She wished it was a dream; she wished that when she awoke in Sherlock's bed it had all been a nothing more than a fabrication, and for just a second, she thought it was, but that was interrupted when the door slammed open making her jump. Mark began shouting at her livid, but she couldn't comprehend his words as her mind still floated around trying to find her body. Sherlock held him back as he began to lunge toward her violently. It started to come through.
"-your brother! I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but you knew! You knew he would hurt her! And you just let him! You took your little boyfriend out probably under the tempt of a good fuck, and he killed her! You killed her!" Having enough, Sherlock turned Mark around and punched him right out. He sighed at the body on the floor.
"John!" he called out. The ex-soldier pushed the door open to see Mark's unconscious body. John sighed and gestured at the body silently demanding an explanation from Sherlock. "He was being annoying," Sherlock informed him as he glanced at Jen, who seemed highly disoriented. The death had hit too close to home; Peter had made his first mistake, and it would be his downfall.
"Yeah, let's get him out of here," John agreed having noticed the glance at Jen telling him the obvious cause of his action. John helped Sherlock lift Mark out of the room and likely out of the flat to a cab. They left, and as soon as they did, Peter appeared in the room disorienting Jen, who was not quite herself. She was out of it from the shock of her brother's actions.
"How are you, Jenma?" he asked happily as if he had a second Christmas. For him, that's exactly what it was for him; he had killed the girl not just because he thought it would in the end help his sister, but because he wanted to. He wanted to listen to her scream; he wanted to see how long she would last. Every time she had spoken, he would grind his teeth together, and he wasn't aware of it, but his own actions were dictated on jealousy and possessiveness of his elder sibling.
"Why did you kill her, Peter?" she whispered breaking him out of his sweet thought. He rocked on his toes with his hands behind his back. He smiled gingerly at her trying to put on a warm face, a friendly face.
"She was in the way," he informed her before sitting on the bed to comfort her. He put a gentle hand on hers; it felt cold, and he felt distant. "Don't you see? I did this for you; I know right now you're upset, but I swear you will see it was for you. She was turning you into something you're not; she was blocking your path and holding you back. She was making you soft." Peter had one goal, and to reach that goal, Lucy, Mark, and when he inevitably proved to be in the way, Sherlock, were in Peter's way. Lucy was dead, and Mark would never be seen in Jen's presence again, not with the little things Peter hinted to the man, and Sherlock would be a target when he became a problem. He wasn't prepared to clash with either of the Holmes brothers yet. And if he finished off Sherlock maybe he would go for Damon and after Damon, who knew.
"Peter," she whispered shaking her head letting her tears fall freely again. He tisked at her weakness making the pit in her stomach grow.
"See this," he said wiping off her tears before flicking them off in disgust. "You never would have cried over someone so insignificant before; I don't like seeing you cry. In the long run, I saved you a lot of pain." Jen searched his face and found that he was sincere. He believed he was trying to help her; he believed this would help her. "I love you, Gina," he said simply making her choke on her air and let out a sob at the hopelessness of it all. Her brother, someone she loved wholeheartedly, had killed someone she loved, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, she had a huge hand in it. She had kept her knowledge to herself, and Peter had killed Lucy for her. This was equal parts her fault, and it killed her to acknowledge that. It killed her that, in his mind, he did this because he loved her.
"I love you, too, Peter," she whispered wiping her tears and hugged him stiffly. She didn't know what she was going to do. It became apparent that she could no longer do nothing; Peter was a danger to anyone and everybody. She needed to collect her thoughts without him clouding them. "I need to rest; it's been a trying day." He nodded and left her alone. She sat against the headboard and stared at the wall. What was she supposed to do?This question rattled in her brain until the door opened, and Sherlock entered. He paused seeing her up and staring at the wall in concentration. "Close the door," she whispered recognizing his presence. He did as she asked and entered into the room quietly. She continued staring at the wall trying to straighten out her thoughts. She had two choices: to keep it to herself or to tell someone. Her eyes glanced to Sherlock; if she trusted anyone, it was him. "If someone… If I… If John did something horrifying… something… unforgivable… and you were the only to know about it… what would you do?" she asked looking up at him with a sort of hopelessness that terrified him. He couldn't see her this broken, not ever.
"I can't answer that as there's so many situation-" he began, but she cut him off.
"Sherlock, please," she pleaded not wanting a logical explanation. She just wanted answers, and he always knew the answer, to everything... didn't he?
"Something unforgivable?" he asked, and she nodded. "I would want to know why, and then after that, I would see if the damage could be fixed."
"And if it couldn't?" she asked him.
"Ginny, you can't compare John with your brother," he uttered sitting on the edge of the bed. Of course, he knew what she was talking about, and he wished for her to drop her act and speak clearly.
"I know," she told him as her voice cracked ever so slightly. She shut her eyes and took a breath. "This was my fault… I knew. I did nothing, and I knew."
"You helped him," Sherlock said suspecting as much since the body that had appeared while he was being questioned. She had been acting strange that day, and it had continued till Christmas. There was only one conclusion: Peter had a accomplice, and the obvious person was Jen. He didn't doubt it even for a second, but that didn't mean he saw her any differently. She was still his Ginny; she was driven by love and loyalty, and he had seen it a thousand times before. She would have turned hateful and cruel for anyone who loved her and whom she in turn loved.
"Yes."
"How many people did you help him murder?" Sherlock asked calmly. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, but he didn't like it. It could be perhaps likened to fear. Jen could be locked away for a very long time for what she did; she could be locked away from the rest of her life.
"This time around or last time?" she asked pulling her knees to her chest. He took a breath; he deduced as much as well. He had went over the old Carver records; he had seen what he had missed the first time.
"Let's start with last time," he answered.
"Half were mine," she replied quietly not sure what his reaction would be. He didn't seem phased, which only put her on edge even more. "I only killed the one this time. I don't really remember them… I suppressed the memories trying to run away from it all."
"It was… dead on. It took me a long time to spot any difference between your MO and Peter's," he admitted, and it sounded almost like a compliment. Perhaps it was a compliment. She was clever; he liked that. "I looked at the last case files involving your brother."
"How long have you known?" she asked. She could feel a little weight pull off her chest having someone know, but she wanted him to reprimand her, arrest her, anything.
"Since his arrest," Sherlock admitted, and that just made her dizzy.
"But… but," she stumbled not understanding, "you never asked… you never brought me in… I didn't even think you suspected… you aren't angry or…"
"Why would I be?" he asked her with a frown. It was his turn to be confused. She should have known better; why would he bothered by the murders? He had seen and even admired plenty of serial killers in his life; she was no different. "I've known for a long time your violence could potentially turn homicidal; it doesn't change anything."
"Oh," she whispered quietly feeling even more worthless at his kind words even if he didn't know how kind they were. "What are you going to do?"
"There are only two options," he admitted having spent hours thinking over this. "The first is that you come clean and confess what you did and what you know, but I can't let you do that. I can't see you behind bars, Ginny." He paused realizing he couldn't harm her or put her away; he needed her in his life, and it was unsettling. "Why would you help him?" he asked unable to understand.
"He's my brother," she told him as if it were that easy. "I love him."
"He's a psychopath, Ginny. You can't help him," Sherlock told her trying to make her see reason, make her see what she's done was wrong. There was only one other option, and he needed her on his side for this. However, with Lucy's death so fresh, it would be easy for her now. She knew what was right, and it was a painful lesson. "You do understand that?"
"Yes," she muttered looking down at her hands unable to meet his eye.
"What did you do with the clothes you wore the night you killed that woman?" he asked her seemingly at random. She answered without skipping a beat.
"I burned them," she told him. Ah, that was wear his favorite green sweater went.
"Good," he said. He wanted no evidence connecting her to Peter's crimes before he sought conviction. "Who knows what you did?"
"Just Peter and Damon," she told him. He nodded understanding the situation. He needed to make sure she stayed away from jail; Damon would provide an easy alibi if needed.
"Peter needs to be put back in Rampton, Ginny," he told her, but she didn't need to be told. "You know this."
"How?" she asked him knowing what he said was the truth. She didn't question him even for a second.
"You need to go with him on one of his murders, Ginny, and then, I need you to text me," he told her. "I'll make sure you get out before Lestrade shows up."
"Sherlock, I can't betray him," Jen told him. She was willing to openly admit that he needed to be locked back away now, but she wasn't going to just betray him. He was still her brother, but Sherlock knew that he needed her to be the one to betray Peter. The Carver wouldn't make any mistakes unless it came to his own sister, and then the mistakes were multiple and hard to ignore.
"Ginny, you have to," he told her, "or people will keep dying, and your brother will keep twisting your hand." His manipulation against Jen was skillful, and if it wasn't Jen he was doing it to, Sherlock might have commended Peter at his masterful manipulation using the human defect of love. However, it was Jen he was playing, and he couldn't allow that to go on. "Do you understand? You don't want any of this. He already killed Lucy." She felt a pit in her stomach grow large enough to press on her lungs. She had to make a choice, and the choice was obvious. This was a no win situation; either way, she would be killing a part of herself.
"I'll do it," she told him quietly not looking at him but at her hands that clenched together too tightly.
"You're going to have to wait a little," he told her not happy with the idea but knowing it was ideal. "You're going to have to make Peter believe that you think he did what was right. You understand? You make him believe he trusts you."
"Yes," she whispered nodding in agreement. "I can do that."
"I'll be right here," he told her gently before he kissed her forehead. He went to stand, but Jen grabbed his arm. He looked down at her, and she began quickly searching for something.
"Stay?" she asked. "Please, I can't be alone." Slowly, he sat back down. His back was toward her, and for just a second, he was hunched over with his head in his hands. And just for a second, she saw through the steel; he was drowning in things he can't handle alone. He was full of sorrow and a weight seemed to press on him. His face wiped clear before he began to stand again, but Jen pulled him back down and wrapped her arms around him pressing herself against his back. He was rigid, but she didn't mind it so much. "You're sad," she muttered.
"Lucy's dead, Ginny," he reminded her. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he really cared for that little girl. She was a bright spot in his life, and that bright spot had gone out and would never be seen again. Enola, she reminded him of Enola.
"You should stop and take a few days to mourn," she whispered as she increased her grip around his waist.
"I can't," he told her trying to stand, but she was a lot stronger than she looked forcing him to remain seated on the bed with her pressed against him.
"I never scold you for being emotionless," she answered, "but this time, I will. Sherlock, you can't... when something like this happens, you can't pretend it doesn't hurt. It'll tear you apart. Mourn with me, and then, you can shut Lucy's room and move forward."
"Caring is not voluntary," he told her quietly setting his hand on top of the one that was around his wast. This was his own sigh that he didn't choose to care for Lucy as he didn't choose to care for Jen.
"I know," she whispered back with a sigh. They didn't say anything for what seemed like an immeasurable amount of time; the room was filled with a heavy, mournful silence. They remained pressed together with Sherlock's hand on hers occasionally running his thumb over her fingers until Jen fell back asleep, and very gently, Sherlock put her to bed. He let himself fall into the chair in the corner of the room as he watched her. Lucy weighed on his mind but so did Moriarty's game. Jen was still in danger. He had lost Lucy; he wouldn't lose her.
Robert Verown stared at the door to 221B. He had no desire today to bother Jen nor to confront Sherlock Holmes. No, he was there for the newest resident; he was here to see his younger brother after years of abandonment. He didn't feel good about it, but it had to be done. He stepped up to the flat to see Peter waiting for him in Sherlock's chair.
"Tea just finished," he said gesturing rather tiredly to the tea on the side table. "Sit." Robbie did as the younger man asked. So, it was games he wished to play when he was so very tired of them. He thought he was done playing Peter's little game, but anybody could be dragged back in. Peter had perfected his game over the years; he had gained allies and polished his techniques.
"I know what you did," Robbie told Peter as he sat in front of him and took his cup of tea. They were the only two in the flat, and now, big brother wanted a word. Peter hadn't seen Robbie since he was seven, and he wanted nothing to do with him. This was his game, and he didn't want Robbie in the way. He could pose a problem, or he could just form another barrier that needed to be taken care of. "I know you've been using Gina as-"
"Oh, shut up, Robbie," Peter snapped cutting him off. As far as Peter knew, Robbie had nothing do with Jen. How could Peter know that every step of the way Robbie had been clearing her tracks? How could Peter know that Robbie had named his daughter after her? How could Peter know he left to help her? How could he know that every fall on their father's birthday he goes to his grave just as she does, and he watches her from afar as she cries as he attempts to keep his own composure before leaving flowers of his own? "You think after this long you have a right to play big brother to me, to her." Robbie let out a sigh.
"I've tried to protect her, but how can I when you damage every attempt I make along the way?" he asked him with a growl. Peter was always that barrier in his way; Peter's manipulations ran deep.
"I love Gina," Peter replied simply as if that was all there was to it.
"No," Robert answered shaking his head knowing him well enough. "You love what she could be. You love a dark, twisted side of her that you want to bring out again. She's not that person." Robbie let his eyes slid closed to the dark days. She was different then; she had nothing but her own insanity to comfort her, but Peter was locked away, and she slowly got better until Christopher Black.
"And she's not some little innocent child," Peter sneered disliking how Robbie insisted on seeing her. "You think I don't know what you want. I do, and I won't let that happen."
"You need help, Peter," Robbie told him evenly even though he knew the plead was useless.
"Help!? I don't need help! I'm free," he laughed loosing his calm, sane facade at the flick of a switch. "I'm freer than you!" Robbie slammed his tea cup down onto the saucer.
"You can take a swim in your madness if you so desire, but don't drag Gina with you," Robbie warned him. "I could see it ever since we were young. You were beyond saving; Irene was always the survivor by any cost, and Gina could be saved. She could live a normal, happy life, and you just keep dragging her back in like a selfish child."
"She wouldn't want normal," Peter spat disgusted with the idea of normality.
"She's never had a chance for normal. You've never allowed it," Robert pointed out becoming tired with him. He didn't know why he was reasoning with the little psychopath. Perhaps Robbie believed that Peter loved her more than he wanted to play the game or that she was more than what he wanted her to be. "She blames mum and dad and me and Irene and everyone for her troubled childhood and adolescence, but she refuses to see that you hurt more than any of us could. You used her and twisted her; you made her feel empathy and you… Peter…" The two men held the other's gaze. "I'm going to give you a choice, now. You're hurting her; somewhere in you, you can see that; you know that. So stop this. I'm not saying turn yourself in; I'm saying stop the killings, the death, stop twisting her." The Carver seemed to contemplate this idea seriously before a grin spread on his face, and he laughed giving Robbie his answer. The elder brother slammed his cup down letting it shatter before throwing Peter to the wall with a hand at his throat. Peter was still grinning.
"What are you going to do to me, big brother?" he teased him. "Jen would never forgive you."
"She hates me already," Robbie told him increasing the pressure of his hand around his little brother's neck, "and I'm willing to be the villain if it saves her."
"And my death?" Peter choked out with a laugh. "You think it'll save her? Really consider it, Robbie, dear? It won't save her; it will end her." Robbie's grip loosened allowing him to speak more clearly. "The game has started, and it's too late to stop it." Robbie's gaze lingered on Peter before he let him go. "Only she can end it, and she won't."
"She's done it before," Robbie informed him. "She can do it again."
"At what cost?" Peter asked him letting Robbie allow a deep frown to set on his face. The cost? The highest cost there was. Either way, this was a no win situation. Try and prevent the game, win the game, or lose the game... either way Jen wouldn't be the same person when it was over, and it stabbed at his heart. He let the ache set in before he turned to leave, but he paused wanting the last word.
"The cost is steep," he admitted, "but I refuse to believe that she would rather live as a monster."
"How would you know if you've never let her try? You seep her in a lie, and she has no choice in the matter," Peter informed him. "You are just as manipulative as me, Robbie."
"And you would keep her in the dark as well," Robbie reminded him.
"It's best," Peter told him. They agree on only a single thing; it was best Jen didn't know that she had two people trying to play puppet with her.
Sherlock lifted the visitation records for Peter Verown. Rampton had given them to him without fuss; he wouldn't have been surprised if they had put up a fight. He was actually more surprised that they didn't, but upon getting the records, Sherlock saw there was nothing worthwhile. All of the visitations that Peter had received had either been from Jen or from… Sherlock paused. Two years ago, not long before his fall, Peter was visited by Damon, not with Jen, just him alone, and there was no record of Damon visiting Missy O'Hera that day, he noted as he quickly compared the two books. He had been looking for discrepancies, and he found one.
Sherlock quickly texted Damon, a first. Come at once if convenient; if inconvenient, come anyway. -SH
What is this about? I'm in a meeting. –Damon
Jen, Moriarty, and Peter. I need to question you on a matter of great urgency. Richard Jancowski can wait. –SH
I'm not even going to ask how you knew I was meeting him. I'll be there as soon as possible. –Damon
Sherlock sat in his chair with his palms clasped together. There was no need attempting to solve The Carver case now that a plan was in motion; he was now back to working on Moriarty's game, and it was no easy task. The door downstairs opened, and Damon's surprisingly light footsteps hit the stairs before he creaked the door opened.
"Alright what is it?" Damon asked as he slipped farther in the room toward Sherlock, who watched the man to discover the unseen.
"Two years ago, what were you doing visiting Peter without Jen and no intention of seeing your sister?" Damon stared at Sherlock for a moment before he collapsed in John's chair and reoriented himself trying to appear busy before he answered.
"I see Peter as a brother-" he started, but Sherlock rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the statement. Sherlock saw how easily Damon was ready to jump on Peter if the need arouse; he hated him there as much as Sherlock did.
"Don't treat me like an idiot, Damon," he snapped at him. "Why did you visit Peter that day? There was a reason." Damon watched him carefully and opened his mouth before closing it and shaking his head. He had long considered letting Sherlock in on the conspiracy surrounding Jen, but he wasn't sure how the detective would react. He was a wild card; Jen was not suppose to fall in love with a man like him. It caused too many problems, and that was obvious two years ago, yet he let it progress hoping for the best. He should have known hope was best left to children.
"I got a call from my sister," Damon told him truthfully but not ready to tell him everything.. "She was… livid."
"Why?" Sherlock asked.
"James Moriarty had showed up to visit Peter, and it scared her. She feared that Peter would go back to his old ways," Damon replied still giving him the truth, but it gave him more questions than answers. Sherlock wouldn't go far with the investigation; he couldn't.
"Then you knew about Peter and Moriarty before I did. Why didn't you tell me? That was vital," Sherlock sneered not sure what sort of game Damon was playing. Damon didn't want to play any game, but honestly, he had no choice. Everything was carefully set and planned.
"It changes nothing," Damon informed him forcing Sherlock's frown to deepen.
"How did Missy know him?" Sherlock asked trying to attack from a different angle.
"Peter told her about him," Damon shrugged, but he didn't believe that for a minute. Sherlock leaned toward Damon analyzing him. Dilated pupils, clammy skin, nervous tick in the leg that he was trying hard to control.
"What are you hiding?" Sherlock asked him. "Something's making you nervous."
"I'm not-"
"You're a good liar but not good enough. What is it you're trying to protect? I would say Peter, but you've been less than pleasant toward him so no. What could you possibly care about that-" Sherlock stopped his train of thought to stare at Damon. "You're trying to protect Ginny." It was the only possible reason Damon would keep quiet. "You knew Moriarty was interested in her, and you're trying to protect her because… you know what he wants."
"These are ridiculous accusations," Damon snapped standing to leave telling Sherlock all he needed to know as he stood as well to prevent him from leaving.
"I'm trying to help her," Sherlock informed him stepping in front of the man. Damon knew that, but he couldn't help. No one could. "Tell me what Moriarty wants."
"No," Damon answered trying to step around him, but Sherlock wouldn't allow him to cutting him off again.
"Why?" Sherlock demanded. "He's playing a game and-"
"And this isn't a game against you, Sherlock." It was Damon's turn to cut him off. "Moriarty is playing a game with Lupa, and… believe me when I say there is very little you can do to stop it. It's already started." Damon look exhausted from the revelation; something certainly weighed heavily on his mind.
"How?" Sherlock demanded. Damon shook his head. He wouldn't tell him directly, but he could push him in the right direction.
"The jacket, Sherlock, was just the start, and now, it's time to use your head. Moriarty visited Peter; Peter is now running around London murdering people including those Lupa cares about. Sherlock, how did Peter get out of Rampton when he killed hundreds of people? Who would be mad enough to allow that?" Sherlock had long concluded that Peter had wormed his way out through bribe, but it didn't occur to him that Moriarty had use for Peter even with him dead. He had reason he wouldn't have been the one to ensure Peter's leave, but Damon was implying this to be the truth.
"Moriarty bribed the board… why?" Sherlock asked. Damon raised an eyebrow at him as if he was insulting the detective's intelligence.
"You've seen Jen these last few months… Peter's killing her," Damon answered and as if that was enough of an answer, Damon finally stepped around the other man and left the room. His feet fell heavy on the stairs: anxiety. Sherlock tousled his hair before he threw himself on the couch with his hands placed under his chin to think on Damon's words.
A/N: What is going on?! What the hell is Damon talking about!? What the hell is Robbie talking about!? Who knows! (whispers: I know). Whoa, so a huge reaction some of you lovely people, so it's early! I should kill people off more often. ;D
Thanks to reviewers: TinkerbellxO, SemiraBlake, flaming-amber, Han Alister, short-skirtbluescarf, zare . downey . okumura, suzii3499, Feint Illusion, Skaggirl, Cereza101, hannahhobnob, scarlet tribe, Akira Darkness,and leaisnotonfire. Love you all! See you next Saturday! Review please!