Sherlock: His Lover Called A [Sherlaide II]

Moran's Confession

When they got to Wapping, a tiny area in London's Dockland district, they met Lestrade by one of the old piers. The DI had already taken the liberty of staking out a large perimeter around the prospective ware- and boathouses.  All of them were dilapidated and condemned, which fit the network's M.O.

Sherlock looked down the line of buildings and hummed, "There. That boathouse in the middle. Evidence of tiretracks there despite it being the one with the most decay."

"You want me to call armed response?" Lestrade asked. The brunette shook his head.

"No. Just have an ambulance here ready for Bridget Shannon. Keep the perimeters tight. I have to go in only with John in order to effectively corner whomever is holding her in the boathouse," Sherlock reconsidered, "Actually, have armed response posted around the perimeter. If the suspect or suspects run then we have to cut them off."

Lestrade nodded, "Understood." Then he started making the appropriate calls and giving orders.

John cleared his throat, "Are we going to go in now?"

"Yes, John. You've got your gun?"

"Of course I do."

"Into battle, then." John nodded to Sherlock and the duo started towards their target. The latter led the way up a rickety ladder so they could enter the rusting steel structure without detection.

Once inside they strained to hear any telltale noises, creeping forward. To their fortune, they heard talking and followed the voices until they had come to a small loft looking down on the rest of the boathouse. The two crouched down and edged to the railing.

Bridget Shannon was knocked out, blindfolded and gagged, tied to a chair with thick rope that must have belonged to some sailboat in the past. She had a few cuts and bruises but otherwise looked alright. Besides her, there were four men talking in a circle- all of them dressed in black with corresponding ski masks.

"She's still not complying with our requests. Why not just kill her and be done with it?" One of them, the shortest one, asked.

"Because she still has value. Give me another hour with her and I'll extract the information we'd need to continue without her," Another boasted, "She'll break just like all those others with what I have up my sleeve."

"Tch. We don't really need her though. We never need anyone to talk because we can get the info ourselves. It's a matter of giving that hat detective murder puzzles to try and keep up with us."

The last of the four sneered, "Let's just see if Sherlock Holmes can figure this one out without going into a mental breakdown again. If he doesn't solve the case then we move on and strike a little closer to home for him. That  will be much more exciting." Sherlock darkened and clenched his fists.

John reached over and clapped him lightly on the shoulder, giving him a look of encouragement. Sherlock nodded and then sighed for him to prepare. The blogger nodded in return and brought out his pistol. Not a minute to lose.

They looked back down at the men and Sherlock recognized Sebastian Moran. His unkempt blonde hair stuck out from under the mask and his voice was unmistakable. For a moment he envisioned himself back in Bucharest, but quickly drove out the memory. No. This time I will make sure that Moran and McDermott will not return. Don't lose focus now. 

The two worked their way around the loft until they could find a stairwell down to the ground floor. The entire time they listened in on the conversation between Moran and the others, taking in what information they could.

As they were descending the stairs Moran raised his voice, "I really didn't mean for Adelaide Cavanagh to survive that night. Now, Moriarty would've let Sherlock Holmes really have a chance to rescue her. That's how he liked to play with him- making him dance. But when I got her I was only interested in one thing. Enacting my vengeance on him and manning him suffer. It was even more enjoyable than I thought to torture her knowing that it would burn the hat detective into an empty shell."

So it was Moran! Sebastian Moran abducted, tortured and nearly killed my then girlfriend, present fianceé! He didn't even intend for her to have a chance at survival, he meant to kill her and thereby destroy me!  Sherlock fumed internally. Bitter anger and spite overtook his senses, making him see red. John felt a similar wave of anger and disgust, but with it came a sense of sympathy for his best friend.

He gripped Sherlock's forearm. When the detective turned he gave him a look and whispered, "We'll finish it here and now. Don't get carried away, mate." Sherlock was incredibly tense but he nodded and took a deep breath, recentering himself.

They waited for McDermott to start sharing his take on their ongoing game with the hat detective and then Sherlock signalled for John to shoot. He aimed and nailed two of the four, incapacitating them. McDermott and Moran spun around, muttering curses, as the duo stepped out of their hiding place, "I believe that this is the final round for you and your network." Sherlock pronounced.

They whipped off their ski masks and growled, then Moran faded into a sickening smirk, "Ahh, Mister Sherlock Holmes, recovered from our last meeting. I presume you heard that I was the one who took your pretty pet of a girlfriend- or should I say fianceé now?"

"We heard much more than that." John butted in.

"It's over for the both of you. I may have failed the last time but believe me I will not make the same mistake twice." Sherlock hissed.

McDermott and Moran then revealed their own guns. The former challenged John and Sherlock with a wicked glare, "It's not over yet. You're outnumbered and we  have Bridget Shannon as our hostage."

John and Sherlock exchanged a brief glance and the army doctor raised his pistol, "But you don't have Moriarty, And that's all we need."

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