The night time officer moved to where he heard the British prisoner shouting his head off and he stared down at the tall, lean muscled young man as he laid on the camp bed. He could see he was panting and gasping and was holding onto his right shoulder with his left hand and cradling his right hand.
This man was arrested yesterday for domestic violence on his ex-girlfriend, so they had him in a maximum security holding cell. All the officers in that precinct had actually found out that the lad was someone much more important than that. He was a hired hit man for the crime underground in London, but they could not touch him for that. He had to be sent back to Britain, and they would deal with that. For now, his high profile lawyer had paid his bail and he was to be set free in the morning, when two of his fellow men were to come to retrieve him. They were in London, after all, so they kept the young man there in lock up. They had received the sighed and written testimony of Ms. Irene Adler, who had come to America to get away from this man. So they knew he was a dangerous sort, and the officer did not really want to get into a tussle with him. "What is your problem, boy?"
"My shoulder and wrist, they fucking hurt, you nasty bastard! I am not a boy, I am a man, you moron," Nick retorted, as he glared up at the man with malice and pain in his azure eyes. "Your lead officer and his cronies manhandled me all night. I think I have some broken bones and or sprained muscles."
"Is that so? So, Bobby roughed you up a bit, did he? You gonna cry about it, pretty boy?" the officer taunted back, as he stared at him through the plexi-glass covered bars. "You're a fucking criminal, and we don't take too kindly to those. We can't hold you here and sent you to prison, but we can surely make certain we get a few hits in on you. Oh, but I guess I don't want you putting out a law suit against us when you get back home. So let me get a doctor in here to fix you up. Just sit tight, pretty boy. I'll be right back."
Nick scowled at the man's angry words as he shook his head and watched him walk out of the cell. He locked the door behind him, of course. "Little fucker. I could ring you puny little neck, you wanker," Nick said to himself, and then groaned in pain when he tried to sit up. He did not have long to wait before he heard the cell being opened and someone entering the room. He was shocked to see it was Doctor Watson. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" He asked the army doctor.
"I don't know what you mean, young man. I am here to fix you up. I can see you are quite injured here," Watson spoke in an American accent, as he winked at Nick and then sat down beside him. He motioned for him to be quiet as he lifted up his doctor's bag to examine Nick of his injuries.
"I don't understand what's going on here. How did you get here?" Nick asked again, and then cried out when the man stuck a syringe into his arm to help stem the pain. "Ow, that bloody hurt, you daft old bastard."
"I know it did, Nick Benson. Just shut up and let me tend to you. I will tell you why and how I am here," Watson said, as he patted Nick's face with his hand. He helped him to sit up then could see his right shoulder was dislocated and he had a bad sprain on his wrist.
Over the next twenty minutes, Dr. Watson put the young spy's shoulder back in place, sighing when Nick screamed bloody murder, even though he had pumped him full of heavy narcotics. He did not stop though, as he wrapped an ace bandage around his sprained wrist, then he placed the right arm in a strong slink and patted Nick on his face.
Watson smiled down at the young man once he was done and leaned in to whisper to him. "Moriarty sent me here, yesterday, to look out for you. Only because he knew for certain you would need a good doctor once you messed up the mission," he retorted, as he stared into Nick's blue eyes with his own brown eyes. He could see his words shocked him, but he did not let him speak yet, as he continued. "In case you're wondering why I'm working for your boss, don't, because I am not. This was a one time job, which he paid me handsomely for. You are to tell no one, not even Moran or Francis when they come to get you in a few hours, got that?"
Nick stared up at Watson with a confused look on his face, for the drugs were only then starting to kick in and they took away his pain. "Let me get this straight, you're doing this because Moriarty asked you to. What about your job and your friendship with Sherlock Holmes?"
"He's dead, Nick, Sherlock is dead! I am a doctor, a damn good doctor. I needed the money for my practice. So I agreed. You can call me John," Watson said, as he placed his hand on the young spy's knee and squeezed it rather too affectionately.
Nick stared down at the hand on his knee and smiled up at Watson with a demure look in his eyes. "I got news for ya, John, and you're gonna need a shot of your own meds when I tell you this," he stared to say, and then winked at the man when he squeezed his knee harder after he called him John. "Here goes nothing, brace yourself, doc. Sherlock is not dead, mate. He's here, in New York, and he's been assisting Irene Adler."
John stared at Nick with an angry expression, and he squeezed the young man's knee hard, not meaning to, but he stopped as soon as heard Nick's exclamation. He sighed and apologised, before he shook his head and started pacing the cell. "So, Sherlock Holmes faked his death and didn't tell me. I spent a year mourning his loss. Going to my psychiatrist to talk about my feelings. Well, this is just bloody brilliant, isn't it? Goddamn him. Goddamn that Woman - Irene Adler." John spat out his words, as he stared down at Nick's shocked expression and waved at him. "Why did you let her get away, Nick?"
"Well, she had about 20 fucking cops come after me and they fucking beat me, as you can see," Nick shot back, as he sat up against the wall and nursed his injured right arm in the sling. "She's the bitch who got me locked up here, she told some fucking bloody porky too. Said I was in a abusive relationship with her. All this shite she sprouted to them. How I was going to come after her and kill her."
"I'm sorry about that, Nick. I wish I could get you out of here, but these New York Police men are watching me closely. I had to pay the regular doctor not to come here tonight, from your boss of course," John said, as he smiled down apologetically to Nick and then stared out by the door when he heard the night officer approaching. "I have to go now, I've been in here too long. Hang in there, Nick Benson. Your men will be here in the morning. Oh, and do me a favor, when you get back to London, please finish the job and kill both of them - for me."
"Sure thing, John, I can do that," Nick said, as he smiled wolfishly at the man and then watched him knock on the door to be let go. Just before he left though, he laughed when the doctor turned around and winked him. Then he was gone and Nick passed out and fell asleep. He was fucking exhausted from all that had happened him. Now this. John Watson doing a favor for Moriarty. He would be sure to finish the job when he got back to London. All for John Watson. Also for himself.
Nick awoke the next morning to three burly New York police officers bursting into his cell and manhandling him out of there. "What the fuck is going on? Will you please stop manhandling me?" Nick demanded, as he shoved the officers off him. He was still wearing the sling on his right arm from where Dr Watson had helped to tend to his injuries. He still could not believe Watson had been there, for Moriarty, and he would keep the promise and not tell anyone.
"Shut up, pretty boy, your people are here to get you out. Now move that limey ass of yours to the front office," the same dark haired officer, Bobby retorted, as he shoved him through the corridor to the office.
Nick stared out into the office where he saw Sebastian Moran and Francis Drake, his lover, waiting for him. Moran was glaring angrily at him, and he knew he would get some sucker punches from him. Oh, but Francis frowned at him and stared at him with a horrified expression when he saw the sling on his arm, and the bruised and bloody mess his lover was.
True to form, Moran grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the busy police station. He didn't care that he had the fucking sling, he would be in a body bag if he had his way. Francis took up Nick’s effects and then the three of them stepped out into the bright New York morning.
“Come on, you daft little fucker. Now that I have your skinny arse out of there, I am going to have finish the job you fucked up so royally," Moran barked at him, as he shoved him toward the waiting hired limousine.
"Oh, fucking hell, Moran! Can you stop manhandling me, you prick. I am fucking injured, you wanker, and have my fill of it with those bastard cops," Nick retorted, as he pulled his arm out of the man’s tight grip and moved away from him. He walked in front of him, with Francis at his side, and sighed when Moran opened the door for them. He leaned his head on his Francis' shoulder and whimpered when he placed a kiss on the top of his blond-haired head. "What happened, Nicky, baby? What did they do to you?" Francis asked, as he wrapped his arm around the blond's waist and held him steady.
Nick was about to answer Francis, but yelped when Moran kicked him in his backside as he bent down to enter and slammed against the other side of the door. He cried out when his shoulder and wrist were jarred, and he kicked out with his foot, hitting the man in his knee. “Bollocks! Knock it off, you fucker! I’m not your fucking punching bag, mate!" He howled, as he punched Moran in his chest when he slid in beside him. He glared at him and went to reach for his pistol, but then growled when he realised it was inside his duffle bag.
Moran laughed and then made to punch Nick again, but then just shook his head at him, when Francis slid in on the other seat with Nick’s things. Moran watched as the two little lovebirds sat together and Francis held onto Nick's body.
“I’m just giving you what Moriarty would have, Nick. I know you can take it," Moran retorted, as he glared at the blond when he gave him the two finger salute. "I’m just fucking pissed because I had to fly all the way to New York to bail your skinny arse out of jail. Tell me what the fuck happened while we drive back to the hotel, you little shit."
So it was Nick regaled Moran and Francis of all that occurred since Nick arrived in New York, and they listened, and Moran promised him he would finish the job. Nick didn’t have to worry, he could wait inside his hotel room while he retrieved the bitch of a woman, Irene Adler.
Meanwhile, in London, in his large office where he ran his empire out of, Moriarty sat at his desk waiting to send the mysterious text message to John Watson when the time was right. He had received the message from the New York operative, the tall dark haired officer, Bobby Townsend, who had arrested Benson the night before. He had told him that all was done and finished just a few moments ago. Benson was picked up by Moran and Francis, and they were inside the limousine.
He smiled and reached for his mobile, then composed the message to John Watson. He knew the good doctor was staying at the hotel Commodore, in the room on the other side of Irene Adler. He also knew Watson had paid off the officer who had spoken to the Woman the night before as well, and the doctor had found out the information about her next move. So he sent a text message to John Watson just then to check in on him.
{outgoing text- John Watson} Tell me, Johnny, how did things go? JM x
{incoming text - Moriarty} Hello, Jim. Things went very well. JW x
{outgoing text -John Watson} Is Benson all right? Did you act surprised when you found out Sherly was alive? JM
{incoming text - Moriarty} Benson is pretty banged up.I fixed him up with a sling and an ace bandage. But he'll live. Of course I did, Jimmy. I'm not an idiot. JW
{outgoing text - Watson} Very good, Johnny. I know you're not an idiot, darling. You did very well. How about Ms. Adler. Where is she now? JM
{incoming text - Moriarty} Sources say The Woman has flown the coop. She left here a many hours. She was on her way home already. Probably going to be there soon. Pilot took the slow route home. Martin Crief, the Holmes' half brother flew her into London. JW
{outgoing text - Watson} Perfect. Just as planned. Now I can bring the boys home and have done with this. Mycroft is a good little soldier. See you when you get home, darling. Jet at Newark Airport for you. No need to reply. JM x
Moriarty laughed as he sent a text message to Moran. He had instructed him to stand by for directions once he and Francis Sprung Benson out of the New York jail. He knew they were at the hotel, and were probably still searching for Irene. Well, Moran was pretending to do so, he had known the plan all along. It was poor Benson and Francis who did not. Even the Woman herself did not know.
{outgoing text - Sebby} Tiger come home. The Woman has flown the coup. Enroute to London already. Don't tell the boys. Just come home. I'll tell them myself. Jet will be waiting for you at LaGuardia. JM x
{incoming text - Jim} Then the plan went to full fruition. I'll make some shit up for them. I think they're starting to suspect though. See you when I get home. SM x
(outgoing text - Sebby} That is fine, let them speculate. Let Benson believe he is in trouble. He'll get his reward when he gets here. The Woman. I miss you. See you soon, Sebby. Meet me in the usual place when you arrive in London. JM x
{incoming text - Jim} Sure thing, Jimmy. Nick's already shaking in his boots. He and Francis are cuddling on the sofa. We're watching terrible American telly. I miss too. See you soon. No need to reply. SM x
Moriarty laughed when Moran told him not to reply. He sighed as he sent one last text message. This one to the elder Holmes, who he knew was safely tucked away at the Diogenes Club.
{outgoing text - Mycroft} Operation Domina Adler is under way. You shall be paid handsomely for your cooperation. Keep Sherly down for me. JM
{incoming text - Moriarty} Very well. Sherlock will not get involved. She is yours. The file will be closed. No need to reply. Business is settled. MH
Moriarty laughed when he read the message. He shook his head and stood up from his office chair, then stared out at the London sky above. He knew Mycroft would not be meeting Ms. Adler at the Airport, neither would Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft's men would, but they would really be hired by Moriarty, of course. That was part of the coup. They were paid handsomely, as well, and would shoot anyone that tried to stop them. All the Woman would believe was that she was safe with Mycroft's men, and that he was waiting in the car for her. Of course Mycroft lent him one of his cars to add the finishing touch.
He wondered if the old fool would contact her and try to warn her. No, he would not dare, not after receiving 10 Millions pounds for his troubles. He smiled and laughed as he made his way down to the hired limousine, then made his way to the airport. He saw the men there, and signaled them of his arrival. All they could do was wait now. He could taste victory and was pleased that he would finally have her in his clutches. Moran, Francis and Benson would be there to back him up once he got her to the secret location. Yes, this was all coming into plan so perfectly, and all would be revealed to everyone - very soon.
