Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Taxi for Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock, looking at his nemesis, finally speaks. "I didn’t order a taxi..."

"Doesn’t mean you don’t need one." The man replies with a grin. "See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It’s like you’re invisible. Just the back of a head. Proper advantage for a serial killer."

Walking closer to him while glancing up at the windows of John's flat, is Lestrade watching?,  "Is this a confession?"

"Oh, yeah. An’ I’ll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won’t run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."

"Why?" Sherlock asks curiously.

"’Cause you’re not gonna do that." The cabby was now frankly smiling.

"Am I not?" Oh God I am enjoying this too much, I don't know why, but I'm certain it's not good.

"I didn’t kill those four people, Mr. Holmes. I spoke to them ... and they killed themselves. And if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing... I will never tell you what I said."

Sherlock looked at him and with a serious tone, retorts, " No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result."

" And you won’t ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?" Then he opens the door of the cab before continuing to the driver's door and slides into his seat. Waiting.  

Talking to the cab driver thru the window, Sherlock asks, "If I wanted to understand, what would I do?"

"Let me take you for a ride."

Skimming once more John's windows, he turns back to the serial killer. "So you can kill me too?"

"I don’t wanna kill you, Mr. Holmes. I’m gonna talk to you ... and then you’re gonna kill yourself..."

The tranquil assurance of the man was what convinced Sherlock. He turns one last time toward 221 Baker Street, straightens up and gets in the car...  If I'm not dead at the end of the evening, I've got the feeling that John, with the help of Mycroft and Lestrade, will take care of that...

In his flat, John was standing by the window and saw Sherlock leaving. "What the hell! He just got in a cab." He mutters, not quite believing the git! For Lestrade's benefit he repeats louder. " It’s Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab... I’m still calling Jennifer phone. It’s ringing out..."

The DI, waiting to see if he can heard a phone ringing, "If it’s ringing, it’s not here..."

Walking back at his desk, John refreshes the web page. " I’ll try the search again."

Donovan, who had been trying to stay silent till then, finally confronts her boss. "Does it matter? Does any of it? You know he’s just a lunatic, and he’ll always let you down, and you’re wasting your time. All our time."

Lestrade stares at the woman before he sighs, discouraged by all this. "Okay, we're done here." He picks up his coat and turns to John. "Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?" He was really hoping that the odd connection between Sherlock and this doctor that had developed over the last hours can help him understand the consultant.

John, staring back at the policeman, simply raises his shoulders. "You know him better than I do..."

"I’ve known him for five years and no, I don’t." The older man sighs.

"So why do you put up with him?" John curiously inquires.

"Because I’m desperate, that’s why. And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one..." Then he lefts the flat, Anderson and Donovan in tow, leaving John to reflect on the recent events.

The ride was short, maybe 20 minutes.  Sherlock took the opportunity to analyze everything he could get from the cabby. Something the man says caught his attention. "What... Who warned you about me?"

"Just someone out there who's noticed you." The driver was looking at Sherlock in his mirror with a benevolent smile.

"Who? Who would notice me?"

"You’re too modest, Mr. Holmes."

"Ah! That's a first, I wish I could get that in writing..." Mycroft would laugh his heart out,  "But no, I’m really not."

With a whimsical tone, the cabby argues, "You’ve got yourself a fan..."

Sitting back in his seat, like his life wasn't threaten, an interested Sherlock asks, "Tell me more."

With a smirk, the killer dramatically says "That’s all you’re gonna know ... in this lifetime!"  The cab stops in front of a college.

"Nice place... And you just walk your victims in? How?"

Raising a pistol at Sherlock, the cabby motions him to get out of the car.

Rolling his eyes at the pedestrian method, dull dull dull , the librarian protests. "You can’t make people take their own lives at gunpoint."

"I don’t. It’s much better than that." He lowers the gun, "Don’t need this with you, ’cause you’ll follow me."

What should I do... Oh for God Sakes... this is too good to pass on! He gets out of the cab and follows the man.

Now alone in his flat, John takes a moment to think about the roller-coaster that has been the last few hours... What a day! First, the joy of having been invited on a date by Sherlock, then the confusion of being on a crime scene where his librarian looks like he has an important role with NSY. Then the run through the alleyways and empty lots around the building where that poor woman was found... The invasion of his home by the police under the pretext of a drugs bust! And Sherlock... Sherlock being magnificent, exultant, brilliant and just damn sexy! But also, arrogant, overbearing, selfish.... And the implication that there were drugs in his past? And that sudden departure in a taxi? I don't know what to think anymore. Should I wait for him here? Are we going to see each other again or that was it?

Pacing in the living room while replacing everything that had been moved by the policemen, he stops near his computer. Still open on Mephone's website, with a little clock spinning in the middle of the screen,   the site was still trying to recalculate the  location of the phone. Suddenly, the computer beeps many times, signaling that the new location was found. It was moving... in the borough!  John quickly realizes what it was.   Oh God, that bloody taxi! Sherlock! He picks up his laptop quickly and runs to the door.  He stops and turns back to get his gun... then runs outside. On Baker Street he spots an empty taxi and jumps in it.

In the College, the cabby opens an empty room and motions Sherlock to go in. It was a large lab, with many tables, stools and equipment.

With a satisfied look, the murderer declares, "Well, what do you think? It’s up to you. You’re the one who’s gonna die here."

"No, I’m not." I will certainly not die here at the hands of a fifty year old cabby.  This is ridiculous.

"You know... That’s what they all said. Take a seat, Mr. Holmes.  Shall we talk?"

Sitting on one of the chairs, Sherlock comments, "Bit risky, wasn’t it? Taking me away under the eye of a NSY DI and members of his team. They’re not that stupid. And the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, will remember you."

"You call that a risk? Nah." He let go a little laugh and reaches inside his pocket, "This is a risk." He takes out a small bottle with a large capsule in it. "I like this bit. ’Cause you don’t get it yet, do you? But you’re about to. I just have to do this..." He takes out another bottle, identical to the first one, and puts it onto the table right beside the first one. "You weren’t expecting that, were you? You’re going to love this."

"Love what?" Sherlock was gazing at the man with curiosity and no alarm what so ever.

"Sherlock Holmes. Look at you! Here in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it."

"My fan ?" THAT, is interesting!  "Okay, two bottles. Explain."

"There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die." The speech was done without hesitation, matter-of-factly, like something rehearsed many times.

"Both bottles are of course, identical." Sherlock asks, looking at both bottles with great attention.

"In every way."

"And you know which is which."

"Course I know." He smiles.

"But I don’t." Hum, this is kind of fun. The voice of John resonate in his mind, Not good! People have die at this little game Sherlock!

"Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You’re the one who chooses."

"Why should I? I’ve got nothing to go on. What’s in it for me?" Why should I play that little game, it's 50/50 chance of dying, this is silly. Finally all this is boring...

"I haven’t told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine."

Sherlock was now also grinning, Ohhh it's starting to get interesting!

"I won’t cheat. It’s your choice. I’ll take whatever pill you don’t. Didn’t expect that , did you, Mr. Holmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice." His eyes were watching the older man carefully, looking for something that he can use.

With flourish, the cabby presents the bottles on the table. "And now I’m giving you one. You take your time. Get yourself together... I want your best game."

"It’s not a game. It’s chance." No, still not getting it finally. I should have given the man over to Lestrade and gone for Chinese with John. I hope he will be willing to go on a second date. Or a more proper first date... His thoughts were interrupted by the murderer.

"I’ve played four times. I’m alive. It’s not chance, Mr. Holmes, it’s chess. It’s a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move." He pushes one of the bottle near Sherlock. "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one."

Still in the taxi, John indicates to the driver where to go, where to turn by following the little dot on the screen of his notebook. He phones the NSY and asks to speak to DI Lestrade. "It’s important. It’s an emergency!" Oh My God, faster... please faster...

Back in the lab room, the cabby asks, "You ready yet, Mr. Holmes? Ready to play?"

With a dismissive tone, Sherlock responds "Play what? It’s a fifty-fifty chance!"

"You’re not playing the numbers, you’re playing me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"

Stubbornly, the amateur detective mutters, "Still just chance."

"Four people in a row? It’s not just chance."

"Luck."

"It’s genius. I know how people think." Sherlock can't resist rolling his eyes, but his opponent continues, " I know how people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my head. Everyone’s so stupid – even you." He pauses, as the tall man in front of him lets go a noise of protest, "Or maybe God just loves me."

Sherlock snatches up one of the bottles to check it thoroughly,  " Either way, you’re wasted as a cabbie."

Meanwhile, John was finally arriving at the college, the place where the little red dot stops. Not knowing which building he must go, he runs towards the campus, completely forgetting his limp,  hoping that a sign of some sort will help him locate Sherlock. We haven't started yet! Please don't die on me you bastard!

In the classroom, Sherlock was taking his time... It was his turns to talk now. He deduces quickly that the driver was a divorcee, that he doesn’t have the custody of his children... That he lives alone, all alone... And that he's sick, really sick. Dying. With a soft voice, nearly compassionate, Sherlock murmurs, "Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?"

"Told me what?" The cabby was still devoid of any emotion.

"That you’re a dead man walking. You don’t have long, though. Am I right?"

"Aneurism. Right in here, in my head. Any breath could be my last."

Not getting it, Sherlock frowns, "And because you’re dying, you’ve just murdered four people."

"I've outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can have with an aneurism!"

Trying to find the cause of all this, the amateur detective was thinking out loud. "No. No, there’s something else. You didn’t just kill four people because you’re bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator... Somehow this is about your children."

"Ohh. You ARE good, ain’t you?" The driver was looking at Holmes with admiration! "When I die, they won’t get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing."

"You’d be surprised. I have a sponsor."

"You have a what?" That was a surprise!

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they’ll be. You see? It’s nicer than you think."

Sherlock was astounded, "Who’d sponsor a serial killer?"

The reply came quickly. "Who’d be a fan of Sherlock Holmes?" They stare at each other for a minute or two. "You’re not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There’s others out there just like you, except you’re just a man ... and they’re so much more than that."

The distaste was now showing on Sherlock face. " What d’you mean, more than a man? An organization? What?"

The cabby shakes his head, "There’s a name no-one says, and I’m not gone say it either. Now, enough chatter... Time to choose."

In an adjoining building, John is still running and calling out for Sherlock. Most doors are locked, and the classrooms are all pitch black.

Sherlock was still contemplating the bottles. " What if I don’t choose either? I could just walk out of here."

The driver raise his gun in disappointment. "You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head." Sherlock was now smiling calmly, "Funny enough, no-one’s ever gone for that option."

"I’ll have the gun, please."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. The gun." He was still grinning recklessly.

"You don’t wanna phone a friend?"

With confidence, he repeats, "The gun." The cabby squeezes the trigger... and a small flame bursts at the end. Sherlock smirks, "I know a real gun when I see one."

"None of the others did!"

"Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case." He rises and walks to the door.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out... which one’s the good bottle? Which one would you has picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?" He waits for Sherlock to close the door. "Come on. Play the game."

Sherlock walks back to the table and reaches for the bottle closest to the driver... With a stoic tone, the cabby says, "Oh. Interesting." and picks up the other bottle. "So what do you think? Shall we? Really, what do you think? Can you beat me?" He looks at Sherlock with intensity, holding his pill near his mouth, "Are you clever enough to bet your life?"

Finally seeing light through some windows in the building in face of his, John stares until he found the tall frame he was looking for. With horror he saw Sherlock with an older man, the serial killer probably, both holding a pill in their hand. No, no, no, I will prefer a fight! Anything but something that looks like a mind game. After only few hours with the man, he knows for sure that Sherlock won't be able to resist. The scene was horrible but he couldn't do anything! He screams, knowing fully well that his voice won't reach through the window... "SHERLOCK!!!!"

Not realizing that someone has found them, the driver continue to taunt Sherlock, "I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know you do. A man like you... so clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it?"

Sherlock, to John's dismay, was now raising the pill into the light to examine the content.

"Still the addict." The killer laughs. "But this ... this is what you’re really addicted to, isn’t?" Sherlock hands were now trembling with excitement. "You’d do anything ... anything at all to stop being bored."

Sherlock moves the capsule to his mouth while the driver matches the movement with his own. "You’re not bored now, are you?... Isn't good?"

John, was slowly reaching for his gun, ready to kill the man that menace Sherlock.  To protect the mad man against himself!    Oh the conversation that they are going to have!

But in the lab, Sherlock was now putting down his pill, closes the bottle and put it in his pocket.  

The serial killer, not knowing what to do, utters "Mr. Holmes? What are you doing? You'll never know."

"Of course I'll know, I know that mine is in my left pocket..." He quickly put the cabby's bottle in his right pocket. "Nothing that a thorough examination in a lab won't find." He smiles, "I can wait to know if I was really right." He took his phone and calls Lestrade, "Also, I want to put you behind bars for your crime and know more about your sponsor, nothing of that will happen if you take your own pill as it's going to kill you." He smiles with confidence, "Because I've got the good one."  

Rapidly, without Sherlock being able to do anything, the cabby reaches for a small pocket inside his coat and took a pill. He chokes instantly, falling on the floor. The detective kneels rapidly near the man... "Don't die on me! Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me, my 'fan'. I want a name."

Very weakly, the man mumbles "No..."

"You’re dying, but there’s still time to hurt you. Give me a name." The dying man was shaking is head in denial of Sherlock request... Angrily, Sherlock presses a nerve point with all his strength making the man cry. "A name." He pushes again, "Now." The cabby's face is now contorted in pain.

With his last breath, the cabby found the energy to scream, "MORIARTY!"

Right on time, Lestrade barges in the room with his team.

Half an hour later, the cabby was leaving in a morgue truck while Sherlock is sitting on the back of an ambulance. Lestrade walks over him with concern in his eyes. "Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me!" Sherlock complaint as soon as Lestrade is near him.

"Yeah, it’s for shock."

With exasperation, Sherlock objects. "I’m not in shock!"

"Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs." A devious grin appears on the DI's face. On a more serious tone, he asks, "So, magic pills?" He watches the bottles, that where labeled 1 and 2, in the evidence bag. "At your request, we will let you know the content and which one was the 'bad' one."

"Thanks, Lestrade."

"But it's strange... I don't know why... but all this is curious." Lestrade was now looking at the young man with a questioning look. "If someone asked we yesterday, what Sherlock Holmes will do in that kind of situation, I'm 100% certain that my opinion would be that you'll take the damn pill just for the fun of it! Just for the damn game, not thinking of the consequences." He laughs internally; I wonder what happened in the last few days?

Sherlock, not knowing what to say because the man was damn right , says "You know sometimes life can..." He stops, not wanting to put his sentiment into words, "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me." 

"Sorry?"

"Ignore all of that. It’s just the, the shock talking." He looks at John who was waiting on the other side of the crime scene tape, not knowing if Sherlock wants him near, and rises.

Lestrade tries to stop him, "Where’re you going? I’ve still got questions for you."

"Oh, what NOW ? I’m in shock! Look, I’ve got a blanket!" He shows the orange blanket to Lestrade with exasperation! " And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less."

The DI knows that he'll get nothing more from Sherlock tonight. "Okay. We’ll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go but... One thing. Thanks for the work you've done on that case." He adds with a smile. "Really good job Sherlock... but NEVER take off alone like this again would you? Your brother would kill me if something happens to you!"  He hugs the tall man with emotion. "But you know, you should do this full time... You're pretty good at it. I will ask one last time, do you want to be a full time consultant for NSY? No strings attached... And you'd get a badge so you won't have to pickpocket mine."

"I'll think about it," the librarian replies, "I will let you know..."    

Lestrade lets him go to John and went back to where his crew was attempting to clear up the mess.

John was still waiting near the police car. "Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn’t it? Dreadful. The man dying..."

"Yes, terrible business." Sherlock was looking at John, trying to deduce if the man realizes that he nearly took the damn pill... and that he voluntarily hurt the dying man.

"And that name, Moriarty... good things his guilt finally gives us, I mean, you, the police, whoever, someone, something to work with."

"Are you all right? With all that..." Sherlock asks softly.

"Yes, of course I’m all right! I'm not the one who was 'kidnapped' by a cabby!" The quote marks around kidnapped were audible in John's voice.

"He's dead now... He suffered..."

"Yeah, but it's ok. He wasn’t a very nice man." The doctor gaze was fixed on the tall man's aquamarine eyes... And the amateur detective understands that John knows everything.

Reassured that John wasn't panicking about what happened, Sherlock add jokingly "And he was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"   They both start giggling.

Putting one arm around Sherlock, John mutters between laughs " Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene! Stop it!" Donovan was now watching them with a disgusted face. "Sorry – it’s just, um, nerves, I think!".

Mycroft, watching John and Sherlock from afar, was suddenly feeling unconcerned about his brother's future for the first time in years...  Looking at DI Lestrade, who was few meters away dealing expertly with his staff, he rummages in his coat to get his phone.

Detective inspector Lestrade, I think I'm going to have more free time in the future. Fancy a drink? - MH

The policeman, looking at his phone with amazement, turns a gaze full of fondness towards the older Holmes while he was typing.

Nothing can please me more Mycroft. You can call me Greg you know. - GL

It's a date then, Gregory. -MH

Leaving the crime scene, John was fidgeting with his phone; thinking about the gun tucked in the small of his back.  I was ready to kill for him... I can't believe it!   He clears his throat and asks softly "You were gone take that damned pill, weren’t you?" 

Stopping to watch John's eyes, Sherlock takes a moment before he responds. "Honestly John, I can't say for the man I was few days ago... Probably, he would have. But... now I've got the feeling that I have to much to lose... Have I?" He looks at John expectantly.

"I think so... But I know it won't be the last time! It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever." The doctor realizes that it would be a constant risk in his life if he chooses to start something with the genius.  But is it worth the risk? Thousand times yes!

"Why would I do that?" The probably ex-librarian disputes.

With a smile, John simply replies, "Because you’re an idiot." At his words, Sherlock's smile reaches his eyes. Finally, someone who understands me! And Moriarty! It's Christmas!

"What are you so happy about?" John asks his new friend.  Friend? I can't believe we met less than 24 hours ago!

"Moriarty!"

"What is or who is it you think?"

"I’ve absolutely no idea." Sherlock states cheerfully. "But I will certainly be staying around to find out. I think that I will accept Lestrade's offer of being a consultant full time."

"You know...  if you come back to London... We can live together..." It's too soon; we can't be together-together, I must be careful not to push him away... "humm... you know as... humm... flat mates or something." Looking at Sherlock with sparkles and hope in his eyes, he silently prays to whatever deity above or below that the man of his dreams will take the hint! After a few minutes, he adds. "A second bedroom is available upstairs, if you, if we, need it." Yeah. That's good. Give him an option...proof that I am not desperate!

"I will certainly need a place to live. Your flat is well located and... A second bedroom with be perfect..." At the sight of John's sad eyes but otherwise immobile face, Sherlock realizes that it was the sign he was looking for. With a million pound smile, he puts a hand on John arm to turn the doctor towards him and murmurs "... I'll need a room for my chemistry equipment and experiments, don't want to contaminate our kitchen."

Then, with a slight tremor of anticipation, he puts his mouth on his doctor's lips for a kiss that was the prelude of more to come.

Everything finally falling in place, his heart, body and mind in unison at last!  And with the guarantee of great adventures, life won't certainly be boring for Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and his partner Doctor John Watson.