Misdialed - Sherlock/John fic - Chapter 9
Title: Misdialed
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Current Word Count: 23,450
Current Chapter Count: 9/?
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I don't even totally own the idea.
Summary:
AU John needs a new phone, one that doesn’t bend time and have an amazing man on the other end who claims to be the world’s greatest detective, except that he can’t figure out how he called Dr. Watson instead of his brother. However, with a criminal mastermind on the loose, John's phone connection may be the only thing that can save him.
-- -- -- --
Chapter 9
John had never felt quite as giddy as he did following Valentine's Day, but he would soon learn not to let anything happy lead him into complacency. February was barely over when the joy of Sherlock's photos was ripped from him. Or, more precisely, burned from him. Nothing would be the same then.
It was four days of hell, starting with a routine trip to the police station. Lestrade welcomed him warmly. A black officer named Donovan greeted him suspiciously, as though she thought he was a freak for simply looking into police files when he wasn't police.
"Don't mind her. She never liked Sherlock. Then you show up and take up his case. She's bound to dislike you. She sort of dislikes everyone," Lestrade said.
That made John feel better, but, "What I'm doing is sort of illegal, isn't it?" he asked. "I mean a civilian having access to crime documents?"
"Yeeeaah, but so long as no one tells the higher ups, we'll be fine," Lestrade assured.
"She won't tell?" John asked, noticing that Donovan had just now stopped watching him.
"Nah. She's all bark and no bite." Lestrade pat John on the shoulder to reassure him and then let him to his work.
John took out the street photos and looked at them, as he'd done several times before. This was his first trip here since Valentine's Day, and somehow having photos of Sherlock at home made ignoring him in the photos that much easier. He let his eyes scan the photos and focus on just the crowd.
"Oh my God," John gasped as he noticed a face in the crowd. He pulled one of the other photos quickly over and squinted at the photos. "Oh my God," he said again.
Lestrade looked up from someone else's desk, where he was looking over a lab report. He nodded to the officer and then moved quickly over to John, who was now pulling out three more street shots of crime scenes.
"You find something?" the detective asked, leaning over John's shoulder.
"Do you know this man?" John asked and pointed to a guy in the first street shot.
He was a bit short, with short black hair. In this photo, his hair was slicked back and he wore a collared shirt. John pulled up another. There was another man. He wore a hoodie and his hair was nearly buzzed. John pointed in all five photos where a similar man stood in all of them. Each time he looked just a little different, but it was definitely the same guy at every scene.
"My God," Lestrade exclaimed. "He was always there. I never noticed."
"Do you recognize him?" John asked.
Lestrade shook his head. "Do you?"
John frowned at the photos. "I feel like I do. I see him, and I think... I feel nervous, almost... scared? I feel like I should know who he is instantly."
"Think about it. Maybe you met him once?" Lestrade asked. He was intent and pulled over a chair to look through the photos again, staring at the man and making sure it was the same guy.
"I feel like I should have. I must have. I just don't know...," John trailed off and knit his eyebrows together. He felt like it had been on a street, just in passing. Maybe he hadn't even actually met this man? Maybe he'd just walked by him?
To an Italian restaurant. He saw him there, in front of the station, smiling across the street and whispering in another guy's ear. He was grinning over at John just before someone called his name and he went for lunch. A short man with dark hair in a suit, standing in front of the station?
"Bloody hell," John hissed. "He was there."
"Where?" Lestrade asked. John rubbed at his shoulder and frowned.
"He's the guy who told Raz to shoot me," John said, voice still hissing lowly. "He was there at the station before the gun went off."
"Are you sure?" Lestrade asked as the color drained from his face.
"Positive. Is there a way to check for him in the system?" John asked, handing the photos to Lestrade.
"Absolutely," Lestrade said and snatched the photos up. He turned and walked briskly into another section of the station that John couldn't go into. John shuffled through the papers in the box, but none seemed to matter next to the information they just got from those photos.
"Sir, can I see you badge?" a man asked, coming over. When John just looked at him, he continued, "Civilians aren't allowed to touch confidential documents."
"No. Lestrade - um, ask Detective Lestrade," John said, motioning toward the back area. The officer looked in that direction and then hooked his fingers under the box, lifting it from the table.
"I can't leave this with you until I clear it with the Inspector. Don't go away," the officer said and took the box into the back with him to find Lestrade.
John only had to wait about two minutes before there was a sudden explosion. John's heart jumped and he forgot to breathe for a moment. There were officers scrambling around to find out what happened, and then Lestrade was sliding out of the doors. He looked disheveled, like he'd been near the explosion, and he rushed over to where John stood, holding the table for support.
"What happened?" John asked. Lestrade looked from John to the empty table.
"Oh no," he groaned and shook his head. "Please tell me the box is still on this side of the doors."
"No," John said and Lestrade made a discontented noise. "An officer came and took it away until he could ask you if I was allowed to look at it."
"That's ridiculous!" Lestrade exclaimed. "Everyone in this office knows - Damn it!" He cursed. "We had a mole."
"Had?" John asked, feeling his chest deflate.
"A bomb went off in the back. An officer was caught in the blast. Shit. The whole box is gone," Lestrade cursed again.
"All of it?"
"Except the photos," Lestrade amended. "But those were our only copies of those case files. Damn it."
John's heart stopped for a minute and he whipped out his phone. His first photos of Sherlock were gone. Only the street shots were left. He had to warn Sherlock.
'Copy it all. Copy everything,' John texted. 'Someone's trying to stop the investigation. Make copies.'
Lestrade was off yelling orders to people, and John was just trying to catch his breath. His heart was still pounding, and his mind was still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Then John's phone vibrated.
'Consider it done. SH' it said. John let out a breath of relief and then his pocket vibrated again. This time, John's chest felt squished... for an entirely negative reason.
John almost thought it was a copy text, but then.. 'Consider this my formal greeting, Doctor. Stay out of my business.'
"Are you alright?" It was Donovan, although John couldn't tell if she was truly concerned. "You look sick."
"N-no," John stuttered and caught his breath. "No it's fine." He couldn't explain why, but he didn't trust her. He didn't think she was a bad person, but he wouldn't tell her what was happening. "I'm fine."
"Alright. Well don't go anywhere. You're a witness. We're going to need your statement. Sit down," she said and then walked away, leaving John alone in the area.
His pocket went off again.
'Boom'
And that was day one.
-- -- -- --
John was at the jail the next day, wasting no time. He would have been there earlier, but Donovan hadn't been kidding about the police report. John had waited around at the station for over four hours while they detailed the bombing like a crime scene and took statements from everyone in contact with the box. As soon as they told him he could go, John grabbed Lestrade to organize a jail meeting.
Who? With the killer of Jasmine Sheffield. He wanted to ask Raz, someone he knew would be involved, but he didn't want to endanger Raz anymore than he already had. Raz was a good kid. So John went for a new convict instead.
The man that sat down across from him at the table was a stout looking man with large bags under his eyes and a sorrowful face. He seemed surprised at who was waiting for him, but he didn't hesitate to take his seat.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Doctor John Watson," John replied. "And you're Ian Monkford, the man who killed Jasmine Sheffield."
Ian seemed to grow more upset at the mention of Jasmine. He lowered his eyes to the table. "What do you want?"
"I want the man who planned it," John said easily, with more deadly seriousness than he could have imagined. Ian's eyes sprang to his and then quickly around the room.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
John shook his head. "No. No. Yes, you do. You're not a killer, Ian. You feel guilty about Jasmine. I'm willing to try and stop the man who hooked you into the plot. All you have to do is give me a name or a location or something."
"No, you don't understand," Ian said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I won't survive in here if I tell you. He has eyes and ears everywhere."
It sounded just like Raz. This was definitely the right guy, the guy in all the street shots, the guy who'd had Raz shoot John.
"I won't tell anyone... and we're the only ones in here except for the guard waaaay over there. Just whisper it to me," John coaxed. "And I'll asked my friend in the force to give you extra security."
Ian shook his head and closed his eyes. John opened his mouth to try more tempting methods but then Ian opened his mouth and let out a heavy gasp.
"I didn't.... I didn't want to kill her. I just wanted to escape my debt. He said he'd help me disappear, me and my wife, if I just did this for him. But I killed her and he left me to the judges," Ian whispered.
"He's still out there, Ian. He's out there hurting more people. I just need to know who he is or how you contacted him," John said, lowering his voice as well and leaning a bit closer. The guard shifted and John leaned back to his previous position. The guard relaxed.
"M... Moriarty," Ian Monkford finally breathed out, as though saying the name would summon the man and all his forces. His eyes darted about the room again. "No," he said. "No, I can't say anymore. Don't ask me. We're done here. Leave me alone. They'll kill my wife. They'll kill me. Get out."
Ian stood up and knocked his chair over. He shook his head and stumbled back from the table until the guard came up to restrain him in case this was a farce to cause trouble. Ian was in such a hurry to get back behind the bars of his cell where he felt safe that he basically pulled the guard toward the door.
John watched him go, saw Ian throw one last look back at him in fear, and then he was alone. He sighed, stood up, and pulled on his jacket. As he passed the guard on the other side of the door, he stopped and smiled.
"Hello," he said.
"Morning," the guard said. He was a large man with a black beard.
"I was wondering about another prisoner," John said. The guard looked at him. "How familiar are you with the criminals who've been through here in the past?"
"I know each one by name and face," the guard answered.
"Good. Good. I was wondering if a man by the name of Moriarty had ever been in this prison," John said, but at the name, the guard went tense.
"Nope," he said. He didn't sound like he was lying. "But I think it's time you left."
"O-kay," John said, turning to the exit. "Well thanks for your help."
The guard just grunted, so John took his cue and left the facility. He wasn't ten minutes out into the overcast London streets before his phone vibrated with a text.
'You're selfishness is astounding, Doctor. You just continue to leave dead bodies in your righteous wake, don't you?' It read.
John froze there on the street and looked back toward the prison, but it was out of view. Not wasting a second more, he quickly called the number the texts were originating from. It barely rang once before it was picked up on the other end of the line. However, no one spoke in greeting.
"Moriarty?" John asked into the phone.
"Hello!" The peppy, excited voice on the other end replied and then dropped into entertained seriousness. "Took you long enough."
"Why are you after me?" John asked, looking around the street and then up at the windows.
"You?" Moriarty asked, near giggling. "Who said this was about you? Who are you?"
"But then why-?" John asked, but Moriarty's voice cut him off, dark and very serious. His accent dropped too.
"Sherlock Holmes," he said. "I can't allow you to continue, Doctor. I've already killed him once, but because of you, he just won't die." There was a pause in which John took several steps forward and then "Kind of like a cockroach, really."
"You killed Sherlock," John said, finally forming words. The idea swirled around his mind until it made him dizzy.
"Oh look, Folks! Not as dumb as he looks. Whoops! Yes he is! This took you months. Sooo average. Honestly, how can Sherlock stand you?" Moriarty asked, sighing dramatically.
"Shut up," John ordered, walking faster.
"No, I mean it," Moriarty insisted, as though he were complimenting John. "You're so boringly normal. Sherlock was brilliant, although he ended as a normal person. It was so disappointing how easy it was to lure him to his death. All I had to do was-"
"Stop it!" John shouted into the phone, glaring at the concrete as he walked over it. He didn't want to hear Moriarty recount how he murdered Sherlock. He didn't want to hear that from a psychotic killer. He wanted to know how it happened, but he didn't want the sick details Moriarty was sure to give him.
"Uh-oh! Found little Johnny-Boy's soft spot for Sherlock," Moriarty teased in a sing-song voice. Then he dropped his tone again and sucked in a heavy breath. "Look. If you don't stop meddling, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."
John's chest skipped a beat. "What?" he breathed.
"Bye!" and Moriarty's excited farewell ended the call.
John felt an unprecedented anxiety come over him. It had been a short phone call and yet this man sounded insane. He slipped from gleeful to deadly serious, and John didn't doubt him when he said he killed Sherlock. This man had convinced Raz into shooting at John and Ian to kill Jasmine Sheffield. John shook his head. He was almost too afraid to see what Moriarty would do if John kept digging, but he was more afraid of leaving the case unresolved. Now not only was his life and Raz's story on the line, but this was also Sherlock's murderer. In his name, John would not stop.
And that was only day two. The worst was yet to come.
-- -- -- --
Preview, Chapter 10:
John's chest went hard. Even though he knew Sherlock had died months ago by Moriarty's planning, he still heard 'morgue' and thought he'd find Sherlock's body down there.
"This is two deaths this week. I'm almost worried I'll die just by holding these photos again," the inspector explained, holding up the folder.
"You saying you think I had something to do with these deaths?" John asked,
"Are you alright?" Sherlock rushed out. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
Moriarty laughed, loudly and for far too long.
Click HERE for Chapter 10!
Click HERE for the Masterpost!
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Current Word Count: 23,450
Current Chapter Count: 9/?
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I don't even totally own the idea.
Summary:
AU John needs a new phone, one that doesn’t bend time and have an amazing man on the other end who claims to be the world’s greatest detective, except that he can’t figure out how he called Dr. Watson instead of his brother. However, with a criminal mastermind on the loose, John's phone connection may be the only thing that can save him.
-- -- -- --
Chapter 9
John had never felt quite as giddy as he did following Valentine's Day, but he would soon learn not to let anything happy lead him into complacency. February was barely over when the joy of Sherlock's photos was ripped from him. Or, more precisely, burned from him. Nothing would be the same then.
It was four days of hell, starting with a routine trip to the police station. Lestrade welcomed him warmly. A black officer named Donovan greeted him suspiciously, as though she thought he was a freak for simply looking into police files when he wasn't police.
"Don't mind her. She never liked Sherlock. Then you show up and take up his case. She's bound to dislike you. She sort of dislikes everyone," Lestrade said.
That made John feel better, but, "What I'm doing is sort of illegal, isn't it?" he asked. "I mean a civilian having access to crime documents?"
"Yeeeaah, but so long as no one tells the higher ups, we'll be fine," Lestrade assured.
"She won't tell?" John asked, noticing that Donovan had just now stopped watching him.
"Nah. She's all bark and no bite." Lestrade pat John on the shoulder to reassure him and then let him to his work.
John took out the street photos and looked at them, as he'd done several times before. This was his first trip here since Valentine's Day, and somehow having photos of Sherlock at home made ignoring him in the photos that much easier. He let his eyes scan the photos and focus on just the crowd.
"Oh my God," John gasped as he noticed a face in the crowd. He pulled one of the other photos quickly over and squinted at the photos. "Oh my God," he said again.
Lestrade looked up from someone else's desk, where he was looking over a lab report. He nodded to the officer and then moved quickly over to John, who was now pulling out three more street shots of crime scenes.
"You find something?" the detective asked, leaning over John's shoulder.
"Do you know this man?" John asked and pointed to a guy in the first street shot.
He was a bit short, with short black hair. In this photo, his hair was slicked back and he wore a collared shirt. John pulled up another. There was another man. He wore a hoodie and his hair was nearly buzzed. John pointed in all five photos where a similar man stood in all of them. Each time he looked just a little different, but it was definitely the same guy at every scene.
"My God," Lestrade exclaimed. "He was always there. I never noticed."
"Do you recognize him?" John asked.
Lestrade shook his head. "Do you?"
John frowned at the photos. "I feel like I do. I see him, and I think... I feel nervous, almost... scared? I feel like I should know who he is instantly."
"Think about it. Maybe you met him once?" Lestrade asked. He was intent and pulled over a chair to look through the photos again, staring at the man and making sure it was the same guy.
"I feel like I should have. I must have. I just don't know...," John trailed off and knit his eyebrows together. He felt like it had been on a street, just in passing. Maybe he hadn't even actually met this man? Maybe he'd just walked by him?
To an Italian restaurant. He saw him there, in front of the station, smiling across the street and whispering in another guy's ear. He was grinning over at John just before someone called his name and he went for lunch. A short man with dark hair in a suit, standing in front of the station?
"Bloody hell," John hissed. "He was there."
"Where?" Lestrade asked. John rubbed at his shoulder and frowned.
"He's the guy who told Raz to shoot me," John said, voice still hissing lowly. "He was there at the station before the gun went off."
"Are you sure?" Lestrade asked as the color drained from his face.
"Positive. Is there a way to check for him in the system?" John asked, handing the photos to Lestrade.
"Absolutely," Lestrade said and snatched the photos up. He turned and walked briskly into another section of the station that John couldn't go into. John shuffled through the papers in the box, but none seemed to matter next to the information they just got from those photos.
"Sir, can I see you badge?" a man asked, coming over. When John just looked at him, he continued, "Civilians aren't allowed to touch confidential documents."
"No. Lestrade - um, ask Detective Lestrade," John said, motioning toward the back area. The officer looked in that direction and then hooked his fingers under the box, lifting it from the table.
"I can't leave this with you until I clear it with the Inspector. Don't go away," the officer said and took the box into the back with him to find Lestrade.
John only had to wait about two minutes before there was a sudden explosion. John's heart jumped and he forgot to breathe for a moment. There were officers scrambling around to find out what happened, and then Lestrade was sliding out of the doors. He looked disheveled, like he'd been near the explosion, and he rushed over to where John stood, holding the table for support.
"What happened?" John asked. Lestrade looked from John to the empty table.
"Oh no," he groaned and shook his head. "Please tell me the box is still on this side of the doors."
"No," John said and Lestrade made a discontented noise. "An officer came and took it away until he could ask you if I was allowed to look at it."
"That's ridiculous!" Lestrade exclaimed. "Everyone in this office knows - Damn it!" He cursed. "We had a mole."
"Had?" John asked, feeling his chest deflate.
"A bomb went off in the back. An officer was caught in the blast. Shit. The whole box is gone," Lestrade cursed again.
"All of it?"
"Except the photos," Lestrade amended. "But those were our only copies of those case files. Damn it."
John's heart stopped for a minute and he whipped out his phone. His first photos of Sherlock were gone. Only the street shots were left. He had to warn Sherlock.
'Copy it all. Copy everything,' John texted. 'Someone's trying to stop the investigation. Make copies.'
Lestrade was off yelling orders to people, and John was just trying to catch his breath. His heart was still pounding, and his mind was still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Then John's phone vibrated.
'Consider it done. SH' it said. John let out a breath of relief and then his pocket vibrated again. This time, John's chest felt squished... for an entirely negative reason.
John almost thought it was a copy text, but then.. 'Consider this my formal greeting, Doctor. Stay out of my business.'
"Are you alright?" It was Donovan, although John couldn't tell if she was truly concerned. "You look sick."
"N-no," John stuttered and caught his breath. "No it's fine." He couldn't explain why, but he didn't trust her. He didn't think she was a bad person, but he wouldn't tell her what was happening. "I'm fine."
"Alright. Well don't go anywhere. You're a witness. We're going to need your statement. Sit down," she said and then walked away, leaving John alone in the area.
His pocket went off again.
'Boom'
And that was day one.
-- -- -- --
John was at the jail the next day, wasting no time. He would have been there earlier, but Donovan hadn't been kidding about the police report. John had waited around at the station for over four hours while they detailed the bombing like a crime scene and took statements from everyone in contact with the box. As soon as they told him he could go, John grabbed Lestrade to organize a jail meeting.
Who? With the killer of Jasmine Sheffield. He wanted to ask Raz, someone he knew would be involved, but he didn't want to endanger Raz anymore than he already had. Raz was a good kid. So John went for a new convict instead.
The man that sat down across from him at the table was a stout looking man with large bags under his eyes and a sorrowful face. He seemed surprised at who was waiting for him, but he didn't hesitate to take his seat.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Doctor John Watson," John replied. "And you're Ian Monkford, the man who killed Jasmine Sheffield."
Ian seemed to grow more upset at the mention of Jasmine. He lowered his eyes to the table. "What do you want?"
"I want the man who planned it," John said easily, with more deadly seriousness than he could have imagined. Ian's eyes sprang to his and then quickly around the room.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
John shook his head. "No. No. Yes, you do. You're not a killer, Ian. You feel guilty about Jasmine. I'm willing to try and stop the man who hooked you into the plot. All you have to do is give me a name or a location or something."
"No, you don't understand," Ian said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I won't survive in here if I tell you. He has eyes and ears everywhere."
It sounded just like Raz. This was definitely the right guy, the guy in all the street shots, the guy who'd had Raz shoot John.
"I won't tell anyone... and we're the only ones in here except for the guard waaaay over there. Just whisper it to me," John coaxed. "And I'll asked my friend in the force to give you extra security."
Ian shook his head and closed his eyes. John opened his mouth to try more tempting methods but then Ian opened his mouth and let out a heavy gasp.
"I didn't.... I didn't want to kill her. I just wanted to escape my debt. He said he'd help me disappear, me and my wife, if I just did this for him. But I killed her and he left me to the judges," Ian whispered.
"He's still out there, Ian. He's out there hurting more people. I just need to know who he is or how you contacted him," John said, lowering his voice as well and leaning a bit closer. The guard shifted and John leaned back to his previous position. The guard relaxed.
"M... Moriarty," Ian Monkford finally breathed out, as though saying the name would summon the man and all his forces. His eyes darted about the room again. "No," he said. "No, I can't say anymore. Don't ask me. We're done here. Leave me alone. They'll kill my wife. They'll kill me. Get out."
Ian stood up and knocked his chair over. He shook his head and stumbled back from the table until the guard came up to restrain him in case this was a farce to cause trouble. Ian was in such a hurry to get back behind the bars of his cell where he felt safe that he basically pulled the guard toward the door.
John watched him go, saw Ian throw one last look back at him in fear, and then he was alone. He sighed, stood up, and pulled on his jacket. As he passed the guard on the other side of the door, he stopped and smiled.
"Hello," he said.
"Morning," the guard said. He was a large man with a black beard.
"I was wondering about another prisoner," John said. The guard looked at him. "How familiar are you with the criminals who've been through here in the past?"
"I know each one by name and face," the guard answered.
"Good. Good. I was wondering if a man by the name of Moriarty had ever been in this prison," John said, but at the name, the guard went tense.
"Nope," he said. He didn't sound like he was lying. "But I think it's time you left."
"O-kay," John said, turning to the exit. "Well thanks for your help."
The guard just grunted, so John took his cue and left the facility. He wasn't ten minutes out into the overcast London streets before his phone vibrated with a text.
'You're selfishness is astounding, Doctor. You just continue to leave dead bodies in your righteous wake, don't you?' It read.
John froze there on the street and looked back toward the prison, but it was out of view. Not wasting a second more, he quickly called the number the texts were originating from. It barely rang once before it was picked up on the other end of the line. However, no one spoke in greeting.
"Moriarty?" John asked into the phone.
"Hello!" The peppy, excited voice on the other end replied and then dropped into entertained seriousness. "Took you long enough."
"Why are you after me?" John asked, looking around the street and then up at the windows.
"You?" Moriarty asked, near giggling. "Who said this was about you? Who are you?"
"But then why-?" John asked, but Moriarty's voice cut him off, dark and very serious. His accent dropped too.
"Sherlock Holmes," he said. "I can't allow you to continue, Doctor. I've already killed him once, but because of you, he just won't die." There was a pause in which John took several steps forward and then "Kind of like a cockroach, really."
"You killed Sherlock," John said, finally forming words. The idea swirled around his mind until it made him dizzy.
"Oh look, Folks! Not as dumb as he looks. Whoops! Yes he is! This took you months. Sooo average. Honestly, how can Sherlock stand you?" Moriarty asked, sighing dramatically.
"Shut up," John ordered, walking faster.
"No, I mean it," Moriarty insisted, as though he were complimenting John. "You're so boringly normal. Sherlock was brilliant, although he ended as a normal person. It was so disappointing how easy it was to lure him to his death. All I had to do was-"
"Stop it!" John shouted into the phone, glaring at the concrete as he walked over it. He didn't want to hear Moriarty recount how he murdered Sherlock. He didn't want to hear that from a psychotic killer. He wanted to know how it happened, but he didn't want the sick details Moriarty was sure to give him.
"Uh-oh! Found little Johnny-Boy's soft spot for Sherlock," Moriarty teased in a sing-song voice. Then he dropped his tone again and sucked in a heavy breath. "Look. If you don't stop meddling, I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."
John's chest skipped a beat. "What?" he breathed.
"Bye!" and Moriarty's excited farewell ended the call.
John felt an unprecedented anxiety come over him. It had been a short phone call and yet this man sounded insane. He slipped from gleeful to deadly serious, and John didn't doubt him when he said he killed Sherlock. This man had convinced Raz into shooting at John and Ian to kill Jasmine Sheffield. John shook his head. He was almost too afraid to see what Moriarty would do if John kept digging, but he was more afraid of leaving the case unresolved. Now not only was his life and Raz's story on the line, but this was also Sherlock's murderer. In his name, John would not stop.
And that was only day two. The worst was yet to come.
-- -- -- --
Preview, Chapter 10:
John's chest went hard. Even though he knew Sherlock had died months ago by Moriarty's planning, he still heard 'morgue' and thought he'd find Sherlock's body down there.
"This is two deaths this week. I'm almost worried I'll die just by holding these photos again," the inspector explained, holding up the folder.
"You saying you think I had something to do with these deaths?" John asked,
"Are you alright?" Sherlock rushed out. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"
Moriarty laughed, loudly and for far too long.
Click HERE for Chapter 10!
Click HERE for the Masterpost!