E. Twists and Turns
At the highest levels of the game, there are very few players. I play for the British Nation. There are others who play for different nations or corporations, and some who seek power for themselves. There are, however, some players who serve only chaos. One such player was James Moriarty.
In every battle, there are rules of engagement. One rule that is sacrosanct among us is that you attack the entity not the individual. This is why great leaders can all sit down at the same table without fear even when they are planning each other's destruction.
So it was with surprise that I heard of Moriarty's attack on my brother. He had kidnapped John Watson and covered him with explosives. Sherlock had recovered the Bruce-Partington plans and given them to him, but he had thrown them away. The message was crystal clear. This was a direct attack against me. My plans to dispose of John Watson fell by the wayside. He had already been marked, and now he was in play, as was my brother.
I was at this time deep in the planning of the Coventry anti-terrorist action which was of my own devising. I was informed that some information about Bond Air had been leaked and it was vital that we secure that information as soon as possible. When Her Majesty's delicate problem with Irene Adler was presented to me, I thought that it might be time for me to use Sherlock and John Watson.
Please do not think that I was being callous or negligent in using my brother to solve this problem. The fact that both Sherlock and John were in play meant that they could not avoid this fight. It was my role to direct them toward the correct opponent. It seemed to me that Sherlock was the right one to fight Irene Adler. She was much more experienced than he in sexual matters, but then again who isn't.
I had them brought to Buckingham Palace. Something that I thought that even my brother would appreciate, but I was wrong. Not only had he not dressed appropriately, he had not dressed at all. When I saw them in a waiting room they were laughing like school boys. I had to reprimand them. "Just once, can you behave like grown ups?" I asked.
"We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. So I wouldn't hold out too much hope." John said.
He was clever, yes, but this was not the time for levity. When I tried to describe the case to Sherlock, he refused me. "I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much." he said. So I stomped on his sheet as he walked away and revealed another end.
Things could have gotten much worse had John not been there. He calmed us down. There is something about him. His gentle voice has a sort of authority, like Mummy's, although he sounds nothing like her.
When Sherlock finally came to his senses and dressed, we sat down to have a civilized cup of tea.
"I'll be mother." I said pouring.
"And there is our whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock said annoyingly.
I presented the problem and Sherlock was obstinate and arrogant. He underestimated Irene Adler. He retrieved the item, but was unable to maintain custody of it. Sherlock failed in his attempt. Hardly surprising but disappointing nonetheless.
The next morning I went to 221B to check on him and hear of the disappointment from the horse's mouth. John was eating breakfast. He was wearing a blue shirt with thin horizontal stripes. I smiled. When I expressed my dismay at Ms Adler's victory, Sherlock said that I should 'treat her like royalty.' and John added, 'But not the way that she treats royalty.' Humorous. John was very pleasant to be around. I found myself lingering in the apartment much longer than I needed to.
Just then, a strange moan emerged from Sherlock's phone showing me that Irene Adler had already sunk her teeth into him. She was a dangerous opponent, but one look at John told me that she would not succeed.
There was something about their relationship. They were two halves of the same coin. No wonder John Watson couldn't keep a woman. Sherlock and he were too close. No one could get between them. I trusted that John's presence would keep Irene Adler at bay.
But Bond Air was taking up so much of my thoughts, that I had very little time to spend on Irene Adler. As for my brother Sherlock, I found that I had come to rely on John to tell me about him. It was then that we first started meeting each other in private.
The first time, I had my car bring him to a restaurant where I was having a meal. He looked irritated as he was seated. He always resented what he called my 'power complex'. Really, it is only practicality. It is much easier to send someone for him, than it is for me to deviate from my busy schedule.
"Why am I here?" He asked
"You are here so that we can talk about Sherlock." I said.
"Why?"
"I worry about him." I replied.
"What do you want from me?" John asked.
"Only what is best for Sherlock. Although he excels in many areas, Sherlock is subject to extreme bouts of depression. It has, in the past, been a problem. Since your association, these fits have been less often and less severe. You are a good influence on my brother Dr. Watson."
"Thank you."
"Would you care to eat. Order anything that you like."
"No thank you, I just want to know what you want."
"How do you think Sherlock feels about Irene Adler?" I asked.
"How he feels about her, I don't know? In pain? She did hit him pretty hard and I don't mean that figuratively."
"I'm afraid that these experiences might cause him to go back to his habit of experimenting with drugs. You are a doctor. You understand that Sherlock is emotionally fragile."
"He seems fine now."
"Yes, and I would like him to remain so. To this end, I would like it if you would occasionally give me your opinion of his mental state. If you don't mind."
"No, I don't mind. I suppose it's okay for brothers to be concerned about each other."
"Thank you Dr. Watson. Is there anything that I can do for you in return?"
"A steak might be good. I am feeling a little peckish."
"Of course, Waiter!"
At Christmas when we thought that Irene Adler was dead, I tried to comfort my brother. To tell him about the game that we were involved in. I told him, "Caring is not an advantage." He told me then about how Irene Adler had sent the phone to him.
You may wonder why I did not simply ask Sherlock for the phone. This is because you did not grow up with him. If Sherlock knew that I wanted it, he would go to great lengths to keep it from me. Childish I know, but that is what he would do. Instead I let slip to my associates where the phone was located. I expected that they would do no permanent damage to my brother. I did not expect that he would do damage to them.
In the end, we were outplayed. Irene tricked Sherlock into decoding the message, and Moriarty texted me to tell me that he had won this round. Coventry was revealed and months and years of work were worthless.
At first, I was shattered. Then I was furious with Sherlock. How is it that my little brother is always able to destroy my plans? Even when we were little he would knock over card towers that it had taken me hours to build, or waddle into the room and knock down my dominoes just before I had a chance to finish what I was making.
Then I thought of John. He was supposed to watch Sherlock. To keep Irene Adler from getting to him. He had failed me, and I began to wonder. Could it be that John was in league with Moriarty? It was not outside the realm of possibility, and if he was, what a stunning blow it would be.
John had total access to my brother, and occasional access to me. He seemed so innocuous, yet he was also so seductive with his calming voice and his charming manner. Those thin pink lips smiling at me during dinner. Telling jokes that made me laugh. Looking at me with those understanding eyes.
I found myself unable to go to sleep so I got on the computer, yes I do occasionally use them, and I looked at John's blog about the incident at the pool. John wrote. "The voice in my ear, which I vaguely recognised, told me to say some stuff - which, I realised, gave the impression that I was behind it all."
That was impossible. John was insignificant, a pawn. Wasn't he? That night, I had a dream.
The door opened silently. It was John Watson in the same ugly brown suit and striped tie. I was at my desk, but my chair was turned to face the portrait of Her Majesty, so I did not see him approach. He walked toward me slowly and silently his brows pinched in repressed anger as they had been the first time we met at the warehouse. He walked heel toe, heel toe toward my chair. I was asleep. Then John placed his hand on my shoulder and slowly slid it down my chest and under my waistcoat. His other hand gently held my chin. He rolled my head back to expose my naked neck and then bent over me. Suddenly there was a flash of silver as a knife came from his sleeve. He ran it across my throat, and I awoke. I was alone in bed.