==Chapter 14==

The Girl Who Waited

Sometimes beautiful things come into our lives out of nowhere. We can't always understand them, but we have to trust in them. I know you want to question everything, but sometimes it pays to just have a little faith.

– Lauren Kate, Torment

The path trembles beneath his feet from the water's thunder, cool mist caressing his face... he's been here so often in his dreams of late, it's almost more real to him than the world outside his prison. As always, he looks to the end of the path, curious yet fearful of who he might see... and this time, it is Beth who stands on the very edge of the precipice, holding a cocked pistol to her own head, eyes brimming with tears as Moriarty advances toward her, murder in his face...

"Beth!" His frantic shout is snatched away by the wind and water, he can't move a step to help her... dear God, must he endure this again?

A sudden clatter of stone from above, his head snaps up in surprise, what new devilry is this? Holmes is kneeling on the fateful ledge, features cold and hard as the rock face itself, aiming Moran's cursed air gun at the now struggling pair...

"Holmes!"

For an instant he can't breathe, no telling from here which combatant the detective is aiming for... then Holmes turns his head, and gives the frozen doctor below a grin of pure malice, eyes gleaming with unholy delight. "Doctor..."

"Holmes, no!" Watson's anguished cry seems to echo above the roar of the falls... and now a ghostly hand is grabbing at his shoulder, trying to pull him over the edge!

"...Doctor..."

"No!"

"Gawd's sake, Doctor, wake up!"

"What...?" Watson found himself blinking dazedly up into a pinched, grime-covered face, one that he had never thought to see again. "W-Will?" No, it couldn't be, he must still be dreaming...

The strangely solid hallucination grinned, helping a still shaken Watson to sit up slowly. "It's me, sir – Oi mean us, the Irregulars! We're 'ere t' get yew 'ome! Can yew walk?"

As if on cue, Charlie and Kelly appeared in the open doorway, faces lighting up. "Doctor, yer alive!" "Knew we'd foind yer!"

For a brief moment, hope glowed in the doctor's breast, then faded just as swiftly. "Boys, you are a sight for sore eyes... but you have to get out of here!" He could have wept at the thought of giving up a second chance of escape, but a barely-healed arm and half rations since that ordeal had forced him to remain largely inactive – he was in no condition now to run any distance, or hold his own in a fight. "If Moriarty's men find you..."

Charlie laughed gleefully. "Blimey, Doctor, where d'yew think we've been?"

"Place is ours fer a bit, sir!" Kelly chimed in. "They's all sleepin' loike babes!"

Will nodded in satisfaction. "We've been plannin' this for a long time, Doctor. 'S why it took us this long to make it 'appen." The young man jerked his head impatiently at the door. "Now, come on – yew've got a missus at 'ome wot's waitin' for yew."

"...Sally?!" Watson could hardly believe his ears. "Is she all right?"

The boys exchanged conspiratorial grins as they helped Watson to his feet. "Ohhh, is she ever, sir!" Will chuckled. "Now, let's get out of 'ere before the guards wake up."

Watson shook himself, nodding apologetically. "Lead on, lads."

With Charlie and Kelly flanking Watson, Will led the way through a series of windowless corridors, passing the odd unconscious agent en route. Still coming to terms with the realisation that his long confinement had come to an end, Watson simply concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other at first. Just the ability to walk more than a few feet in any direction made him feel lightheaded – or perhaps it was the remains of whatever had been used on the guards, a pungent smell of ether and something else Watson couldn't quite identify still hung in the air.

The boys kept up a slow, steady pace, but the doctor was relieved when they finally reached what looked like a service elevator, letting him sit down to catch his breath. The ride to the surface would have been a lot quicker if they hadn't had to stop at every floor on the way to let more Irregulars on board, every one of them beaming to see Watson safe and sound, pushing their way forward to shake the doctor's hand and welcome him back.

It took a while for a shell-shocked Watson to realise just how crowded the lift was becoming, but as they took off from the last stop before the ground floor, he finally caught Will's eye with a stern look. "Will?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

Watson's eyes narrowed. "Don't play the innocent with me, young man. Do you have any idea how dangerous this was?" This really wasn't the time or place for a lecture, he knew... but it was also the first time in months that he'd been able to speak his mind to anyone else without running the risk of bodily harm.

"Cor blimey, 'course we did! Been livin' on the run or in 'idin' for months now. Beth an' Sally figured, though, that not only did we 'ave to rescue yew an' Mr. 'Olmes anyway, but... we needed yew two to fix wot went wrong." Will shrugged as the lift jerked to a halt. "'Fraid I don't understand it much m'self, sir, but they seemed to."

Watson's breath caught. "Beth... she's alive?!"

A ripple of laughter went around the lift; many eager hands helped Watson to rise, steadying him as they headed out again.

"So much so, Doc," Will grinned, "Oi almost feel bad for the Colonel."

"I should have known that monster was lying..." Watson muttered balefully. Had Holmes done better than him, seen through the deception? It would certainly explain how Moriarty knew that his congratulating Moran hadn't been genuine... at least, it hadn't been then. Watson could only hope that his escape all these months later would have no ill consequences for the former detective, because however much he might hate himself for it, neither love nor loyalty was going to keep him in that hellhole of a room any longer. He shuddered at the thought – never again...

"Oh." Will had quickly sobered. "Well, she did 'ave one close call, but she came out o' that one wit' no more'n scratches."

"Where is she?" Watson saw with deepening unease that the Irregulars were trading uncertain glances.

"She'll be fine, sir."

Will's tone was anything but reassuring, and Watson paled as a horrible suspicion rapidly grew in his gut. "Will? Where. Is. Beth?"

Will hesitated for a long moment, looking deeply troubled, then sighed, giving in. "She went for Mr. 'Olmes. There weren't enough of us to split ourselves between 'ere and there, not properly."

Watson felt his face turning white, while the rest of him went numb with horror. "Oh, dear God..."

"She figured it would be easier for her to slip in alone an' get 'im out." Will frowned, putting a bracing hand on Watson's good shoulder. "Doctor, she'll be all roight."

"All right?!" Watson exploded – he couldn't believe what he was hearing!

"That woman can take care of 'erself!"

"No... Will, you don't understand..." Watson suddenly faltered – how could he possibly tell these boys about what their beloved 'Guv'nor' had become? "Beth is walking into a death trap!"

"Beth knows wot she's doin', Doctor." Will gave him a sad little smile. "She did tell me she might not be comin' back. She's already there by now. There was no stoppin' 'er before, an' there'd be no stoppin' 'er now."

Watson shook his head, feeling sicker than when Moriarty had shown him the locket. Around him, the boys' jubilant mood had vanished, standing silently, downcast eyes and hunched shoulders somehow more heartbreaking than tears would have been.

"If she 'as to die, sir, she'll make it count–" Will's voice caught, but made himself go on; "I c'n promise you that."

"Make it count..." Watson murmured weakly. Poor, brave girl... Then the doctor finally realised what he must sound like and took a deep breath, blinking hard. "I'm sorry, boys."

Will's voice was rough but kind. "If yew think it's easy for us, Doctor, it's not."

Kelly came up beside Watson and took his arm. "C'mon, sir. Missus Watson is waitin'."

Watson's heart gave a painful leap, shame and grief swiftly overtaken by longing; dreaming of being reunited with Sally had often been all that kept him from completely giving way to despair. "Where is she? You haven't been using Baker Street, I hope?"

The Irish boy's eyes widened. "Cor, sir, no! T'weren't safe, roight from the beginnin', though Missus 'Udson is doin' jus' foine. Missus Watson is in Warwickshire, sir."

Watson nodded, greatly relieved, but was startled a moment later by the clip-clop of horses' hooves and the rumble of wheels. Looking around, he was even more astonished to see that they were no longer inside, but had emerged into a fog-wreathed side street – when had that happened?

He shivered, the bitter cold finally starting to penetrate – living indoors for so long had ill-prepared him for eternal Winter – just as a pair of four-wheelers came rolling up out of the fog, two more Irregulars in the drivers' seats.

"Tha's our ride, Doctor. 'Op in."

Watson was boosted up into the nearest cab, collapsing exhaustedly onto the seat, immensely grateful for the supporting crush and warmth of Irregulars on either side of him as they piled into and on top of both carriages. "Get me home, boys–" he murmured, eyes already beginning to drift closed in spite of his best efforts; "please..."

Will smiled sadly, rapping on the roof. "Yessir."

The Torchwood Institute's London base was an entire square block of houses, facing four different streets with a mews running in the midst of them, gated up now to avoid any unwanted visitors... Beth wasn't sure how she'd managed to slip in unnoticed before, but this time, she got in as a delivery boy, then melted into the shadows at the nearest opportunity. She headed for the 'front' of the base, the part which housed Moriarty's office. That had to be the centre of operations, and it was her best bet at finding some kind of record of Sherlock's location.

It doesn't make sense, she thought half an hour later. Sherlock's… room? cell?... was part of the front row, the nicest section of the base. After Moran's gloating, she had been expecting a prison cell. It didn't make sense…

She reached the right door at last, however, and pulled out her hairpins, setting to work on the lock. Hurry, someone could be along at any second, even Moriarty, hurry, open, you stupid lock, just open, please… The lock clicked, the knob turned, and she ducked inside, shutting the door behind her and slumping against it, breathless in relief. Made it.

He was standing at the other end of the room, staring back at her, paler and thinner than she remembered, but very much alive and whole. Moran had been lying… but… why? Just to cause her pain? It's not as if the bastard wasn't sadistic enough. She managed a faint smile, confused—because what the zed was he doing, looking so well?—but happy. "Hi."

Sherlock Holmes recovered, nodding calmly, not smiling back. "Beth. I suspected the rumours of your death had been exaggerated."

She frowned. "My dea—oh." She sighed: the lie, it seemed, had gone both ways. "Oh, zed, Moran." She shivered involuntarily, her hand rising to touch the scar on her throat, habits she had not lost in the months since the old soldier's attack. Her frown faded to a smile that wobbled a bit. "Definitely exaggerated, yeah…"

He smiled in return this time, though the expression was entirely mirthless, grey eyes scrutinising her scar. "Indeed. If Moran had truly murdered you, he would doubtless have sent back more definitive proof than a mere trinket."

"Yeah." A human heart… She shivered again, forcefully pushing those memories back—now was not the time to lose it!—and shook her head. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry—I wanted to get here so much sooner…"

He arched an eyebrow. "How flattering. But to what end, may I ask?"

She frowned again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Something was wrong with this picture, and she didn't know what it was, but it made her shoulders tense and her chest clench. She was afraid, and she didn't even know why. "To… get you out… The Irregulars have Dr. Watson under wraps—and I came for you."

He gave her an odd look, then his expression cleared. "Then I must thank you, my dear, for your touching concern—but it is entirely unnecessary, I assure you."

She blinked, certain she'd heard that wrong. "…what? Why? Sherlock, what's going on?"

"You seem to be labouring under a strong misapprehension, my dear. Did Moran convince you that I was here against my will?"

And screaming my name, tortured and dying… "Maybe it was seeing you and Moriarty when everything first went to hell!"

He nodded reasonably. "True, not the most favourable of first impressions. But circumstances have since altered."

There was no churning in her stomach, only a feeling that she wanted to cry and didn't know how to do it at this point in time. The Great Detective sounded like the Napoleon of Crime had… cold and calculating… She rubbed her arms slowly to ward off the chill she suddenly felt.

"My apologies for any upset this misunderstanding may have caused you—but now that you are aware of the true situation, I strongly advise you to leave."

She stepped back, staring at him as if… as if she'd never seen him before. She hadn't, really—even in Sherlock's worst moments, she had seen him angry, jealous, smug, and human, human, human. She wasn't certain that this… stranger… before her was even that. Sherlock Holmes always had some spark of feeling in those large grey eyes, at the corners of his mouth, even in the way he held himself. The man before her now was utterly impassive, the grey eyes that she loved so much completely devoid of emotion.

"Sherlock… you can't… you can't mean what I think you do. Please, you can't…"

He gave her an all-too-familiar raise of his eyebrow. "Can I not?"

"What has he done to you?"

"Moriarty? Nothing I have not allowed him to, Miss Lestrade." She flinched—she'd always hated hearing him use her title before, and now… "The choice to learn from a new teacher was mine, and one that was made willingly."

She shook her head slowly. Willingly? The Sherlock Holmes who'd held her together at her best friend's death would never have willingly sided with one of the most evil men in history—not even the Sherlock Holmes who'd tried to control her, who'd also watched in helpless horror as she was about to be shot before his eyes. "No… No, Sherlock Holmes, you stop this—you stop this now! This is wrong—it's all wrong! Please… please come back with me. I can't… I can't…"

He turned away to face the window, clasping his hands behind him. "That is no longer my concern, Miss Lestrade. Your decision to come here was a foolish one, and one which may very well cost you your life if you remain here any longer."

Somewhere deep in her chest, anger was trying to ignite. But the fuel was lost in her horror. "I don't care. Sherlock, it wasn't about the case! It was never about the case! It was about you and John—what happened was never supposed to!"

He turned back to her, frowning deeply. "I beg your pardon?"

"Time freezing! It wasn't about the case, because I got the plans back to Woolwich and nothing happened." He watched her intently, definitely listening. "The constant isn't the cases, Sherlock—it's you and John! It's the two of you being these… incredible best friends… this friendship that's supposed to last at least four decades…"

He shook his head. "Then what you hope to achieve, my dear, is still a lost cause."

"Then both of you are idiots," she returned sharply. "And at this point, I don't bloody well care if I have to knock you out and carry you on my shoulders, because I'm not leaving without you."

He sighed in frustration. "A truly heroic gesture, my dear, but ultimately futile." More softly: "Beth… do not expend your life or your pity upon one who neither needs nor wishes for it. Leave now, while you still can."

The change of tone hurt more than anything else he'd said thus far—too much like the man she'd fallen in love with… She shook her head mutely, not trusting herself to speak.

"Dr. Watson would no doubt be glad of any efforts you were to make on his behalf—but the last time he and I spoke together, he made it very clear that he would have nothing further to do with me."

She laughed bitterly, tears springing out of nowhere and escaping down her cheeks. "I think that Mrs. Watson will have something to say about that." Quite a lot of somethings, actually—Beth and Sally had compared notes several times on what they would tell Sherlock and John when they got the chance. "Sherlock," Beth murmured, "you should see the baby."

At last he froze, staring at her, very much speechless.

"Sally was pregnant when… everything went wrong. Katherine Watson was born a couple of weeks ago…" Beth smiled softly. "And she is the most precious thing. Nikola says she's very special…"

He closed his eyes as if solving something for himself at last, a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth. She wanted to sob, because she would certainly give anything right now to make that expression last, to hold on to that part of him that was still there, still him…

"Well, well," he murmured. He opened his eyes again, head tilting. "And Tesla is here also, you say?" He nodded. "Pray give him and Mr. Westinghouse my… regrets."

"Tell them yourself," she said in as steady a tone as she could manage: "I'm not your messenger boy." She stepped towards him, holding out her hand. She would follow through on her threat to knock him out if she had to, and right now, she wasn't seeing any other way in which this scene ended remotely well.

He arched an eyebrow, stance shifting subtly, but shifting all the same, the way he had when he'd gone from fending off Rob Greene's wild blows to launching an attack. He did know some martial arts, he'd done boxing, he'd done fencing and singlestick… so the odds were really stacked against her… "I strongly advise you not to force this issue, Miss Lestrade." Not a chance. "I do not wish you harm, but neither will I tamely submit to your… persuasions." His tone turned arctic. "Get out."

She flinched but didn't otherwise move forward or back, shaking her head. "He's a monster," she said softly. You thought so once, too, just a few years ago. You were ready to die to stop him. "How could you ever want to be like him?"

He sighed wearily. "What do you want, Miss Lestrade? Do you wish me to break down in tears, give you a sobbing, heartfelt confession of how my will was crushed beneath the heel of my mortal enemy? To be perfectly honest, my dear… I was intrigued." He chuckled mirthlessly. "My insatiable curiosity—no doubt it will be my undoing sooner or later…"

Her head spun and her stomach swam. "Intrigued…?" She closed her eyes, trying to ground herself. "What. The. Hell, Sherlock? You…" Her tone turned faintly accusing. "Who are you?" Not Sherlock Holmes. Barely even human…

He exhaled impatiently through his nose. "That is precisely what I have been trying to make clear to you, my dear: that Sherlock Holmes no longer exists."

She shook her head, vision blurring again. "He can't be. Too many people need him." She slowly hugged herself and breathed, "I need him."

"Then I suggest you relay your message to his shade, wherever it may roam, and cease to bore me with your melodramatic sentiments."

She flinched back. "His shade? His 'shade' is right in there—" she pointed at his chest—"somewhere inside that heart that obviously hasn't been used in a long time…"

"Believe what you will, Miss Lestrade… it is of no matter to me, any more than your regard for the man you thought you knew."

She flinched again, eyes closing. "Then what does matter to you?" she whispered, eyes opening again. "The fact that because you're oh-so-aloof-and-alone, you're not going to be hurt anymore by the people you love? You're not going to see them get hurt or die?

He raised an eyebrow. "That was the whole point of Moriarty's taking me under his wing, so to speak—the man wished for a protégé, an equal he could mould into a facsimile of himself." He bowed, definitely in a mocking manner. "As you can see, he was rather successful."

She stared at him, chest constricting, eyes wide. Of all the things she had ever have imagined Sherlock Holmes being at his worst, indifferent had never been one of them. "Right, he completely destroyed the Holmes family, then! Sherlock, Mycroft is dead."

Mycroft... dead...

The words seemed to echo around Holmes's head, every other thought crumbling to ash as he stared at Beth, frozen to the spot, cold horror coursing through him. His brother... no, that was... no... no, it couldn't be... Mycroft couldn't... Moriarty would never... even when Holmes had been on the verge of destroying the Professor's empire, he hadn't so much as hinted... and Holmes hadn't even considered... ah, but you didn't want to believe him expendable, did you? the dark thought hissed as it uncoiled from the back of his mind, you could only take one with you, you didn't want to have to choose...

If anyone else had told him, Holmes would have refused to believe... and how he wished he could do so now! But even if Beth had not risked her own life in delivering the news, he knew that this girl, for all her faults, had never lied to him, had always spoken true, no matter how terrible the truth might be...

"I'm sorry..."

Holmes barely heard the words, mind still reeling, he hadn't felt half as sick when he'd thought that Beth... He turned away, finding the nearest chair purely by instinct, and sat down heavily, staring unseeing at the floor. "How...?" he managed to croak, the rest of the question stuck fast in his throat.

He couldn't keep from flinching as her hands gently gripped his shoulders. "Moran," came her quiet answer, and Holmes felt her involuntary shudder. "It was quick. He... he never felt any pain..."

Was that her shudder just then or his? Maybe it was both, he couldn't tell... and then his eyes widened, staring back up at Beth as the significance of her words sank in – had she been there when... when it happened?!

Beth bit her lip, her expression all the answer he needed. "I was there to get help. Moran... showed up..." Her voice became a whisper. "No warning..." She leaned down and slowly, lightly wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Holmes tensed at the embrace, pulled back out of her arms – he'd allowed no one to touch him since Locksley's... since leaving Nottingham. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep, calming breaths. Steady, steady... all would be well with him soon enough... it had to be...

"Thank you, Beth," he said softly, finally opening his eyes and rising to his feet. "And now you must leave." Thanks to Beth's timely arrival, he now knew there would never be a better moment to carry out his plans – once the girl had departed, of course. It would have been hard enough for her to witness the death of one brother...

Beth had stepped back when he pulled away, looking understandably on edge, but answered him evenly enough: "Not without you. Either you come or I stay – and I don't care whether you help to hide me or not, cause I honestly don't think you have it in you to give me away."

Holmes shook his head, sighing. "Beth..." He hadn't wanted to tell her, better that she should believe she had a chance. "They already know you're here. The only question was whether Moriarty would allow you to leave again – and even if he did, do you truly believe he'd allow me to go with you?"

"Sherlock..." Beth's sigh was equally weary. "Why do you think I'm alone?" She shook her head, chin jutting at a very familiar angle. "And it's worth a try. He may very well be omniscient, but he's not omnipotent." She held out her hand to him, calm expression belied by the pleading in her eyes. "Please..."

Oh dear God, that Look... he had all but forgotten... Beth's eyes filling with tears, face pale as Moran placed the gun against her head... "Sherlock, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry..." Forgive me, Elizabeth... Holmes shook his head slightly, trying in vain to banish the whispering memory, his chest strangely tight. No one needed him anymore, Beth least of all, she should walk away now and leave him to his chosen fate... but the tilt of her chin was telling him succinctly just how likely that was.

He shook his head again, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from lifting. She had to know what she was proposing was suicide in itself... and yet... all at once, the notion of facing such impossible odds seemed a far more interesting end than choking out his last breath in a pool of his own vomit. At the very least, he would be in better company... "I must," he murmured wonderingly, "be out of my mind..."

Beth's eyes widened slightly – she clearly hadn't been expecting quite that reaction. Eyebrows raised, she murmured back, "Well, I already knew you were."

He was surprised into a huff of silent laughter... and equally surprising was the realisation that this was the first time he had done so in... good Lord, he couldn't even remember... "And evidently, I am not the only one. I don't suppose you have any clear idea as to how the two of us are to make our grand exit?"

She tilted her head, looking suddenly sheepish. "A few ideas. 'Course, if you have any yourself, I'm all ears."

Holmes sighed. "Yes, actually. In keeping with the spirit of this mad enterprise, I would suggest the bold approach... via the front door."

Beth stared. "...wait, what? Are you actually insane?"

"Well, trying to get away unseen would be rather pointless." He looked at her gravely, voice becoming deadly serious as the import of what they were about to do sank in deeper. "Beth... make no mistake: James Moriarty is now a very different man to the cold, calculating machine you have read of. Our only hope of escape lies in audacity, and his being in the right humour to appreciate it." A chance as thin as breath on glass, and if they failed... there was really no guarantee that death would be mercifully swift, or even forthcoming.

Beth shivered visibly, but then squared her shoulders and raised her chin. "Okay, then."

Holmes nodded – he felt certain that she remembered her first encounter with Moriarty with as little pleasure as he did – and after a moment's consideration, offered her his arm. Good form must be observed, after all, even in such precarious circumstances as these; besides, the more united an appearance they could present, the better.

Beth looked at his proffered arm, expression curiously unreadable, then back up at him... then finally slipped her arm around his, taking a deep breath. "Showtime?"

Holmes did his best not to tense, reminding himself sternly that he had chosen this gesture – in any case, the warmth of her arm around his wasn't wholly disagreeable, and he needn't endure it for long. "Indeed," he answered as lightly as he could manage, "onwards and upwards."

Beth hoped that she wasn't trembling as she stepped back out into the corridor with Sherlock. As much as she would have liked to kill Moriarty herself for everything he had done, she had also hoped never to have to face him again, much less as they were doing now, in the den of the dragon. And with a strange new version of Sherlock Holmes, the most recent of several versions she'd known since she'd first met him—known and yet hardly known any one of them at all. And now she had to trust this one with her life... but he was still Sherlock: his reaction to Mycroft's death had proved that.

Further down the hall, several men rounded a corner, Moriarty himself at the head. The Professor stopped short, face expressionless but for his cold eyes, hard and piercing as ice. "Good evening, Holmes, Miss Lestrade," he said evenly. Shivers running down her spine, Beth fought the urge to move behind Sherlock—it was always when the bad guys spoke calmly in the face of something going wrong that they were the most dangerous, and she was positive Moriarty was no exception.

Holmes nodded, as calmly he could manage – he hadn't considered until this moment what his own reaction would be on seeing Moriarty again, and the sudden burning fury that reared up in his breast was more of a shock than he was prepared to admit. His brother's murderer... No, that wasn't important, not now! He must master himself, move beyond the anger, no better time to use what he had learned from his mentor... and one thing Moriarty probably hadn't realised he had taught Holmes was how to read his own tells. Anger was there in the other man's eyes, true, but it was the cold kind, allowing room for other emotions, such as intrigue... "Moriarty – what kept you, my dear sir? You almost missed wishing us 'Bon voyage'."

"My apologies," Moriarty answered coolly. "I was not aware that you were... leaving..."

Holmes gave him a tight, apologetic smile. "Forgive me for not informing you of my intentions, Professor – it was quite the last-minute decision. Rest assured that I have your address, should I feel the need to send a postcard. Now, if you would be so kind?"

Moriarty's voice was velvet over steel. "No, I rather think not." He nodded towards Beth, and the guards' weapons all came up to cover her.

Beth tightened her hold on Sherlock, eyes flashing. Not now, not now, please not now...

"On the contrary, my dear sir," Holmes replied, just as softly, "I rather think you will – after all, a man of your intelligence always acts in his own best interests."

Moriarty's eyes narrowed, the purr gone from his voice, leaving only the claws. "Explain."

"To put it quite simply, Moriarty, it is only once you have –" Holmes inclined his head in mock humility, "granted me my liberty that our game can at last begin." He felt like a complete idiot for not seeing the truth months earlier: all those years of careful grooming from childhood... Moriarty could not merely wish for Holmes to be his heir, or even his equal. World conquest with no serious opposition – for someone of Moriarty's intellect, where would be the pleasure in that? The man wanted – no, needed – a worthy adversary, and if Holmes must now openly offer to play the part once more, then so be it.

Moriarty tilted his head contemplatively, then turned his arctic gaze to Beth. She held it defiantly for a few moments, but it felt as though his eyes were penetrating her straight to her soul... and being psychic, he might have. She dropped her eyes, shivering.

"I will not deny that it is so," the Professor continued softly. Beth looked back up, feeling strangely calmer... Then she realised: Moriarty had been commanding intense loyalty from massive organisations for at least sixty years—he had mastered the art of controlling a situation with his presence and his voice. His charisma alone was disarming, and though she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man was evil, she couldn't help thinking him darkly handsome.

The soothingly soft voice continued. "However, surely you can appreciate that the stakes are astronomical, and one false move would end more than the game... Which is why the girl must remain, whether or not you leave."

Holmes shook his head, sighing, allowing his genuine disappointment to show on his face – for the briefest of moments, he had dared to hope... "Ever the mathematician... I had thought you to be more of a gamester than that, my dear sir." His tone turned condescending. "However, perhaps you are right. One ought not to play for higher stakes if one cannot abide the greater risk. Such a pity."

Arm still linked with Beth's, he began turning as if to go back the way they'd come. "I was mildly curious as to whether you could have beaten me..." He knew he could have used a far more subtle approach, but for some reason, the thought of continuing to stand there, acting as Moriarty's mirror, was suddenly too much; whatever fate awaited either of them, Holmes would meet it as his own man.

Moriarty sighed, calling after Sherlock in much the same tone as a put-upon parent. "Sherlock Holmes, you are asking me to make one of the riskiest and, in all likelihood, most idiotic decisions of my life, and you are doing so in the most transparent, childish way possible. If you wish to have your way in this, you are going to have to do better than that."

Sherlock turned back around, and Beth with him. She saw him open his mouth to speak but by then she was already blurting out the thought at the front of her mind. "But he's right."

Moriarty returned his attention to her, raising an eyebrow. She faltered but pressed forward. "I'm not going to pretend I understand at all what's going on between the two of you, but you've been calling the shots since the beginning. You set up this entire... 'game'... and no one else has the slightest chance of winning with things as they are now. So if you do want a real challenge, you can't have total control."

Holmes had been taken thoroughly aback by Beth's unexpected contribution, anything he might have been about to say completely forgotten. And, to his astonishment, Moriarty was now looking at Beth far more thoughtfully than he had looked at Holmes thus far.

A tingle of unease ran the length of the detective's spine at the Professor's murmur, "So full of potential..." Then Moriarty shook his head slightly, eyes filled with a grudging admiration. "You, at least, Miss Lestrade, deserve a chance. You have been clever, you have been steadfast, and you have a knack for survival." He favoured Beth with a faint smile. "Go, and take your detective. You have twenty-four hours."

Beth stared—had she heard that right? She couldn't have! But Moriarty's benevolent expression and Sherlock's dumbfounded one said otherwise. She opened her mouth to reply, but all that came out was a small and inane "thank you"—and for once, she was too shocked to care.

Holmes could scarcely believe Moriarty's sudden turnaround himself – but there was no mistaking the man's sincerity, whatever his motives might be, and if the Professor was in the mood to be generous, Holmes certainly wasn't about to give him time to change his mind! He bowed, bestowing on Moriarty a cold, hard smile of his own – 'Beth's detective', indeed! "Then we shall bid you 'au revoir', my dear sir. Do keep in touch till then."

Moriarty returned the bow graciously, eyes gleaming with emotions that even Holmes couldn't read. Wordlessly, the detective offered Beth his arm again, continuing on down the hall with her and around the corner; even once they were out of sight, he took care to keep the same steady pace, knowing full well their every movement was probably being watched. His teeth were still on edge from the look that Moriarty had given Beth just now, unnervingly similar to how the Professor had looked at him on their first encounter at Baker Street... and after all these months, Holmes had no reason to be any less wary of his... former mentor smiling.

Moran strode up to Moriarty, fists clenched as he fought to keep his roiling fury in check. "Professor..." he grated out, voice made low to keep it steady, "did my eyes deceive me, or did I actually see Holmes and the girl leaving the Institute just now, bold as brass, without so much as a finger being lifted to stop them?!"

Moriarty turned slightly towards Moran, still calculating and plotting this new future as he had done since he'd decided to allow Elizabeth Lestrade her head. "Your eyes did not deceive you, Colonel," the Professor said calmly. A hint of reluctant admiration re-entered his voice: Elizabeth had managed to stay alive this long, had slipped into Torchwood twice without being caught in the act itself, and had somehow persuaded the apathetic Great Detective to action and escape. "The girl is very clever."

Moran raised his eyebrows, resisting his first impulse to sneer openly. "Her only admirable quality, Professor?" And Moriarty had lectured him for having a one-track mind... but despite his extraordinary gifts, the Professor was only human, after all.

Moriarty smiled slightly, shaking his head—Moran ought to know by now that Moriarty cared nothing for physical attraction, beyond how it could profit him. "Her audacity and perseverance are also admirable, wouldn't you say?"

Moran's jaw tightened at the obvious jibe, not appreciating the reminder of his failed missions. "Quite so, sir." An evil gleam appeared in his eye as his thoughts turned to their last remaining 'guest'. "If only the good doctor could have been here to bid them farewell..." The guards had just informed Moran that Watson had recently begun calling the name 'Sally' in his sleep – given the second set of woman's prints that he'd found while searching Camden House, it would definitely be worth the Colonel's time to pay him another visit.

"Indeed," Moriarty mused. "One almost wonders..." Had the girl planned to rescue Watson at all, or had she been focused solely on the object of her obvious infatuation?

He felt rather than saw a junior agent approach—the boy was nervous, nearly to the point of losing control of certain bodily functions. Moriarty turned towards him. "Begging your pardon, Director, I'm sorry to intrude, but, well…" The young man shifted uncomfortably. "It's a matter of some urgency."

Good heavens, what could possibly be so urgent? Had their Majesties decided to officially declare war on Germany after all? "What is it? "

"Well, I, er, don't rightly know all the details, sir... but the, ah, the long and the short of it is..." The agent cringed. "...that Dr. Watson... has escaped from custody... "

Moriarty stared at him for a moment, frozen, certain he had heard wrong. But there was no room for doubt in the agent's mind—Elizabeth had played Moriarty thoroughly for a fool. While she had been busy here, no doubt the Baker Street Irregulars had rescued their precious doctor. The Professor swiftly regained his composure and managed an even tone: "Very well. Dismissed. "

Wide-eyed himself at the news, Moran was already uneasily wondering how discreetly he could make his own exit; the Professor had never taken kindly to bad news, but lately his more acute displeasure had a tendency to fall on innocent bystanders.

Moriarty turned back to Moran, still maintaining his composure against the urge to vent his frustration. "Well, well, Colonel, it would seem that I have now been bested by a child, as well." But this turn of events only meant that the girl was now a worthier opponent than Holmes himself had been since 1891...

Moran warily noted the look of growing avarice in Moriarty's eyes, but hummed in what he hoped was a commiserating tone. "A clever girl, indeed, sir. Such a pity she can't be allowed to live." He highly doubted the Professor had forgotten that little detail... but then why in Heaven's name had he let the pair escape?

Moriarty continued softly: "But if she could… if our own technology could keep her safely alive... "

A leering grin began to spread across Moran's face. "A most intriguing notion, Professor. I'm sure she and her detective would be deeply appreciative if you were to succeed."

Moriarty smiled in return. "I am not so sure. But it would be such a waste at this point to kill her, now that she has proven herself to possess great potential. "

Moran arched a curious eyebrow, battling his rising disappointment. It was beginning to look as if Moriarty had his eye on a new pupil – which meant she'd be off limits to anyone else who might have an interest...

Moriarty arched an eyebrow in return, knowing exactly what Moran was thinking, even without his telepathy. "How would you describe the girl, Moran, if you can expand your vision past the physical realm? "

Moran shrugged, lips pursed thoughtfully. "I believe the first word that springs to mind, sir, is 'passionate'. If you'll pardon my saying so, Professor, Holmes has always seen emotion as his enemy; the girl sees it as her ally, aiming to channel rather than suppress it."

Moriarty's eyes gleamed, pleased with his lieutenant's insight. "Exactly so. I intend to harness that passion." Sherlock Holmes had proven himself a failed experiment—Moriarty doubted that he would have another chance to reshape the Great Detective. But the girl—so young, so clever, so vulnerable... she could be molded, sculpted... her affection, faith, and trust twisted till she depended upon no one but her mentor.

Moran grinned. "With your former protégé looking on, I gather?" The rest of eternity promised to be most diverting.

Professor Moriarty smiled in anticipation. Holmes clearly felt something for the girl—taking his last unspoiled relationship from him would be a pleasure. "Indeed."

To Be Continued...

in Episode Twelve: Every Good Fairytale

Ria: *evil grin* So, did anyone forget this was only part two of four? Still plenty of action and angst to come, we promise! And what's been happening to the Doctor all this time, I hear you ask? Stay tuned for our very next TARDISode!

Sky: Okay, so originally, this chapter ended very differently, which we'll explain later. For now, let's just say that even after a massive rewrite of the original finale, this chapter remained the same. Then, last summer, I told Ria that I'd been wondering what would happen if we changed the outcome of the chapter. We decided to find out, and thus the next episode up came about and the second massive rewrite was born!

And this chapter was an emotional rollercoaster, wasn't it? *hugs Watson, Will, Beth, and Holmes* But at least, even if Beth didn't get exactly what she was looking for, things are still looking up compared to the end of last episode!