Human Error ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book IV}

Chapter LXXXIX - Guillotine

She was just reaching for the bottle when the muted gunshot fired.

"People are like books," continues the shadow man. "They're so full of words, all of them, packed with their little elaborations and explanations and excuses. It's all façade, all a nice cover – although admittedly, some make for very pretty decoration. Not this one though. This one isn't in a good condition." He points at the paralysed woman, his finger centimetres from the bullet wound. "There's a hole in the jacket. Staining on the pages." His smile widens. "Damaged spine."

The executioner grunts and adjusts his rifle, the click of the safety guard audible.

"Be patient. I haven't finished the literary puns." He laces his fingers and looks back down at the dying woman. "This one won't be walking off the shelf any time soon. In fact, I think walking in all its forms is out of the question for poor Safiya here. It's a pity, really. I would have had you driven to a library to properly bring my point home, but alas, my cars don't cater for the disabled."

"Jim."

The shadow man sighs and straightens up, rolling his head to crack the stiffness from his neck. "Always a killjoy."

"The police are on their way. We need to shut this one up for good."

Jim lifts a halting finger. "Don't rush me, Sebastian. I don't like to be rushed. I need to play photographer first."

He holds the camera up.

"Smile for Mr Yakovich."

The flash goes off. She blinks, stunned by the light, and tries to speak again, only to feel the warm movement of rising blood at the back of her throat. The light dims. Her vision starts to fracture.

"Why?" The English comes back to her at last as she struggles with consciousness. "Why do you come for me?"

The shadow man brushes dust from his suit lapels.

"To remind the conman who has the best hand in this game of kings and spades. You were his friend, see." He mimes a gun with two fingers, firing it, a make-pretend weapon. "I'm hurting his friends. I'm showing him I can hurt his friends. I'm unstitching his security blanket. I'll whittle them down, until it's just him and Little Miss Millie. Then comes the guillotine." The flat of his hand meets his palm. "Heads will roll."

He nods at the executioner and raises a hand; finger to thumb, his signature snap.

"No guillotine for you, I'm afraid. I didn't come all the way out to Moscow for one fated hacker, no, I've got to visit the rest of his friends. You're just a pit stop."

He smiles a wolf's smile.

"Besides, I've got a party to attend."

~~~~~~

-Millie-

~~~~~~

His grip is relentless, now.

He does not let me out of his sight: I wake to find him watching me, fall prey to sleep under his gaze, am lifted from bed to chair, from chair to table, from table to chair, from chair to bed, am spoon-fed, dressed, undressed, laid to rest on the white sheets like a mortuary centrepiece. He doesn't speak to me. He watches, fearfully and with a constant wariness in his pale eyes, as if I'm the criminal in a yellowing straight jacket. There is, however, no more forced intimacy – he scarcely touches me now, save to prepare my external appearance for the world that never sees me.

At first it was a blessing. It was heaven-sent, a reward for my attempt at snuffing out my own dimly-lit flame. He was no longer a physical punishment – instead, he was simply there, an outline, something to endure, dedicated to prolonging my existence until my stuttering heart decided enough was enough. He tried to fathom excuses. He insisted my suicide was not my own doing, that it was the cocaine making me delusional, that I'd been sleepwalking. I let him convince himself. He picked up my hand, the skin translucent, and held it between his own: I was told I could not have my fix again, not after it addled my brain and put my life and the life within me at risk. I was told he was going to throw a party, a celebration, to honour our mutual infatuation and to show me his version of the world in all its money-saturated vibrancy. I was told everything would be all right. I was told everything is as it was.