NOTE: Mentions of violence, drug-abuse, torture, yeah mainly a lot of fun. The names are made up poorly… But the prison city is a real place. With the different languages – Just imagine there are talking Spanish Took me some time to get this finished…Sry for the delay, hope you enjoy! Thanks again for the nice comments!

Chapter 21:

Haunted

Palmasola

By now Gemma couldn´t remember anymore why exactly she thought it necessary to fly here and drive several hours in a filthy car over bumpy streets to look for Sherlock Holmes.

To get inside the prison city was easy. Her outfit was practical, khaki shorts, military boots, a black tank and a blouse as jacket. It was too damn hot. Beats of sweat trickled down her back. She carried a backpack over her shoulder with some supplies just for the case of emergency and more money. She had to bribe six guards to get inside this fucked up place. It was late at night by now and the safest time to walk through the prison without being noticed too much. Men and women lived inside the city which was run by prisoners. The momentary leader belonged to Gemma´s organization. They produced and sold drugs inside those walls but mainly they were responsible for most of the important crimes around this area. Really just a small link of her chain; as Sherlock would put it: a thread of her web. How dare he compare her with a spider?

Something shifted in the dark behind Gemma. And she could feel the presence of someone behind her in the dark alley before she could hear or see them. Two probably, but she could not be certain maybe there was someone else further away waiting. Her gun was in the backpack and she wanted to refrain from using it. It had a silencer but still the gunshot would attract too much attention. The knives then; one stuck in the back of her belt and one in her boot, she would go with them if things went sideways.

"Hey beautiful where you think you´re goin'?" A voice drawled from the dark street behind her. Gemma stopped in her tracks rolling her eyes at the comment and turned slowly. Two men, no not men more teenagers stood behind her. Her eyes roamed over them quickly deducing the necessities she needed to know. "You don´t belong here." The bigger one of them stated with curiosity when she´d fully turned.

"Obviously not. I´m looking for someone."

"And who might that be? Maybe you looking for me? I can give you a good time, no need to find someone else." The boy drawled smiling at her lazily while he walked closer with confident strides. The smaller one stayed quiet. The boy had dark combed-back hair and his clothes were finer than what people usually wore in here, he most definitely belonged to the Juan Honorez men. He started to circle her: "We could work something out, sweetheart."

Gemma chose to ignore his childish statements. "I´m looking for a tall man, dark curls, blue eyes, sort of a smartass."

"That´s your type? Maybe I´ve seen him…What can you offer in exchange?" The lazy smile curled his lips again as he leaned closer.

"Oh don´t do that, sweetheart." When he reached out to touch her face Gemma had had enough, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it violently until the boy was on his knees and his arm behind his back. The other boy moved forward but stopped dead as Gemma through him a look that told him he would die if he took one more step and he preferred to live. She leaned down until her lips almost touched the boy´s ear and spoke with a low and threatening voice ready to kill both of them if one dared to annoy her any further: "Get me to your boss, he has something of mine."

"And who are you?" The boy choked out with a pained grimace contorting his face.

"Moriarty." She let go of his arm and the boy scrambled to his feet.

"No way! Moriarty´s a man! Everyone knows that!" He exclaimed.

"You wanne bet?" She smirked and stepped closer until she was only inches away from the boy´s face. "I. Am. Moriarty. And if you don´t get me to your boss right now –", she paused for the dramatic effect "I will become your worst nightmare." The boy was confused about the fact that an actual shiver ran down his spine, the woman was much smaller than him but still fucking intimidating and he had no clue why. The boys looked at each other until the quiet one shrugged and turned to lead the way. In his opinion someone else could deal with the crazy woman.

"F-fine, just follow us."

"He´s in here." The fat man in an ill-fitting suite led the way to a room in the back of the so-called house. The floor consisted of dirt and the smell was loathly.

"What did you say you want him for?" The man known as Juan Honorez asked carefully turning towards her.

"I did not." Gemma stopped in front of the door staring the small round man down. Most people couldn´t stand to look upon her eyes for long, they tend to look away after approximately 2 point 5 seconds maximum. Sherlock had never looked away he´d never been afraid of what he would see in the depth of her eyes. The poor figure of a mafia boss dropped his gaze after only 2 point 1 seconds and turned quickly towards the door. With a lot of effort he opened the lock before opening the door he asked: "Do you require any more assistance?" He nodded towards the two guards behind them.

"I can handle myself perfectly well, thank you." Gemma grabbed the handle of the door herself got inside and slammed the door immediately behind her. It didn´t take much to hear the boss talk to his men through the poorly build door.

His plan was as poorly build as the door but he had the advantage; she was alone and he had an army of prisoners. There were about 25 minutes left to work out a decent plan to get out of this shithole again.

One deep breath turned into three and Gemma was still holding the door handle, was she actually afraid to turn around? Of what she might see? That it was him or that it was not him? Very slowly she turned towards the sound of shallow breathing behind her. Sherlock was on his knees his hands were bound with rope above his head fixed to a hook on the wooden ceiling. His head rested on his chest he was unconscious and his condition was bad to say the least. He´d been tortured for at least a whole day that was about the time it took Gemma to get here. Blood had drenched his ripped clothes and the fingers of his right hand had been broken, but the worst was a stabbing wound to the side that had been inflicted recently and still bled. Gemma drew a knife from her belt, she´d come here to end things personally. She walked over to where Sherlock was hanging the knife circling in her right hand. As she stood over his hunched body she felt her heart-rate increase. Deftly she kneeled down before him taking in his sight before she raised her left to his face. Ever so gently she caressed his cheek with her now trembling fingers. His face was a bloody mess and her fingers smeared the blood.

"Oh honey, you should have jumped. Would have been a lot less painful than this."

The soft Irish drawl of a female voice reached Sherlock´s ear but he couldn´t understand what she was saying he was too far gone.

Her grip tightened around the blade in her right and she took another deep breath before she raised it to his throat. Deliberately she placed the knife on the left side of his neck and slowly pushed it into his tender flesh. Blood spilled steadily over the blade running down to the handle eventually making contact with her fingers. Her grip was so tight around the knife-handle that her knuckles had turned white. She gasped as the hot liquid made contact with her icy skin. Shocked she lost her balance and fell ungracefully on her butt. In horror she stared at the now bloody knife in her hand. She couldn´t do it. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, her whole body shaking violently. "See what you have done to me, Sherlock? I can´t even kill you anymore!" She spat while she scrambled back to her feet. Still heavily breathing she paced the room. This was not how she´d planned things to go. Why couldn´t she just kill him?

Behind her Sherlock was coughing, she couldn´t let him see her drained like this. Swiftly she moved back to him and cut the rope with the bloody blade. The injured man fell heavily to the floor with a low thud. Gemma crossed the room and dragged a chair over to him. 'I need a new plan…', she thought tiredly. She placed the chair next to Sherlock´s body and sat down crossing her legs in the process.

When he cracked his good eye open he saw a heavy military boot only inches away from his face. He followed the shaft of the boot up but it didn´t continue into hairy legs but into the small smooth legs of a woman. Her legs were crossed and clad in khaki shorts. With a lot of effort Sherlock tried to push himself up from the ground only to be rewarded with a kick into his side. The woman had gotten up quickly and the chair she´d been sitting on clattered to the ground. Sherlock grunted in pain and fell back to the dirty floor. The boot was pushed under his stomach and he was flipped over on his back roughly. He had to cough hard and blood spilled from his lips. There was a new wound on the side of his neck that hadn´t been there the last time he had been conscious. The woman walked around him until she placed one leg over his body and crouched down over his chest. She grabbed the rest of his shirt and pulled him up. His numb hands tried to get hold of her wrists. She whispered in a low threatening voice: "You have two options, honey. One: stay here and die. Two: Come with me."

Sherlock was startled the, Irish accent again and through his blurry vision he thought he saw her. That should be impossible! What kind of torture was this? Or maybe an illusion a side-effect from the recent drug-abuse. Or maybe just maybe he had been right all along, she hadn´t died that day on the rooftop.

With one strong push he´d thrown the woman off of him. Again Gemma landed ungracefully on her back she huffed out an annoyed breath while Sherlock scrambled into a sitting position. His eyes went wide with horror.

"No, that´s impossible." Gemma gave him her crocked smile and stood up brushing of dust from her shorts.

"If you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Your words." She cited with a dramatic gesture. "I´m not a ghost and no drug-inflicted illusion just so you´re wondering. You on the other hand look pretty bad."

Sherlock only stared at her, Gemma looked different in a tank top and shorts for that matter but her hair was not dark anymore it was a lighter tone of brown and kind of reddish pulled back into a high ponytail. To Sherlock she appeared stressed and drained. Her whole body language was keyed-up. If it was really her, he could still be dreaming or high or dead.

But how did she do it, how was she still alive? He saw her shooting herself.

Gemma shrugged as if answering his unspoken questions: "Just a magic trick, honey." She tried so hard to sound casual but to her own ears her voice was strained. She walked closer and extended her hand towards Sherlock before she realized it was blood-stained. For a moment Sherlock only looked at her hand before he reached his uninjured left one up to the new wound on his neck.

"You came here to kill me." It was rather a statement than a question. "What an effort." How could he still sound so arrogant even though he was all beaten up and bloody?

"Obviously I changed my mind." Gemma narrowed her eyebrows in annoyance.

"Did you? How come?" Gemma refused to answer that question and waved her extended hand instead. This time he took it and let her pull him to his feet.

"Let me see your other hand." Gemma held up her palm and waited for him to place his injured hand in it. Sherlock was still confused and suffering from the last shot plus he had been tortured and was barely able to stand. He hesitated his brain was still unable to process what was happening.

"God dammin´ it! It´s already broken." Gemma simply grabbed Sherlock´s wrist and pulled it towards her to examine the broken bones. Every finger had been broken one by one. She turned around and grabbed the chair from the ground; quickly she placed it behind Sherlock and ordered him to sit down. She kneeled between his legs his broken hand in hers again.

"Sherlock this is going to hurt but if I don´t fix your bones now, you won´t be able to play the violin ever again." Gemma´s voice was serious as she spoke while she gently touched his fingers.

"What does it matter? Why do you even care?" Heavily he leaned against the back of the chair.

"I like your play." And with that she ripped the first finger back into the right position. Sherlock blacked out again and missed the treatment of the other four fingers. He woke up while Gemma bandaged his hand with supplies from her backpack carefully.

"I´m not really prepared to take you with me. So it will be a bit improvised." She shrugged and glanced down.

"I´m charmed, the great Moriarty comes all the way to Bolivia to rescue me."

"Are we on last name basis again?" Amusement made her voice lighter.

"I don´t know you tell me." Sherlock sounded genuine and curious, "I thought you were dead."

"That was the point though I thought you were dead, too. Anyway which option?"

"To live obviously."

"Well then I will be your hero today. You are very lucky that I´m in a good mood."

"I doubt you are anything close to a hero but neither am I. What´s the plan?"

"No plan yet, killing everyone in the way, miraculously getting out of this goddam shithole and finding transport to get back to Santa Cruz and then La Paz."

"Mmmh… I guess there is no other option. Do you have anything close to morphine?"

"Sure."

"Might I point out that you brought first aid and morphine? Clearly you had second thoughts on killing me before you even came here." Sherlock took some of the offered pills and swallowed them with some water Gemma had handed him before.

"The most commitment you´ll get. Call it sentiment, I don´t care. You should thank me."

"Thank you? What for? I could have gotten out of this on my own."

"Yaaa I can see that. Why did you come here? And just an advice maybe you shouldn´t have done it on drugs, whatever you thought you were doing here."

"The marks on the crook of your arm tell a different story. So the devious criminal has a mundane problem like a drug addiction?"

"You´re one to talk and none of your business by the way."

"It´s quite easy to deduce what triggered your relapse. My occasional drug habit on the other hand is no secret."

"Don´t you dare to say another word, Sherlock Holmes, or I swear to all the gods I will leave you here to die."

"That just confirmed my deduction."

"Oh don´t be so smug!" She got to her feet again and scanned the room for another way out but there were no windows. Silently she walked back to the wooden door and peered through the spacing between to laths. The two guards were still outside, to take them down without too much noise wouldn´t be hard but the rest of the way… She glanced at her watch; they had only about two hours left before sunrise. If they wanted to make it out alive it had to be now.

"Resting is over, get up we need to leave."