6Mths, 14Ds, 6Hrs, 15Mins
I live in the Shadows
Chapter Two
A/N – I'm feeling pretty dark minded at the moment, that is probably why this story come across so dark. I'm not sure that this is how Sherlock would think, but it works for this writing style.
A/N – I have taken the liberty of borrowing Johns role from "We Believe" by Quicksilver, I love that story. I'm just tweaking it a little so Lestrade is no longer with the Yard. Also, it is only the first and second chapter I'm working off.
I live in the shadows, I am the hunter, and I am the prey. But I will get home.
The shadows hold secrets, and they cannot tell. Shadows are always silent. Unless one knows were to lurk. It has six months, fourteen days, six hours and fifteen minutes since I died. It is just past nine at night, and while it is summer. It is still cold; the streets are all but empty. The homeless still linger, and the criminal underworld.
I saw John today, he didn't recognize me, gave me three pounds in coinage. I had often scoffed at his charity, something for nothing. Now I am grateful for it.
John looked old, tired and worn down. His 'I believe' campaign has caused a mild stir, but the homeless network is now assisting from the shadows. Graffiti is appearing. I was so proud that one of them managed to tag The Yard. Lestrade is now a private detective, forced from the force, because of me. He is chuffed at the 'art'. My death was supposed to protect them. I'll fix this for him. When I get home. Mycroft owes me.
I saw Lestrade, his wife is gone, and she took the kids. He and John catch up once a week. Neither is coping. I haven't the heart to check on Mrs. Hudson. Kitty has been taken off the paper. Well-done John. Nicely handled.
I steal the papers daily for information. Seems I'm becoming popular again. Rhys is a reporter not a journalist.
My search has taken me to the next ring of Moriarty's web. I will have to travel overseas for the next leg. I have been framing the outside members. I will not kill and they never see my face. I ensure it.
I'm only nice when I feel like it, sometimes. I leave some with just bruises, the small fries. The lesser ones; I leave alone, unless they joined by choice. Some were just being blackmailed, others bullied. Moriarty was nothing more then a Mob boss.
A spider's web is only as strong as its strands. I have broken one level of strands. The next lies in Mexico. I shall be going by plane. I've paid off one of the attendants. I have dyed my hair. I have forged a passport. I've kept the beard. The contact lenses are brown.
Mycroft must never know I am alive. He's persistence to help would only hinder. I leave in the morning.