NOTE: It took me forever to get this ready, so sry! Hope you enjoy the next chapter!
Chapter 22: Daring escape
„We have to take the straight way, no other way out than through this corridor. Put your hand behind your back and stay behind me I´ll take the guards down." Sherlock was startled by her bossy tone and he snapped irritated: "I can handle myself."
"Ya sure you can honey, but with dislocated fingers and a few cracked ribs plus the drugs… I rather rely on my skills." She turned back to the door.
Sherlock had to admit she´d a point but he wouldn´t let this go, he wasn´t a damsel in distress: "Give me at least one of your knives."
"Nope I'll need both." And with that she swung the door open and stalked out of the room into the small corridor.
The guards turned immediately towards her blocking the way. They were holding machine guns now.
"I will take him." She nodded vaguely in the direction of Sherlock behind her.
"The boss wants to talk to you; you have to come with us." One of the men replied stepping into her personal space the other guard a step to the side behind him.
"Nah, I hate to turn him down but I´m dreadfully busy." Gemma took one step forward raising an expectant eyebrow at the guard in her way.
"Mam, I have to insist."
"Mmh sorry but I have to insist as well." Sherlock watched with amazement how quickly and precisely Gemma moved. Forcefully she rammed her knee into the guard´s groin when he doubled over in pain she slammed her elbow in his neck. Before the guard hit the floor she had grabbed the gun of the other one pushing it down in his hand out of her way with her left hand; her right one had already reached for the knife in her belt. Sherlock was stunned, she reminded him of an antique relief of a fighting amazon he´d once seen with Mycroft when he was a kid. However the way she was taking the guards out, peaked his curiosity more. The new data he could collect formed itself into brand new information about her, even if it was dreadfully slow like dragging his feet through a deep and muddy ground with his foggy mind. He snapped back the moment Gemma´s right hand pushed the blade through the man´s neck. The guard made wet choking sounds before he died. Roughly she pulled the knife out and whipped it clean on the shirt of the guard. Sprinkles of blood covered her arm and her face. She turned back to Sherlock one eyebrow raised.
"Are you coming?"
Sherlock stepped awkwardly over the bodies in his way. He had known from the way her body was formed and trained and from first-hand experience of course that she was a skilled fighter but to see it was still different and probably she´d never shown him her full skillset before to hide her identity from him and he hated to admit it, but he never had the faintest idea that she had once been CIA.
They left the house through a back door vanishing in the darkness of the night. Sneaking through back alleys and hiding behind boxes or trash whenever hearing someone approach made them unbearable slow and Sherlock´s injuries didn´t help for that matter. Gemma walked in front of him when she suddenly turned to pull him behind some boxes. Sherlock watched her expression and was reminded of doing so when she slept. Mycroft had told him this undertaking was pointless to say the least but Sherlock had been right; Moriarty was alive. When one of Mycroft´s men had spotted her in France Sherlock had known that the only chance to lure her out was by attacking her web. And he´d been right, obviously. The time that had passed since his faked suicide had been dreadful. No work, no John, no Bart´s, he´d loathed every second of it. Just able to do some legwork for Mycroft nothing of importance of course. And the ongoing knowledge that he´d lost the only worthy opponent. It was no wonder he´d turned to recreational substance abuse just to quiet the voices for a bit. He was still surprised by Gemma´s appearance today though he wouldn´t admit it to her. Days of drug-induced dreams had gone by while he had seen her and now she crouched in the cover of some trash next to him. All he wanted was to get her back in some way he couldn´t wrap his mind around but more so he wanted to drag her back to London and get his old life back she´d so neatly deconstructed while he couldn´t do a thing to prevent it. He was torn between the two, Mycroft had always told him caring was a disadvantage found on the losing side and his brother was right, it would do him no good to dwell on their relationship, she would do him no good. Bad influence to say the least but nevertheless she was here now saving him. It was most obvious that his presumed death hadn´t done her any good either. Sherlock imagined that she might have thought with him gone she could go back to how things were before she let herself get attached, but obviously she couldn´t. If this was what love felt like Sherlock would rather go back to before he knew this kind of utterly pointless sentiment.
"Oh please, stop thinking so loud! It´s annoying!" Gemma´s complain caught him of guard.
"I´m trying to get us out of here but I can´t form a decent thought when you won´t stop to dwell. It´s pointless anyway!"
"You came to me." Sherlock sounded almost offended.
"Well, that was a mistake, didn´t know you would be such a bothersome damsel in distress." Gemma muttered under her breath while she tried to look past the boxes.
"As I pointed out before, I would have been perfectly able to free myself." Sherlock retorted trying to get a good view of the street himself but Gemma´s head was in his way. With his uninjured hand he pushed her head down. "Let me see!" A flashlight illuminated the dark alley and both of them fell back behind their cover.
"For god´s sake, Sherlock!" Gemma whispered irritated pushing him away from her.
"Your plan hasn´t gotten as far maybe the drug-abuse has clouded your judgment." He could practically feel her eyes bore into him.
"Maybe they have! I´m sitting in a shitty alley hiding from men who were supposed to work for me with a man who should be dead. Whom I just saved, just for the record, and who doesn´t ... nevermind. So yes you´re quite right, my judgment must be disastrous. I have a business to attend to!" Gemma taunted glaring at Sherlock.
Sherlock was rendered speechless for a moment but before he could respond Gemma went on without looking at him anymore, her attention turned back to the guys at the end of the alley.
"Consider this a parting gift. We have shagged a few times, played an exquisite game and now that we´re both dead I will generously grant you your life. But if we are out of this – you stay the fuck out of my business! I would make some sort of threat but I guess it is unnecessary. "
In the shadow of the wall they made their way to the next ally crossing a bigger street without being seen when Gemma suddenly stopped and Sherlock bumped into her.
"Why are we stopping?"
Instead of answering Gemma pulled out her phone and looked something up.
"Do you see the house over there? The only fancy one around? I have to go there first, you are free to do whatever you want." And without another word she broke into a run and disappeared behind the next corner. Sherlock hesitated only a second before starting after her. He was much slower with his injuries; fresh blood started soaking through his already ruined shirt. The painkillers helped to cease the ache in his side. A few minutes later he reached the house that Gemma had called fancy but it was more a two-story shed than anything else. Carefully he looked around and when he couldn´t make out any threats he made his way towards the front door to find it open. Gemma did do a poor job in hiding her break-in. Inside it was worse Sherlock climbed over several dead men and a lot of blood. Every single one had been killed with a knife, she obviously didn´t want to alert the man she was after with gunfire. Panting Sherlock reached the top floor where only one door led to a room. The door was slightly ajar and Sherlock could hear her familiar voice. And he wondered when exactly he´d started to think of her as something like familiar.
With his uninjured hand he pushed the door open his eyes scanned the room which served as an office to find two more dead guards on the floor and their still-alive leader sunken on a leather chair behind a desk. Gemma stood in the middle of the floor with a handgun in her bloody left pointed to the man´s heart.
"Sherlock, honey, I told you to wait outside." She lilted without turning around. Sherlock could hear that she was slightly out of breath and spotted some fresh injuries from the fighting.
"So Mr. Honorez back to us. Could you tell me why exactly you would jeopardize the extremely beneficial business agreement you have with me?"
"I- I dint´knooow! I thought you were a fraud, not- not the real Moriarty! I never knew you were a… a woman….And people were talking, you know, they were saying you had died a-a-a-and someone else made me an offer – so I had to assume he was honest when he told me you were dead and…." Honorez pleaded still hoping for his life.
Gemma stared him down, Sherlock wondered if she was even considering his words or just dragging the moment out to let him suffer through the alternating emotions of hope and fear.
"Please Miss Moriarty! Take your prisoner and I swear nothing like this will ever happen again!" Now he was shamelessly begging for his life.
"I´m sure it won´t." Gemma´s voice turned cold Sherlock was sure her mind was racing to figure out who would dare to cross the infamous Moriarty.
"Yes! Yes I promise I- my men we will make it up to you!" He winced, hope succeeding at the moment.
Sherlock couldn´t see Gemma´s expression but he knew she was smiling now a distant polite smile when she answered: "You will be replaced, Mr. Honorez."
For a split second Sherlock felt the need to intervene, he saw John´s face before his eyes and the moral compass he´d represented for him, but Sherlock pushed it away why should he? In this world morality was no use. It was much easier, there was no such thing as mercy and in the end this man had tortured him, suddenly Sherlock couldn´t find any reason why he should do anything.
The shot of the gun ripped him out of his thoughts, Mr. Honorez lifeless body dropped on the stained carpet. Gemma turned back to face Sherlock and their eyes met. There was coldness and distance in hers like he had never seen it before, she´d never lain her gaze upon him with that expression.
"We need to leave." They descended the stairs. Sherlock felt light-headed now, the drugs already wore off and he was still losing blood. "I thought you didn´t like to get your hands dirty." He stated matter-of-factly as they left the building quickly without discovery.
"I don´t but I never implied I couldn´t."
"You learned that skillset at the CIA I presume." Another statement only this time Gemma turned her head to look him over carefully.
"Why would you assume I worked for any government?" There was a tiny hint of hesitation.
Sherlock took a self-satisfied breath before he began to rattle on his earlier deductions: "Your boots." Gemma´s eyes drooped to her shoes for a second and she sighed. "They are old at least ten years, the leather is cracked on several spots were it was flexed repeatedly through walking, running and so on; they have the signs of shoes that do fit perfectly thanks to breaking them in over a long time. Still they are in good shape for their age what means the owner used to clean and wax them regularly. It has to be a long time ago because when you look more closely the leather has the distinctive texture of a long time storage without use or care. This model in particular isn´t military but close so who needs boots like this but is not the military? Government. Government agencies aren´t rare but you don't find those shoes in European organizations, so where else would someone like you go? Possibly English-speaking country, so America it is. With your abilities most likely CIA, supported by the way of your close-combat fighting I would root for them. Of course you could have learned martial arts anywhere but all the facts tied together – I am most certain you worked for the CIA about ten years ago and kept the boots."
Gemma had walked on in front of Sherlock while he was busy talking. By now Sherlock held far too many puzzle-pieces of her past if he started to connect them… she just shrugged: "They are really comfortable."
Sneaking through the rest of the prison city they hardly spoke another word, mostly because Gemma was annoyed and refused to confirm Sherlock´s deduction when he asked far too smugly if he was right.
An hour later they reached the checkpoint, the policemen were bribed and with a bit extra money let both of them leave despite all the blood they were covered in and their desolate conditions. They cared little for what happened inside the prison.
They walked for almost half an hour, when they reached the point where Gemma had parked the car it was gone. 'Of course it is gone!', she thought. Anger mixed with desperation and she wished she would have informed Moran or brought back-up or would have just killed Sherlock. All those problems just because she could not stand the thought of losing him again though she knew they possibly wouldn´t see each other again after this. The overwhelming wish to scream and kick something left her shaking with the attempt to suppress this emotional outburst. Considering everything she had indeed screwed up, completely lost her posture. Sherlock would see all of it plain and easy written on her face. She was so close to completely losing it right now that it scared her, for hours she´d craved her drugs though she was clean right now she still felt it. Tears welled up in her eyes. Why did everything have to go wrong today? Her fists clenched at her sides in anticipation for Sherlock´s snarky comment how poorly she´d planned all this.
It never came when she turned around Sherlock had sunk down against a wall. Gemma sat down next to him and started to search for something in her backpack finally she retrieved a pack of cigarettes; she wiped her hand on her shorts and fumbled two cigarettes out of the box, lit both and handed one to Sherlock. She took a drag and exhaled a puff of smoke slowly she regained some of her calm. With her free hand she fumbled her phone out of her pocket there was a text from Moran that said: "Call ASAP!" She went on to look a few things up to develop a new escape route. Moran could wait she didn´t feel like getting a lecture right now, how does he even dare to lecture her?
"So that was quite disastrous." She took another drag. "Fun, though."
Sherlock inhaled the smoke deeply with shaking fingers. He managed a weak smirk.
"I have to admit you´re very resourceful."
"Oh a compliment! I´m flattered."
"Who is after you?" Sherlock cocked his head to the side to watch her more closely.
"Honestly I have not the slightest idea but I will figure it out. I always do."
She put the cigarette out on the ground and pulled Sherlock back up.
"There will be a bus in 42 minutes but we have to walk to the bus-stop. It will take us approximately 31 minutes in our current state. It is neither ideal nor a good one but our only option."
"Why don´t you call back-up? Why didn´t you bring any in the first place?"
"Shut up and walk!"
"Now I´m flattered, the great Moriarty came alone as soon as she heard I was in trouble?"
"Oh honey you should learn to become more grateful not everyone has a consulting criminal coming to their rescue." That actually earned her a chuckle from the detective.