CHAPTER SEVEN
The widows of Ryder and Woodbridge hadn't interested Sherlock Holmes much; a few things stood out that he found curious and more connected them than their husbands being Watchers.
Both women belonged to the same bookclub, both women were the same age and height. Both women had given birth to one child and a stillborn.
This was enough to send John reeling but for some reason Sherlock wasn't all that impressed with it.
Sherlock had explained it wasn't uncommon for the wives of Watchers to have a hard time conceiving (or having stillborns) but didn't offer up any sources or proof, which during the short time they had known each other, was odd.
What is his hunch anyway? John Watson thought as they left the second widow's home.
Neither woman had shed many tears, both had been wearing red. Coincidence or just subconscious cheer that their husbands were now dead?
Being married to a Watcher couldn't be easy, John decided. He glanced at Sherlock's own hand, a silver wedding band adorned it.
Then the Captain thought back to what Sherlock had said, so hurriedly and passionately, back in the morgue,
"...a married Watcher is ten times less likely to be murdered because it's been placed at his feet to produce more children, to further the human race. He's less likely to take risks, more likely to tip-toe around things. Whereas an unmarried Watcher, he takes risks, he revels in the thrill of the chase..."
John couldn't help but think that Sherlock Holmes was a contradiction. Here the man was, himself a married Watcher, out taking risks and putting himself in the line of fire. The Captain wondered why Sherlock didn't pass the case on to someone else, someone more expendable.
It was odd for a man like Sherlock Holmes, at his sort of position of power, to be doing so much fieldwork. John hadn't had many encounters since his childhood with Watchers, but he knew this: wherever the higher ups could, they always sent someone more expendable into battle. Isn't that why they had canon fodder?
"You've got questions." Sherlock said directly as he drove to the next widow's home.
John cleared his throat and sat up more rightly in his seat.
"Yeah, how the hell did you know about my ear?" John asked, it wasn't really at the top of his growing long list of questions for Sherlock Holmes but it had been nagging at him.
Sherlock smirked and sighed.
"I told you, you told me. Shot in the dark, mostly." Sherlock explained, candidly.
It didn't satisfy John though. He had made real life shots in the dark. For Sherlock that must have been quite a fucking shot.
"It can't be that simple. What? Do you have those implants they've been road testing or what?" He asked.
Sherlock groaned and shook his head.
"No implants. Just born with it."
"Well it's... outstanding." John said, almost not believing his own words.
Sherlock was quiet for a moment before speaking again,
"You... you really think so?" The Watcher asked. John nodded.
"Annoying as hell but outstanding."
"That's not what people normally say."
"I'm sure it's not." John said with a chuckle. "Can all Watchers do that? Is it something you're taught?"
Sherlock shook his head once more.
"No. Like I said, I was born with it. My brother and I."
"You've got a brother?"
Sherlock nearly corrected himself. Why had he done that? Given out such personal information? That wasn't like him. He stopped himself from stuttering out some excuse that he had made a mistake, that he had no brother.
But, the cat was out of the bag now. He had revealed personal data about himself. No going back now.
"Yes, an older brother." Sherlock said simply.
"He's like you, a Watcher?"
"No. He's far more frightening than that."
That seemed to end the conversation. John didn't press for more details. He didn't ask for dirty secrets about their childhood, he didn't ask about his parents. And Sherlock respected and appreciated him for not digging. Maybe it was because John was a spy that he respected people's privacy in a counter intuitive way. Perhaps he just didn't care.
Either way, John not tip toeing around and needling for information seemed to put Sherlock at ease.
"Have you got any family?" Sherlock asked before he could stop himself.
"You've read my file. You know the answer to that." John replied.
Sherlock felt like an ass. He had read John's file, more than once. He had memorized it. He didn't bring it up again the whole way to Vincent Harrison's widow.
The house was like the other houses that Watchers owned. Except Sherlock's of course; his home with an heirloom, part of a larger more regal dynasty. A Watcher without a House name was a CW- Commonwealth Watcher. Sherlock was a DW: Dynasty Watcher.
Standard issue home for a Watcher was a two level apartment, room enough for a small family. Every Watcher home looked the same down to the carpet and furniture.
Mrs. Harrison looked dreadfully pale, wore red and was a little less of that eerie, cheerful-placidness that Mrs. Ryder and Mrs. Woodbridge had been.
"When was the last time you had seen your husband, Mrs. Harrison?" John asked delicately. He was sitting across from Mrs. Harrison, Sherlock stood, observing, taking every detail in that they had already seen twice before.
"He was getting ready for another all-nighter. I don't- didn't- know much about what he did. Except it was dangerous. I feel so guilty, like I should have talked him into staying in." Mrs. Harrison said.
"Mrs. Harrison this may be indelicate," Sherlock cut in. "But have you ever had a stillborn?"
John inwardly groaned and outwardly cringed. The other two women had just mentioned it in passing like they were talking about the weather, but Sherlock was now looking for it.
John was growing more comfortable with the bluntness of Watchers (or maybe that was just Sherlock) and more uncomfortable by how easy they and everyone associated with them seemed to be with talking about such private matters.
Mrs. Harrison didn't seem to think it was all that inappropriate to ask.
These people are a strange lot, he thought grimly.
"I have. When we were first trying to conceive. Is that relevant?" She asked and John wanted to shake his head but Sherlock nodded.
"I'm afraid so. I notice you're wearing red." Sherlock commented.
Mrs. Harrison looked flabbergasted.
"Of course, Sir. I'm in mourning!" She said intensely.
"Of course. Apologies. Mrs. Harrison, are you aware that you belong to the same bookclub as the other two women whose husbands have been murdered?" Sherlock seemed to be stabbing his questions not asking them. As if each word were an inch of the knife and he was driving it home with each letter.
"Vivian and Beth? Of course. I believe your own wife joins us from time to time, Mr. Holmes." Mrs. Harrison said, almost... threateningly. Sherlock smirked, making eye contact and maintaining it as he approached.
John felt very tense all of the sudden, as if his inner animal was telling him to duck.
"Mrs. Harrison, did you kill your husband?" Sherlock asked simply.
Mrs. Harrison laughed lightly and shook her head.
"Mr. Holmes, what kind of wife would I be if I murdered my husband?" She asked him innocently, shrugging her shoulders.
Even John had felt the shift in her attitude, the way her body language changed from cowering housewife... to pacing tiger, ready to pounce.
"That's all for today. We'll be in touch." Sherlock said, bounding out of the apartment, John behind him.
When they got to the car John's hands were shaking.
"Did you see that?" Sherlock said, starting the car. He pressed a few buttons on the car computer screen.
"Yeah, great. What?" John asked, slightly dazed.
"They didn't kill their husbands but one of them did." Sherlock said and suddenly Irene's mannequin face appeared on the screen, startling John. The android moved her lips but she might as well be dead she was so expressionless.
"Sir." Irene said tonelessly.
"Irene, I want you to prep the witness for questioning. I'll be there shortly." Sherlock ordered. Irene nodded and was about to log off when Sherlock stopped her. "Irene," he said sternly. "Make sure he's alive when I get there."
Irene nodded, as if there were a reason the witness should be dead when he gets there. But then a queer look of realization swept across the android's face. It was a strange thing to witness, a robot realizing a mistake they had made in the past could disrupt their future.
"Understood, Sir." Irene said and she cut off communication.
"So you don't think it was the wives? She seemed more than a little guilty. Eerie as hell actually." John said, referring to Mrs. Harrison.
"Oh they're guilty. I don't even need to talk to Mrs. Franklin." Sherlock said, he still had that shit eating grin on his face. That "I know something you don't know" face that made John want to punch him. And yet, the Captain couldn't help it. He needed to know, he was excited.
"What do you mean? If they didn't kill their husbands how are they guilty?" John asked.
Sherlock groaned.
"As ever John you-"
"-Yeah, yeah, I see but not do observe well tell me smart-ass what am I not observing?"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... quite snappy." Sherlock said almost childishly. "I was educating you back there, John. It's normal for widowed wives of Watchers to wear red. It's normal for them to act cold, it's arranged marriages we're talking about not that sentimental love for commoners."
"That's very ignorant of you." John commented.
"I'm sorry, shall I just ignore all my formal training and upbringing to be politically correct for you?"
"You might try."
"I can't do that. It just... comes out. The fact remains true love isn't found among my kind, John. It's something we accepted a long time ago and if you don't mind, you don't know anything about it so do not presume that you do."
John felt that stab, it hurt. Sherlock was right, in an abnormal way he was right. John could apply for a companion but he could say no if they didn't hit it off and try again.
Sherlock was different; man or a wife couldn't say no. And for a brief moment he got a another peak into what it was like to be Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock had been assigned a wife, judging by his tone and attitude and his willingness to throw himself into danger he wasn't concerned for his safety; therefore he lived as if he had no wife.
"What else?" John asked after a moment of silence.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock replied.
"What else about the case? Why are the wives guilty?"
"Mrs. Harrison, her attitude, everything about her immediately changed after I mentioned the other women. Mrs. Ryder and Mrs. Woodbridge. A primal instinct came out of her, protection. She became defensive, she even brought up my own wife. But not in the same protective way. She was threatening me." Sherlock said decidedly.
"I definitely got that too. Why would they want to kill their husbands? Doesn't that, I dunno, go against their-"
"Conditioning?" Sherlock suggested. John was slightly surprised.
"Your word not mine." John said.
"It's a fact, John. We live in a world where we're conditioned from the moment we're born. Anyone goes against that and you end up in a factory, prison or shot."
"Can they hear us in here? Could you be arrested for talking about it?"
"Of course they're listening and of course I won't be. If I got on the Network and started blabbing then yeah, I'd be arrested."
"Don't do that anytime soon." John warned.
They arrived back at Station 4 a little after one o'clock. Irene was waiting outside the interrogation room. Sherlock and John were both relieved to see the witness was still alive.
"Witness's name is Gregory Lestrade, 46, no prior arrests." Irene explained handing Sherlock the tablet and barely noticing John.
The Captain wasn't offended, he'd rather be unnoticed by the android.
"Occupation?" Sherlock asked.
"Neutral." Irene answered and both the Watcher and the Captain looked at her in surprise and then at each other.
"Neutral?" John questioned, Sherlock handed him the tablet without thinking.
"He's been living in Sectors 10-12 for two years since they were taken by the resistance. But he also barters and sells good to Sectors 1-9. His papers all checked out." Irene continued.
"We have to be very careful about this, John." Sherlock warned, staring at the witness through the two way glass.
"Of course." John agreed.
"We can't do anything that would risk the cease fire."
When the two men had come to an agreement on who would ask what they entered the interrogation room. Even Sherlock seemed to be on his best behavior.
Strange that John was already thinking of Sherlock is terms of good or bad behavior. He observed better than Sherlock gave him credit for.
"Mr. Lestrade, for obvious reasons are you quite sure you don't require legal representation?" Sherlock asked politely. Mr. Lestrade shook his head, he didn't seem bothered by it at all.
"Oh, no, I'm sure. Might I have some water?" He asked.
John was instantly taken back to his childhood; and in a twisted way when Sherlock nodded and agreed to accommodate the man his fists clenched.
But when I was starving and dying of thirst a Watcher beat me half deaf, he thought bitterly.
Mr. Lestrade was a tall, well built man with gray hair and a trusting face. John noticed the wedding band, but it was on the wrong hand which he found quite odd.
Maybe it's not a wedding band, John thought, reminding himself to mention it to Sherlock but quickly realizing that would be a waste of time. He was sure it was one of the first things Sherlock noticed.
"Now, Mr. Lestrade," Sherlock began, hands folded neatly, fingertips resting on his chin. "Irene tells me you witnessed a murder of a Watcher last night," Mr. Lestrade nodded. "Care to elaborate a little more?"
Mr. Lestrade took a sip of water. He seemed calm, like he had been here before.
"Well, I was just getting ready to head back to my sector for the evening. I didn't want to break my curfew," Mr. Lestrade explained. "The Watcher- um... I'm sorry I don't know his name,"
John was ready to divulge the information when Sherlock cut in,
"His name is not important. Please continue." He said coldly. Mr. Lestrade hesitated then went on.
"Well, he called out to me and I recognized his car and his uniform and he asked for my ID and papers. I told him I had to go to my car when I felt something hit me on the back of the head and I went down for a minute, maybe..."
Sherlock immediately flipped to the page on the tablet as the man spoke to make sure he had been seen by a doctor. He had, mild concussion but it was relieved with the proper medication and treatment-
"When I came to I was bound but I could still see. He- the Watcher- was on his knees and someone with a mask on was behind him with a gun and... well, now we're here."
Sherlock sized Mr. Lestrade up in less than a minute-
Divorced, he hasn't let go but there's resentment mixed with sentiment. Law enforcer at one point so he's used to this, father of two, names tattooed on in the inside of each wrist, old schooler, he's telling the truth.
Sherlock's brain came to a halt. The man wasn't lying and if he was he was a damn good one. But this man was simple, lower education, was enforcer long before the Watcher Stations took command and changed everything.
"Mr. Lestrade, can you tell us anything about the person or persons who attacked you and murdered the Watcher?" John asked. The silence had been a long one while Sherlock did whatever it was he did.
The older man shrugged and gestured to his head.
"I went down pretty hard. I know they were wearing a mask. Something... something black maybe? Look I'm really sorry I couldn't be more helpful." Mr. Lestrade said sympathetically and John believed him but more importantly Sherlock seemed to as well.
"Thank you Mr. Lestrade we'll be in touch. You're free to go." Sherlock said quickly, standing and ignoring the gesture of shaking hands with him.
John cleared his throat and apologized for Sherlock's behavior. Mr. Lestrade only shrugged and smiled kindly.
"It's alright, I'm used to them. You're not one though." Mr. Lestrade said, looking John up and down.
"Ah, no. You could call me a consultant." John said.
"Yeah? Want some advice?"
"Sure."
"Don't be."
John lingered a moment longer on Mr. Lestrade's words as the man was lead out, free to return to his sectors.
When John exited the interrogation room Sherlock and Irene stood silently at the end of the hall, waiting for him.
"What do you make of him?" John asked them both. Irene only stared, no sign of any thought going on inside her tincan brain. However, John could already tell when Sherlock was thinking.
Pondering and replaying every moment that had taken place inside that room.
"I find no reason not to believe him." Sherlock said, he sounded disappointed.
"Well I'm sure-"
"GUILTY!" They all turned in the direction of where Mr. Lestrade had been taken, and the man in question was running towards them. Irene took a defensive position in front of the Watcher and the soldier.
"Relax, Irene." Sherlock ordered her and she did without question. "What are you saying, Mr. Lestrade? Context, if you will."
Mr. Lestrade was out of breath when he reached.
"They said the word 'guilty' before they fired. I remembered, it just clicked. Does that help?"
Sherlock's mind tore into a gallop once more. Guilt? Guilty?
Guilty... having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, especially against moral or penal law. Textbook definition. That word... that word... the widows, they're guilty. Who said it? "I feel so guilty, like I should have talked him into staying in... I. Feel. So. Guilty... guilty... guilty..."
"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed loudly. No one moved, the corridor entirely motionless.
"What?" Mr. Lestrade gaped, puzzled. John sighed.
"Don't worry, he does that."
"The widows!" Sherlock exclaimed again.
"Yes, Sherlock, we know-"
"No. It wasn't them. It was her. Irene, security footage of the nights the men died, anything you can get me you'll know when you see it."
Irene disappeared into the flurry of Watchers going by, getting lost in the sea of faces as she departed to do the task presented to her.
"Mr. Lestrade, you have been invaluable. But we must dash. Ta-ta!" Sherlock said cheerfully and he hurried away.
"Right. I better follow. Thank you for whatever that was." John said kindly, shaking the man's hand.
"Anytime." Mr. Lestrade said and the two men went their separate ways.
John found Sherlock just before the Watcher entered an elevator.
"So, what happened?" John asked.
"The widows John, the widows. I knew I sensed something about her." Sherlock replied, the last part of his sentence nearly entirely to himself, sometimes his words turned into mumbles only he could understand.
"I know you keep saying that."
"No, John, don't you see? We never would have suspected them in the first place. It goes against every moral code for the wife of a Watcher to murder her husband, to even contemplate it would be an act of treason. That's how they're conditioned."
"Nice world you live in."
"Am I supposed to take that as sarcasm?" Sherlock quipped. "Do you want wives to daydream about murdering their husbands?"
"Not what I meant but please go on."
"You do realize you have own your conditioning against you? You're here to question me and suspect me of something. You can't help it, can you?"
John sighed and nodded.
"You're right I can't."
"Then please do not expect me to be anything other than my own conditioning."
Little did John know that Sherlock had been questioning his own mind and programming for months and further more John had no idea Sherlock had even committed his own act of treason by taking another woman, without permission and worse of all, in secret.
Every word Sherlock spoke he felt like a hypocrite and yet he could hardly fight it either. He was at constant war within himself. He wanted and refused and couldn't give Janine what she needed. He couldn't keep up his affair with Molly forever. But he refused to give his girl up.
Can't think of her now, there's a case, Sherlock thought hastily. Picturing Molly now undone would ultimately undo him. He needed to be cold and cruel and merciless in his hunt. He was on the scent, growing closer and closer to his prey.
Mrs. Harrison was the ring leader, he was sure of it. Somehow she had gotten these women to conspire with her to murder their husbands. Irene would find something that they had missed. Somewhere along the way they had been clumsy. And at some point in time they had decided their husbands needed to die.
When Irene finally brought the two men the smoking gun Sherlock couldn't help but be thrilled.
"Gotcha." He had said proudly.
Deep down, John could only feel that there was something very wrong with what was about to happen.
Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Ryder, Mrs. Woodbridge and Mrs. Franklin were all brought in and kept in separate rooms. Sherlock made sure they all saw each other when they came in.
"Well, who do you think will crack first?" John asked him.
The Watcher only smiled in an unholy sort of way; as if he derived pleasure from what he was about to do.
"Just one. The mother lion will do anything to protect her cubs, John." Sherlock said before he entered the interrogation room where Mrs. Harrison was being held. Like an animal in a cage.
This isn't right, John couldn't help but think.
Sherlock sat across from Mrs. Harrison; her chair had been replaced with one that automatically induced stress, her requests for water were ignored, her request to speak to her representative was denied. And yet the woman acted as if she were at the damn zoo.
Irene stood behind Sherlock at the door, by his request.
"Has there been a break in my husband's murder?" She asked him and Sherlock nodded.
"Quite. Blew the whole thing open." He assured her. Mrs. Harrison nodded slowly, glancing at Irene then back at Sherlock.
"Well, if anyone could solve it, it would be the great Sherlock Holmes." Mrs. Harrison said, her tone and body language giving her away. Disdain, Sherlock was quite familiar with it.
"Why do you say that?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"You've quite the reputation. My husband spoke quite... fondly of you."
"I find that hard to believe."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
Mrs. Harrison smiled, queerly.
"Mind if I smoke?" She said reaching into her purse.
"You can't." Sherlock said quickly.
"Why not?" Mrs. Harrison had already taken out a cigarette, prepared to light it.
"You're-"
"What?"
"You're not allowed.
Mrs. Harrison lit it anyway.
"Because I'm a woman?" She said exhaling through her mouth and nose, "meant for breeding and popping out the little brats I didn't ask for?"
Sherlock knew the confession was coming. He placed the tablet on the table and pressed play. Security footage of Mrs. Harrison at all five murders. She had pulled the trigger five times without regret or remorse. She didn't shed a tear when she watched it.
In fact she seemed to enjoy it.
"Well, you've got me, Mr. Holmes." Mrs. Harrison said with a shrug.
"I want to know why." Sherlock said.
A tear formed in the corner of Mrs. Harrison's eyes and a choked laughed came out of her mouth followed by plumes of grey smoke.
"Why?" She repeated. "Why don't you ask your wife." She said through clenched teeth, the tear finally falling and landing on the tablet.
The words cut through Sherlock like the blade Janine had used to try and kill herself.
Mrs. Harrison wasn't done, she took another hard, intense pull from her cigarette, blowing the smoke in Sherlock's face making him more irritated and craving one at the same time.
"Look at you, sitting there all high and mighty, when we're the ones at home waiting for you. Waiting for to slip into our beds like the villainous snakes you are to lay your filthy seed inside of us!" Irene took a small step forward but Sherlock held out his hand to stop her.
"Look at her, look at It," Mrs. Harrison said turning her eyes to Irene. "Finally, man invented a woman who wouldn't talk back. All she needs is a fucking womb and you'll be set for life!" She laughed strangely. "Is she warm when you fuck her too, Mr. Holmes? I'm sure she doesn't fight. No, men don't like hearing the word 'no'. Only 'yes, sir, please sir, please be gentle, sir'. Forced to deliver your stillborns, forced to raise your bastards, forced to watch them be taken away and turned into men like you."
Mrs. Harrison flicked her cigarette at Sherlock but he batted it away. He needed to hear this though. He could have stopped her at any time but he didn't. This was it, this was his punishment.
Mrs. Harrison wanted to castrate him in front of everyone and deep down Sherlock knew he deserved it; these were all the things Janine should say to him. All the things he feared Molly would think of him one day.
Sherlock didn't feel like a man anymore; he felt like a skin-suit, masquerading around as a man with a purpose.
"Ask your wife, Mr. Holmes, why I killed those men and when you have an answer please let me know." Mrs. Harrison said coldly before reaching into her purse for another cigarette. "If I am to die and die I shall, it will be doing what I love. Smoking and telling you lot to fuck off."
Sherlock exited the room, Irene behind him. John was there waiting, his expression as readable as a book.
"You heard?" Sherlock asked calmly, shielding his emotions. John only nodded.
"Case solved, in shorter time than I thought." Sherlock went on as if nothing happened.
"What now?" John asked, but he wanted to say "you deserved that" and he also wanted to ask "are you okay"?
"Oh, Irene will take care of the rest." Sherlock said waving a hand.
"No, no, Sherlock I mean... do I get my request granted?"
Sherlock paused and sighed.
"Yes. Yes I suppose you do." He said kindly, though at the moment all he wanted was something to lash out to. But he was keeping it in.
"Just like that?" John questioned and Sherlock nodded.
"Unless of course you'd like to continue." The other man suggested.
"I'll have to think on that."
"Of course. Let me know by the end of the week?"
"Sure. Thank you for the... experience, it was very enlightening."
The two men said their goodbyes and Sherlock got into a car to drive home.
When he arrived at Baker Street to Holmes Manor he found it hard to go inside. On the one hand, Molly was there perhaps waiting for him to come to her. And on the other, the wife he never wanted, waited up for him as she always did. The wife who tried to end her life...
"Ask your wife..." Mrs. Harrison's words hung inside his head like an earworm. He couldn't be rid of them.
The case was closed, solved, ended; put to bed and wrapped up in a little pretty bow.
And yet something nagged at him... was it almost too easy? He was too tired to think on it more.
Sherlock entered his home. It was quiet, no one was awake. He stood at the staircase which would lead him to his wife's room and then glanced at the back staircase which would lead him to Molly's.
Which path to take? A part of wanted to say neither. But Sherlock Holmes had never seen himself as a coward. As he ascended the staircase his phone chimed and he glanced at it.
My office, first thing- MH
Sherlock groaned. Oh, just what he needed, a scolding from mummy!
The exhausted Watcher entered his wife's room and true to form Janine was waiting for him. A book open in her lap, The Joys of Motherhood as usual.
"Long day?" She asked him, as if she hadn't tried killing herself last night.
"Very." He replied. He changed and turned out the lights and got into bed with her. She reached down to touch him but he stopped her. Before she could mutter an indigent word he kissed her gently on the mouth, something he rarely did. It surprised them both.
"Not tonight. But when you are better, we will try." He said kindly to her.
Janine smiled at him and rolled over onto her side with Sherlock spooning her from behind. Her smile dropping as soon as her face was out of sight.
No Sherlock, I don't plan on getting better, Janine thought as she drifted off to sleep.