Human Error ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book IV}

Chapter L - Judge, Jury, Executioner

-Millie-

~~~~~~

"Any volunteers?"

The room remains grimly silent.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow and leans forwards, resting his elbows on the polished surface of his desk. He re-iterates the importance of the task at hand, explaining the situation in the dry hope we will reconsider and volunteer ourselves as living bait: James Moriarty was last seen at an airport terminal, and has not returned to the penthouse location since. They are attempting to track him on his international crime spree, to limited success, and the laptop retrieved has proved impossible to crack – its blockades exist as a wall of thickly-layered code; a numerical rib cage surrounding a trembling heart of illicit information.

Those trying to break past the barrier recognise it as Emily's work – and Emily's work can be de-coded only by Emily herself. Dredged footage shows her entering the penthouse with a memory stick on numerous occasions, typically clamped between her teeth or tucked precariously into her blazer pocket.

They believe the answer to unlocking the coded restraints lie within that mistreated memory stick.

She successfully discharged herself from hospital last week, much to Lestrade's horror and my private celebration. We chose to preserve her secrecy. I persuaded John to keep her identity from the police – who, upon finding her in a state of persistent unconsciousness, left her to regain her acuity with every intention of interviewing her the following week.

Emily, however, had other ideas.

The security cameras feature her two days later, leaving the building alone, bruised and limping but otherwise recovered.

The memory stick heist is a two person job, so we've been told. Jamie's genetics are invaluable; his external appearance is more effective than any key, and it is him who has been given the responsibility of entering the penthouse and preventing suspicion. The theft itself must be ruthlessly quick. Two individuals are to scour the location, with one searching the upper floors and the other – presumably Jamie – sifting through the contents of the ground floor. It has to be slick, fast-paced and thorough: if Emily, whose whereabouts are currently unknown, or Moriarty, whose return to the country is also unknown, were to enter mid-theft, those involved would be pronounced dead at the scene.

Mycroft leans back in his chair. "Very well. James will go alone."

Jamie sits beside me with his brother's visage and wearing a suit the colour of pale oak, his tie blue silk and fastened askew. He doesn't protest, but I can see the sick apprehension on his face; he closes his eyes, breathing shallowly, drumming his fingers on the back of his hand.

If he's a little edgy by default, he's a veritable wreck today.

"I'll go with him. They won't look twice if he's with me."

John and Sherlock look up. Mycroft pauses mid-speech.

"That's not a good idea," says John, after the silence becomes intolerable.

"Would you rather go with him?"

"Not particularly – but I'm not being stalked by an unnamed rapist."

Jamie flinches at the word. I will my expression not to betray the hot panic in my head at the mention of my merciless suitor. Sherlock sits up and turns to his brother, addressing him with curt, thinly-veiled urgency. "Send security with him instead. They can search as well as any of us."

"You don't think that would raise eyebrows? James Moriarty, walking into his apartment with a series of armed government officials?" I say, forcefully persuasive. "If they don't stop us, they'll report back to him. He'll work it out. That's Project Dioscuri rendered useless."