EPISODE 1: Hiding in Plain Sight
Part I
Sherlock stared out the window of the train. It was nighttime out, approximately 23:55 hours. A Saturday. He was due to meet Molly in almost an hour. To discuss his death, a cover and all, how to take down the final part of the criminal web of the psychopathic consulting criminal, James Moriarty. What to do about the fact that John was barely coping. He'd heard from Molly that John had started turning to alcohol. Not becoming a drunk, but on the bad days he'd go to the pub and get so drunk he'd have to practically be dragged to the flat.
He pulled the hoodie over his head when a woman turned to look at him. He was in Canada-chances of him getting recognized were thin. But he wouldn't run the risk. It was bad enough that he'd chosen not to change his hairstyle.
The train stopped. This was the station. He stood up and walked silently out of the train, briefly turning to look both ways to find the exit. It was to his right. He slowly walked towards it.
The station was nearly empty. A few people were walking around here and there. A young woman coming from a late night's work. A mother and her sleeping child. A teenage girl. A twenty-something-year-old boy and his friend, the friend holding the boy as he drunkenly walked towards the end of the station.
Sherlock had seen John like that. From a distance, of course. And it had only happened once, a week after Sherlock's "death". John and some other man were drunk at a pub late one night, and while neither one knew each other, the other man recognized the army doctor. It was one of the times Sherlock wondered why Mycroft hadn't cleared his name sooner (and he still hadn't) because a fight broke out between the two...over the consulting detective. Lestrade, being the voice of rationality (and sobriety) separated the two and helped John get to his home. His new home, rather. The consulting detective watched this all from the shadows.
Sherlock blinked the memory away.
That's when he saw him.
The man in the suit.
His back was turned to Sherlock, but instantly Sherlock knew something was wrong. He was just his height and build, but his hair was slicked back and he was clearly a businessman of sorts. He seemed completely calm, leaving Sherlock to deduce a few details on his own-the man was not an ordinary businessman.
Businessmen don't calmly leave their briefcases next to them and take off their ties in a train station.
Sherlock got closer. Something was strangely familiar about this man.
Then the man turned around, a calm yet sad expression on his face.
And that's when it hit him.
Sherlock and the man were identical.
Sherlock staggered back in shock, but the other man just stared at him. They had the same skin tone, the same face shape, the same intelligent gray-green eyes, the same heart-shaped lips, the same hair, the same...everything. Down to the cheekbones. Even those were identical. It was like he was staring into a full-body mirror, except his reflection had different clothes.
"Who are you?" Sherlock demanded.
The man didn't answer. He just glanced briefly at the briefcase, then back at Sherlock, and smiled.
Sherlock's exact smile.
The train on the other side of the tracks could be heard. The man turned, and, almost hypnotized, walked straight towards it.
"No!" Sherlock yelled, but it was too late.
The man walked purposefully off the platform, directly into the path of the oncoming train, and was immediately swept away.
Sherlock stared in absolute horror. Who was that? Why did he have his face? Why did he smile that way? What was in the briefcase? His mind settled on the final question and he raced to pick up the briefcase. He left the tie, slipped the bag over his shoulder, and speed walked down the platform towards the exit.
/
Outside, just as people were running towards where the man had just, for lack of a better word, jumped, Sherlock felt sure that he had not hallucinated. Although his logical mind reminded him that it was a possibility. He walked through the crowd, showing no urgency in his face. Merely confusion, like he had somewhere better to be. Which he did.
He ducked into an alley once he was a safe distance from the train station. Quickly making sure no one was around, he opened the briefcase and found that the man had conveniently left his wallet in there. Is that what he wanted him to see?
Sherlock opened the wallet. Gucci. In it was a driver's license, with a picture of him-no, the other person. The identification was written below:
AXIS, ALEXANDER
Date of Birth: 07/26/1974
Date of Expiration: 02/18/2014
Sex: Male
Height: 184.15 cm
Weight: 66 kg
God, they were almost the same weight.
He went through the rest of the wallet. Three credit cards, almost a thousand dollars in cash, several business cards for major corporations in the area. There were a few handwritten addresses as well, some of which had big red X's over them. One caught his eye: some girl named Lana Clay. The card was old, like he'd had it for a really long time.
Another caught his eye. He had to save that one. That one was more important than the rest.
He slipped the wallet back into the briefcase, then opened the bag further. There was a portfolio for contracts, presumably. A pair of sunglasses, too.
Sherlock took out his own cell phone and called the first number on his speed dial.
"Hello?"
"Molly, meet me in five minutes. Same place. I have something to show you."
"Sherlock, what's wrong?"
"I'll explain everything. Just get there."
"Um, okay, I guess."
He hung up abruptly. He was too excited. He left the alleyway and began to walk down the street. He kept wandering through the city, keeping his head low so as not to get discovered. It was only a few minutes past midnight, and there were no cars out on the street at all, except for the ones parked and empty.
Sherlock continued to walk. He used to chase criminals on nights like this in London. With John. Whatever. He pushed the memory out of his head. Those days were behind him.
But how he missed them.
He missed John. He missed the thrill of chasing criminals. He missed being able to terrorize anyone that came his way. He missed being able to speak his mind. He missed coming home to 221B and being greeted by Mrs. Hudson and experimenting in his kitchen while John typed on his blog.
The blog.
Nothing had happened on the blog in four or five months. The last post Sherlock had seen was right after his fall: "He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him." He wanted to get on a plane, go back to London and tell John what had really happened, why he'd gone, who he was after...but of course he couldn't. He couldn't call anyone back home. Only Molly. And Mycroft. Of course he couldn't make his escape without Mycroft's help. But he was more thankful for Molly's, to be honest.
Suddenly, he saw a car speed towards a street not too far away. He knew he shouldn't, but he briskly followed it, walking towards the street that the car had entered. He made an attempt to hide in the shadows as he neared the house, keeping a safe distance away.
The house was ordinary, brick, two stories, small lawn, windows dark and seemingly empty. The car slid to a halt and two people got out-a man and a woman. The man was tall, visibly ex-military, and seemingly emotionless. The girl was medium height, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Her hair was long, brown, and almost flowing in the cold air.
Sherlock stared at her. He didn't know exactly what the emotion was that he was feeling. He only knew that there was something about the woman that sparked his interest. The strange look of determination in her eyes, the expression of worry, the odd flat color of her hair that indicated that she'd colored it herself. Her face was cut and smeared with blood-she'd just gotten out of a fight. She seemed upset and scared about something.
And she was, in a weird way, intriguing.
Sherlock blinked the thoughts away. He never found anyone attractive, let alone intriguing. If he had any attraction to anyone at all, it was mental. But this-how could he think something of a woman that he barely-no, didn't know at all?
As soon as the woman walked into the house, Sherlock started to walk away. He got to the corner of the street when suddenly a worried cry filled the entire neighborhood. He couldn't dwell on it, but the one word he heard was going to change his life forever.
"KIRA!"
/
Panic ripped through Sarah's chest. Her foster mother's house had been nearly destroyed. Furniture overturned, paper everywhere, the doors left carelessly unlocked. All of the lights were out.
Her mother's-her birth mother's-last act was showing her a photograph of her foster mother in a lab coat, years ago. The names were blocked out, but Project LEDA was visible. Did that have something to do with her? With Sarah and her fellow clones?
And did it have to do with the fact that the house was a wreck?
"Siobhan!" she yelled, running and checking through doorways for any sign of the only parent figure she'd had for most, if not all, of her life.
Panic once again tore through her. "Kira!" she called instead, running up the stairs.
No answer from either her foster mother nor Sarah's daughter.
Sarah ran into her daughter's room. The light was on, but things had been overturned, thrown around the room...almost like a fight had broken out. The window was open, the curtains billowing.
She ran towards the window, hoping to see some sign of Kira or Siobhan.
Nothing.
"KIRA!" she called into the night.
No answer.
She staggered back from the window, taking out her phone—the pink one, the one that she and her fellow clones used—and pressing her first number on speed dial.
"Sarah, what's wrong?" the American voice that was otherwise identical to hers, but with a California twang, asked on the other line.
"Cosima...Kira's..." tears welled up in Sarah's eyes. She slid down, hitting the floor, her back against the bed. "Kira's gone."
"What? Sarah, what happened?"
"They took her...I...the house is empty...it was trashed..."
"Okay, hang on one sec. I'll call Felix and Alison. We can work something out. Everything's going to be okay. Trust me."
Sarah was somewhat reassured by Cosima's words. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? You didn't accept the offer."
"I'll be fine, don't worry. I'll-" Cosima was cut off by the sound of coughing profusely.
"Cosima?"
"Cosima, what's happening?" a French accented woman asked on the other line.
The coughing fit lasted several seconds. Cosima sighed when it was over.
"I'm okay. Sarah, listen, there's an abandoned warehouse nearby. Saw it when I was in Leekies' car. Meet me there. I'll text you the details."
"Cosima, what happened just now?"
"I'm...well...I'll tell you later. I'll be fine, don't worry. We'll meet you later."
"Wait-"
Beep. The line went dead. Sarah set her phone down on the floor and brought her knees up to her chest. Despite the tears going down her cheeks, she didn't sob. Kira wouldn't have wanted her to.
She heard footsteps behind her. "Sarah?" a man's voice asked her.
Sarah turned around. Paul Dierden was standing there. She still wasn't sure what to make of him. Friend? Acquaintance? Lover?
"Kira...she..."
"Don't worry," he said calmly. "Everything's going to work out."
"I should've been here. I should've done something."
"There's nothing you could have done. Sarah, if you had been here, you might be gone too." Paul walked over and slid next to her. "And...even after all of this, I don't think I could deal with that."
Sarah sighed and picked up her phone, sliding it into her pocket. She didn't want sympathy—she wasn't the type—but it certainly helped. She refused to show that it did, though, and stood up, straightening the leather jacket that she'd been wearing.
Another beep emanated from her pocket. She pulled out her mobile and looked at the text.
"Cosima wants us to meet here." She showed Paul the phone. "Do you mind driving?"
Paul sighed. "Not at all. Come on."
Sarah nodded and followed him out of the house and into the car parked outside. She slid in the back seat rather than the passenger (she didn't want to run the risk of being seen) and stared calmly out the window while the Afghanistan veteran started the engine. They drove off in silence.
She had a strange feeling, though. Like she was close to someone. Not being watched, but close to someone. Someone she cared about. She turned to Paul. It wasn't coming from him.
Identical twins sometimes felt each other's emotions and physical pain. Sarah frowned. All of the clones were twins to some extent. And she did have a twin...but she was dead. Sarah killed her. And it wasn't Kira—Sarah could almost feel that it was someone close to, if not, her age.
Who could possibly be nearby that would trigger this feeling inside her?
/
Sherlock barely noticed the car from earlier when he walked into the pub. He kept the hood on, and his head low, so as not to attract attention.
Molly was sitting at the counter. She wasn't drinking anything, just sitting there, patiently waiting for her friend. Sherlock snuck up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Molly," he whispered.
She whirled around and yelped, then started giggling. "Jesus, don't do that!"
He smiled and slid in next to her. "How've you been?"
"That's abnormally civil of you. I'm fine, thanks. How was your trip?"
"It went relatively well. No one asked me any questions." He sighed and slid the ID that Mycroft had given him over to Molly. "I have no use for this anymore. It expires tomorrow."
Molly took it.
The bartender came over. He was tall, muscular, bald with stubble, tattoos along his left arm...the stereotypical bartender. "You lovebirds planning on ordering anything?"
Sherlock put on a Canadian accent. "No thanks."
The accent was crude, unpracticed (Sherlock always trusted his own acting talent to be enough, but, given that he'd faked his death, he'd been experimenting with accents), but apparently convincing enough for the bartender to ignore him. The man left in search of other customers.
"You seem tense."
"How so?"
"You just...do. Your sentences are shorter than normal and you keep looking away from me."
Sherlock sighed again. Molly's observations were strengthening. "Something happened at the train station."
"What?" Molly asked, concerned. Something terrible must have happened for it to put Sherlock off so much.
"I saw someone commit suicide."
"Oh God."
"There's more." Sherlock set the briefcase on the counter. He took out Alexander's wallet and showed Molly the license.
She stared in shock. "That's..."
"I know." He set it down. "He smiled at me as well. The exact same way I do. Almost...signaling to me. Telling me to take the briefcase."
"So you robbed his body?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He told me to."
"He didn't verbalize it."
"Molly, I took a risk. Isn't that what people do?"
She leaned closer. "You just robbed a dead body. Don't expect me to just accept it."
"Spare me your scolding. I thought it might prove useful."
Silence.
Sherlock and Molly looked away from each other and stared at the bar counter in front of them.
"So what are you going to do?" she asked him softly.
"I need a cover, so I can finish taking down Morairty's web and remain unnoticed," Sherlock answered.
Molly stared at him. "So, what, you're just going to assume the life of a random man who just so happens to look like you?"
"Yes. And he's not just a random man, he's a criminal."
Molly gave him another look.
Sherlock fished out a business card with the letters J.M. on it, along with a phone number. "I found this."
"That could be anybody."
He flipped it over. On the back, it said:
Thank you, Alex!
Your reward is half of the money you stole. Your price is that if I need something, you have to respond immediately. No excuses. Those are for the weak.
Call me if you need anything!
-Jim
"Never mind," Molly said, sighing.
"I have to finish destroying Moriarty's web. I'll do well on the inside."
"But who's going to ID the body?" Molly leaned closer. "Sherlock, you're...dead."
Sherlock looked away. "I don't know. But it doesn't matter."
"Sherlock, it does matter! What if John finds out?"
Silence.
Molly put her hand on Sherlock's. Not in a romantic way-she had come to terms with the fact that they would never be that way, no matter how much she wanted to-but in a friendly way. "I'm sorry. I..."
"No. It's alright. That thought crossed my mind too."
"Did it? Really?"
"Every possible issue or solution has crossed my mind at some point. Whether or not I register it is irrelevant."
Molly sighed. "Did you register it?"
"I said it was irrelevant."
Neither one said anything for a while. Eventually Molly did buy a Heineken for herself, because the bartender was eying them annoyingly and she wasn't quite in the mood to talk anymore.
Sherlock stood up from his seat and slipped the briefcase back over his shoulder. "I'd better be off."
"Okay." As Sherlock was leaving, Molly turned around. "Wait...one more thing."
Sherlock turned around. "Yes?"
She smiled. "Good luck."
/
By the time Sarah and Paul got to the warehouse, Cosima, Felix, and Delphine were already there. Felix seemed mildly annoyed by Paul's appearance, but, unusually for him, refrained from saying anything. The gravity of the situation hit everyone in the face.
"Where's Alison?" Sarah asked, confused by the absence of the soccer mom.
"She wasn't answering," Cosima said, looking down through her cat-eye glasses. "She said she might take the offer..."
Felix shook his head. "Honestly, I expected better. She could've gotten it together without selling herself to a bunch of psychos."
"Oi," Sarah said, punching her adoptive brother in the arm. "I was about to sell myself to them too."
"She has a point." Cosima nudged her clone out of the way. "Guys, we need a plan. We can't go back out there without one."
Delphine-or at least, that's who Sarah assumed it was, as she had never met the woman herself-stepped forward. "We can hide here. I can go out and get supplies for us. They'll be looking for you two, not me."
"That might not work. Leekie knows you're compromised."
"That doesn't help my situation either," Paul said. He held his hand out to Delphine. "Paul Dierden."
"Delphine Cormier," she answered politely, taking his hand.
"I'm Sarah," Sarah said, holding her hand out.
Delphine took it and smiled. "I saw your picture."
"Don't remind me," Cosima said.
"Guys," Felix said, butting in, "we still need a plan. If you want, I can be the one who goes out and gets supplies. I can easily lead everyone off our tracks."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "You are not going out there. Besides, they'll be looking for you."
Felix clicked his tongue. "You're right. Dammit."
"So no one can leave the warehouse, is that what I'm getting at?" Cosima said in her California accent. "Come on guys, we need a better plan than that."
"They're not going to flat out capture us, though..." Delphine realized. "Helena...she was the other one right? The one that was after you?"
"Yes. And she's dead. I shot her." Sarah looked away.
"Well, they'll want you to reconsider your decision. So you give them the patent rights willingly."
"Patent rights?" Felix asked.
"We've been patented, Fee. We're property." His sister closed her eyes. "It's why they took Kira."
"Jesus."
"Yeah, don't bring him into all of this. Helena kept doing that. He shouldn't be involved."
"My point is," Delphine continued, "that they'll make us all reconsider. You, Cosima, Felix, Paul, me...they'll make everyone reconsider."
"So they're just going to leave us alone?" Cosima asked.
"It's logical," Paul said. "I mean, they'll send us threats over a period of time. That's how they recruited me. They'll leave us alone with our guilt for a while...then they'll give us a deadline to respond by. If we don't, they'll repeat."
"How much time do we have?"
"About...a month?"
Sarah sighed. "Well, what do we do during that time?"
"Find Kira," Cosima started. "Get Alison back on. And...finish decoding my DNA."
"What, you didn't finish?" Felix asked. "You were at it for hours."
"Well, the length of the human genome is insane. I panicked after I knew it was a patent. Plus, it was midnight. I'd run out of time anyway."
"I'll help her," Delphine said, cautiously putting a hand on Cosima's shoulder. "We can get a good part of this done by the end of the week."
Sarah nodded. "Well, I have another plan."
"What's that?" Paul asked.
She turned to Felix. "Fee, I need you to dye my hair back again."
Felix was a bit startled by the remark. "Um...I...okay."
"The secret to a good disguise is hiding in plain sight." She smiled. "I want my old look back."
Sherlock turned the key in the door of Alex's apartment and went inside. He walked around-one bedroom, but evidence that another person visited periodically. Kitchen, living room, Not Sherlock's taste. But still nice. Very sleek and modern...simplistic, yes, but very nice. Leather couch, television, state-of-the-art kitchen, Mac Pro computer (Sherlock preferred a PC but he was quite familiar with Macs) and a bed with silk sheets and a thin comforter. Light sleeper, apparently.
There was a writing tablet sitting on the counter in the kitchen. On it was a note, in a woman's handwriting. It read:
"Hi, Alex! I'll be back by Friday. I have some stupid conference to go to. I'll see you when you get home! Love, Lana."
Sherlock could tell that it was left that night.
He double-checked to make sure the door was locked, then went to the computer. He was prompted for a password upon entering. He thought back to his first case with John...people tended to make their passwords about people they cared about.
He typed in four letters.
L.
A.
N.
A.
The password was accepted.
Sherlock smirked.
There were only three folders on screen. Work. Personal. Private. To understand a person, you have to look at personal info. But more than the normal personal info-you had to get to the bottom of the person's life. The good and the bad. So he clicked the folder that seemed appropriate.
In the folder labeled Private, there was only a single video. Curious, he clicked it.
The video buffered almost instantly.
Alexander was sitting there, staring at the computer webcam. He seemed disheveled, like he'd taken the video early in the morning. Despite the evident tiredness, his eyes were intelligent and alert.
Then he said the words that would haunt Sherlock for the rest of his life.
"Hello, Sherlock Holmes."
/
THERE WE GO! THE FIRST PART OF THE FIRST "EPISODE"!
The episode titles are based off of quotes from Sherlock. So there will be more to come...each quote has to do with the theme of the episode. In this case, "Hiding In Plain Sight" has to do with the whole I-need-a-cover thing.
More chapters to come. Please review :D