I am so sorry that I haven't been writing, well I have,but I didn't post because I didn't know people have read this. I will try to post at least twice a week, if not more. This will hopefully be a long story. Thank you SO much for reading
Sherlock paced around the room. The pale light dappling his hair. His eyes where sharp but glazed, telling he was not in the room. He was within himself, in his mind palace. His usual attire was switched for a grey hoodie and black skinny jeans. The light was making his soft marble skin a sickly grey. With the clothes he looked like a living shadow. His black hair matching the black cloth covering the windows behind him. He reached into his pocket and fished out an old style flip phone, a burner. He quickly dialed a number, and spoke quickly in fluent French.
As the conversation progressed his face got red with anger. He threw the phone down, grabbing at his hair. He stopped his pacing and picked up the phone, checking for damage. He walked over to the sole chair in the small flat and flopped down on the well-used cloth. He covered his eyes with his hands pressing hard till he saw stars. He picked up the phone once more and called his informer and college back in London, Irene Adler.
He and Irene had been in touch since he saved her life. When he was in dire need he called her, to help him fake his death and cut down Moriarty's exquisite web of crime. He had, so far, cut down a good percentage of the web, yet a few strong strands remained. When Moriarty died, most of the web disintegrated over time. Sherlock had just taken out the main driving force of the web, Sebastian Moran. Sherlock had an operative still with the slowly dying individual when he got a call from the hander. Moran had said something, something very important.
"Irene, what is this about John? Sebastian told me he was hit with a car. I don't believe he was in a position to lie to me at the time." I dropped easily into my mask of cool calm. My voice as clear as always. Yet my body language told different. My hands griped the phone tightly as possible. While my back was arched tensely over my legs. My elbows where on my knees.
"Well Sherl, we both know he is okay now don't we? If he weren't I would have told you, possibly. What happened was he tried to kill himself, as I believe. He walked into the street, without blinking. Now let's get on with or mission shall we? In better, useful, news I found another string still standing in our web." Her voice sounded like she as laughing at me, which she most likely was. She knew what this information would do to me, to my mind. Her earlier attraction I had grown more over the 6 months. And in no way did this make her sweeter to me, if any way it made her crueler.
"You know very well that's not my name as well as I only care for half of that information. Get me more Intel on John. If not I won't help you in the slightest. Without me you can do anything." As my voice was annoyed my body and mind was agonized with worry. All because of me. All because of me. John, my John. John was in danger and I was hiding in a horrible hotel in France. I had been in Paris since I jumped. Hiding and sending Irene to the places Moriarty's hold was still strong. Even in death he was still a problem that had to be dealt with.
"We both know that now don't we Sherl? Well let's see here. He was discharged with a concussion. No Major injuries. Now to the major topic. Where is Tenlen? Remember, the one that ALMOST SHOT ". I cringed at the nickname she so persistently used. I had rebelled against it the first month. She is very head-strong and persistent.
I was relived at the information on John. We were ok, physically. All that I knew about him said he was a fighter; he would fight death and defeat it. Why he would walk into the street baffled me. Even if he had tried to kill himself he would have waited for a bus. Not whatever weak car hit him. It was an accident. Good.
The problem with this Tenlen is that he is very good at covering his tracks. After he left Baker Street, he disposed of the car, outfit, tools, and wiped prints and lit the car on fire. Of course there is still evidence to be found, yet that evidence is still in London. I cannot go to London for a year or two, at the earliest. This was to track down the 'web' of criminals Moriarty had grouped together. I had taken the powerful players out of the equation, yet the lesser criminals still cause trouble.
If I had to guess, Tenlen will be in a literal hole in the ground. A quick trip to the flat after I jumped smelled of sandy dirt, which is very common in England. I didn't want to go to London. But it was looking like I had to. I keep telling myself that I will not go to see John. I can't go to see John. Yet, I can see John in this small flat. Since I can't play my violin, I paint. John never knew. Lately, when I am in my palace, I pick up a brush and some acrylic paints. All over this flat were paintings of John. I had paintings of Baker Street, London, and of the Rooftop.
The Rooftop painting was to help me see the sniper Moran when I was still looking for him. I did, and he regretted point a sniper gun at John. At the time I didn't him, no, I didn't observe him. I saw him in the window, yet I didn't register him till I painted it to see him clearly. I had also got Victor for Lestrade. The only one left was Tenlen. I sat down and went into my mind palace to thank of the map around where the car had burned. He could have hid in the abandoned... "Ahhhhh" The silence was ruined with an obscene sound. The phone, who could be calling me? Of course it was Irene.