Chapter 76 Chapter 76 He always wastes time after killing someone...
"'Moriarty'!" Sherlock jumped up from the sofa. "Moriarty. Ah, of course, I should have thought of that! Moriarty. That explains a lot."
He spun around the room excitedly, even yelling "Yeah!" Elio sat there, quite taken aback. He glanced hesitantly at Watson, who had obviously heard of the name—perhaps more than just heard—and was frowning seriously.
"Is it about Moriarty?" he asked.
"Yes." Elio breathed a sigh of relief. "I guess I don't have to explain who he is."
"Of course you don't." Sherlock walked back quickly and held out his hands to Elio. "We all know who that is. Now give me the information you have. We're waiting for it."
"What?" Elio was shocked. "Wait, how did you know that?"
"It's obvious." Sherlock sighed and withdrew his hand. "After killing a big shot like Councillor Moran, the only reason you'd be stranded in London and come to me for help is—"
Elio was alert, "Wait?"
"Wait?" Watson turned his head sharply. "He's the one who murdered Councilman Moran—"
"The hit man. Exactly," Sherlock complained. "Didn't I tell you everything? Doesn't he fit my description perfectly?"
Elio said, "Wait."
"I thought it was all a misunderstanding!" Watson exclaimed. "He doesn't look like a professional killer at all, Sherlock! He just helped Mrs. Hudson change the lightbulb!"
"Oh, because Mrs. Hudson called him sweetheart?" Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and shook his head. "I'm pretty sure she called you that, too."
The scene was quite chaotic for a moment. Seeing the doctor and the detective arguing about him, oblivious to the others, and even tending to veer off into other matters, Elio, the center of the conversation, finally raised his hands helplessly. "Honestly, can someone give me an explanation?"
Sherlock and Watson finally stopped their conversation and turned to look at him. Watson looked as if he was about to say something, but he hesitated. Sherlock spoke first.
"You killed Councillor Moran. That's perfectly obvious," he said. "But for a professional like you, staying in the area after killing someone isn't a wise choice, unless you're caught up in something. Some documents were lost in the secret room of Councillor Moran's study, and you must have them in your hands. It's those things that have you agonizing, not knowing who to pass this hot potato on to—thank you for not flushing them down the toilet—your moral code doesn't allow you to run away when you know a crime is about to be committed, but your actions after killing the councillor prevent you from going straight to Scotland Yard. In any case, your identity and past make it difficult for you to trust the authorities and the government, but you also know that these things are best handed over to official agencies. After all, it's a matter concerning Moriarty, which is far beyond your ability."
"Wait," Watson said, opening his notebook again. "I understand everything else, but how do you know his moral code?"
"It's simple, John. It's written on the body." Sherlock looked at Elio. "He always wastes time covering the eyes after killing someone."
Elio fell silent.
"So you've found me, a consulting detective who can connect you to the authorities you desire, but won't arrest you the moment they see you," Sherlock concluded. "Isn't that clear?"
"You're worthy of your reputation, Mr. Holmes." Elio smiled. "Let me introduce myself again. My name is Elio Smith..."
"An assassin." Another voice from the stairs added slowly.
Elio's eyes blinked rapidly. As the assassin did so, time at 221B Baker Street slowed to a crawl. Dr. Watson sat at the table, his back to the window, looking up from his notebook toward the living room door; his expression was slightly puzzled, but not surprised, nor wary, as if he recognized the voice. Standing closer, Sherlock shook his head slowly, unconsciously revealing a look of intimate disdain, and reached out to open the door for the intruder...
To sum up, the man who revealed the assassin's identity at the stairs was someone they knew and would not pose any threat to them at all - at least, that was the case for Sherlock and Watson.
But for Elio, it was the complete opposite.
Every exit from this living room was blocked. A red dot perched on the opposite rooftop was trained on every window. Downstairs, a constant stream of other red dots stood by, calmly holding newspapers, drinking tea, crossing the street, etc., all wearing black headphones, their eyes flicking, intentionally or unintentionally, towards the two windows on the second floor of 221B.
In that instant, Elio thought of no less than five escape routes, but every one of them was blocked by a red dot.
Sherlock opened the door. A middle-aged man in a gray suit, a polka-dot tie, and a standard English hairline walked in with a cane and looked around the room. Elio sat quietly on the sofa in front of the fireplace, just staring at him.
"Who is this?" the desperate assassin asked calmly.
"Elliot, this is Mycroft, the official you wish to contact." Sherlock briefly introduced them. "Mycroft, this is Elio, the professional killer you wish to contact."
"He's not a professional killer, Sherlock. He's an assassin." Mycroft, with his bureaucratic air, gave Elio a standard smile. "I'm surprised that such a small matter in Britain has attracted your attention, Mr. Smith. But if you are willing to share the information you have with us, we would be grateful."
"What if I don't want to?" Elio asked with a smile. "Are you going to shoot me right here?"
Something shifted in him. Watson, sensing the sudden rise in tension, looked up, his gaze flickering between Mycroft and Elio before settling cautiously on the assassin. The young killer was still slumped on the sofa, leaning almost uneasily against the pillows, but Watson noticed the tense muscles that seemed poised to explode.
He was dangerous. Finally, at this moment, Watson's nerves as a soldier were aroused. Like a lurking tiger, the military doctor sat there with his back hunched, silently staring at Elio, who was closest to him at this moment.
"No, of course not," Mycroft said, waving his hand dramatically. "For goodness' sake, don't be so nervous, everybody. It's just a conversation, and it might take a while, but there won't be anything more than that. Sit down."
He sat down on the sofa against the wall. Sherlock was the only one standing there. He glanced out the window, then at Mycroft, and without saying anything, sat down beside him.
"I'm sure you're aware of this, Mr. Smith," Mycroft said, glancing at Sherlock. "We in Britain have a long history of cooperation with you Assassins. Whether it was during the Industrial Revolution or World War I, Masters Frye have generously assisted us."
That was true. Queen Elizabeth I had once awarded the Frye siblings the Order of the Holy Garter for saving her life. Lydia Frye had also been commissioned by Churchill to eliminate enemy spies. Overall, collaboration between the Assassins and the British royal family and government did exist. Elio's expression softened slightly at the thought. Still, he said, "I'm afraid your collaboration with the Templars was even greater."
"I cannot deny that," Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow. "I also know that my one-sided account will hardly dispel your deep suspicion of official institutions. So this is just a harmless invitation, Mr. Smith, to share intelligence and cooperate with us, unless you can find a way to deal with Moriarty and his global criminal network on your own."
He played with his cane and tilted his head towards the assassin in a playful manner that was not suitable for his age.
"I have no doubt the Assassins are incapable of this," said Mycroft. "I'd be happy to be lazy and leave this massive spider's web to you to clean up. But seriously, if you can get a little official help, why turn it down?"
"You're a natural politician, Mycroft," said Elio.
"Thank you for the compliment," said Mycroft. "Does that mean 'yes'?"
"Not yet." Elio shifted his sitting position. "I can't think with so many guns pointed at my head, so you know what, big shot, evacuate your people, including everyone in this room." He gestured around, as if the assassin hadn't noticed the red dot on his forehead twitching warily. "I don't want to hurt anyone, and I hope you won't force me to. Leave me a contact number so I can leave freely. Give me some time to think about it, and then I'll contact you."
Mycroft looked at him intently. After a moment, the politician gave him the standard smile he wore when he first entered the room. "Of course."
The men from 221B left first. Mycroft had left Elio his contact information before he left. Then came the agents on the street, evacuating in waves. After the last red dot disappeared from the assassin's eagle-eye range, Elio finally relaxed his tense muscles and nerves and let out a long sigh.
He practically let himself slip into the armchair, the soft one with the red and blue Union Jack pillows, the one that wouldn't point a gun at him or call him an assassin.
"That's horrible." Elio muttered softly, rested for a while, and stood up from the sofa only after making sure he had recovered his energy.
But just as Elio picked up the cup of melted iced black tea in front of him and took a big sip, his phone dinged and a text message popped up from a newly created contact.
"I'm surprised to hear that Scotland Yard will be launching a formal manhunt for the murderer of Councillor Moran within 24 hours." From Mycroft. "Good luck."
Elio stared at his phone in silence until it went dark. He gulped down his entire cup of black tea and then complained loudly, "Disgusting politicians!"
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Author's Note: Oreo has a strong distrust of the authorities because of being wanted by Blüdhaven, but a silly kid can never outsmart a politician. (…)
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