Consulting Sniper (Moran's Story)

Chapter 27: Death do us Part

I was back at Thameside Prison again. As you likely know, I was there years before with Moriarty before we were declared not guilty and also before I was convicted of the attempted assassination of Sherlock Holmes.

My cell was always light. The walls were white, my bed was white, my toilet was white. I mean, I guess some inmates may have liked it, but I didn't. It burned my eyes after years of operating in warehouses and under the cover of night.

It was supposed to be a men's prison. But it's 2037. When this prison opened, I was a teenager in America. It has twenty female inmates, including me now. I don't know if that's good or bad.

I'm the only one of the girls that kept her hair long. Some of the men have their hair long, but I look feminine. I never thought that was a word I'd use to describe myself, but whatever.

I'd been there one year and a half in all, including all the time I'd spent there. I hadn't been anywhere else, even in the old days when Jim was alive.

I was there for six months so far in my ten year sentence for attempted murder when one day, they took me to a room with a metal table and chairs instead of lunch one day. I knew what would happen like the back of my hand.

A man walked in. Oh, I knew who he was well enough.

"Why?" I asked him even before he sat.

"Hello to you too, Inmate Moran."

"You're here to deal with me. Like I mean deal, as in release deal. What do I have to do to get out?"

"I am fine, thank you," he said.

"Enough with the pleasantries. Why do you want to deal with me?"

"You haven't spoken to your twin sister Mycroft lately, have you?"

"No, and I do not care to."

"Well, if you had, you'd know she wrote a book about her life. And it doesn't include you."

I sat there for a few seconds, brow knitted, not knowing how to respond.

"Well, what about it?" I asked, accidentally letting my anger show.

"Mycroft wants you out. She knows you won't try to get revenge on anyone again. You missed your three shots. She just wants you to write a response book. To tell people not to do what you did."

I sat back, face softened. "What makes you think I want to leave? I get respect from the other inmates since I've probably threatened or killed their associates or them at one point or another. I get free food. A place to call home. Better than being out on the street, you know? Conduit Street can't compare."

"Don't be an idiot. Everyone wants out."

"Oh, crap, you know my secret," I said in a monotone voice.

"Sabrina Moran-Holmes..."

"Are you really gonna go there?" I recoiled at the use of my old last name. "How many times do I have to tell all of you people I'm not a goddamn Holmes? My records in England say Moran, all of them. Even though they're all illegally obtained..." I trailed off.

"Okay, alright, calm down. Sabrina Moran, then. Or, do you like to be called the Tiger more?"

"Only Jim called me that. I used it as my sniper name, and my cards name. But anyone else who called me it ended up dead at most an hour later."

"Okay, then," the man said. "If we release you on the condition that you write this book, do you promise not to commit any more crimes and see a parole officer?"