Chapter 4
I thank you for all of the support. I am sorry for the short sherlock chapters. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE leave a review. I mean wow, 614 people have read it but only 4 have left a review. EVEN IF YOU HATE IT, leave one, please. Also there is a joke/reference in here that you might find. If you think you have found it, leave a review to see. Here is a hint, Richard Brook.
I walked around the small flat finding any articles that might give away my alias as Fin Preno. Fin was a Bartender in Rue, France. The bar he worked at was always crowded, due to the fact the Rue's only attraction was a magnificent building that was right across the small street. It was called the Brasserie Du Centre, or the brewery center. It was mostly for tourists. The town was full of old style buildings and small streets. The building adjacent to The Brass, as I call it, was the Place du Général Leclerc. This was named after a French General. In English it means Place Of General Leclerc. Few people came to see it, but it was enough to have money in this small town. The streets are small, so walking was favorable. I could walk to The Brass in 7 minutes, so I had 4 to clean up.
I did not have any of my equipment to do lavish experiments here, nor did I have my violin. Yet I still kept a firm regiment of clean around here. I left all my possessions in London, so that was not an issue. But I did have habits to break that might give away my alias. No matter how hard I try there are still small things that I'll miss, until I find them. There were no items this time, I was getting better. I looked in the mirror once more at myself, and then I put on my facade of Fin. He was hunched over a bit, walked with a small limp, and wore tight jeans, glasses, and long black hoodies. It disgusted me the smallest bit, to dull the bright shine in my eyes that flashed my intelligence. I had to be the typical male.
I walked out the door and fumbled with my keys a bit, you can never be too careful while hiding from Mycroft and Moriartys web. I pushed the glasses further up my nose and set off. I made it look like I had a small knee problem in my left knee. It was annoying to not walk at my full potential, but my appearance must be kept, if it meant John were to survive. I reached the Brass just at the time I was supposed to be there. The manger smiled when he saw me and waved me to get behind the bar. There was a regular there, wanting the famous beer.
The night was a boring mess of bad French and English. I had come to this town because it was near Bristol. I easily crossed over to France and now 'lived' in Rue. During that trip, I wished I had told Mycroft of my plan. But I needed him to act adoringly. I only told Irene. I had used the corps of the man Moriarty used to get those kids be afraid of me. The man had been killed by Moriarty by pushing him off of a building, probably in rehearsal for me, and was perfect for my use. With a smashed skull, it could fool my brother. Irene had switched his DNA and fingerprints for mine. I now took his old life here, his name was slightly changed, for personal reasons, but his life and look stayed the same.
I had survived by landing in a blown up jump pad, like the ones they use on movie sets. After that, I climbed in a cloth bag in a trash truck and hoped off after a few stops. I had walked to the outskirts of London, dodging cameras, while Irene drove me to Bristol. From there a boat to France, then Rue.
My life here has been boring and simple. The only things I have that mean something are the paintings, that I hide, and the burner phone, my connection with Irene. I nodded to the manager, Fernando, and started to walk home. The night was a crisp cold with a faint wind. The sky was a clear midnight blue. The stars where shining, twinkling in the dark. The nights where magical, away from the hassle of London. I stopped in my tracks and copied this image in my mind, to paint later. I started back home and went for my keys. The door was open. Facade gone, I stalked low to the ground when I entered. I made no sound. I measured each move, glad that I remembered every creaky floor board.
I crouched down a peered around the room, my feet all alert for any movement on the floor. Just in case I kept most if my weight in my right knee, still keeping appearances, I felt the slightest of movements behind me and spun around, grabbing an umbrella and raising it to strike.
"Going to kill me with an umbrella now are we Sherl?"
Irene! I loosened my stance and walked over to close the door. Still gripping the umbrella I sat down in the couch and glared at Irene. Mad at her for sneaking in my flat and risking my cover.
"What are you doing here Irene?" I sighed
"I have very serious news "her tone to it was anything but that, yet she was here. What had happened? I looked at her and motioned for her to continue. I started to take of the glasses when she started to talk.
"Well, something unexpected happened in London that compromises our position." Her stance, eye flickering to where the paintings of John where kept, at the map of France. Oh no.
"He is coming here to look for Moriarty's web." I let my head fall back and hit the couch. I had believed John would have stayed in London. His past told me this. When he got back from the war he couldn't move from where he had been, possibly because of his limp, and just kept going to the therapist. Why has he changed his pattern? Now his military training would possibly take him here. It seems like a reasonable place for people fleeing London, as I did. I had secured a place here now, how could I leave? There were still 14 people to find before the web was gone. What to do?
Irene said nothing when she saw me slip into my mind palace. She just walked over to my bedroom and went to sleep, though not before stripping naked. She might not press Sherlock, but that does not mean that she couldn't try.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was painting a new picture of John. This time instead of the normal John that he knew, the one who was a kind, caring, doctor. He was painting John as a solider. In his head he was thinking of what he was going to do. Was he going to stay here under the alias of Fin, or was he going to find another place to hide.
The night continued on, no pattern breaking. The same quiet night, no sirens, no car horns or yelling: Just quiet.