Chapter 1: The Assignment
When Dr. Spencer Reid walked into the office that day, he wasn’t expecting what was to follow. Though there really wasn’t any way that he could have known his next case would not only be highly unusual, but that he’d also be solving it on his own. Upon his arrival, Hotch immediately called him into his office.
“What’s going on? “ Asked Reid and Hotch closed the door as the younger agent sat down. Hotch followed suit.
“We’ve had two cases crop up, one in Newark, New Jersey. The other is a bit problematic.”
“It’s in London.”
“As in England?”
“Yes, that’s the problem. The case in London has to do with the British ambassador to America and Scotland Yard has asked for our help to close it.”
“I thought they had a suspect in custody.” Reid had heard a little about the case, but hadn’t been following it closely as they’d been quite busy lately.
“They did, but the suspect has committed suicide. They want us to go to London in order to be absolutely sure.” Hotch said. “We don’t have it in the budget to send the entire team, so while we’re in Newark, I’m sending you to London.”
“What?” Reid squawked. “Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re our expert on everything. And that’s what they need.” Hotch said. “Go home, pack for an extended stay, and don’t forget your passport.” He handed Reid a plane ticket. “Here, your flight leaves in three hours. If you need any information contact Garcia and she’ll find it. Good luck.”
And 24 hours later Reid was in an office in New Scotland Yard. It was Detective Inspector Lestrade’s office to be more precise. He was tired, but he’d wanted to start right away so he refused Lestrade’s offer to take him to his hotel. He felt a little weird since he’d had to leave his gun in America, and wasn’t furnished one upon arrival. They didn’t feel it was necessary for the young man to be armed, and Reid couldn’t argue with them.
The door opened and Lestrade walked in, followed by two people Reid hadn’t met yet. Lestrade was obviously older than either of them, but the man looked older than the woman. Both were annoyed but neither was openly hostile. Reid sensed they were going to be a major problem during this case.
Reid got to his feet and offered a hand. “Hi, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Neither the man nor the woman offered a hand, so Reid dropped his own. Lestrade however spoke up. “This is Sgt. Donovan, and Forensic Tech Anderson.” Reid nodded, acknowledging them. This seemed to bolster them and it took a lot to keep him from rolling his eyes.
“So you’re familiar with the case then?”
“Not the particulars, and in order to give an unbiased profile I'll be keeping it that way. I need the file on the case to start with.”
“Yes of course, follow me.” Lestrade led the way out of the office with Reid, Donovan and Anderson trailing behind. They arrived at a conference room and Reid was surprised to see it was filled with boxes. “This is everything we have on the crimes.”
“Crimes? I thought this was about the kidnapping.” Reid stated.
“We think now that it may be linked to previous cases,” Lestrade said. Reid peaked in one of the boxes, and like the others it was full of case files. He’d never been more grateful that he could speed read.
“I’ll start with a linkage analysis then.” Reid determined. He went to the box marked with a number one and asked, “I take it this is the one you think it started with?”
“Yes, we believe so.” Lestrade was relieved. He had a nagging doubt about this case, which was readily apparent, even to a stranger like Reid.
Reid sat down and opened the box, but he paused. “Uh… I’m going to need a lot of coffee. Is there a coffee pot nearby?"
“Coffee machine is in the lounge, down the hall first door on your right. Loo's down that way too." Lestrade said to him.
Reid frowned. "Loo?"
"The bathroom." Lestrade left the room, having other business to attend to.
Reid got to work; he got a notepad and pen out and as he started to read he could feel the other cops staring at him. Most of the time he ignored it but for some reason Donovan and Anderson rubbed him the wrong way. Their observation was unnerving and he was having difficulty concentrating.
When he’d had enough he put the file he was reading down and looked at the pair. “Can I help you with something?” Reid asked in an annoyed tone.
“Can you actually read that fast?” Donovan was looking at him incredulously when she asked him.
“Yes I can,” said Reid.
“No one can read that fast,” muttered Anderson, looking just as skeptical as Donovan.
“Well I do, and I have an eidetic memory on top of that so I’ll have the entire file in my head.”
Anderson snatched the file out of Reid’s hand. “What’s it say then?” This annoyed him further. Nothing bothered Reid more than when he was challenged by local law enforcement. It made him feel like a circus animal, forced to perform on the spot, and it was humiliating. He would humor local police somtimes but either they didn’t acknowledge that such brain power was possible or they felt threatened by him. He had a feeling these two would be the latter.
“The file so far details a case of a serial poisoner; he used psychological persuasion to induce his victims to kill themselves. I believe the person responsible was more than likely a cab driver as each victim was in a set of circumstances where they would have needed a cab. This UNSUB decided to start killing because he felt underappreciated and had a large ego due to a high intellect, belied by a menial job. He wanted to prove he was smarter than everyone, even the police by doing this. And you can keep the file, I’m done with it.”
Anderson was surprised to say the least, and he put the file down. “You got all that from this file?”
“Childs play for a profiler, it was fairly straight forward.” Reid opened another file and started to read at his lightning quick pace.
“Just what are you a doctor of?” Donovan asked him.
“I have Ph. D’s in mathematics, chemistry and engineering. I also have bachelor degrees in psychology, sociology and philosophy.” He said. He didn’t see why it mattered.
“No, I’m not.”
“Kinda young aren’t you?”
“I graduated from high school when I was twelve.”
Anderson looked at Donovan, and they left the room together, whispering as they went. Reid was relieved. While he was sure they were great officers, there was something about them he didn’t like. He would have to ignore them if he was going to finish reading the first set of files before he needed a coffee refill.
And that was what Reid did. For nearly 12 hours he went through 56 different case files. It was a daunting task, even without Anderson or Donovan interrupting him. He’d requested a large white board where he’d been compiling different things that caught his attention.
When Lestrade came in to check on him at the end of the day, Reid was standing in front of the board and muttering to himself, his eyes darting across the information he’d written there. Lestrade asked, “Have you found anything yet?”
Reid nodded. “Most of these crimes aren't linked, with the exception of these ones on this side of the board.” He waved his hand in that direction and there they were. The serial bombings, the three break ins when nothing had been taken, and the kidnapping of the ambassador’s children.
“Are you sure?” Lestrade asked.
“Of course I am. See these crimes,” he pointed at the other side of the board where many names were written, “They were all committed by different people. Some are the same personality types for certain, but they’re all distinctly different culprits.”
Lestrade looked at the board, checking some of the cases before turning his head back towards Reid, who continued. “These crimes were all committed by the same person. And if he wasn’t the one doing it himself, he was the mastermind behind them.”
Lestrade was frowning as he went over Reid’s notes on the board. There were so many he wasn’t sure where he should start. He left the room for a moment and came back with Donovan and Anderson, deciding to cut to the chase. “Agent Reid, I need you to tell them what you just told me.”
Reid was confused, but he explained it again, and mentioned linkage analysis. Donovan asked, “What’s linkage analysis?”
“Exactly what it sounds like," Reid said. But at the blank looks on their faces he went into detail. "It’s when you take a look at the crimes being committed and see if there are enough similarities to link them. Only these ones were similar.”
“Are you absolutely certain?” She didn’t believe him, of course.
“Yes, I am. These two groups are not related in any way.”
“Can you profile the perpetrator of these crimes?” Asked Lestrade.
“Of course, I’ve already started.”
“Wait, I’m confused,” said Anderson. “What is it exactly that you’re doing?”
Reid was getting irritated with these questions, and he wished that Hotch or Rossi were there to answer them. But so he wouldn’t have to explain again later, he explained. “Profiling is taking the evidence and using it to make a psychological profile. Using the what and why to figure out the whom in essence. I stand in the UNSUB’s shoes, try to get a feel for what he feels and once I have why he did it I can use that to figure out who he or she is.”
“That’s rubbish,” said Donovan. “You can’t do that, no one can!”
“You’re not the first to doubt it but I assure you that it’s true. It's not an exact science, but an art. I can, however, demonstrate.” Reid knew his annoyance was showing in his tone, but he didn’t want to keep wasting his time on these two. He needed Anderson and Donovan off of his back if he was going to close this case.
“Yeah all right,” she agreed.
“I need a volunteer.”
Donovan raised her hand. Reid looked at her and started talking. “You’re preparing for an advancement which means you’ve probably cracked a big case recently. You admire your commanding officer but hate not being in charge so this will be a great relief for you. You’ll take the promotion even if it means switching departments or moving. Oh, and when you do you plan on dumping Anderson and finding yourself a new boyfriend. My advice is date someone who isn’t married.
"All of this comes down to power control issues. For most of your life you've been helpless or ignored; either because of your gender or ethnicity. But you're smart, strong and hard working so you feel you've been wronged. You're more successful than anyone would have thought and while this brings you comfort, it's not enough. I'd also say you have some rather serious intimacy issues because of it as Anderson is the latest in a string of boyfriends whom you can drop at a moment's notice without a feeling of guilt."
“What are you implying?!” Donovan shouted, visibly upset.
“New clothes that are outside of your current means, new makeup style to accentuate your eyes and lips in a way you normally don't bother with. That indicates the promotion. Talking to you tipped me off about your psych issues. The devil is in the details and I’d rather not get into it at the moment.” Reid demurred. He wasn’t the least bit sorry for embarrassing her, though he knew if JJ or Garcia had heard him they would have been horrified and told him to apologize. As it was, Lestrade broke it up.
“I think perhaps you should call it a night Agent Reid, I’m sure you’re tired.”
Reid sighed. “I supposed. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early.” He grabbed his messenger bag and the note pad he’d been using and walked out of the conference room. Donovan and Anderson looked at Lestrade.
“You sure about him?” She asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Sounded an awful lot like him just then didn’t he? How do we know he’s not a fraud too?”
Lestrade shook his head; he didn’t know what to think. But since Reid wasn’t one of his officers, whether his intelligence was a fake or not wasn’t his problem.
If Reid had known about it, he wouldn’t have cared either way. When he got to his hotel room that night, it hit him how tired he was when he closed the door. He dropped his bag on the floor and kicked off his shoes. He loosened his tie and crawled into bed with a yawn. He lay there, face down and still dressed, breathing deeply. Everything was calm… Until he heard his phone beep.
Reid groaned and rolled onto his back, taking his cell phone out of his pocket. He blinked at the message screen; he had a text message. He flipped over to it and sat up when he read it, curious as to its meaning.
‘You’re on the right track. Keep going.’
Chapter 2: The Breakthrough
Reid finishes the profile on the kidnapping case, and finds he must write another profile.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Reid returned to Scotland Yard the next morning. He hadn’t slept well, because one question had bothered him for most of the night. Who sent him the text message? He’d called up Garcia immediately, but unfortunately she was busy with the team’s case. She had promised that she would get back to him as soon as possible.
When he arrived at New Scotland Yard, Reid was painfully aware that people were staring at him. He wasn’t sure why, but he was fairly certain his two least favorite officers were behind it. He guessed that they had been talking about him, and that talk hadn’t been the least bit kind.
He got to the conference room and was glad to see nothing had been disturbed. He got to work again; this time he started a profile on the crimes he’d linked the previous day. Reid carefully went over everything with a fine tooth comb, and wrote down his observations. This took about an hour, and just as his caffeine rush was wearing off he wanted another cup of coffee. A break probably wouldn’t hurt so he got up and headed for the break room.
When Reid got there, he was greeted by an icy silence. He wasn’t sure what was going on but he wasn’t about to feed into it. He got his coffee, making sure it was a large cup so that he wouldn’t need to come back for a while. He turned to go and he came face to face with Sergeant Donovan.
Her demeanor was cool, even uncaring. But Reid saw something in her eyes that bothered him. She was suspicious. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”
“Uh, yeah about that…” Reid said, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk to you. I was on edge and I embarrassed you because you were annoying me. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m very sorry.” He felt a bit better now. Of course he’d told Garcia the previous night about the problem he’d had with Donovan and she urged him to apologize. And he knew she was right.
Donovan was surprised by this and it was written all over her face. “Uh, apology accepted.” He wondered if maybe she was used to people treating her like that, aside from those in her private life as he'd profiled yesterday. She didn’t seem like the type to stand for it, however. The tension in the room went down several notches, but it was still too quiet for Reid’s liking. So he excused himself and went back to the conference room.
Another few hours went by and Reid kept working on the profile. Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson didn’t make an appearance, which was a great relief for the young doctor. Around mid afternoon he felt his profile was ready, so he called the others into the conference room.
They arrived quickly, and once they were seated Reid started to give the profile. He did however warn beforehand not to interrupt and if they had any questions to hold them until the end. “The UNSUB who performed these crimes is, in a word, a genius. He’s highly intelligent and more than likely looks down on or even hates people he feels aren’t as smart as he is. Human life means nothing to him.
“He's a high functioning sociopath, able to play the part of a normal, emotionally stable person when he needs to blend in, but under the surface he’s anti-social and unable to empathize with anyone.
“He’ll have some sort of job that he sees as menial but still gets him admiration and attention such as a teacher or an actor. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he had some other business on the side or was already independently wealthy. He doesn’t need money or other material things, but he will have them.
“This man does what he does because it’s all a game to him. It’s his entertainment. He isn’t in it for sexual thrills or fantasy fulfillment. That will make it slightly more difficult to catch him.
“As to physical aspects of the profile I would say he’s a white male in his early to mid thirties. He’ll be rather thin, and someone who’s unimposing, and at first glance he wouldn’t seem like a threat. His appearance will be average as well; he’ll do his best to blend in. I’d venture to guess he has dark hair and dark eyes. None of the witness statements denote any physical features that would stand out such as blue eyes, red hair, tattoos or scars.
“He’s well educated and that will be apparent upon talking to him. I should mention too that he wishes to have absolute control over his victims and himself, so most standard forms of interrogation or intimidation aren’t going to work on him. He'll be obsessive, due to his control issues, so the best way to catch him would be finding whatever obsesses him and exploiting it.”
When Reid stopped talking, he could see the cogs working in their brains. Lestrade was relieved, Donovan was taken aback and Anderson was just confused.
“Well that’s it then,” Donovan stated. “Guess he was our man after all.”
“No, he couldn’t have been! There was no relation of those crimes to the others! Besides Sherlock was never a teacher or an actor,” Lestrade replied.
“He was in a job that got him noticed though.”
“That he found more exciting than anything else, being a consulting detective was never menial to him. It was his life!”
“Are you talking about the suspect in the kidnapping?” Reid asked.
“Yeah,” Donovan told Reid. “His name was Sherlock Holmes. Came out in the papers he was a fraud. He’d hired an actor to play his great nemesis and set up the crimes he solved to make himself look like a genius. When he got caught he killed himself.”
Anderson jumped in with, “Yeah, constantly insulting us and calling us idiots when he was pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes the whole time.”
“It just doesn’t make any sense! If it were him wouldn’t more of the profile fit?” Lestrade asked.
“it does fit. High functioning sociopath, he even called himself that,” Donovan pointed out. “And he said some of the crimes were linked so maybe Sherlock just helped the others along and then helped to bust them when he got bored.”
“So you’re saying he was the consulting criminal instead of Moriarty? It doesn’t sound right at all.”
“May I ask who Sherlock Holmes is?” Everyone looked at Reid when he spoke up.
“He was a private detective, or really a consulting detective, that’s what he called himself. He used to be able to tell a lot of things just by looking at a person, or so he said. It was impossible.” Donovan explained.
“That’s not impossible; my team mates and I do that in every case. And I did something similar yesterday, you only have to look.” Reid said. “So this man you say committed suicide? Who said he was a fraud?"
“Richard Brook, aka Jim Moriarty. Sherlock set him up as his enemy and it was all a lie.”
“What? Why do you say that?”
Reid shook his head. “Because that would take a massive conspiracy, and conspiracies never work. The more people you have working on something, the more likely it is that someone is going to talk. How long was he consulting with you?”
“About six and a half years,” said Lestrade.
“Then it is impossible; this would have fallen apart within a month. There are too many variables and no matter how much you pay someone there’s still a chance they could go to the police.”
“Says you, seems highly likely to me,” Donovan shot back. Her arms were crossed and while she kept her face blank, Reid could tell she was angry with him.
“I hate to break it to you but it isn’t. It’s been proven time and again.”
Donovan looked as though she were going to say something more, but Lestrade asked, “Could you actually eliminate Sherlock as a suspect?”
“I think so, but I’d have to know more about him first. Learn about his life, interview friends and family, that sort of thing.”
“Then do it,” Lestrade ordered and he left the conference room. Donovan and Anderson remained behind, but rather than arguing his point further, he went and fetched his laptop. Something occurred to him as he opened it and waited for it to boot up.
Reid glanced at Donovan and said, “The case you cracked was Sherlock Holmes kidnapping those children, wasn’t it?”
Donovan nodded. “I know I’m right.”
“Just like I know I’m right. You'll have to excuse me, I have some work to do.” The two officers left and Reid set up a video conference with Garcia at Quantico. It took several minutes but finally Garcia popped up on the screen. “Hey Junior G-Man! How’s merry old England?”
“It’s not merry at the moment. Garcia I need you to find everything you can on a man named Sherlock Holmes. He was a private detective who consulted with Scotland Yard.”
“Can do, butter cream. Anything else?”
“That’ll do for now, but see if maybe you can track down his family and friends. I want a word with them.”
“Okay, looking… Wow this guy had one hell of a history! He was in the papers a lot even after he died and was the subject of several blogs, one written by his former roommate. He had his own website called The Science of Deduction and from what I can tell this guy was a certified genius. He might have even been smarter than you Reid.”
“That would be new,” Reid muttered.
“I’m forwarding all the websites and articles to you so you can read them tonight. But I’m having a hard time finding any information on family or friends.”
“All right, well also see if you can find information on Jim Moriarty and Richard Brook. I want their entire backgrounds.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Yeah, have you had any luck with that text message?”
“Sorry sweetie, nothing yet. I’m trying to trace the number but it is slow going since it's blocked. There are several blocks in my way but I should have them eliminated soon.”
“Okay. The message said I was on the right track, maybe that’s what they want. For me to clear Sherlock Holmes of any wrong doing,” Reid theorized.
“You think he’s innocent?”
“I don’t think he’s guilty but I need to know more about him to decide if he’s innocent or not.”
“Fight the good fight Reid. I’ll talk to you later, Morgan is calling.”
“Don’t I get to hear your perverted flirting?” Reid asked, making a stupid face at her. Garcia laughed.
“You’ll get to hear all of it as soon as you’re done there and come home. Garcia out.”
The screen went blank and, seeing that Garcia had transferred the files to his computer, he shut it off. He still felt as though he were on to something big, and if indeed Sherlock Holmes had been framed and even killed himself over it… Well, Reid wanted to know for sure.
He was so lost in thought he jumped when his phone beeped again. He took it out and said, “Speak of the devil!” He had another text message. Reid stared at it for a minute, and then read it aloud. “You’re not wrong. Ignore them, they’re idiots.” Now Reid was bewildered. Who was texting him? And why was this so important to them?
Originally, I was going to update this after seeing The Dark Knight Rises. Now, due to computer issues, I won't be able to update for possibly a fortnight. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Chapter 3: The Revelation
Reid cracks a mystery that was staring Scotland Yard in the face, and goes to 221b Baker Street to ask some questions
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
After that text message, Reid pulled an all nighter. He wanted to read all he could find on Sherlock Holmes. He started with Holmes’ website The Science of Deduction. Reid was impressed by Sherlock’s observational skills, and he was sorry he’d never met the man. He checked Sherlock’s former roommate’s blog next, and read through the site.
Reid found some of the comments interesting, even funny. One case opened with Dr. Watson describing an incident where Holmes had yelled at a Santa Claus that what he wanted for Christmas was a big fat juicy murder in front of several children and their parents. Reid nearly choked on his coffee. It was funny and horrifying.
But the more he learned about him, the less likely it looked to Reid that Sherlock was the culprit. To start with, he never attempted to hide his intelligence or bothered about behaving like a “normal” person, which the UNSUB certainly would have done. And it was obvious his obsession was solving crimes. He wanted to show off his intellect and put it to good use because it excited him rather than having something to prove, which the UNSUB would have felt.
Around four in the morning he received more files from Garcia with a note saying she was going to take a nap and that she couldn’t believe Reid was still awake. He’d had the hotel staff bring him an entire pot of coffee so he could keep working. The files were on Richard Brook and Jim Moriarty. Reid felt there was something off about the alias, but he wasn’t sure what.
He read more, and was troubled. Moriarty was almost a completely separate entity from Brook, and no one was that good of an actor. Reid watched videos and read transcripts of conversations this man supposedly had. But it wasn’t synching up. Brook was too perfect. He sent a message to Garcia that when she woke up he would like her to dig deeper into Brook’s background.
Reid himself kept working, taking notes on Moriarty. He was trying to ascertain whether Brook was the act or Moriarty. It was difficult to tell. That was the case until nearly 7 AM when Reid looked at Brook’s name and noticed something that he’d scribbled in the margin. Reid knew he had it.
He changed his clothes quickly and raced off to Scotland Yard. Half an hour later he burst into Lestrade’s office and said, “It’s a fake!”
Lestrade sat up, startled. “What’s a fake?”
“The name! Richard Brook, it’s a fake! Here look!” Reid replied. He took a piece of paper and wrote out “Reichenbach” then “Richard Brook”. He slashed out the letters A, R and D in Richard and the letters E and N in Reichenbach. “Rich Brook, Reich Bach! He made it up!” he got another text message; this one was from Garcia telling him to turn his laptop on.
Reid set it up on Lestrade’s desk and turned it on, clicking over to start a connection with Garcia. When she appeared on screen she smiled and said, “Chamber of the Techno-Oracle, how can I help you today?”
Lestrade looked surprised but Reid just smiled. “What did you find Garcia?”
“I did a thorough check, this Brook guy is a total ghost. He didn’t exist until three years ago and even then everything about him has been forged. His birth certificate, his national ID number, everything, and they’re amazing copies. Almost impossible to tell from the real thing; it looks like someone took random bits and pieces of data from people who have died and pasted Richard Brook on them. He was on a kids show for a bit and in a few community theater plays but then a year and a half ago he dropped from sight.”
“Good job, thanks Garcia.”
“No problem. You owe me,” she said, winking before signing out.
Reid closed the computer as Lestrade sat there, stunned. Lestrade got on the phone to the computer crimes division and told them to dig into Brook’s identity. “I don’t care, wake someone up! The FBI has found evidence his identity isn’t real, and if they’re right we have to clear a dead man’s name.”
When he hung up eh looked at Reid and asked, “What do you need from me?”
“I need the report on his death. And I need to talk to his friends. Especially Dr. Watson.”
“I don’t know where John is. I haven’t seen him since the funeral. You could try his old landlady Mrs. Hudson.” Lestrade said. He opened his desk drawer and gave Reid the file on Sherlock Holmes. On the front of it was stamped, ‘closed’.
“Does this include the scene of his death?”
“Yes, we processed it ourselves.”
“Okay, it’s a start.” Reid grabbed his things, including the laptop and headed for the door. “If I’m right, Jim Moriarty is not only real, but he is behind these crimes! Maybe Mrs. Hudson knows where Dr. Watson is.”
“But you don’t know where she lives!”
Reid’s head popped back in the doorway. “I do, 221b Baker Street!” And then he was gone.
He ran outside and tried to hail a taxi, but then something odd happened. Someone elbowed Reid and he fell into the street itself. If the taxi he’d flagged down hadn’t stopped so quickly, he would have had a rather nasty accident. Reid thought nothing of it however, and once he climbed inside he told the cabbie where to go.
During the ride to Baker Street, his thoughts were buzzing. When he arrived, he paid the man, though he was so distracted he dropped one of the notes and had to bend down to retrieve it. He smiled politely and apologized; the man said nothing and drove off. Reid looked up at the building. He took in everything of that and the street itself before heading for the door, where he nearly trod on a bouquet. He realized that it was a makeshift shrine to the late detective. A lot of the cards said “I believe in Sherlock,” and Reid wondered what that was all about. He went up and knocked on the door, hoping for an answer.
An old woman opened the door and she looked at Reid. “Hello love, you’re the American agent right?”
“Uh, yes. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI.”
“Inspector Lestrade phoned and told me you were coming. Come in dear, I’ve got the kettle on.” She replied and ushered Reid inside. “I’m Mrs. Hudson. Are you really a doctor?”
“I’m not a medical doctor, but I hold three doctorates in different subjects.”
“Really? Oh your parents must be very proud, and at your age!” Mrs. Hudson gushed. She led Reid into her flat, and then had him sit down. “Oh I do wish Sherlock had met you, he would have loved you, and he always loved clever people.” She reconsidered that as she went to the kitchen. “Maybe not love, he was a hard man to get close to, even near the end.”
Reid looked over his shoulder. “Do you need help in there?”
“Oh no I’ve got it dear. Thank you.”
She came back with a tray that held all the essentials for a nice afternoon chat (though it was early in the morning), including a plateful of cookies. “There we are. Don’t imagine you’ve had a proper English tea before.”
“No ma’am, I haven’t.”
Mrs. Hudson fixed each of them a cup. Reid took his and asked, “How well did you know Sherlock Holmes?”
“I knew him fairly well. He helped me once when I was in a fix with my husband, always kept in contact at least a little after that. Then when he got in that row with his last landlord, I offered him a place here. He was happy to accept, though he had to get a flat mate, that’s how he met that nice Dr. Watson,” Mrs. Hudson explained.
“And you never thought he was a fake?” Reid asked.
“Oh no, never! He was a brilliant young man, though wound a bit tight. I had always hoped that maybe he’d find a nice girl to settle down with, or even a nice boy, but he didn’t seem interested in anyone. I’d thought maybe he and John were like that at first, I even said to John, ‘Mrs. Turner next door’s got married ones, we’ve got all sorts on this block’ but no they were just friends.”
“What was that I saw outside? A bunch of cards said either Believe in Sherlock or I Believe in Sherlock.”
Mrs. Hudson perked up at that, “Oh that’s Jackie and Brianna Morstan! They said they started that on Twitter or something, I don’t know, Jackie tried to explain it to me but I didn’t understand a word. It was their daughter Mary’s idea. They got the idea from John’s blog; the last thing he posted was that he believes in Sherlock. It’s become a sort of rally cry now; loads of people are saying they don’t believe he was ever a fraud. They’ve made a campaign out of it!”
Reid made a mental note to ask Garcia about it later. “What was your general impression of him?”
“He was brilliant, but he was mad. I don’t think you can be that smart and not be a little bit mad. And things he did drove me mad some of the time; he lived for the game.”
“It was something he would say sometimes when a murder popped up. ‘The game is on’. Oh he’d get so excited, jumping around and smiling. It wasn’t decent, but it was good to see him excited about something. Then there was that time he got so bored he shot up my wall. And his experiments! He could be a terror, but I think deep down he was a good man.”
Reid had finished his tea by this time, and he leaned forward. “Has anyone been in the apartment since he died?”
“Just me, to collect some of John’s things. Everything else has been untouched, even by the police.”
“Do you think I could see it?”
“Of course, if you think it’ll help clear him.” Mrs. Hudson took Reid straight up, and unlocked the door to 221b for him. “Take your time; just let me know when you’re finished so I can lock up.” And she went back downstairs.
Reid stepped inside, and for a moment he felt as though he were walking into a tomb. He saw it was mostly undisturbed, as Mrs. Hudson had said. It wasn’t so much that the apartment was foreboding in and of itself. But Reid felt rather like a grave robber, so he decided to look around quickly and leave.
“Now if I were going to store information about my arch enemy, where would I hide it?” Reid asked himself. His phone rang and he picked up. “Reid.”
“These long distance charges are going to be hell on your next phone bill,” Garcia teased.
He chuckled. “I’ll make sure to send the bill to Strauss. Have you found anything?”
“Nothing new yet, but I did send the info to Lestrade, he should have the proof that Brook is fabricated.”
“What about the text messages?” Reid asked.
“Closing in but not there yet, that’s not the reason I’m calling.”
“What’s going on?”
“That sergeant you were having a problem with is digging into your credentials and background.”
“You mean Sally Donovan?”
“Yeah, she’s asked for your file. She’s definitely checking you out and not in the fun and sexy way.”
“She probably feels that if she can discredit me that her theory about Sherlock Holmes will stand.”
“Anything you want me to bury?”
Reid paused. “Garcia are you actually willing to lie to the police in another country about me?”
“No, just to get a sudden case of memory loss,” Garcia teased.
“No, give her whatever she wants, just so long as it doesn’t involve my mother.”
Reid looked into Holmes’ bedroom at that point, searching in there. “Garcia how’s the rest of the team doing?”
“Still can’t track down that UNSUB, hence why I haven’t gone home to get any beauty sleep.”
“You’re always beautiful. Is there anything I can help with?”
“I don’t know. If Hotch needs something from you I’ll have him call you.”
“Okay. Just be ready to trace the next text message. I’m in Holmes’ apartment now, if I’m going to be texted again it’ll be soon,” Reid instructed.
“I’ll be sure to. Good luck,” Garcia replied and hung up. Reid went back to sifting through Holmes’ things.
He found a chemistry set assembled from various labs and hospitals. Reid would have bet even money each piece had been borrowed or stolen. Not out of a malicious intent, but because Holmes didn’t seem to be the type to just buy a chemistry set, he more than likely took whatever he happened to need at the time.
He also found a microscope that was well taken care of, books that were used often and others that were probably never opened. Reid located sheets of music as well as a violin, a skull (he double checked and found it to be real rather than imitation), a shadowbox with bullets displayed and properly labeled, and a plethora of other things that were fascinating or didn’t make sense. At least they didn’t make sense to Reid.
Reid looked up at the wall, seeing the smiley face spray painted on it. He stepped closer to look at it; there were bullet holes just as Mrs. Hudson had said, but they made up the smiley face itself. “So you painted the face to have something to aim at. You’re a better shot than I am.” Reid was aware he was speaking to himself, and as it echoed in such a creepy fashion he stopped.
He wasn’t finding anything that was screaming guilty, and he wasn’t finding anything that said Holmes was innocent. But he did find, after a half an hour, Holmes’ laptop. If anyone could crack it open and find the information, it was Garcia.
He found however, that he didn’t need to contact Garcia after all. Because as soon as he turned it on, Reid received a text message that said, “DRJ0hnW4ts0n5N0rthumb3rl4nd.” For a minute, it didn’t make any sense. Then he snapped his fingers. “Of course, that must be the password!” He typed it in and it proved to be correct.
And Reid began looking through the personal computer files of Sherlock Holmes. There wasn’t a lot there that he hadn’t already found on the web. He had been keeping track of certain cases, true, but there wasn’t anything specifically labeled, “This is everything I have on Moriarty”.
“Okay,” Reid muttered to himself. “There’s something I’m missing… There has to be some sort of evidence file.” He rubbed his forehead, slightly frustrated. He started going through the files in the Documents section. He came across a folder that struck him as rather odd. It was labeled, “Spider.” Puzzled, Reid clicked on it.
It was almost every case that Reid had been given at Scotland Yard, and the ways in which Sherlock Holmes thought that Moriarty was connected. It was so intricately detailed it would have been nearly impossible for a layman to understand. Thankfully, Reid was not a layman. He took out a flash drive from his bag, saving the file onto it and closing the laptop.
There was something that had bothered him. One of the documents was labeled “Final Problem”. Its last lines were, “And I believe that, as soon as he enacts his plan, I’m going to die.”
“I need to talk to someone at the morgue,” he said to himself. Reid wasn’t surprised when his phone went off again. “So you can see and hear me. How are you doing that?”
He checked his messages. The first said, ‘Talk to Molly Hooper at St. Bartholomew’s.’ The second said, “Of course I can. I’m not telling you how.” Reid rolled his eyes, but left to find Molly Hooper.
I'll update some time in the next two weeks. I'm still without a beta.
Chapter 4: The Conspiracy
Dr. Reid finds some things are very off with the Holmes case. He has a dangerous encounter and meets an even more dangerous man.
Reid was at St. Bartholomew’s, waiting to meet Molly Hooper. A few people greeted him, but for the most part, he was left alone. He hoped Garcia would call him back with a trace on the text messages. As Reid puzzled over the messages and their sender, a nagging sense of impending trouble assailed him. Who was trying to clear Holmes’ name? And why the cloak-and-dagger routine? Couldn’t they step out into the open? Not to mention that this mysterious saviour could just as easily have gone to Lestrade, but instead seemed to be relying on him.
A small woman approached him, a nervous look on her face, “Dr. Reid?”
“I’m Molly Hooper. I was told you wanted to see me?”
“You were the one who did the autopsy on Sherlock Holmes?”
The woman paled, and Reid wondered whether she would cry. “Um, yes. That was me.”
“I’m working with Scotland Yard in wrapping up the case surrounding his suicide. Do you think I could see the records from his autopsy?”
“Umm…I’m not sure. I mean, what’s this all about? There needn’t be an investigation into such a clear case of suicide.”
Reid looked at her for a moment, then asked, “Could I speak with you in private?”
“Of course.” Molly led Reid into the morgue and closed the door behind them.
“I know you were close to him,” Reid immediately got to the point. “I read through everything concerning him that I could find online, including your old blog. You admired him. I’m trying to clear his name. I’ve been told that he jumped to his death of his own accord, but I need to see the autopsy report to make sure he wasn’t on anything, or coerced into suicide.”
“It’s a possibility I have to consider.” It was, in fact, a theory Reid had come up with the moment he realized how well James Moriarty fit the profile for the perpetrator of crimes Sherlock Holmes had been accused of. A manipulative man, Moriarty — possibly with enough skill to be able force another man into suicide.
Molly seemed surprised, “So, you believe it, then? That Jim was Jim and not Richard Brook?”
“I do,” Reid assured her. “Which is why I need that report.”
Molly strode over to her file cabinet, sorting through its contents until she found what she was looking for. She handed Reid a file, saying, “This is everything I’ve got.”
He perused the file while Molly watched him in something very like fascination. Reid could see her out of the corner of his eye, but unlike with Donovan and Anderson, he found that he wasn’t annoyed by her scrutiny.
“How well did you know Holmes?” He asked.
“We…Well, we weren’t really friends; not like how he and John were friends. But whenever he needed something — whether it was a full lab or some body parts — he’d come to me.”
“He was always doing experiments on them to enhance his detecting skills.” Molly explained, an inexplicably fond expression in her eyes. “Like that time he used a riding crop on a cadaver; he said he wanted to study patterns of bruising that had occurred post-mortem. Another time he wanted to measure the rate of coagulation of saliva after death so he took a head home with him.”
“A severed head?”
“Yes. He’d bring the parts back, though. This is a teaching hospital so sometimes he’d borrow something and return it later on.”
Reid wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to this information. Instead he returned his attention to the reports. It wasn’t what was there that interested him, so much as what wasn’t there. “Miss Hooper, the autopsy photographs are missing,” he said. “The toxicology report and the recording of the procedure aren’t here either.”
An alarmed look crossed Molly’s features, and she rushed over to take a look. “That can’t be! I know I assembled the file properly!”
Reid frowned. “Could someone have broken in here?”
“It’s always possible, I suppose. But I can’t imagine who’d want them...?”
“The police, reporters, bloggers, lawyers, fans…anyone with an interest in Holmes’ case, really.” said Reid. “Someone could make a fortune off just one picture. But since there’s no official record of anyone having removed anything from this file, I’ll hazard a guess that whoever it is took them for personal reasons.” Reid closed the folder and slipped it into his bag along with the police report.
He moved to leave, but noticed that Molly seemed to be steeling herself to say something. He waited patiently, and finally she blurted out, “So…This is real, then? You actually believe he didn’t do it?” There was an imploring note in her voice, as though she were begging Reid to agree with her.
“You loved him.” he said, on impulse.
A crimson hue flared across Molly’s pale cheeks, and Reid felt a sudden stab of embarrassment. He normally tried to keep a tighter rein on his mouth when it came to emotions — especially those of strangers.
“I…I don’t—didn’t. I really didn’t! It’s just that…I’ve always admired him so much.”
“Mrs. Hudson said something like that. I think you’re just afraid to let on how much you liked him. I bet he berated you for it or said embarrassing things you.”
“He…well, yes, sometimes he did. But I’m sure he wasn’t trying to be nasty. He was the kind of person who never thought about what he was saying.”
Reid opened his mouth to reply, but was disturbed by the ringing of his mobile phone. “Reid here.”
“Hey, you need to turn on the telly.” Lestrade’s voice on the other end, crisp and authoritative.
“Telly…Uh, the television, right?”
“Yes, yes, the television! Go turn it on. Channel 4.”
Reid turned to Molly, “Is there a television around here?”
“In the waiting room,” she replied, and quickly showed him the way. The BBC newscasters were in the middle of a report.
“For those of you just joining in — a startling revelation has come to light. An American federal agent, Dr. Spencer Reid, has arrived in London in order to investigate the circumstances surrounding the suicide of fraudulent detective Sherlock Holmes.”
Reid groaned as a picture showing him standing outside 221B Baker Street flashed across the screen. It had to be from this morning.
“According to an anonymous source, Dr. Reid is a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and has publicly stated that Sherlock Holmes could not be guilty of the crimes he was accused of before taking his own life.
“A profiler is a professional who utilizes his or her knowledge of criminal psychology to create a psychological profile of an unknown suspect, also known as an UNSUB, based on evidence found at crime scenes and eye-witness accounts. While Dr. Reid’s team has an unfaultable clearance record, Dr. Reid himself is somewhat suspect. In his tenure with the FBI he is known to have shot and killed two suspects; one of whom had been holding Dr. Reid hostage and torturing him over the course of several days. Public rumours hint at an addiction to painkillers that surfaced shortly after the previously mentioned period of captivity.
Given Dr. Reid’s record, it’s difficult to imagine he is capable of acting without bias, as he is also regarded among his colleagues, by and large, as being a genius of Sherlock Holmes’ caliber and disposition.”
“Oh that’s just great,” Reid said into the phone. “At least now I know why Donovan wanted to know my service record.”
“You’re saying Donovan went to the media?” Lestrade quizzed.
“Most likely. She probably hoped this would plant enough doubt in your mind and the minds of the public that the results of my attempts at profiling this case will be ignored. She’s pretty adamant that Holmes is guilty.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Lestrade returned, sounding weary. Reid hung up, and couldn’t repress the urge to sigh.
There was apprehension writ plainly across Molly’s face, but she spoke up, “Was all of that true?”
“Every word of it,” Reid replied. “Except the painkiller part — and only in that it’s not rumor, it’s fact. I managed to kick the habit. I’m not sure how Donovan thought this would be received but I hope for her sake that Garcia doesn’t find out.”
“The tech analyst on our team; not to mention the best hacker I’ve ever met. She’s sort of like the mother hen of the group, so I’m sure she’ll be furious about this. If — and when — she does find out, I just hope she doesn’t go overboard.”
“So she’s protective. She must love you a lot.” There was slight, wistful smile curving the corners of Molly’s small mouth.
“She loves all of us like she would her family.” Reid was interrupted by his phone again.
“The all-knowing techno goddess has done it again!” Garcia’s voice on the other end of the line was triumphant.
“You traced the texts?”
“Yep. The source is a cell phone registered to the Ministry of Defense. The name is blacked out, but I can give you the cell number and the address where the phone was last used. Got a pen?”
“You know better than that,” Reid returned blandly. “Just tell me.”
She rattled off the information and then, in a deceptively innocent voice, “So…Why exactly is the BBC reporting on your deepest, darkest secrets?”
“Suuure. I’ll buy that for a dollar. Seeya!”
“Garcia, wait a—!” But the line had gone dead. “Damn it.” Reid put the phone away and turned to the door. “I’ll be taking these with me,” he said to Molly.
“But I can’t release them just like that!” she protested.
“I’ll bring them back, I promise. I’ve to go now.” Reid hastily exited the room. He’d catch a taxi, and hopefully find the sender of the anonymous text messages soon. He felt uncomfortable being in contact with someone he knew nothing about; it was almost impossible to figure out their agenda.
Reid stood impatiently on the corner, glancing up and down the street for sign of a cab. Someone jostled him as they walked past, and Reid was startled to sense a tug on his bag. He tightened his grip on the handle, turning to face a man he had never seen before.
The young profiler’s gaze was immediately drawn to the subtle — but unmistakeable — gleam of a silver knife-blade beneath the would-be thief’s shirt. “Hand that over now, Dr. Reid. Nice and quiet like.”
He felt the blood drain from his face, and whispered “Sure. Nice and quiet like.”
As Reid made to remove the strap from around his torso, another man — obviously a drunkard as belied by his staggering gait and bloodshot eyes — stumbled gracelessly into the knife-wielder. The bum straightened, and ignoring the deep hacking cough threatening to overcome him, hollered throatily “Oi! Watch where you’re goin’, damn kid! Get outta my way!” He shoved the other man around to face him, inadvertently throwing the latter to the pavement and pushing Reid out of range of the weapon.
Instinct took a hold of him, and Reid turned, sprinted across the street, and kept running until he was nearly four blocks away…when he finally realized he was not being pursued. Struggling to catch his breath, he flagged down a taxi and collapsed into the back seat, giving the driver the address Garcia had found. The rush of adrenaline had not yet subsided, and his hands were trembling violently as a result.
The last dregs of doubt had been dispelled from his mind; someone did not want him to clear Sherlock Holmes’ name. And that ‘someone’ was willing to seriously injure — perhaps even murder — Reid in order to achieve that goal. He phoned Garcia, but was diverted to her voicemail. A call to Hotch produced the same result. Reid frowned; his last resort seemed to be Lestrade.
The detective inspector picked up on the first ring. “Lestrade speaking.”
“This is Dr. Reid. Someone just pulled a knife on me, demanding I give them the paperwork on the Holmes case.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine; chasing down a lead right now.”
“Agent Reid, I think you’d best get back to Scotland Yard.”
“I will, as soon as I’m finished here.”
“We can’t protect you if you’re running around London!”
“I wasn’t really asking for protection. I was simply filling you in on the situation.”
Lestrade was obviously getting ready to argue further; Reid hung up on him. The cab had pulled up at the given address, and Reid was surprised to be greeted by the imposing façade of a private club. He paid the cabbie and climbed out. The “Diogenes Club”? He couldn’t help the inane thought that crossed his mind as he took in the building before him; it looked like somewhere Rossi would hang out.
He strode in, utterly bemused that there was no-one to greet him or stop him. To his right was a room where four men were seated in comfortable-looking chairs and obviously not paying any attention to each other; to his left, a bare stretch of wall. Reid wondered whether one of these men was his anonymous contact. Struck by sudden inspiration, he dialed the number he’d received from Garcia, and was immediately rewarded by the tell-tale ringing of a phone — but it had not originated from the room next door.
Reid followed the sound down a richly carpeted hallway; the few people he passed by shot him odd, almost worried, looks. Shaking off his mystification at the whole situation, he stopped in front of a door; the ringing was clearly coming from within the room beyond. He cautiously pushed the door open and attempted to peer in, only to be swiftly yanked inside by two suited men with irate expressions on their faces, who promptly deposited him in a chair and left the room.
Slightly disoriented by the sudden flurry of activity, Reid took a moment to catch his breath before raising his eyes. He was seated across from a smug-looking man with a rather prominent nose.
“Who’re you?” Reid asked, deciding there and then to dispel the niceties and get straight to the point.
“Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes’ older brother. Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Spencer Reid.”
Whew! Okay, hope everyone liked that. I won't be making any promises as to when I post the next chapter as I simply don't know. Also it seems any time I DO promise when I'm a week or two or three late. So... It is what it is. Be seeing you! xoxo
Chapter 5: The Ice Man
Reid and Mycroft Holmes in the same room, and Reid meets someone he never expected to.
I had originally intended for there to be a post last week but things happened. My thanks to my friend Ashley for the quick beta-read, you're a life saver! Enjoy everyone.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Reid was stunned, and unable to speak for a moment. He shook himself out of it and said, “I was following the bread crumbs. Someone’s been sending me text messages about this case and my team’s tech analyst traced them to a cell phone here.”
“And your case is clearing my brother’s name, correct?” Mycroft asked.
“I’m trying to prove he doesn’t fit the profile. Proving his innocence is the most effective method.”
Mycroft sat quietly, considering Reid’s words. He leveled his gaze on the young doctor. “I’ll tell you now that I didn’t send the text messages. I was unaware of your investigation until this morning.”
“May I see your phone?” Reid asked. Mycroft handed it over, and Reid began going through the messages. There was nothing. Even if Mycroft had deleted the messages, there still would have been some trace. He gave the phone back and asked, “Do you know who has been sending them?”
“I have no idea.”
Reid sighed, exasperated. This was yet another dead end with the anonymous tipster. But given that, so far, Reid had nearly been hit by a car and then mugged since he started this case, it wasn’t much of a surprise. He asked Mycroft, “Would you be willing to answer some questions about your brother?”
“Of course. But I should mention my time is valuable, so I would appreciate it if we could keep this short.” Mycroft smiled after saying that, but Reid didn’t like it. It was a very haughty smile, and seemed quite disingenuous.
“Okay,” Reid replied. “Being his brother, can you tell me if he ever exhibited sociopathic tendencies?”
“Of course he did, we both do. But neither of us would act upon them in such a way as to cause harm to others. You see, Sherlock believed that caring and love put one at a severe disadvantage. And that is doubly true for me. Anyone who possesses the intellect that we have must keep their head in an emergency, and with him choosing to be a detective, it was more important to him than anyone else.”
Reid blinked. “By ‘we’ I assume you mean yourself and your brother.”
“Not at all; I refer to you and I.” Mycroft sat back in his chair. “My brother is brilliant of course, but you’re just past him.”
“And… How do you know that?” Reid asked.
“Your record was forwarded to Scotland Yard. I helped myself to it. Though we have been aware of you for quite some time, through a colleague of yours.”
“Miss Penelope Garcia. When one obtains the personal phone number of the second in line to the throne, well, we do like to keep a weather eye out. And through our monitoring of her, we know about you, and the rest of your team.”
Reid couldn’t repress a smile. “I suppose that makes sense. It’s a bit creepy, however.”
“We feel it’s better to err on the side of caution.”
“Do you think your brother is guilty Mr. Holmes?”
“I can’t answer that.” Mycroft was still staring at Reid with some regard, and it was a little unnerving.
“I can’t say. It isn’t because of your association with Miss Garcia or anything else that may come to your mind. I can tell you that my brother and I are not very close, and we were estranged for the most part. For a time, he even considered me his arch enemy. With the exception of when my superiors needed something and I couldn’t perform the required legwork, we didn’t often speak.”
This was striking Reid as very odd. Especially as Mycroft kept referring to Sherlock as though he were still alive. “Do you have a theory about his death? He didn’t seem like the sort who would commit suicide.”
Mycroft was silent for a moment, but then he got up to pour himself a drink. He offered one to Reid, who declined. When he sat down again, he said, “I honestly have no idea. But I can say that, even with the papers calling him a fake, and being wanted by the police, he wouldn’t consider suicide. That’s the most puzzling part of it. Though I suppose, if he were going to kill himself, jumping off a building would be the way he would choose. He has always had a flair for the theatrical.”
“Okay, well, given his flair for the dramatic, do you think he would have set up situations that only he could solve? When he was a child, anyway.” Seeing the withering look on Mycroft’s face, Reid added, “Hypothetically.” Given that Mycroft couldn’t comment on Sherlock’s guilt or innocence, a poorly disguised ‘theory’ would have to do.
“No, he never did anything of the sort.”
“What was he like when you two were growing up?”
Mycroft was still staring hard at Reid, but the younger man didn’t flinch. Instead, he stared right back. “Have you read the expose article by Kitty Riley?”
“Then you have some of the facts. Sherlock was a brilliant child, but like most children with a high intellect, he was an outcast. He preferred books and science equipment to football and friends. Though he did train physically as well as mentally. By the time he was ten, he far surpassed any of his teachers, and if he’d been so inclined, he could have entered university much sooner. But he was only interested in subjects having to do with crime; others, such as English or certain parts of history, he considered a waste of time. So he just barely graduated from high school.
“When he did go to university, his thirst for knowledge and flare for deduction flourished. Since, however, there weren’t any degrees suited to his interests, he never achieved a diploma. Sherlock’s mind could have opened so many doors for him in a number of fields. But tracking down and catching criminals was all he was ever interested in.”
“If that’s the case, why didn’t he go into law enforcement?”
“Because he has little to no regard for rules and regulations and had a tendency to react badly to both discipline and authority figures. In his opinion, becoming a street constable and working his way up was like having to start at the bottom of the ladder when he’d already reached the top of a building. He would have had to deal with conventional crimes rather than the ones that genuinely interested him.”
“Would it be fair to say he got his kicks from working on unconventional cases?”
“Yes, I should think so. Sherlock lives for such things. He would become extremely agitated without a case of interest. He was known for turning down clients who offered him large sums of money simply because he considered their cases to be dull. Other times, he would take the case of a person so poor they could hardly afford the tube fare to his flat, because he was captivated with their problem.”
Reid could understand that. One of the reasons he worked with the BAU was because he was endlessly fascinated with the sort of criminal minds they would come across. “Was he a show off?”
“Yes. As I said, Sherlock is quite theatrical, and nothing pleased him more than to demonstrate his intellectual prowess. This did not endear him to many.”
“You said you two were estranged. Why?”
Mycroft sighed. “I felt it was my duty to look out for him, especially given his history. There was a time my brother was addicted to cocaine. He took it up because he felt it stimulated his brain when he wasn’t consulting on a case. I intervened when it became obvious that he’d lost control of his addiction. He never forgave me for it, and ‘continued meddling’, as he put it, in his affairs drove him further and further away. I wasn’t meddling, I was doing my best to look out for him.”
“What did you do exactly?”
“Informed DI Lestrade of his drug use, who, in turn, told Sherlock to kick his habit or he would no longer be allowed to consult on cases with Scotland Yard.”
From what he’d learned of Sherlock Holmes, it didn’t surprise Reid that he’d reacted so badly to Mycroft helping him. Reid thought that Sherlock was the kind of person who would lash out if any sort of weakness of his were exposed. He finished his thought on the matter out loud. “He definitely doesn’t sound like the kind of person who would commit suicide then.”
“And yet, he’s dead.” Mycroft replied. “Tell me Dr. Reid, aside from the text messages, has anything unusual happened to you in the past few days?”
Mycroft’s eyes were piercing and probably would have made a lesser man squirm. But Reid worked with profilers all day, every day, so he didn’t even flinch. “No. Nothing at all.”
Mycroft gave him a tight lipped smile. “Well, let us hope it remains that way. A word of warning, Dr. Reid. If you are going to continue to pursue this, be careful where you tread. After all, you could end up stepping into a spider’s web.”
Reid frowned at him, not liking the sound of that. “I’ll be careful.”
“Excellent. Is there anything else you need from me, Dr. Reid?”
“Do you know the whereabouts of Dr. John Watson?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I can get you the address where he’s currently staying. And his work address.”
“You still keep in contact with him?” Reid asked, surprised. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, you don’t seem to be the sentimental type.”
“And indeed I’m not. But I have been keeping tabs on him, just in case. You see, he was the only friend my brother had, and it puts him at risk. Especially as he has publicly stated that he believes Sherlock wasn’t a fraud. You’ve already experienced some of the trouble it’s given you at Scotland Yard. Imagine how bad it must be for Dr. Watson.”
Mycroft wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Reid. One address was for a clinic, another was for a bed sit. “Please keep this information confidential. No one is to know where he is, or that you’re talking to him.”
Reid stuffed the paper in his pocket. “Thank you Mr. Holmes, you’ve been most helpful.” He stood and shook Mycroft’s hand, and he left the club. He felt as though he’d been submerged under water for a very long time, and was only now catching his breath. Mycroft Holmes, while not outwardly hostile or even rude, put Reid off. He was a rather intense personality. It led Reid to conclude that Sherlock Holmes must have been even worse.
He’d gotten some valuable information from Mycroft, but it wasn’t quite right. It was beginning to make him wonder. Either Reid’s profile was wrong, or he wasn’t getting the whole story. It was starting to get rather late in the day, and Reid was almost dead on his feet. He hadn’t had a thing to eat and hadn’t slept the night before. Dr. Watson would just have to wait until the next day.
It was past dark now at any rate, and he waved down a taxi. Just as he got in, his phone rang. “Hello?”
“Reid, its Lestrade again.”
“What’s going on?”
“Apparently, someone has hacked Sergeant Donovan’s mobile phone and personal computer. A video of her snogging Anderson has made the rounds of the homicide division!”
“That sounds bad. Uh… What does snogging mean?”
“Kissing! Making out! Whatever the hell it is you Americans call it!”
“Did you do this?”
“No. I’m not that good with computers. I don’t even own one personally. The laptop I’m using now I borrowed from Garcia.”
“Your tech analyst? Could she have done this?”
Reid squirmed. He thought it wasn’t just likely that Garcia had done it; he was almost certain of it. “I have to go,” he replied and hung up the phone. He hoped that would be the end of it, but he was wrong.
The cab he hailed had its television on, and it was tuned to the BBC news. They were playing the video of Donovan making out with Anderson, and it looked as though she might be drunk. The news anchor said, “This video was sent to us by one of the sergeant’s coworkers. The anonymous source said quote, ‘She’s smart as a whip, but this kind of behavior is pretty typical of her, and it makes us all look bad.’” Reid turned the television off and called Garcia.
“Please tell me you weren’t the one who sent that video to the news people.” Reid said.
“No, just to one of her coworkers who doesn’t like her very much. The officer did the rest,” Garcia replied.
“Oh God… Whoa, wait a minute, how did you know that?”
“Two people in the homicide division are active participants in ‘I Believe in Sherlock Holmes.’ I particularly enjoyed the detective who said he hated Sherlock for making him feel stupid, but that he was definitely not a fraud.”
“Great. Garcia, I tracked down that phone, it was a dead end. It belongs to Holmes’ brother, but he didn’t send the messages.”
“He could have deleted them.”
“He didn’t. I talked to him. Trust me, he had no idea I was even digging into Holmes’ background until today.” Reid sighed. “Is there any way someone could have cloned the cell phone number?”
“What kind of phone did he have?”
“A Blackberry Torch. I think maybe a 9800, but I’m not completely sure.”
“Ooo… That’s pretty fierce. Theoretically, it should be impossible to clone a smart phone. Unless you know what you’re doing. You’d have to be a cell phone hacking genius to pull it off.”
Reid frowned at that. “Wait a moment. I remember Lestrade telling me about something Holmes used to do with phones. Something about sending a mass text at a press conference?”
“Wouldn’t be too hard, if all the phones are hooked into the Wi-Fi of the building. It’s not easy but it can be done.”
“Would someone like that be able to clone a smart phone’s number?”
“Possibly. Reid, where are you right now?”
“Headed back to the hotel, why?”
“Hotch wants to talk to you. I’m transferring you over.”
Reid groaned. He had a pretty good idea what this was about and he wasn’t looking forward to hearing it.
“Reid, what have you found in London?”
“Holmes didn’t do it; I’m sure of that.”
“Lestrade called a few minutes ago.”
“He says someone tried to mug you for the Holmes files.”
“I think it would be best if you remain with the police units until we can arrange transportation to bring you back.”
“No! Hotch, I won’t do that!”
“Reid, your life is in danger; I can’t just let you run around a foreign country where we can’t help you.”
“Look, I only have one more witness to talk to, and if the cops know where he is, it might put him in more danger. Please, Hotch, don’t put me on a protective detail.”
“Who’s the witness?”
Hotch was quiet for a few moments. “I’ll talk to Lestrade and see if he’ll allow you to carry a firearm. But you only have two more days Reid, we need you back here.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Witnesses in and around New Jersey keep turning up dead. What they witnessed is up for debate. We lost two more today.”
Reid sighed. “All right. I’ll wrap this up as quickly as I can.”
“Good. Make sure all standard precautions are taken. And Reid? Don’t take any risks. If I find out you put yourself in more danger, you’re fired.”
“Understood.” And they both hung up.
He sighed, putting his phone away. It was at that point that the cab driver said, “Long night eh?”
“Yeah, long night,” Reid replied. He was not in the mood to talk with the cabbie, but since he was stuck in the car he didn’t have much of a choice.
“You should rest, take it easy. Maybe get off the case.”
Reid frowned. “Why?” The cabbie had heard the conversation he was having, and even just hearing Reid’s end, it would still be enough to conclude what he was doing.
“It might be dangerous.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Will you?” The taxi stopped. “Here you are.”
Reid got out and almost forgot to pay the man. When he turned around, his blood almost went cold. He knew that face.
“No charge. Stay off the case, my dear, or you’re going to find yourself in quite the pickle. And tell your team in America the same. Do as Daddy says or you’ll meet the same messy end as Sherlock Holmes.” And he sped off.
Reid tried to run after the cab, but it was already gone. He was panting as he dialed Lestrade’s number.
“Nice to hear from you Agent Reid. What is it?”
“I think I just met Jim Moriarty.”
My thanks to everyone for being so patient in regards to the chapters. Only two more left!
Chapter 6: The Doctor
Reid interviews the person who knew Sherlock Holmes the best. And finds that he's reached the end of the line.
So I'm a terrible, horrible person for not updating sooner. I've asked my friend Ashley to beta read for me from now on as I don't think the other beta reader is coming back. She's graciously agreed to do so. Now, I'm actually in the middle of moving to the other side of the country (second time in two years, joy) and I'm not the most consistent poster, we know this. But, I will be sure to have Chapter 7 up before December 14th. As I won't have access to a computer for quite a while after that. Hopefully everyone enjoys!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Reid did get some sleep, but only just. He wasn’t afraid, so much, as determined to finish what he’d started. Lestrade had come round to the hotel almost immediately after Reid had called and given him a gun and holster. He wanted Reid to be on a protective detail as well, but he nixed the idea. It would be hard enough to find a safe way to talk to Watson; it’d be even harder with cops following him around.
As soon as Lestrade had gone, he’d received another text from the mystery witness. “Have plan for tomorrow. Do what I tell you and you should be able to avoid Moriarty and his men.”
Reid texted back, “Who are you? And why are you helping me?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” was the response.
Reid went to bed, thoughts still troubled. He’d made sure to get a message to Garcia that the rest of the team may be in danger. He then turned off his cell phone. He knew that Hotch would want him to come back straight away. But Reid couldn’t do that.
So, when he got up the next morning, he was unsurprised to find two voicemails. One was from Lestrade, urging him to enter protective custody, another from Hotch, telling him not to be stupid. He sighed, and when he got the first text message, he was ready to face the day.
It took nearly an hour, with various transfers. He took a bus, two taxis, one train and another bus in order to be sure he wasn’t being followed. Finally, he found himself at the bedsit. Reid went inside, and the man at the front desk didn’t even ask him to sign in, or look up from his magazine. So he went up the stairs. His knee hurt as he went up, and by the time he’d reached the third floor, it was aching. He found Dr. Watson’s door and knocked. He was surprised when the door opened of its own accord.
He pulled out his gun and, carefully as he could, went inside. “Dr. Watson?” Reid called. The room looked all right. Nothing appeared to be disturbed. He stepped farther in, wondering what was going on. And worried that perhaps he was too late, and something had happened to Dr. Watson. But when he heard a click behind him, Reid stilled.
“What are you doing here?” A male voice asked.
“I’m looking for Dr. John Watson.”
“I need to ask him some questions about Sherlock Holmes,” Reid said, deciding it was best to be honest.
He could hear the man walking around to face him, gun still pointed at his head. “Drop the gun.” Reid did so immediately. “Most members of the press don’t carry guns.”
“I’m not with the press. I’m Supervisory Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid, I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“That’s quite a mouthful.” the man, who Reid assumed was John Watson, put his gun away. “I saw you on the news yesterday. They say you’re trying to prove Sherlock’s innocence.”
“I’m trying to, yes.”
“What’s stopping you?”
John picked up Reid’s gun from the floor and asked, “How’d you know I was here?”
“Mycroft Holmes. He gave me your address. He said people had been threatening you because of Sherlock.” Reid stated.
“He’s right. I’m surprised that he told you, he wouldn’t even tell Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade where I am.” He gave Reid his gun back, and Reid holstered it immediately.
“He couldn’t help me much with the profile, aside from information about Holmes as a child.”
John didn’t respond to that. But he asked, “I’m gonna get a cuppa. Wanna come along?”
“Cup of what?” Reid asked.
John chuckled, shaking his head. “Tea, coffee, anything really, but it usually means tea here.”
“Oh… Okay then.” They left together and went to a shop around the corner. John got tea, while Reid got an obscenely large cup of coffee, which he then proceeded to drown in sugar.
“Want some coffee with your sugar?” John asked.
Reid smiled sheepishly. “Habit. I’m used to not sleeping while I work. Caffeine and sugar usually help.”
“He was like that, wouldn’t sleep if he was on a case, or eat. You know, in all the time I knew Sherlock, I don’t think I ever saw him eat. Except once, when I was writing up a blog post.” John said. They took a seat at a booth near the windows, and they were silent for a few moments.
Reid broke the silence first. “Are you aware of the I Believe in Sherlock movement?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hudson told me. I don’t have much to do with it, but I see the graffiti sometimes.”
“Yeah, they’ve got these stencils… Here I’ll show you.” John took out his phone and clicked over to some pictures. The stencils were of Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty. The ones with Holmes said, ‘I believe in Sherlock Holmes’. The ones with Moriarty said, ‘Moriarty was real’. They were in various spots in and around London, and some had been in turn vandalized with the words ‘fake’ and ‘fraud’.
“I’m pretty sure Jackie and Bree’s daughter is responsible for the stencils. And a friend of Sherlock’s who’s a graffiti artist has been passing them around as well.”
“Aren’t your former neighbors the ones who started the Sherlock trend on Twitter?”
“Nah. They’ve helped a lot to spread it around, but I’m pretty sure that Mary is the one who came up with it. Sweet girl. She and Sherlock never really did get on. But she did respect him.” John smiled. “She was a bit of a delinquent, but when Sherlock and I moved into Baker Street that changed pretty quick.”
“Oh she couldn’t get away with anything with Sherlock there. He’d tell her mothers when she was skiving off classes at uni, or worse. She got back on track though. Or at least was when I last saw her.”
“When was that?”
“About six months ago.”
“When Holmes died?”John seemed to blanch at that and Reid backpedaled a bit. “Did Sherlock often fight with other people?”
“God, all the time. Sherlock didn’t believe in holding back. Or he didn’t know how. He liked to show off how smart he was. I think all clever people are like that. Ramble on about something they know, bit of trivia they find interesting but no one else would care to know.”
Reid felt a bit of embarrassment at that, since he knew he was guilty of the same thing. “How did this lead to the fights?”
“Well ,there was the time he told Mrs. Hudson her boyfriend had a secret wife. Turns out there were actually two. He called out Anderson on his affair with Sgt. Donovan. One Christmas, he managed to embarrass me, Lestrade and Molly Hooper all in one go. Poor Molly, I thought she was going to cry.”
“Sounds like he was difficult to live with.”
“Actually he was only really horrible when he was bored. Couldn’t handle life without a case.” John laughed as he said, “You know one time, we were walking down the street at Christmas time and this Father Christmas asked him what he wanted as a gift. He yelled at the man he wanted a big, fat, juicy murder. Scared the hell out of him, several kids, and their parents.”
Reid laughed too, saying, “I read that on your blog.”
“Seen it then? And his website?” John asked.
“Yes. I was disappointed that he took down the entry about the analysis of tobacco ash. As far as I know, there are 243 varieties available in England, though I’m sure he also means cigars and loose leaf tobacco. In America, there are 151 brands of cigarettes alone, and I hadn’t thought to see if there was a way to distinguish between the types simply based on the ash. I’ll have to ask the forensic analysts at Quantico if that’s possible, and,if so, we need to start instituting the study of it, as there are many criminals who smoke, and it could help narrow down suspects in future investigations.”
John just stared at him for a moment, and then asked, “You know how many brands of cigarettes there are in America? Do you smoke?”
“No, not even once,” Reid replied.
John just looked surprised for a moment but he smiled. “That’s amazing. I think you’re one of the few who would have found that entry interesting. Most people found it boring or too technical. As I said, he did love to show off. He always said, ‘genius needs an audience’.”
“He’s right,” Reid replied, but didn’t elaborate.
“He didn’t do it you know,” John told him seriously. “I don’t care what anyone says, including him. He’s not and never was a fraud.”
This caught Reid’s attention. “What do you mean by ‘including him’ Dr. Watson?”
John sipped his tea and then he looked at Reid. “I was on the phone with him, before he jumped. He told me he was a fraud and that he was going to kill himself. His last words were, ‘Goodbye John’, and he tossed his phone aside and jumped. But the thing is… I was never as brilliant as Sherlock, but as smart as he was and as good of an actor as he was, he was a terrible liar. And he knew he was lying.”
“So you also support the theory that Sherlock Holmes was genuine in his displays of intelligence and investigation.”
“It’s not a theory!” John snapped, practically shouting. Suddenly, everyone in the shop was looking at them, and John toned his voice down. “I lived with him for ages, and I knew him better than anyone, even his brother. And he was brilliant. He was never a fraud, it was all a game by Moriarty to burn Sherlock. That’s what Moriarty threatened him with when he strapped a bloody bomb to my chest!” He was glaring at Reid now, who sat there, unmoving and unaffected by John’s outburst.
The young doctor finally broke the uncomfortable silence that followed. “I believe you. And I believe in Sherlock Holmes.”
Relief washed over John’s face. “I am so glad to hear you say that. Do you think you can convince Lestrade?”
“I’m pretty sure I already have. I know the rest of Scotland Yard is probably going to blow me off, but the profile will still be on record.” Reid leaned forward a bit and added, “It’s like what I told them: Sometimes it’s not about the parts of the profile that fit, but the parts that don’t. And he doesn’t fit. And there's been a new development that indicates Holmes is innocent. I can't tell you what because it's an ongoing investigation, but I can assure you, it's significant."
"Oh thank God," said John quietly. Reid was worried he was about to cry, but he didn't.
They fell into silence again, Reid sipping his coffee and John drinking his tea. The silence was interrupted when Reid’s phone went off. He smiled sheepishly and answered. “Hello?”
“Hello, my dear,” the voice on the other end replied, and Reid froze.
“Can I help you?” Reid asked.
“Tell me where you are, and maybe we’ll see… Oh, that’s right, I already know. How is dear Dr. Watson?”
“Fine, just fine.” Reid juggled with his phone as he said, “Would you hold for a moment?”
“Anything for you.”
Reid put the phone down and got out a business card, saying, “If you can think of anything else to tell me, or just want to talk, call me. And you should probably, y’know, leave your current residence.”
“I was just thinking the same. Think I’ll pop over to the Diogenes Club, give Mycroft a piece of my mind. Not much point in keeping my location secret if he’s just going to give it to everyone,” John replied and Reid chuckled.
“True. It was nice meeting you Dr. Watson.”
“Please, call me John. I’ll be in touch.”
John got up and left first, then Reid picked up the phone again. “I see you managed to find me.”
“Took a while too! You and Johnny boy must have had one very long chat! Was he telling stories about me?”
“Only that you strapped a bomb to his chest.”
“Oh I love that one! It’s one of my favorites. So! What will it take for you to meet me alone, with the files?”
“Your promise that you won’t hurt anyone.”
“Ugh, you’re so boring! Fine. I give you my word I won’t hurt anyone. Meet me at Bart’s would you? After all, you should see the scene of the crime. For your profile.”
Reid swallowed hard, but nodded, saying, “Yes, I’ll meet you. What time?”
“Three hours. Get a good meal in, maybe make a few phone calls to the people who will miss you. I’ll be listening, so don’t go trying to warn anyone. Otherwise, my man will be paying a visit to dear Diana Reid. She’s still at the Bennington Sanitarium isn’t she?”
“What have you done to my mother?!” Reid hissed.
“Nothing yet, and if you want it to stay that way, follow my instructions. Understand?”
Reid gulped and nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good. See you in three hours, Dr. Reid.”
“As you say… Moriarty.”
Hopefully you enjoyed that. Last chapter is up next!
Chapter 7: The Show Down
Reid confronts Moriarty, and the unexpected happens.
Finally! This is the last chapter of Profiling International. It took a lot of work to get here. I'd like to thank Ashley for her betas on later chapters, and Tree_Peony as well with earlier chapters. I'd also like to thank everyone who commented, gave kudos and subscribed and also for the constructive criticism. Which has led me to conclude I really need someone to Brit pick my stories in the future. Again I apologize for the delays, but since I am moving to the other side of the country things do fall to the wayside. See end of chapter notes for a special announcement.
Thank you everyone, you've been stellar!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
As he’d promised, Reid was on the roof of Bart’s three hours later. Beforehand, he’d made sure that John had arrived safely at the Diogenes Club and called Hotch and Garcia. He informed them he was done, and they got him a ticket back to the US on the next available flight. Reid thought it likely he would not be using it.
He had packed his things at the hotel and left a letter for Lestrade, telling the clerk the inspector would probably be by for it at some time in the next 48 hours. He stopped by a pub for roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, surprised at how much he ended up liking it. He topped it off with a pint and felt it was quite good.
Even with the delay, he still arrived at Bart’s early, and Reid looked out on the cityscape. He fiddled with his phone, deciding to do one more thing. He sent a text message to the mystery helper that said simply, “Thank you for your help.”
He got a text back immediately. “I’ll be there soon.”
Reid was puzzled, but he didn’t have the time to contemplate what this meant, as he heard someone clapping. He looked up to see a short, thin man in a suit was coming towards him. It was Jim Moriarty.
He had his hands in his pockets and was strolling up to Reid as though nothing were wrong. “Dr. Reid. So nice to see you in person,” said Moriarty, smirking at him. “Look at you, all grown up now!”
Reid knitted his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“When I first started following your career, you were a little boy playing federal agent. It was so cute! Even your clothes screamed child play-acting at being an adult. And now you’re a grown man… Invading my territory.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was slightly slack jawed and glaring. He should have looked ridiculous. Instead, he reminded Reid of a mad dog, and it was frightening. “You come here, all the way from America, and think you can undo my work. Think that you, a skinny little boy who belongs in academia and not the field, can profile me.”
Reid felt a thrill of fear go down his spine, but, in spite of this, he nodded. “I did profile you. And I know that profile is correct.”
“And what’s it say about me, eh? Genius, mad criminal?”
“Among many other things.”
Moriarty laughed. “I’d love to hear it, but I am a busy man and I want to make this quick. Put the bag on the ground and step up on the ledge.”
Reid shook his head. “No.”
Moriarty sighed, annoyed. “Are you going to make me threaten you again? Or was I not clear enough when I said that the lives of your friends and dear old mother are on the line?”
“It won’t do you any good,” Reid replied. “I’ve already made copies of everything. I did so the night you dropped me off at the hotel. And you did have a pretty good tail on me… But never underestimate a magician’s ability to disappear.”
“Are you trying to match wits with me?” Moriarty asked, and he laughed, rocking his head back as he did so. “Oh my God, that’s so cute! I can find the copies and destroy those as well.”
“No, you can’t. Because by now, they’re already in the hands of New Scotland Yard, the Secret Service here and in America, the FBI, the CIA, and countless other law enforcement agencies. I didn’t take any chances. There are so many copies bouncing around the globe that you won’t be able to destroy them all. The same with the profile, and the evidence that Richard Brook is a fake. Not to mention, the top tech analysts in the Yard and FBI are on your trail. They’ll not only prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re Moriarty, they’ll use the information to completely destroy your operation.”
Moriarty’s face darkened, and he said, “You’re making your death even more necessary. And this little show of bravado just means your loved ones are gonna die. Slowly and painfully.” He was still glaring, stepping closer to Reid as he went on. “I’ve stopped trying to convince people like you to back off. I gave Sherlock the same chance I gave you, and he didn’t take it. Aaaaand, I burned him, gave him a fall. Now, I’m going to do the same to you.”
“No, you’re not,” a voice rang out. Moriarty froze; his eyes wide. He turned, looking completely stunned.
Sherlock Holmes stood there, alive and well. Reid smiled, while Moriarty appeared to be horrified. “Are you all right, Dr. Reid?” Sherlock asked.
“Yes, you got here just in time,” said Reid.
“Excellent. And I’m sure you solved everything.”
Sherlock turned to Moriarty. “I suppose it’s only fair to tell you, I didn’t see a reason to actually kill myself when it was so fantastically clear that you never would. Not even to finally win over me.” Sherlock pulled a gun, as did Reid, and both aimed at Moriarty. “Tell me, how much prodding did it take to get Sgt. Donovan to give that story to the BBC?”
Moriarty smirked. “About the same amount of prodding it took for her to think you were the one who kidnapped the ambassador’s children. Very little.” Something flashed in Reid’s eye just then, and he stilled.
He wasn’t the least bit surprised to find there was a red light right over his heart. Another was on Sherlock. “I have the strangest feeling of déjà vu!” laughed Moriarty, tossing his hands into the air gleefully. “It’s giving me chills!”
Reid had expected the Mexican standoff, and he said, “We don’t have to do this, if you come along quietly.”
“You are simply adorable Dr. Reid! And I do like the idea of killing two birds with one stone.”
“You won’t have the chance. Not if you want Sebastian Moran to stay free,” replied Sherlock. The side of his mouth had twisted up into a confident smirk.
The laughter abruptly died, and Moriarty raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. “He’s fine. Ready to take out Agent Hotchner any moment now.”
“No. See someone tipped off the BAU. Moran is about to walk right into a trap.” Sherlock replied. “And given a few hours, I’m sure they’ll be able to locate all the witnesses and employees of your web in America. Since he isn’t as clever as you, he’ll have a list somewhere, more than likely on his person.”
“If he goes down, so does Diana Reid,” Moriarty growled.
“My mother has been in protective custody since your men tried to mug me. Hotch insisted. When he told me he was taking precautions while I was in your cab, it was confirming that he had her somewhere safe,” Reid explained.
Moriarty looked annoyed now. “We’ll have to call this a draw then. To be continued. And see you two in the States!” He left the roof, and once he was gone, the red lights vanished from their chests.
Reid turned to Sherlock. “We’ve got to go after him.”
“He’ll be long gone by now, it would be a waste of time.” Sherlock sat on the edge of the roof, and Reid joined him, his legs feeling like jelly. That had been almost as bad as Chester Hardwicke threatening to rip Reid and Hotch apart. Almost.
“I thought you cut it a bit close.”
“Took a bit longer than I thought it would to contact your team,” Sherlock explained. He’d put his own gun away by now. “Did you intentionally lead him to John?”
“His location was compromised the minute that Mycroft told me where he was. I was going to insist he leave the building after I met him, but since he thought of it himself, I didn’t have to.”
“Wise decision, on both your parts. When did you know it was me?”
“I suspected something was up when you picked me up in the cab. Your homeless drunk disguise was very good, by the way. And your desk clerk. John never realized it was you?”
“No, as ever, he sees but does not observe. Also, I’d only recently taken over the position.”
“Cloning your brother’s cell phone was a bit reckless,” Reid pointed out.
“It was. However, it was the most secure number in England. Until your Penelope Garcia traced it back. I’m sure Mycroft is very put out by this.”
That made Reid laugh. “Good point. Hello, by the way. It’s nice to meet you Mr. Holmes.” Reid offered his hand to the detective.
Sherlock shook his hand. “And you, Dr. Reid. We’d best get going, don’t you think?”
“Going?” Reid asked. Sherlock had gotten up by this time, and he helped Reid to stand.
“Yes. Mycroft made arrangements with your Agent Hotchner about an hour ago. While he isn’t thrilled, they both believe my expertise will be needed.”
“So you’re coming back to America with me then.”
“Yes, wasn’t that obvious?”
“Not when you don’t state clearly what you’re referring to, no. But if Moriarty is behind these deaths in New Jersey, we need all the help we can get. Your expertise will be invaluable. Not to mention his obsession with you. It runs deep enough that he’ll make a mistake somewhere.”
“Yes, about that,” Sherlock said, turning to face Reid. They’d both stopped walking by this time. “You’ve managed to fight him to a draw, on your own terms. While you had help, it’s enough to have earned his ire. He’ll be fixated on you as well now.” He raised an eyebrow at Reid. “Can you handle it?”
“Yes,” said Reid, with no hesitation.
“I hope for your sake, you’re right.” Sherlock smirked. “Now, I believe we have a plane to catch.”
To be continued in The Game is On: Profiling International 2. Coming in March 2013.
Unless that Mayan apocalypse thing happens, then no it won’t be.