“You obviously have questions,” I muttered to Sherlock who hadn’t moved from his chair during the entire time my uncle had been there. He smirked and his face took on the look it did when he was gearing up for an inquisition.
“How is it that you know Jim Moriarty?” Sherlock asked.
“I worked for him for a while,” I began, “for about eight years actually.”
Sherlock looked shocked, inside I held a little victory party for that particular achievement.
“May I ask what kind of work?” He muttered questioningly, I smiled.
“You may, but I should warn you that you won’t get a truthful answer.” I looked towards the door, “not here at least.”
“And the items your Russian friend is bringing?”
“My children,” I smirked, at the words that I’d used, they were perhaps too true.
“Prized possessions?” He asked, intrigued.
“Things that will allow me to ensure my own safety, which considering I’ve almost been killed twice now, doesn’t seem to me to be too much of an ask.” He nodded his understanding and was obviously pondering his next question.
“Are you planning on leaving and or escaping this place?”
“No, I promised Lestrade that I would stay here for a week, and I keep my word.” I fidgeted in my bed and with the prompting flare of pain that shot across my abdomen I decided that I should probably lie back down and let my body repair itself.
“So how exactly did you make those holes in the blind man?”
I looked up quickly frowning, surprised that he hadn’t already deduced how I’d done it, I then saw the sheathed knowledge in his eyes and smirked.
“You already know the answer.”
“Of course, but that takes away all the fun.”
“Since when did you prefer to be told the answer to something, over the smug security of knowing what others think you do not?” An earthy chuckle erupted from his pale lips before he rebutted.
“You know as well as I that it is the proving of my knowledge-”
“-Showing off.” I interrupted with a smile.
“Indeed.”
We both laughed, sharing a rare moment of humour at his expense as I fought off the pull of sleep.
“You should rest.” Sherlock informed me as he stood and headed for the door.
“Try not to annoy John too much.” I jested and he smirked with a wink before leaving me to my repair.
It was only forty minutes later by the clock in my room, that there was a gentle tap and I shot dead upright, much to the disapproval of my ribs and arm and shot across the room to the alcove beside the door, holding the scalpel backhanded in my left.
I waited as silent as a mouse as the handle turned and then the door, slowly inched open, its white glare making me blink, but only once, my concentration was that absolute.
“Evangeline?” A coarse Russian man asked as he saw no-one in the bed.
I recognised Sergei immediately and re-tucked the scalpel back into my cast.
“Sergei?” I announced my presence as he shut the door quickly behind him, “Why are you here? I thought you said that you would send one of your boys?” I asked, looking to the duffel bag he held in his hand.
“You sounded like you were in some trouble, and I didn’t want to have to explain another of my boy’s deaths to their mothers.”
He was referring to three years ago when I’d last been in London and in quite a lot of trouble with the Irish Parliament and there’d been a price put on my head for killing one of the most prominent businessmen there.
Believing that the courier of some of my personal belongings, that Sergei had sent, had been there to kill me, I’d accidentally ran him through with a golf club.
I’d paid the mother of the lad to shut her up and still was paying her a small amount each month, but that was a small insignificant expenditure as so far as the assurance of her silence went.
“I appreciate the thought.” I informed the tall man as he placed the bag brusquely down on the bed.
“I brought the usual three, I hope they are in satisfactory condition.”
“I trust you Sergei.” He looked at me and I saw pride swell his chest. Though I felt it went without saying, if I hadn’t had complete faith in his abilities at keeping things safe and keeping quiet, I wouldn’t have allowed our partnership over the past fourteen years continue.
He gently, and with the lightest touch a man of his size had ever used, pulled the ten inch blade from the bag and unsheathed it in front of my face.
The blades, for there were two more in the bag, both of different lengths to the one before me now, had each been crafted especially for my body by a little man in Venice.
Each were held before me and then laid out on my bed with a great deal of precision, they’d been similarly sharpened.
“Thank you Sergei.” I murmured, lifting the shortest shiv and feeling the polished, supple leather of the sheath and strap beneath my fingertips.
“Will you be wanting the rest soon?” Sergei asked, this time in deeply accented English, I smiled gently before replying.
“Yes, though not for about a week, I take it you can have them polished and sharpened before I come to pick them up?”
“Next Thursday?” He asked and I nodded, that gave me eight days, and that was all I’d need, even if my uncle didn’t allow me to leave, I would have found my own way out by then.
“Thank you Sergei.” I was genuinely very thankful for having someone like him to care for my knives when I had no need from them. He didn’t ask questions that were unnecessary and I didn’t tell him anything that could put him or his people in unnecessary danger.
He looked after my knives, Kris, Shiv’s and daggers, a duty that he was paid handsomely for, and one that he did extraordinarily well and discreetly.
“If it’s alright with you Evangeline I need to go, I have business elsewhere.” He returned to Russian for the sake of convention and I smiled, turning from my beautiful gleaming steel to him.
“Be well Sergei,” I fare-welled, my uncased hand clasping his forearm as he mirrored my movements.
“You too.” He turned to leave and I frowned, a thought occurring to me.
“Sergei.” I bade him stop as he reached the door handle, the bag back in his hand, “If you hear from Sebastian or Moriarty will you let me know?”
It was a risky question for the two of us, I needed to be sure that the two of them didn’t find out and Sergei wouldn’t want to be routed to me if something went south. He considered it for a moment, he knew that James and I hadn’t spoken for a while; however he wouldn’t know the circumstances.
“Yes ma’am.” He nodded and left swiftly, leaving me alone.
“Yes ma’am.” I repeated after him, a smirk twitching at my lips as I strapped my blades to my shin, arm and placed the last one so that the small pommel hung between my breasts.
At least for now, I was safe.
YOU ARE READING
Sherlock Holmes- Meet me on Waterloo (A Sherlock Holmes Fan Fiction)
Fanfiction.... in a world where light is so often ignored it often means everything, after all what would life be without light. We would after all be blind.
