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Another Empty Hearse

It was pouring.

But that didn’t stop the tall, mysterious man with the long coat from walking to the graveyard, the same one where his empty hearse was, two years ago. He enjoyed looking the rain as it was falling on the grass, making the ground beneath his feet muddy, and then being absorbed by the earth just to start a new circle again. But what he enjoyed the most was watching the rain banishing on the black hearse in front of him, black as its owner’s soul, like it wanted to hurt him, to make him more dead than he even was. He slightly smirked as this crossed his mind and then he turned his coat collar up, afraid of being recognized. This man didn’t deserve a proper burial, he thought. He deserved to be left lying on the cold hard ground, being more vulnerable day by day, his soul fading away and his body slowly decomposing until there is no sign of any human being there, well, if this man is worth to be called a human. He slowly looked at the red roses he was holding, struggling a little bit inside, trying to decide whether he should drop them down or not. Before doing anything, a playful, bittersweet voice made him freeze in his position.

-Did you bring me flowers? How kind of you. But I prefer the black ones.

The other man just stood there, his eyes closed, believing it was only his imagination.

He knew that voice. But its owner’s body was buried on the ground under his shoes. They both stood there for a moment, the taller man staring at his flowers, with a weird feeling on his stomach and the sound of the rain breaking the endless silence.

-Richard, he said looking up again. The other man stayed silent for a moment, you’d think he had lost his words.

-Oops, he replied boringly. You got me.

The man turned around sharply, making Richard raise an eyebrow.

-Which one are you then?

-It’s me, Sherlock. It’s Richard. Your old friend.

-I choose my friends more carefully, Sherlock responded. He was grateful that the dark didn’t let the surprise on his eyes be visible to the other man. And he was simply standing there, acting normal, despite his shock of seeing a man he considered dead standing right before his eyes.

-I thought it was Moran behind the recording. Sebastian Moran, your loyal slave.

-He was, he was. He’s been quite a useful pet, Seb never disobeys his boss.

A sarcastic smile covered Richard’s face. 

-How? How did you do it?

-Some things should better stay secret, Sherlock. You don’t want to be intrusive.

-Yes, but how?

-You’re boring me.

-Who’s Timothy?

Richard wrinkled his eyes for a moment, but then he gave a frustrated sigh.

-Of course! The phone! How can I be so stupid!?

-Believe me; I’ve been wondering since the day I met you.

Richard stepped towards the light and Sherlock could finally observe him, as he had almost forgotten his face during these two years. Richard seemed skinnier, darker. His clothes were wet and stained with mud, sign that he has been watching him quite a while. His dark brown eyes had a wild sparkle, and Sherlock could feel his thirst to kill. He just hoped that he wouldn’t be Richard’s next victim.

-Tim is my little twin brother. He’s an idiot.

-And let me guess, he was ‘kind enough’ to give you his flat, wasn’t he?

-Tim was always generous with his stuff.

-You kicked him out.

-I was naughty.

-It wouldn’t be the first time.

-Hmm? he asked, still smiling, but with a slight trace of wonder forming in his eyes.

Sherlock took Richard’s phone out of his inner pocket.

“One of your clients called, boss” Sherlock reads out loud from the messages section. “He’s not pleased”. 

And you replied, “Tell him to piss off”.

“And what about the money?”

“Money is not important right now”.

“But boss” Moran protests, “what is?”

“Us, ‘tiger’”.

Sherlock stops for a while.

-If that’s not flirting, I’m a baboon.

-You got me, Brook said playfully.

-Are you living with Moran? Does he even know you’re not called Moriarty?

-Calm down honey, no need to be jealous. Seb and I are just good friends.

-But how? My people carried your body down from the roof and into the morgue.

-Well then Sherl, you shouldn’t trust aaaaaall of your people.

Sherlock frowned for a second, but then he understood. Brook’s network started to infect his. Just like a spider, he weaves his web for a long time, picking out his movements carefully, and finally choosing the best moment to take his hat off. In this case it was that exact time, and as soon as Sherlock realized that, his desire to leave the graveyard grew bigger. 

-I know what you’re doing, he said. You need me to distract you…

-Oh, good, Sherlock. You got one out of ten.

-…But I won’t be part of your little games.

Richard’s eternal sarcastic smile disappears from his face, and now it’s turn for Sherlock’s lips to form one.

-Have fun playing with people’s lives once again.

-Oh I will, Richard reassured with his voice growing a bit louder when Sherlock started to walk away. Especially with John Watson.