Chapter 12: My Dark Side
John felt his spirits rising with the forklift, that shoveled thousands of stacks of counterfeit money into the old factory on the Thames, where Moriarty performed the nearly successful "Hansel and Gretel" murder, and where Donovan and Company had chosen to meet Sherlock for their little meeting.
"Well, I must say Mycroft you have quite a large sum of counterfeit money..." John laughed.
Mycroft smiled, "Easy to have fake bills printed for the purposes of a rather large false ransom."
In the end, Sherlock's genius plan had been for Mycroft to contact Donovan, with a confession that he had been spying on his little brother, discovered their agreement, and in exchange for the lives of Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson he was prepared to pay an astronomical ransom, to be delivered to the same sight as the meeting was scheduled. Donovan had agreed, on one condition. Sherlock would be the one to deliver the money himself. Sherlock would come and beg for his life before her, on bended knee. And if he did not, the Red Handed League would arrange for a little accident in the train tunnels, and blow Parliament to Hell.
"And in the end it just goes to show that she really isn't as smart as she likes to think she is..."Sherlock practically giggled. "This trap is too obvious to be obvious!"
He came striding up to them, hair in a mess, coat blowing in the wind from the open doors, an almost giddy smile on his it was so strange to see him alive, and almost-ok, that the two older men froze, staring at him.
"Well not everybody is as sociopathic as you two. Most people expect brothers to go stupid over each other, especially the little ones, and so it is perfectly sensible, in most people's minds, that Mycroft would actually be desperate to save your life, and thus really be offering an actual ransom to save you...And who can pass up 50 million quid, right?"
"When the ink is scarcely dry on it, no one."
"As easy as catching mice." Mycroft blew it off. "Oh ,for once, I will enjoy watching you theatrics, brother mine."
"You know my methods..."Sherlock winked.
"Yes, which is ,of course, why I furnished you with several cans of petroleum."
"Petroleum?" John asked, brows shooting up.
"For theatrics, John." Sherlock smiled.
"For attracting the attention of London's entire fire department, and the media." Mycroft finished.
"But I thought the press was the last thing we wanted involved!" John gasped.
"Oh, no, if they print anything on Sherlock, they will be charged with treason. But I have tipped off several reporters that there is going to be a rather large scandal at this factory tonight, and they are NOT going to want to miss it..."
John had turned to listen to Mycroft, and did not notice until he heard the can clink on the floor, what Sherlock was doing.
"Alright, the table is set, I've even added the sauce and the trimmings, and as soon as she gets here ,we'll light candles, ladies and gentlemen!"
Greg Lestrade, Phillip Anderson, a whole team of police officers as witnesses, and a SWAT team provided by Mycroft were standing as witnesses.
And a few moments later when Sally Donovan and the Red Handed League entered the building, they were greeted by Sherlock Holmes, dark coat flowing in the rain-laced wind from the door, smoke rolling out from under said long dark garment,as a mountain of false bills blazed behind him.
Sally Donovan opened her mouth, and closed it, a brow raised, and folded her arms, walking forward slowly with a smug smile on her face.
"Did you really think it was going to be this easy, Freak?"
" Did you really think I would beg you?"
"You know, I am impressed, actually. You really are as clever as all that, though, aren't you? Huge ransom, off the beaten path location...could have fooled me..."
"That's because for you it's all too easy. You're a bully, and that's what bullies do. Expect they will get what they want. But your mistake was thinking that I can be bullied. Your mistake was to think that I actually could be subdued by your petty little games with me...You may have outdone your lover, by terms of technicality. But for me it was always routine...Just play dead." he pretended to pout, and the fire licked up behind him, and for one moment, John saw that Sherlock could be truly dark, almost appearing evil.
Sally smiled, " I knew I couldn't beat you, that you would outsmart me. Of course you would, you didn't really even have to try, you're a Freak, and that's what Freaks do, things that humans shouldn't be able to. But you aren't human, are you? You're on the side of the angels... You're the Angel of Hell, and you have no soul to lose. Which is why I never played this Game to win. Which is why I never set out to burn the heart from you, I was smarter than Jim and Seb, I knew you didn't have one. As for the torture I put you through, I knew you weren't going to feel it. Probably enjoyed it in your own sick way. I did that for me, liked watching you bleed, feeling your blood in my hands, funny it was, since you have no heart. No , Freak, your mistake, once again, is wanting everything and everyone to be just as clever as you. I only wanted revenge, and I have gotten it. Can I be blamed for wanting my cake and to eat it too? 50 million quid is tempting to anybody...and certainly when you've already finished the job."
"Mmm...and what job was that? Go on, you're dying to know what it's like. To show off...to have gotten a one up on me...You'd like to know what it would be like, to be more than human...or maybe less."
Sally smiled, wickedly. "Why don't you tell them, Sherlock? All about the Study of Torment? "Tyrannology" isn't that what Seb called it? There in that Lab, you gave him all the data he needed to form a study, you allowed yourself to be subjected to every form of torment that Sebastian Moran could dream of, and every last letter of Moriarty's magic book. Congratulations, for the life of one man, of John Watson, you provided Sebastian Moran with enough research to take that practice to the battle field, to the schoolyard, to the little neighborhoods, and streets, and alleys...to the world, Sherlock. You brought the study of torment to the world, and one day you won't be enough. One day you'll be looking down at the bodies of men, women, and children...and it will be you that put them there. Because you see, I got my revenge, Sherlock Holmes. I sold those files to the world...To the KGB. To the Jihadists...To the cartel in South America. To anyone really with a computer, and a thirst for blood. And now the world knows who to blame for the wrath it shall endure, when torture becomes a sport. Because unlike heartless freaks like you, human beings have hearts and souls and minds that can be touched by fear and pain and flames. And they will do anything to save their skins. So in the end I am Pandora, and I just opened a whole box of trouble..."
She snickered, and John felt like he was smothering, thinking that in the end Moriarty and his Red Handed League had won.
But Sherlock laughed, a laughter that rolled like thunder in the smoke, and would have made Satan fall over dead from fear. Even Mycroft looked set on edge by his brother's darkness, in that moment.
"A school girl! A school girl, telling naughty little secrets!...Oh, but what you didn't know was that ,in the end, when Sebastian had blown his brains out, and I was left thus alone..."he is laughing now, and almost can't talk.
"I didn't have anywhere to go. No rush when the only place is from out of the frying pan, and into the fire, am I right? No trouble...So bored as I am, for bleeding is boring, I thought I should have some fun. And so, I finally got to the bottom of that little bit of computer code, that bit that didn't exist? Not a computer code, a computer virus. A way to crash the system, should anyone try to double cross him, and so eliminate the Network's resources. Basically Jim Moriarty's insurance that he would never be the victim of mutiny, eh? A way to guarantee the loyalty of those minions that did his inside jobs, of course, whether they loved or hated it they depended on him...Well, he wasn't going to use it anymore, and most of his Network was dead. But still there's always somebody ready to take up the torch, and Moriarty was himself the Alexander of crime. 'Give it to the strong', or shall "the violent take it by force'? There were still so many bad relationships that Moriarty had ended, or had ended for him, ...you and these boys here, the Woman, the Ghost People...your friend the "Fashion Designer" , this fellow here, who thought to make trends in torment, and fashion designer scars for me?...only to name a few...
Some one ,somewhere, who had a belly full of the Boss, was bound to get bored. And me...mmm, I've always been bored. So , I decided to use the Code for myself, and declare myself the Successor." he smiles wickedly, as Donovan goes starch white. John's jaw dropped.
"But I turned out to be no good king. No lion-heart, no knight-in-white-satin...am I. A cruel master, your angel in Hell, and perhaps someday I will inherit the throne, should Hades retire. I sent out the Virus..."
Donovan started to shake her head wildly, knowing that she'd lost.
"You're correct, very good, Sergeant. Not only did I corrupt the files containing all of the research I allowed Sebastian to compile, using me as his lab rat,but I also erased years worth of blackmail, and account information, and ,oh, practically every other important document pertaining to the business of crime, including those things which constitute as protection. I needn't see you all hanged, though I would love for that...
I need only stand back and watch you slaughter each other. And so ,if I am guilty of anything, then I have cleansed the world in fire, and wiped the score board clean. If I am to be Damned, it matters not, seeing as I have no soul..."
It was then that Sherlock fell silent, aware suddenly that he had attracted an entire congregation of police, fire-fighters, news reporters, agents, the Chief Superintendent, Mycroft and John.
He let smoke waft from his nostrils.
"And now that my Work is done, I shall retire to my Darkness. Go now, and die Sally Donovan. I'll see you in Hell..."
He turned on his heel, never having meant any words more than he did right then. And truly believing that the Abyss was his final destination.
Save that Heaven was swift at his heels...
"Sherlock!" John called, following him out into the night...