— 3 weeks later —
Sebastian laid back on the poor excuse of a bed in Pentonville Prison, staring at the grey dusty ceiling. Usually the cells were shared but right now Sebastian had this one for himself. His cellmate had been pulled out a few days ago after an incident occurred. Sebastian was never good at making friends…
He sported a big bruise on his cheekbone. But judging by the state of his knuckles, which he moved around idly to reduce the swelling, his cellmate was far worse off. That’s why they pulled him out in the first place.
In his head he went over possible ways he could escape. He had the determination and the strength for it. But he had to be smart about it too. Sebastian had a tendency to rush into things when he got really angry. The detective had been annoyingly right about his emotions being his downfall. When he was cold and collected, he could take on anyone. He had the patience a sniper needed. Plenty of it.
But when he got angry he got impulsive. He knew that. Jim had told him countless of times. It’s part of why he’d earned the nickname Tiger so easily. But if he rushed this, he could screw it up even worse. He had to bide his time.
Three harsh knocks on the steel door of his cell had him stir from his thoughts.
“Up. Hands against the wall.” A gruff voice behind the door instructed. Sebastian sighed, taking his time. But eventually he got up and did as he was told. Two guards moved in to cuff his hands behind his back and push him out of his cell.
Sebastian sighed deeply. He reckoned he was in for another round of interrogation. They’d stick him in a room for hours to get information on Moriarty’s web; what remained of it at least. So far Sebastian had told them nothing. Even when they had him stuck in that interrogation cell for over 24 hours without any sleep, he still hadn’t told them anything. And he wouldn’t. He’d had much worse once, when he was taken as a war prisoner in Afghanistan.
But this time something was different about the interrogation room. Or rather; the person sitting at the other side of the table was different. He’d recognize that face anywhere. … Sherlock Holmes. Of course.
Whereas he’d looked mildly bored before, his expression instantly turned dark on meeting the detective’s gaze. Oh, how he longed to lunge over the table and throttle him. But he resisted the urge, even though he could probably take on the guard escorting him. He could practically hear Moriarty’s whimsical voice in his head: ‘Easy, Tiger… Patience.’
So Sebastian let himself be sat down in the chair and had his wrists cuffed to the table between them. The guard then turned to leave them alone. They were still closely monitored though, from behind the mirror on the wall besides them.
Sebastian looked him over in silence for a moment and then huffed semi-amused but mostly irritated. “Come to gloat, Holmes? I wish I could say I’m surprised.”
{ @empathyvslogic }
Sebastian was the absolute last person that Sherlock wanted to come to for help of any sort. Somehow.. Moriarty was back. Not physically, obviously, he was long dead. The detective watched the other as the bullet went through his skull, successfully taking him out for good- Or so he’d thought.
Even dead Moriarty still had it out for him. The man he’d thought he’d taken down, the one that haunted his dreams and threatened to take away the only people he’d ever loved- He was still taunting him from beyond the grave. While Moran was the last person he’d wanted to interrogate about this.. he was the only choice.
The detective had managed to take out the majority of Moriarty’s web, except for Moran. He was the only person that was still alive that was capable of giving him the information he needed. He hardly expected anything to come from it, though. What could he offer? The man wanted to murder him, that much would be obvious as soon as he entered the room.
He sat at the metal table anxiously tapping away as the guard left, going to get Sebastian as he’d asked. He wondered if the other knew anything and if he did.. How would he get him to spill the information he needed? He still had the idea in his mind that Sherlock had killed Moriarty, almost as though he’d pulled the trigger all on his own.
When the guard entered again, this time with Sebastian, Sherlock looked up at the pair. He made sure his demeanor was completely composed. He waited to speak until the other was sitting down across from his, handcuffed to the table. He had no reason to provoke him, not if he needed him to cooperate.
He cleared his throat, keeping his hands clasped together on the table in front of him, “Actually, no. If I had I already would have begun.” He paused, choosing to stall, yet again. “How has prison been treating you?” Not like he actually cared.
