Human Error ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book IV}

Chapter XIV - Glass and Poison

-Emily-

~~~~~~

I press my knuckles into the sockets of my eyes and stifle a yawn, suppressing the compelling desire to sleep.

I am exhausted.

With some reluctance, I sit back in the chair and click the stiffness from my wrists, closing the laptop lid and shuffling the printed papers. Finding the elusive Mr Langford was more difficult than I expected; not only was I hopelessly out of practice, but pinpointing the location of a man hidden by a nation's worth of concealment in twenty four hours was a near impossible feat, and one that took its toll out on my sapped mind.

I had to search for the invisible – areas of Vermont that should have traceable signals, but don't; places with no apparent cyber footprint. No such information means one of two things; either the area is devoid of all human life and interaction, or that the online transmissions are being purposefully blocked by a third party operator – in this case, the British government. I compiled a list of seventy three 'hotspots' and began an extensive cross-analysis, gathering as much information as I could on each, empty location. Most were barren tundras with little to no anthropogenic involvement.

One, however, stood out.

Further investigation gave me reason to believe that this locale was inhabited; all online activity cut off within a one hundred meter radius of that particular spot. A little illegal research into Vermont's construction history provided me with the final proof.

Langford is, if my theory is correct, currently residing in a converted train station directly north of Montpelier.

I stand up, my joints wooden with disuse and sinews hardened by lack of movement. I gather the papers together, drive a staple through the top left corner, and turn away from the provided laptop with its silky software and all-powerful hard drive, commencing the hunt for my unlawful employer.

I find him in his meeting room, alone, sitting at the head of the table, speaking into his phone in a tone that is as sweetly deceptive as they come, the impatient drum of his fingers the only indication that the sugary promises leaving his mouth are coating darker intentions. I move to place the papers on the table, prepared to deposit my findings and leave, but he stops me with an imperative snap of his fingers. I hesitate; I want to limit the frequency of my interactions with this man, but at the same time, I cannot afford to antagonise him.

I do not have the luxury of indulging my broken integrity, anymore.

I grit my teeth and stay where I am, arms folded and expression stony, waiting for the ultimatum to be delivered and the call to finish. I listen to his honeyed words shift into equally honeyed threats; I cannot deny that there is something polished in his procedure, a grim professionalism that is undoubtedly impressive. That being said, sleep deprivation is beginning to claim me as a victim, and I can feel my head begin to numb and my vision soften. I am starting to sway on the spot when he shouts, suddenly, and I near stumble with the shock of being jolted so violently from my standing stupor. There is a long silence, and the recipient is very quiet on the other end of the line.

He stops, fingers paused and poised mid-tap, as he waits for a reaction.

The voice, made faint with nerves, starts up again and the conversation reaches its conclusion.

Jim Moriarty smiles, callously content.

"Excellent. I'm so glad you've changed your mind. I'll be in contact."

He hangs up, sets his phone down on the table and looks at me, perfectly composed.

"Enjoy the show?"