CHAPTER 8: The Nightmare before Halloween.
''Really Joan? Pumpkins?'', scoffed Sherlock as he saw Joan lifting one of the three heavy pumpkins to the table. ''Careful!'', he cried, quickly covering his Petri dishes. ''You will spoil my experiments with your bloody decoration!''
''So sweet.'', smiled Joan sarcastically. ''Now get out of the kitchen! I need to use the table!''
''I'm certainly not going anywhere.'', he said and looked inside his microscope.
Joan sighed. ''Sherlock, I hardly ever use this kitchen. For once I beg you.''
Sherlock looked at her, his eyes narrow. ''How long is it going to take?''
''About two hours.''
He groaned in frustration. ''You can play the violin.'', said Joan encouragingly. ''You hardly ever play when I'm around.''
Sherlock looked at his flat mate thoughtfully. ''Alright.'', he said and stood up, heading for his violin.
Joan carefully collected his experiments and microscope and gently placed them on the counter. She then put an apron to protect her clothes and took a knife, starting carefully to slice the top of the first pumpkin.
''Any requests?'', she heard Sherlock asking in his baritone voice.
''I don't really have one.'', shrugged Joan, not averting her gaze from her work. ''Something romantic perhaps.''.
''Beethoven's Violin Romance No. 2 it is then.'', he said and touched the strings with the fiddle stick.
The crystal clear sound of the notes filled the room and Joan smiled.
He suddenly stopped.
''Is Lestrade coming tonight?''
''I think she has another party to go to first. She might come to ours later. Keep playing.''
He hummed thoughtfully, but obeyed his good doctor's wishes.
One day earlier.
Lestrade arrived at Knightsbridge and the sight of the magnitude of the house made her feel so small. She parked outside the iron gate and got outside.
The weather was rather chilly this morning, so she buttoned her coat up and walked to the door, gazing at the flower beds on either sides of the path that led to the house, which were covered with lovely soft purple and deep blue pansies.
She rang the bell and waited.
''Yes?'', came a firm voice from the intercom.
''This is Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. I wish to speak to Mrs. Hall about an urgent matter.''
The man remained silent and Jenny waited for him to inform Patricia Hall of her arrival and then answer the door. She took a look at her watch estimating that she would probably wait for at least five minutes outside the door.
The man answered in eight minutes precisely and welcomed her inside the house.
''Mrs. Hall will receive you now.'', he said, making a move to help her with her coat.
Jenny thanked him and after that followed him inside the luxurious space, trying not to look around bemused, like a little kid would do while looking at a Christmas tree.
''The DI is here, ma'am.'', said the man as soon as they entered the living room.
''Thank you Carson, you may go.''
The man, Carson, nodded and closed the door behind him. Jenny saw Patricia Hall rising from her cream colored fainting couch to greet her.
''Good morning, Inspector Lestrade. I'm Patricia Hall.'', said the woman shaking her hand gently. ''Please, sit.''
Jenny sat on the couch and Patricia lay down on her fainting couch again. Jenny tried not to roll her eyes at the sight. She was in a living room as big as an entire apartment, sitting with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Jacqueline Bisset and was surrounded by furniture that could pretty much have come from the Versailles.
''Those people, really, do not walk on this earth.'', she thought. ''I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs. Hall, but I came here for a very important matter.''
''Does it have to do anything with those murders on the television?'', she asked anxiously.
''Yes. Four models that worked for your daughter were killed in a rather gruesome way.''
''I know.'', she sighed dramatically and reminded Jenny of some Romantic French paintings, with ladies laced up in corsets so tight that they might faint. She would probably faint herself, judging by the looks of her.
''You daughter was kind enough to instruct me. She unfortunately doesn't remember their names, so she told me to come here and talk to her PA, Greta Crowley. I presume she is your assistant too?''
''Oh yes. Dear Greta; she's always been a great help. When Rose began her career, Greta was there to guide her and made every possible connection. She is a God sent.''
Jenny smiled. ''Could I have a word with her? It's important. I have to inform the families of those girls, you see.''
''Of course, of course. She's in my study.'', she chirped and stood, walking quickly and leaving the room.
Jenny sighed and flopped on the pillows, waiting patiently.
After a while Patricia Hall entered with the PA. ''Greta this is Detective Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. Inspector, Greta Crowley.''
Jenny turned and saw a remarkably tall woman in her mid forties looking down at her coldly. She shook her hand and sat on the couch.
''I'll leave you two alone.'', said Patricia and left the room quietly.
Jenny sat next to the PA and produced a file from her satchel. ''I'm sorry to bother you Mrs. Crowley. I understand you're very busy with tomorrow's the fashion show and all, but it is very important to give me certain names.'', started Jenny and opened the file.
''Of course.'', replied Greta in her deep voice.
''I hope you have a strong stomach.'', said Jenny encouragingly and showed her the four shots of the models.
For the second time this week Jenny witnessed such apathy in the sight of such gruesome pictures. The PA's eyes were roaming over the photos and then she produced her Blackberry quickly tapping a few buttons and then, still looking at the screen, returned the pictures to Lestrade.
''The names are Gwen Matthews, the first girl, the second is Lauren Audrey and the third Georgia Wilson.'', she said in a monotonous voice, like she was repeating a particular boring story.
Jenny had quickly produced her Moleskin and pen, writing down the names hastily.
''They weren't real models.'', continued the raven haired. ''Rebecca saw them in a fashion show about six months ago. They were waitresses, but she saw potential in them. If only she knew.''
The scoff didn't escape Jenny's notice. ''What do you mean by that?''
The woman's icy blue eyes looked at her, like she asked the silliest question. ''The girls couldn't walk a straight line, that's what I mean.'', she tutted. ''But, I guess she liked their looks.''
''You sound jealous.'', smirked Jenny and finally Greta looked at her with another emotion apart from boredom. Anger, perhaps.
''I'm not jealous, Inspector. I was angry though, because I was the one who had to train those girls. Took me three months, but in the end I made it… as always.''
Jenny hummed. ''And the forth girl.''
Greta looked away from her Blackberry. ''Fanny Parson. Poor girl.''
''Why do you say that?''
''She was a very talented young woman. Not only beautiful, with an excellent walk, but smart… very smart, indeed. At tomorrow's show, after its conclusion, Patricia indented to name her the face of her new perfume campaign.''
Jenny stopped writing. ''Really?''
''Yes.'', shrugged the PA. ''It doesn't matter now, though. Our campaign will be postponed for a month, since we can't find a new model. You can imagine the loss. Millions of pounds.''
''Yes… it must have sparked jealousy amongst the other girls.''
''Of course it did. It's a competition after all.''
''It must have also sparked animosity. Anyone who was stocking Fanny or threatened her?''
''No… she came here from Scotland and she didn't have any family, as far as I know… but then again, it seems I didn't know everything after all.''
Jenny raised her head from her notebook. ''What do you mean?''
Greta's soft smirk never left her lips. ''Nothing Inspector. Just some simple visits from a certain woman in the middle of fittings, photo shoots etc. They sometimes would vanish in the dressing rooms and we would lose Fanny for almost an hour.''
Jenny nodded and closed her notebook, placing it inside her bag, along with the file. ''Was that woman Irene Adler?''
The brunette seemed bothered by her question and swallowed. ''No… I- I mean I'm not certain. What about her?''
''I want to know more about her.'', shrugged Jenny and crossed her arms and legs, sitting back comfortably.
''Are you interested?'', she asked temptingly.
''Very much.''
''She's very skilled with her tongue, as I was told.'', chuckled the PA darkly.
Jenny maintained her poker face and continued. ''So I take it, you don't know her personally.''
''No. I only met her to arrange the venue. Nothing more. I know just as much as you do.''
''Alright.''
They both stood up and Jenny shook Greta's hand. ''Thank you for your cooperation and your time, Mrs. Crowley. Good day.''
''Good day to you too, Inspector.''
When Greta returned to the study, she took her phone in her hands and quickly tapped.
She came. I told her everything you told me too.
His phone beeped, signaling an incoming text. With idle motions he checked the text, a soft smirk appearing on his lips.
''More wine, sir?'', asked the waiter politely.
''Of course.'', he smiled broadly and waited for him to refill his glass. ''Please, fill the other one too. I'm expecting someone.''
''Of course, sir.''
The moment the waiter left, the Woman walked to his table.
''James, so nice to see you.'', she smiled.
Moriarty stood and kissed her extended hand lightly.
They sat down, the Woman sorting her perfect white attire and him his Westwood suit.
''I have a certain surprise for you, dear.'', he smirked and passed her a photograph.
Irene took the picture in her hands and smirked. ''Oh James. You do know how to make a woman happy.''
''One of my many talents.'', Moriarty said and sipped his wine.
''Who is she?''
''Do you like her?''
''Very much.'', she purred.
''Her name is Genevieve Lestrade, DI, one of the best the Yard has to offer. I was wondering if maybe you could take care of her tommorow.''
Irene quirked an eyebrow. ''Define take care of.''
''Nothing serious. I don't want her dead. Simply warn her in the way you know best.''
''She'll be tomorrow at the fashion show, then?'', asked Irene.
''She will… undercover probably, but I am sure this will not be a problem for you.''
''I have a keen eye for beauty.'', she chuckled. ''May I ask why you're interested in her?''
Moriarty took another sip, liking his lips as he placed the glass softly on the table. ''You know what they say; Behind every great man there is a great woman.''
''Of course.''
''Well I want the first great man gone. Later I'll deal with the younger one, but for now… it's all about Mycroft Holmes.''
At the sound of the name, Irene pouted her lips.
''Don't worry Irene. Your pictures might have been destroyed, but this plan will surely work.''
''I trust you completely James, you know that. But the pictures would have granted me some… convenience.''
''But think; you might always try again. Maybe with a much younger and more fair female next time.''
Irene chuckled.
''And think, that this is going to be more fun.'', he continued.
''Indeed.'', replied Irene thoughtfully. ''Destroying the sole woman that caught the Ice Man's interest is quite tempting.''
''And wait 'till we get to the younger one. Mind sharp as a razor, but quite blunt when it comes to the fair sex.''
''And what do have you got in store for him?''
''You'll see.'', he said and winked at her. ''But let's focus on Mycroft Holmes.'
Irene smiled and raised her glass. ''To your intelligence.''
Moriarty mimicked her. ''To the Holmes brothers and their wonderful women!''
This is a really short chapter which I posted instead of the one I intended to post on Halloween, but it's quite important for the next one.
I have to admit that, although I loved Andrew Scott's performance as Moriarty, I've always preferred Moriarty the way Conan Doyle pictured him in his books. Like the confident, controlling brain of the underworld, who of course, if Sherlock Holmes meddles further in his plans, is completely willing to kill him. So, since this is FanFiction, my Moriarty will be a little bit of both!
And of course, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!