A/N - This chapter is for OryonUK, to help her recover from the shell-shock of the last chapter!
Just a short little filler, I hope to see you all next week!
Fear - /fi(e)r/ - An unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.
Chapter 2
DI Greg Lestrade squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, flustering hot under the pressure from the accusatory sea of eyes upon him. To the right of him, Sergeant Donovan coughed.
By God, he hated these press conferences.
The pause lengthened as he gulped from his glass of water, trying to think of an answer that would satisfy everyone.
He braced himself as another journalist began to speak.
"DI Lestrade, are you certain if it's the same killer?"
"We are still investigating into that matter at present, I'm afraid. We have taken into consideration that there has been a five year gap in these killings, but whether it's an imitator or a different killer we're not sure of at present."
"But you believe the killer is the same person?"
"All the evidence points to that, yes." Lestrade smothered a sigh.
"Do you have any reason for this pause?" Another journalist said.
"As I said, investigations are underway."
"Do you believe the killer to be mentally unstable?"
"Anyone who can commit crimes of such atrocity must certainly possess a damn large degree of insanity, yes." A muttering of agreement flew around the room. Lestrade gulped down the remains of the water, parched throat aching.
"What advice would you give to the residents of London?"
"As the killer seems only to be committing the murders in the vicinity of London, until his capture, all residents should avoid leaving their houses after 6pm, especially not alone. Lock all doors and windows. Keep your phone close at hand. Let someone know where you are at all times."
"But that's practically siege!" A journalist cried out. A general cry of uproar exploded through the room, and papers flew as the crowd stood up, raising the roof in a perfectly uncivilised hullaballoo.
"How long before you catch the killer?" A journalist cried out.
Lestrade stiffened. "The conference is now over."
He walked out the door with the press still in uproar.
"Bloody nightmare," Sally muttered behind him. Lestrade nodded in agreement.
"Sir."
Lestrade turned around questioningly.
Sally stood there, frozen still.
"Do you think that the person behind this is –" She looked around nervously, shuffling a little closer, and whispered, "Moriarty?"
Lestrade turned around and continued walking.
It was a while before he replied.
"Yes. Yes, I do."
'Hell is a city much like London-
A populous and a smoky city;
There are all sorts of people undone,
And there is little or no fun done;
Small justice shown, and still
less pity.'
Peter Bell the Third, P.B Shelley.