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.
She felt strapped to the front of the proverbial train. Which was fitting, as that was exactly what was probably going toliterallyhappen to her. But Sherlock seemed blissfully unaware of the trap that Sasha and Moriarty had set for him.
It was clever, she had to admit, how Sasha was playing Sherlock against himself. He didn’t suspect athing.The detective was pacing the room, frantically babbling about how the train yard was the perfect place for an attack as it would drive a bigger wedge between theyadda-yadda-yadda.
Sidney couldn’t give less of a shit.
Tonight, they were going to infiltrate a train yard. And Sidney was going to be used as bait.
Then?
She was probably going to die.
“I am glad you came.”
Moriarty’s dark voice sent a shudder through her as Sasha came to, mid-stride, as she entered the room. She almost tripped and fell. Stupid scene changes. She’d get used to it eventually. Or rather, she hoped she wouldn’thaveto. Hopefully she was going home soon.
She wondered if Watson ever died in any of the Sherlock Holmes stories. She didn’t think so. None of the official ones, anyway. And none of the adaptations that she could think of. And in none of themcould she think of an example where Sherlock let innocent people die.
Wait. Would they wineither way?
Hope bloomed in her heart. It was dangerous to let herself believe she might have found a way out of this mess.
“Like I would miss this for the world.” She shut the door behind her. It was the top room of the observation tower for the new train station. Currently, most of the building was still boarded up and under construction. But this section had its glass and glazing in place, likely to keep the rain and birds from taking up residence in the rest of the building. “Don’t you need to be down below to oversee the…activities?”
“No. I have well-paid individuals to do that for me. I rarely show my face. It is far safer that way. We will watch from here.” He was standing by the window, little more than a silhouette against a backdrop that was barely brighter. There were no lights on in the room—it would be too much of a risk to give away that someone was watching.
Down below was the train yard. And in an hour, perhaps less, all of the nonsense ofSherlock and The Problem of the Trolleywould be over and resolved. One way or another.
Part of her would almost be sad to say goodbye to Victorian London and Irene Adler. It was fun to be a boss-ass bitch for a little while. To feel like she could actually be someone with her shit together. Someone powerful. Desirable. Intelligent.
She moved to stand beside Moriarty. And some part of her would miss him, too. His sharp features were barely lit in the moonlight that was cast down over the train yard. Everything was damp—it was London, after all—and puddles of water on the packed dirt reflected the moon and stars back up at them.
He was so damnhandsome.So damnterrifying.The evil mastermind himself.
But this was allheridea, wasn’t it? Not even Irene Adler was to blame for this nonsense. This was one hundred percent SashaLancaster’s fault. Resting her gloved hands on the railing, she looked down at the train yard. “How will this all play out?”
“There”—he pointed to one end of the yard—“is the train that will be our deus ex machina for the evening. At the end of the tracksthere”—he pointed at the other end—“are fifteen innocent steel workers and their wives and children, already bound, drugged, and gagged.”
She huffed a half-laugh. “Fifteen?”
“I thought your idea of five was a bit…lackluster. I wish to make him feel the agony of his choice should he choose to spare Watson’s life.” When he lowered his hand, he moved his arm behind her to settle his palm on her lower back.
Her cheeks instantly went warm. “By your tone, you seem to think he will murder his friend.”
“I do. He is a fool who is always wont to make personal sacrifices.” His voice betrayed nothing else of his intentions as his hand slid up from her lower back, underneath her shawl, and began to deftly undo the laces of her dress.
She should stop him. This wasn’t about setting a trap. This wasn’t about Sherlock watching them. But she didn’twanthim to stop.
