S3E3 - The Uncanny Valley - Part Eight: Transmigration
Episode number: s03s03 of Series 3: Unfinished Business
Title: The Uncanny Valley
Subtitle: Transmigration
Author: dracox-serdriel
Word Count: 2,000 - 2,100
Rating: R
Warnings: language, violence, graphic descriptions of forensics and violence, kidnapping
"So, you're, uh, Gregory Wendell?" John asked.
"Never mind who I am," the man said as he finished checking the binding on Sherlock's hands. "Just do what I say and maybe you'll live."
Whoever he was, he wasn't versed in capture. It had taken him the better part of a thirty minutes to get John and Sherlock both bound properly in chairs ill-suited to the task, and his only weapon seemed to be his revolver.
"Now, the two of you have been quite a problem," the man said.
"How's that?" Sherlock asked. "Sorry, Gregory, but - "
"Ah, shut it!" the man said. "Just because you know my name don't mean nothing, you understand?"
"So you are Gregory Wendell. Not the decapitated one, obviously," John said.
"Folks call me Wen," he said simply. "You were at Bart's the other day," he said to John. "Then, what do you know? You two show up at Sean O'Reilly's flat. I can only imagine why that would happen."
"Just visiting an old friend. His husband's brother works at St. Bart's," Sherlock said quickly.
"That I could get," Wen replied. "I know it's a lie, o' course, but it would be a lot better of a one if this bleeder here hadn't dropped in on the bitch that made this whole thing happen."
He pointed his gun towards John.
"We've both spent time with Molly," Sherlock dismissed. "She works at St. Bart's as well."
"Who?" Wen asked. "Oh, that woman you kept for a bit, yeah. No, I'm talking about Isabelle."
John hadn't had the time to talk to Sherlock about his excursion or who he met there.
"Seems a bit of odd for someone from London first to go up to South Derbyshire then out to Edinburgh."
"What is he talking about?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing," John said quickly. "I don't know what he's talking about."
The butt of the gun cracked into his knee. "I already know you're neck deep in all of this. But, if you tell me how much you know, I'll put you on a freighter. It'll be hell for about a month, but if you survive, you'll live. Wouldn't that be nice?"
Samson Leavitt was an influential man. Actually, that was putting it lightly. His family had been involved in local politics and service for hundreds of years. His mother was a highly regarded doctor, and his father had been governor for several years. But as soon as Donovan mentioned Cypress Hare, the man's schedule became completely free. He offered to meet them as soon as they could arrive at his estate.
As they parked the car, Lestrade received a call.
"Don't tell me that's John Watson again," Donovan warned.
"No, it's Sergeant Miller, I put her on the decapitation. She probably has something. I'll catch up, go on," Lestrade replied.
A spry young woman in a smart suit greeted Donovan. "I'm Lou," she said. "I thought there was two of you?"
"Yeah, here he is," Donovan said.
Lestrade approached, slightly shaking but covering well. Donovan wanted to ask, but she decided she'd pursue it later.
"Right this way," Lou said. "Mr. Leavitt is on his way back from Spain. He wanted you to meet with the woman in charge of his affairs, Izzy."
"I thought we were meeting with him," Donovan said.
"His apologies," Lou said simply. "He had trouble arranging immediate transport. There were delays. Ah, here we are."
She stepped into a large office and held the door open for them. A young woman waited for them on the other side of the desk. Something about her seemed so familiar to Lestrade.
"Isabelle Hennessy, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade and Detective Sergeant Donovan," Lou introduced. "This is Miss Izzy. She'll answer all your questions."
And with that, Lou bowed out.
"Mr. Leavitt told me that you had some questions about Cypress Hare," Isabelle said.
"He's dead," Lestrade said harshly. "For over a week now. Took us a while to give notice, see, because he was originally identified as Gregory Wendell."
"He's dead?" Isabelle repeated. "He's dead?"
"Yeah, and we have reason to believe you or Mr. Leavitt hired Hare," Donovan replied.
"Uh, yes, we did," Isabelle replied. "You said he was dead under another name? Is that right?"
"Gregory Wendell," Donovan repeated.
"If that's true, then, uh, I should probably go into some kind of protective custody."
"How's that?" Lestrade asked.
"Cypress was investigating an abduction. He said he found his way in under an assumed identity, and he told me he'd keep me posted. But his last contact, it was... hold on," she scrambled through a pile of papers until she produced a burner phone.
Donovan took the phone and read the message out loud, "Transmigration. Will report back ASAP."
"Transmigration?" Lestrade asked.
"This was sent nearly two weeks ago," Donovan said. "Didn't it concern you?"
"No. I mean, yes, but not in the assuming he was dead category," Isabelle stumbled through her reply. "Look, he was deep into this group, trying to figure out their end game. He found out there were three essential stages with this particular employer."
"Stages? What, for a promotion?" Lestrade asked.
"For lack of a better word. For the most part, everything seemed like run of the mill organized crime. First stage, you have to be recommended and the prove yourself. Second stage, you become a valuable member. He had achieved that. The last stage - that's this transmigration he mentioned - he just qualified for it. He said he'd send a full report, but that it could take several weeks before that happened."
"So you're telling us that Cypress Hare got involved in organized crime over, what, an abduction case you said?"
Isabelle nodded. "Yes. Look, I can tell you everything I know. But if they figured out that Cypress wasn't who he said he was, then it's possible they know I hired him. And it'll be better for Mr. Leavitt if I'm not here."
Donovan pulled her phone, "I'll make the arrangements." She got up and walked a few paces to make her call.
"Transmigration," Lestrade repeated. "What else did he tell you about it?"
She shook her head. "This text was all he sent me. But given the name, I assumed it was going to be an elaborate initiation process. Getting to that next level of trust. But all I have to go on was his text. And he mentioned something about multiple people working together for it to happen, but he wasn't clear on the details."
"It looks like they first tried to kill him with poison. Something that stopped his heart. When that didn't work, they cut off his head. Does that ring anything for you?"
Isabelle shook her head. "No. All I know is that Cypress was supposed to undergo this transmigration about a week ago. They cut off his head?"
Lestrade nodded.
Donovan approached them. "We got the go-ahead to take her in. You ready?"
Sherlock wasn't certain who he should be more upset with: John Watson, for withholding valuable information from him, or Gregory Wendell, who failed rather spectacularly to extract said information from him. It had all become rather boring very quickly.
"Just tell me about the girl," said Wendell again. "Then you two can be on that cruise I promised you."
"Oh, John, just tell him!" Sherlock shouted.
"Shut it, Sher - Samuel!" John barked back. "I don't know what this man is talking about."
"The trip you took before we came out here. You left for over a day!" Sherlock yelled back. "So out with it, John! You might as well!"
"I just needed to get away from you and your nonsense!"
"Here we go, he's going to be on about every little thing now," Sherlock added in at a loud decibel. "It's always you keeping secrets and it's all my fault, every time. Isn't that right?"
"What the hell are you on about?" John shouted back.
Wendell started to reprimand them, but he dropped to the floor before any sound could escape from his mouth.
Molly Hooper stood over him, holding what looked like an old piece of pipe. Wendell began to move slowly, so she rushed over to Sherlock, then to John, and untied them. As soon as his hands were free, Sherlock tied both Wendell's hands.
"We need to get the bags," she said to John. "We've got a car coming, and someone will be along for him."
John didn't hesitate. He had a slight limp from being whipped in the knee, but otherwise, he moved quickly, gathering their things together with Molly's help. Luckily they only had a few bags with them, and by the time they had everything, Sherlock had hogtied Wendell and stuffed a gag in his mouth.
As they made their way out of the building, John shot a question at Sherlock. "What was all that about? With the yelling?"
"Obviously, Molly had finally gotten back into the room, and she needed to get close enough to hit him. Loud shouting covered her approach and expedited her attack," Sherlock replied. "Unfortunately, I didn't have much worth yelling, so I resorted to things other people shouted at you, namely women that you dated."
"Oh, cheers," John said sarcastically. "You all right, Molly?"
Molly nodded, but she continued pushing ahead. A car idled in the road, and she directed them to it.
It was only after all three of them piled into the car, and it pulled away, that she spoke up again.
"That was him, the man who attacked me. I recognized his voice when I was in the loo."
"You climbed out the window?" Sherlock asked.
She nodded. "Called for help. Your brother sent this along."
"You called my brother?" Sherlock asked.
Molly bit her lip. "Sorry, no. I didn't have my phone. Or your phone. I had to borrow one from that shop across the street. I had to call a number I knew."
"So who did you call?" John asked. "Mrs. Hudson?"
"Lestrade," Molly said. "Sorry, he was the only one I knew who would call Mycroft if I asked. I didn't even think about it."
"What did you tell him?" Sherlock demanded.
"Nothing. Just that we were in trouble in Edinburgh and that I needed him to reach out to Mycroft for us. I didn't mention you at all, Sherlock, I'm sure he assumes it's just me and John."
Sherlock glowered. "Lestrade is not a idiot. He has his suspicions."
"Your welcome," Molly replied harshly. "For saving your life. Again."
"Thanks," John said. "For clocking that guy."
"The important question is, who did you visit a few days ago, John?" Sherlock asked shrewdly. "And how is she connected to this case?"
Lestrade felt the anger bubbling to the surface, but now was not the time or the place for it.
"What's the matter with you?" Donovan asked. "Ever since that phone call, you've been in a right state. Did Miller tell you something?"
"It wasn't Miller," Lestrade replied. "Molly Hooper ran into a spot of trouble. She called for help."
"What? Why did she call you?"
"Because she didn't have a lot of choices. Look, I get it, you hate the idea of consulting detectives, but this was about protecting a witness."
"Right. All right. Then we need to get this case underway."
Lestrade's phone rang. This time it really was Miller.
"Lestrade," he said as he answered the phone.
"Speaker?" Donovan suggested. Lestrade obliged.
"Listen, we've got Gregory Wendell in custody. He's currently being shipped off to us from Edinburgh," Miller said. "And that bit you gave me about the metal shavings paid off. We found the murder weapon."
"Metal shavings?" Donovan asked.
"Where was it?" Lestrade asked.
"It was drawn into a receding pouch, like how some slacks have draw strings. Except this one was designed to lose the string, or rather the wires."
"So the razor wire was still in the body bag?" Donovan asked.
"Yes, I've got techs working on extracting it without damaging the internal structures. Whoever did this rigged the bag up before the body was in it."
"Do you know who set it up?" Lestrade asked.
"No, still working on that. I'll let you know once Wendell is here. And if I get any more information on this decapitated case."
"Good. Lestrade and I will be headed back shortly," Donovan said.
<<< Previous Part:
Part Seven: Mnemonic
Next Part: >>>
Part Nine: A Little Inconvenience
Primary Post: The Uncanny Valley - Series 3, Episode 3
Primary Post: Unfinished Business, or Series 3 (s03ff)
Title: The Uncanny Valley
Subtitle: Transmigration
Author: dracox-serdriel
Word Count: 2,000 - 2,100
Rating: R
Warnings: language, violence, graphic descriptions of forensics and violence, kidnapping
"So, you're, uh, Gregory Wendell?" John asked.
"Never mind who I am," the man said as he finished checking the binding on Sherlock's hands. "Just do what I say and maybe you'll live."
Whoever he was, he wasn't versed in capture. It had taken him the better part of a thirty minutes to get John and Sherlock both bound properly in chairs ill-suited to the task, and his only weapon seemed to be his revolver.
"Now, the two of you have been quite a problem," the man said.
"How's that?" Sherlock asked. "Sorry, Gregory, but - "
"Ah, shut it!" the man said. "Just because you know my name don't mean nothing, you understand?"
"So you are Gregory Wendell. Not the decapitated one, obviously," John said.
"Folks call me Wen," he said simply. "You were at Bart's the other day," he said to John. "Then, what do you know? You two show up at Sean O'Reilly's flat. I can only imagine why that would happen."
"Just visiting an old friend. His husband's brother works at St. Bart's," Sherlock said quickly.
"That I could get," Wen replied. "I know it's a lie, o' course, but it would be a lot better of a one if this bleeder here hadn't dropped in on the bitch that made this whole thing happen."
He pointed his gun towards John.
"We've both spent time with Molly," Sherlock dismissed. "She works at St. Bart's as well."
"Who?" Wen asked. "Oh, that woman you kept for a bit, yeah. No, I'm talking about Isabelle."
John hadn't had the time to talk to Sherlock about his excursion or who he met there.
"Seems a bit of odd for someone from London first to go up to South Derbyshire then out to Edinburgh."
"What is he talking about?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing," John said quickly. "I don't know what he's talking about."
The butt of the gun cracked into his knee. "I already know you're neck deep in all of this. But, if you tell me how much you know, I'll put you on a freighter. It'll be hell for about a month, but if you survive, you'll live. Wouldn't that be nice?"
Samson Leavitt was an influential man. Actually, that was putting it lightly. His family had been involved in local politics and service for hundreds of years. His mother was a highly regarded doctor, and his father had been governor for several years. But as soon as Donovan mentioned Cypress Hare, the man's schedule became completely free. He offered to meet them as soon as they could arrive at his estate.
As they parked the car, Lestrade received a call.
"Don't tell me that's John Watson again," Donovan warned.
"No, it's Sergeant Miller, I put her on the decapitation. She probably has something. I'll catch up, go on," Lestrade replied.
A spry young woman in a smart suit greeted Donovan. "I'm Lou," she said. "I thought there was two of you?"
"Yeah, here he is," Donovan said.
Lestrade approached, slightly shaking but covering well. Donovan wanted to ask, but she decided she'd pursue it later.
"Right this way," Lou said. "Mr. Leavitt is on his way back from Spain. He wanted you to meet with the woman in charge of his affairs, Izzy."
"I thought we were meeting with him," Donovan said.
"His apologies," Lou said simply. "He had trouble arranging immediate transport. There were delays. Ah, here we are."
She stepped into a large office and held the door open for them. A young woman waited for them on the other side of the desk. Something about her seemed so familiar to Lestrade.
"Isabelle Hennessy, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade and Detective Sergeant Donovan," Lou introduced. "This is Miss Izzy. She'll answer all your questions."
And with that, Lou bowed out.
"Mr. Leavitt told me that you had some questions about Cypress Hare," Isabelle said.
"He's dead," Lestrade said harshly. "For over a week now. Took us a while to give notice, see, because he was originally identified as Gregory Wendell."
"He's dead?" Isabelle repeated. "He's dead?"
"Yeah, and we have reason to believe you or Mr. Leavitt hired Hare," Donovan replied.
"Uh, yes, we did," Isabelle replied. "You said he was dead under another name? Is that right?"
"Gregory Wendell," Donovan repeated.
"If that's true, then, uh, I should probably go into some kind of protective custody."
"How's that?" Lestrade asked.
"Cypress was investigating an abduction. He said he found his way in under an assumed identity, and he told me he'd keep me posted. But his last contact, it was... hold on," she scrambled through a pile of papers until she produced a burner phone.
Donovan took the phone and read the message out loud, "Transmigration. Will report back ASAP."
"Transmigration?" Lestrade asked.
"This was sent nearly two weeks ago," Donovan said. "Didn't it concern you?"
"No. I mean, yes, but not in the assuming he was dead category," Isabelle stumbled through her reply. "Look, he was deep into this group, trying to figure out their end game. He found out there were three essential stages with this particular employer."
"Stages? What, for a promotion?" Lestrade asked.
"For lack of a better word. For the most part, everything seemed like run of the mill organized crime. First stage, you have to be recommended and the prove yourself. Second stage, you become a valuable member. He had achieved that. The last stage - that's this transmigration he mentioned - he just qualified for it. He said he'd send a full report, but that it could take several weeks before that happened."
"So you're telling us that Cypress Hare got involved in organized crime over, what, an abduction case you said?"
Isabelle nodded. "Yes. Look, I can tell you everything I know. But if they figured out that Cypress wasn't who he said he was, then it's possible they know I hired him. And it'll be better for Mr. Leavitt if I'm not here."
Donovan pulled her phone, "I'll make the arrangements." She got up and walked a few paces to make her call.
"Transmigration," Lestrade repeated. "What else did he tell you about it?"
She shook her head. "This text was all he sent me. But given the name, I assumed it was going to be an elaborate initiation process. Getting to that next level of trust. But all I have to go on was his text. And he mentioned something about multiple people working together for it to happen, but he wasn't clear on the details."
"It looks like they first tried to kill him with poison. Something that stopped his heart. When that didn't work, they cut off his head. Does that ring anything for you?"
Isabelle shook her head. "No. All I know is that Cypress was supposed to undergo this transmigration about a week ago. They cut off his head?"
Lestrade nodded.
Donovan approached them. "We got the go-ahead to take her in. You ready?"
Sherlock wasn't certain who he should be more upset with: John Watson, for withholding valuable information from him, or Gregory Wendell, who failed rather spectacularly to extract said information from him. It had all become rather boring very quickly.
"Just tell me about the girl," said Wendell again. "Then you two can be on that cruise I promised you."
"Oh, John, just tell him!" Sherlock shouted.
"Shut it, Sher - Samuel!" John barked back. "I don't know what this man is talking about."
"The trip you took before we came out here. You left for over a day!" Sherlock yelled back. "So out with it, John! You might as well!"
"I just needed to get away from you and your nonsense!"
"Here we go, he's going to be on about every little thing now," Sherlock added in at a loud decibel. "It's always you keeping secrets and it's all my fault, every time. Isn't that right?"
"What the hell are you on about?" John shouted back.
Wendell started to reprimand them, but he dropped to the floor before any sound could escape from his mouth.
Molly Hooper stood over him, holding what looked like an old piece of pipe. Wendell began to move slowly, so she rushed over to Sherlock, then to John, and untied them. As soon as his hands were free, Sherlock tied both Wendell's hands.
"We need to get the bags," she said to John. "We've got a car coming, and someone will be along for him."
John didn't hesitate. He had a slight limp from being whipped in the knee, but otherwise, he moved quickly, gathering their things together with Molly's help. Luckily they only had a few bags with them, and by the time they had everything, Sherlock had hogtied Wendell and stuffed a gag in his mouth.
As they made their way out of the building, John shot a question at Sherlock. "What was all that about? With the yelling?"
"Obviously, Molly had finally gotten back into the room, and she needed to get close enough to hit him. Loud shouting covered her approach and expedited her attack," Sherlock replied. "Unfortunately, I didn't have much worth yelling, so I resorted to things other people shouted at you, namely women that you dated."
"Oh, cheers," John said sarcastically. "You all right, Molly?"
Molly nodded, but she continued pushing ahead. A car idled in the road, and she directed them to it.
It was only after all three of them piled into the car, and it pulled away, that she spoke up again.
"That was him, the man who attacked me. I recognized his voice when I was in the loo."
"You climbed out the window?" Sherlock asked.
She nodded. "Called for help. Your brother sent this along."
"You called my brother?" Sherlock asked.
Molly bit her lip. "Sorry, no. I didn't have my phone. Or your phone. I had to borrow one from that shop across the street. I had to call a number I knew."
"So who did you call?" John asked. "Mrs. Hudson?"
"Lestrade," Molly said. "Sorry, he was the only one I knew who would call Mycroft if I asked. I didn't even think about it."
"What did you tell him?" Sherlock demanded.
"Nothing. Just that we were in trouble in Edinburgh and that I needed him to reach out to Mycroft for us. I didn't mention you at all, Sherlock, I'm sure he assumes it's just me and John."
Sherlock glowered. "Lestrade is not a idiot. He has his suspicions."
"Your welcome," Molly replied harshly. "For saving your life. Again."
"Thanks," John said. "For clocking that guy."
"The important question is, who did you visit a few days ago, John?" Sherlock asked shrewdly. "And how is she connected to this case?"
Lestrade felt the anger bubbling to the surface, but now was not the time or the place for it.
"What's the matter with you?" Donovan asked. "Ever since that phone call, you've been in a right state. Did Miller tell you something?"
"It wasn't Miller," Lestrade replied. "Molly Hooper ran into a spot of trouble. She called for help."
"What? Why did she call you?"
"Because she didn't have a lot of choices. Look, I get it, you hate the idea of consulting detectives, but this was about protecting a witness."
"Right. All right. Then we need to get this case underway."
Lestrade's phone rang. This time it really was Miller.
"Lestrade," he said as he answered the phone.
"Speaker?" Donovan suggested. Lestrade obliged.
"Listen, we've got Gregory Wendell in custody. He's currently being shipped off to us from Edinburgh," Miller said. "And that bit you gave me about the metal shavings paid off. We found the murder weapon."
"Metal shavings?" Donovan asked.
"Where was it?" Lestrade asked.
"It was drawn into a receding pouch, like how some slacks have draw strings. Except this one was designed to lose the string, or rather the wires."
"So the razor wire was still in the body bag?" Donovan asked.
"Yes, I've got techs working on extracting it without damaging the internal structures. Whoever did this rigged the bag up before the body was in it."
"Do you know who set it up?" Lestrade asked.
"No, still working on that. I'll let you know once Wendell is here. And if I get any more information on this decapitated case."
"Good. Lestrade and I will be headed back shortly," Donovan said.
<<< Previous Part:
Part Seven: Mnemonic
Next Part: >>>
Part Nine: A Little Inconvenience
Primary Post: The Uncanny Valley - Series 3, Episode 3
Primary Post: Unfinished Business, or Series 3 (s03ff)