Consulting Sniper (Moran's Story)

Chapter 21: Time and Place are Relative (Part I)

During our time imprisoned in Thameside Prison, I was not allowed to interact with Jim. But I was always thinking of him.

I wasn't dealing well with it; my separation from my only friend. I was not allowed to carry weapons, and that alone was enough to make me go completely insane. I needed a rifle or a pistol on me at all times; it was more than a necessity to me. I felt naked without my gun in my belt.

Finally, Jim and I were released. Separately, we were both delivered to my home at Conduit Street. That was what we have to them as our address. Not the warehouse.

When we returned, it soon became known to me that both Browner and Rucastle were gone from the syndicate. After Browner's failed assassination attempt on Tom Saylor's life, he quit.

Rucastle quit soon after because he had no leadership and no work. Without work, he also had no money. And without leadership, there was really no reason for him to stay. He was only there for Jim anyway. As most of us were.

By the end of 2031, Jim and I were completely back to our old routines. Except with a little twist. Ever since the incident in the hospital, we started going on dates every now and again.

They weren't really typical dates, but they were sufficient for me and Jim. Mostly, we took joint trips to the shooting range we had set up in the basement of the abandoned building. Nobody really liked to go down there alone anyway, but it didn't matter much.

I would bring my rifle and we'd shoot a few rounds and maybe talk a bit about what we were currently doing for the syndicate. One day in October, Jim and I talked extensively as I cleaned my rifle.

"You know, our dates are probably the least romantic dates I've ever been on."

"Oh, please, it's not like you've been on a better one with anyone else."

"I'm not confirming that fact," Jim laughed. "Is there anything else you want to do tonight? Maybe..." Jim trailed off, looking at me.

"What?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"Come on, Holmes. Use your powers of deduction, so to speak, and figure it out," Jim said.

................................

A few hours later, I was woken up by a loud noise. Jim and I were at my one-room Conduit Street flat, and the sound came from the front of the room. I was pinned under Jim's arm, so I moved it before I jumped out of bed, looking down to make sure I was actually wearing clothes. I got my rifle with the sawed-off barrel from under my bed. Jim woke up when he heard my rifle being picked up, and I told him to stay where he was.

I walked about ten feet toward the door and didn't get far before it came crashing down toward my face.

I jumped away, preparing to shoot at whoever came in. I didn't, because there was no one there. I did what a person in my situation is never supposed to do: I yelled to see if there was anyone there.

"Hello?"

They burst through the door, ripped my gun out of my hands, and put a bag over my head. I felt a needle in my neck, and before I knew it, I was out cold.

When I woke up, I was in a pristine white room. I sat in a metal chair and my hands were tied behind my back.

I must have been in some government building because the next person to walk in was Mycroft Holmes. I knew she worked for the government. I'd been told by friends of mine, both in the syndicate and on Conduit Street. Seeing her face in the news and on television sometimes, people who used to know me as Sabrina Moran now knew me as the girl who looked like that government bitch on television.

That is literally what people called me. It was sickening. And so when I saw Mycroft, I could no help but laugh at the irony in my my mind.

My sister did not greet me. She just glared at me as she took a seat in another metal chair on the other side of the desk in front of me.

"Don't you have more important things to do than be talking to me right now?" I asked Mycroft. She smiled and looked away. "I guess not," I finished.

"No, I don't actually. I was given the assignment of doing this."

"Yeah, the government, right? I know about you working for the British Government."

"I am the British Government."

"Oh, sor-ry!" I exclaimed sarcastically. "I didn't know that this was something you did all the time."

"It is. And I would appreciate it if you leave that subject alone."

"Then how about telling me why I'm here?"

"Good. You still like to cut to the chase, don't you?"

"Yep. Now tell me why the fuck I'm here."

"Please do not use that language in here."

"Why the fuck am I here, Mycroft Holmes?"

"You tell me that, Sabrina Moran-Holmes."

"I don't know who that is; I'm Sabrina Moran."

"That's not what it says on your birth certificate."

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Government Official?"

"I'm here to offer you a deal."

"Sure. Why the hell not? I mean, while I'm here, you know..."

"I'm willing to erase what's on your birth certificate. Make you truly Sabrina Moran."

"No fucking way! I've been waiting for this for years!"

"It's conditional, you know."

"Of course it is. I knew that before you even said it."

"Then let me tell you-"

"I know what the deal is. I tell you everything that's going on in Moriarty's syndicate, put myself in your custody for life and get Moriarty killed and you put Moran on my birth certificate so that at least I die with that name."

"Well, no, I wanted to kill you immediately. Not years from now. Right now."

"I have a counteroffer."

"Now what could that be, dare I ask?"

"I propose a physical and mental change."

"Oh, so you want to get plastic surgery and have your name changed and remain alive with Moriarty, terrorizing Britain and wreaking havoc on society for as long as you feel you would like to continue your schemes. Right?"

"You're not too bad, either."

"I was right about everything?"

"You were wrong about everything."