Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.
Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language. Minor Character Death In This Chapter.
Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.
Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.
Chapter 5
Four Words No DI Wants To Hear
Date: February 10th, 2011
Time: 2:52 pm
Location: Aeroplane
Time is going by slow.
Perhaps it's the task that lays before him that makes it seem like it is?
The announcement will be any minute.
Sherlock's stomach tightens, and he grimaces at the show of nerves. He cannot afford anything but calm right now.
He closes his eyes, counts to ten.
Focus.
Focus on what lies ahead.
Focus on what the result will be.
As he does, something that Sgt Sally Donovan said once, before she called a truce between them, echoes.
"One day, you'll be the death of him," she sneers, as the both of them are being patched up by medics. "Or he'll be the death of you."
She went on about how the second part might be a relief, but he ignored that.
"Sgt Donovan said once that you would be the death of me."
He can see he startled John as their eyes meet.
"Did she?"
Sherlock nods.
"She told me once that you would be the death of me."
"Always thought she could be over dramatic," Sherlock drawls, smiling slightly.
John's returning smile is slight. "Like someone else I know."
Date: January 27th,2011
Location: An Alley
Time: 7 pm
Lestrade scowls at the sight of three homeless people laid out in front of him. All with gunshot wounds to the heart and head.
The one in the middle, with the dirty blonde hair and the oddly new looking coat, seemed a little familiar to him. Like he's seen her before.
The other two were older gentlemen.
Earlier this morning, DI Dimmock told him about the five dead homeless he was called in on around three am.
"Looks like the same manner of death," Sgt Donovan says as she comes up to him. Sgt Caswell is talking on his mobile. Why, Lestrade has no idea.
"Seems we have someone who dislikes London's homeless," Lestrade comments, noticing the grimace from Donovan at the roughness of his voice. He hasn't slept all that easily the past few days.
"Want to know what's interesting?" Sgt Donovan asks.
"Not really, but what is it?"
"There's been some others killed like this. Shot in the heart and head over on the Mainland."
Lestrade recalls some of the news he's listened to the past few days.
An Interpol agent shot to death in a parking garage. The security camera near the car disabled.
A prosecuting attorney, well known and highly regarded, shot to death in Paris.
A personal assistant to a huge CEO in Germany shot to death in Berlin. According to the news, it was thought her killer was killed with her. But recent reports showed up saying that the other was not the killer.
"I swear the blonde one looks familiar," He hears Donovan grumble.
"Ah, so I'm not the only one that thinks that. Good." Lestrade aches for a cigarette right now. The nicotine would help so much.
"Caswell, do you have any cigarettes on you?"
"I thought you were on the patch," Lestrade hears a particular voice say behind him. A certain consulting detective's voice.
"Sherlock? What are you doing here?"
The consultant comes into view as he steps in front of Lestrade. Donovan is heard muttering 'Freak' but it seems routine now. Lestrade knows that Donovan and Holmes have come to some sort of truce.
"What is he doing here?" Lestrade hears Anderson say in a resentful sneer.
"Shut it, Anderson." Lestrade snaps, then nods to John Watson who hasn't said anything. The man nods back.
"Cilla," he hears Sherlock murmur, sounding almost regretful.
Regret? From Sherlock?
Lestrade shakes his head at that, pushing forward to what he can understand. "You know her Sherlock?"
Sherlock turns around, and Lestrade notices that the man looks quite tired, more so than usual.
"I know her. As well as the other two, plus the five that were found dead earlier this morning."
"They were part of his homeless network," John speaks up then.
"Oh! Cilla's the blonde, yes? I thought she looked familiar. She was the one that told me where I could find you were during that incident with the Tay- Wait, how did you know to come down here?"
"Sgt Caswell."
Lestrade whirls to look back at the Sergeant.
"I recognized her," Caswell says simply. "Thought Holmes should know."
Lestrade is about to nod in response to that, when his mind turns on what has been revealed. The murdered homeless, part of the network that can get information to Sherlock if he needs it acquired differently. Their deaths similar to those on the Mainland.
"What's going on Sherlock?" Lestrade asks sharply, his eyes narrowing on the consultant.
Pale blue eyes meet his.
"We have to talk, Lestrade."
Detective Inspector Lestrade's stomach suddenly tightens and dread fills the pit of it.
Four words that no one wants to hear, especially at a scene like this, from a man named Sherlock Holmes.
Date: January 27th, 2011
Location: Scotland Yard
Time: 8:30 pm
Lestrade was right about those four little words.
He stares at the still figures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
"Moriarty is alive?"
Fucking fantastic. The terrorist is still alive. The goddamn pyschopathic, bomb crazy, leader of a criminal organization and terrorist is still fucking alive.
Lestrade knew he shouldn't have gotten up this morning.
"I never believed he was dead," the consulting detective speaks up again. "The identification process that id'd that body was flimsy at best."
"We did the best we could do with what we had." Lestrade sighs. "How long have you two known?"
Both men exchange looks and Lestrade's jaw tightens.
"How long, Sherlock?"
"Since November."
"November?"
"We found out when at Baskerville Hall," John chimes in. "We met his assassin, Sébastienne Moran, there."
The holiday that was such a disaster, according to John, that he planned on never taking one again with Sherlock.
He didn't go into the details, but from what he had originally thought was that Sherlock made the thing miserable.
"What did happen there?"
"Nothing you want to know," Sherlock says with a wave of his hand. "What is important was that Moran was keeping an eye on us for Moriarty. He sent me another message. Told me to call of my sniffers."
"Your sniffers?"
"His choice of words, not mine. I had been putting out feelers, trying to locate him. Deep down I knew he wasn't dead. Once he had confirmed it, I took the considerable effort to hide my part in tracking him down. When a tip came to me, I gave it to those higher up. Interpol mainly, other law agencies. They've been able to arrest some members of Moriarty's organization. Recently a major heist being planned in Italy by a group of Hungarian came to my attention. I tipped off Interpol who sent a red notice to the proper authorities."
"They were killed in custody," John Watson adds. "Same thing happened when other members when arrested. A few days later, Sherlock's Interpol contact, Agent Rodriguez was killed. Before that some of his contacts in the States were killed also. All the same M.O."
"So this Moran is killing people you know?"
Sherlock Holmes nods. "First it was three of my contacts in the States, then three in the Mainland. Now, she's doing it here in London. Moriarty has to be here as well."
"So what you're telling me is that the people you know that have helped you, or you have helped is a target?" Lestrade asks.
"Including you."
Lestrade wasn't surprised to hear that, just resigned.
"You sure about that?"
Sherlock nods.
"Ah, well thanks for telling me now," Lestrade stresses the word. "How much longer were you going to wait until you told me?"
"Until I had proof that Moriarty and Moran were in London," Sherlock says bluntly, no regret in his words or eyes.
"Sorry," John Watson murmurs. Well at least someone apologizes around here.
"Right. So.. where do we go from here?"
"Watch your back. Donovan as well. Caswell. Your team as a whole."
"Anderson too?"
John glares at Sherlock when the man doesn't respond. Sherlock sighs.
"Anderson too."
Lestrade's mobile rings then, and he looks at the caller ID. Blocked number. His gut twists.
"Lestrade," he answers at the third ring.
"Hello Detective Inspector Lestrade," a female voice with a french accent says sweetly on the other line. Nice voice... "This is Sébastienne Moran."
Shite.
"Well I can tell from that silence you must have Sherlock Holmes and John Watson in your office. I can't confirm that, as my special eye is taking in a very nice view of another room. How are you, by the way? Your voice sounds a bit rough. Haven't been sleeping much have you?"
Lestrade's stomach tightens. "It happens with my profession."
The woman chuckles. "So does dying." Before he can respond to that, her voice sharpens. "Put me on speaker, please."
Lestrade does that, setting his mobile on his desk.
"Boys? Are you there?"
Lestrade notices both men stiffen at the Moran's voice.
"Oh come now, answer me. Or I'll just move my special eye to the teenager that's sitting at her computer in her bedroom, instead of her father."
"We're here," John Watson speaks up.
"Hello Johnny boy, so good to hear your voice. I've missed you. Did you miss me?"
"Not particularly," John Watson says coldly.
"Oh, I'm hurt. Sherlock, are you there?"
"Yes," Sherlock says in a flat tone.
"Good to hear your wonderful voice also. I thought I'd call, catch up a little bit. Did you like my present I left you?"
"You call killing eight defenseless homless people a present?" Lestrade barks.
"Well Cilla definitely was not defenseless. Had a wicked dagger on her. Did her no use though. But so good of you to defend the homeless, Detective Inspector. Your morality is shining through nice and clear."
"Your lack of one is shining through also," he retorts.
She laughs on the other end. "Oh boss would most certainly like you. So, gentlemen, I am currently wondering if I should go through with my task here now, or wait another day and choose someone else. Maybe the Baskervilles..."
Lestrade wonders who in Sherlock's information circle or which client he's helped in the past is now being targeted by this assassin.
"It would be a shame to kill him," He hears Moran murmur, sounding thoughful. "A beautiful teenage daughter, a young son, a patient wife that waited for her husband to be released. A reformed criminal now doing honest work."
"Angelo."
Lestrade's gaze turns from the phone to Sherlock Holmes, to see the usually collected genius looking a little shaken now.
He flashes back to that five pips case, when Sherlock had to prove how the painting was a fake. Sherlock looked shaken then when they all realized that Moriarty was using a kid then, but he regained his composure when he figured it out.
"Angelo Carmelli, correct. Sherlock, you have given me so many to choose from here, in London alone. Not to mention other places in England. Hmm.. so much to think about. Well, it's time I ended this call now. Take care, gentlemen, we will be talking oh so soon." A dial tone seconds later as the call ends.
Lestrade is as silent as the other two men in his office. The only sound being heard is Sherlock dialing a number on his mobile. Lestrade knows he's trying to contact Angelo.
Would that be the same Angelo that he thought had committed a particularly vicious triple murder, but Sherlock had proved was house breaking at the time of it?
"No one's answering," Sherlock mutters, as he ends the attempted call. Once he does, his mobile buzzes, indicating a text has been sent to him.
Lestrade watches as the younger man looks at the caller id, and something makes the man stiffen.
"What is it?" John Watson asks.
"It says we all need to listen."
Lestrade frowns. "What?" He's still trying to wrap his head around that whole bloody call.
Watson's mobile rings then, and the doctor searches his coat's pockets before getting it out, and answering it on the fourth ring.
He frowns as he listens to what is on the other line, then presses a button, setting it on the desk,
The sounds are of dishes being washed, Lestrade can tell.
"Angelo! Can you replace the bin liners?" A feminine voice calls out, sounding a bit distant.
A muffled male voice is heard responding.
Then they all hear an exceptionally clear sound a few seconds later. Glass breaking. Then a woman screaming.
"ANGELO!"