Author's Note:
We're finally up to the moment they break up, as indicated in the Prologue. Apologies for taking so long to get here. This is the midpoint of the story. Thanks for sticking with it.
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Chapter 18 - Downgraded To Casual Acquaintance
THE STREET HERALD
Monday 11th November
VIOLET HUNTER COLLAPSES
ON SET OF RISE OF THE FIVE
Producers called paramedics to the set of the Anuket's Children sequel as British actress Violet Hunter collapsed while waiting to shoot a minor scene in the eagerly awaited blockbuster. Hunter's personal assistant said she had been working long hours and had suffered from exhaustion and dehydration.
Studio reps have confirmed that the actress recovered quite quickly and will resume filming tomorrow.
The former Regency Road soap star has been shooting the movie on the Gold Coast in Australia since mid-September. Production moved to Brisbane last week. Soaring temperatures and a heavy filming schedule may have been contributing factors according to an anonymous studio source.
The Anuket's Children sequel, The Rise of the Five, is expected to wrap principal photography this week. Hunter plays the Egyptian deity, Satis, who makes up the fifth member of the Anuket's Children band of superheroes.
Hunter is expected to return to the UK to take up a lead role opposite Alex Breville in the dark romance thriller, Improbity.
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Violet ended the call on Sherlock's answering service without leaving a message.
"You're meant to be lying down!" Mandi reprimanded her, not for the first time.
Violet abruptly changed direction, her treads wearing the apartment carpet thin. Her heart hammered in her chest.
"I'm fine," she replied to her P.A., reciting the words in a monotone. She'd been saying them ever since the studio medic, a lovely woman named Bea, had checked her over.
But Violet wasn't fine. Had Sherlock betrayed her, breaking his promise? Had he even promised not to do anything? Had he set things in motion the moment he'd left her in the stairwell?
Violet lifted her phone and pressed Sherlock's number once more.
"You're scaring me!" Mandi protested, prompting Violet to escape into her bedroom.
"Sherlock," she said, after the tone. "Ring me. This time, it really is urgent!"
Fucking hell! she thought, throwing her phone onto the bed. How long had it been since he'd left her? Surely he'd be back in London by now.
After a moment, Violet sank down onto the bed, a heavy weariness settling into every bone in her body.
Emily.
I'm sorry, Vi, Danny had said. She's dead.
"Are you going to sleep now?" Mandi said, her friend hovering in the doorway.
"What? No."
Violet immediately stood up.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Mandi replied. "You should at least eat. And there's nowt here, so I'll go out to the—"
"No!" Violet protested, a panic rising inside. She couldn't let Mandi out of her sight when there was a threat against her friend's life! Not when her other friend… "Don't go anywhere," Violet added. "I… I just want you to stay near me."
"Well, that's all fine and dandy," the redhead remarked, her brow furrowed. Placing her hands on her hips, she asked, "What are we supposed to eat, then?"
"Ring room service."
"Now you really are fucking scaring me," Mandi said, turning from Violet and making for the living area. "But I'll take that offer!" she called back.
Violet went to follow Mandi, thought the better of it, and grabbed her phone from the bed. She stared at Sherlock's number and startled when the phone began to ring. Swearing in shock she moved to close the bedroom door, ignoring Mandi's query of, "What happened?"
"Sherlock," Violet choked. "What did you do?"
"Sorry, what?" he asked. His concerned baritone tugged at her, crippling her at the knees, forcing her to sink down onto the bed once more.
In a sob, she replied, "Emily." Tears came thick and fast now. "She's… dead."
"What? Who?"
"Don't you fucking dare!" she raged, her throat thickened by emotion. "You can't have forgotten who she is."
"Violet, I—"
"She's… dead. He had her killed… because of… something… you did."
"Wait—"
"What did you do!"
"I've only just got—"
"You promised you wouldn't do anything!"
There was silence from Sherlock's end. Violet's chest heaved from her emotional outburst—every breath hurt—but she kept the phone to her ear, straining to hear Sherlock's confession, her heart aching at the thought of his betrayal. But it didn't come.
After a further moment's silence, he finally said, swiftly, "Okay. I'm going to hang up now and we'll skype instead. Before we talk again, I want you to put music on. Play it on your phone out loud. Or better still, use your Bluetooth thingie, all right? You did take it to Australia, didn't you? It's not here. That speaker thing you use when you're getting ready for some event and you play that repulsive nightclub music I hate. Okay? It'll calm you down. Do it, and I'll speak to you soon."
"What the fuck…" Violet began, but further silence prompted her to check her screen. Sherlock had ended the call.
She sat on her bed, staring at her blank phone screen, feeling her cheeks flush.
Why was he…? What was he talking about? What did he mean?
In a snap, Violet was off the bed and through the door.
"Mandi!" she called, looking wildly about the living area, while her P.A. sat on the sofa, leisurely poring over the room service menu. "Where's my Bluetooth speaker? Did you bring it from the Gold Coast? I would've left it in the bathroom."
"Uh, yeah. It's in the bathroom here," Mandi replied without looking up. "Can you eat risotto?"
Violet ignored the question and marched into the bathroom, her heart pounding. When it really boiled down to it, she had faith in Sherlock and knew his specific instructions were for a purpose. He wasn't trying to get her to relax through music. With swift, self-assured movements, she arranged her speaker on top of the dresser in her bedroom and paired her phone to it. The music Sherlock loathed so much surrounded her, cutting her off from the world, and she closed her eyes as the repetitive base tripped her heart.
Violet arranged herself on the bed with her laptop in front of her and willed herself to calm down. Nothing more than heat exhaustion was the official word on her collapse on set yesterday. Nobody connected the phone call she'd just received from Danny with Violet Hunter fainting. Not that she was going to tell anyone about it.
She quickly answered when the Skype programme bleeped with the sound of an incoming call.
"Hello," Sherlock seemed to say. Violet had to read his lips over the strobing bass. Quite clearly he was in a cab, navigating through a rainy London morning just before peak hour.
"I can barely hear you," Violet replied.
He said something else, and Violet stared at him blankly. He held up earbuds for his phone, prompting Violet to reach over to her bedside table for her headphones. After sliding them over her ears, the nightclub music dulled to a soothing background throb.
"So I phoned Mycroft," Sherlock went on without preamble. "And he hasn't mobilised anyone in Europe. He wouldn't do anything without my say-so. I've only just arrived back in London. Are you sure she was murdered because of some supposed action on my part?"
Violet nodded numbly, then drew in a calming breath before replying.
"He said it was more likely she'd die of a heroin overdose, but Danny said she was speedballing. She's never done that before."
Sherlock leant back in the seat of the cab, staring out of the window deep in thought.
"And what was the exact threat to you?" he asked eventually.
Violet swallowed the lump in her throat.
"That if he even got wind of anyone investigating him, then someone would die. And it would be… my fault."
Sherlock rubbed his lower lip with the back of his thumb, his eyes turning to slits.
Would Emily have been speedballing these days, Violet wondered. How would she know? What did she know about her friends in Manchester these days.
"Maybe she—"
"Investigating him?" Sherlock asked, interrupting her. "As in researching him?"
"I guess—"
"I'll ring you back."
"Sher—"
He was gone.
Violet stared at the Skype window, her breath coming in steady bursts. She felt an odd comfort knowing that not only had Sherlock not deliberately acted contrary to Jim's orders, but that he was taking her seriously.
She removed her headphones and shoved her laptop aside before stretching out along the bed. Closing her eyes, she allowed the music to transport her to Kabuki's nightclub of the previous year. Despite the upbeat tempo, she felt the tension leave her body. For a few moments, she felt cut off from the world.
Perhaps Jim was mistaken. Maybe he knew Sherlock had visited Violet in Australia and he assumed Violet had told her boyfriend all about the Chief Operating Officer of Etienne-Lumiere Studios. But that's stupid. How could he make such an assumption. Violet would've reunited with Sherlock eventually, when production wrapped. It didn't mean she was going to tell Sherlock Holmes everything.
"—doing?"
Violet opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows. Mandi was staring at her from the doorway.
"I'm… distracting myself through music," Violet replied. "By putting myself somewhere else."
"You're fucking nuts," Mandi yelled over the music. "I'm ordering you a steak, all right?"
Violet nodded blandly.
"I think it's your iron levels," Mandi went on. "You've been eating nothing but chicken and leaves and eggs. You need a bloody steak!"
"Yeah, fine," Violet replied, waving her P.A. away.
"Are you coming out?" Mandi asked.
"No, I'm waiting on a call from Sherlock," Violet replied, indicating her laptop.
Wrinkling her nose and shaking her head, Mandi left the room, closing the door behind her.
Violet reclined again and stared at the ceiling. Without really thinking about it, she tapped one foot in time to the music.
Should she be doing something? Sherlock obviously had a lead. Bloody typical of him not to fill her in until afterwards. Probably wouldn't hear from him for days, so it wouldn't do her any good to lie there, doing nothing. Although, she was supposed to be resting. Another full day on set tomorrow.
A flash caught her attention, and she straightened up. Sherlock was calling her again through Skype and her heart quickened. Swiftly she donned her headphones and answered the call, the music once again subdued to a dull beat.
"I'm home," Sherlock said, unnecessarily, for Violet could see he was seated at his living room table, probably calling her from his computer rather than his phone as he had done in the cab. "And this was waiting for me," he continued, holding up a manilla file stuffed with papers. "Just as I suspected."
"What is it?" Violet asked.
"The information you requested," he said gravely.
A shiver ran down Violet's spine.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Opening the file, Sherlock began to read.
"Arthur Avenue. You wanted to know why they're stalling. It was because of an actor called Harold Weald. Same era as Justin Behmes. Good old Harry Weald would be your co-star, wouldn't he? Sounds like they're trying to resurrect his career—a favour for an old friend—but they're still battling Harry's cocaine addiction."
He glanced up at Violet, whose face had drained of blood.
"Glitz and Gomorrah," he went on, reading once more. "Asha Steeple has been signed for the role of Mary Pickford—that's the lead role you were asking about, isn't it? You said it hadn't been confirmed officially." Holding up a single sheet of paper, Sherlock added, "It has now."
Violet wanted him to stop, because if this was leading to where she thought it was leading, then it… Emily's death… was clearly her fault.
"But production is in turmoil due to the sudden death of the Executive Producer, Hersch Gleitzman," Sherlock continued. "Stabbed after an apparent mugging in New York."
Sherlock's voice droned on in her ears, but all Violet could think of was that it was her fault.
"—after twelve hours of surgery," he was saying, "but they weren't able to revive him. Massive cardiac arrest. But—" Her fault. "You know what this means, don't you?" Sherlock asked her.
Violet couldn't reply. Her mouth had run dry, thoughts numbed with guilt.
"This," Sherlock said, holding up the file, "is the only research that's been conducted on my behalf during my absence. All these people are somehow related to you through your work, because you requested I do some digging. I referred it to Mycroft, obviously—it hardly required legwork—and he had his minions conduct the research. So…" He began to recite as he flicked back through the pages. "Harry Weald? Is he the man who threatened you? Unlikely. Sounds like a complete moron. Throwback to the eighties. Justin Behmes—well, we already know about him, having investigated Splendor Pictures some time ago. Benign. Asha Steeple. Clawed her way to the top, apparently, could possibly be a secret criminal mastermind, but you said 'he' on several occasions, so that eliminates the females. Now… Hersch Gleitzman, loads of information on him. Could write a book! But he was murdered. Perhaps he faked his death so he could carry on his nefarious activities, unhindered. It can happen. I personally know of a case where a couple faked their own deaths after a mutual suicide pact. I showed you their wedding rings once, remember? Perhaps he—"
"Stop it," Violet said.
"—wanted to…"
It was her fault Emily had died. She did this.
"Hersch Gleitzman?" Sherlock said, his tone considerably lower.
"No," Violet choked, with a vague shake of her head. Not Hersch, but Sherlock was getting warm. She had asked him to find out information about these films, studios and people.
"Then who?" he asked, rifling back through the pages. "Gleitzman is the perfect candidate. Loads of material on him. Seems to have a lot of influence around the place with hints of inappropriate behaviour. Because you asked about… Ah!" He stopped, his attention drawn to the file folder. "You made a third request of me."
Violet stopped breathing.
"Canning Town," Sherlock said, reading. "Stacia Jecks."
"Sherlock."
"A recluse. Sounds like the perfect cover to me. Hide yourself away from the world, when really you're controlling all of the criminal networks around Europe. But since we're eliminating all females…"
Violet held her now visibly trembling hand over her mouth. But Sherlock hadn't noticed because he was still reading. "You wanted to know if Jecks had signed away the film rights for Canning Town. It would seem so. A man named James Moriarty. He's…"
Sherlock stopped speaking as his eyes rapidly scanned the page.
"… the Chief Operating Officer of Etienne-Lumiere Studios," he recited. Sherlock looked up partway through saying, "Isn't that the studio produ—"
Violet's eyes had filled with tears. Sherlock's gaze locked on hers.
"James Moriarty," he repeated, his voice like gravel.
Violet nodded. The gesture felt mechanical and jerky, and she didn't even know if it registered as a movement.
"James Moriarty is the man who threatened you?" Sherlock asked, his eyes becoming greyer, as if a storm brewed there.
A sob escaped Violet.
"Knew it!" Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, rising from his seat, a fist full of papers in hand. Violet only had a view of his trousers before he left the area, presumably to pace across the rug. She could still hear him, though, because he'd been speaking to her through his bluetooth earbuds, which he still wore. "Son of a mathematics professor," Sherlock recited in an undertone, "and a socialite—his mother was heiress to the Galway Tech toy company… Absent parents… No wonder he was raised by nannies… Attended Belvedere College… B.A. in Accounting and Finance from the Dublin City University; trainee at Moriarty & Young, his uncle's accounting firm in Manchester… provided operational accounting services to various agencies, TV networks and major studios. That's how he got a foot in the door of the entertainment industry. Obvious. Became Managing Director of Global Video Creation and Distribution at Delux Matchbox Films, a subsidiary of Etienne-Lumiere in London, then…"
"Sherlock…"
"Director, Business Affairs… hmm. But he's made a mistake," Sherlock, unseen, continued musing aloud. "He thinks we were purposefully investigating him. That's his mistake."
"His mistake!" Violet repeated, now full of revulsion. "It's my mistake! And Emily paid for it with her life!"
"Yes, but don't you see?" Sherlock replied, coming into view again as he bent in front of the computer screen. "He's fallible! He's not all-knowing and all-seeing. He's quite removed from the process. He doesn't know what's going on. Not as clever as he thinks. And I thought we'd need to drown out our conversation with your God-awful music. Probably unnecessary."
Did he even hear her? Her mistake!
Sherlock moved away again, but this time he was silent. Violet could just imagine him, crossing the rug, fingertips steepled to his lips, occasionally stopping to rake his fingers irately through his curls, making his hair stick up at all angles.
Her heart continued to pound, but a sickening feeling spread throughout the rest of her body.
"It's my fault," she said, finally vocalising her fear.
A wave of revulsion engulfed her. Throwing off her headphones, Violet left the bed. She last caught sight of Sherlock appearing in front of the screen again, but she moved beside her bed so he couldn't see her. Soon enough, great sobs wracked her body as she held her head in her hands.
The music promised to bring the party to her, its relentlessly upbeat tempo attempting to mute the self-accusatory tune currently on repeat in her mind.
She did this. She had Emily killed by asking Sherlock to investigate all those loose ends. And for what? Her own career aspirations? How self-centred was that! It was nobody else's doing, but hers.
I killed Emily.
Violet lifted her head and dabbed at her eyes.
Tonight is the night, the music bid her. And then it suddenly ceased, a weighty silence of a second or two before a very familiar ring tone sounded on her phone and through the bluetooth speaker.
Sherlock's ringtone.
Violet gulped in air, steadying her sobs to a silent stream of tears. Instead of answering the phone, she resumed her position on the bed in front of her laptop and wiped away the last of her tears. Sherlock pressed end on the call he was making to her, and her phone continued its mix of club songs.
Reluctantly, Violet donned her headphones.
"It's not your fault," Sherlock said, leaning into the screen. "This is exactly what he wants. It's the power he wields over us. We can't let him do that."
"It's… too… late," Violet hiccupped.
"Violet. Listen to me. You're not responsible. Look, I'm sorry about your friend, Emma, but—"
"Emily!" Violet snapped.
Sherlock exhaled heavily.
"Sorry," he said, his tone more contrite. "Emily," he added gently. "But Moriarty is playing a game, one I'm not willing to play. Emily died because he had her killed, not you. He made the decision. He gave the order. A man like James Moriarty would never get his hands dirty, but he is responsible."
It sounded so odd to have Sherlock say Jim's name out loud. It was also strangely comforting—like a burden she was released from bearing.
"Jim," she heard herself say.
"Sorry?"
"He calls himself 'Jim'."
Sherlock slowly nodded, but Violet felt as if his thoughts were now a thousand miles away. She raked a hand down her face. The beginning of a headache made itself felt behind her eyes.
"Violet," Sherlock said. "I know this is hard right now, but I need to know exactly what Moriarty said to you when he met with you. Was it just the once? Were you on set? Did he ever meet you in your hotel? How long was he in Australia for? Anything and everything you've got."
Sherlock was just warming up. She could tell by the way his eyes were glistening.
Slowly, hesitatingly, until she felt considerably calmer, Violet told Sherlock about her final meeting with Jim Moriarty, purposefully omitting all the other meetings and conversations that pertained to Jim's control of her career. No mention of Jim's boast, "Honey, I'm every studio," or that he had shaped her career, getting her the roles on Regency Road, Catherine Hilderness, and The Rise of the Five. She couldn't admit to that just yet. While Violet still had a career in the entertainment industry, it was best not to think about who was pulling the strings. And how angry would Sherlock be? He wouldn't leave Jim alone if he knew.
Violet faltered when she recounted the threat to end the lives of Emily, her dad, and Mandi—Jim's 'added incentive'. When she finished with Jim's comment about not telling Sherlock his identity so he could continue with his work, Sherlock leant back in his chair and stared into the distance.
"And so that's it," Violet said, feeling considerably lighter. "You can't do anything with this information. It's over."
Sherlock seemed to consider Violet's words for a few seconds before he slowly shook his head.
"No. It's not."
He suddenly rose from his seat again.
"Sherlock!"
Now and again Violet could see the flick of his suit jacket as he about-turned on the rug.
"Sherlock!" she said again. "We're not going through this again. You're not going to do anything about this."
God! He was so frustrating!
Violet yanked the headphones from her ears again. The music made her headache throb in time. Bowing her head, she pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.
"—let!"
Looking up, she saw Mandi peering around the door.
"Dinner?" her friend shouted over the music. Indicating the living area, Mandi added, "The food's just arrived."
Violet nodded.
"I'm just…" She gestured towards the laptop. "… talking to Sherlock. Hang on."
She grabbed her headphones and pulled them on as Mandi rolled her eyes and closed the door.
At that moment, Sherlock materialised on screen once more and took a seat in front of his computer.
"Violet," he said carefully, and her stomach dropped at the sight of his rounded eyes. She parted her lips, but no sound came out. "You know I love you very much," he said and Violet's heart jolted. "But we've had some difficulties over the last couple of days. Everyone's seen it. Our friends. Family. That is, the people who are the closest to us. Which makes this the perfect time for us to…" He gave her a wan smile. "For us to… break up."
Violet's skin prickled.
"What?" she asked faintly.
"Nobody would be surprised. And it's crucial that those who know us the best believe this is possible. That's it's actually happened. And we have the experience of travelling this road before, remember. And slowly, eventually, the rest of the world will learn of it too. Or sooner, if Mandi gets onto her tweeting friends."
"Sherlock—"
"Moriarty said it himself," Sherlock said, leaning closer. "You're my weakness. But I'm yours, too. Now I've just done an abominable thing. I crossed a line and had your friend killed. And I'm unapologetic about it. Collateral damage, as Mycroft suggested. There's no coming back from that. Of course you're going to dump me. Moriarty would believe that, if we're convincing."
"Sherlock—"
"So this is where you come in. You said you wanted to work on a case with me; this is it! The biggest and most dangerous case of your life. Our lives. You and I, Violet. We're going to fake our break up."
Violet took a sudden intake of breath when she made the realisation.
"You're an actor," Sherlock went on, "the most talented actor I know." A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth and his eyes shone with pride. "You have to be convincing, even when you think you're alone. As for me, I won't take our separation very well. I'm not going to be able to work for a while; at least as long as it takes for Moriarty to think I'm no longer a threat."
"Sherlock… I… can't…"
"You can. You're a dedicated actor. Look how much time and effort you put into preparing for a role, both physically and mentally. If anyone can do this, it's you. And this is to protect those you love. Don't you see? We can get one up on him!"
Sherlock's enthusiasm for taking on Jim Moriarty both shocked and thrilled her. But he had no idea that Jim was responsible for taking control of her career. How would he react if he knew? But if they separated…? Did that mean she couldn't see Sherlock; talk to him, phone him, message him… have any contact whatsoever?
Violet could feel a mild panic taking hold.
But then again… If she permitted Sherlock to take on Jim Moriarty as a case—as the case of a lifetime—and he brought about Jim's downfall, then Violet would be free of the horrid man. She'd have her career back. She'd have her life back.
"And when you get back to London," Sherlock continued, "You're going to have to move out. What do you think? It's crucial I have your full cooperation."
A tightness spread itself in her chest, but Sherlock, his brows raised, now fell silent, waiting for her response.
Violet's eyes stung, but her chest heaved as she drew in necessary oxygen. She had to be better than this. She couldn't fall apart, because if she decided to do this—live a false life to all who knew her—she would be facing the challenge alone.
She swallowed hard and said, "Let's do it."
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Author's Note:
And there you have it: Break up, fake up! Please review. I love reading reactions!