A/N: Finally, another chapter!

Part 13: A Crack in the Mask

It must have been ten minutes since Sherlock walked into the room to interview the girl, ten darn minutes that there was nothing but Sherlock's voice asking questions, probing, luring, threatening, and tempting her to speak. They knew she knew something, but no one was able to get her to speak including the two detective inspectors who were on the case.

Lestrade was not exactly on the case; he simply offered a joint investigation with Aberline who was assigned to the break-in since Lestrade was the first to discover the thumb. He also acted as the mediator for Sherlock who could have been pressed charge for breaking in. That led to another uncomfortable moment with Ciel bringing up his own case in which his rescuer was never pressed charge for trespassing. The two DIs agreed to look into the matter at the later date just to avoid mentioning anything related to Ciel again.

John hated bringing Ciel along for this very reason. Everyone in the Yard who had been around long enough seemed to recognize him by sight and react rather negatively to his presence. Even Aberline who had been rather chummy with Sherlock and John – which surprised John inexplicably given that Sherlock had a certain reputation he ferociously kept – had been rather uneasy around Ciel. It seemed almost an unconscious reaction because overall Aberline was a good man – righteous, rational, and unassuming. That was probably the reason Sherlock seemed to be tolerating him very well aside from the fact that he openly expressed his amazement every time the detective showed off his skill. John couldn't help wondering if he had been giving Sherlock that kind of sparkling doe eyes all this time. Aberline had John did a discreet facepalm when he realized he probably did. No wonder everyone was looking at him funny.

It might have been a good thing that they became occupied with the case very quickly that Ciel's presence was almost forgotten. It didn't, however, prevent Ciel from detaching himself from the rest. He spoke when he deemed necessary but otherwise only observing from the far end of the room like now. The young man's eye was transfixed on the girl with scorching intensity. John knew they were coming to a dead end. For whatever reason, she was afraid to even flinch in front of Sherlock.

At the mark of fifteen minutes, Sherlock finally stood up and glided out of the room with smoldering fierceness of an angry beast. John got up and stepped forward to his friend immediately, trying to convey sympathy as much as he could without saying anything.

"She knows about me," muttered Sherlock between his grinding teeth; "she had been warned."

The accusation was heavy in every word, but John doubted that anyone beside him knew what it truly meant. This was somehow related to Moriarty, a counterfeiting network fit for a king.

Then Ciel spoke, "May I?"

They must have given him such incredulous looks that the young man turned defensive. "My specialty is in psychopaths if I haven't pointed that out yet. I have done some interviews with inmates as part of my research project." He paused before responding to their silence, "Give me ten minutes."

"I would like to, but she is not an inmate, yet," interjected Lestrade; "You are not trained for this. At least I have Sherlock gone through the basics before we ever let him in."

"And does your training get us anywhere yet, Detective Inspector?" Ciel snapped back, "She is clearly familiar with these tactics. All I'm asking is a try to get her to open up. Nothing has to go into the record."

The last part was spoken to Aberline who nodded grimly. To everyone's surprise, he agreed. "You'll have ten minutes," he said while shutting every recording device down; "We'll be watching."

"Thank you, Detective Inspector," said the young man before he stood up and limped into room.

John, of course, was nervous, maybe far more nervous than Ciel was at the moment. He couldn't really tell because Ciel, like Sherlock, only showed his competency not his weaknesses. They were neglected, if not tolerated, like his sprained ankle barely capable of keeping him standing for long without a cane.

That very cane was put aside as the young man sat down on the chair opposite of the tired and confused woman with his back to the observational windows. "We are alone now," was the first thing Ciel said as he leant back against the chair; "All recording devices are off. None of this will be or can be used in court. This session is to be treated as if it never happened."

This confused the woman even more. She looked up to the windows knowing they would see her. Realizing that she could not get a reaction from them, she turned back to Ciel who sat there patiently waiting for her amazement to wane.

"You don't believe me?" he asked.

"No, I…" she was at a loss for words, "No, I can't tell you anything. I know nothing, believe me."

"No, you know too much," replied Ciel; "I saw how you avoid Mr. Sherlock Holmes back there. Bit overkill for someone who knows nothing, don't you think? You didn't even move for fifteen minutes. You have so much to hide and I know it. He knows it. We know it."

John could almost hear her sharp inhale, not surprisingly. Ciel had just unmasked the face of a fearless predator. He placed his grip on her right from the start.

Instead of tightened the grip, he loosened it. "I'm not with the Yard, just in case you haven't figured that one out, yet. I'm here on my own investigation."

"You're a…." she gave him an once-over, "a detective? You?"

He sighed, "I'm a college student. I just happen to be involved with the person who runs your network."

She almost jumped off her seat in shear fright – another evidence that she indeed had known enough to fear the shadow. John couldn't see what kind of face Ciel was making because the woman suddenly stopped, looking both curious and frightened at the same time. She simply took a steady step backward. "No," she muttered, "You're bluffing me."

"I'm actually fonder of chess than of poker, so, no, I am not bluffing," Ciel replied, "I am after a man who knows enough to have warned you against him, who could send you into nonexistence faster than any officer could respond. The irony is you have never known him or met him, but he already has that deadly grip of fear on you. Nothing you say or do can ever be used against him. That's why there isn't a point of recording this or using it in court." He paused and let her blink, her head geared into overdrive at what he just said. He gestured the chair. "Sit down, please."

She obediently did so.

"Then why are you talking to me?" she asked, finally looking a bit relief; "If I'm nothing-" she shook her head, couldn't really complete the sentence. "I have no idea what you want from me."

"Tell me about the network. Tell me about the people in it," Ciel replied, "Among those people, there need to be a middle link. I need to know who that might be."

She shook her head again. "I have no idea," she said; "I only met them a couple of times. We are mostly just working by ourselves with the guys coming by now and then, but…"

"Who are these 'guys'?"

"Just brokers," she replied, "the middlemen. They came to take the product or bring us supplies, but that was all they did. They didn't know anything more than what their job requires."

"How about 'them'?" Ciel asked, "Why were they visiting you a couple of times in the past six months?"

The woman paused and gave Ciel a look. It must be something in his expression that had her almost smirking. "You really are a detective, aren't you? You're really cute when you are all serious with that baby-doll face of yours."

John couldn't decide which was more likely: Ciel rolling his eye, or Ciel blushing with embarrassment.

"Did he do that to you?" she asked, her expression suddenly went grim. Something told John he was wrong on both guesses.

Ciel instinctively raised his hand to touch his eyepatch. "It was long ago," he said, not actually leaving room for questions. She nodded in acceptance even though she clearly wanted to ask something and sat back quietly.

"I don't know if I can be of any help," she said, her lips thinned as she frowned. "My boyfriend doesn't let me in on what he's doing all that much, you know, said I wouldn't understand. He's an entrepreneur, so I guess he has a point. I don't understand business and stuffs like that, you see, so I let him do whatever he wants as long as I'm allowed to be with him. Eight months ago he took me to a party – a really, really nice party like the one you see on the telly that rich people has. I was introduced to a couple of guys at the table. One of them was Ferguson. He came by quite a bit after we set everything up. He's like a ring-leader, overseeing us, all of us – I don't know who else, but he got to have a lot of people to work for him to throw that kind of party. I think we met Ferguson's boss, too. Ferguson mentioned him again a couple of weeks back when he paid us a visit because apparently the situation wasn't very good for them because of Mr. Holmes. I think his name is Monroe or something. Anyway, I didn't really remember him because, well, when they started to talk business at the party, they asked me to leave and go play with other girls. I did. I don't like it one bit when they treat me like that, but I have to. If I disobey," she paused with a sharp breath, "if I don't do what I'm told, my boyfriend and his pals will get rid of me. If they think I know too much, they might… I don't know what they'll do. So… so I have to keep quiet and do what I'm told, and make him happy."

Her voice died, but Ciel regarded her quietly for another long moment, before he said, "So you let him rein your life all this time, acting a brainless doll for him to have no reason to suspect or try to get rid of you." He snorted. "Is that really it, or are you playing him?"

Her head shot up and she glared hard at him. The look of hurt was clear.

But Ciel wasn't backing down. "Are you trying to get sympathy by acting the victim so you'll only be prosecuted for conspiring and leave him to take all the blame? Because, I'm not buying it. Someone who can plant a jar with a severed thumb in a busy park in broad daylight is not someone who would be victimized this easily. You're just using him, aren't you? He turned out to be a stub, so you're leaving him, but you can't do that without first destroying him."

She looked like she was about to cry at that point – rage, fear, and disbelief was clear on her face. "I won't use him. I will never," she protested with a crack in her voice, a crack that might have come from the anger of being betrayed.

Ciel simply pushed himself back away from the table and stood up. "When you're done playing the innocent girl who is just too in love with a bad boy to stop him, start talking. There is no use saving your own skin now that this is out. They will hunt you down. No jail, no streets, will be safe for you again, so stop running and hide behind other people's back and get your life back. His love is not worth that." Then with calmer voice, he said, "Detective Inspector Aberline can assist you on getting into a protection program if you wish. Once you make up your mind, talk to him."

Without waiting for a reply, Ciel turned from her and was once again back in the observation room with them. The door swung close behind him with a soft click, and the room went dead silent.

All of them were regarding the young man who just re-entered the room quietly. To be honest, John was more than a bit shock when Ciel turned the table and accused the trembling woman of lying. It was a giant slap in the face for the trust she showed him and, in John's opinion, totally uncalled for. That was until he actually heard the last bit. If that wouldn't convince her to talk to the police and made her confession, the woman's self-esteem must have been more battered than they first realized.

"I hope that will get you going somewhere, gentlemen," said Ciel finally, breaking the silence with his usual nonchalance as he found himself a seat. "Is there anything else we should talk to her about?" he asked.

"I would recommend we leave her alone for now," muttered Sherlock who eyed the young man thoughtfully. They decided to continue their discussion somewhere else and started to leave. Sherlock, surprisingly, was thoughtful enough to be holding the door for them. John found it strange but he accepted his flatmate gesture only to realize he was wrong when the door swung shut behind his back, locking both Sherlock and Ciel alone inside the room.

There weren't many occasions that Sherlock had a cause to re-evaluate aspects of his deduction, less so to re-evaluate the entire deduction altogether. This was one of them, as he watched Ciel moved from reassuring and accusing the woman, he just knew something was off. Ciel Phantomhive had defied his own definition.

And Ciel knew. Sherlock could see it in the young man's eyes that he knew what was going on. With a sigh, he sat back down and stared at Sherlock, not bothering to hide behind the normal college student façade he used so often in the crowd.

"You have something to ask," stated Ciel plainly. It wasn't a question.

"You have done this before," stated Sherlock plainly. He knew it was true.

Ciel discreetly snorted, but not discreet enough for Sherlock to not see it for what it was. "I told you I interviewed inmates before, psychopathic criminals, they are more difficult to talk to than this," Ciel explained.

"I bet you excel at that," replied the detective as he pulled a chair over and sat down in front of the young man. "You're a student, a game consultant, an expert in psychopaths – no, don't bother to deny that. It is just too plain to see. What are you going to be next week? Is there something else you haven't told us?"

Ciel exhaled sharply like he wanted to laugh. "Can't you tell?" he asked, "You're Sherlock Holmes the Consulting Detective, the only one in the world. You know everything that is needed to be known in a glance. Can't you read me like you read everybody else?"

"I can be wrong or, at least, incomplete" Sherlock admitted quietly. It wasn't often that he admitted his deduction to be off, and he wasn't going to do that to just anyone. John would get a kick out of listening to Sherlock admitting his own fault if not viciously so, but Ciel wouldn't. He had known it from the start that Ciel was not in the same plane of existence with others. Years of fixation in something beyond himself – beyond living – had put him in the same dimension with Sherlock, Mycroft, and even Moriarty.

Like now, Ciel was simply looking at him, assessing him, and sighed. "I don't think this is the right time for a heart-to-heart, Sherlock. You still have a case on your hands. Maybe later?"

"The case is done," Sherlock replied, "the thumb at least. Moran would be a long shot. We don't need to hurry."

At the unfamiliar name, Ciel frowned. "Moran? You mean that's Monroe she was talking about? How did you-"

"Sebastian Moran. There isn't much information about him aside from being a street rogue from a young age, was arrested for assaults a couple of times but nothing serious enough to keep him in jail for long. He is suspect to have ties with crime firms, maybe even organizing one of his own. He seems to have some loyal fans, usually youngsters."

"A mercenary," Ciel muttered under his breath. His hand clenched a bit as he seemed to be in his own thought. "Perfect knight for a rogue king, isn't it?"

"I agree," replied Sherlock with a wry smile.

Their conversation was interrupt with the bang on the door. Apparently John wasn't too happy that Sherlock wanted time alone with Ciel. The detective turned instinctively to the young man who gestured that they should answer it.

"Later then," Sherlock promised and got up to unlock the door.

TBC.