Chapter 9 - Greetings
The last week was rough for Molly. It seemed like everyone in London had gone totally crazy for some reason, and they all started mass murdering each other – or at least that was the only possible reason why they brought her about five bodies to the morgue every day. They were mostly men, sometimes women - all of them were violent deaths.
That's why she had not stopped for past two weeks and just kept dissecting and looking into the microscope - her social life was non-existent. It had been a long time since Sherlock's last visit, he didn't write, nor did he answer her text messages. And Molly was rightly upset - Sherlock would always show up only when he needed something. At least she had someone to talk to now, and she hadn't had to talk to herself since the doctor Sky had come.
She heard the door slam and then approaching steps. Speak of the devil...
Molly glanced at the clock on the wall. It was Monday morning and Dr Sky was late again.
"Oh, hi, Miss Hooper," the older man greeted her as he stacked the papers and folders on the table.
"Good morning. Car problems again?"
Doctor Sky raised a hand and looked at his watch, "Bollocks! I'm late, am I not?" he laughed weakly.
Molly noticed his bandaged palm for the first time.
"Oh my God! What happened to you?"
The other man's face immediately darkened, "A dog bit me," he said through gritted teeth. Molly sensed that the doctor did not want to talk about it, so she just turned back to her microscope.
"How did you enjoy this weekend, Miss Hooper?" he asked after a moment. Molly jerked slightly, switching a sample from under the microscope.
"Mostly I worked," she answered. The doctor gave her a sympathetic sigh.
"And how is Detective Holmes? I haven't seen him for a long time."
"Sherlock is ... well. He's working too, I suppose," Molly snapped, leaning forward again she put her eye over the microscope.
"Oh, of course. London's Phantom - hot case. You don't happen to know how far has he gotten with it, do you?"
Molly added a solution to the sample, "I have no idea. And I won't know until he comes and asks for a favour or something..."
The older doctor smiled faintly, putting on his latex gloves.
"So you couldn't tell me whether they already have any suspects..."
"Why do you ask?" the younger woman interrupted him. Sky's expression was unreadable as he gazed down at her.
"Professional interest. Nothing more. I thought you two were close..."
Molly nodded, her lips firmly set together, "He didn't seem to like you," she narrowed her eyes. "He lives at 221B Baker Street. You can try to visit him and ask about the case yourself, but I don't promise he'll open the door. But not today- he's not at home right now, I'm afraid - he flew to Scotland because of the Phantom's case."
The Doctor nodded and smiled.
Inverness was a small, picturesque Scottish town. Sherlock hadn't been hoping that there would be an airport nearby, but fortunately there was one, so they were able to land with a private jet right outside the town. His brother was obviously really busy, otherwise he wouldn't have lend him the jet for a case – just thinking about all the paperwork and the money it must have cost. But apparently, Mycroft really wanted this case closed as soon as possible, so he gave Sherlock literally everything he asked for.
They didn't plan to stay here for a long time and wanted to return to London the same day. That's why they immediately called a taxi to the airport and asked him to take them to the psychiatrist's address, which was fortunately written in Mycroft's file. It was a large family house with a fenced garden - Mrs Hartnett usually met with the patients at her home.
Sherlock hoped that if he pretended to be interested in her sessions, he wouldn't have any trouble to at least get inside the house and try to talk to the psychiatrist in private. John was not convinced – no wonder after his last experience.
Sherlock rang the bell and they both waited at the front gate. It did not take long, and a lean, perhaps forty-year-old woman came out of the house, walked toward the gate and swung it open.
"Good morning, Mrs Hartnett. Me and my friend-" Sherlock began, but was promptly interrupted by the woman standing in front of them.
"Quit the charade. I know very well who you are, detective," Hartnett opened the gate more widely and looked around.
"Come in, they already know you're here anyway," she allowed the two men to enter the garden.
John and Sherlock exchanged surprised glances and followed the psychiatrist into her house.
John closed the door behind him and the woman led them to the lounge where they both sat down. Dr Hartnett offered them tea and, after the cups were ready, she joined them.
"I know why you have come here and so does Anthony," she said and took a sip of her hot tea. Sherlock nodded and the woman continued.
"Anthony Sky - I guess I'll regret for the rest of my life that I took him into my care."
"What can you tell us about him? I read your records, but-"
"Oh, of course. Those records. Anthony knows about them, and that's the source of the problem," Helen sipped her tea again, "He wanted me to change them – he wanted them burned and destroyed. He blackmailed and threatened me after I told him the diagnosis. He didn't want the public to find out. I was hoping that maybe...well, it doesn't matter now."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean problem - did you have any suspicions?"
"Not at first - like every psychopath he is also a great actor and a liar. Later, however, he started to behave strangely – well, you know, you read the file. To cut a long story short, I'm almost sure he somehow murdered his wife. It was not a cancer, nor a suicide - not quite."
"So you found out he killed his wife. You informed relevant authorities - and?" John interjected.
"Then he started following me - watching me. I'm sure I have a bug somewhere in the house." Helen laughed a little hysterically, the hand holding the cup of tea shaking, "Perhaps even hidden cameras, who knows."
Sherlock mused, "How did he kill her?"
Helen stared into the distance, "He didn't kill her with his own hands – he pushed her to a suicide. He is a very experienced manipulator and she was apparently a very fragile woman. She was an introvert - often ill. And later he insisted that the cause of the death in the death certificate had to be cancer, not suicide. Probably because of a church, I'm not sure now." Mrs Hartnett shifted in her chair and set her cup on a table.
"I cannot tell you exactly how he did it - whether it was an impulsive decision, or if she had planned it a long time before."
"How come he hasn't lost his licence yet? With these accusations..." John frowned.
"He's an influential man - rich, he probably has some contacts," the detective murmured, pulling out his cell phone he began to write a message. After a moment of silence, he handed the phone over to the surprised doctor.
Do you think he would be able to murder other people? Mutilate and torture them? How long ago did you warn the medical association about his psychiatric condition?
The psychiatrist took it from him and quickly typed an answer. She paused for a moment and then added something.
I have no doubt about that. It will be five years in June. Run detective, they're on the way. I'm so sorry
Sherlock nodded and stood up, "It was a pleasure, Mrs Hartnett. Let's go, John."
John looked a little confused, but then he quickly finished his tea, stood up, and without further delay they both headed for the door.
"We have to contact Mycroft – Sky must be arrested!"
Sherlock nodded silently and began to dial his brother's number.
But as soon as they passed through the outside door, an unpleasant surprise awaited them right behind the gate.
"Greetings, Sherlock Holmes."
Jim was abruptly awakened by a bucket of cold water that somebody threw on his head. As the cold water ran down his face he resisted the temptation to lick his cracked lips and focused his gaze on the person standing over him – or rather over his miniature cage.
"Get up, Jimmy!You've got a busy day in front of you!" the man shouted. Jim had already seen him once - it was certainly the same guy that brought the doctor the muzzle and sedative back in the lab.
"Oh, we look so sad today," Cole sneered, unlocking the cage in which Jim was bound, and without any effort he pulled his limp body out and threw him roughly on the cold floor. Jim saw black spots in front of his eyes, he felt sick and dizzy. His back was killing him. It was bloody and bruised from the whipping and every time he moved it was almost unbearable, so he remained lying on the surprisingly pleasantly cold concrete and tried not to move that much.
"Stay nice and calm and it will hurt less, trust me," a voice said somewhere above him, and then two strong hands rolled him over onto his stomach. An antiseptic smell filled his nostrils -that was the only warning before a burning pain erupted in his back. He yelped and tried to curl up in a ball.
"Don't move," one hand grabbed his neck and pressed his face against the ground.
The other man continued to disinfect his wounds – he was careless and rough, therefore Jim kept jerking back and forth, making the fingers around his neck tighten. After he was done, Cole pressed a bottle of water to his lips and let him drink his fill.
"Why didn't the great Dr Evil honour me with a visit himself?" Jim croaked in a small voice as Cole started removing the thick ropes wrapped around his ankles.
The other man just grinned and continued to take off Jim's handcuffs.
"Too busy with a dissection of some mathematician's brain that he had to send here a middle-aged metrosexual with false tan and thinning hair?" Jim pushed on.
Cole raised Jim up, and set him on his feet. His calves immediately started to cramp – which didn't help his wounded back.
"I'll miss this, actually" the doctor's assistant laughed, watching Jim bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath and massaging his cramping muscles. "That courage of yours."
The smaller man lifted his head to look him in the eyes and said in a very serious voice: "I bet you will. You'll fondly remember these moments when I was just joking."
Cole kept his gaze, "Well, you will not remember anything. We'll take care of that."
Jim just laughed hoarsely. Cole didn't hesitate and pulled him out the door and dragged him behind through a dimly lit corridor that resembled some underground concrete bunker.
"But now, seriously, what is this all about? Money don't interest you and I don't believe this research crap." Jim stared at the back of the other man as they walked down the corridor, occasionally passing a metal door.
"Come on, admit it – you're a sadist and you like torturing people. Right, agent Smith?"
Cole was silent. Jim rolled his eyes. Suddenly they turned to the left and walked through the fifth door - Jim was trying to make a mental map of the place, so far unsuccessfully - they entered a small room with only one bed with straps and some strange device standing right beside the bed.
Electroshock therapy.
"What do you think you will achieve? Nobody has ever gotten into my mind – what do you even expect to find in there?"
Cole, strapping Jim to the uncomfortable bed, interrupted him coldly, "But you still don't understand, Jimmy. We don't look for anything. We don't take anything. We on the contrary give a lot."
Jim raised a questioning eyebrow.
"You have to understand that our goal is not to completely erase your mind or to find something. The goal of this project is to give your life a new meaning. It's like a program - or rather a virus – that, once it's triggered, will completely take over your mind. When you get out of here, you won't remember that someone has ever programmed you. You won't remember what happened here at all. You'll be waiting for our signal. You're going to be his puppet, Jimmy, you will fulfil his every command without hesitation. I just don't understand why you haven't taken over the government yet - with your position and resources. You could literally rule the world – If you only wanted to." Cole tightened the last strap around Jim's ankle, "And we want to."
Jim couldn't hold it any longer and burst out laughing. "God, I really feel like I'm in a movie. Except that this time I'm not the villain, but an innocent victim. How should I react now?" Jim's eyes widened and in a faint, desperate voice he began to shout: "No! Please! Don't take my free will!" And then he laughed again.
In the meantime Cole had prepared the instrument and was standing over him, holding the electrodes in both hands ready to place them on Jim's temples.
"There are no villains - there is nothing like good people or bad people. There is no evil and no good. Everyone and everything is a combination of both," he said, standing motionless over the bed, probably expecting a reaction.
"It doesn't change anything, Aristotle - nobody gets in my head. And this electroconvulsive therapy is totally useless. You will not achieve anything."
Cole snorted, "That's possible. But what I can say -" he pressed the electrodes to Jim's temples and looked him in the eyes.
"I'm a sadist and I like torturing people."
Jim's body jerked around in radical, spasmodic movements as the electric current flowed through his brain. His mouth filled with hot frothed blood. His last coherent thought was:
The fucker didn't give me any gum to bite on - and I bit through my tongue.
Hello! Thank you very much for the reviews and everything! Sorry it takes me so long to upload a new chapter, but I'm very busy at school right now (exams, essays and stuff...) :P
Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter or if you have any ideas how it should continue! :)