A/N.
I'm going to a very dark pit in Hell. The furthest ring of Fanfic Hell, and that's a pretty deep ring because I have not updated in SO LONG! I AM SO SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME AND ONLY THROW RELATIVELY SOFT OBJECTS AT MY FACE *Gets hit with a brick* "OW!"
o.O Seriously though, you have my sincerest, most heartfelt apologies because this is almost 2 WHOLE MONTHS late! I suddenly just had life hit me in the face like a wet fish: I got appendicitis and had to go to hospital, then flu, then I moved up to my new college, then mock exams, then a million shifts at work because people have left and now, finally, I have actually published this chapter! So, really, I am so sorry :'(
I am also sorry because this chapter was split into 3 bits across computers and notebooks and so gah, it is so integral and yet makes no sense and my writing is so dreadful and I'm just so very sorry! Whatever people I have left reading this will probably be saying adios to me after this terrible offering but please, before you go, let me say, I LOVE YOU ALL!
Which brings me onto my final point: Thank you to everyone that stuck with me during my long absence. Seriously, you mean everything to me, all of you.
To Anonymous, Lolello, Guest and Klester1987d, thanks so much for your ever-wonderful support, kind words and encouragement (next time I stop posting, throw a toaster at me :D) ToLailariel, Um… here it is… I'm so sorry, please forgive me D': But also, thank you so much for the review, I really did love writing that chapter XD Hollowgirl, my loyal and amazing reviewer, to you I say sorry also and thank you for such kind praise :') You're just so lovely :') Dark Horse 13, sorry my update is so late, I'm a loser I know XD I was so happy to hear you'd read Never the Twain too, that made me smile XD Agh, uum…. I dunno how to respond to the question about why I'm hard on myself with my writing… it's the only thing I get really nervous about, pretty much everything in my life, I'm confident about but it's weird, the one thing I love the most is the one thing I'm most nervous about! I'm just never darn good enough!
And Cainchan, my dearest dearest reviewer and friend, to you I send my biggest apologies because I suck :/
One final note on the chapter: NEW CHARACTER TIME! YAY! And I liiikes him XD Two: Careful guys, I tried not to, but it fitted best, there is one, maybe 2 swear words in here. Sorry! :S
Anyhows, I'm not missing! I'm back! XD
Disclaimer: Oh. The human hair burnt when the jet pack took off and… sadly my psychiatrist fell 12 feet into a hole full of flying monkeys. Which I totally didn't place there because she was trying to commit me. … You have no evidence.
"Is there anything that I can get you my lovely?" The waitress smiled. Robert Holmes watched his companion closely, all the while trying to keep his expression passive. The waitress was blissfully unaware of who she was addressing, oblivious to the blood on his hands which, unfortunately, was something that Robert was all too aware of.
"Ah, no thank you my dear. However, I will buy a tea for my friend here, if you would be so kind as to make one for him. Milk but no sugar, isn't it Robert?" the man across from him said and Robert nodded jerkily.
The other man's tone was surprisingly light and misleadingly quiet, the very pinnacle of politeness as he spoke again. "That'll be all," he continued.
The waitress smiled at him, nodding and scuttling away with a stupefied grin at the handsome man who had been so charming. Robert shuddered. If only she knew.
"So then, Robert, how are you? Everything going well on your end of things?" the man said. Robert relaxed a little; sinking back in his chair and reminding himself that he was the Chief Superintendent of Scotland Yard. His back straightened a little.
"Things have been going well. Sherlock's-"
"Oh, now now Robert, really?" The interjection sliced across Robert's words like a knife through butter, "No small talk? We are in a café after all, isn't there social conventions about small talk in places like this? It's not all business you know." The man grinned and Robert's eyes flicked around his face, taking in each movement of his expression.
The smile of Sebastian Moran was something of a disturbed sight. Not that this was the first time Robert Holmes had noticed the cracked, chapped lips that could easily have come from smiling at too many deaths or the curve of the mouth that promised pain in the most exquisite way, but when directed immediately towards him it was made everything ten times worse. Sebastian's eyes always held a cold regard to them, always, until he smiled and then they became like the light of a forest fire, untameable, crazed and hungry past all believing. Robert tried to avoid looking at them too long, trying to make it appear purposeful, forcing on a cool air of ignorance but all the while he couldn't stop remembering the first time he had seen that insane smile.
Moriarty hadn't been the super-star of a villain he had eventually become when Robert Holmes had met him. It was long before the days of his infamous game, long before the fame and the queues of clients in his inbox and the money rolling casually into his bank account from across the globe. It was actually through a police informant that Robert had found out about him. This guy can help, he had thought. Now, sat in this café with Moriarty dead and his lunatic companion across the table from him, Robert almost laughed at the irony, his own naivety making him feel sick with himself. He had been in too much trouble to ever think he could be helped and bad only ever led to worse.
"Word on the grapevine tells me you're in trouble with a few big fishies," Moriarty had drawled at him when he had finally caught up with him. It had been a rainy day on the Thames bank and Moriarty's apartment was a tiny thing, tucked away in the wrong part of the city with every intention of attracting the wrong sort of people.
"The gang daddies apparently aren't a fan of yours," he'd snickered. It had taken Robert everything not to arrest him then and there. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that, unfortunately, Moriarty was right. It wasn't exactly difficult to be a dirty police inspector these days, not in London. Certainly not when you'd already done over 20 years of the same, thankless job and was high up enough that nobody asked you any questions. That didn't stop him from making mistakes in the criminal world; it was different in real life than on paper and he'd found out the hard way. It was not as clean as the case files made it seem, the chaotic, frantic scramble of each petty criminal and the boot of the gang boss that could squash them at any moment made for an anthill of biting, scurrying insects that backstabbed and fought for dominance from their holes in the ground.
"You owe them, how much? Several million? Tut tut tut Mr Holmes, you should know that drugs kill. But this is fun, isn't it? We can let the bosses tear you apart and see which one gets to keep your head," Moriarty had continued with a child-like laugh.
"What do I need to do to get the money?" Robert cut in, trying to ignore the taunts and keep it to business. In all honesty, working for Moriarty hadn't been so bad. If anything, he actually rather enjoyed it, Moriarty was the type of guy that Robert could get used to, minus the insanity. He was smart. And if nothing, Robert could appreciate smart. It was perhaps for this reason that his first meeting with Moran had stuck in his memory so much. There was always the spark of whatever Moriarty had that was in Moran too but it was twisted, warped into something almost unrecognisable and all the more terrifying for it.
"He squealed like a pig when I got to his insides. Wet himself and everything; it was pathetic." The first words Robert had ever heard Moran say were the ones that Robert remembered more than anything else he had ever heard. Moran had only been introduced to him a few years ago; having always been the mysterious cohort of Moriarty's that Robert had never been introduced to, the man that Moriarty kept behind the curtain for "special occasions". When they had first met, Moran had been laughing with two other men, presumably friends, or as close to friends as a man like him could have, about someone that Moran had killed. Robert hadn't listened much, the gloating making him feel sick as the sniper went into vivid detail of his kill. All he caught was that the dead man's name was Teres, or something like that, and he had built bomb vests for Moriarty to use at a pool but after that, all Robert caught of the story was gore and laughter. Apparently Moriarty had run out of uses for the bomb tech and called Moran to finish him off.
Right now however, Moran's smile was an attempt at charming, like an insane clown trying to smile at a frightened child.
"How's Sherlock? You must be happy to see him once again," Moran said. Robert narrowed his eyes.
"That's none of your business. Sherlock's part of the plan, not part of your life. How he is isn't your concern," Robert snapped. Moran raised an eyebrow.
"Oh really?" Moran's face twisted into the crinkled grin of a hunting fox. "He did," he sneered, "After all, murder a business associate of mine. I think it is the business of both you and I to remember that. As an officer of the law, it's your duty to bring that infarction to justice, isn't it Robert?"
Robert wanted to point out that it had been Moriarty, not Sherlock, that had pulled the trigger, but he decided at the last moment that it wasn't of immediate consequence to him whether Moran kept his deranged little fantasy or not as, for the majority, working with Moran was easier than working with Moriarty and he wanted to keep it that way. With Moran there were never any sudden changes of plan, no complex games or whimsical plots; Moran's criminality was beautiful in its simplicity. Moriarty had spun the web and Moran was his perfect successor, untangling the intricate pattern and planning out the next steps in a stark, contrasting and almost mathematically precision. His mind was the math to Moriarty's poetry.
Working with Moran was quieter too. The constant edge of unsettling and obvious insanity was still constant but it was at least silent; soft spoken words always belying the violence in them. A true hunter, Robert thought. He could appreciate that.
"However," Moran pondered aloud, "I suppose that family isn't a subject you excel in. There's not many people like that anymore, is there? Family men? I blame all this Capitalism. No-one's interested in the community anymore, are they?" Robert raised an eyebrow at that as he sat back in his chair. It felt like a game. A game of Russian roulette with all the danger laced into the words and the stakes equally as high and right here, in this busy café, Robert felt completely and utterly alive as he took his turn.
"That seems a little contradictory doesn't it? It is coming from someone who steals from others for a living," Robert retorted. Moran's expression didn't change for a second and then he finally cocked his mouth into an almost handsome smile.
"Marx once said Capitalism has to fall for mankind to reach Utopia. I'm just a soldier, doing my duty to speed up the trip. Isn't that how we create revolution? With the individuals making a stand?" Robert didn't miss a step.
"And quite the stand you're making too."
Moran's face cracked into a fully-fledged grin. "See? That's how we do business Robert! Small talk can take a man a long way in negotiation."
"I wasn't aware that we had something to negotiate." Robert said. Whatever Moran wanted to discuss wasn't a good thing. They were silent for a while, remaining so as the waitress came back and set down the tea, Moran noticeably tipping her before she left. They both watched in silent contemplation as she walked away.
"So," Moran said finally, "How is everything progressing at your end?" The Superintendent's eyes didn't move from where he'd watched the waitress walk away as he spoke, voice low. "Sherlock hasn't suspected so far, if that's what you mean. He's taken every case I've given him and he's come back with results. Reinstating him… it's worked out in the end… although I don't think his D.I friend likes me very much" He couldn't help himself and he had to smile a little as he thought of D.I Lestrade. The inspector hadn't trusted him from the word go, despite what he'd done for Sherlock and even for the D.I. Smart fella, Robert thought. It was a pity that nobody listened to him.
"A good idea?" Moran said, feigning surprise, "Robert, you flatter me. Especially since you were so reluctant to begin with."
"I was concerned that things were… no longer like they were. Sherlock has grown up and, if things had have changed, he'd have seen right through me and I'd be in prison. I was taking a very big risk in simply hoping that he was still as mindlessly devoted to me as he ever was." The unintelligible smile appeared on Moran's face again.
"A son never forgets his father, Robert." The sniper allowed that to sink in for a moment, before he nonchalantly pointed to the biscuit on Robert's plate, "May I? I've not eaten today, the traffic was a nightmare." Robert shrugged, a hollow feeling spreading in his stomach at Moran's frankly frightening change of demeanour. Moran took it, breaking it in half as he spoke.
"Sherlock has given us everything we need so far, to that I agree. He's dug out a lot of Jim's old contacts, the bank details of those pesky clients that remained after Jim died…he's done good work."
"I don't see why Moriarty couldn't just have a client list like every other business," Robert muttered, but he already knew the answer.
"And risk it being found? No no, Jim was far more careful than that, which is why we're in such a dilemma. With every client's details your son reveals to us, each hidey hole of underworld funds he uncovers hidden in these suicides and extortions of our dubious clientele that you give him, the more money we retrieve back from… our investments." He paused for a moment, considering, "Which, by the way, I must apologise for that first couple I made a mess of but I was hoping to off put our little detective, eh? A nice murder always takes the focus off the bank accounts of a few low life criminals. It's nice to think that our little dash hound is searching for a serial killer, when in fact he should be looking for a thief. I think Jim would like that, don't you think? It's like something out of an Agatha Christie novel."
Moran laughed and Robert could imagine the blood dripping from the murder in his eyes, like it was spilling over from all of the crimes he'd committed. Moran's trigger finger twitched as he lifted the biscuit up to his mouth and bit down.
"But now we have a problem Robert. The longer we take to do this, the more clients realise that Moriarty is gone and start to flee or even, like some of those cases you've been sending to Sherlock, the stupid sods off themselves and we're left with no money."
Robert frowned. "Sherlock takes one case, two tops. I can't just go in and-"
"Robert. Your son was missing for 3 months, in which time three of Jim's snipers went missing and two of his bank accounts were closed down, costing me no less than 6 million pounds," Moran's voice became a snarl, gritting his words out like glass on sandpaper, "Sherlock Holmes might not know your intentions but he knows what I am looking for and I am damn certain that he knows where every single fucking client is, do you hear me? Now, what I am saying to you Robert is that I am growing very impatient with the progress so far. He's playing a game with me, keeping these names from me and I am getting tired of it. Playing games with me only ever ends in tears, Robert. I don't play as nice as Jim does"
The chatter in the café didn't die down. Nobody turned and stared. A waitress didn't come over to ask what the problem was because Moran had spoken in little more than a whisper and yet, Robert Holmes could have sworn that the words had been screamed at him. Moran didn't need to raise his voice. It was insane, watching how calm Moran looked even in his violence. The unsettling way that he always seemed to level-headed even when he was threatening pain in a thousand ways and it reminded Robert that this man had been a soldier once, even if he had been dismissed for reasons as yet unknown to Robert. But he was pretty sure he could guess.
Moran leaned back in his chair, dotting up some biscuit crumbs from the table with a napkin, eyes leaving Robert. Reprieving him as the elder Holmes swallowed tightly and squirmed in his seat.
"So," he said, voice snapping back to its usual calm, light tone, "I need you to move things along. Sherlock must have a list somewhere whether it is on paper or in his head, but every second I wait, we lose money. Jim's money."
The mention of Moriarty sounded almost upset, his voice dipping low to an unusual, twisting pitch that was mixed between sadness and bitterness, swiftly covered it. It reminded Robert, quite suddenly and uncomfortably, of John Watson. The comparisons between Sherlock and Moriarty were obvious but if Robert had to say which comparison was clearer to him, it was of John Watson and Sebastian Moran. They both possessed that annoying, dependent loyalty to their genius cohorts and their army training made them both the arguably most physically deadly of each half of the duos, which was a frightening mix to be together. The most disturbing factor however was that Moran was genuinely grieving for his dead companion. While John had allowed his grief to consume him, Moran's drove him, forcing him to destroy the murder he saw in Sherlock. While Robert couldn't imagine Dr Watson ever taking such a course, it wouldn't take much more of a push to turn a man even as genial and good as John Watson into a man like Moran. They were the same side of two different coins, moulded by tiny differences; the circus mirror where through the distortion, the base of the person was still recognisable-
"You will get me those names Robert. I am giving you a chance here to get your fair share and pay off those… nasty debts to dangerous people that you seem to have angered," Moran continued. Robert opened his mouth, closed it and took a moment of respite in his tea instead.
"How quickly do you expect me to get them?" he matched evenly. Moran smiled.
"I'm being generous when I say I would like these by the end of this week Robert," Moran grinned. Robert blinked. 2 days? He was giving him only two days to collect several hundred names?
"Two days? That's impractical, there's no way-"
"Robert, you don't understand me. I am giving you two days to retrieve this information for me or I will retrieve it myself and I don't care how far I have to dig into your son's brain to scoop it out. I would very much enjoy your continued input into this effort but if I am forced to… cut you from this deal, I will." The words were a snarl, contempt incarnate and if not for the sudden ice packed into his blood, Robert would have been angry. His jaw locked and his fists clenched, trying to focus his anger into the fear he knew he should feel for this man; the man that had dragged in body parts to show Moriarty to prove that his targets were dead. That they'd died agonisingly.
2 days to get hundreds of details from the mind of the smartest detective alive, without him knowing… otherwise his brains might well be cleaned from the walls and I will be dead. Or fed back to the people I owe money to with no means to pay them and chewed back out into bloody, mangled pieces. Robert almost laughed at the ridiculousness of his situation.
He clenched his fists tighter, wanting nothing more than to slam them down on the table, to shout and cause a scene because Moran had trapped him in a net without so much as even raising his voice.
"I understand just fine." Moran smiled.
"Good. That's good. Now then, now that business is over, I think I may just order something to eat. Are you going to be joining me?" Robert swallowed and the image of the bomb technician that Moran had told him he'd dismembered came suddenly into his mind.
Bide your time, he told himself, this guy's not going to beat you. The surge of thrill came to him as he felt the game's groundings shifting beneath him and sent a spike of anticipation straight to his chest and he felt his mouth tilt into a smile. He nodded.
"Of course." The rules were going to change soon. These were going to be his rules.
A/N Burn the evidence (me and this chapter). *Runs and hides* I'm sorry, I suck, I know, it's just this once! (Twice? Three times? …10? XD) … Okay, so, did anyone at all out there understand that? … It made sense in my head… but not on paper o.O
Thank you for sticking with me guys and I'll be back to normal scheduling now so I'll be back to normal scheduling now so I'll be returning (hopefully) on Sunday! Love ya'll, thanks for reading!