SHERLOCK I, II, III & IV • #wattys2016

No One Will Even Care

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The frosty air came out in white smoke from the criminal and detective’s lungs. Their feet crunched on the ground and a stiff wind combed through their hair. None said a word to the other, but they knew a conversation would come about when they stood by the river’s edge. After a few paces, the two stopped and turned, facing the dark blue ripples.

“Things could end right here, Sherlock,” Moriarty taunted. “This has happened before, and I won’t let this one slip through your fingers.”

“It’s sad that a smart man like you has to drug me. I must be really smart if you have to do that,” Sherlock said through a cheeky smirk.

“I’ve always loved your humor, but, you won’t be laughing soon. The drug will take its toll and you’ll have a surge of depression. You will feel like killing yourself. I won’t have to say a word and you won’t have to think about your last words. You’ll just take a dive and you won’t have to deal with anything else.”

Sherlock placed his hands behind him and wished he had a smoke. “What about John? Mycroft? What has become of them?”

“Well, John has probably gone back to comfort the poor duchess, and Mycroft, well, I lied to him and gave him a false case to hound after. By the time he finds out it’s a fraud, you’ll be dead.” Moriarty squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder and gave him a firm shake. “This has gone by too quickly for me, but, the world has seen you fail. I’m getting loads of comments and retweets, it’s getting quite annoying. But, like everything else in the world, it’ll die down and you’ll be forgotten.”

“And when I’m dead, won’t you be bored?”

“I suppose so. I’ll have to kill your pet, lab assistant, landlady, and detective inspector. It won’t be that fun at all. But, it’ll keep me occupied for a few months.” Moriarty tugged at Sherlock’s scarf, getting his attention. “I know this is all so soon after you’ve just ‘come back from the dead,’ but, I’ve had enough. I finally found out a way to get rid of you in the most humiliating way possible.”

“You know, Jim, if we had a fair challenge, I’d make you try and deduct against my deduction skills.”

Having never thought about it, Jim bent back in a laugh and drummed his feet excitedly on the ground. “Oh! Wouldn’t that be fantastic? After all, you’ve never heard me deduct.”

“Of course, I haven’t. It’s because you can’t. You can think of clever ideas, but to break them down yourself will be impossible for you.”

Stroking his chin, Moriarty walked in circles around the detective. “You’re right; very right. I don’t think like you. But I don’t need to when you’re drugged—you probably can’t even think as well as Doctor Watson. By the way, he fancies the duchess quite a lot, and I think you’ll have an enemy on your side if you fail tomorrow. Think about. John standing in the crowd and you fumble over your words. The duchess is shoved to her knees and a bullet is sent through her screaming mouth. Beautiful picture, isn’t it?”

Sherlock didn’t answer.

“Well, I’m off. I’m guessing you won’t go anywhere except for the river.” Moriarty gave Sherlock a wink and popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth. In a confident strut, Moriarty made his way to his cab. Before boarding the cab, the criminal sang over his shoulder, “Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes!”

Standing so close to the edge, Sherlock imagined the pain on John’s face and the displeasure on Lestrade’s. He pictured his dear Mrs. Hudson sitting in her den, with her hand over her heart, watching the duchess die in his name. Holding his breath, Sherlock grabbed onto the railing and pulled himself on top of the paling. Balancing himself, Sherlock tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Unlike the last time he had put his life on the line, he didn’t have a plan. Inadvertently, the drug claimed his body and a strong wave of damaging thoughts poisoned his brain.

A tear streaked across his face and he opened his eyes. Slowly, he focused his attentions on the horizon. It was so beautiful—almost like heaven. Then, without one word of caution, Sherlock took a step forward and plunged into the River Thames.  The waters swallowed him and darkness clouded his senses. For a moment, he thought he had drowned, but it seemed too placid of a death. Coming to his senses, Sherlock clawed for the surface.

His lungs gave out on the final stroke, but he broke through the surface before taking in a lethal inhalation. Gulping for air, Sherlock swam to the bank. He dragged his body onto the edge and collapsed in faintness. His lungs burned from the water and his legs quaked from the intensity.

“Excuse me, sir, are you all right?” came a soft spoken voice.

Sherlock craned his neck around and his eyes met a familiar face. “Molly!”

“Sherlock?” the figure, still garbed in her white lab coat, staggered down the muddy slope until she landed right beside the detective. “Oh, Sherlock, I heard about you on the news—,”

“Shhh,” Sherlock warned, placing a firm finger over her lips. “They’re sure to have security around here watching me. In fact, I think the clattering on the bridge are Moriarty’s men.”

Molly, her face bent in sympathy, placed a hand on Sherlock’s face and said as fast as she could, “John texted me. He told me what happened. I didn’t know what was wrong with you, but, I made five solutions for you. Inject yourself with them; they should have an effect in half an hour. Each, I mean, just don’t do them all at once—,”

“Oi!” shouted a guard as he slipped and stumbled down the hill. “Step away from the man, missie!”

Sherlock gave her an ‘off you go’ toss of the head. “Get out, before they hurt you.”

Nodding her head until her face was a blur, Molly concealed her face behind her coat and scampered off into the darkness, hoping she wouldn’t be followed. However, she made sure to slip the five injections into Sherlock’s inside pocket.

“Who was that?” the guard interrogated, yanking Sherlock to his feet.

“A pedestrian, I think,” Sherlock gargled, dropping to his knees in now pretend fatigue.

“’Aul ‘im outta ‘ere. Take ‘im back to Moriarty’s.”

While two other guards, who appeared minutes after the first, lifted Sherlock to his feet, the detective made a wily move with the syringes and carefully transported them to one of the guard’s cloaks.

“Search him,” the first guard ordered. “I saw her pass him something.”

Immediately, the hands patted Sherlock all over, prodding and picking at his garments. When they had found nothing, they looked up at their superior and shook their heads simultaneously.

“Right. Well then, take ‘im to the cabbie.”

Sherlock waited a breath before slipping the syringes from the guard’s pockets and, faking a stumble, jammed them into the inside of one of his boots. There was good chance no one could see them, especially since his long coat covered down past his calves.

“Did Moriarty think I’d jump?” Sherlock asked in a drawl, waggling his head back in forth for effect.

“You’d ‘ave to ask ‘im that yourself, Mr. ‘Olmes,” the first guard said, opening the back door of the vehicle. “Though, I can warn ya, ‘e probably won’t fancy seein’ ya.” He slammed the door shut and motioned the driver to take off.

Sherlock smirked and lifted the edge of his coat. The five syringes were still there and morning was just eight hours away. Closing his eyes, Sherlock could only hope he would have enough time. He had to.