A/n: Chapter graphic to the side.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: ACES UP SLEEVES
The Strand Accounting was located in a building that towered far above the London skyline, made entirely of smoky glass, and a frame comprised of thin steel bars. The soft icy greys oozed the highest elegance. The steady stream of men and women wearing the finest tailored suits entering and leaving the building assured the trio that The Strand Accounting was not lacking in customers.
Amelia adjusted the position of her crimson briefcase as she eyed the building. In her crisp black suit, and her sleek ponytail, she blended in with the other people, but, somehow, she exuded a confidence that the people passing by could not. John, and Sherlock, had never looked more out of place. Sherlock had changed his shirt after Amelia had forced him to, not accepting his blood-splattered button down as acceptable attire, although the wrinkled purple dress shirt he wore now wasn't much better. John marvelled at his surroundings, unable to believe the new world he'd found himself in.
"Is this what your regular work day looks like?" he asked Amelia. She towered over him in her red-backed black heels, and John had to crane his neck to look at her.
"Sometimes." she admitted. "Usually I have a warrant, and several security guards. Sometimes things go...south." She smiled at him. "For all intents and purposes-you two are my guards." She pursed her now-red lips, the exact shade as her bag, and started towards the door. "Play along." The crowd seemed to part for her, the clicking of her heels announcing her arrival. She stopped before the front desk, leaning against the counter.
The secretary looked up, blonde hair falling across her face. "Welcome to the Strand Accounting. Do you...do you have an appointment?"
"Is Charlotte Holmes in?"
"Do you have an appointment?"
Amelia took out her badge and showed it to her. "I need to see her."
The woman eyed it coolly. "Do you have a warrant?" When Amelia didn't answer, she smiled. "I'm sorry, but Ms Holmes is busy. Come back with a warrant, and maybe a spot will open up."
"It's quite fine, Lauren." Charlie said, walking towards the trio. "They're family." Her dark hair was pulled back into a messy bun, making her cruel, angular cheekbones seem even more prominent. She had both hands shoved into the wrinkled pockets of her blazer, managing to seem as nonchalant as ever. "You're awfully dressed up, Sherlock."
Sherlock snorted. "Hardly. Pleasure to see you, Charlotte."
She squirmed, looking uncomfortable. "Don't say my name like that; makes you sound like Mycroft, and God knows we couldn't have two of him. The world might end."
"He wasn't always like that." Sherlock said. "Only after what happened with Peggy."
"What happened with Peggy?" asked John.
His question was met with silence and downcast eyes.
"Maybe he needs another Peggy, then." Charlie said quietly.
Sherlock let out a bitter, breathy laugh. "It'd be impossible to replace her."
"Then try." Charlie hissed. "He's not just your brother, Sherlock-he's mine as well, and it pains me to see him like this."
"Just as much as it pains me to see you making a deal with the devil."
Charlie's demeanour changed in an instant. Both times Amelia had seen her, Charlie never seemed to let anything bother her, but at Sherlock's words, her entire body went tense. "And here I had been thinking that you'd come to pay me your first visit after your alleged 'death'." she said. "Come, let us discuss this in my office. These matters are not meant for public ears. Lauren, cancel everything for the remainder of the afternoon. I imagine I will have my plate full."
♠
"What the hell were you thinking?" snarled Sherlock the moment they stepped into Charlie's office. "Making a trade with one of Moriarty's shell companies? Mycroft would have your head."
"You know me, brother," Charlie said, coolly, taking a seat at her desk, "I've only ever played for myself. Certainly, I'll offer help to those who require it, so long as it benefits me in some way. For instance, I interfered with the Sherrinford situation because, believe it or not," Charlie swivelled her chair to look out the window taking up on entire wall of her office, "I'd rather not watch you die again. Especially if I can stop it."
"Moriarty's shell company." Sherlock pressed.
"Repeating yourself won't change anything, Sherlock." said Charlie. "Besides, it isn't Jim Moriarty's name anymore. His network is now being run by somebody else. Sebastian Moran" She turned back to look at Amelia. "I believe you know him."
"You know the answer to that question-why are you even asking?" Amelia raised an eyebrow and leaned against the wall.
She smiled. "He's looking for you."
"So I've heard."
"I'm not entirely certain how he hasn't caught you yet."
"I'm not an easy person to capture, Ms Holmes."
Her smile widened. "I can imagine."
Amelia pushed herself away from the wall, and braced herself against Charlie's desk, hands wide-spread and bright red nails digging into the mahogany surface. "Do you, Ms Holmes?" she asked, eyebrow arched. "Because I'm not entirely sure that you do."
Charlie looked nervous. "Are you questioning my authority?"
"Damn straight I am."
"The Strand is worth nearly thirty nine billion dollars." Charlie got to her feet, mimicking Amelia's pose. "There are over six hundred and fifty offices worldwide, and nearly three hundred thousand employees. I built this company when I was twenty three. I started with nothing. I ran it out of my flat while I was still at Harvard, and now I'm the CEO of the top accounting firm in the world. You do not frighten me, Ms Watson-Holmes."
"And I am certain that I could find something that would crush your company into rubble." she hissed. "Perhaps your cocaine habits? Now, before I decide to call you in, will you tell us everything you know about what is going on with Sebastian Moran?"
Charlie sat back down, shoulders still tense, but looking far more relaxed than earlier. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Ms Watson-Holmes. Please, take a seat. May I get you anything to drink?"
Amelia took a seat across from her, legs crossed. "A tea would be fantastic. Earl Grey. Milk. No sugar. John will have the same. I imagine Sherlock would prefer a coffee. Black. Two sugars." She glanced back over her shoulder at the two of them. "That's correct, yes?"
"What the hell," said John, eyes wide, "just happened?"
"Business, John." Sherlock cleared his throat. "Welcome to the world of blackmail and manipulation, where power and authority reign supreme, and discretion is fundamental." He looked over at John, and smiled. "I'd advise that you'd get used to it. I sense that we'll be doing a lot more of this in the near future."
"What makes you think that?"
Sherlock cast his gaze on Charlie. "Because we're dealing with her, and where Charlie goes, trouble follows."
Charlie grinned. "I try, Sherlock. It's how I make a living. I meddle, and I profit."
"That could prove itself to be a very dangerous endeavour, Ms Holmes." murmured Amelia.
"It's exactly what you do."
"Yes, well, I've never been a prime example for anything, have I?" she said. "Now, back to the matters at hand: what were you doing making a trade with Moriarty's network?"
"Business is business. You know how it works. In this world, as Sherlock so eloquently put, discretion is fundamental. Discretion wouldn't be necessary if people didn't do things that weren't...well, let's just say, advisable."
"Not all of us are malignant narcissists, Ms Holmes."
"Oh, you caught that, did you?" She bared her teeth. "I see why Sherlock likes you."
"And I see why he doesn't like you."
"Please, out of all of our siblings, he probably likes me the most."
"What were you doing?" pressed Amelia, starting to lose her patience. "Surely a woman like you would have an ulterior motive you're just dying to share?"
Charlie laughed. "Trying to flatter a narcissist-ooh, that's dangerous."
"Answer my question."
"What if I don't want to?"
Amelia didn't have an answer.
"You see, Ms Watson-Holmes," Charlie got to her feet, pacing about the room, "You might be able to lock me away for the rest of my life, but that's not going to get you any answers. You also, quite literally, have an ace up your sleeve, but I... I hold all the cards. I have the information you want, and you have nothing that makes me want to divulge said information. Cocaine habit, yes perhaps that could get me into some trouble, but I assure you, I have more than enough money to cover the bail."
Charlie's words didn't seem to faze Amelia. "And what if," started Amelia, slowly, "I had your company shut down?"
She stopped dead in her tracks.
"You see," Amelia continued, "it wouldn't be hard. Sherlock was cleared of all charges after his death, thanks to me, and because of that, the world now believes that Moriarty was real and that he was the culprit. All I would have to do is expose your trades with his shell companies. Now, I think I'm safe to assume that this isn't the first time you've traded with Jim's network either, so what do you think would happen if, oh, I don't know, the newspapers found out about this, hm? I'm willing to bet you'd probably lose some of your highest paying customers, and then, after that, the other customers would go-one by one, and then, all at once. Like rats deserting a sinking ship, yes? Your company would be ruined, and you would have nothing."
"You drive a hard bargain, Ms Watson-Holmes."
"I got my doctorate in psychology-I know how to manipulate people's minds. So please, tell me what you know about Sebastian Moran, and what were you doing trading with Jim's network?"
Charlie pursed her lips. "I was gathering intel," she said after a moment. "I needed to judge the new leader of the largest criminal empire in the world. I've only ever played for myself, and myself alone. I am, first and foremost, an independent woman, so as you can imagine, I needed to determine who I was playing with, and who I was playing against. I've never been fond of this whole 'team' thing, but I must admit, it does provide a new level of play because you can't just be concerned about what one opponent is doing, but what the other is as well. Because while you may be following one opponent around London, attempting to figure out what they're up to, another person could be, oh, I don't know, assassinating the prime minister."
"Many people would be quite happy if the prime minister was assassinated." John pointed out. "He isn't exactly popular."
"But imagine the chaos, Doctor Watson." said Charlie, grinning. "Imagine the screams as England fell to its knees just before it was executed. Head would roll, Doctor Watson, and without the head... Well, you're a medical man, so tell me: what good is a body without the head?"
"It isn't." John answered. "It isn't any good."
"Precisely. Imagine a great big knot in piece of string, and someone comes and cuts part of the knot. The knot may stick together for a moment, but give another part of the knot a tug, and the entire thing unravels. This country is that knot. It's a mess. So if Sebastian Moran were to cut just onesmall part of that knot, England would descend into ruin."
"You're a sadist." John said.
"Oh, yes, very much so." agreed Charlie. "But getting back to my earlier point, when you have two teams playing against each other, all you need is one man to hold the fort while the others go off to do what they need to do." She started laughing. "Which is why I can't believe you three are so incredibly thick, coming here together. You're practically asking for it to happen."
"For what to happen?" Sherlock took a step forward. "Charlie what did you do?"
"I want you to know, Sherlock, I took no joy from this, but I was paid quite handsomely, and as I told you: I only ever play for myself. As compensation, I'll help you three next time. Anyway, you'll probably survive this. We're only on the eleventh floor."
"For what to happen, Charlie?" growled Sherlock. "What's going to happen?"
Charlie came up to him, looking him in the eyes. "Boom."
Then, an explosion ripped the room apart.