Chapter 4: A Study in Pink pt. 3~
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock BBC. I own Elise and my OCs/ Ideas.
/
Elise stared at the man, unable to move for a moment. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and sweat clammed up her hands. Legs turned to jelly under the realization that suddenly flooded her mind. The teen clamped her hand down on the door knob behind her, desperate to keep steady. She wouldn't have been alarmed had his services actually been requested, but they hadnt.
That was what had unnerved her.
Here they were in the midst of a murder investigation and suddenly a strange man shows up at the flat, less than an hour from when Sherlock called the cell phone of the deceased Jennifer Wilson.
The phone that the murderer was meant to same phone which gleamed pink from the cabbie's wrinkly grasp.
Elise had to literally force herself to breath normally and not hyperventilate. She gathered her courage and pasted an emotionless mask on her face, one she prayed was convincing enough.
"So it's you." She said calmy. It was a wonder that her voice remained steady. She didn't think that she could release the knob she clutched at without keeling over, much less keep the apprehension out of her voice.
What exactly do you say when faced with a serial killer?
"Excellent observation." He said sweetly. Cold eyes stared at her a moment, the phschotic smile only growing with each passing second. "I thought you would be shorter, not exactly what I expected."
Can he see how scared I am? God I hope not.
She clasped her hands in front of her to mask the tremble building in them.
"Bit silly to walk into a building with police officers upstairs. Don't you think? After all, you are wanted for several murders. Would hate to see you be arrested."
He laughed quietly and shook her head. "Oh, I wouldn't worry darlin'. I aint' being locked up any time soon."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because you're going to help me." With that, he turned tail and stepped out the door. He paused and waited for her to follow.
She laughed nervously, a slight waver in her voice finnally cracking the surface.
"There's no way in hell that I'm going anywhere with you!"
"I think you will. After all, you do love your dear daddy don't you?"
Elise bristled at the mention of her father. "What does he have to do with anything." She snapped.
He shrugged slowly. "Just didn't think you would want him to die alone."
Elise's blood ran cold at his ominous words. The color left her cheeks as the man pulled out a black handgun and aimed it at her. She watched as his finger danced over the trigger, teasing her. The barrel stared down at her, its purpose making itself clearly known;
Kill.
"I'd hate to use this. Why don't you come outside, the detective will be joining us shortly, I assure you."
/
Sherlock paced impatiently as the people around him chattered busily, trying to make sense of the growing puzzle.
"It's here. It's in two two one Baker Street."
He stopped his frantic strides and his eyes widened considerably.
"How can it be here? How?"
"Well," Lestrade scratched his neck in thought. "It could have been in the case when you brought it back and fallen out somewhere."
"What, and I didn't notice?" Sherlock said unbelievingly. "I didn't notice, me?"
"Anyway, we texted him and he called back." John said.
Lestrade nodded and faced his colleagues, his voice immediately taking up an authoritive tone.
"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim ..."
Sherlock tuned him out and concentrated on the facts that he had been presented with. He wasn't going to get any closer to solving this case if he stood about chatting with these people. With his eyes firmly open and alert, he let the details frolic before him.
'Who do we trust, even if we don't know them?'
His eyes flickered to where Mrs. Hudson stood at the stairway. A man was slowly coming into view behind her, casually dressed, a badge hanging from his neck.
'Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?'
'Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?'
He thought of each of the four victims; Sir Jeffery Patterson, Jame Fillimore, Beth Davenport, Jennifer Wilson. One thing connceted all of these people.
Sherlock turned his head, letting the clues fit together to form a clear picture, a concise conclusion.
All of these people had taken a cab.
Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile as a text message came through.
1 message received.
Come with me.
He looked back to the door. The man had already retreated down the stairs, presumably to wait for him.
"Sherlock, you ok?"
The detective came back to reality with the prompting of his flatmate's voice.
His phone beeped again.
I suggest you hurry up. The girl is waiting for you. Bless her heart.
He gritted his teeth together in anger. If he had so much as…
"Sherlock."
"I'm fine." The detective said cooly. He was fighting back the urge to rush downstairs and see that Elise was ok and ensure the case was solved. He had to be normal- or as normal as he could be. The officers would just ruin it all.
Sherlock needed answers.
/
Elise sat in the back of the taxi. She picked at the bandages on her fingers as her captor closed the yellow door. She gave him a murderous glare as he walked to the building and slithered inside once more. She debated making a break for it and escaping a potentially threatening situation but quickly decided against it. The imbecile had mentioned something about hurting her dad and the day she would let that happen would be the same day a penguin flew. Never.
The casually dressed killer emerged from the house and leaned against the side of the car. Fabric from his worn cardigan pressed against the window on Elise's left. Her view of Baker Street was temporarily obstructed. Despite this, she heard the muffled conversation between him and a new arrival.
Dad.
"I didn't order a taxi." His gruff voice deadpanned.
"Doesn't mean you don't need one."
She grimaced painfully. The knots in her stomach, previously forgotten, twisted.
"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street."
There was a pause. "It was you, not your passenger."
"See?" The driver began. "No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer."
The teen placed a hand to her abdomen, desperately trying to diffuse the tension present. She felt as if someone were strring her intestines with a dull knife, poking and prodding till her insides turned to soup. Unsurprisingly, she resented every moment.
"Is this a confession?" her father questioned.
"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."
She imagined her father's forehead creasing the way he did when he was lost in thought, the same way it did when he was confused.
"Why?"
"Because I know you won't do that."
"Am I not?" Sherlock challenged.
"I didn't kill those four people, Mr 'olmes. I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing."
There was another brief pause. The fabric guarding her sight shifted it a bit as he speaker leaned forward. Elise could barely make out the edge of the detective's long belstaff from her view.
"I will never tell you what I said." The teen wouldn't have heard him had she not been behind him. The taxi did a wonderful job of making eavesdropping ten times harder than usual.
The man moved from his perch on Elise's side of the cab. She locked eyes with her father for approximately three seconds. Then he returned his attention to the killer."
" No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result."
"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?"
He turned and continued to the drivers half of the vehicle. He got in and settled himself in the seat.
Then he swiveled around and smiled at the thirteen year old.
"How we doin' sweetheart?"
Elise kept her face emotionless.
"Super. Always wanted to be held hostage by a serial killer while he threatened my family's life. I'm practically oozing with contempt."
He returned her comment with a sickly smile.
"Glad to hear it."
Interest lost, he acknowledged the bristling man outside the cab.
"Well?"
The consulting detective walked up to the murderer.
"If I wanted to understand, what would I do?"
"Let me take you for a ride."
Sherlock laughed mockingly. "What? So you can kill me too?"
"I don't wanna kill you, Mr 'olmes." He jerked his thumb to where Elise sat." Or her. I'm gonna talk to yer ... and then you're gonna kill yourselves."
He curled his lip in disgust. "Leave her out of this."
The cabbie shook his head. "I'm afraid I cant do that Mr. Holmes."
"And why not?" Sherlock snapped.
The man didn't reply. "Do you want answers?"
"Yes."
"Then hop on in."
He faced front again.
Sherlock reluctantly climbed into the car.
Elise relaxed a bit.
"Are you ok?" he asked her quietly.
She nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment.
He looked at her for a long while.
The teen didn't meet his eye.
Instead, she looked down at her hands, a ususal occurrence.
Sherlock grabbed one, giving her a comforting look.
It was the same look he gave her when she fell off her bike at the park when she was little. The same concerned grey eyes boring into hers when told her first major lie. The firm yet gentle grip on her wrist that held her when she cried at age 8 after her diagnoses.
It was the same man who never told her things were alright if they werent.
In this case, they would be just fine.
Hopefully.
A ringing resonated throughout the moving taxi, the source of which being the pink mobile phone.
He didn't bother to pick it up, and soon the vehicle was silent once more.
This didn't last long.
"How did you find us?"
"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. That's where I saw this pretty little miss." He winked at Elise through the mirror. Her eye twitched angrily.
This 'pretty little miss' is going to smack you upside the head if you call her that again.
"Who warned you about me?" Sherlock asked.
"Just someone who's noticed you."
"Who?" he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes flickering over his neck then to a picture on the dash. Elise followed his gaze and examined the picture from where she sat. There were two children, a boy and girl.
The physcho had kids.
So does the sociopath I suppose. I'm evidence of that.
"Who would notice me?" Said sociopath asked.
There eyes met briefly in the mirror.
"You're to modest Mr. 'olmes."
"I'm really not."
Elise smiled slightly. Perfect example of an understatement.
"You've got yourself a fan."
Elise snorted and found her courage to speak.
"A fan? Honestly! This isn't some television show! Next thing you'll be telling me my father's a hearthrob."
The cabbie raised his eyebrow in warning.
Sherlock smirked smugly and leaned back in his seat.
"Tell me more."
"That's all your going to know." He paused a moment.
"In this lifetime."
The rest of the ride passed in tense silence.
/
The car rolled to a stop outside of two tall identical buildings.
Their murderous driver bustled out and opened the passenger door for the family.
Sherlock untangled his long legs from the cab and helped his daughter out.
"Where are we?"
"You know every street in London." The cabbie said crisply. "You know exactly where we are."
"Roland- Kerr Further Education College. Why here?"
"It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."
Elise raised her brow. "I like to think most of London's cab driver's arent sadists."
He shrugged. "Just a thought."
"And you just walk your victims in? How?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pistol from earlier. Elise tensed up again but Sherlock sighed in dissapointment.
"Oh, dull."
"It gets better." He explained.
"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."
"I don't. It's much better than that."
Elise clenched her fists till the knuckled turned white. The knots in her stomach were blossoming again, more painful this time. She didn't know if she could last much longer without having a panic attack.
The cabbie lowered the gun.
"Don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me."
He started to make his way inside, confident that his guests would follow. Sherlock made to go after him, but Elise shot out her arm. She looked up at him with pleading eyes.
"Dad-"
"I have to. You don't have to come."
He wriggled himself free and took her face in his hands.
"I have a plan."
With no further commentary, he continued towrds the structure.
Elise stared after him for a moment. I cant believe I'm doing this.
She got her bearings, and followed them into the college.
/
The cardigan clad man opened the door and stood aside, letting the Holmes' enter.
"Well, what do you think?"
Sherlock shrugged and Elise stood rigidly still.
"Its up to you." He said casually. "You're the ones who are going to die here."
Sherlock turned around sharply. "No we're not."
"That's what they all say." He extended his hand toward one of the benches. "Shall we talk?"
Without a reply, he sat down in one of the chairs. Sherlock did the same.
Elise stood frozen to the ground.
The cabbie looked at her challengingly.
"Care to join us?"
Skeptically, she slugged over to the table and pulled up a chair. The legs scrapped the polished ground as it shifted closer. Her eyes locked with the killer's for a moment. She twisted her mouth as she looked away.
"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took my child and I under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you."
"You call that a risk? Nah."
His hand slid into his pocket. A beat later, a glass bottle was produced containing a white pill with pale pink flecks.
"This is a risk."
Neither of them reacted.
"Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this."
Another bottle was placed with a clack on the tabletop.
"Weren't expecting that were you?" he leaned forward in his seat. "You're going to like this."
Sherlock inclined a bit, copying his opponent's position. "Like what?"
He sat back in his seat. "Sherlock 'olmes. Look at you! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it."
"His fan?" Elise croaked.
"Yes, little girl." He turned back to the dark haired detective. "You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. "The Science of Deduction. Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?"
He glnaced down with a boilind expression. "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"
Sherlock guffawed as he realized what the man was getting at. "Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too."
"Don't look it do I?" He waved a hand over himself. "You'll undersatnd better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know."
Elise was trying her absolute hardest to remain calm. She kept telling herself that if her dad was calm, then everything would be just fine. He wouldn't just willingly walk her and himself to their impending doom.
With each passing second spent in this room, she was finding her task to be growing in rigor.
"Ok, two bottles. Explain."
"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. If you take the pill from the good; you live. If you take the one from the bad; you die."
Its like the nightlock from the Hunger Games, Elise mused to herself. I suppose now is not the time to make literary connections when my life is on the line.
"Both identical." Sherlock thought aloud.
"In every way." The other man confirmed.
"I presume you know which is which." She added softly.
"Course I know, sweetheart."
Elise bristled angrily. If she were a cartoon, smoke would be pouring from her ears and her face would be the shade of Jennifer Wison's coat. The sight would've surely been comical, but that didn't lessen the severity of the situation at hand.
"But I don't." sherlock said.
"Wouldn't be much of a game if you knew, know would it. You're the one who chooses."
Sherlock's brow knitted together. "Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"
He smiled a demented smile, the same smile that would give a fully grown man nightmares for a fortnight.
"I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't."
Sherlock rested his elbows on the table, fingers steepled under his chin. The cabbie tutted in triumph.
"Wasn't expecting that now 'ere you Mr. 'olmes?"
Sherlock shook his head slowly from side to side. "This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice."
"And now I'm givin' you one."
Sherlock looked up finally.
"You take your time." He licked his lips hungrily. "I want my best game."
"This isnt a game, its chance." Sherlock corrected tersely.
"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr 'olmes, it's chess." He sighed impatiently. "It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move."
He slid the bottle on the left, towards Sherlock.
"Now did I just give you the good bottle or the bad one? You can pick either one. You're choice."
He winked at Elise.
"I'm sorry my sweetheart. I've no extra bottles on me for you to join in. What a pity."
He looked at the detective out of the corner of his eye. "You're missing all the fun."
Elise narrowed her eyes. "You never intended me to play this 'game' of yours, did you? If you had, you would have insured that you brought the extra pills." She crossed he legs in front of her and picked at her nails casually. Now that she knew more about what was going on, most of her apprehension had dissipated. This left her with only one thing; blind fact and shaky courage.
"I was never a real player in this. I was just a bait. You have no intentions of killing me despite the fact you aimed a gun at my head earlier this evening. You may be able goad 4 adults into your charade but your stomach isnt as strong as you like to think."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Elise leaned closer. "Admit it, you could never kill a child." His eyes went to the table. "I'm right aren't I?"
The driver didn't respond. "Ready to play Mr. 'olmes?"
"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance."
"You're not playing number, you're playing me. Did I give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?"
Sherlock's gaze was fixed on the small glass bottles. "Still just chance."
"Four people in a row? Its not just chance."
"Yup," Elise agreed. "You're just a lucky bastard."
He rolled his eyes. "Not luck, sweetheart. Its genius, I know 'ow people think. I know how people think I think. I see it all like a map inside my 'ead…Everyone is so stupid- even you and your lovely father."
He shrugged as said father's gaze hardened. "Or maybe God just loves me."
Sherlock unsteepled his fingers and clasped his hands together in front of him. "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie."
He lifted his intertwined fingers to his mouth.
"So you risked your life four times to kill strangers. Why?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he jerked his head toward the bottles. "Time to play."
"Oh I am." He lowered his hand and looked intentley at him. "This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you."
He was about to go on but his daughter interuppted. "But you have children. I saw the photo back in the cab, So you must've been taken away from them. The mother isnt dead because she was skillfully cut out of the photograph. If she died, you would've kept her in. Sentiment."
His nostrils flared but he remained otherwise expressionless. Still, Elise ploughed on.
"The picture was old, so you havent seen them in awhile. If you had, it would be newer. You love your kids and it still hurts that you don't get time with them."
Her voice softened a bit. "That's why you made no plans to kill me. I remind you of what you lost."
Silenece. A small glimmer of pain filled the murderer's eyes but he said nothing. Elise couldn't help but feel a small sliver of pity for the man. She wasn't condoning his actions- taking the lives of several people isnt something that should be taken lightly- but at least she could begin to understand.
"Ah, but there's more." The familiar voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
"Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you're wearing's at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?"
Still no answer.
"Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?"
"Told me what?" he finally responded.
"That you're a dead man walking."
"So are you."
"You don't have long. Am I right?"
To Elise's surprise, the 'dead man' smiled.
"Aneurism." He tapped the side of his head. "Right 'ere."
Sherlock smiled. Just earlier he had talked about wanting get everything right just once. Apparently, that was happening in this instance.
"Any breath could be my last."
Sherlock's smile morphed into a frown.
"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."
Elise exhaled loudly. "I've got to be honest, I was expecting a better motive."
"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism." He said.
Sherlock twisted his mouth. "No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children."
The dying man sighed, turning his head away in slight submission.
"Oh, you are good ain't ya'?"
"But how?"
"How could killing innocent people correlate to your children?" Elise asked.
"When I die, they won't get much, my kids." He admitted. "Not a lot of money in driving cabs."
"Or serial killing."
"You'd be surprised."
Elise quirked her brow. "Surprise me."
"I 'ave a sponsor."
"You have a what?" Sherlock spat.
"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."
Sherlock shook his head bemusedly. "Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"
"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?"
The two men locked eyes in a brutal staring contest. Elise's skin was pale at the sickening information.
A serial killer was being sponsored by a fan of her father's to support his kids.
"You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man ..." he gestured to Elise. "-And your just kid. They're so much more than that."
"Who're we talking about here?" Elise asked quietly.
"What d'you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What?" his nose twitched in irritation. He hated being baffled.
"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter."
The trio looked at the daunting little capsules.
"Time to choose."
Sherlock's eyes darted between the two objects. One held certain death for him, the other a certain death for the cabbie.
A roll of a dice in which you could die.
The homicidal taxi driver sighed and took out his pistol. The sides gleamed in the harsh light of the color drained from Elise's cheeks when he aimed it at her dad nonchalantly. He wouldn't…
"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head."
Apparently he would.
Sherlock didn't even flinch. Staring stoically at the gun, he smiled.
"Surprisingly, no one's gone for that option." He admitted.
"I'll have the gun." Sherlock said felt her heart drop down to her feet.
"What? Dad what are you-"
"Trust me." He said dissmisivally. To the weapon weilder; "The gun please."
"Are you sure?"
"Deffinitely, the gun."
Silent tears trailed down Elise's face. She couldn't believe that this was happening.
"Da-"
"Elise do stop crying. I know what I'm doing ."
She wiped her face and stopped the flow of salty liquid. She had to trust him right now. If she didn't, she knew that the anxiety would send her into an attack. The last thing she wanted was to have her disorder disaplyed in front of a decreed killer.
"The gun." Sherlock said confidently.
The cabbie hesitated for a second before pulling the trigger.
No bullet came out. Just a small spark and pop.
Elise let out a shuddering breath and closed her eyes.
She tried in vain to erase the image of a gun aimed at Sherlock's form.
The threat had passed. To her, it still felt like it was again, when you were like her, the danger never truly left.
All it would take was one little thing to send her into a panic frenzy.
Keep calm and breath deep.
"I know a real gun when I see one."
"The others didn't." he pointed to the tearful teen. "She didn't."
Elise's jaw clenched and her vision went red.
In a frenzy of anger, she walked straight up to the driver-
And slapped him across the cheek.
Hard.
"You bloody bastard! I oughta shove that 'gun' into your throat."
Sherlock gently grabbed her arm as she reared back to pummel him.
"Save it for someone worth it daughter dearest. I believe we are done here." He said to Jeff, not taking his eyes off his trembling daughter. "Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case."
He ushered his child out, a hand on her arm.
"Just before you go," Jeff called. "Did you figure it out?"
The Holmes family stopped in their tracks.
"Of course, child's play."
"Which one then?"
The detective eased the door open a bit, but didn't step forward.
"Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" the man teased. "Come on, play the game."
"Your freaking demented." Elise said plainly.
But Sherlock went back. He never lost a game. Elise knew that. She accepted it even. She just wished that everything didn't have to be like chess. Except in this game, there is no restart option.
Her dad swept a bottle off the table and walked past Jeff.
"Oh, interesting." The man crooned. "Shall we?"
He didn't receive an answer.
"Really, what do you think?" He said standing up. "Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your life?I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you ..."
Sherlock unscrewed the lid of the bottle.
"Daddy-"
" ... so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it? Still the addict. But this ... this is what you're really addicted to, innit? You'd do anything ... anything at all … to stop being bored. You're not bored now, are you?
The pills were near their mouths now.
"Innit good?"
Then there was a gunshot.
/
A/N: Leave a review please!