Chapter 13 - (Patience)
The streets of London were never completely quiet, not even in the deepest night. Sounds of laughter and shouts of drunk people were coming from the bars, mixed with loud music of all kinds and heavy traffic. Outside on street corners and in front of company doors, smokers were standing in the haze of cigarette smoke.
However, the further Sebastian moved away from the city centre, the more the sounds of the big city slowly but surely disappeared into the darkness of the night. Here and there one could hear a siren sounding in the distance from a passing ambulance, or a squeaking cat somewhere in the alleys.
Moran drove his Lexus to the side of the road, turned off the engine, and switched off the lights. Then he got out of the car, buttoned his leather jacket, and leaned against the front door, waiting.
It wasn't long before another car arrived, a silver Mercedes. It parked quietly behind Lexus, its engine shut off quietly.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
A man in a black long coat got out of the other car. He slammed the door behind him and walked toward Moran.
"I don't have to tell you what an utterly stupid idea this whole meeting is," he growled.
"You don't have to tell me that, Stork," Sebastian replied.
The other man stopped in front of Sebastian and sighed loudly. "If Iceman finds out that-"
"He won't find out," Seb snapped. "You know I would never risk compromising your position if I had any choice!"
"I wanted to call you in the morning after they will have told me more, but since you're already here…" Stork sighed. "Apparently Iceman's younger brother has been abducted, and everyone generally agrees that Magpie is behind it."
Sebastian was startled, "That's not possible."
The other man just shrugged. "That's the truth."
"So he's missing?"
Stork nodded. "He and his medical friend."
Sebastian rubbed his face with his hand. The man in the coat laughed softly.
"Since this is obviously the first time you've heard about it, I'd say Magpie went off to play another game and left you in complete darkness again about where he's going and what he's planning to do. Come on, like he's never done this before."
But Seb was sure it wasn't a game this time, at least not a Jim-directed game. However, he wanted to keep the information that their boss was currently in fact missing to himself - at least for the time being.
"Do you know anyone named Azrael?" He asked after a moment of thought.
Stork just shook his head and glanced over his shoulder nervously. "I should go now. Iceman is planning an interrogation this morning. I'll call you as soon as I have the newest information. Take care, Tiger."
Sebastian watched as his long-time friend and currently top secret agent got into the car and left without a word.
There was nothing to do but to wait patiently.
Mycroft studied the middle-aged woman sitting across from him at the cold metal table riveted to the floor. Her black dyed hair was clasped in a ragged bun. Her posture was a little suspicious: she was sitting straight, with her shoulders back, hands folded lightly on top of each other on the surface of the table. She also proudly held the gaze of the man sitting in front of her. Her lower lip was twitching in a kind of nervous tick, and she was tapping one foot quickly, probably to relieve some stress.
The older Holmes licked his lips thoughtfully and opened the folder on the table in front of him.
"Mrs Hartnett. You don't have to be nervous, I just have a few simple questions for you."
Helen nodded jerkily.
"What happened after my brother and his friend came to you last morning? Please try to tell the events exactly how they unfolded and try not to miss a single detail."
The woman in front of him cleared her throat loudly and looked at the table as if searching for something to sooth the unpleasant dryness in her throat. Mycroft had offered her a cup of coffee before the interrogation began, but she had refused.
"After we had finished talking, an unmarked grey van arrived in front of my house," Mrs Hartnett began, her voice trembling.
And Holmes listened intently, slowly putting all the information together.
Both Dr Sky and James Moriarty kidnapped not only his brother and Dr Watson, but also all those powerful and influential people whose mutilated bodies had then been scattered in and around London in recent months, maybe years.
It seems that his little brother did in fact follow the right trail that, unfortunately, led him directly to the London's Phantom.
Today was Jim's worst and at the same time best day in the captivity of that madman Sky.
Shortly after the water was drained from the death tank, someone - probably the emaciated black-haired bastard - dragged him into a cell. Sherlock's cell, to his great delight. Also John's cell, to his lesser delight.
He noticed that John was lying on the ground while Sherlock stood beside him, looking a little taken aback. But honestly, everything seemed so foggy.
God, how much he wanted to sleep. But Sherly is here! They had so much to talk about.
If he could just catch his breath for a moment, if his head stopped spinning at least - why can't I catch my breath?
"—arty?" Jim heard someone calling him. "Are you okay?"
A moment of silence.
"Moriarty?"
"That's not my name," James muttered angrily, coughing and rolling onto his side, his back to the voice. When did he even lie on his back? Who was really with him in the cell? Everything seemed so unreal, all the colours and shapes, the sounds and the voices… insignificant, like in a dream.
Jim couldn't stop shaking.
The toe of someone's shoe gently nudged his leg. But nothing mattered anyway.
He felt that the wounds on his back must have opened during his struggle for life. They were currently burning and certainly bleeding. It hurt terribly. Jim felt a moan slip from him here and there while he was gasping for air.
"You're bleeding."
Jim grinned and tried to answer something sarcastic. But between his shallow gasps for air, extreme pain, and unbelievable fatigue, he had little strength left. So he closed his eyes slowly, concentrating only on his breathing.
"Hey!" Someone patted him lightly on the cheek. Jim's eyes shot open, everything seemed extremely blurred. Was that Sherlock Holmes kneeling in front of him?
Time and space somehow jumped around strangely.
"Maybe he'll finally kick the bucket and I'll have some peace!" That was a different voice, John's, coming from the other side of the cage.
Someone pressed two warm fingers to his neck above his collar.
"He has a fast, irregular heartbeat," Sherlock said anxiously. Was it really Sherlock?
"Great news!" Snorted the other, clearly angry man.
"John - you're a doctor," Sherlock began, but was immediately interrupted by his friend's irritated voice, "Sherlock, don't. He is a murderer and a criminal and I will definitely not help him in any way!"
At that moment, with a bitter smile on his face, Jim lost consciousness.
"At least tell me how to stop the bleeding," Sherlock said angrily.
John took a deep breath and counted to ten in his head to calm himself a little and not regret his words later. He glanced briefly at his friend, but then his gaze drifted to the man wheezing on the floor of their small cell.
"John, please. I need to find out who is behind all this, and I'm sure he has the answers. He could get us out of here!" Said the detective with a hint of despair in his voice.
John sighed again and gently fingered the swollen bruise, which slowly turned red and purple on his jaw.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I hit you," Sherlock apologized several times. Then he turned to Moriarty, grabbed the bottom of his wet, blood-soaked T-shirt, and lifted it without hesitation to get a better look at his bleeding wounds.
James winced and screamed in pain. With wide-open eyes full of panic, he swung blindly at anyone who caused him even more pain. However, his clenched fist missed its target and limply fell to the floor.
"Sherlock! Now you've ripped his scabs off. He'll bleed even harder! "John shouted.
Moriarty began to tremble uncontrollably, probably in agony.
"How should I have known if you hadn't told me?!"
"Jesus Christ, all right!"
Dr Watson took a few steps to the other side of the cell to his new patient. Disgusted, he pressed his fingers to his neck to check his heart rate. Then he quickly examined the wounds on his back and the burns on his temples.
"He is in shock. I have nothing here to help him. He needs to get to a hospital if they want him to survive," Sherlock's friend said dryly, then patted the wounded man on the cheek with a hint of aggression.
"Wake up! No sleeping. Who did this to you? Sky? Did you do it to yourself, you damn bastard?"
"John," Sherlock whispered urgently.
"Look at me! If you don't call someone to treat you right now, you're going to die, do you understand?" Watson growled, shaking James's head he grasped tightly by his chin.
James just laughed bitterly and then grinned in pain. His eyes were half-open and he didn't seem to realize what was happening. He just shivered involuntarily, and each quick breath he took was accompanied by a wet hoarse gasp coming from his lungs.
"John!" Shouted the younger Holmes loudly. John quickly turned to his friend.
Sherlock stood motionlessly in the middle of their cell holding a first aid kit.
"I found this in the corner of the room. There is a small alcove, probably a place where things will be handed to us from the other side of the cell."
John rose to his feet, moaning a little in pain that shot unexpectedly in his knee.
"Give it to me, I'll help him for you. But only because you're asking me to, Sherlock. If it were up to me, he would be no longer breathing," John snapped angrily, snatching the kit from Sherlock's hands.
Sherlock looked around their cell curiously, as if seeing it for the first time.
"All right then, let's play," he muttered to himself.
Sebastian was sitting with a glass of whiskey in his hand when his phone rang. Reluctantly, he pulled it out of his pocket and looked wearily at the screen. Hidden number. With a single move of his thumb, he answered the call and slowly put his cell phone to his ear, waiting.
"Tiger?"
He breathed a sigh of relief and gulped the rest of the alcohol in the glass in front of him. "Stork. Do you have news for me?"
"I don't have much time, in a nutshell: The last tracks lead to the port of Inverness, Scotland. No one has heard from them for at least 2 days. Iceman is sure Magpie is behind it."
Moran sat down in his old shabby chair and listened intently, his fingers thoughtlessly playing with the cold glass in his hand.
"And now the new pathologist, Dr Sky, seems to be involved."
"Who?" Seb asked confused.
"He worked in pathology at Saint Bart's. Iceman thinks he's cooperating with Magpie, and that he's probably also the London's Phantom," the voice on the phone answered urgently.
James had no idea who the London Phantom was, and he certainly didn't work with him, Sebastian was absolutely sure of that.
"That would also explain why no one can find him since yesterday morning," the secret agent continued. "Apparently he took them somewhere by boat. Probably to one of the many islands."
"Thanks, Stork," the sniper muttered, ending the call. His alcohol-blurred gaze remained locked on the black display of his cell phone, which reflected the torn features of his face.
It was all becoming more and more complicated. What if Jim decided to play another game with Sherlock and just didn't mention it to anyone? It certainly looked that way at first glance, and moreover, it was common knowledge that his boss possessed a hot head, and sometimes acted rashly and without thinking - he did not consult his plans and came up with new, often crazy ones on the spot. But what about all the weird people who were hanging around his apartment right before Jim disappeared? What about the grey hair he found few weeks ago? And who was Azrael?!
No. Jim was kidnapped.
And Sebastian was heading to Scotland hot on his trail.