CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sasha watched the light glint off the cut edges of her wineglass in the early afternoon sun. London really was beautiful, even if she knew that the dirt and the smog and thedeaththat accompanied the Industrial Revolution weren’t far away from where she was.
She sat at the wrought iron table and waited for her two guests to arrive. She knew they’d come. There was no chance they wouldn’t arrive. For a few reasons. One, it made the most narrative sense. Two, the whole end of the story relied on it. And three…she was suddenly aware of herself.
Which meant that something interesting was going to happen.
Being a character in a book is weird and I don’t know as I like it. But at least it gets to the point and cuts out the drudgery.Like brushing her teeth. Or traveling. Or putting on her shoes. She was wearing an outfit she didn’tquiteremember putting on, unless she focused on recalling the information.
But that was the situation she was in. And if she did everything right, and Sherlock did what she hoped he’d do—she’d spin a unique story and it would free both her and her sister from Vile's trap. They could go home.
Or…Sidney would die.
She was putting her sister’s life on the line. She’d feel better putting her own up instead, but, the story just didn’t work that way.
A shadow blotted out the sun. Looking up, she smiled. She didn’t recognize the man standing with her sister, who looked abjectlymiserableas she leaned on the cane she carried. But she knew him, all the same. “Mister Holmes. Doctor Watson. Please, sit. Join me.”
Sidney looked more than happy to slump into her chair and take the weight off her bad leg. Sherlock took a little longer to settle into his chair. He was watching her, and his surroundings, like a hawk. His gray eyes were much like Moriarty’s darker ones, in nature if not in color. He seemed to lookthroughher.
“Before you wonder, we are not being observed. James’s associates have no reason to watch me if I stay within certain perimeters.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Which is precisely why I did not come to see you at 221B, of course.”
“Of course.” Sherlock kept his tone flat and unwavering. He was going to betray nothing. And ask nothing. She called them to the cafe—it was her responsibility to speak.
“You are, however, under surveillance. We have approximately twenty minutes by my measure before they catch up to you and see us together. So you’ll excuse me if I make this brief.” That was all a lie, of course. Moriarty knew precisely what was going on—and in fact, it was Moriarty himself that had given her the plausible twenty minute window.
“Eighteen,” Sherlock corrected her.
God, he wasso fucking punchable.She looked over at her sister. “I do not know how you put up with him.”
“I have no fucking clue,” Sidney muttered.
Oh, no. Her sister was in one of those moods. It was a good thing they were speeding towards the end—no pun intended. She didn’t blame her sister for being grumpy. If she was stuck with Sherlock and had a bad leg she’d probably want to shove her cane up Sherlock’s ass also.
“I saidapproximately,but thank you for being so predictably pedantic.” She smiled at Sherlock. “There is no love lost between us and I intend to keep it that way. I have asked you here because while I still, and shall never, have any reason to enjoy how you conduct your business—how our mutual acquaintance conducts his has…transcended that which I can stand witness to.”
“I see being a book snob comes in handy finally,” Sidney muttered under her breath again, downing the glass of wine that was already waiting for her. She took the bottle from the table and poured herself another. “At leastoneof us is having fun.”
Sherlock ignored “Watson.” Either because it was too out of character or because he was focused on what Irene was saying. Either way. “How so?”
“Blackmailing a man who may or may not have deserved it, we could debate until the end of days. Murder in the name of creating civil unrest is…a far stretch beyond that, would you agree?” She spun her wine glass in front of her idly, watching the light on the cuts change and dance as she did.
“And you wish to warn us of his plot.” Sherlock let out a quiet laugh. It wasn’t one of humor. It wasn’t even a mocking one. It was one of bemusedtriumph.Someone whose opponent in chess had made a fatal error. Someone who was about to win by no action of their own. “He has gone a stretch too far for your morals and you wish to alert us to his impending crime.”
“Yes. I thought flaunting a relationship with the man would amuse me for a time, as it would certainly needle you to no end. And it did. But now that I can see behind the veil of this Professor Moriarty, I…find myself out of my depth and with no means to stop him.” There it was. The meat on the hook.
I am just a poor silly widdle woman, after all.
Would he bite?
Sherlock leaned forward, pulling out his pocket watch. “Ten minutes. Tell me everything you know.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
This was goingto wind up with her getting killed.
Sidney was going to die.
She knew it. Sheknewit. Sasha had warned her this was a trap. But it was a trap that had…maybe a tiny percentage chance of success? She didn’t honestly know. She wasn’t familiar enough with Sherlock stories to know if Watson had ever died, or if Sherlock had ever sacrificed innocent lives to save his buddy before.
