Fic: Witness Protection (6/?)
Title: Witness Protection
Author: missilemuse.
Part: 6/?
Wordcount: ~3360 in this part. (~13,850 in all)
Rating: PG-13 (may go up later)
Warnings: none.
Spoilers: for dialogue from season 2, from this part onwards.
Disclaimer: Sherlock and John belong to ACD's grey cells, and each other in that order... Although the B.B.C. version receives full credit for inspiring me to put a pen to paper.
Summary: An AU, where John is Jim Moriarty's fiancé. He finds out about Jim's job and agrees to testify against him. He is put into protective custody as a result, under the alias Victor Trevor. Sherlock meets Victor, sparks fly!
Written for a truly unique prompt on the shkinkmeme HERE; so credit for inspiration goes to the OP.
Author's notes: This was something I was working on before Reichenbach happened and temporarily derailed it. The story is now on the verge of completion and I will be posting one part weekly. My first real attempt at S/J, so please be gentle.
A special mention and a million thanks to my amazing new beta, lady_t_220 for her patience in going though the story, correcting my frankly disastrous punctuation and plugging plot-holes, which I hadn't even noticed. You're a gem.
Link to CHAPTER 1 :: CHAPTER 2 :: CHAPTER 3 :: CHAPTER 4 :: CHAPTER 5
Kitty was only seventeen years old, but she had had been living on the streets since she was fifteen, choosing a life outside over living with an abusive stepfather. She knew that she was one of the very few who did not have a drug habit or an alcohol addiction. She was homeless, not stupid.
She was sitting at her usual spot in Regent’s Park when she saw Mr. Holmes striding up to her bench. He sat down on the far side, away from her, wrapping his coat around himself and ignoring her completely. After a couple of minutes, he got up and walked away again.
Kitty was intelligent enough to grasp that they were being watched and waited a full half hour before slipping over to his side of the bench. Tucked into the tiny space between the bench and the wall was a small black drawstring pouch. Kitty quietly pocketed the pouch and left.
***
John had hitchhiked his way to London, eschewing all modes of public transport. He had a single thought in his head; to leave the country. He knew that it wouldn’t put him out of Jim’s reach but his options were limited. He had to go back to London one last time to meet a man; an old army acquaintance who could sneak him onto a cargo ship illegally. It was late evening by the time he ducked into a roadside diner, only to find himself ignoring his cup of tea as he stared at a telephone box across the road.
He had to let Harry know that he was leaving. He hadn’t been much of a brother since he had left for Afghanistan, but she had always managed to keep in touch. He would probably never see her again. The last time he had spoken to her was when he had been blissfully happy in a relationship. He hadn’t told her about Jim as he had had no desire to flaunt his successful fairy-tale relationship in the face of her recently failed marriage. She had no clue about the recent developments in his life either. The least he owed her was a last goodbye.
He left the cafe and crossed the road, shutting himself in the phone box to call her, determined to keep the conversation as short as possible.
All his plans flew out of the window as her mobile phone was answered on the second ring. “Hellooo Johnny dearest, long time, no see!”
John barely kept from gasping audibly as the voice crawled out of his end of the line like something alive trying to wrap around his throat. He held on stiffly to the inside of the phone box to stay upright. “Jim…” he exhaled.
“So glad to hear that I haven’t been forgotten. After all I’m talking with my fiancé after nearly a month.” The voice went from oily to an acid sizzle. “You shouldn’t have, Johnny. Everything was set perfectly, just waiting for the Met. You reeeally shouldn’t have warned them.”
John could feel the panic flowing through his veins slowly being replaced by a boiling fury. “Jim, if you have hurt Harry…”
“Oh please!” Jim protested, the warm Irish lilt back. “That would be too predictable. Your sister’s fine. Well, she did get mugged this morning and her phone somehow found its way to me but I have no interest in Harriet Watson. Though if you cut this call prematurely, that would most certainly change.”
Jim had no reason to lie. But then… “Why?”
“Oh Honey! Just wanted to hear your voice,” Jim blubbered, before he burst out laughing. Each peal of laughter was a sharp reminder of how John had loved making him laugh. Right now, all he felt was a sick feeling coiling in his belly.
“Not that you missed me as much, did you Johnny? You were so busy, busy, busy…ratting me out to the Yard, going into hiding, illegal gambling for entertainment and, last but not the least, making Sherlock Holmes fall hard and fast for you. All of this with me waiting for you at home, you naughty boy!”
The ringing in John’s ears turned into a full on roar. He could hear the insinuation in Jim’s voice.
“What does Sherlock have to do with anything?”
Jim’s voice was gleeful. “Oh, is it Sherlock already? That’s nice.”
“What do you want, Jim? You already know where I am. Killing me would be too easy. So why all the drama?”
“You wound me! I’m only looking out for you in the big, bad world. Since I’m such a nice guy I have, how shall we put it, arranged a date for you with our favourite Detective.”
John’s blood ran cold. He managed to keep his voice from shaking. “Not interested.”
He could hear the pout in Jim’s voice, “Too bad. Because he certainly is! It was sooo easy to get him to come.”
John’s left hand trembled as he felt his leg muscles turn to jelly. His sick fuck of an ex-boyfriend had Sherlock. So? His rational brain threw back at him. What does that have to do with you? Sherlock had wanted to find Jim- his ‘admirer’. Now that it had happened, why the hell should it be of any concern to John?
He closed his eyes. He could feel Sherlock’s lips on his; needy and demanding yet hesitant and that strange verdigris gaze... John snapped his own eyes open as his breath hitched. Logically, he knew he was walking into a trap. But it had always been a question of ‘when’ Jim would catch up with him, and this way was better. Logic had nothing to do with his decision. He had fallen for Sherlock Holmes ‘hard and fast’, as Jim had put it. If that made him crazy, well he had been Jim Moriarty’s lovesick boyfriend for the last six months. This was a definite improvement on the crazy scale. His answering voice was devoid of fear. “Where?”
His hand was perfectly steady.
Jim sounded delighted. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint, darling. How about you stay put, and I’ll have you picked up in no time at all. There’s a good pet!” Jim’s voice turned steely again. “And I hope you will have no trouble imagining what could happen to your sister, if you try and get help. See you very soon.”
When the line cut off, over and above all the emotions John was feeling at that moment, he felt strangely grateful. He hadn’t faced Jim since he had learned the truth about him. He had been afraid of what his own reaction would be, when he eventually did. He had loved Jim so much that believing in the duplicity of the man he had expected to spend the rest of his life with had been the hardest part of everything. Even in hiding, he had wondered if he would have what it took to go the whole way; to stand in a witness box and testify against his former lover- to be the noose around Jim’s neck.
But now he knew for certain. If he did get the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate to just shoot Jim himself.
***
Sherlock had known that Jim Moriarty wouldn’t condescend to meet him in the tunnels. That would just be a pick-up point. As he had expected, there was a black limo with tinted windows waiting for him. This was his last chance to walk away. Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself as he approached the car.
A masked man emerged from the back seat and patted Sherlock down thoroughly from head to toe, even checking his shoes. He directed the Detective into the backseat and passed him a phone. Sherlock took it wordlessly as the car started moving.
“Sherlock!” Jim gushed. “Right on time! Now if only you would be so kind as to let my man inject you without a fuss. Can’t have you figuring out where we are headed, can we?”
Sherlock was past the point of argument but he still hesitated before Jim chimed up again. “Don’t worry my dear; it’s not one of your old poisons. I’m really looking forward to having a proper chat. It defeats the whole purpose if you’re not yourself.”
Sherlock handed back the phone to the man and nodded slightly. His captor pulled out something that looked like an insulin pen. He placed it against Sherlock's neck and pressed the plunger. Sherlock had expected to pass out, but instead he seemed to become simply dizzy, and then unpleasantly disoriented, as if everything around him had become a mangled mess of colour. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back on the seat as he concentrated on not throwing up.
When the effects of the drug began to wear off sufficiently to focus without nausea, Sherlock checked his watch to see how much time had elapsed. It had been less than forty-five minutes; in all likelihood they were still in London. As the car crawled to a stop the man next to him got out and held open the door. The gesture with the gun in his hand was quite unnecessary. Sherlock had no desire to remain in the car. He got out, blinking against the brightness of the underground garage.
Sherlock quietly limped behind the man while dissecting him mentally (six feet four inches, ex-army, smoker, with a recent injury to the left wrist; entrusted with the job of escorting Sherlock, so not some witless gun-for-hire; someone of importance in Jim’s organisation). He filed away the data for future reference. He was led over to an ordinary lift, the panel of which displayed eight floors. They got off on at the very top and Sherlock was marched through a nondescript grey corridor with unmarked black doors. Security cameras were present at every corner, turning to follow them as they walked. They finally reached a room at the end of the corridor, a plain black door like all others but this time with armed guards stationed outside. Sherlock's escort opened the door with some sort of a key-card and directed him inside. The door closed with a click behind him.
The opulence and proportion of the room belied its plain exterior. It was large, with polished marble floors and softly lit by a crystal chandelier. There were plush red curtains surrounding a four-poster bed which took up almost a full quarter of the room. His shoes noticeably sank into the decadent Persian carpet. There was a glass tea-table on the other side of the room, flanked by two wing-backed velvet-cushioned chairs. A sparkling silver tea service completed the luxurious picture. Sherlock moved to the nearest closed window, only to determine that it was solidly barred.
“That’s a tad insulting. You only just got here, Sherlock.”
Sherlock very nearly did jump out of his skin at the sound of Jim’s voice, emanating from the chair with its back to the door. He rolled his eyes at the obvious slip-up, and then wondered if the drug he had been injected with was still in his system.
“Yes, you will be experiencing certain effects, but it doesn’t affect the central nervous system, so your thinking processes are more or less intact. Now come on, tea’s getting cold.”
Sherlock walked around the chair to face Moriarty. He was just as impeccably groomed as the last time, pinning Sherlock with the same hungry look as he had at the Pool.
“Where’s John Watson?” Sherlock asked.
Jim winced dramatically, baring his teeth in the process. “You know,” he drawled, “-for someone who was so wonderfully unpredictable during our last meeting, you are now being tediously dull.” His voice turned dangerous. “Don’t be boring, Sherlock. Sit down.”
Sherlock took a seat, but made no move to touch the refreshments laid out between them.
Jim smoothly poured out two cups of tea from the pot and sat back with his own cup. “I hope you haven’t forgotten our last conversation.”
Sherlock couldn’t have deleted the Pool even if he had tried, which he hadn’t. His reaction to meeting his self-declared nemesis had been very different that first time, compared to how he was feeling right now. He didn’t dwell on the reason for the change.
Jim sighed theatrically. “I had promised you something, if you didn’t back off. And you have been so persistent. Seriously, Sherlock, how do you expect Daddy to work if you keep bothering me like this?”
“But you haven’t been working, have you?" Sherlock murmured."Barely a blip on the radar in the last few months. If I didn’t know any better, I would have to say that I had scared you away.”
Jim huffed out a small laugh as he placed his cup back in the saucer. “But you do know better. That’s why I called you today. You are the only one who can properly appreciate what I was up to. I've been working on this amazing Project for the last six months. It was a very difficult and delicate process but totally worth all the attention. Tomorrow will be the final stage.”
Sherlock’s voice was wooden. “If you’re talking about John-”
“Shh… Sherlock. Don’t rush. That’s the beauty of a chemical reaction or a mathematical equation; you need to go step by step." Moriarty paused expectantly. "No? Fine, as you wish. You’re the guest of honour, after all.” He hit speed-dial on his phone and said one word when it was answered. “Seb.”
The door unlocked with a click behind them as the same masked man from before stepped into the room with a laptop. He placed on the table and left without a word. Sherlock tried but failed to keep his face impassive as the screen showed a surveillance video of what looked like a padded room in a Psychiatric Hospital. John was clearly seated on the floor, leaning against a wall, hands wrapped around his knees as he stared at the featureless door on the far side. He appeared completely unhurt.
“Ta da!” Jim gestured with a flourish. “Am I the Wizard of Oz, or what? You know, Sherlock you were absolutely right at the Pool. Can’t threaten to burn what you don’t have in the first place. So, I decided to make you one.”
Sherlock had to drag his eyes away from the video to concentrate on what Jim was saying. “I never liked riddles.”
Jim gestured to the screen. “Isn’t he adorable, and yet so deliciously deadly. When I saw him for the first time he was like a lost puppy at the airport. I approached him purely for recruitment purposes. The army background makes for wonderfully obedient and disciplined minions. When we started talking though, it took me less than five minutes to figure out that he would never work for me. But he was utterly fascinated by me, and vice-versa. I really felt like keeping him. Does that sound familiar?”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re getting that now?”
“So, you decided to keep him, is that it? Play the domestic boyfriend? Keep house? Dull.”
Jim wrinkled his face in disgust. “You have no idea. BUT, it did have its upsides.” He gave a lascivious wink. “He’s nicknamed ‘three continents Watson’ by his army buddies for a reason. It was so very… educational. Would you like to know the details? I may even have a video or two.”
Sherlock gripped the arm-rests and closed his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him. He was having a hard time staying rational, which was a first for him. He suppressed with great difficulty the impulse to strangle Jim Moriarty with his bare hands. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to see Jim staring at him almost euphoric with happiness as he continued. “And look at you now! The experiment has succeeded beyond my wildest expectations. I had thought you would meet him as the Yard’s designated Moriarty specialist. But Johnny surprised me as usual.”
It still didn’t make any sense and Sherlock shook his head. “That’s illogical. You couldn’t possibly have predicted what would happen.”
Jim relaxed back in his chair with a smile on his face. “And yet, here you are… You could also argue that my intervention was unnecessary. That even if I had arranged for John Watson to simply meet you first, things would have progressed in a similar fashion. I didn’t have to break his heart. But that would have taken ages, and would have been dreadfully boring to wait for. You know better than anyone, how a fast reaction requires a good catalyst. He was primed to fall in love with you. You were an exact antithesis; a Jim on the side of angels. The poor sod didn’t stand a chance. You, on the other hand...no one other than me could have predicted that Sherlock Holmes was such a hopeless romantic behind the whole sociopathic routine. Bit disappointing, I admit.”
Sherlock gave a humourless laugh in a last bid to salvage the situation. “You’re sadly mistaken, Jim. I came here to meet you. I have no interest whatsoever in John Watson.”
Jim’s black eyes glittered strangely in the half-light. “Are you sure? Because what you choose next will determine if John Watson lives tonight. Watch.”
As Sherlock looked back to the screen the camera moved upwards, away from John, and focussed on the opposite wall. It appeared padded and plain white like all the others except for the small round opening which had appeared, covered with a metal mesh on the inside.
“Oh!” Jim winced, “I almost forgot.” He made a show of leaning forward and clicking off the mute button. A weird hissing noise filled the quiet room, and Sherlock knew exactly what it was.
“Stop it.” He said quietly but urgently as he sat up straight in his chair.
Jim pulled a comical pout. “But we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. Ah…there it is.”
It was John. He had started coughing.
“STOP IT.” Sherlock had barely kept from screaming.
John now sounded like he had in the alley, unable to breathe. It was a thousand times worse to just hear the sounds without being able to see him.
Jim snickered as he pulled a single white pill from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Go ahead, Sherlock. You don’t care about John Watson. Prove it. You can walk away right now and my men will simply drug you and drop you back at Baker Street. I’ll still be here, planning our next game. Things will go back to the way they were before. Or, you will do exactly what I tell you to do for the next twenty-four hours. The timer starts when you take this pill and at the end of it if you have done the job, John Watson will walk free. I even promise not to trouble him during that time if you are sufficiently obedient.”
Sherlock hesitated for barely a moment before he darted forward and dry swallowed the pill. He chased it down with the stone-cold tea and sat back staring at Jim squarely, waiting for it to act.
“Good boy,” Jim murmured. He tapped the requisite command on the keyboard and the vent slowly closed, cutting off the hissing. John’s heavy breathing was the only sound in the hushed room.
Sherlock slumped in the chair as he felt his limbs slowly turn to lead. He blinked rapidly as the room began to blur around the edges. His head drooped as his neck muscles lost control and he sensed rather than saw Jim getting to his feet, coming close enough to steady him in the chair.
“There, there. I have to be off now. Don’t worry, it was only a sedative. If you remember, I had that stupid cabbie killed for trying to pull his little trick on you. Only I’m allowed to play with you and I need you well rested for tomorrow.” The last thing Sherlock felt was a gentle hand caressing his brow as the hateful voice whispered, “Nighty night, Sherlock.”
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