Devilish | Moriarty The Patriot

Chapter 7 | Six vs One

Sherlock stared blankly at the corpse of John Harrison. Three days after the Banquet to which he mysteriously disappeared, he washed up on the banks of the river Thames, more than a kilometer away from his manor.

The corpse was rotting quickly. Its clothes were tattered and worn down from the thrashing waters of the river. The blood had seeped off his shirt leaving a faint brown stain. It was not long before they found the intricate silver dagger buried deep in his ribcage, piercing his heart. He was most likely dead before he hit the water's surface. It was only a matter of time before the body was swiftly taken away to be magnificently buried and accompanied by a massive, wealthy funeral from relatives and associated nobles alike.

However, Sherlock was more concerned about the slit on his hand. It was clearly made by a dagger. Sherlock, being curious took out his pocket knife and made the motion of slitting his hand. The angle matched and Sherlock realized that the man did it to himself. But why?

The balcony which Harrison fell from was the most reasonable choice for a clean murder. There were no other balconies and windows that could observe the particular one. The lounge was a room furnished expensively with velvet and gold-threaded embroidery. This was constructed for secretive purposes. Stroking the glass table for clues, Sherlock checked the whiskey glass set. One, two, three... where was the fourth cup?

"Sir!!" a young police officer burst into the lounge room. Sherlock immediately grasped the situation. Sprinting down the hallway to the discovery, he was confronted by one ebony door that was smeared with blood. Shards of shattered whiskey glass littered the doorstep. Quickly putting on his gloves around his fingers with a short tug, he grasped the cold door handle and swung the door open, slowly.

The office was seething with corruption. Document after document after document. Smuggling. Extortion. Prostitution. Trafficking. Opium. More trafficking. Sherlock frantically scanned every single document. The message was clear.

John Harrison deserved his death in every single way. This smelled like a scandal.

Eight other nobles were caught red-handed with undeniable evidence which neither their privilege nor wealth could excuse them from the divine punishment of the law. Reporters swarmed the Harrison mansion, Sherlock was persistently tracked down and interviewed. Chaos erupted in this corner of London, and the distrust of the aristocracy skyrocketed among the commoners. More nobles refused to answer Sherlock's questions, some nobles were outraged that they were even suspected and pressed him to investigate the servants and commoners alike that may have had a grudge towards John Harrison.

But... the murder hit a dead end. There were suspects, but no clear culprits. The more Sherlock investigated, he picked up on the nobility's corruption. Several nobles paid him off to keep their involvement a secret, and there was nothing the Scotland Yard could do about it. Sherlock felt the suffocating hands of the criminal who burnt down the Robinson mansion in Durham. They wrapped mischievously around his throat, taunting him. Who? Who is it? Sherlock's mind was on the identity of the Lord of Crime? Perhaps it was him.

At the end of the two days, Sherlock was exhausted. Energy drained, he silently smoked a cigarette from his office window.

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Meanwhile, the Moriarty Group had somebody to interrogate. The weapon engineer Von Herder himself. After swiftly packing their luggage, they stormed out of the Moriarty Mansion towards London. It wasn't long before the sun shifted into its daily slumber, engulfing the country in thick darkness.

William kept on imaging Isabella/Louise's notes in his mind. It was only recently that she gained connections with Herder, but the trade was extensive and prosperous.