On the rocky banks of the Thames River laid a young man with straw blond hair and even features. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open. The water struck his body, moving him further up the bank. A breeze rushed over him, bringing him to life. Two steel blues eyes looked out on the world. As if he was frightened to be on earth, he shoved himself off the ground and stood on his wobbly legs. Blinking, he whispered in a raspy voice, "Simon?" He took two unbalanced steps and said in a clearer voice, "Simon?"
"He's not here, Charlie" came a startling voice behind him.
As if being unconscious had reprogrammed the boy to be superhuman, Charlie threw an arm behind him and caught the aggressive fist aimed for his head. He stared at his enemy and knew exactly who he was. Andrew Brooklyn.
"You're supposed to be dead," Andrew cooed, sending another punch that Charlie deflected.
"What did you do to Simon?"
"I did nothing. But I will when I find him. Him and his friends!' Andrew lifted himself in the air and sent a roundhouse kick that met Charlie in the side of the head.
Charlie stumbled backwards, winced, and returned the kick with a powerful snap of his foot. Andrew struck the ground, rolled, and entered the water. Seeing a fine opportunity to kill the enemy, Charlie raced forward and plunged Andrew's face into the water. The body twisted, kicked, and floundered underneath the young Garner's hands. For a moment, he stuck his head out of the water and heaved in the air. Charlie shoved him back under. The body jerked again and flung over, releasing two opponents in the form of hands. Andrew grabbed Charlie's arms and flipped him over into the water. Charlie scrambled to his feet and caught Andrew by the foot, pulling him back into the current.
"I know the code!" Charlie shouted.
Andrew stopped and looked down at the boy. "What?"
"I know the code, we tricked you. Sherlock and Aceyla have no codes. They were decoys so that Simon and I could get in."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because either way, we're going to bust this case open, and you're going to lose. I'm just giving you a head start."
Grinning, Andrew kicked Charlie in the face. "Tell Sherlock that Aceyla works for me!"
Charlie tumbled into the water, grabbed a rock, and hurled it at Andrew. It struck the man in the face, sending blood into the air. Andrew fell down, giving Charlie enough time to get to his feet and tackle him. Once he was upon him, Charlie beat him until he went unconscious. When he saw he wouldn't get up, he searched his pockets and found a gun, a phone, and a black notebook. Sitting down beside the body, Charlie flipped through the notebook. On one page was a map and plans on how to get into the Westminster. On another page appeared to be a diary entry. He read it, terrified with every word.
My purpose in life is destroy all good human beings. It's not from a destroyed childhood have I come to this, but by my choice. I'm writing this in case anyone questions my motives. I have no guilt in such a decision, these days, everything is accepted and the grey line between right and wrong has become so large that it's up to the individual to decide that on their own. We don't need law books or an authority figure to decide that for us. As humans, we are free to think and decide, regardless of what others think. We've been following a system built to make us all the same. I've found my own route. And though it may be killing, it's still a freedom I believe we're all capable to have. It's a choice covered by fear. It's an art shielded by a canvas called 'good.'
I killed Alana Watson because my dream said so. I remember seeing a map in my head, leading me to where I will find her. Why did I? Why out all the people, I killed Alana? Simple. She was innocent to what she could experience. She was a pure specimen with royal blood and goodness infecting her soul. She needed to know more. She needed to see more. That's the problem with being 'good.' You're limited to what your body and mind can tolerate. I remember when I killed her. It was sweet, gory, and nightmarish. The worse kill I've ever made or imagined. I was at first afraid to touch her, but I had to break down the moral wall and just destroy her. The men I hired didn't seem to mind killing her, so I had to be the leader and believe it what I was supposed to do.
As for Aceyla. She's in love with the detective. My maiden. My woman. She fell in love with him for some strange reason. A reason I couldn't pinpoint. But when I did, I did not want to believe it. The goodness in the detective had corrupted her and she gave herself over to help and aid him. The kindness shown towards her by Alana softened her heart and now she wants to dutifully worship his feet and share a passion only meant for me. I shall give her a cruel punishment for wandering away from the safety I was so willing to give to her if she had asked, but now I will kill her. I will eat her from the inside out. I will give her a misery that she would know she deserved.
Now, this whole war with America is just a game. To steal the codes and break into the file will complete my plan. It's not mayhem. It's not chaos. It's not corruption. It's making things the way they should be. The problem with being a good person is telling yourself over and over again that you can't be bad and you must try harder to be somewhat perfect. But the freedom in giving in and realizing that falling is acceptable is what the people need to know. They need it broken into them. They need to know that you can be born a killer, just as you can be born to love whoever you choose. It's in humans' DNA. They just haven't discovered it.
What I will do to Sherlock is an entirely different matter. I don't want him to die. In fact, I just want him to stand in the center of my plan and watch the world burn. He doesn't know how deep I will take this. Pretending his little friend had cancer was the start of it all. One thing I know about humans with a strong will like Sherlock is that they won't give up. What a lovely experiment. To see how far I can push this man until he pleads for help. I believe the detective would suffer anything before he dies before me. I can't harm him physically, no, no, and if I do, it's unfortunate. No, I want him to live like a king in a bloody paradise. I want him to get to the point where beheading his friends is the only thing that'll keep him alive. He knows he's too smart to die, and he believes the world dearly needs his intelligence. Unlike Watson, Sherlock will not lay his life down for his friends. He didn't when he jumped off of Bart's. He faked his death, that wasn't being a friend. He made John suffer for an act, not an honest act.
I believe it's my duty to bring down the detective and show him that the world isn't an easy place to save. I had asked him to join my side, but he refused and that I can't force. But I can lure it. Soon, I'll be the only side he can join. As for Molly, Elise, Mrs. Hudson, and all the London pals, I will just throw them into a big vast of molten lava and burn them alive. Nothing special, they don't need my attention. One by one, I will hunt down all these 'good people,' or hypocrites, and show them the lies they've been living. I will kill one by one until someone understands that the life they're living isn't healthy. You never know how far a man can go until they try.
I'm not a monster, not a psychopath. I am a human being with thoughts, feelings, and choices. I'm not insecure, I know who I am. I am not an executioner; I know why I'm doing it. I'm not a villain. The world has been perverted to labeling without thinking, and I fear that there's a huge divide between people like me and people like Sherlock Holmes. People worship Sherlock Holmes because of his moral. His reputation has been built on his 'just' work. He's a fake. A lie. And people need to know the truth. They need to know that they're worshipping a false god. They need to know there are more people in this world that deserve recognition. They need to know that brilliance can play on both sides. People need to know that there are no such things as 'good' or 'bad.' There's not even a thing as balance. Everyone is whoever they choose and rules are meant to be broken.
Charlie slapped the notepad closed and swallowed, moistening his dry throat. He couldn't believe what he had read. He couldn't believe such a man existed. Grabbing the phone, he turned it on. A passcode flashed on the screen. Pursing his lips, he flipped through the notepad, looking for codes. He knew the phone was probably limited with how many wrong answers he could submit, so he wanted his first attempt to be his last. He saw several codes that looked like they would work, but something told him not to use them. Some codes were so tempting that he typed them in. But he didn't enter. He knew he was smart enough to find the code, but he knew Sherlock would be a better candidate.
Standing up from the shore, he tucked the notepad in the inside of his jacket where it was somewhat drier, and concealed the gun and phone in his back pocket. He made off towards the direction of Westminster. He was thankful to have come out of the sewer with no injuries than the ones he had entered the tunnel with. Though he was hoping Simon had made it out alive. He didn't have any hard feelings towards his friend, as he knew that Simon was a solitary man and it was actually surprising Simon helped him as much as he did. He knew Simon would want to owe him for leaving him behind, but Charlie knew that's not what he needed. He had to show Sherlock the notepad and see if pursuing such a man was worth it. No telling how far Andrew Brooklyn would go.
All of sudden, Charlie stopped and remembered he had left Brooklyn on the shore. Turning around, he saw just rocks and water. The man had woken up and disappeared. He knew he was probably on his way to Westminster. Tightening his jaw, Charlie found new energy and hurried off in the directio, hoping to cut the enemy off before he slaughtered his friends.