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Good Intentions: The First Chance Started by: LondonHolmes on Dec 10, '18 07:17

Things weren't looking bright for Team Holmes. London mused to himself as he found himself in his latest predicament. He was once again caught at a crime scene and as always his presence was not welcomed. The one gun pointed and several officers heading in his direction had confirmed it. 

"I swear, one more step and I will shoot!" The shaking of the hand holding the gun told London that the only thing that would be getting shot would be the air after the recoil broke the officers nose.

While the threat of a bullet may work on a lot of people, London's will is forged of iron and he is smarter than everyone else especially those who are surrounding him right now. He shakes off the suggestion, instead gesturing for his 'guests' to bring it on. The officers charge.

London steps to the side of the first man, quick as thought, grabbing his arm and cleanly snapping his ulna. He screams in pain, weapon slipping from his fingers. The Consulting Criminal turns the hold into a toss, throwing the screaming officer into the second. They both collapse to the ground in a tangled heap.

London then jumps over the fallen men, leaping towards the third officer who is reaching for his weapon.

London sweeps his leg, knocking the officer's feet out from under him. As his concentration fails the man himself falls to the ground, hitting his head with a sickening thump. The Consulting Criminal throws two quick, powerful punches into his face just to make sure he won’t give him any further trouble.

In a rare lapse of judgement, London pauses for a moment, a moment too long because another form slams into his side, carrying him to the ground.

Growling, London reaches back and kicks the attacker off of him, removing him several feet. Two more bodies are on London immediately, and lying on the ground as he still was, he hadn't retained the positioning to dodge both of the batons that swing towards his head.

When they hit with brutal precision, it's quickly joined by punches and kicks London can barely register through the searing pain. Darkness soon swallowed him.

Something’s wrong.

London was suddenly made aware that he couldn't move his hands. Trapped in the haze of that place between wakefulness and a nightmare, he began to thrash violently against the unseen restraints.

"Woah, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself." Says a nearby voice.

London opened his eyes fully, trying to raise a hand to rub at them only to be stopped once again. This was not good. Data. He needed data. Quickly he looked left and right, attempting to absorb the situation in a glance. The first thing he realizes is that he can’t move his hands because he's handcuffed to a sturdy-looking steel ring bolted to an even sturdier-looking steel table. 

Sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair, in a room painted in a repulsive shade of peeling green paint that reminds him of vomit. A vague scent of disinfectant is almost completely overpowered by the smell of mold and cigarette smoke. A long mirror is built into the wall to his left, obviously a two-way, meaning he was in an interrogation room of some sort. Finally, across the table from him sits a man he had seen many times before, at the crime scenes he had been present for the past 6 months. A wry smile on his face and a thick manila folder resting near his left hand.

He wears the usual functional gray suit with a white shirt and plain black tie, the rough stubble on his face remains. He takes a drag on a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke in one long, languid breath. London further notes that the ashtray next to him holds the crushed butts of three more cigarettes. He had been sitting there watching him sleep.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." He says.

He crushes out the cigarette in the ashtray, resting his free hand against his cheek and tapping his temple with his index finger.

"You’re in the basement of The Yard. So..." He says with forced enthusiasm, "I suppose we had better get to it. I am Inspector Cruz, and of course I already know who you are Mr. Holmes."

He slides the folder in front of him, opening the thick file and pawing through it while humming atonally. After a moment he seems to find what he’s looking for. He pulls out a photograph from the middle of the stack, turning it and placing on the table.

It’s a crime scene photo, from a week ago, showing a body on the banks of the Thames. A crime of obvious passion. It was overkill. London had watched from the bridge above as the officers had contaminated every speck of dirt and evidence with their stupidity and blindness. He was eventually removed from the scene when the officers had enough of him telling them how to do their jobs, even going as far as saying a monkey could do a better job. He sighed at the memory and in an act of reflex, he tried to scrub at his face, only to be brought up short by the restraining cuffs again. He looked over at Cruz, flicking his eyes down to his hands then back to him, asking a question with one quirked eyebrow.

His smile grows lopsided as the right side of his mouth curls upwards. "Sorry, no can do. Maybe after we’ve talked a little more I can think about doing something with the cuffs. Look London, can I call you London?"

London gives a small, noncommittal shrug in response. Taking that as an affirmative, The Inspector moves ahead.

"This doesn’t have to be an unpleasant process. I’m putting my cards on the table here. Certain parties…pointed me in your direction. You have a talent, a freakish talent. You see things even when there is nothing to be seen. Your mind is like no other. You have been seen and removed from various crime scenes, including the one in the photo that lays between us, over the past 6 months because you are hell bent on telling and showing everyone how to do their jobs. I can tell that you are not at those scenes just for the hell of it. You are there because you want to help, you know you can help but no-one will give..." Cruz's gaze travels to London's cuffed hands, resting his gaze on the scar tissue and track marks that lined his forearm and wrists. "An obvious junkie like you a chance. You've also been locked away numerous times, correct? London nods. But a chance is all you want. A chance to show you are not what everyone calls you. So here’s what’s going to happen. You are not like them and neither am I." He continues, rising from his chair. "I’m going to cut you loose, and then hope that I’ve judged your character correctly."

Cruz walks around the table, producing a small silver key from his pocket.

"If you’re the person I think you are, you’re not going to be content to sit back. No, you’re going to keep being the wildcard, the fly in the ointment that’s going to upset all the carefully laid plans. You will continue to insult the intelligence of all those you come across. You will detect, you will deduce..." He holds the key near the cuffs, searching London's face and waiting for a reply.

"You want me to be a puppet for you to use and abuse at your leisure?" Been there, done that. Had the scars to prove it. "I'm not a hero. I'm not a savior..." The Inspector raised a finger to silence London.

"I’m not asking you to be. You're a great man, and I think one day if we're very, very lucky, you'll even be a good one. Until that day comes, all I want from you is to go out and kick over a few anthills. I’ll clean up whatever scurries out." Would he? "I want you to do whatever it takes. I will give you the chance or chances you've been denied. Be my eyes, ears and brains."

"And try not to get killed in the process." London added coldly.

"That would be preferable, yes. More so for you, I would think." The smug smile is back on his face now. "All I really need you to do is spread your particular brand of smarts. Keep the opposition off balance until I find the right angle of attack. What do you say?"

"Just unlock the damn cuffs." London tells him with a sigh.

The smug smile is back on his face. "Glad to have you on board." Even though London hadn't directly given his answer, Cruz slots the key and with a twist the cuffs spring loose. London immediately begins to massage his wrists, working feeling back into his numb hands and fingers.

Stretching his cramped muscles is luxurious there’s no other way to describe it. Having simple freedom of movement back after however many hours he spent chained to that table is enough to make even him slightly giddy.

To his credit, Cruz waits patiently as London works out the kinks, watching and studying the movements. There’s a strange gleam in his eye that might indicate something more than an entirely professional interest…or maybe he's just been locked in this room too long and is imagining things. Cruz gives his head a small shake as if to clear it. "So, here’s the deal as of right now you’re an extremely off-the-books contractor for The Yard, and by extension, the British Government."

"So what’s the good news?" London deadpans. He knows EXACTLY which part of said Government his soul has been sold and he was going to pay it a visit ASAP.

Cruz's smile is genuine and his eyes full of amusement. “That is the good news. The bad news is that you don’t get paid, you can’t tell anyone you’re working for us, and if you mention any of this to anyone outside this building we’ll disavow all knowledge of you.”

"Pretty much lines up with what I’ve come to expect from Government service." He wasn't joking and was not about to elaborate any further.

"It’s not all bad though!” He tells London with far too much cheer in his voice. "You get to make daily reports on your progress to yours truly, so you have my debonair charm and razor wit to look forward to each day."

"Is it too late to pick a jail cell?" London groans, only half in jest.

"Afraid so. Welcome to the team, London." He holds his hand out to shake.

His palm is rough with callouses but his skin is warm against the Consulting Criminal's and he takes the opportunity to feel the Inspector's pulse. What he felt told him all he needed to know. London also noted that while he has a powerful grip but unlike some men he doesn’t play silly dominance games by attempting to crush London's hand. He then slowly breaks the contact and directs, with a sense of irony London thought, to the door with an outstretched arm and sending him out to his new life.

To his first chance.

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