Don't Stray From The Light

The Capability Of Cruelty

As they progressed down the streets it would seem as though the neighborhoods were getting a little bit lesser, with the paint chipping and the doors wobbling and the children who played on the street looking a bit more ragged. Evidently they were moving from the center of the city to the poorer sections, in which the incomes dropped and the state of living therefore declined. It was rather upsetting to see, however there were plenty of unfortunate souls in London as well. Wealth, as well as poverty, went hand in hand and were also seen as stark contrasts in the general vicinity of the other. Greg didn't seem to notice, and he just kept reading his newspaper until at last the carriage came to a halt. John stepped outside first, fanning himself with his hat before placing it onto his head and staring up at the house of the Mrs. Sarah Clay. It wasn't a terrible living accommodation, seemingly something of an apartment that was well kept despite its neighbors and ultimate physical appearance. The paint could probably use a new coating and the woodwork might be a little bit chipped, however the sidewalk was swept, the flowers were blooming in their window sills, and the windows were washed and sparkling. Despite the lack of money to afford a splendid home, it would seem as though Mrs. Clay kept her house as clean as if it were her own little mansion. Greg dismounted the carriage and told the driver to wait for them, as this little interview shouldn't take more than a half hour, and promptly went up to the door to knock. He acted as though none of this was very new to him, as if he had been to this house plenty of times before and therefore nothing it housed could possibly surprise him. John was happy to see that Greg felt so confident, for while the streets didn't look too rough John would much prefer the safety of this woman's clean house than out here with the children that had begun to stop and stare, some very skinny, and with hungry, mischievous eyes. Greg paid them no attention, almost as if he was confident in their ability to stay in one place, and focused only on the annoyance of having to wait thirty seconds to get greeted. John was relieved when finally the door opened, displaying a ragged and all together exhausted looking woman, someone who wore the nicest clothing she could afford and kept her hair neat, however the bags under her eyes and the misery that shown on her face was all too evident that the last three months since her husband's disappearance had been an absolute hell. As soon as she saw who was at the door, however, Mrs. Clay's seemingly miserable face sprung finally into an expression of hope, something that John would hate to have to crush by making her relive her husband's disaperence once more.
"Detective Lestrade!" she exclaimed, coming down onto the stoop to meet him so as to press the information he might be carrying out more easily. Greg just smiled a bit nervously, tipping his hat in greeting.
"Good news I hope? Have you found him, part of him, heard of any trace?" Mrs. Clay asked earnestly, looking towards John who merely kept quiet, deciding that Greg should be left to this preliminary talking for now.
"Sorry Mrs. Clay, nothing of the sort. He's as missing as ever. However we are bringing a new detective on the case, this is John Watson, ma'am, and he's in from London hoping to get a better understanding of your husband's disappearance. We thought that interviewing you on the details would help him better understand not only your husband's final days, but his psychological perspective as a whole." Greg explained. He sounded so professional that John almost had a hard time believing he was the same man, for he when he was talking with John it was mostly in fragments with lazy grammar. He must, therefore, have a different way between friends and clients. Mrs. Clay didn't try too hard to hide the disappointment on her face; however she nodded and shook John's hand all the same.
"Terribly sorry for your loss, but I hope that I can be of at least some service." John said with the politest smile he could manage, however his sympathy didn't seem to get too far. Mrs. Clay's face didn't chance the slightest; in fact she seemed only less impressed.
"Yes, everyone is sorry, Mr. Watson." She snapped. John nodded, tapping his fingers apprehensively against his walking stick and trying to force an awkward smile. He honestly had no idea how to respond to such a thing, and so he was thankful when Greg cleared his throat to begin to speak.
"Do you mind us coming in?" Greg wondered hopefully, to which Mrs. Clay hesitated, looking between the two men so as if she wasn't sure they were trustworthy. In the end, without a word, she stepped back into the house and stepped aside, holding the door open wider so that the men could make their way inside. The house itself was dreary, darkened, and all together very much unlike the outside that was kept so welcoming and bright. This dismal effect was only made worse with the additive of the boxes that were piled around, filled with the photographs that had left square patches where they had previously hung on the wall. The furniture was mostly intact, however the house was given a very eerie, unlived in sort of feeling as they were led into the barren living room.
"Are you moving?" Greg wondered, looking about and using his detective skills to make that brilliant deduction. Mrs. Clay nodded, going right through the living room and into the kitchen so she could dig around in a large cardboard box.
"Can't afford this place anymore, it was on John's pay that we lived here. I'm a widow, a house wife, I can't stay here. Lived here for fifteen years, detectives, fifteen years! And now I'm going off to live with my sister in London." Mrs. Clay said in exasperation, finally unearthing two rather worn looking tea cups and saucers. John almost protested, for he didn't think their conversation would last long enough for a cup of tea, however after all of that effort she had just gone through to get them, well he thought it best not to complain.
"Sorry to..." Greg cut himself off, for he obviously just remembered that she didn't like those empty condolences, "Well London is a beautiful city." He finished hastily.
"It is." John added with a nod, to which Mrs. Clay only frowned and started to fill the kettle.
"So what do you want to know about John?" she asked finally, looking towards the two before closing the kettle and putting it on the stove with a clatter. John blinked, for he wasn't exactly used to hearing his name being used in such a dismal context.
"Well, ma'am I'm mostly interested in his behavior before he left, about his um...actions." John admitted with a sigh, fiddling with his cane once more for he knew this was going to be a very awkward question to phrase.
"He loved me, Mr. Watson, of that I can assure you. I know you're trying to accuse him of seeing another woman, but that is a lie! I guarantee it, detective, he would never see another woman." She said flatly. John nodded, almost happy that she had gotten that out of the way.
"Well Mrs. Clay, a lot of women would defend their husbands in that way. Just because it's uncharacteristic doesn't mean it's not possible." Greg muttered, however John elbowed him a bit in retaliation, for surely that was something that should be saved for the carriage ride and not for in front of the mourning widow.
"He's dead, detectives, of that I'm sure. He would never stay away; he's dead alright. Down in a ditch somewhere, or under the waves, but dead all the same." She said flatly.
"That's terribly pessimistic of you, Mrs. Clay." John observed nervously.
"It's more optimistic than considering his unfaithfulness. I'd rather he be dead, detective, than in some other woman's bed." she snapped. John was unsure what to say once more, for now that she pointed out what seemed to be the obvious explanation he couldn't help but to agree with her. John knew that, however heinous the idea of Mary's death might be, he would much rather her gone from the world rather than gone from just him. All in all, the interview with Mrs. Clay proved to be hopeless, for while they sipped their tea and tried to phrase their questions she seemed to get more and more defensive. Of course her protectiveness of her husband's image and her own was something that was obviously important to her, however it would seem as though her lack of compliance was only making this investigation harder. Nevertheless their questions weren't getting them anywhere closer to finding the man, and so with a farewell and a thanks they were out the door once more, and back into their carriage where the driver was waiting very anxiously. The street children had come up to pet the horses and the driver didn't seem terribly keen on letting them rub their grimy little hands on the white coats of the beautiful steeds. The driver, however, didn't seem to know how to tell them to get away, and so the reintroduction of the detectives seemed to relieve him very much, for they managed to scare the children away just by arriving. Greg gave him the next address before hopping into the carriage, sitting on the leather seats and rubbing his face exhaustedly between his hands.
"I never like talking to her, such a downer." He groaned, shaking his head as if he couldn't understand why such a woman was having hardships.
"Well she did just lose her husband, I can't imagine you expect her to be happy go lucky?" John wondered curiously, to which Greg just shrugged as if he had some sort of reasoning.
"The ones who despised their husbands seemed all together keen; you can always tell the unhappy marriages by how quickly a new man is introduced. I've seen some of these women already strolling about with new husbands, as if they were really quick on the rebound." Greg admitted with a grin.
"And is that most of the wives?" John wondered.
"Not most of them, I'd say maybe three of the seven have found some sort of closure." Greg admitted with a shrug.
"Well then that helps us, doesn't it? If they were unhappily married it's all the more reason to run away, there must have been an affair going on, it's the only possible explanation!" John said confidently, tapping his feet excitedly against the carriage floor while Greg simply reclined back into his seat, shrugging his shoulders as if he wasn't all that impressed.
"We've thought of that as well. But why now? All the evidence suggests that these disappearances are linked, that or the men saw other people doing what they aspired to do and followed." Greg grumbled.
"We do suspect a woman in this, though? I mean it's either a woman who's seducing them or a man that's killing them." John suggested with a sigh.
"We would have found the bodies by now; it's hard to hide a body in the city." Greg said with a shrug.
"Not if you go somewhere else! The farms, for example? Plenty of places to hide stuff there, plenty of places to burry." John pointed out with a shrug.
"Yes, I suppose you're right on that. Honestly John it's hard to say, it's hard to do anything right now without any real evidence. All that we know is that they're gone." Greg admitted in a huff.
"And all we can do is wait for another one to go missing." John agreed in a defeated sort of way, however optimistic he was trying to make himself be. The second interview with Mrs. Patricia Hopkins seemed to be about as beneficial as the first. Mrs. Hopkins seemed to be one of the three Greg had been mentioning, for it was a man who opened the door, a very clean cut and intellectual looking man. Mrs. Hopkins had given them a very brief interview, describing just the same sort of confidence in her husband's obedience while obviously the same couldn't be said for herself. She didn't seem all that concerned, and never really quick to jump to the conclusion that her marriage was a happy one. Although she swore he would never leave her for another woman it seemed very likely that she had been seeing men on the side, for whenever the topic of faithfulness even brushed the surface she shook it off as if it was a troubling topic. John took eager note of that, and was almost tempted to ask why she wasn't incredibly keen with her first husband before his convenient disappearance before finally the new man requested her to leave. They were going to an opera, she claimed, and had to be there at a certain time. And so Greg and John were pushed back to their carriage very hastily, as though the two had very urgent business to attend to that certainly didn't need the police poking around.
"They're pretty sketchy." Greg decided as he finally sat down. John nodded, his fingers tapping eagerly as he began to formulate a theory in his own head.
"You don't think the wives have anything to do with it, do you? I mean you don't think they hired hitmen or something to get rid of them?" John presumed, for the state of Mrs. Hopkins was very unlike Mrs. Clay's. Certainly the latter seemed torn up over the subject of her husband's disappearance, however that could all just be an act to show the grief she was apparently supposed to have.
"No, no that's...well I mean I guess it's not out of the question. Some of them certainly have benefited from their husband's losses, but what about Mrs. Clay? She's being driven from her home because she's got no income; certainly if she was planning on having her husband removed she would've thought of that beforehand?" Greg suggested.
"That or someone else is paying the hitman, maybe another man interested in the wife? Or possibly someone who was just fed up with the men, maybe Mr. Clay had enemies that might have wanted him removed?" John suggested with an encouraging grin.
"We've looked into the enemies' portion, where of course there is none for just about any of them. Of course sometimes there's the usual father in law rivalry, or a healthy business competition, but nothing other than that. I mean a hitman...well that would make sense I suppose, because they would at least be good at hiding the bodies. We've never suspected the wives before, however." Greg admitted with a little bit of a guilty shrug, as if that theory should've been obvious by now.
"Why not? I mean they're the only one benefitting from this whole thing! Mrs. Hopkins looked downright blessed to have her husband miraculously vanish!" John exclaimed with a bit of a laugh, honestly unable to figure out why Greg hadn't even looked into that particular theory.
"Well I don't know, we've always rather suspected them to be incapable. I mean, they're all rather gentle, innocent creatures, I wouldn't even think that someone so..."
"It's because they're women, isn't it? You can't consider a woman heinous enough to set a man up for murder, or even doing that murdering themselves?" John presumed, cutting Greg's euphemisms short as the man finally sighed in agreement.
"Well I didn't want to say it flat out, but yes. I mean have you heard many stories of women convicted of crimes? I don't think they're able enough, don't you think it will, I don't know, harm them? How could they take down a full grown man?" Greg wondered in a very sexist way. John just laughed, thinking back to the time Mary threw a whole table across the room because she was angry the one day. Not only did John suspect she was capable of murder, but he was also certain that she could handle such a thing.
"See this is the kind of knowledge you lack, not being married and all. Women are lethal creatures, we underestimate them because of their size, but if there's anything a woman can't do I'd like to see it, because I'm sure a man couldn't do it either." John said confidently.
"So murder, then? You think a woman could commit murder?" Greg clarified with a blink.
"I think anyone could commit a murder, Greg. There just have to be motive." John agreed, sitting back in his leather seat and watching as the rougher parts of the city began to fade away and tradeoff for the boring old buildings that he was already so accustomed to seeing. The motive, that was the part that was confusing. Maybe women like Patricia Hopkins had no hesitations in sending their husbands to their deaths, and yet Mrs. Clay, what benefit did she have? Drained of money and virtually hopeless, it wasn't like she had intended to be like this a couple of months prior! This was where the detective work was necessary, for no one ever told the whole truth. They would be programmed to lie; just as Mrs. Hopkins had avoided the topics of her own unfaithfulness she might have hidden facts about her husband that might have embarrassed her as well. And so they would have to dig, dig into their darkest secrets and their most closely guarded regrets. That was a detective was supposed to do, after all, and that was what John had been called for. He couldn't enjoy this trip as if it was a holiday anymore, not while men's lives were in his hands, and not when there was likely an eighth about to be added to the list. 

Sherlock POV: Coffee at the café was once more interrupted by Victor Trevor's fascination with the London couple. Sherlock was getting quite annoyed, not being the center of his attention, however he had come to grow equally mystified as to who those two were. They were obviously here on police business, or at least the man was. A married couple no doubt, for the woman appeared to be pregnant. Why would a detective bring his wife along on a case like this? One that dealt with what the police force considered to be violence? Well of course they were all imbecilic; however Sherlock felt the need to approach the man who might be the one who was hunting him. It was a risky move, especially since as the investigation went on Sherlock's image in the back of the man's mind might not be all together helpful, however it might be a fun little additive to this game he was playing. He did love to mess with people; it had become one of his greatest traits, in fact. Not only was he good at manipulating people's hearts but their minds as well, he could make a man fall for him and he could make a man hate him, it was all in the way he acted, all in the way he approached. And so now, sitting at the little café now with a good idea of what the back of the London man's head looked like, he decided that maybe it would be fun to throw a little bit of risk into the wind. Besides, what's the worst that can happen? His opportunity arrived when Sherlock heard the woman say that she needed to go back to the hotel, something about morning sickness or whatnot. The perfect window then, for Sherlock to swoop in and have a nice chat with the detective. The clicking of her heels against the sidewalk announced her departure, and with that Sherlock craned his neck so as to see the man reclined in his chair, seemingly making notes as his hand moved this way and that along the tabletop. Sherlock saw that Victor was also rather keen on going over, and as much as Sherlock hated to disrupt his little interviewing opportunity he thought it was in all of their best interest to keep the reporter as far away from the Londoner as he could. He knew that these stories were quite public, and that not only were wives keeping a good grip on their husbands but the husbands were also much too scared to stray too far down a dark alley. It was rather funny, seeing them all squirm about as if they were the next on some sort of hit list, funny to watch them be afraid. And yet Sherlock was sure that his own personal vendetta was much more important than Victor's little news story, and with that he picked up his walking stick, drained his coffee, and started over to the empty chair in which the woman had once been sitting.