Chapter Text
“Most peculiar,” I mumbled to myself, rapidly scanning the front page article of the newspaper in my hands. The police had held a press conference pertaining to the recent murders that had rocked the city and were so obviously not suicides that I had a hard time understanding why it had taken them this long to figure it out. I had only been in the city for two days and was already aware of it. And it more than tickled my interest to find out more about this. It was such an interesting case and I wished I could get access to the crime scene reports and of course the findings of the autopsies, but alas, that was not possible.
A gust of cold wind blew a few strands of auburn hair in my face and I absentmindedly tucked them behind my ear, pondering if I should get involved or not. I hadn't come to London to get caught up in things of that nature, quite the opposite in fact, but I couldn't help the intrigue I felt. I was very bad at resisting such temptations.
Folding the newspaper and tucking it under my arm, I walked down the almost empty streets, lifting my face to the sky when I felt the first drops of rain on my head. With a smile, I chuckled, lightly shaking my head as I continued on my walk back to the motel I was currently residing at, amused at myself for not carrying my umbrella which I usually took everywhere I went.
But I had just intended to quickly step outside and get myself the days paper, though of course I had been too lost in thought and had wandered off much further than originally planned. Quickening my steps, I put up the collar of my coat to shield myself at least a little, the drops falling from the sky more insistent and fatter, promising a good downpour soon.
Luckily, I made it back before I could get drenched completely, and once back inside my rented room, I hung up my damp coat and slipped out of my heels, leaving both by the door. Taking the newspaper, I looked at the headline again Mysterious suicides the work of a serial killer? glared back at me in thick black ink, and I pursed my lips, contemplating for a moment as I stood in the middle of the room.
With a weary sigh and a roll of my eyes, I placed the paper on the surprisingly comfortable queen sized bed and picked up a map of the city I had brought with me from home, spreading it out on the ground. Taking up a red marker I always carried with me, I circled the places where the victims bodies had been found and those they had been seen last before their untimely demise.
From what I had been able to gather, not much time had passed between them disappearing and time of death, so it was safe to assume that the killings took place immediately after they had been taken. The distance between locations was odd, seemingly random, but only to those who weren't able to think like a criminal. Where the bodies had been found were places rarely frequented during late hours and they also were not very close together.
Which meant, the perpetrator had had to use some mode of transportation to get from point a to point b and since it was highly unlikely he or she had bodily dragged his victims to the location of their inevitable death, I surmised that they had gone willingly for some reason. That only left a few possibilities as to how that had been accomplished.
Who did we trust enough to get into a car with them without knowing them? The obvious first answer was of course the police, but people tended to remember seeing cops and I was relatively certain that this was not it. Who else then?
Roving my eyes over the map, I tapped my finger against my lip before I froze completely. Of course! How could I have been so blind?
With a delighted laugh, I whirled around and slipped my shoes and coat back on, this time taking my umbrella with me as I hurried out of the room, all but flying down the stairs, too impatient for the slow elevator. It was raining rather heavily now, but underneath the black expanse of my umbrella, I was relatively safe, grimacing a little as my feet got wet. Heels might have not been the best choice of footwear for this weather but it was what it was and I hardly would go back to change. A minor inconvenience at best.
I knew where to go, the map had clearly spelled it out to me, the rest was just a matter of luck, which I hoped would be on my side. There was no real plan to this, but the burning curiosity in my chest wouldn't have let me remain at the motel, much less granted me sleep. It was almost too much of a coincidence that my motel was so close to the sight where the second victim had been found, but it was not where I was headed. Nothing of value would be there and I was much more interested in walking the mostly empty streets, the late hour and pouring rain keeping most people inside. Which was perfect for what I had in mind, dangerous and risky as it was.
I had maybe walked about an hour, when a car slowed down next to me and glancing over, I bit back a smile at the very welcome sight of a black cab, the light on its top dark. The window on the passenger side was rolled down and I could barely make out a man at the wheel, a flat cap perched upon his head, shrouding his face in shadow.
“Evening, miss. Might I offer a ride? Can't 'ave a young lady walk through the pour like t'at,” he greeted me with a very distinct accent and my lips curled into a smile. Looking up and down the road, satisfied that no one was around, I stepped down the curb and opened the back door, shaking out my umbrella before I slipped inside the cab.
“That's too kind of you, sir. I really do have the wrong shoes for this kind of weather.” I chuckled, shooting him a wink through the rear view mirror and he gave me a toothy grin, waiting until I had closed the door and put on my seat belt before he pulled away and took off down the street.
“Typical this time o year. Couldn't help but notice your accent, you're not from round here I suppose?” Shaking my head, I let out a tinkling laugh, discretely perusing the inside of the cab. My eyes fell on a folded picture on his dashboard, showing two smiling children and what I assumed to be the arm of someone standing next to them, likely their mother.
“Germany. Just got here a few days ago. Those are lovely children. I could never understand how some women seem to think it is acceptable to keep their kids from their fathers. Dreadful really. When did you last see them?” He was clearly caught by surprise, his face falling for just a second before he had caught himself again, but his former jovial tone carried a slight hint of suspicion now which delighted me to no end.
“How'd you know?” Ah, yes. This was always the part I liked most and comfortably settling in my seat, I gave him a small smile when he glanced at me through the rear view mirror again.
“The picture is obviously older and you deliberately cut her out of it, which means you don't have any other pictures of them, likely because she took them with her after the divorce. There are old as well as fresh remnants of shaving cream behind your ear, which indicates that you live alone since no one pointed it out to you. There is also the matter of your clothes, while clean, they are obviously old, leading me to the conclusion that you merely try to keep up pretence whilst not caring about the rest. And there is still a light patch of skin where your wedding band used to be, though it had clearly been a while since she left you. But I am much more interested to know how you got those people to kill themselves, Mr. Hope. Would you care to indulge me?” My smile had brightened as excitement rushed through me and I knew I had been right when he dropped the façade of polite cab driver, giving me a grin that was more teeth than anything else.
“Aren't you a clever one. I could show you if you really wish to know. But I must warn you, you might just end up like the others.” Waving his threat off, I let out another laugh, wholly unconcerned with his words.
“Oh, I'm not worried about that. The greater the risk, the greater the fun I say. I'm just delighted to get to meet you. Might I ask why you're doing this? I can hardly believe it is just to spite society and show them that you're not only a cabbie most would not bother to take a second look at,” I asked sweetly. Flattery opened many doors and it seemed he wasn't impervious to it either, his chest puffing a little as he shot me a mischievous wink.
“All in good time, my dear. First we need to pick up someone else. Might I ask your name? S'only fair since you know mine,” he deflected, but my curiosity was roused of course. Who would we be picking up? I doubted he had an accomplice, he didn't seem the type but I decided to simply wait and see.
“Rebekah Landovski. Twenty-eight years of age, from a small town near Hamburg. It's my first time outside of the country if you can believe it. If had known the world was this exciting, I would've left much sooner,” I replied conversationally, looking out the window to discern where we were going, not that it did me any good. I had not been in this part of town before and it was too dark to read the street signs. At least the rain had stopped again.
“Let's hope for your sake it's not goin' to be the last trip you've taken. Might've been better to stay in that little town o' yours.” Mr. Hope gave me another toothy grin when I glanced at him and I raised a brow in response, not bothering to hide my amusement, though I refrained from commenting.
I was burning to get to the bottom of this, learn all about this strange man who looked so inconspicuous on the outside. He seemed clever, witty, but I had the feeling that this was not born out of his own mind but someone else's. Which begged the question as to whom he was working for and what the point of all this was. Create chaos perhaps, but there surely was more to it than that. My thoughts got interrupted when we stopped in front of an apartment building with a black door, the brass numbers glinting in the dim light of the street lanterns, a sandwich shop named Speedy's right next to it.
“If you would excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back,” Mr. Hope informed me before he got out and that he didn't bother to lock the doors told me he knew I would not go anywhere, which of course I had no intention to.
221 b was a beautiful building, even in the dark, the ground floor was clad in white stone, contrasting nicely with the black door, the upper two floors had the same greyish brown bricks as the house next to it that housed the small café and there was wrought iron fencing around the small balconies on the second floor that spanned the entire length of the house. It was probably built sometime around the 18th to 19th century but had clearly undergone modernizations since then. Reminded me a little of the building I lived in back in Germany.
What was very curious however were the police cars standing around and I wondered what they were doing here and more importantly why we had come here to begin with. That question was partially answered when Mr. Hope returned to lean against the side of the cab, eyes focused on the entrance of 221 b and soon after, a very tall, curly haired man in his late twenties exited, the collar of his dark coat turned up as he shrugged it on. I couldn't make out what they were saying to each other, but Mr. Hope got back into the cab and our third player seemed to ponder for a moment, glancing up at the lighted windows of the building behind him before he opened the back door and slid into the seat next to me, eyeing me in confusion.
“Who are you?” The tone of his voice was not friendly in the least, but before I could reprimand him for his abysmal manners, our driver for the night answered for me.
“That lovely young lady is Rebekah Landovski from Germany. She figured it out even before you did, made me pick her off the street. Clever girl I'd say.” He turned in his seat to grin at the man next to me, but the stranger wasn't paying him any attention, his eyes scanning me lightning quick, his dark brows furrowed.
“Consulting Detective I assume? Explains the police cars in front of your house. And I would appreciate if you could mind your manners when speaking to me, I have very little patience for rudeness,” I decided to pre-emptive whatever he was about to say, my own eyes scanning his lanky frame as I pursed my lips, coming to my own conclusions about the man.
“Then again, I can overlook it this time, considering the circumstances. Though I have the feeling you are just a rude person in general. Most people who think themselves above usually are. Are you finished with deducing me or do you need another moment?” I raised my brow at him, smirking lopsidedly when he let out an indignant huff, sneering back but not bothering to reply.
Instead he addressed the cabbie, asking him how he had been found and my theory that there was someone else behind these apparent suicides was confirmed when Mr. Hope stated he had been warned about the great Sherlock Holmes, which was the name of Mr. Rude apparently. An odd name for an odd man, quite fitting I found.
“How did you figure it out?” That question had been directed at me and I reluctantly tore my eyes from the window I had been gazing out off, once more raising a brow at Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I wasn't sure why, but he instilled an urge in me to rile him up. Might have been the hair.
“I read the newspaper today and marked the locations of both the points where the victims were last seen and where they were found. From there it was just logical conclusion. It was sheer luck that I actually found him, or that he found me if you like to see it that way.” I nonchalantly shrugged my shoulders, returning my attention back to the outside world and I could almost hear Holmes brain whirring, no doubt trying to figure out if I was lying or not.
“Told yer she's a smart one. Knew about my wife and kids as well just from sitting in here. Pity you wont make it through the night, I'm sure you would've had a lot to talk about,” Mr. Hope cheerfully stated from the front of the cab and I let out a derisive scoff, prompting him to glance back at me.
“I doubt that. I'm neither interested in chemistry nor do I particularly care for classical music. Not to mention that I do not associate with drug addicts of any kind. No offence, Mr. Holmes.” Giving the man next to me a tight-lipped smile, I inwardly delighted at his sour expression. Definitely the hair.
“Understandable since you're a recovering addict yourself. What was it, heroin? You seem like the type.” He gave me an obviously fake smile, though the hard lines around his mouth and eyes clearly told me I had hit a sore spot, which partially made me feel bad, because I was acting incredibly rude myself at the moment. Not that I was going to apologize of course. He started this after all.
“Do I now? And what type would that be, if you wouldn't mind indulging me?” I asked him sweetly, going as far as to bat my lashes at him and for just a quick second he looked slightly uncomfortable before his features smoothed into a blank mask, but I had seen and I saved the information he had just unwittingly provided me with away for later use.
“The type that gets easily bored. You're clearly more intelligent than the average person and from your upbringing I can only surmise that it was easy to get your hands on drugs. Is your father still in prison?” His observational skills were incredible if he had found all that out just by looking at me and I couldn't help but feel impressed, though I made sure not so show it. Wouldn't want him to get an even bigger head than he already had.
“How astute of you. But not everyone can grow up in a loving household with an overbearing older sibling to keep them in line. Not that it did you any good. How long have your parents been married now?” I kept my voice bored, disinterested as if this back and forth meant nothing to me but something must've given me away because his fake smile morphed into a smirk that made his eyes twinkle in a way I didn't want to notice. Objectively, he was very attractive but I tried to avoid such things as emotional entanglement or even physical if I could help it. Nothing good ever came of sentiment in my opinion.
“I might be inclined to help you in your quest to find the one that turned your father over to the authorities. If you answer one question,” Holmes replied with calculation in his eyes and I wondered what had given me away. Likely the inflection in my voice if I had to guess. Damn his keen senses.
“I do not need nor do I wish for you to help me Mr. Holmes. But feel free to ask as many questions as you like. I might even answer them.” I winked at him, going on the defence because I wanted him to drop the subject but naturally he didn't. Like a dog with a bone. However I could hardly blame him, I could only imagine how bored he must be and how seldomly he met someone who could keep up with him because I was suffering the same fate.
“Terrific. But it will have to wait until we're done with the game.” Pointing out the window, I saw that we were pulling up to two large buildings, some kind of school I assumed, the white Portland stone and columns between the second floor windows looked rather august, so it was likely higher education that was taught here.
“Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?” Holmes asked the cabbie who was about to exit the car and he turned in his seat, giving us both a rather unsettling smile. Not really caring either way, I got out myself, taking a few steps closer to the two imposing buildings as I wrapped my coat tighter around myself. The open expanse made the wind whip around me unhindered and I shivered a little from the fresh gust.
Mr. Hope walked past me, clearly expecting us to follow, so I of course did, Holmes falling into step next to me, intently observing our surroundings as if they would tell him what was about to happen. Through empty corridors and up a flight of stairs, we silently trudged after the cabbie until he stopped at a door, holding it open for us with a welcoming smile and I went in first, curiously looking around at what was very clearly a classroom. The light flickered on, illuminating long, fixed wooden benches and free standing plastic chairs, more stacked chairs underneath the large windows at the other end of the room, on a slightly raised platform where the teacher probably held his lectures.
“Well, what do you think?” Mr. Hope asked the both of us and I glanced at him over my shoulder with a frown, not sure why he was asking such a thing and it seemed that Holmes shared that lack of understanding from the look he threw the old man.
“It's up to you. You're the ones who're gonna die 'ere,” the cabbie explained with a grin and I rolled my eyes, not bothering to reply like Holmes did, instead taking a seat at one of the benches, grimacing at how terribly uncomfortable the chairs were.
“Let's get to it please gentlemen. I do not have all night,” I said a little stiffly as folded my hands atop the table, giving them both a pointed look. This was starting to get tiresome and we hadn't even gotten to the good part yet.
“Impatient I see. No worries, we just gonna have a bit of a talk and then it will all be over soon. For the two of you at least.” Mr. Hope chuckled at his own joke and I saw Holmes roll his eyes behind the old man's back. Biting back a smile, I tried making myself more comfortable on the hard plastic chair as I waited for both men to take a seat, impatiently clicking my nails against the wooden table when Holmes took his sweet time, making a show of turning his chair around to sit opposite and slowly taking off his leather gloves while he sighed dramatically.
“Bit risky, wasn't it? Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you. Not to mention that it's two against one with Miss Landovski here as well,” Holmes pointed out when he was finally done and Mr. Hopes eyes flickered between us as he smiled his unsettling smile again, the light revealing his yellowed teeth.
“You call that a risk? Nah.” Reaching into his cardigan, he pulled out a small glass bottle with a screw cap that held two pills inside, placing it on the table between us, his smile widening. “This is a risk.” He seemed mighty pleased with himself and I started grinning, delightedly clapping my hands, both man looking at me in surprise.
“Oh this is just wonderful! Brilliant really! A game of chance where the winner takes all and the loser gets the sweet embrace of death. I assume the pills in the second bottle look exactly the same?” I asked Mr. Hope excitedly and he looked a little disgruntled that I had already figured it out, he had no doubt planned on making a whole speech, but I had gone and ruined that.
He did reluctantly pull out an identical bottle, placing it right next to the first and I let out a happy little sigh, grinning from ear to ear. Like I had hoped, the two bottles and their insides appeared to be identical in every way.
“One good, one bad. And you of course know which is which. But how do you get them to actually play along?” I curiously lifted my head and Mr. Hope pulled out a small hand-gun, pointing it at me with a cold smile. My own fell from my face however because this was not what I had been expecting and I felt slightly disappointed.
“I see. While I can appreciate the humorous side of threatening people with a lighter, I have to admit, I was hoping for a little more.” My disappointment was evident in my voice and to my surprise, the cabbie started laughing, placing the 'gun' down on the table.
“Oh, I like this one! Your fan would like her as well I think,” he directed at Holmes who had followed our exchange silently up until this point, but that comment made him frown as he asked for clarification.
“You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. 'The Science of Deduction.' Now that is proper thinking. Between you two and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think?” Mr. Hope seemed genuinely angry about this, lowering his head to glower at the table before looking back at us again, “Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?”
Holmes just stared back at him in contemplative silence so the old man turned his attention to me instead, smiling softly and I knew the next thing out of his mouth would be something good just by the way his eyes sparkled in barely concealed excitement.
“I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one and then, together, we take our medicine.” I immediately straightened in my seat, now he had my full attention and he appeared more than pleased by that, once more revealing his yellowed teeth as he grinned at me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see that Holmes as well was paying full attention now.
“Now it all makes sense. How long have the doctors given you? And how much does your mysterious employer pay you for each victim? I assume the money will go to your children once you perished?” Firing off my questions in rapid succession, I was intently eyeing the two bottles of pills, trying to discern if I could spot any differences, but if there were, they weren't obvious in any way. I lifted my gaze when Mr. Hope chuckled, meeting his eyes across the table and he pointed at his head.
“Aneurysm, right here. Any breath could be my last. Have ta hand it to you, yer really good. Might even be smarter than that one.” He nodded over at Holmes who visibly bristled at the comment, but Hope wasn't done yet and kept talking, pushing one of the bottles towards me.
“But are ye smart enough to beat me at the game?” Before I had a chance to respond, Holmes let out a scoff and we both looked at him, me with a brow raised and Mr. Hope with a smirk.
“Its not a game, its chance,” the curly-haired man pointed out indignantly and the cabbie's smirk widened. He clearly enjoyed teasing Holmes. I could certainly relate to that.
“Four people in a row? It's not just chance. It's genius, I know 'ow people think. I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone's so stupid, even you two. Or maybe God just loves me.” Smirking rather smugly at the both of us, Mr. Hope was visibly delighted by insulting us and I could tell Holmes didn't appreciate it, straightening in his seat.
“Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie. The question is, who'd sponsor a serial killer?” Holmes asked calmly, his intense gaze fixed on the man across from us, his hands clasped in front of him on the table.
“Who'd be a fan of Sherlock 'Olmes?” The cabbie shot back and the two men stared at each other, seemingly having forgotten about me, but I wasn't about to interrupt. I was more than interested to learn about this as well.
“You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that.” Mr. Hopes eyes twinkled as he calmly returned Holmes stare, a slight smile on his lips and unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I spoke up again.
“Much more how? And who exactly are they?” Holmes shot me a glance, but I ignored him, leaning over the table as I myself stared at the cabbie but his facial expression gave nothing away aside from growing irritation.
“There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to chose.” He nodded towards the bottles, his tone ringing with finality and I knew he wasn't going to spill the beans any more than he had, which was disappointing to say the least.
Since I wasn't about to play chance with my life, I had other plans after all, I let out a sigh and stood up, the legs of the chair screeching loudly over the floor.
“As fun as this was, I'm not really interested in playing. It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hope, maybe I might come to your court case should I still be in town at the time. Goodbye gentlemen.” With a polite smile and a nod I turned to leave, stopping in my tracks when the old man called after me, a teasing tone to his voice.
“Just before you go, did you figure it out? Which bottle is which?” I knew I should just leave and not engage him further but his question unexpectedly ruffled my feathers and I slowly turned back around again, regarding him for a moment. He looked so sure of himself that it made me bristle and narrowing my eyes, I came back to the table, picking up one of the bottles.
Opening it without breaking eye contact, I smiled as I turned the bottle over and let the pills fall to the floor, hearing them scatter. Of course I had figured it out.
“They're both bad. The good one is still in your jacket, containing the medication to counteract the effects of whatever is inside these. Did you take them back in the cab when we weren't looking? Or was this going to be your grand finale? Taking the great Sherlock Holmes out, a simple cabbie outsmarting the great detective. Maybe your sponsor promised a nice bonus? I'm not nearly bored enough to fall for this, Mr. Hope. He might've been, but not me.” I gestured with my head towards Holmes who looked rather stricken, no doubt he had been about to play this game and the implications of that had surely set in by now.
“Doesn't matter. My kids still gonna get that money. You only managed to draw the attention of people you don't wanna have attention from. Might want to leave town while ye still can,” he smiled at me, cold and hard as he rose from his chair and took a menacing step towards me, reaching into his cardigan.
A shot suddenly rang out, coming from the windows on the far side of the room and the cabbie slumped to the floor, a patch of red blooming on his shirt right where his heart was. I had felt the bullet whizz past me once it had left his body, embedding itself into the wall behind me but I payed it no mind, too surprised by this sudden turn of events.
Holmes had sprung up to inspect the bullet hole in the window while I just stared down at the obviously dying man on the ground. The blood looked quite beautiful against his blue shirt, letting it appear almost purple but now was not the time to marvel at this, there were still questions that needed to be answered.
“Your sponsor, what's his name?” I kneeled down beside him, my voice urgent but he just weakly shook his head, gritting out a pained no. I really didn't want to do this, but I had to know and he was dying anyway so I put my hand against his wound and pressed, making him scream out.
“Tell me the damn name, Jeff. Don't let your last minutes on this earth be filled with even more pain,” I hissed at him, a shadow falling over us as Holmes appeared, but I ignored him, increasing the pressure by leaning more of my weight on the cabbie and he whined pathetically.
“The name!” I demanded angrily, pressing harder and finally he gave me what I wanted, his eyes pain-filled and manic as they stared up at me.
“Moriarty!” He screamed out and then his head rolled to the side as he lost consciousness. It was the name I had hoped to hear, the name of the very same man that had sent my father to prison. The man I came here to kill. Ignoring any and all of Holmes questions, I wiped my hand off on Mr. Hopes blue shirt and stood up again, turning to leave but I was stopped by a very firm grip on my arm.
“Who is Moriarty?” The way he asked me was almost desperate and no matter how much I struggled, he wouldn't let go of me, so I gave him something, just so he would let me be. I didn't have time for this, there were going to be police everywhere in no time at all and I did not want to still be here when they arrived.
“Someone you don't want to get involved with. Now let go of me please,” I bit out but he didn't lessen his grip, his eyes taking on a far away look, seeing right through me and I could hear sirens approaching in the background which meant it was already too late for me to leave. I hated having to interact with the law.