The Game Is On

Chapter Seven: A Visit With the Devil

Sherlock paced back and forth between the kitchen and the sitting room. "Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like shark - it's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John - stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes.... that's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen." He ran his hands through his curls. "You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner - but he's so much more than that." I frowned, silently asking him to go on. "He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power." I sipped from my teacup as Sherlock sat down at his desk, flipping open his laptop. "I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the napoleon of blackmail..." I watched the detective silently as he pulled up a picture of a mansion, along with a blueprint of the building. ".... and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. It's name..." he turned the screen to face me. ".... Is Appledore. I blinked slowly, shaking my head. "So your telling me the entire western world is run from this house?" I asked, pointing at the computer. He smirked. "It's the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world. Underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy. I shuddered.

A knock sounded at the door. Sherlock whipped his head around, slamming his computer closed. "Couldn't you hear the doorbell?" Mrs. Hudson sang from the doorway as she stepped into the flat. "It's in the fridge. It kept ringing," Sherlock said, cocking his head towards the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "Who is it?" I asked, placing my tea on the saucer. She took a deep breath and backed down the stairs, drawing the door back in. "Mr. Holmes said you could come right up," I heard her say from downstairs. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs and a man in a dark suit pushed open the door. Three men followed, two dressed the same. The third wore a gray suit and golden spectacles dangled on the end of his long, thin, nose. Magnussen.

"I understood we were meeting at your office," Sherlock said, his voice just barely wavering. Magnussen studied him, his eyes slowly moving across every inch of his body. "This is my office," he drawled, walking towards the fireplace. Sherlock stiffened. Magnussen ran his hands along the walls, studying the dust that was left behind on his finger."Redbeard." Magnussen turned towards Sherlock, grinning widely. The detective blinked. "I...." He cleared his throat. Magnussen turned towards me. His gaze was blank but still managed to send a shiver down my spine. "John Hamish Watson," he said softly. I looked at Sherlock. He hung his head, his fingers twitching behind his back. "Well I've all I need to know," Magnussen said after a moment. He walked back out into the hall, the men following closely behind. It seemed as if he'd only been here a minute, but I decided not to question his strange manner.

"Jesus!" I shouted after the door latched. Sherlock collapsed in his chair, seemingly lost in thought. His fingers were steepled beneath his chin and he tapped his foot on the floor. "Plans tonight John?" he asked, a light igniting in his eyes. "Erm - No... I don't think so... What's tonight?" Sherlock smiled, popping up from his seat. "I'll text you instructions - i've got some shopping to do."