Improbable Truth (Sherlock Fanfic)

Chapter Eight

Third Person POV

Location: Classified

Time: One year before "A Study in Pink"

Jefferson Hope wished that he could like up to his family name. Instead, he was more than hopeless.

"I'm leaving." The parting words of Angela rang clear in his ears. Even after two years, the pain still rang through, a dull ache in his heart that tore at his conscience. If only he had the sense not to go to that New Year's Eve party...

Grace... Ted... how Papa misses you so... he mused as he reminiced of his two beautiful children. They deserved more than this. They deserved a parent who loved them, not some workaholic mother who only cared about her accounting firm.

The slam of a thick file down on the metal desk in front of him snapped Jeff out of his reverie.

"Pills... gun... all you need to lure out the elusive Mr Sherlock Holmes... " his hooded and cloaked employer told him, showing him the bag of pills and the small Glock, loaded and primed to kill.

Jeff stared up at his employer. Show no fear, he told himself. What had he to lose after all?

"Take the gun away, I don't need a real one- Mr... I can't believe after all these meeting, you still refuse to tell me your name. As for the pills and how to use them... rest assured that I will find Mr Sherlock Holmes, and I most certainly will succeed." He looked up, a tiny smirk dancing on the corners of his lips.

The hooded man never flinched at Jeff's words. He turned, then whipped around and sent him sprawling to the ground with a well aimed punch.

As Jeff hit the ground with a grunt, the hooded man spoke. "If you ever want to ensure that the money reached Grace and Ted, or even if you want to ensure that they live... a word of advice, Mr Hope. Drop the tone. You have the pills. You have the gun. Whether you want to use them or not is completely up to you. Just find this Holmes and make sure he dies."

Jeff stood up gingerly, glaring up at his employer. He bowed and left the room without a word.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Jeff stopped abruptly.

"My name is Moriarty."

***
"Did you tell him my name?"

"No sir. Hope has no idea of who we are, or what we do."

Moriarty spat on the floor. "I need more than that to convince me. Look me in the eye." His voice carried with it a deadly silence, subtle but ever-present in its velied threat.

The other man jerked his head upwards, staring Moriarty right in the eye, cocking his head sideways as if in a challenge.

Moriarty laughed- a quick, yet menacing chuckle. "Fine. But to be honest? I don't give two hoots about whether the cabbie knows my name or not. I have a reputation to build, don't I... sorry, didn't catch your name. But who cares? Dismissed." A swift bow from the hooded man facilitated his even swifter exit.

Moriarty barely even glanced at the departing figure of the man. He was but a pawn in his grander scheme, an insignificant worker in the inner machinations of the Organization. So long as the rest of the Upper Echelon approved of his actions, who was a Lower Echelon member to stop him?

Grinning, he put on a pair of headphones, humming to the tune of "La gazza ladra". The Thieving Magpie.

Surely an apt name for his masterstroke.

He walked briskly along a series of darkened corridors, dancing in step to the music, all the while wearing a gleeful smile on his face.

Jim Moriarty would find Sherlock Holmes. And when he did...