Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take- 3/10
Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.
Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language,
Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.
Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.
Word Count: 2,414
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Chapter 3
Molly Brings A Message
***************************
***************************
Date: Febuary 10th,2011
Time: 2:40 pm
Location: Aeroplane
**************************
John watches Sherlock stare pensively out the window for a few minutes before looking away to take another sip from his drink. They haven't talked much since getting on the plane.
It wasn't as if they didn't have anything to say, it was simply a matter of not needing to say it at this point.
"Do you know what day this is?"
John glances over at Sherlock looking at him.
"February tenth."
"Do you remember what happened on this date, a year ago?"
John frowns, then thinks back. He remembers quite a lot from his time with Sherlock. The tenth of February...
Oh. "Stacia Desmond. Her dog walker turned obsessive stalker. You ended up in a confrontation with him."
Sherlock nods. "That was the same night you told me that you wanted to help with my cases.. while scolding me about my lack of self preservation."
John chuckles. "Apparently we're both lacking it at this time."
"It seem so."
***************************
Date: January 16th, 2010
Location: Interpol National Central Bureau in Italy
Time: 3pm
***************************
Agent Renata Rodriguez walks through the garage, heading towards her car. She ignores the echo that her heels make in the quiet parking garage, focusing on getting her car keys out.
It was a long day, dealing with the egos of the American FBI agents and the egos of the Polizia di Stato. And no doubt, it'll be an equally long night of squabbling with her husband when she gets home.
She passes another car, a silver fiat, just four cars away from hers. When the agent gets to her car, she pauses in the act of unlocking it, something getting her attention.
A security camera lying on the ground just a few feet away.
She moves away from the door and heads toward the camera, stopping as she hears the distinctive clicking sound of a gun.
"You really should have chosen your sources more carefully, Agent Rodriguez," she hears a feminine voice with a french accent drawl. "Turn around please."
"Why? Don't care to shoot me in the back?"
"I like face to face."
Five basic words that show Agent Rodriguez what type of person she's dealing with. She does turn around as requested. A woman just a few feet away with chestnut coloured hair and dark brown eyes that are hard, but have a gleam in them.
She's enjoying this.
Cold blooded killer.
"Thank you."
Those are the last words Agent Renata Rodriguez hears as she feels a blinding pain in her chest, then she feels nothing seconds later.
***************************
Date: January 18th, 2011
Location: 45 Buckingham Gate, Bank Wesminster
Time: A little past 4 pm
***************************
"It's simple. Your blackmailer is your assistant."
John watches as the vice president of the bank looks at Sherlock and then to the mild mannered looking young man standing just ten feet away.
Even after all this time of watching Sherlock work, there are still times when John can be surprised by how quickly the consulting detective can put together pieces of the puzzle when a case comes to him.
He was contacted by the vice president at seven this morning. Nine hours later, Sherlock was telling her who had been blackmailing her for over six months now... when her security people hadn't been able to find out one bloody thing.
Sherlock ended up hitting a wall in the case about two hours ago, but when John mentioned that if someone wanted to blackmail Sherlock, that they would have the perfect person to do it. John. (Not that John would do it, besides he doubts Sherlock would care if anyone tried to.)
Those few chosen words sent Sherlock down another path of rushed brilliance, and now here they are.
"Ryan?" She asks with doubt.
John sits back in his chair, as Sherlock goes about his deductions. For the next five minutes, the only person who heard talking is Sherlock as he goes on about Ryan Delmar's clothes, financial difficulties, his resentment towards the vice president (who had asked for Sherlock's help in finding out who was blackmailing her), his fiance's desperation to have a fancy wedding and the fact that neither has the money to pay for it.
Blackmailing the boss just so he can help his fiance succeed in having the wedding of her dreams.
John personally didn't know what to think of that.
Meanwhile, as Sherlock lists his deductions (while having taken just two breaths in the entire five minutes of his flood of words), Ryan Delmar is appearing more and more sickly.
"So, in conclusion, he is fifteen thousand pounds in debt, he's worked five years as your assistant and has hated every minute of it, and to top it off his fiance wants a wedding with the all the trimmings that will ultimately cost about forty thousand pounds, half of what he's been asking for in his blackmail scheme."
The vice president stares at the man who was her blackmailer.
"You bloody son of a bitch!"
Half Hour Later
"Then she pretty much tried to throw him out the window," John finishes giving his statement to one of the officers. "That was when Security came in."
"Thank you Doctor Watson. If we have any more questions, we'll phone you."
John nods. Turning away from the uniformed officers he sees Sherlock walking to the nearest lift, now apparently done with his statement.
John catches up just as the lifts doors are closing, but Sherlock's hand presses back against one of the doors, keeping them opened so John can get in.
"Thanks."
Sherlock nods, as his mobile rings. John feels a buzzing on his mobile indicating a message.
"Sherlock Holmes," he hears Sherlock answer as John checks his message.
Thinking about coming to London for two days. Think His Royal Highness can tolerate my presence for that long? Harry.
No. No. Oh god, again no. The last visit was a disaster of epic proportions.
At the end of it, John told her that he wouldn't accept any visits from her unless she was sober. That caused a ten minute row between them about her inability to see she has a problem.
John puts away his mobile, determined to ignore the text. Harry was most likely drunk, so she'd hopefully forget about it in a few hours.
He looks over at Sherlock, and blinks at the look on his flatmates face. He's standing still, looking a little dazed. He remembered that look when the elderly victim in Yorkshire, one of the victims of Jim Moriarty's game, ended up dying while Sherlock was on the phone with her.
"Right. Thank you for letting me know," Sherlock says stiffly. He ends the call and stares straight ahead.
"Sherlock?"
"My contact, Agent Renata Rodriguez of the Interpol National Center Burea in Italy," Sherlock says quietly. "She's dead."
John inhales sharply.
"Two gun shot wounds. One to the heart, one to the head. At close range."
Moran.
It had to be.
***************************
Date: January 21st, 2011
Location: Paris, France
Time: 2 pm
***************************
The mobile next to her on the table rings.
"Moran."
"I need you to do your task in Germany."
"I'm about to finish my task here."
"Get on a plane to Berlin as quick as you can."
Moran frowns at the insistence in the Boss's voice. "Something the matter?"
"Had to relocate."
Damn.
"What happened?"
"Viktor Porter is what happened."
Moran scowls. "I knew I should have shot him."
"Yes, well you'll get to do that in Germany. Finish your job there, then get moving."
"Yes, sir."
Moran ends the call, puts money on the table for her drink and leaves the small cafe.
The deputy prosecutor should be getting out of court in twenty minutes.
25 Minutes Later
Moran pulls her rifle back and hides behind the pillar, smirking as she hears the panicked shouts of passerby's.
She takes apart her rifle, putting each piece back in the case before snapping it shut.
Once done, she quietly slips away, no one of course noticing her. Everyone is a bit busy concentrating on a now dead deputy prosecutor.
Moran walks past rushing pedestrians and reaches her rental car. Once she is inside, her mobile rings.
"Nice touch," Boss's voice says with amusement. "With the reporters there and everything."
Moran smiles as she drives out into traffic. "I thought so. I'll be in Berlin as soon as I can."
"Good. After you handle Porter, you can take care of the other contact. How many left?"
"With the one in Berlin, it'll be three. Do you want me to cut short the list?" Moran's disappointed now. She'd been looking forward to going to Belgium for the last two. It was quite fascinating how Holmes's contacts were spread out.
"Best do so. The news of the prosecutor's death will reach Sherlock quickly. By the time he's figured it out, we can proceed to London to press my point further."
She licks her lips in anticipation.
Oh, this is going to be so much fun.
***************************
Date January 21st, 2011
Location: 221B Baker Street
Time: 7 pm
***************************
"Callie Winters. Harrison Baynes. Billy Bradstreet," John watches as Sherlock recite the names as he paces the sitting room.
"Agent Rodriguez and now.. now Jean Claude Desrosiers," Sherlock spits out in obvious frustration gesturing towards the news program currently playing on the telly.
"How did you end up with a prosecutor in another country as a source?" John asks curiously.
"Hmm? Oh.. when I was in Paris during my travels. It's not important now. What is important, five of my contacts, sources of information, are now dead. The few others I have in the States are alive, as far as I know. They can be tricky to track down. But Winters, Baynes, Bradstreet, they wouldn't be difficult."
"The Interpol agent?"
"Wiretap on a phone or office. The prosecutor, Desrosiers, same thing. Moriarty's assassin is killing off my contacts."
"He's figured out you were behind the tips that helped net arrests of those in his organization."
Sherlock nods then starts pacing faster. "I apparently wasn't able to cover my tracks as cleanly as I thought I did. Or he just simply figured it out. Either way, Moran has now killed them, and she's most likely in the process of tracking down another one of my contacts. Of course, I won't know who it is until it's too late."
"This is his plan," John says quietly.
"Pardon?"
"What he said he had in store for us, for you, when we were at Baskerville Hall," John speaks up. "If you didn't back off."
"He wants me to feel guilty. As if I caused their deaths." Sherlock's pacing doesn't let up. "I didn't cause it. I'm not the one that killed them. I have no reason to feel any guilt."
But you do, John thinks silently. It's why you're declaring it now.
There's a knock on the door which is currently closed. Sherlock ignores, still pacing.
"Sherlock!" John hears Doctor Molly Hooper call out. "Mrs Hudson said you're here. Please, open the door, it's about.. it's about him!"
Sherlock comes to a halt in surprise. John quickly moves from his chair to the door. Molly Hooper rushes inside, holding what looks to be a package. Her hair's loose, and she has the expression of someone afraid.
"Moriarty?" Sherlock bites out.
She nods, looking scared. "I think I'm being followed or something. It started about five days ago. I'm not really sure though. But I keep getting that sense you know?"
"Here, sit down, Molly," John urges, guiding her to a chair. When she sits, John takes the other seat. "Why do you think it's him though?"
"Because of the roses!"
Sherlock and John both stare at her. "Roses?"
Molly nods, and holds out the package that she was holding. It's a flower box used for deliveries. John lifts the lid and sees three roses. One black, one orange, one blue.
"He sent the first delivery to me on the fifteenth. This package was leaning against my door when I got home," Molly says in a rush. "I tossed them in the bin the first opportunity. I just wanted to ignore it, hope that it was just a nasty prank from someone. Everything had been going so well these past few weeks," she says in a heartbreaking manner. Sympathy wells up in John. He hates seeing Molly like this, after getting to see what she can do.
"I know it's him," she continues, her voice breaking a little. After what she's gone through, coming out stronger because of it, it's clear that one thing can truly terrify her. John's not surprised, as Moriarty is an entirely different situation.
"It can only be Jim. The last time I got those was in April. On the sixth. To apologize for breaking our date earlier, but he had something else planned."
Oh yes, he had something planned. Such as abducting me and forcing a stand off at the pool.
"He's back, isn't he? He was never killed in that explosion. I always felt that he wasn't, but I wanted to believe it."
Until now, it had been quietly assumed by most of Scotland Yard and everyone else that he was. The only ones who knew differently were John, Sherlock and Mycroft. John looks up at Sherlock then and sees nothing but a blank mask, but behind those pale blue eyes, wheels are spinning.
"No Molly," John says quietly, clasping one of her shaking hands. "He wasn't."
"But why did he send me these roses? Am I really being followed? Why me? He was just using me last time," she cries. She looks at Sherlock. "I don't know anything, really. Nothing pertinent to him. What's he playing at?"
John has an idea exactly on Moriarty is doing, and by the clenching of Sherlock's jaw, he may be right.
Molly's the message. She just doesn't know it.
A message telling Sherlock that anyone he knows isn't safe right now.
NEXT CHAPTER
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.
Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language,
Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.
Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.
Word Count: 2,414
***************************
Chapter 3
Molly Brings A Message
***************************
***************************
Date: Febuary 10th,2011
Time: 2:40 pm
Location: Aeroplane
**************************
John watches Sherlock stare pensively out the window for a few minutes before looking away to take another sip from his drink. They haven't talked much since getting on the plane.
It wasn't as if they didn't have anything to say, it was simply a matter of not needing to say it at this point.
"Do you know what day this is?"
John glances over at Sherlock looking at him.
"February tenth."
"Do you remember what happened on this date, a year ago?"
John frowns, then thinks back. He remembers quite a lot from his time with Sherlock. The tenth of February...
Oh. "Stacia Desmond. Her dog walker turned obsessive stalker. You ended up in a confrontation with him."
Sherlock nods. "That was the same night you told me that you wanted to help with my cases.. while scolding me about my lack of self preservation."
John chuckles. "Apparently we're both lacking it at this time."
"It seem so."
***************************
Date: January 16th, 2010
Location: Interpol National Central Bureau in Italy
Time: 3pm
***************************
Agent Renata Rodriguez walks through the garage, heading towards her car. She ignores the echo that her heels make in the quiet parking garage, focusing on getting her car keys out.
It was a long day, dealing with the egos of the American FBI agents and the egos of the Polizia di Stato. And no doubt, it'll be an equally long night of squabbling with her husband when she gets home.
She passes another car, a silver fiat, just four cars away from hers. When the agent gets to her car, she pauses in the act of unlocking it, something getting her attention.
A security camera lying on the ground just a few feet away.
She moves away from the door and heads toward the camera, stopping as she hears the distinctive clicking sound of a gun.
"You really should have chosen your sources more carefully, Agent Rodriguez," she hears a feminine voice with a french accent drawl. "Turn around please."
"Why? Don't care to shoot me in the back?"
"I like face to face."
Five basic words that show Agent Rodriguez what type of person she's dealing with. She does turn around as requested. A woman just a few feet away with chestnut coloured hair and dark brown eyes that are hard, but have a gleam in them.
She's enjoying this.
Cold blooded killer.
"Thank you."
Those are the last words Agent Renata Rodriguez hears as she feels a blinding pain in her chest, then she feels nothing seconds later.
***************************
Date: January 18th, 2011
Location: 45 Buckingham Gate, Bank Wesminster
Time: A little past 4 pm
***************************
"It's simple. Your blackmailer is your assistant."
John watches as the vice president of the bank looks at Sherlock and then to the mild mannered looking young man standing just ten feet away.
Even after all this time of watching Sherlock work, there are still times when John can be surprised by how quickly the consulting detective can put together pieces of the puzzle when a case comes to him.
He was contacted by the vice president at seven this morning. Nine hours later, Sherlock was telling her who had been blackmailing her for over six months now... when her security people hadn't been able to find out one bloody thing.
Sherlock ended up hitting a wall in the case about two hours ago, but when John mentioned that if someone wanted to blackmail Sherlock, that they would have the perfect person to do it. John. (Not that John would do it, besides he doubts Sherlock would care if anyone tried to.)
Those few chosen words sent Sherlock down another path of rushed brilliance, and now here they are.
"Ryan?" She asks with doubt.
John sits back in his chair, as Sherlock goes about his deductions. For the next five minutes, the only person who heard talking is Sherlock as he goes on about Ryan Delmar's clothes, financial difficulties, his resentment towards the vice president (who had asked for Sherlock's help in finding out who was blackmailing her), his fiance's desperation to have a fancy wedding and the fact that neither has the money to pay for it.
Blackmailing the boss just so he can help his fiance succeed in having the wedding of her dreams.
John personally didn't know what to think of that.
Meanwhile, as Sherlock lists his deductions (while having taken just two breaths in the entire five minutes of his flood of words), Ryan Delmar is appearing more and more sickly.
"So, in conclusion, he is fifteen thousand pounds in debt, he's worked five years as your assistant and has hated every minute of it, and to top it off his fiance wants a wedding with the all the trimmings that will ultimately cost about forty thousand pounds, half of what he's been asking for in his blackmail scheme."
The vice president stares at the man who was her blackmailer.
"You bloody son of a bitch!"
Half Hour Later
"Then she pretty much tried to throw him out the window," John finishes giving his statement to one of the officers. "That was when Security came in."
"Thank you Doctor Watson. If we have any more questions, we'll phone you."
John nods. Turning away from the uniformed officers he sees Sherlock walking to the nearest lift, now apparently done with his statement.
John catches up just as the lifts doors are closing, but Sherlock's hand presses back against one of the doors, keeping them opened so John can get in.
"Thanks."
Sherlock nods, as his mobile rings. John feels a buzzing on his mobile indicating a message.
"Sherlock Holmes," he hears Sherlock answer as John checks his message.
Thinking about coming to London for two days. Think His Royal Highness can tolerate my presence for that long? Harry.
No. No. Oh god, again no. The last visit was a disaster of epic proportions.
At the end of it, John told her that he wouldn't accept any visits from her unless she was sober. That caused a ten minute row between them about her inability to see she has a problem.
John puts away his mobile, determined to ignore the text. Harry was most likely drunk, so she'd hopefully forget about it in a few hours.
He looks over at Sherlock, and blinks at the look on his flatmates face. He's standing still, looking a little dazed. He remembered that look when the elderly victim in Yorkshire, one of the victims of Jim Moriarty's game, ended up dying while Sherlock was on the phone with her.
"Right. Thank you for letting me know," Sherlock says stiffly. He ends the call and stares straight ahead.
"Sherlock?"
"My contact, Agent Renata Rodriguez of the Interpol National Center Burea in Italy," Sherlock says quietly. "She's dead."
John inhales sharply.
"Two gun shot wounds. One to the heart, one to the head. At close range."
Moran.
It had to be.
***************************
Date: January 21st, 2011
Location: Paris, France
Time: 2 pm
***************************
The mobile next to her on the table rings.
"Moran."
"I need you to do your task in Germany."
"I'm about to finish my task here."
"Get on a plane to Berlin as quick as you can."
Moran frowns at the insistence in the Boss's voice. "Something the matter?"
"Had to relocate."
Damn.
"What happened?"
"Viktor Porter is what happened."
Moran scowls. "I knew I should have shot him."
"Yes, well you'll get to do that in Germany. Finish your job there, then get moving."
"Yes, sir."
Moran ends the call, puts money on the table for her drink and leaves the small cafe.
The deputy prosecutor should be getting out of court in twenty minutes.
25 Minutes Later
Moran pulls her rifle back and hides behind the pillar, smirking as she hears the panicked shouts of passerby's.
She takes apart her rifle, putting each piece back in the case before snapping it shut.
Once done, she quietly slips away, no one of course noticing her. Everyone is a bit busy concentrating on a now dead deputy prosecutor.
Moran walks past rushing pedestrians and reaches her rental car. Once she is inside, her mobile rings.
"Nice touch," Boss's voice says with amusement. "With the reporters there and everything."
Moran smiles as she drives out into traffic. "I thought so. I'll be in Berlin as soon as I can."
"Good. After you handle Porter, you can take care of the other contact. How many left?"
"With the one in Berlin, it'll be three. Do you want me to cut short the list?" Moran's disappointed now. She'd been looking forward to going to Belgium for the last two. It was quite fascinating how Holmes's contacts were spread out.
"Best do so. The news of the prosecutor's death will reach Sherlock quickly. By the time he's figured it out, we can proceed to London to press my point further."
She licks her lips in anticipation.
Oh, this is going to be so much fun.
***************************
Date January 21st, 2011
Location: 221B Baker Street
Time: 7 pm
***************************
"Callie Winters. Harrison Baynes. Billy Bradstreet," John watches as Sherlock recite the names as he paces the sitting room.
"Agent Rodriguez and now.. now Jean Claude Desrosiers," Sherlock spits out in obvious frustration gesturing towards the news program currently playing on the telly.
"How did you end up with a prosecutor in another country as a source?" John asks curiously.
"Hmm? Oh.. when I was in Paris during my travels. It's not important now. What is important, five of my contacts, sources of information, are now dead. The few others I have in the States are alive, as far as I know. They can be tricky to track down. But Winters, Baynes, Bradstreet, they wouldn't be difficult."
"The Interpol agent?"
"Wiretap on a phone or office. The prosecutor, Desrosiers, same thing. Moriarty's assassin is killing off my contacts."
"He's figured out you were behind the tips that helped net arrests of those in his organization."
Sherlock nods then starts pacing faster. "I apparently wasn't able to cover my tracks as cleanly as I thought I did. Or he just simply figured it out. Either way, Moran has now killed them, and she's most likely in the process of tracking down another one of my contacts. Of course, I won't know who it is until it's too late."
"This is his plan," John says quietly.
"Pardon?"
"What he said he had in store for us, for you, when we were at Baskerville Hall," John speaks up. "If you didn't back off."
"He wants me to feel guilty. As if I caused their deaths." Sherlock's pacing doesn't let up. "I didn't cause it. I'm not the one that killed them. I have no reason to feel any guilt."
But you do, John thinks silently. It's why you're declaring it now.
There's a knock on the door which is currently closed. Sherlock ignores, still pacing.
"Sherlock!" John hears Doctor Molly Hooper call out. "Mrs Hudson said you're here. Please, open the door, it's about.. it's about him!"
Sherlock comes to a halt in surprise. John quickly moves from his chair to the door. Molly Hooper rushes inside, holding what looks to be a package. Her hair's loose, and she has the expression of someone afraid.
"Moriarty?" Sherlock bites out.
She nods, looking scared. "I think I'm being followed or something. It started about five days ago. I'm not really sure though. But I keep getting that sense you know?"
"Here, sit down, Molly," John urges, guiding her to a chair. When she sits, John takes the other seat. "Why do you think it's him though?"
"Because of the roses!"
Sherlock and John both stare at her. "Roses?"
Molly nods, and holds out the package that she was holding. It's a flower box used for deliveries. John lifts the lid and sees three roses. One black, one orange, one blue.
"He sent the first delivery to me on the fifteenth. This package was leaning against my door when I got home," Molly says in a rush. "I tossed them in the bin the first opportunity. I just wanted to ignore it, hope that it was just a nasty prank from someone. Everything had been going so well these past few weeks," she says in a heartbreaking manner. Sympathy wells up in John. He hates seeing Molly like this, after getting to see what she can do.
"I know it's him," she continues, her voice breaking a little. After what she's gone through, coming out stronger because of it, it's clear that one thing can truly terrify her. John's not surprised, as Moriarty is an entirely different situation.
"It can only be Jim. The last time I got those was in April. On the sixth. To apologize for breaking our date earlier, but he had something else planned."
Oh yes, he had something planned. Such as abducting me and forcing a stand off at the pool.
"He's back, isn't he? He was never killed in that explosion. I always felt that he wasn't, but I wanted to believe it."
Until now, it had been quietly assumed by most of Scotland Yard and everyone else that he was. The only ones who knew differently were John, Sherlock and Mycroft. John looks up at Sherlock then and sees nothing but a blank mask, but behind those pale blue eyes, wheels are spinning.
"No Molly," John says quietly, clasping one of her shaking hands. "He wasn't."
"But why did he send me these roses? Am I really being followed? Why me? He was just using me last time," she cries. She looks at Sherlock. "I don't know anything, really. Nothing pertinent to him. What's he playing at?"
John has an idea exactly on Moriarty is doing, and by the clenching of Sherlock's jaw, he may be right.
Molly's the message. She just doesn't know it.
A message telling Sherlock that anyone he knows isn't safe right now.
NEXT CHAPTER