Chapter 3 - Secrets
A week passed since the last murder and Sherlock was not one bit closer to finding out who was behind them.
He was angrily pacing back and forth in his apartment, occasionally stopping to sit in the chair or to pick up a violin to try to clear his head a little. But in reality, it was impossible to interview the witnesses because the relatives of all the victims claimed to have no idea how had their loved ones been abducted. They heard nothing, saw nothing and in the house or an apartment was found nothing suspicious. Everything indicated that the victims had actually really vanished without any trace.
He felt annoyed when he received a message on his cell phone.
What had frustrated him most – and still did – was his brother constantly being on his heels. Every day he received his text messages in which he was asking how the case had progressed. He did not answer him, not even to one of his texts and did not mean to. However, when he got shortly after the first message a second one and then a third one, his curiosity won out over his pride.
I know you won't answer - but how far did you get with the case? MH
I'm standing behind the door. MH
Sherlock, open the door! MH
He threw the phone on a couch and angrily walked over to the front door and opened it. Just behind them was standing Mycroft with an umbrella in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
"Good to see you again, brother," he said.
"Likewise," Sherlock muttered, immediately irritated, and let his brother to come inside.
Mycroft entered the apartment with obvious distaste, briefly looking around, he walked over to a chair in front of the fireplace and gingerly sat down. Meanwhile, Sherlock started to boil some water and prepared two tea cups. There was a silence for a while during which they fiddled with their phones and waited for the water to boil. Then Sherlock gave his brother one of the cups and sat opposite him.
"So how's the case going?"
"You didn't really come here to ask me about this, did you?"
"I'm genuinely interested in this case. It seems that you haven't made much progress, if any at all - which bothers me," Mycroft muttered, blowing on his hot drink. His brother rolled his eyes, leaning back and crossing his legs.
"And what do you think I do all day?!"
Mycroft frowned, looking around. The apartment was in a terrible state. The floor was strewn with filthy clothes, the shelves were full of papers and dirty dishes - everywhere were cigarette butts and he could smell the overflowing garbage bin in the kitchen. Fortunately, he couldn't see it.
"I have no idea. Please enlighten me."
Sherlock took a sip of his tea, not taking eyes off his brother. Of course Mycroft had come here only to provoke him. He decided not to answer. A moment of silence stretched between the two before the older brother broke it.
Mycroft sighed loudly and uncomfortably shifted in his chair.
"That's not the only reason I've come here," he said, hesitation in his voice.
"Then why are you here?"
"I have concerns about certain issues ... I don't know how to explain it."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed.
"You're keeping something from me."
Again the other man shifted uncomfortably and turned his attention back to the teacup. He tapped his fingers on the fine china in his hand and licked his lips.
"We have reason to believe that the network of James Moriarty is active again," he stated coldly.
"Impossible. I completely destroyed it - Moriarty blew his brains out. We arrested a bunch of people, nothing was left!" Sherlock said angrily.
"That's not entirely true," responded his brother, avoiding direct eye contact.
"Spit it out!"
"Some cells of the old network - we left them intact ...to inform us about any suspicious activities. And ... something happened."
"How long have you known?" Sherlock asked exasperated. He abruptly rose to his feet, and began moving around the room, throwing irritated glances at his brother.
"A couple of weeks," Mycroft sighed because he knew an outburst was coming.
And he was right.
"A couple of weeks?! A couple of weeks, for Christ's sake! And you didn't tell me anything! Typical!" Sherlock snapped bitterly and threw up his arms in anger. Then he took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. Mycroft looked up in surprise and met his brother's serious gaze.
"I want to hear everything, my dear brother, it concerns me as well!"
The older man nodded, slowly putting his half-empty cup on the small table beside him. He folded his arms and began.
"After Moriarty had committed suicide, we sent you on a mission to get rid of all his criminal cells which were abroad. And MI5 was tasked to destroy every existing cell in London. However, after much deliberation, we have decided that it would be better if one of the cells was left untouched. It has been completely inactive for several years, which also enabled us to get our people among his former agents. Over the past few weeks we have been getting information that this particular cell is trying to contact someone. And if the intelligence is correct, and I have no reason to believe otherwise - it is the network of James Moriarty."
"So the network is active again," Sherlock muttered in disbelief. "How is it possible? You said that without him there will be a power vacuum and struggle who will take over the network, resulting in a complete collapse!"
"I was wrong – someone must be in charge of it again."
Sherlock got up again and began pacing around the room. His brother was sitting with his head down and waiting for the storm to pass.
"His body was never found."
"Sherlock, James Moriarty is dead. Period, "Mycroft said firmly.
Sherlock paused, his arms folded across his chest. He couldn't help it as a surge of excitement filled him. Could it be possible that this new case was just some posthumous game of his? It was complicated enough. I need to know more!
"I want full access to all your records regarding this particular cell," Sherlock said resolutely, sitting down in the chair opposite his brother. Mycroft grimaced, but despite his reluctance, he nodded.
A moment later Mycroft came out of his brother's flat, got into a parked car and sat next to Anthea. Without any greetings he buckled his belt and calmly announced:
"Remove mentions of Magpie from WS12 mission records."
Elderly man was sitting quietly in his living room and intently studying a file full of papers, photos and information about his next project. He was smiling under his grey moustache and running his fingers over some of the pictures as if he wanted to remind himself of some good memories. His eyes reflected the glowing flames from a fireplace opposite him – they seemed to have greenish colour in the yellow light.
His reverie was interrupted by a gentle tap at the big wooden door. The man carefully closed the folder and placed it on the table beside him. Looking up, he exclaimed:
"Come in!"
A young tall man walked into the room. One of his sleeves was rolled up and he was trying to roll it back down. Wordlessly, he walked over to the man sitting on the couch and sat down in the chair opposite him.
"Do you have some news for me?" The older man asked.
"Nikolai told us everything he knew. I got rid of him, as you ordered," the second man said dryly. Then he noticed the folder lying on the table. He reached out his hand, took it and opened it. For a long time there was a silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper and the crackling fire.
"This is a really big fish. I cannot believe that has been eluding our attention for so long," he said after a while of browsing the folder.
The older man just nodded silently, the corners of his mouth still turned up in a slight smile.
"I want to learn about him as much as possible. He is incredibly fascinating and unique creature. I cannot wait to have him here with us," the man on the couch smiled even more.
"It won't take long now. Nikolai generously shared with us all the wonderful and useful information he had."
"Did you record his testimony?"
"Of course."
For a moment, there was silence again. Both men were immersed in their own thoughts.
"Do you think it will be easy to kidnap him?" The younger man asked suddenly.
"It was easy to get into his lair – we'll use the usual tranquilizers and sedatives - he won't have any time to call his back-up."
"When do you intend to do it?"
"Firstly I want to make sure that the detective does not get on the right track and only then can we bring our latest project in here," the older man said. Getting up from the couch, he walked over to the fireplace where he stood and stared into the flames.
"Prepare the cell for him. It won't take longer than a week."
Jim Moriarty was sitting in the hairdresser's chair - he had his hair cut every two weeks. Elderly man - obviously gay - was trimming it with professional finesse and Jim had to admit that he loved it when someone played with his hair. He was on his mobile phone - either handing out orders or playing games and surfing the internet.
Moriarty took great care over his appearance and truly cared what other people think about him. That's why he always wore only the most expensive clothing brands, used the most expensive cosmetic products and also visited the best hair salon in London, maybe even the whole country. Samuel – the hairdresser- of course knew who he was, and Jim paid him twice as much to keep quiet.
His cell phone vibrated indicating that he had a text message. Frowning, he glanced at the sender's name. It was one of his security agents. He usually wouldn't receive any messages from him unless it was an emergency. He quickly opened the message, and his breath caught in his throat as he read it.
Mycroft knows.
His heart was pounding in his chest and the cell phone almost slipped from his sweaty hand.
Mycroft knows?! How is that possible? Yes - Jim knew that MI5 was recently snooping on his operations, but he had no actual reason to really believe that the elder Holmes could get deep enough to find out about him.
"Is everything all right?" Samuel asked, puzzled by Jim's strange behaviour.
"Yep. Keep going," Jim said with feigned calmness and read the text message for a second time. Mycroft knowing completely changed the situation. Now he couldn't feel safe anywhere - it also meant he couldn't personally go and deal with issues as often as before when Holmes' agents were looking for him and knew they would find him if they really tried.
Quickly he wrote back asking him how he found out, and where the leak was. Right now, getting rid of the person who informed Holmes was his top priority. After a moment's thought, he decided that it must have been someone from his old network. The government probably bought him a long time ago - at a time he had been considered dead.
Jim rubbed his hand over his forehead, teeth clenching so tightly his jawached. Such a stupid mistake! He should have had his former people checked! People changed sides all the time. Of course, Mycroft had bought them! Or worse – he might have planted some of his agents among his own people.
Jim angrily sent another order. This time, he informed his sniper. Drastic times called for drastic measures. He used a series of codes which told Moran to get rid of the whole part of the network where was the leak. It was better to be safe than sorry.
Meanwhile, the hairdresser had finished and then helped him remove the apron. He brushed the hair off his shoulders - even though there were none. Jim always paid in advance by bank transfer, so he leaped from his chair as soon as possible, and almost ran out of the salon to the street where the driver was waiting for him in his car.
As he settled into the backseat, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was no longer safe for him to walk about in daylight. He could see his driver giving him curious glances in the rear-view mirror.
He gave him his coldest look. "Take me to my apartment."
"Yes sir."
The driver quickly started the car.