Sherlock Holmes & The Knights Templar

Chapter 10

John awoke to the sound of violin playing and for a moment he thought it was Sherlock, and then as he listened further he realized it wasn't. Sherlock's playing was beautiful, but whoever was playing this was a virtuoso capable of performing professionally. John opened his eyes and realized that it was Moriarty playing Bach's Chaconne. He attacked each chord with such purity and ferocity that John momentarily forgot around the burning of his wounded wrists. Closing his eyes John let the magic of the music pour over him. When Moriarty stopped playing John spoke weakly, "Moriarty, please play that piece again." His voice was hushed for fear that he would break the spell. As if reading his mind Moriarty didn't say a word he just played the piece for John again. He ended up playing the piece several times until John fell back to sleep.

When John awoke again he was back in Moriarty's bed. Moriarty was hastily packing up several duffle bags, throwing out things he didn't want in an enraged frenzy. When Moriarty noticed John watching him he stopped packing.

"John, I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but we need to be on a plane to Jerusalem in a few hours," Moriarty said as he wiped his brow with his sleeve.

John coughed. "Jerusalem, you mean the one in Israel?" John asked. For a moment Moriarty gave him a look that reminded John so much like an expression of Sherlock's that John just sighed and leaned back on the pillows.

"Yes, there is a manuscript that I must see and the owner won't take it out of the country, so off to Israel we go. Don't worry I will give you a sedative for the journey," Moriarty said as he resumed packing.

John leaned back and pretended to be asleep as Moriarty quietly put items into several duffle bags once more; however this time his movements were methodical and rational. John squinted. He paid particular attention when Moriarty held up an old battered note book and gently laid it on a nearby table. "The book must be important," John thought as he made a mental note to see what it contained when Moriarty next left the area.

A few minutes later and John got his chance when Moriarty was in the little kitchenette. Quickly John tipped toed across the room, grabbed the note book and stuffed it under his pillow. It seemed that fate was finally with John for a few moments later Moriarty left the compound. John's stomach churned with sorrow when he heard all the locks sliding into place. Putting his feelings of entrapment aside John took out the note book and began to read:

1st Entry

My name is Jim Moriarty the school counselor says that as part of my therapy I should write in a journal. The reason the school therapist is up in my face, is because I set Carl Power's jacket on fire. He thinks he is so great. He makes me sick. Carl Powers and I are both 11 years old; we are in advanced placement classes together. Carl is one of the most popular kids in school; he is the best athlete in our district. Every day he makes my life a living hell. Yesterday, in chemistry he humiliated me in front of the entire class. Nobody wanted to be my lab partner, so the teacher had to work with me. I accidently spilled water on my crotch and Karl powers said that I had wet my pants. All the kids laughed at me all day. It was a tough afternoon, then at lunch Carl threw an apple at me and it hit me so hard that it left a red mark on the side of my face, and as if that wasn't bad enough, I started to cry in front of the whole lunch crowd. It was after lunch that I saw Carl's jacket and I set it on fire with some matches that I found behind the gym. I wish he would have been in it. As much as school sucks, home is even worse. My dad drinks all the time. He is a mean drunk. When he found out about the jacket, he beat me within an inch of my life. My mom just sits in the corner, smokes nonstop and reads romance novels. When my dad isn't beating me, he is beating her. As much as I hate my dad, I hate my mom even more because she is such a coward and just sits there and takes it. Why she doesn't stick a butcher knife in his back I'll never know. I sometimes fantasize about stabbing him myself. God, it would feel so good to see the look of surprise on his face as I stuck a knife up to the hilt in his bloated belly.