The Weapon-A Sherlock Fanfiction

Prologue

Jax sat in the white room, waiting impatiently for her next assignment. Bored, bored, bored. She looked up at the glass window high on the wall. It looked like a mirror, but Jax knew it was double sided glass. They were always watching her. A loud beep echoed through the room.

"An MI6 agent stole a top-secret file on...a matter of importance. Sources say he fled to America, but investigation points to Europe. Dig up everything you can on his location and the whereabouts of the file." The monotone voice scratched over the intercom.

"Name." Jax said. There was a pause.

"He was registered as Andrew Wilson." The voice informed. Jax nodded once and picked up the two electrodes resting on the table. She stuck one on each temple, and set to work. She closed her eyes, and reached into her database. Images and files and documents flashed before her eyes. When she opened them, the images were hanging in front of her. Like those on a projection screen. Her hands waved around in the air, pushing aside irrelevant information and sorting out the facts. Her eyes darted to and fro, scanning the data in seconds. MI6 agents. Andrew Wilson. Wilson. Fake name. Acquired from a high school best friend. Double agent. Sent to the MI6 to steal information. Sources point to America? Planted by the real organization he works for. Investigation points to Europe? Also planted. He wants them to believe he fled to another country. No, he's still in the U.K. He might still be gathering information. Still in Britain, secluded area but close enough to get word back to his organization and gather information, far away enough so he wouldn't be recognized. Jax racked through her database thoroughly. She checked her file on the agents again. Andrew Smith, registered as Andrew Wilson. Born on January 10, 1985. Grew up the U.K., raised by divorced parents. Interested in the arts at a young age. Interested in the arts. Located at a place with access to art. Current location: Eel Pie Island, Twickenham. Would've changed his name again, she thought. She searched his personal file. Keyword: Close friends. Jax's eyes skimmed the list. She compared the list to the residents at Eel Pie Island. One name matched. Current alias: Jared Davis. Jax snapped out of her thinking state. She exhaled as she removed the electrodes from her temples. Leaning back in her chair, she said nonchalantly, "The man you're looking for goes by Jared Davis. Currently resides at Eel Pie Island, Twickenham. I suggest you pick him up before he figures out that you have his location. Clever man. Not clever enough, though. If only he had chosen a random name for his alias. That would've eliminated most of the connections." There was a pause as the man at the intercom ordered his men to pick up the man Jax had just described.

"Good work, Jax." The voice said over the intercom. She didn't smile, or acknowledge him in any way. She just stood up from her chair and started to shuffle through her box of art supplies.

"Something a little more challenging next time, please." She said, not taking her eyes off the art supplies. Digging out a paint brush and the right shade of blue paint, she crossed over to the easel in the corner. Her hand swept across the canvas in elegant and precise strokes. She painted the scene of a lake on the face of a meadow. The sun was setting in the painting, setting a golden glow over the landscape. Jax captured the lap of the water against the shore and sway of the cattails. She painted for maybe five minutes. Then the intercom's buzzer beeped obnoxiously. Jax looked up, confusion clouding her features. They shouldn't be bothering her this soon after an assignment.

"You have a visitor." The voice said, sounding a little irritated. Jax rolled her eyes. She heard the door click as it unlocked and swung open. Two sets of footsteps. One person short, leather shoes. The other person tall, dress shoes. The door slammed shut. Jax continued to paint, her strokes a little more rushed with annoyance.

"I'm really not in the mood." Jax snapped. The two people stopped.

"Honestly Jason, didn't you bother me yesterday?" She said without moving her focus from the canvas.

"Who's Jason?" An unfamiliar voice asked. Jax turned her head to look at the visitors. There were two men standing before her, both around the age of thirty. One was short with blond hair. He wore jeans and a knit jumper, his hands resting by his side. Haircut, posture, tan. Military. Afghanistan. Army doctor. The other man was tall, with curly black hair and unusually bright blue eyes. He wore slacks, and a long coat with a blue scarf woven around his neck. Jax narrowed her eyes. Feet facing towards me. Hands in pockets. Interested, comfortable. Jax turned her attention back to her painting.

"My answer is no." She said. She heard their clothes rustle as they turned to look at each other.

"Pardon?" The short man said.

"You are obviously here because you want me to help you with a problem you can't fix yourselves, most likely one of national security. Or you want me to be a spy at the institution we are in now. Well, let me tell you that everything we say is being monitored, if you didn't already know that. And I don't get out of this room very often. So, my answer is no." She concluded. There was a pause.

"You certainly think you know what's going on." The tall man's deep voice called. Jax's hand froze above the canvas.

"Excuse me?" She said, turning around to face the two men. The dark haired man stood there, a slight smirk on his lips.

"I said, you certainly think you know what's going on." He said.

"What else would you be here for?" Jax asked. The dark haired man stepped forward, extending his hand.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes." He said.