Chapter 12: To Take Down the Queen~
John's thoughts are racing almost as quickly as his pulse, as he finally gets a bead on Sherlock, and follows him down the streets of New York City.
Your moving too fast for me, mate.
Why did it always feel like Sherlock had belonged to another world? This "Game" , John couldn't begin to figure it out. But the pit of his stomach clenched, because everything about this, not really understanding what was going on, but wanting to help, and not being allowed to , to keep him safe...It was Moriarty's Great Game all over again. The same story, a different day. The same chess board, different players. Rather than the King, there was a Queen to knock off the board. What she wanted, and why she had returned, John didn't really know. How he had ever loved a monster like Mary Morstan wasn't making sense to him either, it made him sick to his soul to think that he could have been so deceived...
Seriously, how can you know the streets of New York so well? How is it that you can get so lost in a crowd, and yet be totally aware of where you are? How can you play these Games, make yourself do it, even when it's not you to be so cruel?...I know you. Your bark is a lot more bitter than your bite. You might say bloody awful things, but you are honest to God and a fault...you would never have hurt Irene Adler to get Mary to do what you want, whatever that is precisely. You would never hurt anyone for spite...So, why are you doing this? Always trying to save me...Why do you love me so much, when other people have only ever used me like a pawn in their stupid little "Games" , the rules of which I don't understand half the time...
John has a knack for loving monsters, he realizes. If anybody was ever looked down upon like some Frankenstein's creation, it would have been Sherlock Holmes. It was people,and their misplaced hero-worship, it was people and their BIG talk, that had pushed Icarus up to the great heights, to the Sun of fame, that had burned his wings. It was people and their opinions, their misunderstandings, their blind hatred that had lead Sherlock, the human, the mortal , believe it or not fallible person, to his Fall. It was God Himself who brought him back for a second round, had to be...
What's going on in your head right now? Where are you going?What are you doing this for?...Why do you always try to save me, even when that damns yourself?
Why can't I help you, Sherlock? Why won't you just come clean to me?...
Somebody slams into John, and he turns back trying to see who it was, suddenly angry, and somebody else almost knocks his phone out of his hands. He catches it mid-air with a little gasp,sick to think that he almost lost his only line of contact to Sherlock in the entire Big Apple. Poisoned Apple too, he realizes. Something is going on here, a design that's been in the making for probably centuries. BIG Game, John realizes. He may not have understood what they were talking about, but he heard what they were saying. Mary has somehow involved the Crips and the Bloods in her little crime-solving contest.
The poison seemed unfair. Weaken Sherlock, put his mind in a frenzy, put him on equal monstrous level with herself , and then single him out against Charles Magnusson, (who apparently had all the world's dirty laundry at his disposal, and could summon any number of demons back from Sherlock's private Hiatus-hell to use in this Game), as well as the entire New York City mob.
One man. Never mind it was the great and terrible "Icarus, King In Terror". John despised the title, anyway. Remembered how frail, how tired of all of this, Sherlock had been back in Finland. That had only been a couple of months ago, but it seemed like an Eternity now, after what happened on Baskerville Island, and then the chaos of the last few days...
I love you...You realize that ,don't you? I would do anything to save you too...And I mean to. But...you know, I am just an ordinary person. There's not much I can do when it comes to wars in high places, and crazy games between you, Pandora, and Mount Olympus. I'm just a doctor, and the only battlefield I know is the hot and sandy Afghanistan...
But I love you, Sherlock. Despite it all...And if I can help you, somehow... By God, if I have to let all my blood...I'm going to save you. I know, it's crazy, probably stupid too... Really, what can I do? I have no idea, no clue, no lead at all...Sorry, I'm just not as smart as you are! I love you, and ... that's all I've got. Guess it will just have to be enough...
Right then he realizes he is standing on the same street as the locator icon says Sherlock is on.
He looks up, frantically scanning what horizon he can see over people.
There, in the midst of the crowd, a man in a flowing dark cloak, with a pale white face, a jet black hair. A man that's marching on The Mission Fatal.
John calls him name, and runs.
Sherlock doesn't look back, doesn't hear him, or if he does he won't acknowledge him. This is his War, and he had to do it alone. Nothing irks John more than Sherlock's stubborn, "solo mio" attitude.
Sherlock throws the door open to an old run down apartment like building from back in the tenement days. It's in a more Italian part of town, John makes a note of that.
He slips in through the same door Sherlock went through, going completely unnoticed.
Sherlock storms in to the middle of a room full of men, dressed in red clothes, and suddenly starts making hand motions, and John realizes its probably a gang symbol. For the wrong gang. One of the members stands up and growls,
"Yo-fool. You must me dawg( multicolored words) crazy to (multicolored words) show yo' pasty face in here! This is CK turf. My dominion."
"Musta had a death wish..."purred a girl, who's head was shaved completely bald, a tatoo on the back of her head.
Sherlock flashes the gang symbols, for all the different American gangs, and a few for other gangs in foreign countries. Then he spins a seat around, knocking a teen out of it, and props both of his feet on the table, where they were all apparently playing cards, though its a long cafeteria style table.
"I don't really care what you call yourselves...Or what you do, or what you think you know...About crime...About war...About death..."
A thousand thousand guns train on Sherlock,
"I'm about to shoot yo' limey ( a rather fruity arrangement of some colorful swear jargon) . You heard me, fool? I'm about to jack you up!"
Sherlock chuckles, darkly. John holds his breath, leaning against the wall.
"Take it easy, general. I haven't come to start a War with you. It would be a waste of my time. I've actually only come for information. Consider this a sort of parley before I burn you all."
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" the Leader shouted, and shot at Sherlock, grazing the table.
Sherlock started picking at the spot the bullet had torn up smokey splinters, with a smirk on his face.
"People and their guns...You know I can do more damage with a cigarette lighter, and a bottle of brandy than you can with every one of these illegal firearms you have stored in this, your grandmother's apartment, that she only lets you live in to keep you from being out on the street, because you are an on and off heroin addict, -trust me, I know the shakes. But if you have to ask who I am...does the name James Moriarty mean anything to you?"
The Leader blanched,..."The King?...The King of Crime?...He's...dead. Offed himself. Why?"
"Why, indeed? You should probably have been informed, their was a contest to conclude who should be his successor, and I was chosen unanimously. I am Icarus, current Reigning King. And what do kings do? They call courts. Right. So, apparently someone let that witch Pandora out of her box, I'd say about a year ago. She struck a bargain with me...and claims she has involved you lot-mmm, must have more confidence than I do, getting children to bring their toys to the playground. What she obviously didn't tell you was that she's stacked the deck ,folded a Joker into the cards. Pandora ...has called on The Exterminator to be the mediator in this Game. She didn't tell you, am I wrong?"
The gang-leader, (and John guessed he was probably a Blood by the all red clothes he was wearing), was on the verge of hyperventilating.
"Who...are you? How do you know all that? ...And exterminator...you mean...THE Exterminator?!"
"There is only one though, right?...Who am I? The name is Sherlock Holmes."
The Leader shook his head, lips blue and quivering now.
"YOU'RE DEAD!" he shouted, truly disturbed now. Every gun had lowered, the Bloods listening intently now.
"I was. Now, skipping to the important details. I have come to explain the rules of this Game to you, to make it a fair game, if only because my mother always wanted me to be a gentleman, and I would hate to disappoint her.I will also inform your rivals, the Crips, as there can be no advantages in an unbiased game. The rules are simple, as set forth by Pandora herself. I am the target. She wants me, for my secrets. To equalize the Game, -make it a fair fight-she has shot me up with the master poison, you've probably heard of Akhlys?"
Everyone in the room's jaws drop, like they will be sick. John is holding his breath, knowing this could be his last chance to understand what is really going on, so that he can help.
"So, you have..Good. Well ,the injection was given around 14 hours ago now, so that gives us about a window of 1 day and 10 hours to prove ourselves, ladies and gentlemen. Basically this is how it works. You go forth, and do what you do best, which is wreak havoc, for Pandora's hire. Under the influence of Akhlys, I am to solve your puzzles, and so foil her plans. Every time I solve the puzzle, I turn the responsible party in for it, that eliminates a player, a pawn, moves me up the board, closer to the Queen. Morstan, your Queen, when I solve the crime she actually intends to commit with aforesaid secrets, when I've ratted her out, and turned her in to my masters, I win. If I spill my guts, or fail to solve her puzzle within the next 34 hours, before the poison renders me sub-human, then she wins. So, really, the Game is like chess...really nothing new on the Earth, is there?"
Slowly he stands up. "Leave you to it then. Make it a challenge for me, would you, I am getting bored." he winked, and turned on his heel, and walked outside, John slipping up behind him.
For a moment Sherlock stood blinking in the sun, clutching at the place the needles had gone in, trying to breathe. He could feel the potency of the serum swimming through his veins. It wouldn't be long before it was overtaking him, like Mr. Hyde bursting out of Dr. Jekyll's skin. He bowed his head, trying not to look directly at the sun, his eyes darkened by the poison whose namesake was the Lady of Eternal Night, making him ultra photo-phobic.
He was just reminding himself who he was doing all of this for, when he heard John's voice quietly behind him.
"Ok, so the rules are simple enough, after all. A bit of a headache at first, with all that talk, but now I'm actually sort of looking forward to it."
Sherlock wheeled around and was face to face with the man he was repeatedly selling his soul out for.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, sounding more offended than he was.
"What I'm always doing...Just helping. The Game's afoot right?" John laughed, smiling kindly at Sherlock, whose face had fallen.
Suddenly, neither of them expecting to , or understanding why exactly they did, they embraced.
"It's alright. You've already got all the advantages, poison or no." John muttered.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock gasped, exasperated.
John took him by the shoulders, and leaned back, with a mischievous grin.
"You're Sherlock Holmes. That's the only advantage that you need."