Stranger (A Study In Pink)

Strange Truth

"How did you find me?" Sherlock broke the silence.
"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock ’olmes! I was warned about you. I’ve been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!"
"Who warned you about me?"
"Just someone out there who’s noticed you."
"Who? Who would notice me?"
"You’re too modest, Mr ’olmes."
"I’m really not."
"You’ve got yourself a fan."
" Tell me more."
"That’s all you’re gonna know ... in this lifetime."
"Where are we?"
"You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are."
I raised my hand and decided to but into this conversation.
"Yes hello. I'm here too. And to add I do not know where we are so care to elaborate someone?"
"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?"
I quickly got my phone out and typed a message to Mr Holmes.
'At Roland-Kerr Further Education college with Sherlock.
You maybe needed.
ZW'
" It’s open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I’m surprised more of us don’t branch out."
"And you just walk your victims in? How?"
Jeff raises a pistol and points it at Sherlock and I. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns his head away.
"Oh, dull."
"Don’t worry. It gets better."
"You can’t make people take their own lives at gunpoint."
"I don’t. It’s much better than that. Don’t need this with you, ’cause you’ll follow me." He spoke confidently at both of us as he walked out of the Cab.
We made our way into the building. Walking through endless corridors with Jeff walking in front of us.
"Sherlock what do you think is going to happen to us?" I asked him clearly knowing that Jeff would ignore us.
"You heard what he said. He's going to talk to us and then we'll die..." I looked up at him and he looked down. He gave a little shake to his head as if trying to tell me that he won't let it happen.
I sighed.
I noticed my right hand began to shake.
I took my left hand and placed it over my right and gave it a tight squeeze.
Jeff led us into a room.
" Well, what do you think?" Jeff motioned to the room. "It’s up to you. You’re the one who’s gonna die ’ere."
"No, I’m not." Sherlock spoke. "And neither is Zoe."
"That’s what they all say. Shall we talk?" He sat down and motioned across the table to the two vacant chairs in front of him.
Sherlock placed a hand on my back and motioned me to sit down, to which I did, but Sherlock remained stood.
"Bit risky, wasn’t it? Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They’re not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you."
"You call that a risk? Nah. This is a risk." 
He reached into his cardiagan and pulled out two small glass bottles with a screw top and puts them onto the table in front of him. There is a single large capsule inside each. Sherlock and I look at them, but Sherlock doesn’t react in any way, where as I can feel my right hand shaking again under the table.
"Ooh, I like this bit. ’Cause you don’t get it yet, do yer? But you’re about to. I just have to do this."
Reaching into his right pocket, he takes out an identical bottle containing an identical capsule and puts it onto the table beside the first bottle and doing the same motion again with his other pocket and now there were four identical bottles on the table.
"You weren’t expecting that, were yer? Ooh, you’re going to love this."
" Love what?"
"Sherlock ’olmes. Look at you! ’Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it. Oh and Zoe Watson. They seem to have an interest in you as well."
Sherlock and I spoke simultaneously.
"My fan?"
"An interest?"
"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. “The Science of Deduction.” Now that is proper thinking. And you Miss Zoe Watson. The interest with you, is that not everything is what it seems with you. Noticed anything usual going on in that brain of yours? Between you and me and her sitting ’ere, why can’t people think? Don’t it make you mad? Why can’t people just think?"
He looks up into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock looks back at him for a long moment.
"Oh, I see. So you’re a proper genius too." Sherlock's voice dripped with sarcasm. 
"Don’t look it, do I? Funny little man drivin’ a cab. But you’ll know better in a minute. Chances are it’ll be the last thing you ever know. And you too miss Watson."
"Okay, four bottles. Explain." Sherlock asked, well I would say demanded.
"There’s two good bottles and two bad bottles. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die."
"All the bottles are of course identical."
"In every way."
"And you know which is which."
" Course I know."
" But we don’t."
"Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You’re the one who chooses."
"Why should we? We've got nothing to go on. What’s in it for us?"
" I ’aven’t told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you two choose, I take the pill from one of the remaining – and then, together, we take our medicine. I won’t cheat. It’s your choice. I’ll take whatever pill you two don’t. Didn’t expect that, did you, Mr ’olmes?"
"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice." I spoke up.
Jeff looked at me and smiled. "And now I’m givin’ you one."
You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game."
"It’s not a game. It’s chance."
" I’ve played four times. I’m alive. It’s not chance, Mr ’olmes, it’s chess. It’s a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move."
With his left hand he slides a bottle across the table towards Sherlock. He licks his top lip as he pulls his hand back and leaves the bottle where it is.
" Did I just give you one of the good bottles or the bad bottles? You can choose either of these." He motioned to all four bottles.