Nutrisco et exstinguo - Chapter XV: Per inania regna
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A.N.: The fairy tale which appears in this chapter is 'The Stars in the Sky' by Joseph Jacobs - it is in the public domain, but it's still not mine. The libretto of Antonín Dvořák's Rusalka was written by Jaroslav Kvapil.
Many thanks to all my reviewers, it means the world to me! Hope you keep enjoying :)
Nutrisco et exstinguo: "I feed from it and extinguish it"
Per inania regna: "In the kingdom of shadows"
Warnings: Rating for this chapter is K+
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Chapter XV: Per inania regna
song: December Baby, by Ingrid Michaelson
oOo
The colored lights, they brightly shine.
Unlike your eyes avoiding mine.
The snow is folding sheet upon sheet.
Our hands not holding as we cross the street.
Above the fireplace the skull was grinning. That was the only detail that caught your attention as you turned back from the window, still playing the violin. You'd been playing it for an hour or so, looking at the snow falling. Now, as you heard the entrance door, you'd rather look at John coming back from the clinic. The snow was soothing, and John probably wouldn't be, because he'd be tired and only want to have some dinner and have a relaxing evening watching the telly. Except there wasn't any food left in the fridge, and you had something else planned for tonight - not exactly a chase, but something that could quite possibly end in one nonetheless.
Yet, you knew John would understand, as always. He'd complain a bit, maybe even more than just a bit. But he'd still be there by your side making sure no Golem or mad cabby bumped you off. Faithful, long-suffering John. Sometimes you wondered how the addiction to the thrill could be powerful enough to make him bear with... well, you. But then again, didn't you put up with some of his traits too? His mind was average after all, and you had to explain everything, or he wouldn't follow your reasoning. To be fair, that was rather the point. Explaining forced you to formulate your thoughts and sometimes something new popped up: talking to John, and sometimes even listening to him, could trigger a new dynamic in your thought process. He was great at pointing the obvious as well - well, what was obvious to ordinary people - and at gathering data, which was always helpful. All in all, you had to admit that you only got the benefits of your... association. Naturally, he did get benefits too: sharing a flat with you and following you on cases made his life interesting. He was never bored, and as Mycroft so smoothly put it, that was good.
You liked playing while you waited for him - although you'd never admit, even to yourself, that you were waiting for anything. You were thinking. Putting some order in your mental palace. Pondering a case. You truly never thought of John, because he was always there. Okay, so that wasn't completely true: when you had first met him, you had thought about him. A lot. Less than about the serial suicides, though. Still, you had spent time planning a way to make him take the room in 221B. You didn't need to see him twice to know everything you needed to know: a few minutes were enough to discern exactly what it would take to turn Mike Stamford's old school buddy just returned from Afghanistan John Watson into Sherlock Holmes' flatmate and colleague. No, the one and only mystery was why you wanted to keep him by your side after that first meaning. It was a good opportunity - but that wasn't enough to explain your interest. It didn't matter, though. You only had to show him his limp was psychosomatic, and that he couldn't survive without the thrill you could provide. The battlefield brought right in central London. That's why he'd stayed. And that is why you didn't worry about him getting mad at an empty fridge when you could offer an exciting infiltration plan instead.
So when he entered the room, you finished your piece casually and put the violin back in its case.
"Sherlock? What happened to the fridge's contents?"
"Experiment."
You heard the door of the fridge being slammed, and you looked up at John, a bit startled.
"Care to be more specific?"
He was angry. That was expected - but the question was: why was he so angry? Walking fast to your coat and scarf, you announced precipitately:
"We have a case. You know those poisoned apples? Well, Lestrade finally called today and..."
"I don't care."
"Beg your pardon?"
"I. Don't. Care. I asked you about the fridge, Sherlock."
"Why is the fridge so important? We have a case, John!"
"You have a case."
"Excuse-me?"
"Apologies not accepted. You know what? I don't care. I'm tired of this."
You stopped abruptly in the stairwell. John was behind you, but a few meters away, still in the living-room. He had no intention of following. Usually, you would have just scoffed 'fine' and gone alone. But something in his eyes told you this wasn't over. Or rather, that it was. You felt your blood turn cold.
"Tired of what?"
You didn't dare turn to look at his face and observe him. Why? You should. Otherwise you'd miss something important. But you were frozen on the spot, and everything happened mechanically, as if beyond your control.
"Of you, Sherlock. I'm tired of you."
He walked past you and completely ignored the look of utter loss you sent him as he went up the stairs to his room. Panic rose in your chest and this time, you were the one following him. He doesn't bother closing the door and starts packing.
"What are you doing?"
"I believe that's quite obvious, Sherlock."
"Where are you going?"
"Where do you think?"
Agitated, you started fidgeting.
"You have nowhere to go. You won't go to your sister, and there is no serious girlfriend you..."
"Yes, there is!"
His roar made you jump and the frenzy turned into dread.
"I'm tired of putting up with you, Sherlock, and I'm moving out. Just find another flunkey."
"You're not..."
"Exactly. Not anymore."
Consternated, you stared, rendered speechless. Why couldn't you speak? This wasn't the time to be in shock. You needed John to stay. No, you wanted him to stay. How had it come to this?
He walked right past you and threw before leaving:
"I'll pay this month's rent. Better find someone else for the next if you can't afford it yourself - though somehow, I doubt it."
Only then did you seem to find your voice back.
"John!"
The moment you screamed his name, everything was turned upside down and your vision went blurry. Nausea and dizziness hit you as you opened your eyes again and was greeted by an eerie blue glow. The Pool.
You have had your fill your fill of me.
You have had your fill your fill of me.
You couldn't grasp the situation because it didn't make sense. None of it. But surprisingly enough, you couldn't bring yourself to care either - all that mattered was John and that you had to talk to him and make things right again. Scratch that, make him stay: whether it was right for him was none of your concern.
Standing by the water, you suddenly realized there was no roof. In fact, no walls either: you were surrounded only by buildings. Bart's rooftop.
Across the pool, Moriarty stood grinning widely.
"Where is John?"
Walking creepily like a puppet without joints, he answered in his infuriating sing-song voice:
"See-saw Marjorie Daw
Johnny shall have a new master
He shall earn but a penny a day
Because he can't work any FASTER"
On the last word he took out his gun and shot you: as the pain in your dislocated shoulder knocked you down, you could only see his wooden, wrecked figure explode against the sky. You fell into the pool and drowned.
The alert alarm in your brain drilled through the pain and told you this was a nightmare and that now would be a good time to wake up. But something primal, fervid and stupid compelled you to keep fighting against the water filling your lungs because you had to catch up with John, stop him before he could get into a cab and leave for God knows where. Before he could leave for good. But your forces were leaving you already and soon everything went black.
When you regained consciousness, gasping and choking, you were beached on a grey seashore. The wet sand felt cold against your skin and drenched clothes. Sitting up, you gave the scenery a circular stare and stopped on a figure walking towards you. Your eyes lit up and a wave of hope washed over you as you stood up and ran towards the man.
"John! John!"
He seemed to be with other people - and an animal, too? Probably a dog. It didn't matter, all that mattered was that you had found him and... Walking up to him, you put a hand on his shoulder, making him turn to you in bewilderment.
"John..."
You were panting and couldn't manage to utter another word for the moment. John looked at you in surprise, then frowned. The woman walking by his side didn't stop, and kept chatting and giggling with the little boy whose hand she held. A girl with braids was running and playing with the dog. There was no recognition in John's eyes as he stared coldly at you. You gulped.
"John, I'm sor..."
"Sorry, but you can't be here."
Your hand clenched his shoulder desperately.
"Please, I..."
"You're dead, you see."
He walked away.
I wore the dress I thought you loved.
But my boots are filling with snow you shoved
Off of the car we climb into.
You finished first, I must catch up to you.
When you woke up sobs were racking your body, and you thought you were drowning all over again. As you realized they were sobs though, you willed yourself to stop right away. You had become very talented to control your breathing, and the mechanism was now set in place. It was the sobbing and the consequent lack of air that had woken you up this time, and you cursed the stupid nightmares that still managed to have a toll on your brain and body.
To will the remains of the dreams further away, you go back to numbers.
SH = JM
18 + 8 = 9 + 12
26 = 23
After all those months, the table was ingrained in your mind palace, pervading every room. It was already after a few hours, protested your brain. You ignored it.
A B C D E F G H
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
I / J K L M N O P Q
9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16
R S T U / V W X Y Z
17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24
At the beginning, every time you shut your eyelids you would see it engraved on the inside of your skin, glowing in the dark as if you had fixed your gaze on neon light letters and numbers. By now, you didn't even need to visualize it anymore.
You hadn't been sleeping in three days, and you knew that you needed to sleep tonight, because you'd be having a busy week. So squirming a little on the couch, you closed your eyes tighter and put your brain on research mode. Codes and riddles didn't need to involve people. You didn't need to understand a thought process, but just numbers and letters. Statistical probabilities. Of course, knowing how Moriarty's mind worked could have seemed helpful - but it didn't matter. Because he was you, and you were him.
You'd always hated riddles, and now their blankness was the only lullaby that could send you to sleep. You let your brain do the scan and concentrate on your breathing.
1895
AHIE / AHJE
S I/J E
SJ E
SJ equals? S equals J?
E 2nd vowel
IOU = 9 14 20 = 33 (= 6?)
6 = F
… F?
BWV Bach Werke Verzeichnis
2 21 20
2 3 2
43
7
G
Bach's partita 1 in B minor, BWV 1002
B = 2
1002 = A00B
α00β
αωωβ
α to ω, ω to β
"I am the Alpha and the Omega"
α to ω, ω to β ; α has been lost and only β remains
1 has died, only 2 remains
"You're me! Youre' me..."
Luckily, slumber soon numbed your blathering brain.
You have had your fill your fill of me.
You have had your fill your fill of me.
You never thought about the dreams from the previous night, and today was no exception. The train from Toulouse to Barcelona was a seven hour ride. Sitting down doing nothing for all this time wasn't very appealing, all the more so as you couldn't smoke on trains anymore, even in special compartment. Stupid French people, always so extreme: it was either all or nothing. You could either smoke everywhere, even in hospitals, or nowhere at all. You frowned.
The iPhone in your pocket vibrated and you picked it to read the message. You still preferred to text.
Apple pie almost done baking. Should I add brown sugar for the crisp ? -SM
You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. The idiot apparently believed it necessary to do more than was requested of him. Had Moriarty trained him that way ? It was rather pointless and quite ridiculous. As if he could think of anything you hadn't already thought of.
Why not nuts and bolts, while we're at it ?
Pressing the Send button, you stifled an annoyed sigh. You knew he wasn't trying to be friendly, sending you all those useless texts. If anything, he was rather being cheeky. But he was key to everything you had planned. Sebastian. Had Moriarty chosen him also for the name starting with an S ? It sounded absurd, but he wasn't above that. S and J in reversed roles, but they still seemed to have worked like magnets. You scratched the thought. If S and J truly were magnets, then S and S wasn't an association that bode very well.
"Coffee?"
"Thank you."
You didn't even bother looking up from the window. The man gave you a paper cup and sat across from you.
"Frustrating, isn't it? The non-smoking."
"I'm sure you'll manage."
Your voice was drawling and you didn't care. He was dull, and silence suited him better anyway. You saw his reflected expression on the pane darken slightly, but he seemed to get the message.
For a minute, at least.
"I've never been to Barcelona ! It's not the best time of the year to go, though. I mean, winter, y'know."
We're not exactly going there as tourists, you imbecile.
You sent him a pleasant smile.
"It really isn't, is it ?"
Oh, this was all so tiring. Thank God there was something behind those boring people. Something more than a man. You looked your own reflection in the eye.
How can I catch up when I don't don't want to?
How can I catch up when I still want you?
December 27, Gran Teatre del Liceu, Barcelona
Standing in front of the theatre, you tried not to look too impatient. You had noticed the blond hair only enhanced the tension in your traits, and definitely did not soften your face. It didn't matter, you thought as you checked your watch yet again - a Cartier gold cream dial that almost matched your hair colour and contrasted elegantly with your black tailor-made suit - but you still wanted to make a good impression. Finally, your 'date' arrived - not so beautiful but very high-class and graceful.
She wouldn't have been his type, you thought, and a figure holding a little boy's hand crossed your mind. You blot out the thought and the image instantly.
"I am terribly sorry to be late, Mr. Holmes."
Your eyes turned to slits and your gaze went cold. She smiled brightly.
"Shall we go in ? I wouldn't want you to miss the beginning - don't you think the first act is just sublime ?"
"So you've already seen it ?"
"Oh, yes, many times. I came to last week's performance as well. Rusalka is my favourite opera."
"Well, it would, wouldn't it. But I thought you just arrived from London ?"
"Oh no, I've been here for a month or so. However I do have contacts in London."
You collected your tickets - reserved under the name Šárka- and went to your seats.
"So tell me, Ms. Šárka, how do you find Barcelona ?"
"Please call me Eliska. I'll just call you Kazimir [1] since you don't seem to like your name."
"It isn't my name. Yours is very interesting, though. Eliska Šárka." [2]
"I've always been fond of oxymorons."
She took out of her purse a fountain pen and a case full of (different) business cards, picked one at the bottom, and wrote an email address on the back.
"Here is the quickest way to reach me, if the need ever arose."
You took the card but didn't even take a look at the address. Your eyes were fixed on the fountain pen. A Parker Duofold, with an iridium nib. [3] Her mouth curved imperceptibly.
"I see you are even later than me."
Your glare was lost as the lights were dimmed. The room went quiet and the curtain was raised. The music broke the silence and the performance begun. Ms. Šárka took a paper out of her bag, and passed it on to you. Even in the dim-lit theatre, you could see it was a picture of your gravestone painted red. FAKE. 6-1-10-5. 61, 105. Geographical coordinates. You stared.
"You want me to go to Siberia?"you hissed under your breath, as quietly as you could manage.
She just smiled, and brought a finger to her lips. They parted and a mere whisper escaped them.
"Shh. Here's the song I like most. I am sure you will love it too, Kazimir."
You furrowed your brow but kept quiet and directed your attention to the stage. You did not understand Czech, but this song was so famous you were familiar with it already, and your brain flashed the words across your field of vision even though you really didn't ask for it. But words could still be ignored, or destroyed with irony : music was much more insidious. Much stronger against indifference and cynicism, too.
"Mĕsíčku na nebi hlubokém,
Silver moon upon the deep dark sky,
Svĕtlo tvé daleko vidi,
Through the vast night pierce your rays.
Po svĕtĕ bloudíš širokém,
This sleeping world you wander by,
Díváš se příbytky lidí,
Smiling on men's homes and ways.
Mĕsíčku postůj chvíli,
Oh moon ere past you glide, tell me,
Řekni mi, kde je můj milý ?
Tell me, oh where does my loved one bide?
Řekni mu, stříbrný mĕsíčku,
Tell him, oh tell him, my silver moon,
Mé že jej objímá rámě,
Mine are the arms that shall hold him,
Aby si alespoň chviličku,
That between waking and sleeping he may
Vzpomenul ve snĕní na mne,
Think of the love that enfolds him,
Zasvět' mu do daleka, zasvět' mu,
Light his path far away, light his path,
Řekni mu, řekni, kdo tu naň čeká,
Tell him, oh tell him who does for him stay!
O mněli duše lidská sní,
Human soul, should it dream of me,
At' se tou vzpomínkou vzbudíl,
Let my memory wakened be.
Mĕsíčku, nezhasni, nezhasni
Moon, moon, oh do not wane, do not wane,
Mĕsíčku, nezhasni, nezhasni"
Moon, oh moon, do not wane...
In your hand the picture was reduced to a crumpled ball.
You have had your fill your fill of me.
You have had your fill your fill of me.
If seven hours from Toulouse to Barcelona had seemed a long, boring trip, your ride on the Trans-Siberian Railway would be the death of you, you thought. You had walked up and down the compartments a dozen times, because after a while you got tired of staring out of the window in emptiness. At least smoking in between cars was permitted. Even if it was freezing, it made the whole journey more bearable.
As you finished your umpteenth cigarette, you went back to the warmer areas and remembered you were supposed to eat. Your phone vibrated as you headed for the dining car.
Oven exploded. Mission complete.
As if you didn't already know that. Did the man think you were stupid ? You are being stupid if you're taking him seriously. You need him as a right-hand man, but he was Moriarty's. A little smile graced your lips, but disappeared as soon as you noticed it. Sebastian Moran was a necessary tool and a threat. But this very ambiguity was proof you weren't Moriarty. Now you really are being stupid, your brain chided. You are 'Moriarty' : and Moran must never doubt that.
But I don't like him, you retorted. All the better,your brain replied.
As you entered the dining car, you walked past a small man with a military stance. You averted your eyes. You had just ordered absent-mindedly when your gaze caught a red seal on your table. Your eyes widened. Picking the enveloppe that lay against your glass, you opened it.
Hello, Sexy. Here's a little story to distract you - and spare some of your Sobranies :) Virginia N°40 I presume ?
Black Russian, you corrected mentally, but you didn't even gloat over the fact he got it wrong. It wasn't relevant : and only relevant mattered now. You started reading.
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ONCE on a time and twice on a time, and all times together as ever I heard tell of, there was a tiny lassie who would weep all day to have the stars in the sky to play with; she wouldn't have this, and she wouldn't have that, but it was always the stars she would have. So one fine day off she went to find them. And she walked and she walked and she walked, till by and by she came to a mill-dam.
'Goode' en to ye,' says she, 'I'm seeking the stars in the sky to play with. Have you seen any?'
'Oh, yes, my bonnie lassie,' said the mill-dam. 'They shine in my own face o' nights till I can't sleep for them. Jump in and perhaps you'll find one.'
So she jumped in, and swam about and swam about and swam about, but ne'er a one could she see. So she went on till she came to a brooklet.
'Goode'en to ye, Brooklet, Brooklet,' says she; 'I'm seeking the stars in the sky to play with. Have you seen any?'
'Yes, indeed, my bonny lassie,' said the Brooklet. 'They glint on my banks at night. Paddle about, and maybe you'll find one.'
So she paddled and she paddled and she paddled, but ne'er a one did she find. So on she went till she came to the Good Folk.
'Goode'en to ye, Good Folk,' says she; 'I'm looking for the stars in the sky to play with. Have ye seen e'er a one?'
'Why, yes, my bonnie lassie,' said the Good Folk. 'They shine on the grass here o' night. Dance with us, and maybe you'll find one.'
And she danced and she danced and she danced, but ne'er a one did she see. So down she sate; I suppose she wept.
'Oh dearie me, oh dearie me,' says she, 'I've swam and I've paddled and I've danced, and if ye'll not help me I shall never find the stars in the sky to play with.'
But the Good Folk whispered together, and one of them came up to her and took her by the hand and said, 'If you won't go home to your mother, go forward, go forward; mind you take the right road. Ask Four Feet to carry you to No Feet at all, and tell No Feet at all to carry you to the stairs without steps, and if you can climb that-'
'Oh, shall I be among the stars in the sky then?' cried the lassie.
'If you'll not be, then you'll be elsewhere,' said the Good Folk, and set to dancing again.
So on she went again with a light heart, and by and by she came to a saddled horse, tied to a tree.
'Goode'en to ye, Beast,' said she; 'I'm seeking the stars in the sky to play with. Will you give me a lift, for all my bones are an-aching.'
'Nay,' said the horse, 'I know naught of the stars in the sky, and I'm here to do the bidding of the Good Folk, and not my own will.'
'Well,' said she, 'it's from the Good Folk I come, and they bade me tell Four Feet to carry me to No Feet at all.'
'That's another story,' said he; 'jump up and ride with me.'
So they rode and they rode and they rode, till they got out of the forest and found themselves at the edge of the sea. And on the water in front of them was a wide glistening path running straight out towards a beautiful thing that rose out of the water and went up into the sky, and was all the colours in the world, blue and red and green, and wonderful to look at.
'Now get you down,' said the horse; 'I've brought ye to the end of the land, and that's as much as Four Feet can do. I must away home to my own folk.'
'But,' said the lassie, 'where's No Feet at all, and where's the stair without steps?'
'I know not,' said the horse; 'it's none of my business neither. So goode'en to ye, my bonny lassie'; and off he went.
So the lassie stood still and looked at the water, till a strange kind of fish came swimming up to her feet.
'Goode'en to ye, big Fish,' says she; 'I'm looking for the stars in the sky, and for the stairs that climb up to them. Will ye show me the way?'
'Nay,' said the Fish, 'I can't unless you bring me word from the Good Folk.'
'Yes, indeed,' said she. 'They said Four Feet would bring me to No Feet at all, and No Feet at all would carry me to the stairs without steps.'
'Ah, well,' said the Fish; 'that's all right then. Get on my back and hold fast.'
And off he went - Kerplash! - into the water, along the silver path, towards the bright arch. And the nearer they came the brighter the sheen of it, till she had to shade her eyes from the light of it.
And as they came to the foot of it, she saw it was a broad bright road, sloping up and away into the sky, and at the far, far end of it she could see wee shining things dancing about.
'Now,' said the Fish, 'here you are, and yon's the stair; climb up, if you can, but hold on fast. I'll warrant you find the stair easier at home than by such a way; 'twas ne'er meant for lassies' feet to travel'; and off he splashed through the water.
So she clomb and she clomb and she clomb, but ne'er a step higher did she get: the light was before her and around her, and the water behind her, and the more she struggled the more she was forced down into the dark and the cold, and the more she clomb the deeper she fell.
But she clomb and she clomb, till she got dizzy in the light and shivered with the cold, and dazed with the fear; but still she clomb, till at last, quite amazed and silly-like, she let clean go, and sank down - down - down.
And bang she came on to the hard boards, and found herself sitting, weeping and wailing, by the bedside at home all alone.
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But don't you worry, my dear, you're not home. Or are you? :D
Your eyes stopped on the word: home. Home. You searched insistently.
All it conjured up was 8. 14. 12. 5.
H.O.M.E.
December baby, you are my,
December baby, you are my,
December baby, you are my,
December baby, you are mine.
oOo
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[1]Kazimir means 'famous destroyer (of peace)'
[2] Eliska means 'truthful'. Šárka means 'trick'.
[3] See season 1 episode 3, 'The Great Game'
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Appendix: This is Rusalka's Song to the Moon interpreted by Anna Netrebko. Thought you might want to know what it sounded like :)
Click to viewAnd Ingrid Michaelson's 'December Baby'
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