The Sociopath Society

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

This is a dangerous game we are playing

“Don’t disturb me, John, I need to think,” Sherlock kept the cold mask his face had held in front of the audience that had left their room only a few moments before. He slowly lowered himself into the bed and closed his eyes. Mind whirring. Trying to think of how this had happened. Because he had most certainly not stolen Lestrade’s phone. John knew that since the two of them had been together the whole day. Yet Sherlock had the suspicion that the Police would neglect to listen to John’s side of the story. They would jump to press charges against Sherlock.

No, this had been set up. It was part of the game. Leading up to the fall. His fall. Maybe this was it. A metaphorical fall; Sherlock losing everything in his life. Being unable to go to university, losing John, being arrested. Ruining his life. JM was trying to destroy Sherlock. He knew exactly how. Sherlock found it unnerving. And he still didn’t know who JM was! This person always seemed to be one step ahead. Prepared. Sherlock had to start thinking. Winning.

A loud banging on the door interrupted his thought stream. John got up to open it, looking paler than normal. Worried. About him. How sweet, if sentimental.

And it seemed John’s worry was well placed. It was two policemen at the door.

“Sherlock Holmes?” The policeman that spoke did so in a commanding voice. Sherlock stood slowly, turning his icy gaze on the officers.

“Have you come to arrest me?” Sherlock’s words were well calculated without a drop of humour. He had moved to stand beside John, who looked like he was really resisting the urge to say anything.

“We have come to bring you in for questioning, Mr Holmes, on the thieveries in this school and the murder of Tom August.”

“I do not wish to come for questioning.” Sherlock glanced down at John. The blond was beginning to fidget a bit, hands clenching and unclenching. Sherlock put a comforting hand on his shoulder. As if to say that it would all be alright. It wouldn’t be, but he needed John to stay calm.

“If you do not come quietly we will be forced to arrest you.”

“You can’t arrest him! He hasn’t done of those things! I know because I was with him the whole time!” John suddenly blurted out, indignation clearly running through his voice. Ah, ever protective John. Sherlock loved him for it. But it wasn’t what was needed.

“You may give a testimony at the questioning,” the policeman was speaking in a rather dull, monotonous tone.

“You still shouldn’t be arresting him! You have no true proof that he did any of it!”

“John,” Sherlock murmured.

“No, Sherlock, this isn’t right.”

“John, just leave it. I can handle it myself,” Sherlock fixed John with a pleading stare. John sighed, taking a step back. Trying to calm himself down. “I will not go with you, officers. I have no wish to be questioned for crimes I did not commit. Maybe if you call-” Sherlock didn’t get to go any further because one of the police officers grabbed him and pulled him out of the door.

“Do not struggle or we will be forced to handcuff you.” Now this was a new development. Sherlock hadn’t expected that. He had hoped to get out of this without any questioning involved to prove his obvious innocence.

That was what JM wanted, wasn’t it. Sherlock to be questioned. For some piece of evidence to come up to show that he was the murderer and the thief. His innocence wouldn’t be proven. And even if he got out of a prison sentence (which he could... with a little help) it would have completely ruined any future career he may have. In the course of it he would also lose those he now counted as friends as they realised he was really the psychopath he claimed not to be. Lestrade, Molly... John. He would lose them all.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s necessary! I’m sure Sherlock will go along willingly now.” John’s deep blue eyes begged Sherlock to do just that. Oh, poor John. He did not understand what was truly going on. He did not know. And how could he?

“Stay out of this, John,” Sherlock sort of ordered. He glanced at the man that was holding him. Mid thirties. Hated his job but didn’t have the qualifications to get another one. Unhappy marriage. Not the most physical fit either. His grip on Sherlock was rather lax.

An elbow to the stomach was enough to loosen it. Then Sherlock was off before they had a chance to react. He burst out the fire exit door, shooting across the grounds. Not needing a light to know where he was going. The darkness aided him here. Hid him. He ignored the shouts from behind him, knowing full well they couldn’t make out exactly where he was. He had a location in mind.

The forest clearing. It was well hidden and few people knew of it. They wouldn’t think to look there. Most normal people running from the police and school would head to the local town. Try to get out of the area on a bus or train. But not Sherlock. He had things to sort out. He wasn’t finished here. No he was far from finished here.

Reaching the clearing Sherlock stopped, panting a bit. He needed to be better hidden. Just in case people came through here. There was only one place to go. Up a tree. It took Sherlock a few minutes to pick out one, a sturdy oak with loads of thick branch, and a bit longer to actually get up it. But he found a comfortable position quite high in the branches and sat down. Not really worried about falling off. He’d be fine.

Here he could think. That was all he really could do. He had worked out what the game was. Ruining Sherlock’s life. But what was the fall? He thought he had an idea... but he didn’t really like it. And he could be wrong. JM was still ahead of him. He had set it up, knowing how Sherlock reacted. Guessing his moves. Setting traps. For Sherlock to catch up he had to work out who JM was. Second guess him. Go against all that was planned.

James... James... James Moran? No. That was the obvious one, combining the two perpetrators, but there was no James Moran in his life. Sherlock had already thought of that anyway and Mycroft hadn’t found a James Moran. So that was out. James M. That was all he had.

Unless... Yes. That could be it. He went by a different name. James M was his true name but he had a cover one. That made it obvious who it was. It all made sense. What the M stood for didn’t matter. Because Sherlock knew who JM was. And he knew what he had to do.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile, glad he had had the foresight to put it into his trouser pocket. Then he called someone he never thought he would out of his own free will. Mycroft.