Sherlock - The Game Is On!

The Empty Hearse- Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Third POV

From the point of view of a video camera, Sherlock is sitting on a sofa in front of a window and looking directly into the camera. "The criminal network Moriarty headed was vast. Its roots were everywhere like a cancer, so we came up with a plan. Mycroft fed Moriarty information about me. Moriarty in turn gave us hints, just hints, as to the extent of his web. We let him go because it was important to let him believe he had the upper hand. And then I sat back and watched Moriarty destroy my reputation bit by bit." Sherlock proceeds to stare into the camera.

"I had to make him believe he'd beaten me, utterly defeated me, and then he'd show his hand. There were thirteen likely scenarios once we were up on that roof. Each of them were rigorously worked out and given a code name. It wasn't just my reputation that Moriarty needed to bury, I had to die. But the one thing I didn't anticipate was just how far Moriarty was prepared to go. I suppose that was obvious, given our first meeting at the swimming pool, his death wish. I knew I didn't have long. I contacted my brother; Set the wheels in motion. And then everyone got to work. It was vital that John and Michelle stayed just where I put them. That way, their view was blocked by the ambulance station."

"I needed to hit the airbag, which I did. Speed was paramount. The airbag needed to be got out of the way just as John and Michelle cleared the station. But we needed them to see a body. That's where Molly came in. Like figures on a weather clock, we went one way, John went the other. Then our well-timed cyclist put John briefly out of action giving me time to switch places with the corpse on the pavement. The rest was just window dressing. And one final touch... A squash ball under the armpit."

Sherlock reached inside his shirt, demonstrating the ball under his arm technique. "Apply enough pressure and it momentarily cuts off the pulse."

In front of the video camera, Sherlock looks dispassionately into the lens. Anderson is sitting on a chair on the other side of the camera. They are in Anderson's living room. "Everything was anticipated; Every eventuality allowed for. It worked... Perfectly."

"Molly? Molly Hooper? She was in on it?"

"Yes. You remember the little girl who was abducted by Moriarty? You assumed she reacted like that because I was her kidnapper. But I deduced Moriarty must have found someone who looked very like me to plant suspicion, and that man, whoever he was, had to be got out of the way as soon as his usefulness ended. That meant there was a corpse in a morgue somewhere that looked just like me."

"Clever." Anderson nodded. "Molly found the body, faked the records, and I provided the other coat. I've got lots of coats."

"And what about the snipers aiming at John and Michelle?"

"Mycroft's men intervened before he could take the shot. He was invited to reconsider. Where as Michelle's were sent straight to prison."

"And your homeless network?"

"As I explained, the whole street was closed off like a scene from a play. Neat, don't you think?"

"What about Michelle? She didn't even see the body."

"Michelle's actions weren't what I anticipated. However, whilst she fell to the floor, she was out of view on what went on."

"Hmm."

"What?" Anderson shrugs. "Not the way I'd have done it."

"Oh really?"

"No, I'm not saying it's not clever, but..."

"What?" Anderson shrugs again and waves his arm about as if he's searching for the right words. "Bit... Disappointed."

"Everyone's a critic. Anyway, that's not why I came."

"No?"

"No. I think you know why I'm here, Phillip. 'How I Did It' by Jack the Ripper?" With wide eyes and his mouth hanged open, Anderson lowers his head. "Didn't you think it was intriguing?" He looks up to Sherlock hopefully. "Lurid. A case so sensational, you hoped I'd be interested. But you overdid it, Phillip. You and your little 'fan club.'"

"I just couldn't live with myself, knowing that I'd driven you to..."

"But you didn't. You were always right. I wasn't dead." Sherlock dismissed. "No. No, and everything's okay now, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Anderson laughs in a relieved way. "Of course you've wasted police time, perverted the course of justice, risked distracting me from a massive terrorist assault that could have both destroyed Parliament and caused the death of hundreds of people."

"Oh, God." He breaks down in tears, grabbing Sherlock and pulling him close. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." He hangs on to him and weeps against his coat. Looking uncomfortable, Sherlock tentatively pats him on the shoulder a couple of times. "Hang on. That doesn't make sense." Behind him Sherlock rolls his eyes and quietly sighs with an exasperated sound.  "How could you be sure John and Michelle would stand on that exact spot? I mean, what if they moved?" Sherlock turns and quietly leaves room.

"Hey, how did you do it all so quickly? What if the bike hadn't hit him? And anyway, why are you telling me all this? If you'd pulled that off, I'm the last person you'd tell the truth..." Turning around, he trails off when he realises that he's alone in the room. He stares for a moment, then chuckles. He switches between looking at all his paperwork and looking to where Sherlock had been standing. "Sherlock Holmes!" He chuckles again, pointing to the spot where Sherlock had just been standing.

"Sherlock!" His chuckle slowly develops into laughter, and then into hysterical laughter as he starts tearing at the papers on the wall, ripping them off and whooping and giggling. Eventually he collapses in the corner, rising up onto his knees to continue clawing at the papers and still laughing hysterically until he slumps back down again.