A thorn by any other name would hurt just as deep, or whatever the saying is.
~~~
Greg Lestrade would say Sherlock Holmes was always the smartest in the room. Whether at 221B or Scotland Yard, no ordinary person ever came close to compete with his...
The glass cracks like lightning, the room going silent in confusion from the dramatic lead-up. Her cries faded at the realisation she hadn't been hurt; Lucille slowly opened her eyes, "Ha! I knew you didn't have the guts to do shit!"
You chuckle gently and step back, holding out your hand for Ivan to hand over a small remote. With a click of a button, the trap door she stood on top of had triggered, and she fell through into the basement cage with a rough thud, her scream turning into an 'ow'. "Oh, do we not have the ice bath anymore?"
"Rockwell complained about not using it enough and how it drained the electricity bill," he scoffs, "not to worry, my club in Moscow always has one,"
"I've been trying to get Jim to consider one." You watch the trap door close again, and your blade is retrieved.
"It's too predictable; I'm not some fictional villain," he scoffs, walking down and patting your back, "feel better?"
"Yeah," you smile, "sorry I didn't just kill her. I just thought it would be better to scare the shit out of her instead,"
"She needed it," Rockwell meets your side, "welcome back, Thorn,"
"Oh, that nearly reminds me," you clap your hand and turn to the crowd. "Unfortunately, you've all seen my faces, but I'm not a fan of a big cleanup, so I'm going to actually ask a question," You take out your gun and load it. "What does Thorn look like?"
The room didn't dare to speak, which was an instant annoyance. Shooting the ceiling, everyone was shocked into spilling out words of 'I don't know' or 'no clue'.
"Perfect!" You put your gun away and dust off your hands. Looking to your right, the world around you seemed to crash. It seemed a switch had been flicked, and your smile dropped. "Sherlock...?"
Jim's eyes widened, following your gaze to see the detective, blogger, and your closest friend all standing in disgust and anger. "Code Blue," he whispers to Rockwell.
Chaos ensued as everyone broke out into panic, running for the doors which instantly unlocked. Greg couldn't bother to make a move while everyone at the table was soon making their way out of the meeting room.
Criminals had flooded out the club when all that was left was a man stuck on the side of the angels against the earth-bound devils.
"We trusted you," John was the first to speak, venom in his voice as he spat out these words. "This entire time, we- I can't believe this,"
"John, please, I need you to-" You took a deep breath and looked at the others, who watched in curiosity. Your voice had dropped to a caring tone, something never found with you; it honestly scared even Madam Liu, who had never been the biggest fan of emotions. "You shouldn't have come here tonight,"
"That isn't the point!" Greg snaps, "I thought I knew you, I thought we were friends! You were my best friend!"
You did your best not to flinch, gripping your other hand tightly behind your back. "I never meant to get any of you involved. Your lives were well taken care of until this moment," you let a stoic facade pass over.
"Taken care of??" John couldn't believe his ears, "you're obviously well acquainted with Moriarty here, and he's been making our lives hell!"
"Yes, so don't go blaming Thorn," Moriarty takes out his gun.
Thorn. That name struck Sherlock's heart again. To him, you were no longer Y/n, the one he wished to spend years in the company of, no longer the one he loved.
"She is to blame just as much as you!" John points a finger, rage taking over all sensibilities. "She's a murderer just like you. You're both monsters."
John and Greg both look to Sherlock, who seems to zone out completely, focused on you and you alone. You were the ghost of someone he thought he knew. Like a silhouette of lies, was anything you said ever the truth or was it all deception in exchange for trust?
Had you planned it all in hopes of throwing him off your tracks? Had you been the one to plan that fake Thorn murder? Have you ever truly felt the same way he did?
Greg huffs, taking out his handcuffs in a stupid mistake to arrest the whole table without backup. But his only priority was you. He had a job to do, and if it meant watching those bars close as you're locked up, then so be it. "You're all under arrest for"
"No." Sherlock stops him, hand pushing him back by the chest.
"As if he would've succeeded," Lachlan nudges Sam, who chuckles under his breath.
"No, this isn't over," Sherlock takes a deep breath, stepping forward to you. "Trust me that much, Thorn."
You kept up your chin, doing your best not to let your heart shatter and lips tremble. "If you're going to put me on trial, just get the formalities over and done with,"
"I don't think so," Rockwell tries to get between you both. "Not in my club,"
"You won't get this chance again, Mr Holmes," you ignore Rockwell's words, "so go ahead," your wrists raise. "This is your case to solve, after all,"
"Let's think about this," Jim steps forward, "this isn't the right time,"
"This is the perfect time." You never let your hands fall, "I'm tired of running," taking one more glance at Greg, then John, and finally Sherlock. You knew you had only one thing to do. "And I'm tired of lying to my friends."
Metal clips around your wrists, the cuff chains pulling you away from Jim and the table, who had no doubt you'd come out of this unscathed.
"I'll be back," you assure, clipping the belt and tossing it to Jim, "can't let you figure out what my poison is made of. There's no fun in that,"
You were pulled away and escorted out of the building, with Greg and John following suit. "We should have arrested them all," John fusses.
"You wouldn't have been able to," you chime, forced into an undercover police car.
"We didn't ask you," John snaps, getting into the car while Sherlock sits in the back seat with you. "What's the plan?"
"Bring her in and collect evidence for the trial," Greg drives off, gripping the steering wheel tight.
~~~
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