deigned that he'd covered enough ground to broadcast himself to Mycroft's men innocuously.
"John, go return the dog to the store we bought it from." He said, shoving the slobbering puppy back into John's arms.
"Why?" The doctor spluttered, Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned away from him.
"It's served its purpose. Take it back to the store then meet me at 221 B. Hopefully our guest should be there by then." He said simply as if that explained everything. "Come in through the back door," Sherlock added over his shoulder. "Hopefully Mycroft will do the same."
. . .
"I cannot believe you carried around a puppy to snag my attention. Did you name him Redbeard II?" Mycroft jibed, Sherlock scowled at his brother and John made sure to close the door loudly and announce his arrival.
"We were unable to call you, so I made sure to draw the attention of your henchmen who patrol my movements on camera. I had an uncanny feeling you'd show up." Sherlock responded with equal gall. Mycroft folded his arms and reclined in John's chair. John stared at him crossly and took a seat at the chair by the desk while Sherlock sat in his own chair.
"So where's the little American?" The older Holmes asked uninterestedly.
"Don't act like you don't know." John interrupted him. Sherlock silenced him with a look and turned back to his brother.
"Moriarty took her at John's wedding." He explained shortly. Mycroft inclined his head to John courteously.
"Yes, many congratulations from the British Government on your new marriage." He said.
"Focus, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped. "As petty as it sounds we need you to contact a teacup company- no, don't look at me like that- and ask them to send us a list of their products, consumers, and where they sell teacups like this one." He produced the white teacup and held it out to Mycroft, whose eyebrows rose eyebrows rose even higher than before in amusement.
"I could, but it'd require an elaboration from you." He said, "Why do you want to look for teacups when your little American is missing? Do you plan to have tea with Moriarty?" Sherlock's expression didn't change at his brother's jibes, he just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"He left me a clue with a lock of Miss Carver's hair in that teacup, and the cup will be a clue to their location." He elaborated tersely. Mycroft eyed the teacup profusely and frowned at it.
"So you thought signaling my subordinates and getting me to help would solve it? I already warned you, Sherlock; they're like pets. If you can't take care of them and keep track of them then you can't keep them." He said. John slid his hands over his thighs restlessly and frowned. Mycroft scowled right back at him and grabbed the teacup from Sherlock.
"I could see what I can do, but you'll owe me again, Sherlock." The older brother said patronizingly. Sherlock snatched the cup back and put it on the table beside his chair.
"Then I'm sure we can figure it out on our own." He said icily. Mycroft laced his hands together across his stomach and sighed contentedly.
"You do realize he will find out you asked for my help." He said irately. "Moriarty has the city rigged almost as well as my department does. It'd be in your best interests to go ahead and use me since you've got me here." John looked at Sherlock sideways.
"He's got a point, if Moriarty finds out we talked to him he's going to take it out on Madeline." John warned him.
"I know," Sherlock snapped, Mycroft wordlessly sat in the chair with a smug look on his face.
"That teacup does look familiar, I could look through my sets and see if I have some and see if I can recall where I bought them." He offered. John cut his eyes to him, not sure if Mycroft was joking or serious.
"Fine." Sherlock said, standing from his chair meaningfully and walking to the door. His brother kept the teacup in his hands and followed the detective to the exit; but Sherlock held out his hand expectantly until Mycroft handed the cup over.
"Don't get too involved. Remember once your head gets clouded you'll be useless. You'll only put her in more danger." He murmured to Sherlock. The detective glared at him and held the door open.
"Just have someone bring the results by as soon as they can." He snapped. Mycroft nodded his head and started down the stairs. "And make sure you leave inconspicuously out the back. Don't risk anyone seeing you." Sherlock added. Mycroft raised his umbrella to show he'd heard him and kept walking. Sherlock huffed and returned to his chair. John left his seat at the desk and sat in his own chair as well.
"What should we do now, Sherlock?" He asked, "Just wait it out?" Sherlock pulled out his violin and began plucking at its strings absently.
"That seems to be our only plan of action. We'll wait for Mycroft to get back to us and then keep searching. Right now it's not my first choice but we have to wait. If Moriarty sees us out and about and even thinks we're on the wrong lead he'll become violent." He murmured, tuning his violin aimlessly. John listened to Sherlock pick at the strings and pull his bow across the instrument to create bland melodies.
. . .
"They're getting absolutely nowhere!" Moriarty shouted, his voice echoing off of the pipes and making Madeline wince. "They could have solved it so easily and just gotten here for the next part but they had to mess it up! Absolutely shameful. Sherlock is a disgrace to people of our intellect." He growled. He'd uncuffed Madeline's hands after the pipes had shut off and cooled down, but left her handcuffed to a set of lower pipes that had no change in temperature. She lay against the pipes limply and tried to keep from snagging Moriarty's attention with movements while he ranted on about Sherlock's incompetence.
"It's unbelievable." He said, chuckling slightly and turning back to face her. Madeline shrank back against the wall and pressed her lips together to keep from whimpering at the crazy look on his face.
"When they take longer to get here I get more time to figure out how you work." Moriarty said with a shrug, "So in reality everyone wins." He pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. Madeline's hands fell into her lap briefly but she quickly pulled them to her chest and rubbed at her wrists to reinstitute her circulation.
"You and Sherlock are unbelievably cute, you know." Jim said to her. "Almost makes me sick." He added. "When you worked together in the lab I didn't know whether to go in and shoot you myself or vomit." The criminal laughed at the surprised look on Madeline's face and chose to elaborate for her.
"I've had those cameras and microphones set up for two years. Ever since I repossessed your medicine." He said, Madeline felt her jaw drop open but closed it when Moriarty smirked with a pleased expression. "I put them in the morning before you came to work that day and they've been there ever since. Although over the last couple of years there hasn't been much activity; but then Sherlock started working in your lab…" Jim hooked his thumbs in his waistband happily. "Then it made me glad I'd put those in there. You two were so cute!" He clutched his fists to his chest like he was cooing over a puppy, and Madeline resisted the urge to spit at him. Jim noticed the malice on her face and smiled broadly.
"And you. You're just a little piece of work." He said softly, trailing the backside of his fingers down Madeline's cheek. She automatically flinched away from the cliché move and Jim shrugged. "At first I didn't have a hold on Sherlock, then John Watson came along and gave me a foothold. It was great, I was able to get to Sherlock through the doctor for a good while- and then you came along." Moriarty leaned back on his heels and laughed at the ceiling, Madeline shifted uncomfortably and tried to move away from the madness he was exuding.
"I know, I know. I'm monologuing like a classic villain, just give me a second or two. Who doesn't want a good old villain anyway?" Jim said before picking up where he'd left off. "I really thought Sherlock and the doctor were going to get together in the end; but eventually it was you." He sniggered, "It's just unbelievable. Sherlock's exposing so many soft sides that someone's bound to stick a knife in one of them." Moriarty stood up until he towered above Madeline ominously and pressed one finger to his chest.
"And of course that someone's going to be me." He said with a grin. "You're his little damsel of Baker Street, and it'll be interesting to see his reaction with just you instead of with Dr. Watson included." Madeline felt a sudden angry rush of confidence and did her best to sit forward and leer at Moriarty.
"So what are you going to do now?" She growled, "Torture me?" She barked out a strained laugh and stared the criminal right in the eyes. "That won't work, 'cause you're talking to the suicidal girl." Jim threw his head back again and laughed, and Madeline recoiled slightly. When Moriarty's laughter had subsided into giggles he leaned forward menacingly.
"That's a lie and you and I both know it. You're an on-again off-again switch with your death wishes; but you know you really want to live. You've got a reason to." Madeline glared at him and shook her head furiously.
"It won't work. I'll die, and Sherlock won't bat an eye. I don't mind dying." She snapped, trying to keep her voice from breaking into a squeaky treble. Moriarty rolled his eyes and let a sick smile slide onto his face slowly. "I don't mind dying." Madeline repeated quickly. Although it seemed like she was trying to convince herself.
"You do. You shy away from other people's deaths but you don't mind bringing on your own. But when I offer it to you, you cower and refuse. You laugh at chaos, don't you?" He cooed, "You smile at the destruction you bring yourself but do nothing to fix it. And when you're offered what you want-"Jim flipped a knife out of his pocket and waved it past her face tenderly, narrowing his eyes when Madeline flinched away from it. "You cow away from it, and in my eyes that makes you the worst kind of person.
"And by the way, Sherlock would care. Even if he doesn't love you like he apparently does he'll still care. You and I both know Sherlock hates losing." Jim said pointedly. His hand shot out and wrapped around Madeline's right forearm and slowly brought it to rest against the floor. In his other hand he flipped the knife between his fingers expertly while Madeline used her left hand to try and free her other arm.
"Sit still," Moriarty warned her, "When you squirm I might miss and cut something I shouldn't have." Madeline's eyes widened in panic and she jerked away from him, even though he still pinned her arm in place.
"Help!" She screamed, "Please, help!" Jim leaned back on his heels and sighed, still keeping Madeline's forearm pinned to the floor awkwardly.
"If you don't be quiet I'll pull a nail for every time you scream, and after we run out of those I'll start pulling teeth. You don't want to return to Sherlock unable to smile do you?" He growled at her. Madeline unwillingly quieted down and clenched her teeth together tightly in anticipation. Moriarty grinned and slowly dragged the knife handle over her skin slightly, then the blade. He didn't break the skin until his third pass over her arm, where he added just a little bit of pressure and pulled the knife across. It stung, but not horribly. It was like one of the tiny cat scratches Madeline had inflicted on herself when she felt the black creeping in.
My medicine. She thought suddenly. I don't have my medicine! Moriarty turned the knife and applied more painful pressure, making the blood appear before the shadow of his hand was even over the start of the cut. Madeline hissed in pain and tried to pull away, but it felt like her arm was bolted to the ground. She pressed her teeth together harder to keep from voicing her pain.
"You've probably heard this in a lot of the books you've read; but I can confirm it from experience," Jim said. "You never feel more alive than when you're killing someone." He smiled deviously at her and pulled a phone out of his pocket. He snapped a quick photograph of her arm and then pocketed the device and pushed himself to his feet.
As soon as his hand left Madeline's skin she cradled her arm to her chest and surveyed the damage. Jim had left her with cuts of varying lengths up and down her forearm, but none of the marks went near the vulnerable veins on her wrist. Moriarty stepped forward and used the handcuffs to chain Madeline's left wrist to the pipe running by her ear but left her right wrist free so she could clutch it to her chest.
"See, I'm not as cruel as you'd like to think." The criminal said, "Suspending your other arm would change your blood flow- you'd probably bleed out in a couple of hours." Madeline glared at him and pulled on the handcuff chain to help herself stagger to her feet. She pressed the inside of her forearm to her stomach protectively and glared at Moriarty.
"You just don't want me to die yet." She snapped, Jim shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
"Well I can't figure out how you work if you're dead. I plan to take you apart- physically and mentally- one layer at a time until either Sherlock gets here or I accidentally break you." He sneered at her. Madeline tried to keep herself from cowering against the pipes and jerked at the chain on her wrist.
"Sherlock will get here first."
"Maybe. That's how he gets his kicks, he risks his life all for the sake of proving he's clever and knows what's going on, but I think I got him this time." Jim said conceitedly. "I could pull a tooth for every time Sherlock messes up in this round, but you only have so many teeth." Madeline fell silent and slowly leaned back against the pipes again.
"He'll get here." She murmured, "He will."
Jim laughed.
A.N.- EXAMS ARE OVER! WHOO I HAVE THE REST OF THIS YEAR TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS.
I own nothing in this fandom except for my wayward plotline and my lovely damaged OC Miss Madeline Carver, the Dame of Baker Street. XD
Ugh my exams were crazy. Absolutely crazy. So yeah there's a virtual tour of Parliament's basement if you want to see where they are. They're still in the main room under the lobby just so ya know. ^.^
If anyone needs clarification on anything just message me, cause I don't think I explained stuff well enough.
