CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sasha watched as the train engine began to move forward. She could only stand there and do nothing. Nothing but watch to see whether or not Sherlock would pull the lever and divert the train, killing his friend but sparing the innocent civilians.
Over and over again she repeated to herself that it didn’t matter. Either choice that Sherlock made, it meant that she had written a unique Sherlock story, and they would go home.
And she wouldn’t have to face down the horribly conflicted mess that was going on in her head. She wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that the man—thethingthat was standing behind her, was slowly running his hands up and down her arms in a way that was driving herinsane.
He was a demigod. A monster. A villain. Thethingresponsible for all the horror and trauma that they had already suffered and were going to suffer.
And she had had sex with him.
Twice.
Because she’d wanted it. Because she’d needed it. Because the way she felt when he touched her, when she’d felt the jaws of that dark and terrible fiction sink into her, she was lost. Absolutely lost.
And no matter how she tried to convince herself it wasn’t a betrayal of Sidney…it was. Because strapped to the front of that moving train, screaming at Sherlock to save her, thrashing back and forth, trying to yank free of the ropes—was her poor sister.
Sasha was having the best time of her life and Sidney was getting tortured. And was likely about to die. Maybe she had taken on the challenge of playing the villain a little too much this time around.
“But you do itso well.”
“I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts inside the fiction.”
“I can’t when I’m in the form of a character. I’m here as myself. And we’re at the end, anyway. It’s basically the epilogue. Who cares.” He shrugged, wrapping his arms around her waist and stepping flush to her back. “You really do make a phenomenal little villainous sidekick, Sasha. Though you trust your evil companions too much for your own good.”
“What do you mean?”
“You let Moriarty outsmart you. Because youtrustedhim.” Hetsked.“Silly little thing. Never trust a mastermind. He doesn’t even trust himself.”
Fear twisted in her. She tried to turn in his arms. “What?—”
He squeezed her tight, keeping her facing straight. “Watch. You’re missing the good part. You worked so hard for this moment. Terrible waste if you didn’t get to see it now.”
In wide-eyed horror, she turned back to the scene in front of her. “What did he do…?”
“Nothing outright. You, quite remarkably, won his respect. But there was one outcome you hadn’t spelled out a solution for. You gave him instructions for what to do if Sherlock chose track one or two…” He trailed off, leaving it for her to piece it together.
For a moment, she couldn’t grasp what he was talking about. She focused on the scene in front of her, trying to frantically finish the jigsaw puzzle he’d half finished for her.
Sherlock shook his head violently, screaming at the man pointing a gun at him as the train lumbered down the tracks. Sherlock wasarguing with him. Vehement and furious—panicking. He had no brilliant way out of this one. There would be no “ah-hah” last-minute save from the detective.
Because she hadn’t written one in for him. But she wasforgettingsomething. What was it?What was it?
She thought about the original ethical debate and all the follow-ups she knew about it. All the additional versions of it that sparked debates. Pushing a fat man onto the tracks. Or?—
Then it hit her.
The third choice. Cringing, she wailed.“Fuck!”
“Mm, there it is. You found it.” He chuckled. “What is to be done…if Sherlock chooses tonotchoose at all?”
Sure enough, Sherlock simply…dropped to his knees. Dropped to his knees and put his head in his hands. He would not choose either track.
Thus, neither death, or groups of deaths, would be his fault.
He would be a witness to horror. Nothing more. By not playing the game, he would be able to wash his conscience of it. Even if he could save fifteen lives—in theory—by dooming one. Or save his friend by dooming the others.
God, she hated philosophy.
