CHAPTER 62: EAT YOUR HEART OUT
Giulia raises her watery eyes on Sherlock and smiles at him faintly through the tears. She gives him a nod of the head; she wouldn't have the strength to express how infinitely grateful she is to him, to both of them. This last round has drained her so much that any deep feeling seems unbearable to her.
Sherlock reads the weariness in her eyes and instinctively stretches out a hand.
"How about we get out of here? I'm not particularly fond of this room," he grimaces, stealing a glance around.
She nods and latches her hand to his, letting him guide her towards the exit door; John precedes them out of the room.
When they step into the corridor, Sherlock becomes suddenly self-conscious of his grip on her hand and immediately loosens his fingers, blushing slightly under the flickering lights of a maintenance passageway. Giulia interprets it as his intention to let go, so she lets her hand slip off, walking one step behind him.
She gulps down to reduce the lump in her throat and calm her nerves, then she leans forward and murmurs loud enough for him to hear, "When this is over, I think we should talk. You know everything about me and my past now, about Luca and Thomas. But maybe we should talk about…"
He turns his head around to interrupt her. "We'll think about it when this is over. For the time being, let's just focus on what lies ahead," and he speeds up his gait.
When they approach a door at the end of the narrow corridor, they can hear the sound of classical music coming from the inside.
John stops right before the door that has been left ajar and frowns.
"That's new. And it's creepily cheerful," he comments, looking at Sherlock over his shoulder. "What is it? Do you recognise the melody?"
He nods and replies curtly, "Sonata n.1 for piano by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart."
"Next time, instead of ambience music, I'd rather Moriarty turned the heat on; it's freezing here," Giulia complains, shuddering with cold shivers and wrapping her arms around her torso to keep warm.
The detective half-turns to look at her. The adrenaline of their dance together and the excitement and danger of playing with fire – literally, have rapidly worn off, leaving room for a chilling fear; they know that the game is nearing its end, and none of this is comforting.
He takes off his tuxedo jacket and lets it glide on her shoulders, without a word. A thankful smile creeps up her lips as she slides her arms into the excessively long sleeves.
The doctor cocks a brow at him, anxious, and insists, "Why the music, Sherlock?"
"I'm afraid we're about to find out," he pronounces, passing over him and pushing the door open.
When they enter the room, they are surprised to find the red velvet curtain of the theatre stage, hiding the entire wall in front of them. It doesn't take them long to deduce that this new room must resemble the previous one, and the curtain is concealing a glass wall beyond which another unlucky guest is fighting for their life. Another puppet of that lunatic show with which they'll be free to interact.
Their eyes linger briefly over a wall screen and a numeric keypad placed just below it, then they focus on a large table at the centre of the room. Behind a familiar marble statue, three objects are placed on the wooden surface: the astronomic image of a galaxy, a Nautilus shell, and a vase containing a sunflower.
Sherlock walks up to the table, ignores the rest of the items, and takes the figurine in his hands, carefully turning it on all sides. A wreath of myrtle and roses crowns the head of the slim woman carved in stone while her delicate fingers are wrapped around a Cithara (an ancient Greek musical instrument resembling a lyre), forever freezing that strumming movement in the marble.
Sherlock lifts his gaze on Giulia with an expectant look, giving her precedence to provide the explanation.
She timidly shakes her head. "I know that there aren't many Muses left, by now, but I'm not too familiar with her emblem. Any help?"
"It's Erato, the Muse of Love poetry," he affirms, narrowing his eyes at the statue in his hands. Why. Why love poetry, what does it mean?
His brain chases after those elusive questions as he puts the figurine back down. He closes his eyes for a second, and the only sound he can perceive is the hammering of his heart.
The last round was all about Giulia, but that was an exception. He knows that the whole game is ultimately meant for him, including this new round revolving around the love theme. And the unthinkable question that now haunts him is, Who could ever love him?
At that moment, the wall screen switches on, showing Moriarty's menacing face.
"Erato…" he echoes the detective, letting that name roll on his tongue as if he were savouring every syllable. "The phonetic link with the eros is all too obvious, isn't it? Love and erotic poetry… now that is one spicy form of art," he flashes them a salacious grin.
As soon as his nemesis appeared on the monitor, Sherlock took an instinctive step forward, shielding Giulia with his own body. He hasn't even realised that his movement was the result of his subconscious connection between the girl and the theme of the round.
To his surprise, though, Giulia places a hand over his arm to push him gently aside and walks up to the screen with a challenging expression.
"Hey, Jim."
Moriarty's eyes widen in surprise and curiosity as he tilts his head. "Jim? Are we on a first-name basis now?"
She shrugs defiantly. "We got so much story between us, and we have so many friends in common that it just seems trivial to keep hiding from one another, right?" she taunts him.
She's done hiding; there's no need to conceal her identity anymore, certainly not to the man who attempted at her life.
She makes a pause when a sudden realisation strikes her.
"It was you," she whispers. "You knew my identity, and you revealed it to my flatmates in a devious manipulation by sending that anonymous email to Sherlock's Inbox – the one with the attachment of the newspaper article about the explosion at the Consulate. It was you, wasn't it?"
John and Sherlock exchange bewildered looks; they hadn't made the connection yet. Moriarty, on his part, grins at her.
"Aren't you a clever girl? Maybe I should have turned you into my flatmate. As you already know, the MI6 tried their best to delete all the online information about you, erasing you from existence entirely. And they probably would have succeeded if it weren't for a certain sneaky agent," he alludes, as the emotional wounds from the previous round are still burning.
"That crucial piece of information was courtesy of Thomas Wellington, of course. You know, I haven't released him from the theatre yet; I can't take the chance that he decides to finally play the hero and gather back-up to come to your rescue. He'll have to wait until the end of the game. This means that you've still got time to change your mind about his survival," he smirks at her.
She rolls up her eyes, brushing off his offer. "There's something I need to know. When you found out that I was still alive, why didn't you try to kill me again, here in London?"
Jim's smile gives way to a disappointed grimace. "You still don't get it, do you? I told you during our first round; I was the one who sent you to live in Baker Street."
She arches a brow and comments sarcastically, "That place can be hellish, I'll give you that, but I wouldn't compare it to death."
"Why would I want to kill you? After all, everyone in the Mafia family thought that you were dead. I was the only one who knew the truth, but I had no intention to reveal it to anybody; it was my turn to have some fun. In London, I had an ongoing game with Sherlock, and I figured you could play a part in it, too; I needed you alive to be the star of my game. I regret nothing," he gives her a satisfied smile before continuing. "Besides, you are quite clever, and I noticed that clever women tend to play with Sherlock's head… and not just his head," he adds suggestively.
Sherlock frowns imperceptibly. Clever women? What is he insinuat…
He doesn't get to finish his thought because the ruffled curtain opens in front of them, revealing a huge glass mirror, as expected. Beyond that transparent barrier, a pair of familiar scarlet lips curve in a smug smile at the sight of the detective.
He freezes, and a murmur escapes his mouth, "The Woman."
John and Giulia stare dumbfounded at the scene before their eyes; a woman wearing a slinky white dress is strapped to a metal armchair, just like the hostage of the previous round. In contrast with the shocked reaction and the distress displayed by Thomas, though, this woman appears rather pleased to see the people in front of her.
Correction, Giulia objects inside her mind. She seems pleased to see Sherlock.
Giulia turns her head from one man to the other, studying their faces; it's clear that they both have recognised her.
She leans forward to whisper in John's ear, "The woman? Why the article? Is she remarkable somehow?"
"In every way."
The answer came from Sherlock. He hasn't taken his eyes off the chained woman, but his ears didn't miss Giulia's questions.
She raises her eyebrows at him. Oh, yeah? How so?
However, she would rather have the two of them providing some more details than being seen as a beg. She is dying to know why this woman is (or at least was) important to Sherlock. Even more, she is desperate to find out why Moriarty deemed it fit to place her in the room dedicated to love. Still, she is resisting the temptation to fire away all her questions.
Three pairs of eyes fix on that undeniably attractive lady to assess her situation; she is restrained, exactly like the bodyguard. And just like Thomas, there is no visible threat to her life. Unlike him, though, her room is not completely empty; Moriarty left a clue for them: a food bag with the printed name of 'Pacific Reef Fish Restaurant'.
Watson studies the bag before giving it a derisory look. "That must be quite a niche kind of cuisine in London," he ironically comments.
Holmes shrugs and smirks at him, "You know Miss Adler, John; she has always had an expensive and refined taste."
John examines the woman; his medically trained eye can see beyond the confident facade that she is putting up, and he notices that she appears dizzy and weak. She is clearly battling with itchiness and muscle pains, and she is opening and clenching her fists as if to probe the sensitivity in her fingers.
"Something tells me that her choice of food was strongly suggested, in this case," he grimaces, hinting at the monitor with Moriarty's face. "What do you think: food poisoning again, like with Mrs Hudson?" he theorises.
"So it would seem," his friend nods.
"And just like with Mrs Hudson, I suppose that the toxic substance is far from common or obvious. The threat against her life must be specific to the theme of this room," Giulia intervenes, striving to provide logical and useful answers.
Jim teases her. "It appears that someone is desperate to prove their worth. Correct, Giulia. And that is also the first part of the riddle. You must tell me exactly what is likely to kill her…" he glances at his watch "…in the next hour, approximately, judging by the time passed since she ate the food and the quantity of what she ingested. I'd still hurry if I were you. The longer she goes without the treatment, the fewer chances to survive. It's a pretty nasty toxin," he winks at them.
Sherlock turns immediately towards Watson. "John, what's your medical opinion?"
"My medical opinion?" he repeats, confused.
"Yes, come on. Tropical fish would cause what kind of food poisoning?" the detective presses him.
John gives him a side-glance before arguing, "I am an Army Doctor. What makes you think that I have the answer?"
"Because you did with the ergot poisoning," Sherlock points out as his patience wears thin. Why can't his friend just cooperate?
"That was easier. There aren't many food-borne illnesses linked to cereals; it was an elimination process," he retorts. "Whereas in this case, there are several types of fish poisoning caused by over 400 species of fish. How exactly do you expect me to narrow it down to one?"
While the two men size each other up, Giulia steps in. "Let's not forget that in all previous rounds there was always a connection to the victim… I mean, the hostage," she corrects herself, and Jim smirks at her lapsus. Does she subconsciously wish for the demise of that unexpected rival?
"So, tell me: who is this?" she reluctantly asks, pointing a finger at the woman. Despite her desire to show utter indifference, she needs answers, if only to be helpful.
"Erm, she was initially a task for us to solve, provided by Mycroft; then she became a… uh, client, sort of. Then an enemy, and finally a ghost," John stumbles on his words. "In brief, her name is Irene Adler. And I can't believe that she is alive."
After a second, he gapes at Sherlock. "You. You saved her," he mutters, dazzled.
The detective casts an indifferent glance at him. "Of course, I did."
Then he raises his gaze on the hostage. "Miss Adler, I thought I had already intervened to prevent your death."
She flashes him a foxy smile to mask the tingling around her lips and mouth and swallows to fight against her dry throat and tongue.
"And I thought I was done getting into troubles because of you, Mr Holmes," she snaps back.
Sherlock twitches his lips as his eyes study her shackles. "This time I am not responsible for that."
"Oh, but you will be responsible for her survival," Moriarty chimes in.
The detective sighs before turning his face to the monitor, feigning a bored look. "What makes you think that I'd be so eager to save her?"
Jim pouts, almost softened by that pathetic attempt. "Please, let's not insult each other's intelligence, shall we? Last time, you flew all the way to Pakistan and infiltrated into a terrorist cell just to save her life. In this game, you will be required significantly less effort. And don't forget that you're still playing against me. Aren't you up for a riddle?" he taunts him.
Sherlock frowns. He can't deny that he went to great lengths to save The Woman, in the past. It's merely a logical conclusion that he'd do anything in his power to save her in this round as well. But he is not sure that Moriarty's strategy of teasing his ego will work on him for much longer. He is already paying a terrible price for this game, and the thrill of a battle of wits just isn't worth it anymore. He has ceased to be a player; he is nothing more than a hostage himself.
"I think I've solved enough riddles for tonight," he rebuts.
"Enough for a lifetime, you mean," John mutters under his breath.
Once again, it is Giulia who provides the voice of reason. "The game is still on, right? We need to find out what Miss Adler might have ingested if we want to save her life. But Moriarty won't provide us with any additional information on how to solve this riddle unless we figure out what the riddle itself is, first. Come on, what's the link to this room? How is she connected to the love theme?" she asks, and her voice comes out more scornful than intended.
She mentally curses her inquisitory tone, but her purpose was noble; the Greek Muse Erato can direct them towards a clearer threat, helping them solve the round. The fact that she is dying to know what Miss Adler's role in Sherlock life was didn't affect her line of questioning at all, she tries (and fails) to convince herself.
"Uhm… do you want to do the explaining?" Watson awkwardly gestures towards Sherlock. He has been waiting for ages for an account of the events of that night after the cancellation of Mycroft's ghost flight. He never knew what happened to Irene's camera phone that night; he simply assumed that Sherlock must have figured out her password and handed all the blackmailing material to his brother. And yet, his friend never breathed a word about that case again. They only mentioned her again several months later, when John had lied to him about her fate. As it turned out, it wasn't a lie at all; Irene Adler was very much alive. Just maybe not for long.
Sherlock clears his throat and inserts two fingers in his shirt collar to loosen it up a bit. Then, he reveals the showdown in which he defeated the dominatrix; he briefly describes her deception and short-lived success in thwarting the MI6 plans to mislead some terrorists and have them target a plane full of corpses. He barely mentions the fact that in the end, he had turned the tables and nailed her. He doesn't meet anyone's eyes as he tells his story in a flat, inexpressive tone.
Even if he didn't hesitate to break her heart back then, he feels somehow compassionate now. Oh, how much he has changed.
He concludes in an ironic voice, "Suffice to say that Miss Adler was about to walk away with the whole world in her pocket – well, with some pretty expensive agreements with the MI6 and the CIA, at least. She almost got it all."
"But you stopped her. How?" Giulia asks. She is still missing the final link.
"By exploiting her weakness. She made a mistake; she got too close," Sherlock laconically replies.
She frowns, "Too close to what?"
"Me."
Giulia sighs. That's it then: if he eventually destroyed her by using her vulnerability and if her vulnerability was him, the ultimate connection to the theme of love can't be but the fact that she fell for the detective.
She snorts, Is it just a version of the trope enemies-to-lovers? Dull.
"If I recall correctly, I gave you the final proof that love is a dangerous disadvantage," Irene intervenes, quoting the cruel words that Sherlock had pronounced that same night.
She takes some shallow breaths as her cunning eyes dart from the detective to the girl. "And after everything you put me through, it's quite ironic to see that you ignored your own warning."
Giulia, who missed the allusive look that Irene cast upon her, gapes at that comment. Wait, what? Sherlock ignoring that warning about sentiment could only mean that he gave in to love…
She turns to him to ask the one question that has been twirling in her mind for several minutes. "Did you love her?"
He furrows his brow, confused. What did she get that from?
"Let's not exaggerate. I appreciated her intelligence and quick-wit," he shrugs.
The girl rolls up her eyes. "Right. I doubt you'd be one to say, 'My heart stopped when she looked at me'," she theatrically places her hands over her chest, letting out a fake sigh of passion.
As soon as his brain registers her words, Sherlock widens his eyes in realisation. "Oh my…"
He turns sharply towards the glass, scrutinises the food bag on the floor, then shuts his eyes and grunts, "For goodness's sake, Jim, can you just keep things simple for once?"
While everyone's perplexed faces focus on him, he opens his eyes again; this time, he stares intently at Irene's body.
She arches a brow at his piercing gaze and jests with a lustful smirk, "What are you looking at, Mr Holmes? I thought I had already shown you all of myself."
He meets her eyes for the briefest moment, recalling her naked appearance in her house in Belgravia. Back then, the absence of clothing made it impossible for him to deduce even the slightest bit of information about her; right now, though, he wishes she were more exposed – it would make things easier.
He gives her a stern look. "Indeed, even more than necessary. But I'm not checking you out right now; I'm looking for your symptoms," he clarifies, as his eyes travel up and down her body.
"Symptoms of what?" John questions.
"Maitotoxin poisoning."
Giulia furrows a brow, "Maito-what?"
Sherlock doesn't even turn towards her but keeps his eyes fixed on Irene while he explains, "Maitotoxin is one of the most lethal marine toxins; it can cause ciguatera fish poisoning after eating contaminated shellfish. More specifically, maitotoxin is produced by a small marine organism that can be found around coral reefs in tropical and subtropical waters, most commonly in the Pacific and the Indian Ocean," he points at the name of the restaurant on the food bag: 'Pacific Reef Fish Restaurant'. Bingo.
He squints his eyes at the chained woman who is unable to stand still, wriggling against the restraints. It doesn't look like she is trying to break free, though; it rather seems that her body can't bear to come in contact with the cold metal of the chair, as if it was incandescent. Beads of sweat are rapidly forming on her forehead and temples, dripping along her neck.
He lists methodically, "She is showing hallmark symptoms consistent with maitotoxin poisoning. Let's start with the neurological effects: muscle aches, dizziness and weakness, numbness in mouth and lips, tingling and itchiness of extremities. Not to mention thermal sense inversion; Miss Adler is sweating copiously even though it's freezing in this room, as Giulia would probably confirm," he tilts his head to the girl wrapped up in his jacket. He himself stifles a cold shiver under the light fabric of his shirt.
"Besides, I'm fairly confident that she is experiencing cold allodynia, which is an unusual pain response, similar to the burning sensation she must feel whenever her bare skin comes in contact with the cold metal of the armchair. Finally, she has difficulty breathing. The onset of symptoms may vary with the amount of toxic fish eaten, but stating by what Moriarty said earlier, she is now reaching the critical stage," he concludes in a sombre voice.
Then he addresses her directly. "Miss Adler, I can observe and deduce almost everything that's wrong with your body, but I still need your cooperation to describe if there's any abnormal behaviour in one of your muscles."
The woman painfully lifts her head to meet his eyes with a challenging expression. It gives her a sense of twisted satisfaction that Sherlock Holmes still can't read her thoroughly.
"Which one?" she feebly pronounces in slurred speech.
He stares back. "Your heart."
Giulia looks down, feeling her muscles tense up. He can't see it for himself… How appropriate.
Irene scrunches her face to fight against shooting abdominal cramps and murmurs, "Unlike the last time we met, when you so rudely underlined that my pulse was elevated in your presence, right now I have quite a slow heart rate. Don't take it personally, though," she forces her sarcastic remark out of her teeth.
John observes the scene attentively, then goggles at his flatmate as shreds of medical information about marine toxins come to his mind. "Of course! Maitotoxin is indeed one of the most potent marine substance, and it is a cardiotoxin."
Giulia gives him a questioning look, "I still don't understand. If maitotoxin poisoning is the threat against her life, how is it connected to the love theme of this round?"
"By a perverted mental association," sighs Sherlock. "The toxin can cause cardiovascular difficulties, such as hypotension, hypertension, or rhythm disorders. By her own admission, Miss Adler is suffering from bradycardia. In this case, her heart rate will get slower and slower…" he pauses and looks straight into Irene's eyes.
"Until the toxin in her blood flow literally stops her heart."