When they grounded in London, Sherlock had gotten a text from Raine informing him to meet her alone the following evening and to tell no one. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't expecting that. He thought he would have to fight tooth and nail to get to her, to speak with her, but she wanted a word with him. She was walking right to him making it much easier for him to push his plan forward, but the question about whether or not she would listen still remained to be seen.
Sherlock managed to get John to leave him alone with the excuse that he needed some alone time. That was something he was grateful for; John thought he needed time to morn over the lose of Jen, but he needed time to prepare.
Sherlock fidgeted with the tie; he hated it, but he would live. Formal attire would be needed considering the restaurant. He stood outside the restaurant staring at the doors preparing himself. The woman he was about to meet was not the women he knew. If he was honest, he knew nearly nothing about the woman. What he knew was simple: she has bombed his home as well as several other buildings for the sake of a message. She kept company such as Moriarty, and she hated the entity, the woman Sherlock loved. Needless to say, he likely would despise this other half.
He took a deep breath calming his mind before he stepped into the restaurant. It was bustling with people much to his surprise. This woman had a knack for throwing the unexpected his way. For some strange reason, she didn't seek to be alone with him, but rather sought to mix in with the people. He thought she would prefer solace when making her threats to him, but he seemed to be wrong. Perhaps it wasn't threats she wished to dish out; perhaps she wanted a game as Moriarty had.
He moved his way with ease through the crowd trying to find Raine. He saw her sitting alone at a circular table in the middle of the room. Her hair was pulled up in some sort of intricate bun, and her red dress showed skin that Jen wouldn't venture to try in public. Her makeup was heavy as it was in their school days, but it remained descent for the times. Her lipstick matched her dress and stained the wine glass in her hand.
She spotted him, and they momentarily locked eyes forcing him to approached her. She stood fluidly for him before she rolled her eyes. Her hand shot out, he was sure for his throat, before she slowly began to unknot his tie. He watched her fragile hands slowly fumble with the knot. They were Jen's hands; the hands he loved. "You men, never seem to be able to knot ties without a woman's help," she told him quietly before she started tying it again. Her fingers were agile enough to briefly distract him.
"Raine Aigle?" he finally questioned her.
"That's me," she told him, and he could see Jen in her. The eyes were the same, the hands, but it was hard to find anything else. Her disposition was not Jen; everything was different from the way she held herself to the expressionism on her face. She sat down after finishing the knot, and he followed suit.
"You used to do that for Moriarty," Sherlock recalled the story Jen had told him about the supposed Christopher Black.
"That was years ago," she answered quietly. She was being very civil. Again, this surprised him. What did she want?
"Why did you invite me here?" he asked her. He didn't know what game she was playing at.
"You wished to speak to me, now speak," she told him picking up her glass of water. How did she know he needed to speak with her? Perhaps she had people watching him, watching anyone connected to Ginevra Lorraine.
"No wine?" he asked finding a way to bring up what he needed to tell her. "Ginny loves wine."
"Something we don't share," she informed him with a playful smile. "I don't drink, ever. My father was an alcoholic; I couldn't live my life like that."
"Alcoholic father, you and Ginny have that in common," he told her trying again. He needed her to see; he could not flat out tell her.
"Oh," she frowned before her smile turned playful again, "I see. You think I don't know about Gina."
"I think you know about her, but not as much as you should," he quipped back.
"Mr. Holmes, she might not know she is me, but I know I am her," she answered making his frown deepen. "Or rather I know that Gina, or Jen if you will, and I are both part of Ginevra." That wasn't part of the plan; that wasn't supposed to be. She was supposed to be ignorant. How could she know the truth, but Jen did not?
"I don't understand. How?"
"It's obvious, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "I found someone who accepts me, this me, and he told me the truth, he fed me. James was not just my lover; he practically created me. I was just a little flame then, but James... he convinced Ginevra that to continue her life she needed to be different. She needed to put aside her guilt, use the idea of me. It was that moment that she created Gina and myself. Gina: why do I call her Gina, Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock shook his head. "She is the innocent, and I am damned. Gina was our childhood name. I embrace that shattered life I had; she rejects it and clings to the idea that it could have been something more."
"But you've been the same person recently, haven't you?" he asked having been able to pick apart the personality traits that they both possessed and that were unique to them.
"Yes and no," she answered. "When we first met in London, Gina and I were more or less the same person. I was shoved into a quiet little corner of Gina's mind. Our personalities melded to a certain point but not our memories keeping us segregated. This was thanks in help to a small band, Mycroft, Robbie, and Damon. They are the only ones who know, and Peter and my mother, of course, knew. They weakened me, and the barriers that separated us were loosened. However, Moriarty made me stronger even when dead. He left me his jacket… one I picked out for him, but of course, that wasn't enough. Peter fueled me; I killed for him. He twisted me back; he made sure Gina felt isolated. Gina and I weren't one anymore. That's why the tantrums have stopped; I haven't been there."
"Why tell me all this?" he questioned. What was her intent? Why did she want him to know?
"I know that she is me, but… I don't know anything about her, and I know it might be hard to believe, but I want to," she replied. "James always said that it doesn't matter; you are a separate person, but… it is my desire to learn her. I can't ask her myself; she would never tell me, so instead, why not her lover?"
"And if I decline?"
"I'll blow up London. Kill her as I have the power to," she answered simply as if she was simply talking about the weather. "What I want is a game. I want to learn about Gina for three months, and in that three months, I'll allow you to convince me A. not to blow up London as I intend to, and B. to get Jen back, to fix me, if you will."
"That's generous," he mocked.
"Just as Gina does: I have good and bad things about me," she replied with a smile. "Well, what do you say?"
"And you won't make a move until the three months are over?" If he agreed to this, he needed to be sure that no one would be hurt while this game was going on.
"No." Sherlock's eyes shifted across her figure; if she had the same gives as Jen, then she was not lying. However, something in her eyes suggested another motive that he was having a hard time grasping. For now, he would have to agree.
"You need to cure Damon O'Hera; he's important to Ginny," Sherlock told her finding something to tell her. He had questions for Damon, and he needed answers. A dead man wouldn't give him what he sought.
"Why?" she questioned. The game had already begun by her account.
"He has been there for her in a way she doesn't believe Robbie has," he replied. "He was one the first to love her as family does." She considered that before she nodded.
"I'll have Vin administer the antidote," she answered with a wave of her hand. "Why do you call her Ginny?" she asked next.
"It's what I first knew her as," he replied. She nodded again trying to sort through her memories for a moment.
"I remember you in school," she smiled fondly. "That was before I was... You were so short. Taller now. That was right before I met James… let's get out of here," she told him standing before she threw down some cash from her clutch. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Just because I'm a high class criminal doesn't mean I dine and dash; that's just rude." He stood to walk alongside her out onto the streets. The situation they were in could not be called odd; no, odd was putting it lightly. Their situation was unheard of.
"If I wanted to, can I talk to Ginny?" he asked her as they walked side by side.
"No," she smiled gently. "She's… or she thinks she's been locked in a room. She was waiting for her knight to save her, and until she understands what I understand, she'll be locked there until I die." She paused. "Or until she has a mental break."
"A mental break," Sherlock repeated.
"It would have to be something devastating," she told him. "Something that would be strong enough to break the barriers between us."
"The murders," he began, but she knew what he was going to say and answered before he could form a deduction.
"All me," she confirmed, "not Gina. She would never taint herself." Raine took a cigarette from her clutch and lit it with Jen's old lighter.
"You smoke?" he asked. No alcohol, but she did smoke. She was a giant question mark; she was an engima even now, and he would be lying if he said that he was less than pleased by this fact. Perhaps she was more like Ginny than he thought.
"Gina doesn't," she told him as they continued down the road. "Haven't you noticed?" He shifted through his mind trying to find the last time he saw her light up.
"She had a cigarette at the end of November," he told her recalling seeing her sitting on the steps to 221B as he recovered from being strung out with her brother. She had come in smiling like tobacco; he loved the slight musk of it in her hair. "She was arguing with Mark." He may have enjoyed that last bit a little too much.
"Oh," Raine shook her head trying to shake the migraine that was threatening to consume her again. "That was aftereffects. I was fighting her for control and briefly got it." She frowned sorting through the memories and the blank spots. What was that stupid boys name? "Does the name Ryan Doran mean anything?"
"Murdered last November," he said staring down at her. He had that case, and it was one of the few that he failed to solve. He had his head brutally bashed in against a brick wall behind a night club. It should have been a quick, clean case, but instead, he could find nothing. He should have known.
"He got handsy," she answered obviously. "To be fair, I warned him; he didn't believe me. Men these days, honestly. No chivalry."
"Next you're going to tell me Moriarty was chivalrous," he mocked with a bitter edge laced in his voice. She let out a bark of laughter, but whether it because of what he said or the way he said it was unknown.
"In his own way," she answered with a shrug. "James only put his hands on me if I wanted him to, and he was very good at telling when I wanted him to." She glanced at him shifting. He didn't like it; he didn't like thinking about Moriarty and Jen... no, he affirmed to himself, Raine and Moriarty. Jen was a completely separate person, but what of Ginevra Lorraine herself? What did she want? "Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked with a laugh before she carefully observed him. "You haven't had sex with her yet," she laughed again. He didn't like how much her mocking got under his skin. "Well, that is a new one." Her phone went off making her chuck it in the garbage as she passed. "I'll buy a new one," she muttered. Silence fell between them, and she wouldn't have that. "I like the doll's house you gave her," she told him recalling how she had traced every little detail of that intricate little house.
"It burned down in the flat," he answered, "when you blew it up." He seemed to be reminding her just to prove some sort of point, but she sighed.
"No it didn't," she rolled her eyes as if she was disappointed at his lack of deduction. "Everything in that flat including Toby is at my home on the outskirts of London. I like Toby; I always wanted a dog."
"Why? In the end, you outlive them," he replied.
"Is that were all this loneliness stems from? You watched your dog die?" she asked tilting her head watching him.
"He was put down," he quipped back taking this opportunity to clash back. "Where does your loneliness stem from, Raine?"
"From not existing," she answered. "I'm just an entity; I'm fictional, and it is hard knowing such a fate, but I like who my other half is. I act aggressive toward her, because that's the role I have to take, but I like her. I think she's clever, and if she would gather up her confidence, she could be quite beautiful."
"I admit you confuse me," Sherlock informed her. "You speak civilly, and yet, you're actions say otherwise." She mulled this over in her mind.
"I am dark side of people, Mr. Holmes. When I have the slight urge to kill someone, I kill someone. If I want to have immoral sex, I will have immoral sex. If I want to shoot up, I'll shoot up. If someone fucks with me, I fuck them up, but if I'm not provoked why would I lash out? I am docile when need be, and right now, docile is remarkably useful. It's all about what people want. If I have to play nice to manipulate them, well, then so be it."
"But you don't you drink," he pointed out.
"No," she answered with a laugh. "I told you just like Gina has bad characteristics, I have good ones. I don't drink, and I would never shoot a man unable to defend himself. Burn down his building with him in it, yes, but never shoot nor stab him. Also, racism is disgusting as is sexism, rape, killing children- and yes, I know what Peter did- I could go on, but you get the point. At some point, you have to accept that even bad people can be good."
"So if I provoke you, you won't attempt to kill me in the most unpleasant manner possible?"
"Of course not," she told him pausing on the street to face him. He paused allowing the face to face confrontation. She looked up at him with a deep set frown as if she didn't understand how he didn't already know this little fact. "Gina loves you. I couldn't kill you without killing part of myself. I need her as much as she needs me. I'm still her but not her." He looked down at her a bit puzzle before she turned back down the street. "I have a hundred questions to ask you."
"Dull," Sherlock answered following her.
"Be good and I'll find a murder for you," she bribed him.
"You mean cause one," he drolled.
"No, I mean find. I'll behave," she replied though whether she would be true to her word or not would have to wait. "Now, what is Gina's favorite color?"
"Why does-" he was cut off when she raised her eyebrow at him with an irritated look. "Red," he answered as she hailed a cab. "Where are we going?" he asked as she pulled the cab door open. She paused to stare at him for a moment. A smile played on her lips making him uneasy again; whatever she had planned, it wasn't pleasant.
"My house," she entered. "I won't have you staying in a hotel room. Besides, all your things are already there." She slid inside and waited for him to make a choice she knew he had to make. Sherlock stood on the curb staring at the cab as the cabbie yelled at him to either get in or shut the damn door. However, he was too lost in his own thoughts to bother with him. Raine Aigle didn't simply want knowledge. She wanted a game, but what kind of game remained to be seen. If Sherlock entered the cab, he would have sealed his fate. Whatever Raine had in store for him, he would be serving himself up on a plate for her. He could back down now; she was giving him the change. He could get Mycroft's, Robbie's, and Scotland Yard's help to take Raine in. However, in exchange Ginevra would be locked away never to be seen again by anyone, not even him.
Sherlock took a breath knowing what his answer was without much of a second thought. He slid in next to her before the cab started off down the street.
A/N: Thanks to reviewers: MissKingdomVII, TinkerbellxO, Cereza101, The-girl-who-loves-adventure, zare . downey . okumura, TragicBlossoms, Dream01, and hannahhobnob. See you all next Friday!