Sherlock Holmes fic: Men's Wretchedness
I've seen people call Irene useless, which doesn't sit right with me, since she saves the day. Some people would react to this by writing a fic in which Irene is awesome. I react to it by writing what would have happened without her. Oh well.
Like I said in my beta post, this is written for the Sherlock Holmes fandom week, and I'm sneaking in at the last possible moment.
Title: Men's Wretchedness
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Rating: PG-13 for dystopia
Thanks to: therru, amberfox and nam_jai for the beta.
Summary: A few months after Blackwood's plan has come to fruition, Holmes has a visitor.
The steps echoing down the corridor did not make Holmes stir or even turn his head. Blackwood's men frequently came to see him, to ask questions he would not answer - and in truth, often could not answer, though this he would never let them know. What was one more interrogation except a tedious interruption in a likewise tedious imprisonment?
His interest was piqued, though, when the guard turned and walked away, leaving him alone with his visitor. This was quite out of the routine, and Holmes sat up slowly, watching the man on the other side of the bars, who regarded him with a cynical smile.
At a momentary glance, the man seemed a stranger to Holmes's once so sharp but now unpractised mind, but it only took him a few seconds to place the bearing, the cut of the clothes, the tell-tale shape of the right sleeve where the firearm was hidden.
"Professor," he said in a low voice, seeing for the first time the vulture-like face of Irene's employer. "I confess, I hadn't expected to see you again."
"I should think not. I have preferred to remain in the shadows these past few months, even more so than usual." Moriarty's dark, sunken eyes peered at him. "After all, it wouldn't do if Blackwood knew too much of the reasons behind his intermittent troubles."
"How is Reardon's machine, by the way?" Holmes asked lightly. "Having any luck with it? Blackwood still seems to be of the conviction that I stole it."
"A conviction you encourage."
"Yes. After all, I might as well hang for a sheep as for a lamb."
Moriarty gave a low chuckle that could chill bones. "Oh no, not hang. Far from it. Blackwood's misconception is keeping you alive. There is not another man in all of England who could do what Reardon did, and Blackwood isn't fool enough to kill you while you might still provide useful information."
"Ah, yes, there is that."
"Yet a fool he is, nevertheless. Too much of a fool to realise how very simple it would be to make you talk. If it were me..." Moriarty's voice took on a pensive, almost dreamy note. "Why, I would send an extra treat on your breakfast tray every morning. Human fingers, perhaps. From the good, strong hands of a doctor."
Holmes's breath caught in his throat, and he stared at Moriarty, who remained placid, a slight smile playing on his thin lips. The silence only remained for a few seconds, yet seemed to stretch forever.
Then, with a clap of his hands, Moriarty broke it. "This did not happen. Whether from lack of sense, or lack of courage, Blackwood has refrained from drastic methods in his attempts to make you speak. Of which I'm sure we must be very grateful."
"We?" Holmes asked with ill-hidden venom. He could not forget Moriarty's wistfulness in describing the imagined mutilation.
"I am here to make you an offer. Of employment, as it were."
"Not interested."
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you are. What stimulation could there be for you in this dank cell, pestered by asinine questions and squeaking rats? Not to mention that Blackwood is, as we speak, taking over the world piece by piece, claiming witchcraft to maintain control. You know what manner of creature he truly is. Can your sense of justice bear to witness this?"
"Then your plan is to get rid of him and set up court yourself? Forgive me, but I can't find that a very worthy cause."
"Set up court?" Moriarty laughed. "My dear Mr. Holmes, I have no desire to rule an empire. My forte is crime, and that's where I will remain. What use is power if everyone is aware you have it, and you must consequently spend more time defending it than using it? No, set yourself at ease. All I wish to do is what I have always done, but the fervour of Blackwood's regiment and the fear he rouses in the public make my business very difficult. His intellect and imagination are nowhere near yours or mine, but he has so many people under his thumb that I cannot make headway with him. I am, quite frankly, at an impasse. With you in my employ, I could uncloak him, finish him, bring England back to what it used to be. I swear to you, should you choose to set up a new Parliament, I would not murder them. Corrupt a few of them, perhaps, but that would be all."
"Then why did you allow them to die in the first place?" Holmes asked, trying and failing to keep the quiver out of his voice. Though he had said 'them', that was not the pronoun foremost in his mind.
"Allow? If I could have found the blasted machine, I would have stolen it sooner. I trusted my thief to find it, which she did, and disarm it, which she did not. Could not, granted, with a bullet in her head."
Holmes shivered, and closed his eyes hard against the image.
"If it's any consolation," Moriarty said, with a tinge of sympathy that rang hideously false, "I had the culprit drowned. He had ruined my plans, however inadvertently, and by murdering my employee, no less. No one gets to do that without orders from me."
"Goodness, the perks of this proposed job only get better and better!" Holmes exclaimed. "Still, I remain baffled as to why I should care. What difference does it make if we have Blackwood on centre stage, or you behind it?"
"It makes a great deal of difference to the common man. With Blackwood, he must always fear what sorcery shall come next and if it will cost him his life. With me - " Moriarty shrugged. "He shall have no cause to fear at all until he is already dead, and even then his family will call it an accident. The dangers, perhaps, will be similar; after all, Blackwood is no true sorceror. The quality of life, however, will be vastly different. Think of it, Holmes. It would be the most formidable challenge of your career, and once it was over, there would be nothing to stop you from taking clients once again. I certainly would not object to you putting away a few criminals."
The cynical meaning of this was manifest. A common criminal was, after all, a rival and a nuisance to Moriarty. Holmes contemplated what it would be like, to work with such a first-rate mind in order to bring down the man who had taken everything, not just from Holmes, but from the whole country.
He then contemplated what it would be like to be at Moriarty's mercy for the rest of his life.
"I'm afraid I must still, respectfully, decline." A bug scuttered across the floor, and he grasped at the opportunity to focus his gaze on something else than that haggard yet self-assured face.
"And what if the offer were not for you alone?"
Holmes's head immediately whipped up again. "Meaning?" he asked sharply.
"I offer no deals to mediocre men, but if I did not use any means possible to draw in an exceptional man like yourself, I should consider myself as big a fool as Blackwood. If you want the doctor, you can have him. After all, breaking out two is not substantially harder than breaking out one."
"How is he?" Holmes asked, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, but desperate to know the answer.
"Rather well, all things considered. Better than could be expected. Granted, the damp is doing him no favours, but I've been told he took down three men as late as two weeks ago, with only a broken nose to show for it." Moriarty pursed his lips in thought. "I have to admit, that's quite impressive for a man who can, at this point, barely walk across a room..."
"All right."
Moriarty fell silent, smiling ever so slightly.
"All right, damn you," Holmes repeated. "I will work with you. I will take down Blackwood. I will do anything you ask of me. Just get us out of here and keep him safe and unharmed."
"Mr. Holmes, I can assure you that from this moment on, your friend's life, as well as your own, shall be sacred to me. Unless of course you should ever choose to cross me - which would be very stupid indeed. But then, you're not a stupid man. We have a deal, then?"
"We have."
"Good! It has been a pleasure doing business with you. I will see you again, Mr. Holmes, very soon. Good day." Moriarty tipped his hat and walked down the corridor, soon disappearing into the shadows.
Holmes leaned back against the cold wall, closing his eyes. He had sold his soul, more certainly so than ever Lord Blackwood, and he could not even regret it.
Like I said in my beta post, this is written for the Sherlock Holmes fandom week, and I'm sneaking in at the last possible moment.
Title: Men's Wretchedness
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Rating: PG-13 for dystopia
Thanks to: therru, amberfox and nam_jai for the beta.
Summary: A few months after Blackwood's plan has come to fruition, Holmes has a visitor.
The steps echoing down the corridor did not make Holmes stir or even turn his head. Blackwood's men frequently came to see him, to ask questions he would not answer - and in truth, often could not answer, though this he would never let them know. What was one more interrogation except a tedious interruption in a likewise tedious imprisonment?
His interest was piqued, though, when the guard turned and walked away, leaving him alone with his visitor. This was quite out of the routine, and Holmes sat up slowly, watching the man on the other side of the bars, who regarded him with a cynical smile.
At a momentary glance, the man seemed a stranger to Holmes's once so sharp but now unpractised mind, but it only took him a few seconds to place the bearing, the cut of the clothes, the tell-tale shape of the right sleeve where the firearm was hidden.
"Professor," he said in a low voice, seeing for the first time the vulture-like face of Irene's employer. "I confess, I hadn't expected to see you again."
"I should think not. I have preferred to remain in the shadows these past few months, even more so than usual." Moriarty's dark, sunken eyes peered at him. "After all, it wouldn't do if Blackwood knew too much of the reasons behind his intermittent troubles."
"How is Reardon's machine, by the way?" Holmes asked lightly. "Having any luck with it? Blackwood still seems to be of the conviction that I stole it."
"A conviction you encourage."
"Yes. After all, I might as well hang for a sheep as for a lamb."
Moriarty gave a low chuckle that could chill bones. "Oh no, not hang. Far from it. Blackwood's misconception is keeping you alive. There is not another man in all of England who could do what Reardon did, and Blackwood isn't fool enough to kill you while you might still provide useful information."
"Ah, yes, there is that."
"Yet a fool he is, nevertheless. Too much of a fool to realise how very simple it would be to make you talk. If it were me..." Moriarty's voice took on a pensive, almost dreamy note. "Why, I would send an extra treat on your breakfast tray every morning. Human fingers, perhaps. From the good, strong hands of a doctor."
Holmes's breath caught in his throat, and he stared at Moriarty, who remained placid, a slight smile playing on his thin lips. The silence only remained for a few seconds, yet seemed to stretch forever.
Then, with a clap of his hands, Moriarty broke it. "This did not happen. Whether from lack of sense, or lack of courage, Blackwood has refrained from drastic methods in his attempts to make you speak. Of which I'm sure we must be very grateful."
"We?" Holmes asked with ill-hidden venom. He could not forget Moriarty's wistfulness in describing the imagined mutilation.
"I am here to make you an offer. Of employment, as it were."
"Not interested."
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you are. What stimulation could there be for you in this dank cell, pestered by asinine questions and squeaking rats? Not to mention that Blackwood is, as we speak, taking over the world piece by piece, claiming witchcraft to maintain control. You know what manner of creature he truly is. Can your sense of justice bear to witness this?"
"Then your plan is to get rid of him and set up court yourself? Forgive me, but I can't find that a very worthy cause."
"Set up court?" Moriarty laughed. "My dear Mr. Holmes, I have no desire to rule an empire. My forte is crime, and that's where I will remain. What use is power if everyone is aware you have it, and you must consequently spend more time defending it than using it? No, set yourself at ease. All I wish to do is what I have always done, but the fervour of Blackwood's regiment and the fear he rouses in the public make my business very difficult. His intellect and imagination are nowhere near yours or mine, but he has so many people under his thumb that I cannot make headway with him. I am, quite frankly, at an impasse. With you in my employ, I could uncloak him, finish him, bring England back to what it used to be. I swear to you, should you choose to set up a new Parliament, I would not murder them. Corrupt a few of them, perhaps, but that would be all."
"Then why did you allow them to die in the first place?" Holmes asked, trying and failing to keep the quiver out of his voice. Though he had said 'them', that was not the pronoun foremost in his mind.
"Allow? If I could have found the blasted machine, I would have stolen it sooner. I trusted my thief to find it, which she did, and disarm it, which she did not. Could not, granted, with a bullet in her head."
Holmes shivered, and closed his eyes hard against the image.
"If it's any consolation," Moriarty said, with a tinge of sympathy that rang hideously false, "I had the culprit drowned. He had ruined my plans, however inadvertently, and by murdering my employee, no less. No one gets to do that without orders from me."
"Goodness, the perks of this proposed job only get better and better!" Holmes exclaimed. "Still, I remain baffled as to why I should care. What difference does it make if we have Blackwood on centre stage, or you behind it?"
"It makes a great deal of difference to the common man. With Blackwood, he must always fear what sorcery shall come next and if it will cost him his life. With me - " Moriarty shrugged. "He shall have no cause to fear at all until he is already dead, and even then his family will call it an accident. The dangers, perhaps, will be similar; after all, Blackwood is no true sorceror. The quality of life, however, will be vastly different. Think of it, Holmes. It would be the most formidable challenge of your career, and once it was over, there would be nothing to stop you from taking clients once again. I certainly would not object to you putting away a few criminals."
The cynical meaning of this was manifest. A common criminal was, after all, a rival and a nuisance to Moriarty. Holmes contemplated what it would be like, to work with such a first-rate mind in order to bring down the man who had taken everything, not just from Holmes, but from the whole country.
He then contemplated what it would be like to be at Moriarty's mercy for the rest of his life.
"I'm afraid I must still, respectfully, decline." A bug scuttered across the floor, and he grasped at the opportunity to focus his gaze on something else than that haggard yet self-assured face.
"And what if the offer were not for you alone?"
Holmes's head immediately whipped up again. "Meaning?" he asked sharply.
"I offer no deals to mediocre men, but if I did not use any means possible to draw in an exceptional man like yourself, I should consider myself as big a fool as Blackwood. If you want the doctor, you can have him. After all, breaking out two is not substantially harder than breaking out one."
"How is he?" Holmes asked, knowing it was the wrong thing to say, but desperate to know the answer.
"Rather well, all things considered. Better than could be expected. Granted, the damp is doing him no favours, but I've been told he took down three men as late as two weeks ago, with only a broken nose to show for it." Moriarty pursed his lips in thought. "I have to admit, that's quite impressive for a man who can, at this point, barely walk across a room..."
"All right."
Moriarty fell silent, smiling ever so slightly.
"All right, damn you," Holmes repeated. "I will work with you. I will take down Blackwood. I will do anything you ask of me. Just get us out of here and keep him safe and unharmed."
"Mr. Holmes, I can assure you that from this moment on, your friend's life, as well as your own, shall be sacred to me. Unless of course you should ever choose to cross me - which would be very stupid indeed. But then, you're not a stupid man. We have a deal, then?"
"We have."
"Good! It has been a pleasure doing business with you. I will see you again, Mr. Holmes, very soon. Good day." Moriarty tipped his hat and walked down the corridor, soon disappearing into the shadows.
Holmes leaned back against the cold wall, closing his eyes. He had sold his soul, more certainly so than ever Lord Blackwood, and he could not even regret it.