"The boy has been found," Adele's voice rang cold through the open space. "And his trust has been earned."
The night was cold and clear, stars dotting the sky like a child's glitter container had been knocked over a purple sheet. The air bit at her cheeks as Adele gazed upwards, admiring the millions of galaxies and supernovas that lay beyond her reach. What she would give to jump up and fly through space, rocketing past planets that everyone knew and landing, only for a second, among a new set of wonders, defying gravity and letting herself be forgotten for as long as she pleased. Perhaps she could reach the edge of space and then be thrown back, landing on the dewy grass that her feet currently rested upon.
The night was young. Almost too much so.
The dark shadow of a man chuckled, yet to emerge and become anything more than that. Perhaps he was afraid of being seen for what he was often perceived as; a man in tweed, constantly polishing his glasses in a hope that when he rested them back upon his nose, the world might have changed and shaped more to his vision. So far, Adele doubted that the man had yet to be pleased.
"I'm surprised," He noted. "That he was so willing. They boy was raised to be a little more… well, not heartless, but I wouldn't have expected him to be so heroic. This changes things."
Adele shrugged, although the man probably couldn't see it. Blind as a bat and as devious as one too; one false move and he would swoop low over your head, clouding your vision and filling your brain with squeaks of… something. Sometimes it was hard to work out what he was saying.
"For the better," She paused, unsure of whether the broach the subject. "The bruises are a small price to pay-"
"Now, now," Again with the chuckle. If this had been Adele's first meeting with the man, she would have assumed that he didn't take anything seriously. "That won't continue much longer. Unless you want it to, and if so I'm sure you and your friend can arrange that on your own time."
Adele couldn't scowl. Sure, someone else doing the damage was more fun than doing it herself- and perhaps more thrilling too- but if he could recognise that, she would have to find a new tactic. "So now we have his trust," She began. "What next?"
"We have a few options. We could use him to find the others- although he's a reclusive boy, there's every chance he knows nothing of their whereabouts- and once we have them, build the empire once more. Or we could use him to lure them back, again planting you as the bait. But there are other options…" He trailed off. "We have time. He suspects nothing?"
"Never has. For one of the most intelligent men in the country, he's a little stupid."
"A self-proclaimed title, nothing to worry about. Our detective friend shouldn't know a thing until the last minute, when all possible escapes are closed."
The problem with cornering Sherlock Holmes, Adele knew, was that hard as one might try, he was very difficult to tempt. Only if you had a case to solve would he come running, and Adele couldn't exactly make one up on the spot. She was dealing with a stubborn man, and one who, despite what she was being told, was in fact incredibly clever.
"I'll do my best." She shrugged. There was little else to say; the man wouldn't give any help, however subtly she asked for it.
"And Miss Holmes? One more thing," He stopped her before Adele could get to the door, swing the thing open and run. "Do try to get it done before morning. We need time to… deal with the body."
Adele swallowed. "Of course, Mr Hammet." Adding under her breath: "Whatever you say."
London had always been Adele's city, a place she felt belonged to her when night covered sleeping inhabitants and left doors open for her to roam the streets without interruption. The sky had yet to make the transition to black when she slid the worn key into the lock of 221 Baker Street and crept up the stairs. The sound of Sherlock's violin drifted through her ears and Adele gave him a thumbs up as she slipped into her room.
The room was dim, although Adele could have sworn that she had left that light on and curtains opened when she had left. But it didn't matter; there were more important things concerning her than the aesthetics of the grey space tonight. Scrambling under her bed, Adele pulled out a shoebox, inside which was contained only a few, more secretive items; a gun, loaded and ready for use. A penknife, one that Sherlock had tried to confiscate more times than she could count. An old mobile phone, holding only three numbers and a handful of incriminating messages. Finally, a pair of leather gloves. Nothing to obscure DNA or anything, but Adele had always liked them and wanted to save the gloves for when she would really need them.
She could either wait, or get the job done quickly. The longer she waited, the colder it got outside; and Adele wasn't one for chilly adventures. But if she got it over with now, there was a chance of earlier discovery. John would question why she was in and Sherlock out, and knowing him, would go out to find the great detective.
Hours passed. Three, to be precise, and soon the sky was black and stars abundant. The moon shone full and bathed Adele's bedroom in light, where the girl sat, waiting, listening to the chatter outside the door. John wanted Sherlock to get milk. Sherlock didn't want to get rid of the thumbs he had left in the fridge. Mrs Hudson was asking Sherlock to stop shouting whenever the doorbell rang. Finally, at ten o'clock, Adele made her move.
She stood, pulled on her jacket and tucked the gun into the inside pocket. The knife rested in her jeans pocket and the gloves in that of the coat. The phone was concealed under the gloves.
Time to go.
Adele swung the door of her room open, walking as briskly as she could. "I'm going out." She muttered dismissively.
"Adele, it's ten o'clock at night- you can't just-" John stuttered, but Sherlock only frowned at her.
"Important stuff, see you later," She muttered, and with that Adele jumped down the stairs and slammed the front door behind her, careful to keep her head down as she hurried down the street.
Drizzle had started and the air was tainted by wandering cloud as Adele walked. Sherlock wouldn't be far behind, she knew, but there was every chance that he would catch up once he worked out her final destination.
Bart's.
Adele had never been fond of the hospital roof, but there was always something about it that attracted her; the adrenaline, the prospect of towering above the city of London, watching the workers crawl the streets like ants. She could squash them from her place in the sky, and they wouldn't see it coming. Too many people, busy with their own lives and mundane mysteries. Great, the guy who worked in the tower was having an affair with one of the new interns; but it was dull. There were greater things for these people to be concerned about, and yet they focused on the tiny occurrences that made no difference to their lives.
Their choice.
Adele's mysteries didn't concern anyone else. Where did she come from? Why was she working with an evil mastermind, yet living with the man working against him? Why did she choose to walk in a battlefield that she had never needed to set food in? Answers, it was all about answers. Answers to streams of questions that faded too quickly for Adele to work out their answers.
The air was colder on the roof, but at least the rain had stopped. The freedom was like a drug, the view breath taking, and several times Adele found the air in her lungs catching, as though the stars were stealing it away. Perhaps they were; slowly, she was drifting up, becoming a new silver dot in a sky full of burning balls of light.
He would be here soon.
Adele stepped up to the ledge. A ledge full of lies, a ledge that carried more than just the weight of a small teenager. If the ledge could talk, perhaps it would cry; tears of fake deaths and tearful phone calls, sobbing words that made no sense to anyone but the concrete.
Poor roof.
"Adele?"
That was quick. If there was one thing that Sherlock Holmes could brag about, it was his speed. He couldn't have been more than a minute or two behind her, Adele thought. She stayed standing, her back to the man who stood on a roof spun from his own lies, lies of a jump and a fall and a fraudulent detective.
"When you stood here," She began, voice high and cold. "Did you wonder about the people on the ground? The river of blood that would flow down the pavement and pool in the gutter, marking the grey stone even after everyone had gone?" If there was any emotion in her voice, Adele couldn't sense it. "Or did you laugh about how easily you fooled them, how silly they must have been not to have realised that everything you said was a lie?"
He was puzzled; or even scared? Adele had never spoken to him like this, never called him out on lying to save himself. Sherlock Holmes had been living a lie from the day he chose the roof, from the day Moriarty decided to target him. The detective with the long coat and funny hat had been living on borrowed time ever since he had pulled himself back.
"I couldn't-"
"You could have. Cowardly, death. A real hero might face their fate and yet you chose to take the easy way out; to make it easier on everyone else?"
"I was trying to- you're not you. Adele wouldn't stand there and question me, Adele would get down-"
"Which way?" Adele smirked. "He has you cornered, you know. You could have joined the winning side when you had the chance, but instead you chose to fight a battle that you would always lose. You know, if I were you, I'd have let Moriarty get his way. Sure, you couldn't have lived, but you might have kept some dignity."
"I don't think dignity is the issue when you have a gun pointed at-"
"Oh, really?" Adele spun around, jumping from the ledge and onto the level roof. She grinned, drawing the gun from her coat, and aiming for Sherlock's heart. "Head says run. Heart says-"
Sherlock shook his head. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"Never stopped you, though. Detectives do what's right and risk everything to finish the job. Sure, I'm no detective, but the world is a big, bad place, and we're just small specks on a very large playing board."
She could do it. Pull the trigger and stop his heart. But detectives didn't have hearts, if Sherlock Holmes was anything to go by; all she'd do was shatter stone.
"Who are you working for?" He whispered.
And that was good enough.
"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes."
A heartbeat. That was all it took before Sherlock Holmes was sprawled on the ground, bleeding this time not from his head, but from his heart. A dead man had walked the streets of a death trap city, and the roof was now his net. Sherlock Holmes had little to live for but in death, Sherlock Holmes had released and liberated a thousand ideas and a million criminals.
If he came back this time, the world really was going to be in trouble.
Here's the thing:
Only nine people- might be four- follow this trainwreck of a fic. I haven't gone back to it since May 2013, and this is for good reason; it's terrible.
But Sherlock S3 is out (and fabulous), and I couldn't resist rounding this off for good. This fic will stay up. But I'm not coming back to it. New Beginnings was fun. Everything after that was unnecessary. So yes, I've screwed this over. Yes, it was fun. Adele is living in another universe now; I've edited her character and stuck her in an original novel. But this fic is over and done, so you know what, Dark!Adele it was.
No one's going to read this, but I had fun trying. So long and yes I will update my other stuff by the end of the week I actually promise.