The Swan Queen | Sherlock

The Bill

           Sherlock didn't ask me why I started the fire, and I'm glad he didn't. Explaining my reason to him would be a lot harder than telling Mycroft who at least partly understood. The truth was, I hated the theatre, I hated what it had become. A place where people died and I was threatened. It was set on fire once as a way of getting to me. It was, and probably would always have been, used against me. I turned against it because of what it had been turned into.

Moriarty had invested millions, set it on fire and then rebuilt it. All to get back at me, to taunt me. Everything was a game to him. So I decided to play strategically. I took the rules into my own hands and changed the game. I burned that place I had once loved to the ground, to take it away from him, to show him it meant nothing to me anymore. It also meant a waste of the millions of pounds he had just spent on the rebuild.

Two can play this game, Jim. And I'm playing to win.

I had been very reckless, I knew that, but I was so angry with him that day. He had threatened me once again, this time to Mycroft, and had subsequently been released from his custody. Looking back maybe I would have acted differently. Maybe I wouldn't have started the fire. However, what's done is done. And now? Now I think I may die. Or worse. I may be brutally tortured and then I'll die. Either way, this feels like the end.

I spat in the face of London's most notorious criminal. You don't walk away from that.

Sebastian Moran put me in the backseat of a large black car. The windows were tinted and child locks prevented me from escaping. I could very well be driving to my demise. The butterflies in my stomach were more like knives, slicing my insides, trying to escape. I had never felt more nervous, and yet, strangely most of all, simultaneously I had never felt more alive. Was this how Sherlock felt when Moriarty had him chasing cases all those months ago? The thrill of it all, the adrenaline rush.

London whizzed by in a blur. All those people out there on the street had no idea who I was or the danger I was in. Obliviously going about their days while my time was running out. I could always attempt an escape, but what good would it do. They knew where I lived and they threatened Mathew's kids. My half-siblings... No, escaping and running wasn't an option. Besides, there was nowhere to go.

The further we kept driving, the more nervous I got. I knew, deep down, I wasn't being taken to a fancy restaurant this time, no nice hotel room for a friendly chat. I wouldn't be surprised if I was taken to the wreckage of the theatre and burned alive for my sins. Maybe I would be taken to a quiet spot and shot, blown up, or, perhaps, taken to a clifftop and pushed over. There would be no safety harness to catch me this time, no way I could outsmart him. Cheating death once was easy, twice would be a challenge.

I resisted asking Moran any questions. What was the point? He'd only enjoy it. I made sure to hide my worried expression. Easier said than done when you're fearing for your life. I shut my eyes and listened to the world around me. Fancy cars like this make hardly any noise, you wouldn't think you were moving, they're so smooth, gliding along the road. I tugged restlessly on the seatbelt, willing for it to be over.

And then it was. The car stopped and my eyes opened.

"We're here," Moran said.

My heart rate quickened. And so it begins.

He opened the door for me, took me by the arm and lead me towards a warehouse. Was this where I was to meet my maker? In a derelict, abandoned warehouse. It was so secluded, my body could be left here and nobody would discover it for weeks, if ever. Jim Moriarty sure knew the spots to commit murder at.