AN: Chapter contains thoughts of self harm.
CHAPTER TWO
Janine knew and didn't know what her husband did for a living. She really didn't need to know. She knew he was important long before she was assigned to him; he was a Watcher which was law enforcement. The Elders believed they were a good match both physically and genetically. They believed and promised her children would not be far behind the ceremony.
But Janine had grown cold to her upbringing. She felt lied to. She felt deceived and taken advantage of. She would stare in the mirror of her vanity for minutes, sometimes hours depending on how despairing her mood was. Sometimes she had nightmares of being crushed to death underneath the weight of all the lies she had been told. And when her body was broken and not a single piece of her could mend itself together that was when she saw the truth of herself.
In her dream her guts were wires, her brain a hard drive. Her limbs mechanical and her womb a circuit board. In her dreams she was not a real woman. She was some mannequin they had dressed as the perfect mother. And when she would wake from her nightmare she would look to her husband who slept soundly on his back. He was probably dreaming of the children she feared she would never give him.
And further and further Janine would slip into the black hole that seemed to be her whole life.
After breakfast she would go to committee meetings filled with large pregnant women, waddling around in their tailored maternity gowns. She would go to clubs and luncheons with women who went on and on about how quickly their babies were growing. And all the while she would nod and smile, they would encourage her and tell her her time would come. But Janine only felt her womb ticking away until it would be fruitless and barren.
Sometimes, while looking at her face in the vanity, she would have this wild and insane idea to cut into her face. To peal away the layers of flesh and bone to see if she really was human after all. Android plants were not unheard of. Many androids were Watchers like her husband. They could fit and ease their way into society. Most of the time they were easily spotted by their strange way of walking, almost too perfect and obviously a program they were running in their head to make them appear more human.
Janine knew this was a mad idea. She was human. She would press her hand to her heart in the middle of the night to make sure it really was beating.
But could it be another deception? She would think only to herself.
Janine had no one to tell of her fears. So she kept them locked away within herself. Telling no one and suffering in a silent scream she wailed every day.
A knock at her door tore her away from the mirror. She picked up a brush and her favorite blush and began applying it evenly.
"Come." She called politely. In walked the made, Maddie, or whatever her name was. The girl was slight and pale. Pretty enough but that didn't matter. "You breakfast is ready ma'am," Maddie said bowing. Janine nodded curtly.
"Thank you, Maid. I'll be down in a jiffy." Janine said, putting on airs of being a happy and content wife.
How untrue my life is, she thought as the maid left.
Her husband had hired the girl. Something about knowing or owing her father, Janine couldn't really remember. It wasn't important to remember. She looked to her planner after finishing her makeup and dressing.
Doctor Lynn, 2:30.
Janine sighed. Another afternoon of tests. Of poking and prodding and spreading her legs. She sighed deeply, not wanting to leave her room. She wanted to wash the makeup away, rinse and scrub the lies from her face until it was raw and bloody. She wanted to get back under the covers and never leave. She placed a hand on her belly.
Where are you? She thought sadly before leaving her room for a breakfast she didn't want.
X
Station 4 was a beehive of information and data. Sherlock's office was on the third floor out of six. The POI, or Policing of Intelligence. He was head of the division, of course the average citizen didn't know that. He might have been in charge but he was still a grunt. He still went on patrols and was daily placed in dangerous situations. The life span of a Watcher wasn't long. In fact, at the time of his death, Molly's father had been the oldest Watcher, clocking in at forty six years old. Sherlock had been twenty five at the time.
Thirty now, possibly only five years left in him. If rebels or an unhinged citizen didn't kill him, his own partner would most likely. Never trust a Watcher, they're watching you.
By eight thirty he had filed the last of his paperwork and sat still in his black office chair and waited for the tablet to alert him with a new assignment from the Captain of the station. He folded his hands in his lap and decided to meditate. But the morning was still fresh in his mind, like the freshness of new sheets or just after you've brushed your teeth after a long day.
He could still smell Molly on himself. He should have changed his clothes before he left. Even after washing his hands he could still smell her essence. How tight she had been, how taut. Like a bow string ready to snap. He remained entranced by her and disgusted with himself. He had allowed his foolish emotions to take over. Reason and logic and reality had been thrown in front of a truck, smashing to bloody red bits. Lust, pleasure and selfishness had taken over. And it had all left him with a terrible headache.
But he was also not highly concerned. Molly had pleaded that it was against the law, he knew that better than anyone. He arrested men daily for infidelity offenses. However those men were normal everyday citizens. Your average shopkeeper, supermarket employee. In Sherlock's world, it was considered normal to have a mistress. He had vowed to his wife on the day of their ceremony that he wouldn't. And he had assured himself that he wouldn't.
And yet the prospect and idea that Molly could be his without question gnawed at him. Like a phantom itch.
Sherlock's tablet beeped, alerting him to a new assignment. He read through the data and pressed a blue button on a keypad and waited. Three minutes later a knock came to is door.
"Come." He said and the door opened, ushering in the buzz and noise of the hall outside.
A woman entered, closing the door elegantly behind her. Her movements towards him were practiced, almost lifting her feet a little too high off the ground.
"Irene." Sherlock said standing, buttoning his suit.
The woman named Irene was not technically a woman at all. She was what Janine feared she was. Irene was a fifth generation Synthetic Humanoid. Android for lack of a better term. Her skin was pale, but she had been made with makeup already adhered to her false flesh. Her hair was pulled back into a simple bun, her clothes fit her perfectly. There were many IA's working for the stations. This IA (or more correctly: Irene Adler 2001) was Station 4's synthetic humanoid.
And she was assigned to Sherlock as his new partner. It was a new trial the higher ups were trying. Sherlock suspected that one day his whole department, in fact all the departments, were going to be run by IA's of some model or generation.
"Mission statement." Irene said, her voice androgynous and soft. Yet there were a murderer behind those false brown eyes. Her doe-eyed expression was a lie. She was more a lethal than Sherlock. It was all she was designed for.
"House call, Mr. Chambers reported his wife missing yesterday morning. However staff in the house claim she's been missing for a month." Sherlock said, reading out loud. He removed his jacket and took his holster and gun and strapped it on. He handed Irene the tablet. She removed a USB cable from her pocket and pressed down on a hidden flesh tone button her wrist. She plugged herself in and downloaded the data.
When it was transferred they made their way to the garage.
Mr. Chambers was a lawyer who made a living doing something Sherlock didn't care about. He glanced at Irene out of the corner of his eye. She sat still, slightly swaying with the natural movement of the car. But she didn't blink or breathe. Why would she?
Barely human, he thought.
It was like driving around with a lifesize doll in the passenger seat. But he didn't mind her really as a partner. At least she didn't make stupid small talk or ask him what he did on the weekends. He always kept his safety on his gun off though when with her. He did with any partner he had, but he had been smart to take extra precautions with Irene.
You could read a human being, learn their tells and know when they were lying. He couldn't with Irene. And Sherlock hated it.
First of all she was programmed never to lie but she was capable of keeping things to herself, second of all she wasn't human therefore she didn't develop the ticks and tells a normal person would. You never knew what she was thinking. And that was the most frightening thing about her.
They pulled up to Mr. Chamber's expensive mansion. A one level mansion, complete with tennis court, an indoor swimming pool and an outdoor swimming pool with a rooftop hot tub.
The gate opened and Sherlock pulled in.
Tea was offered and refused. They were seated in a sitting room, the blinds closed. There were no pictures of loved ones or a happy couple. It could be it was arranged like Sherlock's own marriage. He didn't have any pictures of himself and Janine. He didn't see the point and neither did she. The man did however boast a large collection of photographs of his dogs.
Doberman Pinschers. Prize winning dogs. He lived in a sector that allowed canines. A few times, as he and Irene waited, he heard the dogs barking from somewhere far away. It was a large dog. Lithe, thin and muscular with an intimidating history. But known to those who owned them as a loving and gentle breed.
Redbeard...
Mr. Chambers entered the sitting room, looking pale and slightly sweaty. They shook hands and Sherlock's suspicions were confirmed. The man was quite nervous. And very, very, very guilty.
Irene took a visual scan of Mr. Chambers, noting his blood pressure and heart rate and filed it away in her memory banks.
"You must understand it's quite distressing." Mr. Chambers said, moping about the sitting room with a cup of tea he hadn't so much as sipped.
"Of course." Sherlock replied conversationally.
"No, you don't understand," Mr. Chambers said, his voice shaky. "Gloria is a good woman. She wouldn't just run off. She knows the rules."
Sherlock "hmmed" and listened on to the man. He didn't need to take notes, that's what Irene was good for. Besides, it was a curse for Sherlock that he mentally retained everything.
Mr. Chambers went on to explain the last time he had seen his wife. What she was wearing, who she was with. The couple had been a party a friend's house. His wife left early and he hadn't seen her since.
"What kind of party was this, Mr. Chambers?" Sherlock asked.
"Is that prudent, Sir?" Mr. Chambers asked, clutching his saucer ever tighter.
"Quite prudent, Mr. Chambers. We will also need to know whose house it was and who also attended the party. For your alibi of course." Sherlock said, smiling in a way that said, "I'm gonna nail you to the cross".
The man gulped and sat down across from the two officers.
"A birthday party." Mr. Chambers lied, Sherlock knew it and even better Irene knew it. But neither pressed the matter. The cup and saucer the man held quaked lightly.
"You must understand it's strange that your staff says Mrs. Chambers has been missing for a whole month, not a week." Sherlock said and Mr. Chamber's eyes bulged.
"You can't be serious!" The older man cried, surprised but not believable enough. Sherlock nodded his head.
"I'm quite serious Mr. Chambers. I'd like you to come with us to the station for further interrogation." Sherlock said standing, Irene following his lead. She removed handcuffs from her belt.
"This is absurd! My wife is missing! You can't do this to me." Mr. Chambers said, he tried struggling as Irene cuffed him but it was useless. She had the strength of ten men.
"I thought you of all people, counselor, would know that we can do whatever we like. I'll also be sending a team down to examine your dogs." Sherlock explained, Mr. Chambers stilled his struggling.
"My... my dogs?" Mr. Chambers asked fearfully. Sherlock nodded. He hoped what he suspected wasn't true. But if it was... "Please don't hurt them. They're good boys. They're... they're my pride and joy."
"Clean up your mess, Sherlock! God, stupid rodent."
Sherlock felt his blood run cold at the archiact phrase.
"Get him out." He ordered Irene and she did so without a word.
Pride and joy, what about your wife? What about your wife! John thought, and it was then he felt the first pangs of guilt for that morning. He had felt disgusted with himself yes, but Janine had never entered into the equation. What about his wife? Her pride and joy was that she wanted a child. His was his job and self control.
What about your wife, Sherlock? His mind sang to him.
The team Sherlock sent to the house confirmed his theory and discovered the terrible thing he had suspected.
Mrs. Chambers had indeed been murdered by her husband. And slowly, over the course of a month, had been slowly feeding her dismembered body to his pride and joy. The dogs were indeed put down. And it broke the man in half.
"My boys, my boys." He cried, snot running down his face. Never once did he say why he killed his wife. Never once did he show any sign of remorse for bludgeoning her head in, chopping her up and feeding her to his dogs. No, the man only cried for his dogs.
"Strange." Irene said as she and Sherlock stared at the weeping man through the two way mirror. "He cries for the canines but not his wife. Is this a normal human trait?" Irene asked. Sherlock shook his head.
"Nothing about humans is normal, Irene." He said before returning to his office.