jin·go·is·tic
adjective
characterized by extreme patriotism, especially in the form of aggressive or warlike foreign policy.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 𝗔 𝗦𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗪𝗦𝗕𝗢𝗬 𝗝𝗢𝗜𝗡𝗦 𝗔
𝗣�...
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Sherlock didn't know what to expect from when he recovered from last night's affairs. He can remember flashes and pieces within his clouded mind. The old lady's mask partially broke into shards when he punched the hard porcelain. It revealed to him a man, or at least a boy hiding behind it. Sadly, he couldn't get enough information to say spot the culprit just by seeing his whole face out on the streets. He remembers before the culprit manage to escape his grasps, they jumped up onto a building.
Although, one thing confused him the most. Watson swore that he saw a man with the old lady and even the blue haired man would have confirmed that. So why did he not see the man anywhere to be found when the culprit left the scene? Obviously they must've rendezvous somewhere but even before that, right before Sherlock punched the porcelain (and eerily realistic) mask. So he drew up two conclusions (or rather one conclusion but two different motives), one being that they would easily let their partner to either being caught or dying which would result in them fleeing or the second being that, they knew what he could've done.
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"That was a close one Fred. We could've really screwed things up had we not gotten out of there,"
[Name] sighed as they wiped the sweat off of their forehead. Their partner was taking heavy breaths (as heavy as a silent infiltrator can breathe) and shot them a questioning look
"You didn't do anything you know that right?"
"You didn't need to point that out!"
The [Hair Color] haired pouted as they started to take off their heavy coat. It was a pain to do missions that require to take another identity since the real pain was dressing up as a civilian. Most common clothes didn't allow to easily run especially dresses. [Name] didn't have much against dresses but the fact that they're so stuffy and you can't run well just made it unbearable sometimes (coming from personal experience).
"Anyway, is he going to meet up with them soon?"
"He already is there, and they are discussing the terms right now. You really need to get more sleep and start paying attention,"
Fred nonchalantly replied as he started to walk away from the resting place. He stopped for a moment and looked back towards the [Eye Color] eyed and shook his head. He motioned them to follow along and there might've been a chance that they could see him smile.
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Sherlock was quite scary when it came to both his curiosity and his interests. [Name] breathed a sigh of relief since they were about a safe enough distance from the events. The client, a man called Hope was standing and almost looked to be a pale corpse on it's final breaths and that might've been the case. Multiple times when discussing factors of the plan that Mr. Moriarty came up with he had spoken of his illness, it's also what drove him to killing the noble who did horrendous things to his wife. He did something irreversible but he's still a good man. What makes said man good or bad is completely depending not on what they have done but what they want to do. Someone can change if they just try for once in their short life time.
Sherlock, he was a good man and he was one for all the right reasons.
"It's very simple, Sherlock Holmes, you need to choose between these two options. That is, to put and end to this story of a man who's life was tainted by a joke of a noble. What I'm saying, is to kill me,"
The blue haired's eyes widened at those words but it quickly returned to their normal calm state as quickly as it came on. His partner, Watson who kept his look of shock slowly raised the gun that was tucked in his right hand. The only thing was, he didn't point it at the man but instead upwards. Hope placed his own gun on a bench that was in between the two of them.
"So you're saying you want me to shoot you with that?"
"Indeed. Think carefully, Sherlock Holmes, for this option merits the both of us. You can get information on my informant and also bring the body of the true culprit and prove your innocence,"
By now Hope looked like he was on the very last drops of sanity from all his years of life. He had that look in his eyes that basically spoke he doesn't value his life. It's probably just now he's showing what he truly thought of himself for most of his life, nothing but a fleshbag. Aimlessly, Sherlock took the gun that was placed on the bench and muttered out a few words.
"Nice resolve, but how can I get information if you're dead?"
"They will tell you. The ones who stole Lucy's ring back to me. They're pretty good with disguises, right? Anyway, that person things very highly of you and simply tested your skills by conjuring up this elaborate puzzle,"
"What for?"
"That's the part where you kill me, Sherlock Holmes. Don't you want to know about that person? How he comes up with his plans and how-, how extraordinary he is,"
Hope sounded more like he was reassuring himself more than he was asking Sherlock a question. Though, Sherlock did the unexpected. He aimed the revolver right at Hope, which was shocking to say the least. All stopped though, when the man behind him, Watson started to point his gun towards the blue haired man.
"Stop Sherlock, this is wrong,"
There were just more than two forces going on here, much like how most of the Crime Lord's schemes were. There always seemed to be a murderer, a victim, and a informant. In this case, an informant, a good man, and a man in between. Sherlock was a good man, or at least he liked to think he would be but in times like this, it was hard to tell what he could possibly be thinking.
"Why, John? This benefits the both of us you know,"
"You are a man who seeks puzzles at every corner. This answer should be clear to you Sherlock Holmes! Don't you want to know about the one make each and every one of those clever puzzles? Now choose! It's all right here, every single thing about that person!"
The blue haired man smirked as his finger grew closer to the trigger until eventually, he pulled it. A loud 'bang' resonated throughout the abandoned park. Fred and [Name] solemnly stared at the site with no words. The smoke that came out of the revolver was like clouds on a sunny day and blocked sun rays of hope. When the ill man and Watson came back to their senses, they stared at where the bullet had shot. It was only inches away from Hope's feet. Watson looked like he was about to cry right then and there. [Name] and Fred slowly walked off of the rooftops, a little shaken up but there was a feeling that the prior felt. The feeling, of hope. The boy took off while the [Hair Color] haired asked for five minutes of rest. It wasn't until then they heard certain words from Sherlock's mouth.
