Again with the wait...I'm sorry.
And are the alerts working?
I'd actually be happy if they were broken because then I wouldn't feel as if some of my regular reviewers were playing some passive agressive game with me to punish me for not updating fast enough.
lol.
But, of course, just because that's the kind of crazy shit I'd do...doesn't mean that anyone else would think and/or act like that.
lol again.
So, well, about this chapter...
...finally we have the return and the revenge (?) of The Rachen Men!
And it's not even (that much of a) filler!
lolololol
Hope you like it!
Jim?
Where are you?
…
…
…
Please respond!
…
…
Where are you?
…
If you dont want to be with me then thats fine but I need my stuff back.
…
…
I really need my clothes back. Im not rich like you I cant just go out and buy more.
…
And what are you keeping them for anyway?
You're not going to WEAR them, are you?
…
…
…
…are you?
…
…
Please Jim just answer!
…
Please!
…
…
...
Jim…Im pregnant.
Okay.
Well maybe that last text wasn't the smartest idea.
Jim and Molly both knew that if Molly had actually been pregnant then the last thing she would do would be tell Jim about it.
No, if Molly had actually been pregnant she would have also been miles and miles away from anywhere Jim would be able to find her.
But she was desperate!
(—no, no! Not that kind of 'desperate' (well kind of, actually, but that's not the point) just desperate to get Jim's attention…so that she could get her clothing back, of course. That was the only reason. Definitely.)
Molly couldn't believe Jim would just disappear like this, without any explanation, and, well, leave her alive.
She remembered the last time he had done this (to her (to her! how could Jim do this to her?...oh yeah, he's Jim…))…two years ago when thirteen people had been blown up in an apartment building and 'Jim from IT' had ceased to exist.
Sherlock had told Molly that Moriarty didn't like loose ends, that he liked to tie them up in a bow and then blow them up and that's why that poor old woman 'had' to die.
So why was she even still alive….?
There were two logical reasons:
A, Jim wasn't done with her yet.
Or B, Molly was so insignificant, so meaningless that she didn't even warrant a quick and efficient gunshot execution-style—let alone, an entire explosion.
(…And guess which one of those was more likely.)
But what was she going to do?
Cry about it?
No!
Molly Hooper still had a life without Jim Moriarty.
...well a cat and a job, at least, anyway.
And that was where she was going to go, to do her job and not cry and not miss Jim and just get on with her life and live because that is what people do.
She was going to live and she was going to be happy.
Stay happy. Stay happy…
Once the 'discreet' black bus was at a 'safe' distance away from the prison, Conan tossed the handcuff keys back as he drove through the busy streets of London.
Doyle caught them, unlocked his restraints and then passed the keys to the next (now former) prisoner (who passed it on to the next when he was done, and so on).
They sat in the windowless portion of the vehicle, as Conan, who glanced back at them (or out either of the two windows to make sure nobody could see), continued to drive.
"So we're out of jail…" Arthur stated (the obvious), "But what do we do now?"
"Get revenge." Ricoletti declared.
"Get my money." Doyle declared.
Both men had spoken at the same time.
They stared across at each other, questioningly, realizing that this 'differing motivation thing' may be a problem.
"Look," Conan began, turning his head around to face them, "I was able to 'transfer' you all—but just for today. I have to bring you all back to prison by the end of the night or else they'll figure it out, I'll lose my job and they'll come looking for us!"
"Well our plans don't have to take very long," Doyle accepted, "The quicker the better. All I need to do is replace the money I would have gotten had I been able to properly rob the Bank of England. Then I can return with it to my boss—but I am not going back to jail."
"Neither am I." Ricoletti agreed, "I need to make Moriarty suffer for separating me and my wife."
The small bus made a sharp turn that Conan had misjudged since he hadn't been paying attention to the road, causing Arthur, Ricoletti and Doyle to bounce in their seats without seatbelts and the handcuffs clang and slide across the floor.
"Like I said," Arthur added, "What do we do?"
"We make Moriarty suffer like I've suffered," Ricoletti decided, "by threatening his woman…"
"…so that we can get him to give us the money." Doyle added.
"Okay." Arthur shrugged, "Sounds good to me."
"Me too." Conan said, now facing forwards.
Ricoletti breathed a grudging agreement to the plan, nodding to Doyle but also giving him a look.
"I think Moriarty's girlfriend works at St. Bartholomew's hospital...in the morgue…" Doyle figured, "That's why he had us all meet there that one day, for no good reason, when he was so agitated. He ran off, which was strange—even for him—and then I saw him later come back with some flowers."
"That makes sense." Ricoletti evaluated, "That explains how he would get away with so many crimes. If he commits a murder, then she could just hide the evidence for him."
"Alright, then." Conan exclaimed, "We're off to Bart's!"
He slammed his foot down on the acceleration and the bus sped away towards its destination, jostling and jolting its passengers (except for Conan who had a seatbelt and a comfy front seat).
Not bothering to park in an actual parking space, the bus screeched to a stop in front of St. Bartholomew's.
It was very…strange, a prison guard and three men in prison uniforms jumping out of a prison bus and rushing (well three of them rushing, the fourth hobbling) into the hospital.
Suspicious.
…and so, as he strolled out the doors (these four men pushing past him on their way inside) to embark upon his lunch break, Mike Stanford called the police.
And Molly was not taking out her emotions on the corpse she worked on.
She just really, really, really loved her job.
That was why she enjoyed cutting the human flesh with such force.
It was fun.
(And it wasn't even rude because the guy was already dead. It's not like she was torturing him or anything. Who would 'enjoy' that, anyway, who would think that was 'fun'...who…? No! Don't think about him!)
The room was gray and metal and cold (—and no that did not 'symbolize' anything, it was always like this (her life was always like this (this was normal))) and Molly felt right at home in her white labcoat standing over a dead body.
Just then, she heard the door to her workroom open.
….Jim?
Molly looked up, setting down her tools on the table.
No.
Four men she didn't recognize filed into the room.
One of them walked with a limp (dragging one of his foot, it was injured a little more than a month ago judging by the cast on it).
Another one wore some kind of guard's uniform (Conan. Pentonville.) The other three wore…prisoner's uniforms?
What the hell?
Molly froze, gaping at them.
Were these people Jim had sent over to 'tie up loose ends'?
(Well if they were she guessed she should feel flattered that she was important enough to warrant the effort (and the number)…and insulted that, after all they'd been through, Jim hadn't come to do it personally.)
"Miss…" the man in front started, the three others standing behind him.
He wasn't the one wearing the guard uniform and yet he spoke for the group (which was strange…)—
—or did he?
A second man (the one with the limp), who also wore a prison uniform, moved to stand beside (no slightly in front of) the first.
"…Hooper, is it?" he completed.
His accent stressed the 'e' as if it were an 'a' and dropped the 'h' completely (but not in the British way)….and it was a bit exaggerated.
Molly could only tell because she had heard Jim fake accents enough to know when something was forced.
The man was trying to disguise himself for some reason (good reason because although Molly couldn't place the face she felt like she kind of recognized it).
"…Yes…?" Molly responded, cautiously.
She looked at each man in turn, as her hand discreetly picked her scalpel back up, holding at the ready behind the body.
"My name is Antonio Ricoletti," he continued, "…you may have heard of me. These are my associates, Arthur, Conan and Doyle." He gestured to the three other men (brown hair, young and skinny. Blond hair, balding and fat. Black hair, muscular) respectively.
Doyle, the third man mentioned and the first to have spoken, spoke again.
"We're going to need you to call your boyfriend for us."
"I don't have a—"
"No stalling, miss, no games." Doyle insisted, stepping towards her and drawing his guns, "Just call him. Call Jim Moriarty. Now."
"I—he won't—I mean—" Molly fumbled for words as her free hand fumbled for her phone in her pocket.
"And put down that weapon, too, miss, if you please." Ricoletti added, "It won't do you any good anyway and you'll have an easier time reaching your phone."
Molly sighed, and metal clinked against metal as now both her hands dug through her pockets until she found her cellphone.
"He won't answer." She stated, "I can call, I can text…but he won't answer. You're wasting your time."
"Just call." Doyle told her.
And so she did.
What these men wanted, she didn't know…but she did know that they weren't going to get it (at least not from her).
And she did again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, the phone rang until it went to voicemail.
('Hi, there! What's up? Uh-huh…uh-huh…interesting…hey, hey wait. I'm gonna stop you there… because I'm not actually here right now. This is my voicemail. Ha, ha. Gotcha, didn't I? Well, feel free to leave a message, then, or call back later, if you want…but don't be expecting a call back or anything because if I didn't answer the phone to you then that probably mean you're just not important to me. And If you were smart you'd just give up and get a life—but you're not, of course, and that's why you've been listening this long and so that's why I have to tell you. So here's just a friendly word of advice for you: just kill yourself already. Buh-bye now.')
Finally, Doyle gave up telling Molly to call back.
"I told you…" she mumbled, "…I told you he wouldn't pick up…"
"Hey, let me try!" Arthur spoke up suddenly, pushing past Doyle and Ricoletti and reaching across the table (and corpse—ew, gross (but, having been in prison for a month now, he'd seen worse)) to pull the phone from Molly's hand.
Using Molly's phone, Arthur sent a text message to Jim.
Dear Mr. M,
Its us again.
…and well we kinda captured ur girlfriend so if u wanna answer the phone we wud really appreciate it.
Thanks,
The Rachen Men
And instantly, the phone rang.
"Hello?" Arthur answered, "Hi! It's Arthur…. I'm good, how are you?
"Put it on speaker." Doyle commanded.
He, Ricoletti and Conan circled around Arthur, who clicked the button. Molly stayed safely behind her morgue table, watching them.
Now she could hear Jim's voice, trying to converse with these four strange men who all wanted to speak at the same time.
Obviously Jim wasn't too busy to talk to them, just to her.
"You're on speaker." Arthur said, holding the phone on the palm of his hand for everyone in the room to easily hear.
"I am?" Jim's voice replied, "Hello everyone!...who's there, anyway?"
"Um…me, Conan, Doyle and um…Mr. Rico." Arthur counted, pointing at the person as he said the name (even though Jim couldn't see them), "I call him that cause I can't pronounce his last name. He's not from here…he's French…I think…"
Ricoletti groaned, rolling his eyes.
"You're girlfriend's here, too, by the way." Arthur added.
"Oh, that's nice…" Jim's voice said.
"Yes she is." Doyle confirmed, "And we're going to kill her if you don't pay me the money I lost in that robbery you botched...with interest."
"'With interest'?" Jim's voice repeated, "Interesting…"
"Yes. Very." Doyle agreed, "So how will you be paying me? Cash, check, wire transfer…?"
"How about an 'I owe you'?" Jim's voice suggested.
"How about we kill your girlfriend?" Doyle countered.
"How about it?" Jim's voice laughed, "Kill her. I don't care. She's not my girlfriend anyway. You've got the wrong girl."
"You're bluffing." Doyle called, "We're not."
He snatched the phone from Arthur's hand, pointing it and his gun towards Molly, (who jumped back a little, very thankful that the table was still between them).
"Molly, say 'hello' to Jimmy for me." He instructed.
"…uh…hi…Jim…" Molly spoke, shakily, leaning towards the phone to speak into it (even thought it was on speaker), "…he has a gun…"
Jim's voice just cackled for what felt like minutes. He finally sighed, trying to catch his breath, and said;
"Looks like you boys were a little late to the party. I know the feeling. Go away to jail for a few weeks, then get back on the outside and they change everything! So annoying…but that's life, isn't it? And life goes on. I've got a new girl now so do with you want with this one. I'm done with her…"
"How do we know you're not lying?" Ricoletti demanded.
"If she was really my girlfriend…" Jim's voice answered, "…then why would I gamble with her life like this? Not everyone can be as…monogamous as you, Mr. Rico. The same woman every night? I'd get bored. I got bored. So I moved on...but 'to each his own', I suppose. How's your 'own' doing, by the way?
Ricoletti growled, grabbing the phone out of Doyle's grasp and speaking into (even though it was on speaker).
"You don't dare mention her after what you've done!" he threatened, "You'll soon learn what it's like to lose someone you love…"
"Well, 'it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all'…" Jim's voice conceded, "…but you're going to have to go and find the girl I 'love' then, because you've got the wrong one now and I really want to learn that lesson."
"Care to give me her name, then?" Ricoletti asked, "If you're so eager?"
"Nope." Jim's voice declined, "I never make it that easy. But you're smart, I'm sure you'll figure it out…"
"I will." Ricoletti affirmed.
He then hung up the phone (dramatically) wishing it was a landline so he could have slammed it down…
…slamming down (hard) onto the metal table was good enough, though and when Molly quickly picked it up she inspected it for breakage.
"So…" Arthur spoke up, "What do we do now?"
"We need to locate Moriarty's real girlfriend and make them both suffer." Ricoletti stated plainly.
"So that we can get the money." Doyle added, "…and we've gotta kill this one too."
"But she's not his girlfriend anymore." Conan reminded.
"She's a loose end." Doyle explained, "She's seen all our faces. If we let her live, she'll turn us in to the police."
"No I won't!" Molly exclaimed, "I never turned Jim in—even after he broke up with me!"
Doyle turned to her, gun aimed at her forehead and rolled his eyes.
"Get on your knees." He said, "You can close your eyes, if you want. It won't hurt. You won't feel it. And it's not as scary when you don't see it coming."
Molly lifted her scalpel, knowing it was powerless but also knowing that she had to do something.
"If you're going to kill me…" she said, voice carefully steady, "…you'll look me in the eyes…it's the least you can do."
"Alright." Doyle nodded, expressionless and motionless, gun still pointing towards her.
"You're not really going to do this, are you?" Conan inquired, tapping him on the shoulder "Come on, man…she's a girl. We don't need to be killing women, for god's sake!"
"What's the difference?" Doyle retorted, glancing back at him briefly, before turning back to Molly and cocking his gun.
"How convenient." Ricoletti commented, "She is already in a morgue. She dies as she lived."
Molly stood (still but shaking).
Was this really how it was all going to end?
All the nothing in her life and then everything with Jim…
…all just to end like this?
(Anti-climatic. She understood Jim's desire for good endings to stories, now. Of course, to Jim, 'good' didn't mean 'happy' (but Molly had always known that her story's ending would never be happy).)
And the worst part was that Jim wouldn't even bother to save her or kill her himself. It didn't matter to him whether she lived or died.
He just didn't care.
So maybe she would close her eyes…
Molly, dropped the tool clutched in her sweaty hand and shut her eyelids slowly.
In the black, she waited for the sound of gunshot and then the nothing.
…instead she heard the hospital's PA system come on. A woman's voice announced:
'Attention hospital guests and staff. Would the owner of a black bus labeled 'Pentonville' please report to the front entrance. You must to move your vehicle now or it will be towed. Again, would the owner of a black bus labeled 'Pentonville' please report to the front entrance. You must to move your vehicle now or it will be towed. Thank you and have a nice day.'
"Shit!" Conan cursed, "That's me! We've gotta go! I'm not gonna pay the fee to get that out of towing!"
Doyle glared at him, but Conan was already running out of the workroom, shouting back for everyone to 'hurry up'.
"Let's just go." Ricoletti decided, turning to leave, "It's more important that we kill the real girlfriend anyway…"
"…fine…" Doyle sighed, lowering his weapon. One last time he turned to Molly, warning, "Keep your mouth shut, Miss Hooper. You have no one to save you."
He and Ricoletti (still limping) exited the room, leaving Arthur who instead of going towards the door approached Molly again.
"Well, since you're not Mr. Moriarty's girlfriend, anymore…" he tried, smiling, "…would you like to be my girlfriend?"
"…um…no thanks…" Molly shook her head, also smiling (just to be polite(—it was something she just couldn't help. Like a compulsion or something)), still incredibly shaken up from the gun that had been in her face only moments before.
"Well it was worth a shot …" Arthur shrugged.
He turned around and trudged out of the morgue, running after the others as soon as he reached the hallway.
Molly just stood there (still frozen, still gaping).
She couldn't believe that that Arthur bloke had actually asked her out.
His associates had almost killed her and he'd been fine with that.
Why would she ever date someone who'd hurt her or allow her to be hurt?
She wasn't stupid and willingly becoming involved with someone like that (obviously, a convicted criminal from his outfit) would be beyond stupid.
And Molly Hooper would never, ever be that—
—oh.
…Right…
"Goddamn it!" Conan roared.
He, Arthur, Doyle and Ricoletti had gotten outside of St. Bartholomew's to see the prison bus being towed away down the street, hooked up to a tow-truck.
"It's okay…" Arthur attempted to comfort him.
"No it's not! It's not okay!" Conan continued to yelled, he then spun jabbing a finger towards Ricoletti, "This is all your fault! You took long with that cast on your foot! You held us up! You're the weak link in this group!"
"I'm the 'weak link'?" Ricoletti scoffed, "If it were not for me 'The Rachen Men' would not exist! I organized us!"
"Stop fighting!" Arthur cried, "Why are you two fighting? It's just a car!"
"He's right." Doyle agreed (and did not say 'for once'), "This is stupid. We can't get divided now. We've got a job to do."
He definitely regretted working with these people. Just what had he gotten himself into (again).
"Well, whatever, then, I'm not mad." Conan said, calming down, "But I'm not paying to get the bus outta impound."
"We'll just walk." Doyle stated.
"Alright." Conan and Arthur agreed.
"Alright with you?" Doyle asked, addressing Ricoletti.
"Yes." Ricoletti nodded.
"Good." Doyle smiled.
And Ricoletti was sure it was not because of the re-established group 'harmony' but because his only rival for alpha would now have to walk wherever they went with an injured foot.
They started down the sidewalk away from the hospital, Ricoletti 'grinning and bearing' it.
"We need to figure out who Moriarty's girlfriend and how to find her." he began, "That way we can have our revenge."
"Okay." Conan and Arthur accepted.
"I'm not worried about 'revenge'…" Doyle countered, "…as long as I get my money. You can kill whoever his girlfriend is once I've got what I need."
"As you wish." Ricoletti responded, "…but don't make any promises as to her well-being because I don't intend to keep them."
Doyle stopped.
He turned back to face the men behind who also stopped.
Again, they stood in a circle to talk (which was inconvenient for other pedestrians trying to walk).
"Look." He said flatly, "All I need is the money so I can get back in with my boss. As long as I get that we're good—even Moriarty and I are good—as long as I get that. What happens to him and his girlfriend I don't care. What happens to you three after that I don't care…but I better get that money."
"You don't care about us?" Arthur commented, "Well that's a little rude…"
"That's business." Doyle shrugged.
"Hey, now, I took a big risk letting you all out of jail," Conan reminded, "I thought we were in this together."
"We are." Doyle affirmed, "Until I get my money. Then I'm out. I'm not petty enough to bother getting 'revenge'. That's just stupid. I have better things to do than waste time on Jim Moriarty—who is the reason I'm in this regrettable situation in the first place. I'm not making the mistake of getting involved with him any more than necessary ever again."
"No." Ricoletti denied (triumphantly), "You know the rules of The Rachen Men. You took your vows when you joined our 'prison gang'. It's more than just business. Either you're in or you're out."
"Then I'm out." Doyle decided (which was fine with Ricoletti since that crowned him king of The Rachen Men).
With that, he turned and walked away, crossing the street in order to put some distance between him and his former associates.
(And then there were three.)
"So what do we do now?" Arthur asked, once Doyle was gone.
"We get ourselves a girlfriend." Ricoletti grinned.
It was unclean to wipe one's eyes with the sleeve of a labcoat that had been content with a deceased homosapien.
Besides, Molly was not going to cry.
So there was no reason for her to do that, anyway.
She was just going to finish up this body and then go home because obviously it was not safe to be at the morgue today if escaped prisoners and their prison guard were going around threatening people.
After washing her hands and hanging up her white labcoat, Molly crept carefully through the halls of the hospital (always checking to make sure those four men hadn't come back (always checking to see if Jim had)).
So she worthless to Jim.
She should have known.
She should have known he would get bored with her (she had known. she just hadn't cared. she thought just hoping that he wouldn't would be enough. it wasn't).
…so what did she do now?
Molly could feel her whole body buzzing (like the insignificant drone bee she was to Jim), still excited in fear from Doyle almost killing her…
…and she could feel the current of tears acuminating just behind the dam of her eyes.
Oh well.
She didn't need to hold the floodgates for long, just until she got home and could be alone.
She was almost there, almost outside, she could make it...
And then there was that third emotion (other than fear and sadness)…that third emotion that Molly wasn't supposed to feel.
Anger.
Molly was angry.
(How could Jim do this to her? How dare he?)
Maybe Molly should have 'cheated' on Jim at the hotel bar with Lestrade when she had the chance. Maybe that would have made him care…
(Of course, Molly knew that this idea was silly. If she had actually slept with (or even only kissed) Lestrade and Jim had decided to care (because it was his choice to care, she couldn't make him) then it all just would have ended with both her and Lestrade dead (and tortured, too, probably). So why would she bring an innocent, good man into her 'drama' with Jim just to make him care? It wouldn't even work. It was a pointless waste of time, really.)
Instantly, Molly felt bad about her thoughts.
Revenge was not only petty, but destructive.
It rarely hurt the person it was intended to and instead hurt the avenger (and often many uninvolved bystanders as well).
And she shouldn't be wanting to hurt anyone.
That would just be…bad.
Molly quickened her pace (she didn't care if people looked at her strangely because of her speed (which they didn't. they didn't notice her at all) but she was not going to let them look at her strangely because she was crying (which she wasn't…yet).
But just as Molly neared the exit of St. Bartholomew's…she saw someone she thought she would never see again walk in.
…and it was not Jim.
It was Robert, her half-'boyfriend' from medical school.
He entered the hospital, gazing around to take it in ('leave the country for a few years, come back and they change everything'), dressed in a suit rather than a doctor's attire (but he still wore the same style of thin, rimless rectangle glasses).
She recognized him (even though he was older (wrinkly-er), tanner, with lighter (maybe graying a little bit, but mostly just naturally sun-lightened hair in a ponytail)…
…but would he recognize her?
He did.
"Molly?" he called, upon seeing her and then galloped towards her, "Molly Hooper? Is that you?"
"…yes, it is…that's me." Molly forced a smiled, "…You actually remember me?"
" 'Course I do!" Robert laughed, "I never forget a face—especially such a pretty one! And we did have some good times back in school…"
"…yeah, we did…" Molly agreed, also laughing a little (but a lot nervously).
Yes, she was making this very awkward but she just couldn't help it (it was like a compulsion) and besides, she had just had a 'bad break-up' (to say the least) and now she 'just happened' to run into a (half) ex-boyfriend (the same day she was almost murdered)?
How coincidental.
(Molly remembered she had told Jim about Robert. What if Jim had somehow organized this as some kind of a sick joke?)
"Oh, don't be so shy, Molly. I thought you would've grown outta that by now…" Robert chastised, still chuckling, "—wait. Don't tell me…you haven't forgotten who I am, have you?"
"No!" Molly shook her head, "I haven't! I remember you, Robert—"
"—Rob, please."
"Rob. Okay. Good…but why are you here?"
"Why am I here? You sound like you don't want me here!"
"No, no! It's not that! It's just—I mean, I thought you were in Southeast Asia…."
"I was. It was…nice. Fun. But I'm back in London."
"Are you going to be working here at the hospital, now?
"Well, not exactly. I was commissioned unofficially to do some work here—but not for Bart's. I'm just going to be temporarily burrowing a 'workshop' to do a job for an outside, but affiliated client."
Great.
So Robert had 'clients'…(as if Molly actually needed another reminder of someone (who she was not going to think about) that had clients).
"Oh. I see." Molly accepted, "…So I'll be seeing you around, then?"
"I hope so." Robert grinned, "I really have missed you."
After meandering aimlessly along the streets of London, trying to figure how to find this mysterious new girlfriend of Jim Moriarty's, the remaining Rachen Men reached a coffee shop.
"We should go inside and sit down so we can better plan our next move." Ricoletti decided, his injured foot tired and in pain.
Conan and Arthur followed him into the building, sitting down at the first table available that accommodated three people.
"What even happened to your wife, anyway?" Conan asked Ricoletti as they sat at the small wooden table.
"She got deported back to Italy." Ricoletti answered, sighing and holding his head in his hands, "I don't know what happened to her after that…it's all Moriarty's fault."
"I'm sorry." Conan sympathized, patting Ricoletti awkwardly on the shoulder from across the table.
"I'll go stand in line." Arthur offered, getting up, "Do you guys want anything?"
"Yes, please!" Conan exclaimed, enthusiastically, "Something to eat would be wonderful!...and more than one 'something' would be even better!"
"Okay." Arthur agreed, "One of everything, then." Conan nodded, smiling and Arthur turned to Ricoletti, "What about for you, Mr. Rico? What do you want?"
"…I want revenge..." Ricoletti muttered, shaking his head (which still rested in his hands) at the table, "…I want that girlfriend…"
"…okay, then…" Arthur agreed (again) awkwardly, backing away until he could turn and dash into the line (cutting ahead of some people (now annoyed)) for the counter.
"What can I get you?" the barista inquired.
Oooh!
She was pretty…
"Your number." Arthur requested, "I need a girlfriend…and so do my 'associates' over there."
He gestured to Conan and Ricoletti who sat at the table by the window.
"No!" Ricoletti shouted, sitting back upright again, his head shooting up to glare at Arthur, "That is not what I meant by 'girlfriend'. You know I have a wife!"
"Yeah, but you said she got deported back to Portugal..." Arthur reminded, "…so I thought you might need a new girlfriend in the mean time…I was just trying to help…"
"Ugh!" The barista groaned, slapping her hand against the counter, "Why do men always have to cheat?"
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, innocently.
"Yeah, what do you mean 'all men'?" Conan accused, standing up and stomping towards him and the barista (also cutting in front of everyone else in line (now very annoyed)).
"Well, there's this guy who comes in here, he's somewhat of a regular, actually—" the barista began, "—and I know it's not any of my business or anything…but he has this girlfriend, a cute mousy little thing who works over at Bart's, who he usually came here with and I thought they were just the most adorable couple—until I saw him in here again, with a different girl! He's cheating on her! On them both, really! The dirty slut—and yes, men can be 'sluts', too. They are sluts. It's not fair that only women get the bad reputation and men just get to sleep around and do whatever they want and I think—"
During the course of the barista's rant (which everyone in line (including Conan and Arthur) had tuned out), Ricoletti had stood up and made his limping away over to the counter (cutting in front of all those in line (who, at this point, didn't care anymore).
"This…other girlfriend…" he interrupted, "…what was her name?"
"I dunno…" the barista shrugged, "Kelly or Kitty or something…why?"
Ricoletti didn't answer.
Instead, he was already hobbling towards the exit of the coffee shop.
Confused, both the barista and the other two Rachen Men watched him walk away.
"What is the delay, my friends?" he stopped, glancing back to ask Arthur and Conan, "…you heard the woman. We just found our 'girlfriend'."
"…oh! I get it!" Conan declared, after a few moments of hard thinking, "Moriarty's real girlfriend is that 'Kitty' woman! Good catch—ha, ha! Get it? I said 'catch'!"
Ricoletti rolled his eyes (but was glad that someone had appreciated his 'deduction' at least).
Conan, forgetting (for now) all about his desire of an early-afternoon snack, hurried after Ricoletti.
"…I don't get it…" Arthur whined after them, then quickly turning back to the barista and adding, "…and I never did get your number, either."
"And you won't" she said, with a polite and cheerful smile.
"Oh well." Arthur sighed, "It was worth a shot…"
He turned and strolled away, running after Conan and Ricoletti as soon as he stepped outside.
"Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal. How may I help you?"
"You can 'help me' by giving me what you owe."
"…uh…and who exactly am I speaking with today, sir?"
"You know who this is, 'sir'. And I need my money. If you pay me back then we're even…but if you don't, I'm coming after you."
"Oooh, I'm so scared. I think I just wet my pants—it tends to happen when people threaten me. Kinda turns me on…"
"No more games, Moriarty. Money. Now. Meet me at—"
"Hold on just a minute, Lace Doily …I've got a call on the other line."
"Hey! No! You're talking to me! Don't—"
"Consulting Criminal Enterprises, Jim Moriarty speaking. How may I help you?"
"I believe you are beyond help at this point, Mr. Moriarty."
"Well, at Consulting Criminal Enterprises, we believe that no one is 'beyond help'."
"Your girlfriend—'Kitty', is it? Yes. We know who she is—She's 'beyond help'. We're going to kill her and you're going to learn the meaning of suffering."
"Ah, Antonio Ricoletti. Mi amigo! Is that you?"
"Yes. It is. And I will have my revenge!"
"I'm here too! This is Arthur speaking! We've got the phone on speaker."
"I'll try to keep cursing and sexual references to a minimum, then. We at Consulting Criminal Enterprises don't like potty mouths."
"Well I don't like you, Mr. Moriarty. You betrayed us all and almost got me trampled to death by prisoners!"
"Oh, Conan! You're here too! Look's like the gang's all but back together—by the way, what happened to Doyle to get him kicked off the island?"
"We didn't kick him out. He quit…I miss him already…"
"Mr. Doyle didn't understand the beauty of revenge. The simple man only understands simple things, like money—not love."
"'Love'? Teach me about that, Professor Rico, because I want to learn…"
"I'm going to teach you suffering and loss, Mr. Moriarty."
"But I wanted you to teach me about love, Mr. M! The pretty lady at the coffee shop said you had two girlfriends! I want to learn how to do that!"
"Well, it's really very easy, Arthur, too easy. You just—"
"Shut up, the both you!"
"Thank you, Conan. Now, Moriarty, you must be quiet and listen to me—"
"Actually, I've got someone one the other line…so if you would hold on just a few teensy weensy little moments, that'd be great."
"No! Wait! I'm not finished with you yet—"
"Doy-ull, I'm ba-ack!"
"Good. Now let's get down to business. Where is my money?"
"I dunno. It was there in the vault last I heard of it. It's not my problem that you couldn't get it out."
"Yes it is. It is your problem because you're going to have to give me that money…or else."
"'Or else'? Or else what? Least the boys on the other line have got a more concrete threat than that—and they don't even have an 'or', like something they want, like money, just an 'else'."
"…What? What are you talking about? Who's on the other line?"
" 'The Rachen Men'—or whatever they call themselves. Your former 'roommates' for the big house."
"They're on the other line?"
"…yes…"
"What did they threaten you with?"
"Oh, just something silly. Killing my 'girlfriend Kitty'…"
"How convenient. They can kill her and you can give me the money."
"Sorry, sir, I don't think that's how the deal works. I think it's sorta an 'either or' kind of situation…"
"Well, then, how about this… You give me the money or I kill your girlfriend, Kitty."
"Sounds good to me!—but I don't know what the others'll think about that…so I'll go ask them. Be right back!"
"And when he gets back on the line, you let me do the talking. Understand?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Rico!"
"What about me?"
"You've got no stake in this, Conan. This is between Moriarty and I."
"No, we all agreed! We're in this together!"
"Yes, but I'm sure you can see why I'm the one that should speaking—"
"No. I don't…are you implying that I'm stupid?"
"Well if you weren't you wouldn't be asking that question, now would you?"
"I—you—what?"
"Exactly."
"Hey!"
"…ahem. Excuse me?"
"Guys, Mr. M's back!"
"He is?"
"Let me do the talking."
"I can call back later if you loverboys want to finish working out the 'kinks' of your 'partnership'…"
"Stay on the phone!"
"Alright, alright—but only for a little bit. I've still got Doyle waiting patiently for me on the other line."
"Wait—what? Doyle's on the other line? What does he want?"
"Money, of course. Simple man, simple desires. Remember?"
"Well we've still got the only leverage. Your girlfriend."
"…um…no. Mr. D's got that too, I'm afraid. And he's offering a better deal; give him the money and he won't kill Kitty. You three are just planning on killing her. Not much 'leverage' in that, really."
"True…and so there really is no reason for you to give Mr. Doyle the money then, now is there?
"You do kind of have a point, there, Mr. Rico—"
"But I have a better one. If you give me the money, I will offer protection for you and your girlfriend from Ricoletti, Conan and Arthur…I'll even kill them, if you pay me extra."
"Oh, I like that offer."
"Hey! Wait a minute! How did he get in on this call!"
"I joined the lines. I've got a smartphone, smart one."
"Doyle! Is that you?"
"…Yes, Arthur. It's me."
"Hi, Doyle! How've you been, mate?"
"…Fine. You do realize it's only been half an hour since we separated?"
"Yeah. So? I'm just trying to make polite conversation…"
"Don't make polite conversation with him! He betrayed us and left The Rachen Men! He's the enemy!"
"…but I thought Mr. M was the enemy…"
"He is."
"But you just said—and then you said-oh, Conan, my head hurts…"
"This is hilarious. Real sitcom stuff, I could listen in all day, provide the laughtrack even…"
"This is ridiculous."
"Finally something we agree on, Mr. Ricoletti. This is not good business."
"Yes…and perhaps I have chosen the wrong associates. Mr. Doyle, would you care to reconsider a partnership?"
"I'll do anything to get the funds I need to return to my boss. If you're able to help me with that, I'll work with you. Give me the information you have on Moriarty's girlfriend Kitty so I can use her to get the money and when I'm finished you can do what you want to them both…I'll even help you kill them, if you want. Tie up the loose ends."
"Hmmm. Alright. I accept your offer."
"Uh-oh…I don't like where this is going."
"You're the one who joined the lines, Mr. M..."
"Shut up, Arthur! I told you not to talk to him!"
"You didn't tell me not to 'talk' to him, Conan, you told me not to make 'polite conversation' with him."
"The King's right…on both accounts. Which doesn't look too good for you, if you know what I mean, Snow-Conan."
"You calling me stupid, too!"
"Guess."
"No, don't listen to him, Conan! He's just trying to divide us."
"I'm trying to 'divide' you? Never! In fact, if I remember correctly, I'm the one who brought you four together in the first place…No, it's Doyle trying to 'divide' The Rachen Men, first by leaving and now by stealing Ricoletti away from you two. They went and made their little two-man-team and now are leaving you out."
"Damn it, Arthur, I think Moriarty's right…I think Doyle and Ricoletti are working together and leaving us out."
"I'm not leaving you two out, I'm standing right here!"
"But you weren't saying anything! You're just texting with your phone…probably texting Doyle and making plans you're gonna leave me and Arthur out of."
"And is Doyle even still on the phone?"
"…No. I don't think he is. How rude. He hung up without saying 'goodbye'."
"I bet he wouldn't do that to Mr. Rico…"
"You've betrayed us, Ricoletti! You've betrayed The Rachen Men!"
"No! No I did not! It's like Arthur said before, Moriarty's attempting to divide us! Divide and conquer!"
"Oh yeah? Well who are you texting, then? It's Doyle, isn't it?"
"…I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
"It is Doyle!"
"Scandal! Is Mr. Ricoletti cheating on you two?"
"I am not—"
"Gimme that phone!"
"You can't just take my phone! That's stealing!"
"You would know, art thief!"
"Stop it, guys! Stop fighting!"
"Hang up the phone, Arthur, we don't need Moriarty hearing all of this."
"Oh, don't stop on my account. I enjoy listening. I told you, I could do this all day…Hello? Hello? You boys still there…?...Hung up without saying goodbye. How rude."
After retrieving his stolen phone from Conan, Ricoletti had stomped (well tried to stomp, limped actually) down the sidewalk away from him and Arthur.
The text messages on said phone detailed where Ricoletti and Doyle were to meet in order to continue their plans.
And Ricoletti was not walking all the way there.
As he traveled down the pavement, slower than most on the street, a black towncar pulled up beside him.
How convenient.
How coincidental.
…too convenient…too coincidental…
It halted, as did Ricoletti and a woman in a skirtsuit that matched the vehicle stepped out to open the car door for him.
"Antonio Ricoletti." She greeted, holding the door with one hand and her smartphone with the other.
"…Yes?" Ricoletti acknowledged, cautiously.
"The British government's got a deal for you." the woman said, "Get in."
And once Ricoletti was safely (?) inside the moving vehicle, the woman 'told him that if he would be reunited with his wife Rosetta in Italy where they would both go free—as long as he agreed to cease his pursuit for revenge against Jim Moriarty (and never steal or counterfeit anymore priceless artwork).
"Why…?" Ricoletti had asked, "Why is your government protecting Moriarty? I don't understand…"
And the woman had answered, "I don't know 'why'. I don't even ask. It's not my job, I just follow orders…"
At that Ricoletti had just sighed, sinking into the leather seat and admiring the brochure of the Mediterranean resort he and his wife would be moving two in secret (and on the dime of the British government).
He wondered how not having a 'why' was enough for people like this woman.
(And it wasn't until he was safely (?) on the plane back to Italy, that Ricoletti finally did 'figure it out' as Moriarty had said he would. Kitty was never the 'real' girlfriend, she was just the distraction…the distraction from Molly Hooper.)
Doyle got into the taxi and told the driver to take him to the location he and Ricoletti had agreed to meet at.
But soon he realized that he was being driven in the wrong direction.
"Where are we going?" Doyle demanded, instantly suspicious, "…and who do you work for?"
"I work for James Moriarty, Mr. Doyle." The driver stated, "And we are going to the Bank of England to withdraw the money you're owed."
Doyle could not see this man's face, on the back of his head (reddish-orange hair).
And, indeed, the cab maneuvered through the streets of London towards the bank Doyle had tried (and failed) to rob five weeks earlier.
"I'm glad Mr. Moriarty decided to accept my terms, then." He smiled.
"Yes, sir." The driver nodded.
"…You don't sound very glad, though." Doyle commented.
"It's just a job." The driver shrugged, "Why should I?"
And that was enough for Doyle.
"Come on, sir! I know the only reason we're at this coffee shop is cause you know that girl from the morgue comes here and you thought that she might today."
"No. I just want a good cup of coffee. Better than the shit they've got down at the Yard."
Anderson rolled his eyes and Lestrade shook his head.
They were standing in line, waiting for the (pretty) barista to finish with the customers ahead of them so that they could place their orders.
"Hmm," Anderson smirked, "Next time we should bring both Molly and Sally along. Made this a double date…"
"I'm back with my wife!" Lestrade insisted, "And I, unlike you, am monogamous!"
"That's a free coffee for you, sir!" The Barista called past the people ahead to Lestrade from behind the counter.
"Thanks, miss!" Lestrade called past the people ahead, back to her.
"Well she sure isn't." Anderson reminded, "I don't understand why you keep going back to her when she always cheats…"
"Why don't you ask your wife and find out." Lestrade grumbled.
Before Anderson could retort, he and Lestrade heard the bell on the door ring as two more customers entered the coffee shop.
"Ugh, not him again…" the barista complained, upon seeing them.
Lestrade and Anderson looked these two men over (one fat, one skinny. One blond and balding, one young and brown-haired).
One prison guard, one escaped prisoner.
What the hell?
"It's—it's them!" Anderson sputtered (glad he hadn't gotten his coffee yet), "That's one of the three escapees and the other one's a guard!"
"He must be in on it." Lestrade 'deduced'.
"They're in it together!" Anderson exclaimed.
The two police officers drew their guns, causing all in the coffee shop to gasp (the barista ducking behind the counter), aiming towards on half of The Rachen Men.
Conan and Arthur froze where they stood (glad that they hadn't gotten their coffee yet or else they would have dropped their cups to the floor, spilling them everywhere).
"Put your hands up!" Lestrade commanded, approaching them, "You're under arrest!"
Even though it was only eight o' clock at night, Molly was already in bed trying to sleep (and trying not to cry).
Toby, of course, was there to comfort her (purring and rubbing his head against hers (wiping the tears from her cheek))…
…as was her cellphone.
It vibrated.
Molly picked it up from the blanket, gazing at the bright screen in through the darkened room.
She had received a text message.
…and it was not from Jim.
Hey Molly!
…well this is embarrassing but my client just cancelled on me.
I look like kind of silly sitting here in the restaurant alone and I'm so lonely, too…
…do you think you can help me with that?
-Rob
Molly sat up in bed, throwing the covers (and Toby) off of her as she practically ran towards her closet.
As she searched through her (remaining) clothes, she texted a response to Robert.
Yes.
I think I can.
-Molly
Picking out her nicest dress (that Jim hadn't stolen from her), Molly couldn't help but smile.
Revenge was sweet.
(Even if it did involve innocent bystanders.)
And Jim practically ran towards Kitty's home, bursting into her living room in a (pretend) panic.
He glanced around frantically, expecting to see either Doyle or Ricoletti (or both) killing (and probably torturing) his 'girlfriend' Kitty.
And even though he didn't really care, he had to act like he did…or else they'd realize that he didn't and then start using something (someone) he actually did care about against him.
Like Sherlock Holmes (well it would have to be Sherlock Holmes, wouldn't it? Sherlock was the only person Jim cared about (and Jim was the only person who was allowed to kill (and torture, probably, too))…definitely the only person).
But when Jim jumped into the room, instead of one half of The Rachen Men, he saw his (ex) brother James Moriarty sitting at the dinner table.
He was sipping something (tea…or coffee?) from one of Kitty's mugs and reading the paper (some silly, petty tabloid about a washed up actor named Rich Brook), waiting patiently for him.
Jim slowed his paces, strolling leisurely up the stairs towards the table (and James).
"Sorry 'bout the mess." He apologized, "I wasn't expecting company."
"Yes you were." James scoffed, folding the newspaper and setting it (and his cup) down, "…just not me."
"Please, make yourself at home." Jim rolled his eyes, "Lord knows I have. She's a great girl, Kitty. I'm really beginning to like them, now, girls…"
"Sit down, Jim, we need to talk." James stated , rolling his eyes, "…coffee?"
And because I'm second guessing myself again, I've gotta just tell everyone straight out.
Tea is a social device enemies (and friends and family members) use to keep meetings civil...
...Coffee is a threat against Molly.
Yep.
lol.
And lol I'm sorry 'Toby' (the reviewer) I have no clue who you are lol.
I only have so much brainpower and it's all kinda devoted to this story and a lost hairclip...so at this moment I am unable to compare the grammar, word choice, spelling, capitalization, sentance structure, etc of all reviews in order to figure out who you are.
You've got me.
You win.
lol.
Still, review?
(And that plea goes to everyone, of course...)