Here's chapter 33! So sorry for the long wait, I just couldn't figure out how to write this part.
I hope you enjoy!
After nearly an hour she finally stops. The tension in Mycroft's hands lessens minimally, and the tiny sigh doesn't escape Anthea's notice. She smiles and wipes the knife once in a piece of fabric. It is red afterwards, just like the back of the shirt of her ex-boss.
Sherlock looks furious when I glance at him through my fingers. I have long since hidden my face behind my hands, scared of what I might see.
It's scary how Anthea just keeps asking and hurting him, and I simply can't see the point in it. Why should she ask him something so pointless? Why was she making it so easy for us to find them? If she had wanted to kill us all, it would have been much easier to do without us suspecting anything. She could have drugged us during dinner and then killed us in our sleep, she could have just shot us, one after each other, she had hundreds of possibilities. Why did she risk everything, especially all the information she got from Mycroft for such a badly thought out plan?
Sherlock keeps watching with a grim expression, but I feel the bile rising up. It's been less than two hours, but I can understand why Mycroft didn't want to watch it.
"Sherlock, I – I'll see - " Sherlock glances up at me, obviously not really listening, but then his eyes focus and flit over my face and body.
"I won't say anything." He says calmly and looks into my eyes for a moment, dipping his head a bit. Somehow we both know what we don't say – that he'll be watching the rest of it alone.
Mycroft is in his office. He's sitting behind his desk, typing away on the computer, his movements completely controlled and calm. His mask is back on, and I am not fooled by it for one second. Mycroft's mask is the face he shows to the public, to everyone – except me, and Sherlock. I have seen him at his most vulnerable, but it seems he needs this particular control right now.
Walking around him and touching his shoulder lightly, I reach the small kettle and fill it water.
"Tea or coffee?" I ask, flicking the switch. I ignore the fact that both of us aren't as okay as I am acting, him because of memories and me because of what I've just seen.
"Tea, please." He looks up and I can see the smile in his eyes.
Two and a half months later, Joseph Daunt's deputy has been located and killed by agents, Daunt himself escaped. Henry Scottson's (another thread) deputy has been caught.
He is dead. Finally. All of the big threads are dead or in prison, except for Moran and Scottson and Joseph Daunt, but he isn't as powerful as he once was anymore. Hurt and probably scared he's somewhere in Asia, says Mycroft. Scottson's second in command died a few days ago, and I am glad for the small break Sherlock and I always take after we took out a thread or a second in command. We need it, we need the time to recover from injuries and to talk to Mycroft about the next step of the plan. Sherlock is already in the little flat we got here in Ireland and I am in a little shop. We need food – Sherlock needs cigarettes and nicotine patches and I need chocolate. I am very careful when it comes to Sherlock and cigarettes, but we have a deal that he's only allowed to smoke in our little breaks. That's one of the reasons why he doesn't just ignore the break and keeps working. So far he did what he promised, so I am happy to buy some for him. I'm seventeen now, but on my fake passport it says twenty, so I don't have any problems.
My phone rings and I get it out of my pocket. It says anonymous number on the display, so it's Sherlock. There are only two people who might call me these days, and that are Sherlock and Mycroft, but Sherlock keeps his number anonymous so it won't be recognized.
"Hey Sherlock, what's up?" I ask, not really concentrating on the phone.
"Nearly, Miss Moriarty, but I don't mind," says a male voice and I freeze. This is not Sherlock and this is not Mycroft.
"Who are you?" I hiss the words, but quietly, so no one will notice.
"I'm Henry Scottson, my dear. And if you want your friend to live, you'll be quiet now, and take your shopping out of the shop with you, and into the little alley around the corner." He says calmly, and I nearly freeze again.
"What have you done to Sherlock? Is he alright? God, I swear, if you hurt him-" I start threatening him, I can't help myself, but he just chuckles.
"Miss Moriarty, didn't I just tell you to shut up? And I have no idea whether Mr Holmes is okay or not, because it's not him I'm talking about. I'm talking about Miss Adler." He says and I gasp quietly. By now I'm out of the shop and in the alley, but there is no one.
"Prove it," I say and expect him to step out of the shadows, but he doesn't.
"No, I'm not in the alley, if you think that. I just wanted you there so no one will notice. And okay, I will." There is some movement on the other line, and then I can hear Irene.
"Kiara, Kiara, what's going on? Do you know this man?" She asks, and I am shocked how different she sounds. She doesn't sound like her normal, imposing self, but scared and small.
"Yes, Irene, I do, and don't worry, I'll get you out of there," I tell her and then there's even more movement.
"Do you believe me now, Miss Moriarty?" asks Scottson in a smug voice.
"What do you want?" I snarl, and he laughs.
"Oh my dear, I want many things. But from you? If you want to get Miss Adler free, you need to do one thing. I want you to shoot Sherlock Holmes."