CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sidney decided the only thing worse than trudging through a cold, misty, dark London—was trudging through a cold, misty, dark London with a limp.
No. It was trudging through a cold, misty, dark London with a limp, after a man who was in a rush and was very,verycertain he was a genius.
Sidney was starting to really not care whether or not she lived through the end of this story. Just as long as it ended. Hopefully it’d be a quick death. Justlights out,right?
The End. Exit stage right. If she got a fade-to-black sex scene she certainly was going to get a fade-to-black death scene. That was only fair.
Sherlock pressed his back to the wall of one of the construction outbuildings in the train yard as he peered around the corner before waving at her to follow him. She had a gun and he didn’t, but she was also slower than him. It balanced out.
The train yard was guarded. And by people that didn’t look like they had any right being there.
Sherlock lifted a finger to his lips, motioning for her to be silent.
Two men walked by, not seeing them hiding in the darkness.
“Dunno why we’ve got prisoners,” one of them said to the other. “Seems stupid.”
“We don’t get paid to ask questions. So shut up,” replied his buddy.
Fuck, that was cliche.Sidney tried not to laugh. They were probably told to walk by and literally say that. Or was she the one who made them say that? Was she that bad of a writer?It’s not my fault, I didn’t ask to be in this stupid mess!
But whoever was to blame for the bad dialogue, it didn’t matter. It didn’t deter Sherlock. In fact, it did anything but.
“He truly has gone too far.” Sherlock whispered to her. Glancing down at his pocket watch, he clicked it shut before storming off into the train yard. “We have to hurry.” There was a bit of a manic glint in his eyes.
And that was when Sidney realized that Sherlock…was enjoying this. This was what he lived for. This was his real love in life, wasn’t it? The only thing that mattered to him.
“I’m so going to die,” she murmured.
Sherlock was already off and running along one of the buildings toward the main intersection of tracks. Stepping out, Sidney never got to warn him about the figure that moved to intercept him.
Something heavy struck her in the back of the head. And everything blissfully went dark.
Sasha finished tidyingup her hair curls as Moriarty laced her dress back up for her. He was a gentleman, evil as he was. Someone down below in the train yard lifted a lit torch and waved it. “Ah.” Her stomach twisted in a knot. “It’s time.”
Moriarty checked his pocket watch. “Why always on the fifteens, Holmes?”
“Pardon?”
“The strangest thing.” He clicked it shut and tucked the gold and brass object back into his vest pocket. “Every time this man appears in my life to bother me, it is always at fifteen past the hour. I haven’t the foggiest idea why.” Moriarty rested his arm around her. It felt like the simple, casual embrace of lovers. He honestly sounded curious.
“I’m not going to try to diagnose Sherlock Holmes.” She had a few options for both men to choose from, but she opted to keep them to herself. It wasn’t exactly important, given what was about to happen. She watched as lamps were lit throughout the yard, allowing them to see what was happening.
Two figures were being dragged by others. One smaller than the other. The smaller one seemed unconscious. Doctor Watson—Sidney. The taller one, Sherlock, was kicking weakly at the men on either side of him, but there was no use.
She hoped Sidney lived. That Sherlock chose to kill the innocent people. If only because those people weren’treal,and wouldn’t remember the pain of dying.
But now, she was fairly convinced she had beaten Vile at his own game and was going to go home either way. Watson never died in the stories. And Sherlock Holmes never chose to let innocent people die. Either way? She’d won. On the first try.
She smiled.
“You aresocertain of yourself, it’s adorable.” The voice that laughed close to her ear didn’t belong to Moriarty. “My devious little harlot is quite attractive when she’s being prideful. And what was all this prim and propermoralitynonsense you fed me not onlythreechapters ago? Or are you just hot for evil professors, is that it?”
Sasha jumped away from him, trying to put as much distance as she could between her and Vile.
He had shed the appearance of Moriarty entirely. It was the Vile she’d seen in the library. It seemed he wanted to havethisconversation face-to-face. “I have you beat. Admit it.”
