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Mar 28 - 22:41:08
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The Frailty of Genius Started by: LondonHolmes on Jan 03, '19 06:47

“Madness in great ones, must not unwatched go.” - Hamlet, Act 3 Scene 1.

Colin Daniels was twenty six years old. He was at "The Blackout" with an old mate he ran into earlier in the day having several more pints than he probably should have. His friend left early; a phone call from his pregnant wife asking for a turkey sandwich from a specific deli across the city. Colin decided to stay, and have another. There was no one waiting for him at home, so there was no one to miss him if he spent his night at the pub.

It was a few minutes past midnight when Colin finally stumbled out into the street. He hadn’t driven to the pub, it was only a short walk walk to his flat, but he wasn’t even sure that he could manage that, so he flagged down a cab, and slid inside.

That was the last thing that he remembered about that night.

Now, he was waking up in a place that wasn’t his. It wasn’t- It couldn’t be anybody’s place.

It was dark, except for a strange, golden glow that was coming from several exposed light bulbs hanging above him. It felt cold and hollow, and like it might go on forever.

Colin couldn’t move. He tried, but there was something holding him down, and Oh, God did his head ever hurt. He knew he had drank a lot the night before, but this felt like someone had clubbed him over the head with a ton of bricks. He tried to move his arm, so he could check if he had hit his head, but he couldn’t move that either. He went through the systematic checking of all of his other limbs; not a single one would move more than a wiggling of his fingers and toes.

He finally had his eyes focused enough in the hazy dim to look down at himself; he was strapped down on what felt like a sterile medical table; not the kind they put on during an operation, but the kind of slab you were thrown onto when you didn’t make it.

“Hello!” he yelled, and his voice echoed back to him.

“Hello!” he yelled again.

There was no answer. No sound at all except for a drip that was coming from somewhere he couldn’t turn his head to see.

Fuck. This was not good. This was the kind of thing that he didn’t even read in the papers, seen in nightmares, but that wasn’t supposed to be real life; things like that didn’t happen in real life, so there was no way that it could be happening to him now.

There was a sound from the side of him. He turned his head and saw a figure sliding out from a dark hallway. He was a man; tall and slender, and young. He was carrying something in his hands; it looked like a tea tray, but Colin couldn’t see any cups or a pot; he couldn't see anything at all.

“Oh, you’re awake.” the man said.

His voice was just as posh as he looked. Colin thought to himself that he didn’t seem the type of man to kidnap another and bring him to some abandoned building. Men like that were supposed to be older, and have a disfigurement on their face, or be wrecked with the physical damage of alcohol and drugs, but this man was attractive.  He had dark, wild hair, and wore a bespoke suit. Even his shoes were shining.  

Colin watched him set the tray down on a table next to his head. There was an assortment of instruments; mostly sharp ones, lying across it.

“Where am I? And who the hell are you?” Colin asked.

“Oh, please forgive me. You may or may not remember me but the name is London Holmes and you in what I can only assume was a show of so called "alpha male" dominance to mask your own insecurity, in front of those neanderthals you call friends, 2 nights ago, you called me some rather rude and vulgar terms. As for where you're? I would not worry about where you currently are. Instead worry about where you will end up and in how many pieces.”

London shot Colin glare that made him feel like he was actually disappointed in Colin's reaction or there lack of.

“Yeah I remember you. What are you going to do to me?” What wasn't he going to do to him?

“I’m aware that the intellectual state of the population is appalling, but I believe even you can make some kind of educated guess by your surroundings and the items I just brought in.”

“I’m sure I could.” Colin said back, “But you know how the mind works; always making things out worse than they are. It would help my anxiety if you just told me.”

London turned from where he had been standing at the sink, washing his hands. He turned off the faucet, and dried them on a crisp, white towel. He walked over, his shoes hitting the cement with a click as he took each step. He stood just near Colin’s arm, and picked up a filled syringe from the tray along with a piece of rubber tubing.

He wrapped the tubing tightly around Colin’s bicep, and tapped a few times at the veins in the crook of Colin’s elbow. When he found one that he seemed to be satisfied with, he stuck the tip of the needle into it, and pushed down on the plunger.

It was cold, and it burned all at the same time as it hit the cells in his vein, and flowed out through the rest of his blood stream. When the needle was pulled back out, a thin line of blood trailed from the injection site. Colin watched London put the used syringe into a bio hazard box near the sink. Colin found it ironic how sterile he seemed to be.

London came back with a pair of scissors in his hands, and pressed the open blades across Colin’s cheek.

“Anything you can possibly imagine is going to be nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you. That drug I just injected into you; it isn’t to knock you out or make you drowsy, and though it’s related to pain, it has nothing to do with making your pain go away.”

The Consulting Criminal  slid the scissors down to Colin’s jawline, and pressed them against the hollow of his throat, down his neck, and finally clasped them into the collar of his t-shirt. He started to cut a line down the fabric, exposing his chest underneath.

“What it does is attack the receptors in your brain that control sleep; even if you wanted to, you won’t be able to for at least thirty six hours. It also affects the part of your brain that processes pain.”

London  finished cutting the length of Colin’s shirt, and used the scissors to rip away the seams of his sleeves, and then he slid all of the desecrated material away and discarded it in a bin. He traced the scissors along Colin’s chest, and gathered up a slice of skin at his belly between the blades.

“Instead of dulling the pain, it’s going to enhance it.”

He closed the scissors around the skin, and opened them again, taking a small piece of Colin’s body with.

Colin screamed, and pulled at his restraints. He bit down on his lip to ride through the pain, but even that hurt; felt like a sewing needle plunging through his lip.

“You’re a bloody psychopath!” Colin yelled.

“Common assumption, but clearly wrong. You see a psychopath tortures, kills, rapes; whatever it is they do, because they need to. It’s often the only way that they feel some sort of calmness, joy or pleasure.” Therein was the difference between London and "them".

“You mean to tell me you aren’t getting off on this at all?”

“I didn’t say that. I do. In a way. But I don’t need to slice into you in order to. This; you, is all just an indulgence. You could even go as far to say that I'm just simply bored.”

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London put the scissors back on the tray, and reached over to a hook in the wall, and pull down a thick plastic apron; there was still another one hanging behind it. He pulled his over his head and tied it around his back. He also picked up a pair of safety glasses and secured them over his eyes.

“Now, if you have no more comments or questions, I would really like to get started.”

Colin watched London pick up a scalpel, and slowly bring it down to rest against his chest. The blade had just barely touched his skin when there was a deafening sound echoing from the cement walls.

Upon hearing the sound, London paused and Colin saw what he thought was an opportunity. He screamed for help. London rolled his eyes but stayed quiet as the figure who had made the sound stepped closer towards where Colin was restrained and pleading.

"Now why would I go and do something like that? Why should I help you?" Elliot asked with a raised eyebrow and smirk while London moved the thumb of his left hand over the point of the scalpel and watched on as Elliot studied Colin.

"Because this is wrong!" Colin lamely replied.

"As long as he's having fun..." Elliot looked at London from the corner of his eye, he was getting rather agitated but still remained silent. "That's all I care about. Are you having fun?"

"I was until I was rather rudely interrupted so if you don't mind, I would like to get back to my experiment." London did not even bother to hide his frustration and annoyance at Elliot's rather poor timing. 

"I'm afraid playtime is going to have to wait. Our favorite Inspector requires your presence." Of course he did. 

London walked to the table again, and gazed down at Colin with cold eyes that showed another kind of disappointment different from the one earlier.

“I do apologize, but we’ll have to delay this.” He said.

He took off his apron, hung it back on the hook, and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit. He swiveled on his feet, and with Elliot closely following, went back toward the hallway he had come from, flipping a switch that turned off all but one of the bulbs.

Colin took a moment to look around, and absorb exactly what was happening to him when a terrifying thought occurred; the man hadn’t hidden his face. He had the confidence that Colin wasn’t going to make it out of there alive.

He started to rattle against his restraints. The way that the leather cut into his skin was like a thousand tiny blades being scraped against his wrists and his ankles.
 

London's magnifying glass dragged along the flesh of the body slumped against the the cold cement. His gloved fingers wiped along its wet surface as he brought his latex into the air. “Hm. Wet...” He said as he rubbed the padding of his wet fingertips together.

His hands traced down his jaw line, stopping inside the crevice of his neck as his fingers rubbed small but prominent circles along the inside of his flesh.“Mm. Swollen lymph glands.” He mumbled into the air as Cruz towered over him.

“Swollen? Why would they be swollen?” Cruz asked.

“Because obviously he has had a viral infection of some sort.” London said as he began to thoroughly examine the victim’s hand. “The wetness isn’t from rain or water- it’s from sweat.”

“Sweat? What do you mean?” Dear god, Cruz. Really?

“He was sick. Sweating would of been a common symptom. So, we know when he was murdered, he was still physically unwell at the time” He paused for a moment as he examined a fresh wound carved into the padding of his index finger. “And if he was still physically unwell, do you think he would have the energy to escape a crazed murderer?” The air went silent for a moment as London waited for an answer; but it never came.

“The answer is no.” He quickly snapped as Cruz shot him a glare.

The Consulting Criminal's magnifying glass soon hovered over the victim’s forearm. As he stared through the glass he noticed a minor pinprick along the surface of his vein. He gently brushed his fingers along the expanse of his skin as he keenly examined the wound with intent.

“So, did you find anything?” Cruz questioned.

London peered over his shoulder as he stared at the silver haired man who loomed above him. “No. I found nothing.” He quietly mumbled into the air as he rose himself onto the firmness of his own two feet. “He didn’t get murdered. He died from a viral infection. Now, if you would stop wasting my time, I need to go.”

As London strode away from the scene he soon got stopped in his tracks by the sound of Cruz's voice.

“London! Wait! You can’t just..leave me with that..” Oh yes he could.

“I can and will. Goodbye, Inspector. Contact me when you have a real murder.” And without a word more, London continued to stroll away from the scene, in search of Elliot and leaving Cruz behind speechless.

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The heavy metal door opened as London and Elliot made their way inside. The single light bulb still shone bright above Colin’s body as he slumped his head to the side to see the two men enter the building.  

“What the fuck?!” Colin yelled out, soon throwing his head back along the surface of the metal table, his vocal cords burning from the mere sensation of speaking. “Fuck.” He whispered under his breath as he bit his quivering lip in pain.

“Well, looks like the drug hasn't worn off yet.” London deduced with a smile.

“W-worn off? You said thirty-six hours-” Colin was genuinely confused.

London shook his head inside the palm of his hands as he walked over to Colin’s body. “No. You don’t listen. I said you won’t be able to sleep for thirty-six hours. The pain...well, I haven’t quite figured out the formula to extend that process yet. But, I’m working on it.”

“You make these drugs yourself? You’re fucking sick!” Colin yelled out.

London walked up to Colin’s tied up body; he picked up the same scalpel from earlier that evening as it glistened under the light of the bulb.

“Elliot, do you mind turning on the rest of the lights? We’re going to need them.” London remarked as he slowly toyed with the blade in his hands.

“Don’t worry. I'm not going to kill you right away. I have a purpose for you.” Everyone had one and now it was Colin's turn to contribute.

“Pu-purpose? What type of a sick purpose does this give?!” 

London's scalpel brushed along the softness of Colin’s cheek as he spoke. “You were right- I do make my own drugs. But, sometimes those drugs are still in the beta testing stage. And, well...it looks like this drug is included in that mix.”

“So, I’m your twisted idea of some sort of Guinea Pig?!” Colin asked.

“Oh. God no. I would never do this to an animal. Where’s the fun in that?” Even London had standards and was somewhat insulted that Colin would even think he would harm an animal.

London's scalpel delicately sliced into Colin’s cheek, causing him to let out a wail in pain. “Fuck!” He screamed out.

Elliot wandered up behind London, smiling deviously at the sight of Colin’s struggle. “Fuck? Is that all you have to say? Come on, squeal a little louder.” Elliot taunted as he leaned over Colin’s helpless body, placing his mouth near his ear. “You’re going to have to try a little harder than that.” He whispered.

The burning pain of the sharp blade cutting into his abdomen caused him to scream in agony. He tensed his body up against the cold metal surface as he felt another blade make contact with his skin. His eyes widened as he saw both men in-front of him, baring individual instruments.

“Wait!” London said.

“What?” There was annoyance in Elliot’s voice as he laid his scalpel down to rest against his side, running the pad of his own thumb ever so gently against the blade.

“I need to gather data from him before he’s too incoherent to give me anything.”

Elliot rolled his eyes, “How long is it going to take if the drug hasn’t even worn off yet?”

London looked at Elliot. His eyes were dilated and his breath was coming in short pants. There was still tension from his day being held in his shoulders and his neck.

London walked over to where there was a small desk, and pulled out the old chair in front of it. He turned it around so that when he sat down he would be facing Elliot. He pulled out a cigarette from the drawer and plucked it in between his lips. He crossed one leg over the other and balanced a journal on his knee.

“Go ahead, then. I’ll just gather some preliminary findings.”

Elliot smiled and walked over to where London was sitting, reaching into his trouser pocket for his lighter. “And that better be the only cigarette you’ve had today.”

London grinned and blew out a cloud of smoke, cigarette burning between his fingertips.

“Alright then-” Elliot said to Colin, picking the scalpel back up, and unceremoniously cutting it along the thin first layer of skin on Colin’s abdomen, just above the first bleeding wound.  

“Should we get started?”

London scribbled down notes as he watched, ignoring the itch inside his own body to stand next to Elliot, and join. He remembered the first time that he ever hurt someone; he was only fifteen, and it was a mistake. He was high, and he was angry, and the the knife was right there. It was a split second decision, and he was the one to patch up the wound when he finally realized what he had done, but it had felt good, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do it again, not needed, no, London never needed it. It was surprisingly not very difficult to find other people who were interested in exploring his new hobby, but there was a moment, a moment he had a hard time forgetting where it turned from a game of  pleasure into something much darker.

The first time that he killed someone, it was out of the petty anger a junkie often experienced. He had taken the last of what he had, and considering it was at the point in his life where London had nothing other than the drugs, so he decided that he needed to be taught some kind of lesson. He tied him up on his kitchen table, and used an old needle lying on the counter to jab into his skin over and over again, leaving angry gashes. London still wasn’t sure if when he walked away, leaving him there; tied and bleeding, if he had meant for him to die, or if he simply had gotten tired, and just forgot about him.

Either way, he did die; though he would have anyway, and he disposed of him. His case was still unsolved, sitting in a storage facility at Scotland Yard, along with the other junkie London killed after him.

It wasn’t long after his start that London met Inspector Gregson then later on Cruz, and he was forced into cleaning up. When the drugs stopped, so did the darkness inside of him. Instead of hurting people, he was helping them. He was making a difference. He was the good in a evil world.

Then that fateful day Alexander unknowingly put his little brother right in the center of Elliot's world; everything changed.

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Elliot, who was now wiping a bloody wrist across his forehead, leaving a red stripe underneath his hairline. Elliot, who had taken off his shirt some time ago because London had a hatred for the sight of dirty clothes, which Elliot would never be able to understand considering the things they did. The Consulting Criminal was somewhat OCD in that regard and just like with so many other things, Elliot humored him.

“You see, Colin,” Elliot started. He dragged his bleeding scalpel along the man’s body, slowly, dipping the blade into the gashes he had already made, and slicing in a few more.

“It’s important to know a thing or two about the human body when doing something like this. For instance, thanks to a certain genius, who is here with us, I now know just how deep I can pierce the skin and tissue over your vital organs, and where all of your major arteries are. This isn’t just the random hacking of a madman. I know exactly how long it’s going to take you to bleed out based on every cut I’ve made. Right now, you should be starting to feel a little faint. Tell me, how do you feel?"

“You’re more sick than than that freak is.” Colin spat out, spit and blood running down his chin.

Elliot took the blade and stabbed into the fleshy part of Colin’s thigh through the denim of his jeans.

“It would do you good not to say anything demeaning about him. Not while you and I are in the position that we are.”

Elliot twisted the blade, still in Colin’s leg.

“Do you understand?”

There was no answer, so Elliot twisted again in the other direction.

“Do you understand?” he asked again.

Colin screamed, and nodded his head. Either the effects of the drug had worn off, or the pain had caused his body to go into shock, because that was the first time since the pin pricks on the bottoms of his feet that he really felt what was happening to him.

London set his notebook down, and got up from the chair. He crossed the room and stood next to Elliot and looked down at Colin with disappointment.

“Don't worry. I’m not finished yet.” Elliot said.

“Good.”

Elliot laughed. He turned around to check on Colin. The man’s eyes were closed, and his chest was making slow up and down movements. London reached out and  pulled out the scalpel, still buried deep in his thigh where blood was gushing down to the drain in the cement floor.

“Dammit.” Elliot said. “After all that talk I gave him about knowing the right places and timing, I let him bleed too much. You distracted me.”

“Yes, I’m sure his very last thought before passing out was about how stupid you were, and couldn’t torture him properly. If he’s nearly dead, let’s just give him the injection, and be done with this."

“Fine. Go and get it.” London nodded and headed back to the desk and picked up a needle that was laying next to his journal.

Elliot threw his scalpel down into the sink across the room and turned the tap on as hot as it could go. He reached underneath for a towel, and brought it to Colin’s body where he started to wipe away the blood, applying pressure to the wounds that were still bleeding, and using another to wipe the blood from himself. He tossed those into the sink as well, and poured a jug of bleach in with the hot water to let it all soak.

“I hate smelling like bleach and whatever the hell else you create.” Elliot said to London as he returned with a vial and a needle.

London only nodded in acknowledgement, and turned the vial upside down, pushing the needle into the membrane that covered the top. He filled it and set the tip of the needle to Colin’s arm, and plunged it in.

“Should just be a few seconds.” London said, tossing the needle into the red bio hazard bin with the rest.

They watched the body start to twitch, and then finally come to a complete stand still. The substance in the vial was something else the Consulting Criminal had created. It was untraceable in any sort of way and it quickly, and amusingly enough, humanely, gave the victims their very last breath.

“Alright, let’s get him out of here.”

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Elliot undid the straps, and lifted Colin up from the table over his shoulder and disappeared into the hallway. Meanwhile London dipped a towel into the mixture of bleach and other chemicals he had created in the sink and wiped down the table, leaving it with a sparkle and a slight burning smell. He rinsed out the towels, rinsed off the scalpel and placed them all in the empty basin. He tucked his notes away in the desk, and picked up Elliot's shirt from the floor.

When he was satisfied, he turned out the lights, and followed in Elliot's footsteps. He met him in the back of the warehouse where he was already sitting on the drivers side of a cab. London opened the garage, and waited until Elliot pulled out to exit himself and get in the back.

They drove not very far to a bank of the Thames, and parked underneath the shadows of a bridge. Elliot got out and opened the trunk. He pulled out Colin’s body and threw him down onto the rocks and sand. He closed it up again and they drove back to the warehouse to put the cab back inside.

When they left for the night, London had locked up the several rows of padlocks which he had made himself and only he had the key for  and they walked together through three blocks of abandoned buildings just like their own, and then through two blocks of business until they flagged down a taxi to take them across the city, back home.

The cab brought them back to their apartment and they trudged up the stairs and inside.

“Elliot, there’s something I have to tell you about the body at the crime scene I was at today.” London said quietly.

They had made it inside, and Elliot was already putting the kettle on before he stripped down to take a shower.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You don’t have to lie to me about doing it on your own.” Elliot replied.

“No. It wasn’t, but it was made to look like I had done it.” London replied a little too quickly for his liking.

“What? Why would anyone do that?” Elliot asked somewhat confused.

“I’m not sure. I’m more concerned as to how someone even knows what I've been doing lately.” Had London gone and committed a 'Human Error' and thus making a... he couldn't even bring himself to finish that thought.

“Jesus, Holmes, if someone is on to you...” Elliot ran the palm of his hand down his face.

“They aren’t going to be saying anything. At least not until their message is delivered.” 

“Message?”

“Yes. There was the letter Z carved into the pad of his index finger." London still had no idea what it could possibly mean.

“That’s a bit of an odd letter. Not many words start with Z.”

“No, they do not.” London agreed.

They were both quiet for a few minutes. Elliot went about his tea making ritual; taking the mugs down from the cupboard and tossing a bag into each of them. He stopped short as the kettle started to whistle, and turned around to face the Consulting Criminal who was still just standing there.

“This could be bad.” Elliot said.

“It’s going to be fine, Elliot. I promise you.” London smiled. "Even with me hiding in plain sight. The police and especially Cruz are blind. They would sooner cast suspicion upon themselves before even daring to think I had anything to do with it. It's my word against theirs. I'm playing chess and they are playing checkers."

Elliot shook his head as he handed London his cup of tea. "I truly hope you are right."

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"All the world ‘s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts." (As You Like It. Act 2, Scene 7)

London could hear the shower running as he sat down in the lounge-room, sipping at his tea. As he read the daily paper, he noticed the headlines were highlighting the recent murder which he had just been faced with several hours earlier. One he was not responsible for.

With a sigh, the Consulting Criminal folded up the paper and tucked it into the couch he sat on. His ears perked up at the sound of Elliot’s shower turning off as he finished his last mouthful of tea.

He threw his legs up onto the couch with steepled fingers- immersing himself into deep thought.

“You know what, we should go out tonight.” London casually said. 

“Really?" Elliot asked.

"Yes." London replied without moving from his spot on the lounge. 

Elliot rolled his head to the side, giving London a somewhat conflicted expression. “Fine.” He said. “Just let me get dressed. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Elliot walked past the couch and smacked London's legs from the couch. The Consulting Criminal was not amused but eventually lifted himself from the couch and waited for Elliot's return.

Less than 5 minutes later, Elliot walked out of the bedroom in nothing more than a maroon shirt, black jacket and trousers. London nodded at his clothing choice. “You look wonderful. As always.” Elliot rolled his eyes as they walked outside.

London hailed a cab as the streetlights shone bright along the pathway of their street. The two of them climbed into the black vehicle together, momentarily heading to the nearest pub.

As the pair left the cab, they were suddenly assaulted by the sound of lights and music. The two of them entered the pub, walking to the bar as their first stop. As they both took a seat inside, a young barmaid approached them from behind.

“So, what can I get you boys?”

“Just a beer for me.” Elliot said as he looked over at London. “Make that two.”

London said nothing as he steepled his fingers underneath his chin, staring off into the distance.

“You know, you did drag me here. You said a drink...” The Consulting Criminal knew what he said. He did not need reminding.

“Yes. And you ordered, didn’t you?” London replied back.

“Obviously.” Elliot sighed as he stared at London with slight annoyance- he watched his eyes scan the room while deducing everyone in it. As Elliot opened his mouth to speak he was soon interrupted by the sight of two beers crashing down in-front him. He politely smiled at the waitress as London looked up at her in acknowledgement.

Elliot’s fingers slowly traced the lip of his glass as he continued to stare at London’s wandering eyes. “So, have you found anyone yet?” He asked.

“Hm. So, you have finally decided to join me again? That was short lived.” London said while still observing his surroundings.

Elliot took a sip of his beer before replying.  “I never left.”

“Come on. We’re going to go make a new friend.” London said as he hastily rose onto his feet. It seemed like he had found that new "friend".

The two of them made their way over to young man; no older than twenty-three years of age as he sat in the far corner. London had managed to deduce by the way he was dressed, the amount of empty glasses on his table and his overall body language, he had been dumped by his girlfriend only a few hours ago, likely dumped due to his drinking problem. London and Elliot reached the table. The young man looked up from his glass.

"Yes?" The young man asked sadly.

Perfect London thought.

"Sorry for intruding and you have every right to tell me to go away but me and my friend here..." He pointed at Elliot. "Thought you could use some drinking buddies. You look like you've had a rough day."

The young man let out a slight chuckle and shook his head. "Yeah you could say that. Please sit down. The more the merrier. The names Michael by the way."

London and Elliot sat opposite from Michael. “It’s very nice to meet you.” Elliot said as he sat down beside London. "I'm Elliot and this..." He pointed to London "This is London."

The three of them talked for what felt like hours, they bought each other drinks while sharing stories and laughing. London realizing it was now or never, decided to slip away from the table for a moment to purchase one last round of drinks. As he leaned over the polished hardwood counter top, he came face to face with the same waitress from earlier that evening.

“Back for more?” She questioned while cleaning a glass.

“Yes.”

She laughed in amusement as she poured three more drinks. She soon turned away after taking London's money to serve another couple who were sitting on the other side.

As London pulled one of the drinks towards him, he suspiciously looked over his shoulder and observed his surroundings. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small bottle of white pills. As he lowered them below the counter he unscrewed the plastic lid and tapped out two of the white drugs into the palm of his hand; he slipped the now crushed, powdered substance into the  beer as he waited for them to dissolve.  

With a smile he returned to the table. Elliot and Michael  were laughing and talking as London sat down by Elliot’s side and passed Michael his drink, which he gladly took. With his every sip, the lethal drug which London spiked his drink with slowly became apparent. He noticed the physical symptoms starting to take place in a matter of minutes: Heavy eyes, dizziness, nausea, unsteadiness…

Suddenly a wave of nausea hit Michael like a tsunami- he adjusted himself like he had just been dunked by a wave, struggling to come to terms with everything. He shook his head in an attempt to make himself more alert, but it didn’t help.

Michael's head slowly lowered itself onto the wooden table as he managed to shoot London a glare. “Wh-what the fuck have you done to me?” He said while pausing for a moment.

The tightness in his chest caused his breathing to constrict into harsh, ragged pants as he struggled for air. “You-you’ve drugged me..”

London tilted his head as he watched Michael collapse onto the table below.

“Don’t fight it. Just let it flow through your body freely. I don’t want you hyperventilating on me.” He said as reached over and stroked Michael’s head. “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun.”

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“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” - The Tempest. Act 1 Scene 2.


Michael awakened to the sound of water dripping as he struggled to move his body. The room was darker than night but he could still feel the cold air in the atmosphere brush along the surface of his skin. His chattering teeth echoed throughout the room as panic struck him almost instantly.

“Sh-shit..what the fuck..” He somehow managed to whisper.

He bit down onto his quivering lip as he tried to release himself from the leather straps holding him in place. He pulled and yanked as hard as he could, soon coming to the realization that it was impossible- he couldn’t move a muscle.

“Welcome back.” A voice from the corner said.

Michael's eyes widened in panic as he tried to tilt his head to see who was talking to him. He could only look at the ceiling as nothing but the ominous darkness loomed above.

Suddenly a beaming set of lights turned on and the sound of footsteps approaching from behind caught Michael’s attention in an instant.

“You’re awake. Good.”

London, followed by Elliot, walked over to Michael as London held a tray of instruments. Michael could only watch, as he remained petrified in fear.

“Never let a stranger buy you drinks, Michael. It could be the death of you.” Elliot taunted as London looked at the tray of instruments.

“Who the hell are you?” Michael yelled.

“We already told you.” London suddenly picked up his sterile scalpel from his tray and without warning stabbed it into Michael’s arm.

The scalpel remained lodged into his skin as blood oozed out of his wound. He screamed in pain as the Consulting Criminal twisted the weapon further in.

Michael tried to capture a breath of air as he felt the throbbing pain hit him. Tears of agony streamed down his face as London continued to grind away at his body tissue, making a mess of him as slowly as possible.

Elliot gazed at the tray of tools London had as he ran his hand over each instrument individually. “Hm. Which one do you think I should use?”

“Well, the knife is always fun. But it’s just so ordinary.” London said as he picked up a razor blade from the tray. “This could be fun.”

“Razor blades? Really? Can’t we get a bit more creative?”

“Use your imagination.” London replied as he yanked the scalpel out of Michael’s arm.

Michael let out a wail in pain as he gasped for breath. “You two are fucking insane!” He screamed.

London smirked as he walked around the metal table, taunting him with his movements. “We have no illusions as to who we are or what we have become. Our nature is our own, and despite your arguments to the contrary we are exactly who we need to be." Elliot calmly replied. Then again without warning, London picked up the scalpel once more and stabbed it through Michael's right hand, making sure to pin it to the wood of the arm of the chair.

London raised his eyebrows in satisfaction as he turned to walk over to Elliot who was sitting atop of the Consulting Criminal's makeshift desk. He didn't even make it 2 steps away before Michael screamed from behind as he tried to free his hand. He was doing more harm than good but in his frantic state he did not care.

“Just get this fucking thing out of me!” He cried out.

London dropped his head back in annoyance as his footsteps turned around to meet with Michael again. “Manners, Michael. You didn’t say please.” Elliot taunted from his spot.

Michael inhaled a deep breath as he spoke. “Please get this fucking thing out of me!” He screamed as he felt the warm blood run from his hand and pool at his feet.

“Hm. Well, since you put it that way…” London dislodged the scalpel from his hand and jabbed it into his shoulder. Another wail of pain shot through the room in an instant as London dabbed the sweat from Michael’s furrowed brow.

“Better?” He asked with a smirk planted across his face.

Michael tried to wriggle as much as he could, trying anything to free him of his pain, but nothing worked. “Fuck..just kill me now.”

“Kill you? Why would I want to kill you? We’re only just getting started. The human body has so many body parts and organs. It truly is amazing what they can withstand. Just ask..." He pointed over to Elliot who was still silently watching them from the desk. He leaned down to face Michael who was despite the odds, still trying to get free. A hand around his throat put a sudden stop to it. The Consulting Criminal then quietly asked "Can you last longer than he did?"

Elliot handed London his first tool.



"Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.". - (Hamlet. Act II, Scene II).

“That was exhausting but strangely educational.” Elliot said.

They had returned home, a little over two hours after London delivered the final cut to Michael's body, as clean as they possibly could get with the soap and the sink in the warehouse, but most of the blood was being covered by their coats, which they didn’t take off until they got upstairs.

“Yes it was. But now I have a case to solve." A case he needed to solve before Cruz got involved any further.

“You have a case? Since when?” Elliot sounded surprised as he was crossing through the apartment toward the bathroom, London followed with an amused smile spread over his lips. Elliot went into the bathroom, and the Consulting Criminal stood just outside. "I thought doing this..." He pointed to the blood on their clothing, clothing that London was still by some miracle wearing and not telling Elliot to strip and get in the shower immediately while he disposed of both their clothing like he usually did. "Was because you were bored." 

“I was not entirely truthful in regards to the last scene Cruz called me to. The reason I was in such a hurry to leave was because I had seen it before. You may even say 'first hand'. Someone did commit a murder, despite what I told Cruz, it was committed in such a way... the very first murder I committed to be precise. The one Alexander helped cover up. Only this time they left a letter; a clue of some sort. I’m not sure whether it was a clue for me or the Yard, but either way, someone knows..” And if there was one thing London did not like, it was not knowing something.

Elliot stood in front of the sink, searching the cabinet above it.

“I don’t see how anybody could know. Hell how long did you manage to keep me in the dark, up until that night I literally caught you, pardon the pun, red handed.” He said as he apparently found what he was looking for, a small bottle of pills and turned his attention back to London who was leaning against the door frame.

“Well, it would seem that someone else does.” And that was a problem.

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"If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?". - The Merchant of Venice (Act III, Scene I)


They were back at the apartment, London standing in front of the mirror where he had taped up all the information Cruz let him have as they left the crime scene. They were expecting the call that morning, but what they weren’t expecting was the third body lying tortured, bloody and mangled next to the body that was left the night before.

Everything on the body was nearly the same; the same amount of craze, the same tools, and the same needle marks on the arm. The only difference was that there was a letter, a small "U" carved into the skin just behind the ear. He also was the only one with any ID; Scott Williamson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers; a translator, and home on a short leave. The victim from the day before was also home on leave from the very same company, only he was a medical officer but he had no letter carved into any part of his skin.

They were both a bit younger than London, and he swore that he didn’t know who they were. Elliot was growing more worried that the killings might be something to do with the Consulting Criminal; after all, it wouldn’t be the first time that he was a target of some admirer gone off their rocker to get his attention, and London had to agree. There were no such thing as coincidence, and even if there were, this wouldn’t be one of them.

"I repeat. Is there anything that you haven't told me yet?” Elliot said.

“I can’t tell you.” London snapped for what felt like the 100th time that day.

“There’s someone trying to imitate you, and targeting the same company you once served in, so you will tell me!” Elliot demanded.

“If I tell you I’ll be committing treason!” London all but screamed. Why couldn't Elliot understand that?

“Well, that won’t be the worst of your crimes in the last twenty four hours, now will it?” The sarcasm in Elliot's words was deafening.

London looked at Elliot with that defiant stare he got when he slipped away from "The Consulting Criminal" and became simply "London" but Elliot only stared back, more than happy to wait him out.

London sighed, and dragged his hand down his face, “Alright. Six months before Alexander had me pulled from the unit I was helping, I was given another special assignment.”

“Special assignment?”

“Yes. There had been a rash of fire fights all over the region, and beyond in some others. Which, isn’t anything out of the ordinary, of course, except they all happened on tactical missions; missions that were supposed to take the other side by surprise, only they knew- and we were ambushed every single time.”

“So someone was giving them information; letting them know when you were coming. It isn’t unusual for someone to sell secrets to the enemy in war. They generally pay better.”

“No, it’s not. It’s also not unusual for the betrayed side to want to find answers, and that what I was tasked with; getting information from those otherwise disinclined to share.”

Elliot figured it out then. He knew where London’s predilection for torture and pain came from. He watched London look away as he spoke, as though he was ashamed of the things he did, still did, though Elliot couldn’t understand why. London was the smartest man alive. He understood duty and war. He understood good and evil. Right from wrong and though he might not have known it until the first time he was forced to stick a hot poker into the skin of someone else, or pull off a fingernail for the first time with a pair of pliers, or was told to mentally break down another person, he was doing something he enjoyed; something that had been a long dormant part of him.

“Did this operation have a name?” Elliot asked. London closed his eyes briefly and nodded.

“Zulu.”

Elliot nodded his head and looked back at the photos on the wall.

“This really is about you.”

“It was a secret Elliot. The only other people who knew about it were the other three people on my team, our commanding officer and Alexander.

“Could be one of them.” London fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“I don’t think so. Two of them got married and started a family, the last moved to America.” London looked down at his hands. “I guess some of us moved on better than others.”

“Look. What you do now, what you do is different. You’re not doing it out of a misguided fidelity to Queen and Country, you’re doing it because you want to. And if you ever don’t want to-”

“No.” London said, getting up from the chair and going to stand next to him at the photos. “I don’t want to stop. That’s not what I’m saying. I have a duty.”

“Did any of them die?” Elliot asked quietly in an attempt to calm London before he locked himself in his Mind Palace.

“Two did. We didn’t tell their families the truth, of course. Private Jason Williams and Captain Bradley Jackson.” The Consulting Criminal would never forget and he tried so many times.


"He will give the devil his due". - King Henry IV, Part I  (Act I, Scene II).


Elliot tilted his head as he flicked through the victims case file, he had no idea what he was suppose to be looking for but it was the only way he could pass the time as London thoroughly examined the photos of the body lying dead in black and white.

“Does any of this look familiar to you?”

“I feel like we've already had this discussion. Do keep up. Yes it does."

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me. But you can’t make a scene out of it.”

“I'm not. But think about this. What if this person has been following you from the start?" Elliot ran the palm of his hand down his face. “So what are you going to do about that?”

“Nothing. Leave them.”

“Leave them?” Elliot shook his head and went back to looking at the files.

“Yes. They don’t care what I'm doing. They are more interested in getting their message delivered.” London held his magnifying glass over the distinct wound carved into the top of the victims head. The scalp was mangled and bloody but London found what he was looking for. “Well, it looks like we just found the letter L.”

London was just about to reply when he felt another presence enter the room and stand behind him. 

“Hello brother mine." Alexander said far too happily for London's liking. Elliot looked up from the piece of paper he was looking at. How did Alexander manage to silently enter the apartment?

“Unless you have the information I requested, kindly take yourself back to where you came from.” London replied without even bothering to turn and face his brother. Elliot let out an amused chuckle.

“You wound me so but yes I do have what you requested. But why? Who are these people? These ghosts you have me chasing?”

Ghosts was correct.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out-” London finally turned around but did not get the chance to finish his sentence.

“What information could you possibly want from two corpses?” Alexander asked

London chuckled as he began to pace back and forth. Elliot stepped out of his way but still kept his eyes on Alexander. “You’d be surprised.”

“Well, I think you both should come back with me to my office right now and you can enlighten me because what I have to show you is best done behind highly secured doors.” Alexander said.

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"Tempt not a desperate man". - Romeo and Juliet (Act V, Scene III).


London and Elliot were in Alexander’s office in his home. London was pacing back and forth, reading through the files his brother handed to him, and Elliot  could only stand and observe the interaction or there lack of between the brother's. The two had a very strange dynamic but somehow made it work.  How much Alexander was able to find was anyone's guess, but the way he kept glancing toward London made Elliot think it was quite a bit.

And then Elliot  started to wonder how much Alexander truly knew about his brother’s after dark activities. Alexander made a point of knowing everything, and Elliot knew that he would do anything to protect London. That was the one thing they had in common.

“Bradley Jackson had a sixteen year old son, William, when he died.” London said to no-one in particular, “And he was very angry at his father’s death.” London handed over photos from the file of a young blonde haired man attached to a sheet of crimes three pages long.

“Most children are when they lose a parent to the war.” Alexander said.

“He doesn’t think that he was just killed in action. He’s been convinced that she was murdered.” London was handed more papers; letters William had written to the Army, and to the Queen herself calling for an investigation into his father’s death. He didn't need to read more than one of them. Because it was true. Everything this young man thought about his father’s death was the truth, and London was the cause of it.

London re-assembled the files, and handed the other back to his brother. “Thank you Alexander, that’s all we’ll be needing.”

Alexander nodded, and Elliot followed London out of the house. Elliot held pace with London as they kept walking.

"You think its him then; Jackson's son?" He asked.

"I'm almost certain of it."

“But how did he know about you? How does he know what you do?"

"I don't know." London came to a sudden stop and turned to grin at Elliot before starting again,"but we're going to find out." He said a little too happily.

"We are going to break into a murderers house aren't we?" Even though he knew the answer, Elliot still felt the need to ask.

"We've done it before."

"And how do you know this is a good time? Elliot asked.

"He works the second shift at a men's clothing shop; won't be home for hours."

"What if its his day off?" 

London rolled his eyes.


"Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings". - Julius Caesar (Act I, Scene II).


William Jackson's home was normal. There was nothing inside, once London managed to get the window open and squeeze himself in, leaving Elliot to climb in after him, that said a depraved killer slept in the bed and ate the food in the fridge, of course there was nothing inside of their own home to suggest the same of them either.

Except for maybe the skull on the mantle, and the body parts in the fridge, and the weapons collection underneath the bed, and the journal of poisonous substances on the nightstand. But those were for science, and London’s own morbid curiosity into things; they had nothing to do with his Sociopathic tendencies. Mostly.

Everything was neat and orderly; photos of William with his mother, friends, and other family members lined the walls and the tables. There were homey and comfortable blankets folded into a corner.

“Well, he wouldn’t do it at home, would he?” Elliot said, picking up a book and setting it back down.

“No, but there has to be something here to give him away.”

“Is there in our own place?”

“He isn’t us.”

“You mean he isn’t you.”

London was about to reply when he realized the part of the floor he was standing on did not feel right. He gave a quick glance to Elliot and pointed to his feet. Elliot carefully walked over to where London was and London moved back a step, leaned down and moved the rug that now suddenly seemed out of place. Once the rug was moved they saw it. There was a trap door, that more than likely lead to a basement and it was padlocked.

London reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his lock pick it only took a few moments for it to click open. With that out of the way, London, followed by Elliot creaked down the steps. It was dark, but there was a sliver of light coming in from a crack in a boarded up window that allowed them to see. Elliot headed towards the boarded window, while London walked to the center of the basement. Several silent moments passed. Elliot should of said something by now. Something wasn't right.

“Elliot?" London called, having no idea where he went to in the dark of the basement.

A voice came from behind him, then a light was shined right in his face. London was blinded.

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"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall". - Measure for Measure  (Act II, Scene I).


With the torch now lighting a portion of the basement, London could see why he never heard Elliot's disappearance or the man now standing in front of him.

“What have you done with Elliot?” London asked in an almost threatening tone.

“Nothing he can’t handle.” William smirked and London wanted to cut it from his face.

“Take me to him. Right now.” London watched as William slowly lowered his torch, devilishly smiling at London’s remark.“Trust me..I had all intentions on taking you to him.” William said as he curiously tilted his head.

William deviously smiled as he played with the light in his hand. The room was dark all but the beam he held.
“I must admit you did catch me by surprise. You got here earlier than what I had originally anticipated.” He said. “I see you cracked my message before I even had the chance to finish it.” William said with a sigh as he slowly moved closer. “And to think I still had just one letter left to carve out. You’re just too smart for me, Mr Holmes.”

“What do you want?” London asked.

“You’re really asking me that?” William said as he shook his head. “I thought that would be a pretty simple observation.”

London simply furrowed his brow as he angrily snarled at William’s remark. "Move."

William smirked as he walked closer to the Consulting Criminal. He was soon face to face with him as he evilishly looked him up and down. “My pleasure.” He said before spinning on the heels of his shoes.


"Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come". - Julius Caesar (Act II, Scene II).

The two of them walked into a dark, soundproof musty room that was hidden under the stairs. The only light in the room was the bright spotlight shining heavily over the expanse of Elliot’s slowly rising and falling chest.

“Elliot?"

William walked over to Elliot’s sedated body as he gently stroked his hair with the back of his hand. “Shh. Don’t wake him. He won’t appreciate it.”

“What are you talking about?” London asked as he watched William touch Elliot.

William chuckled as he slowly traced his hand down his luminous skin. “Oh, trust me. He is far from awake. He may look conscious but on the inside he is in a completely different world.”

London hastily moved over to Elliot’s drugged body. He was torn between concern and morbid fascination.

“He can’t hear you. Don’t worry..he will come out of it soon. Just in time for-” William calmly explained.

“Just in time for what?”

William smirked as he picked up a blade from his assortment of tools. He slowly held it in his grasp as he creeped up behind London’s body. He stared down his spine and pictured each vertebra snapping into a million little pieces. As his breath brushed against the hairs of London’s neck, he outstretched his arm, bringing the blade to the surface of his neck. “I don’t ask for much Holmes. All I want is your head on a stick...and his too.”

London straightened out his posture as his mind went into military mode. He felt his survival instincts kick in as the shimmering blade slowly taunted his taut skin. “But, I want you to do it. I want you to be the one to cut off Elliot’s head. Maybe I can add it to my collection.”

“Collection?”

“Oh yeah. You see, after I found out my father was murdered- I went ballistic. At first, I was angry, but then a sudden calmness came over me, and I knew what I had to do.”

London felt the pressure against his neck increase. “You had to find me. But not just find me...murder me. Torture me.”

“Oh yes. But then when I found out, what you did..as a hobby. Oh my god. It was just so fucking delicious. I couldn’t contain it. The London Holmes. Little brother to the almighty and feared Alexander Holmes of the British Government, who has covered up more than one little 'accident' to save his special little brother. London Holmes; the highly respected and for whatever reason, trusted, drug addicted Consulting Criminal, the greatest mind alive with a sick little hobby and equally sick "friend" that allows him to get his kicks from murder and torture in his free time, all the while getting away with it, like the freak he is! It was almost worth my fathers death.”

“If you’re going to slit my throat do it already." London said.

“No. I can’t do that. I’m not an idiot. If I kill you, and let him live. Who do you think is going to be number one on his hit list?”

Suddenly London heard a groan emit itself from the table. He hesitantly looked down as Elliot’s body awoke in a confused daze.

“What’s going on?” Elliot asked groggily. 

“It’s okay..” London said with what he hoped was reassurance in his voice. Elliot pulled at the leather straps binding him to the metal table as he watched the silver blade pressed against London's throat.

“William..” Elliot tried to sound threatening. William chuckled and moved the blade from London's throat.

"Relax. If I wanted him dead...I would of killed him already. Instead he get's a front row seat.”

London’s eyes scanned the room as he gently traced his fingers over the assortment of torturous weapons in the room. He held a scalpel firmly in his hand as he slowly began sneaking up behind William’s body. “Front row seats? For what?” London asked.

“Well, for the show of-course!”

London suddenly stopped in his tracks as William turned around. He swiftly hid the scalpel behind his back as he sneered at William's grinning face. “What show?”

“Well, I thought that the answer would be fairly obvious, considering you’re in it.”

London looked around the room while feeling quite uncomfortable in the circumstances. His sweaty palms clasped the scalpel tighter behind his back as his eyes nervously traced the room.

“Oh, no need to be nervous. I’m not going to hurt you. Hell. I’m not even going to hurt Elliot.”

"I hardly believe that- you’re just like us. Torture is your indulgent.”

“You know what..you’re right. Torture is my indulgent.” William said as he took a step forward, now coming face to face with London at eye level. He brought his mouth close to London's ear where he whispered. “But...that doesn’t mean I need to be the one inflicting the pain. I get off on watching others do it too.”

London remained silent as he held the scalpel. “How about this? I slice you. I can make you bleed out within minutes.”

“Yes. You do that. Show everyone the monster you really are.” William really had no idea how accurate he was.

William smiled at London's silence.

“Aw. What’s the matter? Are you scared?” William teased.

“No. I’m not scared. I just know that there is no point in killing you.” London calmly said.

“No point? Well, I have to disagree.”

“I mean...killing you would just be a waste of energy not to mention time. I wouldn’t gain any sense of satisfaction from it at all.”

“Well, I suppose that’s what this is about after all. Tell me Holmes, were you satisfied when you carved into my fathers flesh?”

Ah. There it was. THE reason. The game was afoot.

London evilly smiled as he stabbed the scalpel he was holding into one of Elliot’s leather straps. “He screamed and begged for me to stop and I’m not going to lie- I loved every second of it.” London calmly and coolly replied. “The more he cried for help, the more I carved out of him. I eventually just slit his throat as he gagged on his own vile. It was quite the sight. Tell me? How many pieces did you manage to bury?”

William's face was emotionless as he began to pace towards London again. “Well, now you’re going to know what it’s like to lose someone you care about. Someone you love.” William said. “I’m going to make sure you feel the pain I felt.” He said while walking up to the metal table Elliot laid on.

The scalpel embedded inside Elliot’s leather band was soon re-met with its owner. William held it firmly within the palm of his hand as he slowly began to pace Elliot’s body.

“It’s quite simple. If you don’t torture Elliot, neither of you are leaving here alive."

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"That it should come to this!". - Hamlet (Act I, Scene II).


London laughed, “Do you honestly think you can overpower me? I’ve seen your victims; none of them look like they could put up any kind of a fight, and Elliot; well, you just had the element of surprise with him, I maybe a drug addict but in case you forgot, I’m also a trained soldier who keeps himself in shape. I could kill you where you stand before you even had the chance to make a move.”

London stayed still. William walked up to him, the scalpel poised in his hand. He stopped when he got close, and placed the sharpest point of the blade at the skin just underneath his eye. London still didn’t make a move, even as it broke the skin.

“Do it. Until I tell you to stop.”

London blinked through the blood that was starting to sting his vision. “Or what?.”

The blade cut down the thin skin of his face, and curved into the dip of his nose. London instinctively flinched backward at the pain, and put his fingers up to the blood across his face. "Do it!"

“Do you have anything else aside from the scalpel?” He asked as he wiped the blood away the best he could.

“What did you use on my father?”

London reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a black switchblade.

“Use that then.” William said to him.

London took in a deep breath, and turned around. Elliot was still groggy from whatever it was that he was sedated with, so when London looked at him he saw nothing there and London knew he didn’t have a choice.

They did this to each other before, but it was different when it was controlled with the promise of knowing when to stop. The only thing London was certain he could promise Elliot now was death.

He flipped open the knife, and brought it down to the skin of London’s stomach. He traced the metal blade along, and Elliot sucked in a breath. He changed the pressure until he was able to slice into his skin, pooling out a bit of his blood. Elliot only flinched at the cut, because it was his body's natural reaction to do so, but he didn’t make a sound. London was certain it would take a while before he did.

“Don’t hold back on the account that you love him.” William said, sliding up behind London, and looking over his shoulder.

London gouged a bit deeper, and he saw Elliot bite down on his tongue. He didn’t want to, he was trying so hard not to, but the more he cut, and the more Elliot fought against any sort of response, the more London wanted to keep going. He had taken off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. There was barely between the waistline of Elliot’s trousers and his neck that didn’t have a mark on it. Though most of them were shallow, a great deal of blood was smeared along his pale white skin.

Elliot only flinched, and bit down on his now bleeding lip, and stared; stared as London started to move the blade deeper and deeper into wounds he had already made.

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt". - Measure for Measure (Act I, Scene IV).

“I’m sorry.” London laughed despite himself.

“Just shut up and keep going!" Elliot managed to spit out.  

London did what Elliot asked of him. He found an open wound and slipped the blade of the knife inside, and turned it, slowly, feeling the drag of tissue that it took with it. Elliot opened his mouth, and let out a low moaning sound that turned itself into a shout.

London watched the blood pour out, and fall onto his shoes. He tried his best to stay shallow, to stick to the places on Elliot’s body that wouldn’t cause much damage, but the longer he kept at it, and the more of his body that he covered, the cuts were deeper and the bleeding harder to manage.

William’s laughter came through the air as Elliot’s yelling calmed back down. London turned to see him leaning against the wall.

“You are more messed up than I thought you were.” William said. “You love this man; you have a life with him, and you’re more than content to stand there and slice into his skin until he dies.”

London walked toward him with the point of the knife pointed at his throat, “I am not content to kill him. You on the other hand, I have no problems. Do you know that your father was the very first person I killed willingly? I didn’t have to; I wasn't given the order.  He didn’t even doing anything to me. I was just bored. And it felt amazing to watch his life slip away right in front of me.”

William stared at him, pushing away from the wall and glanced at Elliot who despite going through what he was, he was still somewhat conscious. He handed London a syringe. He didn’t need to ask to know what was in it. He swallowed hard, and started to walk back toward Elliot; weak and bleeding all over the floor. He had the needle set just at the skin of Elliot’s forearm. William was behind him, hovering over his shoulder, breathing against the back of his head.

“You really shouldn’t test me, William.” London whispered harshly. “You truly aren’t remotely clever enough to come out on top.”

London didn’t hesitate. It was now or never. The Consulting Criminal turned and before William could process what was happening, London had hooked his right  arm through William’s and plunged the needle deep into his neck, holding onto him, then without breaking the contact, brought his left arm around and jammed his switchblade into the opposite side of his neck. The sounds William made before he slumped down to the floor would stay with The Consulting Criminal. Once William's body had stopped convulsing on the floor, London went back to Elliot’s side, unstrapping him from the leather cuffs. He reached for towels on a shelf that was next to him, wiping his own bloodied hands before pressing the towels against the wounds. Elliot was bleeding through everything London had at his disposal, and his eyes were fluttering closed.

“You are not getting out of this that easily. You are not giving up now." To ensure Elliot would remain awake, London none to kindly put all the pressure against the biggest wound and made sure to dig his fingers in. Elliot's eyes slammed wide open. Good. "There we go. Now you are aware that I can’t take you to hospital, even though you do require medical attention. So I’m going to clean you up, and do the best I can, okay?”

Elliot nodded.

London left him on the table to root around in a small bathroom he found in the corner looking for a medical kit. He found a half empty first-aid kit, and more towels. In another room he found a sewing machine. London took the spool of thread that was sitting next to it, and ripped off the needle. He tied the thread around and brought all of his supplies back.

It took some time but he managed to put Elliot somewhat back together; seven wounds were stitched together in all. London shoved the towels into a bag he found; towels from Elliot’s wounds, towels from cleaning up the blood on the floor and even though he wished he had his own chemical creations to use on the table, he had to make do with water, soap and two bottles of bleach, which he also shoved into the bag along with the syringe and knife he pulled out from William's neck. He put Elliot’s shirt back on him, ignoring his weak protests and rested him in a chair. He then resumed his task of making sure they left nothing behind. He made sure every trace of them was gone.

All except one.

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"I'll not budge an inch". - Taming of the Shrew (Induction, Scene I).


Elliot hissed at the pain shooting through his veins as London gently dabbed his wounds with a wet rag.

“I’m sorry but as I keep telling you, I need to clean them regularly. God knows what nasty infection you could get.”

“It’s fine.” Elliot replied as he let his forehead fall back. “I’m fine.”

London slowly looked up into Elliot’s eyes as the warm water ran down the expanse of his chest. The white cloth continued to make its way over the expanse of his body as he deliberately squeezed the wet material in all the right places, causing Elliot to suck in another deep breath.

“There’s something on your mind.” Elliot said.

“I thought you would know that by now. There’s always something on my mind." London was about to follow up his response when footsteps were heard from the other side of the  front door, and then Alexander walked through, holding a manila folder under one of his arms. He did not look amused.

“Well that explains where the excess blood came from." He said as he took in Elliot's battered appearance and London's wounded face.

London dropped the wet rag into the bowl of disinfectant he had placed on the table and out let an annoyed sigh. "Pray tell what on earth you are on about now?"

Elliot rose from the chair and put his shirt back on before he sat back down. "I agree."

Alexander walked over to the table and threw the manila folder down. His frustration was evident. Elliot watched as the brother's engaged in a staring contest. Daring the other to say something. Anything. It reminded Elliot of a child defying its parent and in a weird way it was. London shook his head and let out a slight chuckle. "This is not funny! I had a feeling you were up to something the moment you set foot in my office, so I acted upon my suspicion. I had two of my men follow you and guess what? They witnessed the both of you entering AND leaving William's place of residence. You are just damn lucky that I happened upon the scene before that Inspector Cruz arrived because in your haste to clean up your mess, brother mine, you overlooked this!" He pointed to the papers spread out on the table. "It was William's father's notes to his family addressing his concerns and fears about you and the things you were doing. About 'Zulu'. There's even several letters he was writing to high ranking Government and military officials that threatened to expose everything! And it was left out in the bloody open!"

London paused in his reading to look at his brother who looked on the verge of a stroke. "Are you quite finished?" The Consulting Criminal asked and when Alexander remained silent he continued. "Good. Now if Cruz was to walk upon this residence right at this very moment, I would tell him exactly what he wants to hear. I have no fear of him. Can the same be said for you? Tell me, how is the Inspector handling  his messy separation from his wife going? I only ask because you have been spending an awful lot of time with him over the last 2 weeks and 3 days. I'm surprised you didn't bring him with you." London calmly replied. Elliot who had moved over to sit on the window sill to look out over the street in order to get some distance between him and the Brother's Holmes as they fought, suddenly spoke up.

"Be careful what you wish for. The Inspector is on his way." Alexander's face lit up with a grin and he took the chair vacated by Elliot. He sat down, leaned back and crossed his legs, staring his little brother down once more. "Well brother mine, time to prove your worth."

The Consulting Criminal counted the steps Cruz was taking, he was taking 2 at a time and his footfalls on the steps weren't hurried and they were even. It would only be a matter of seconds before he entered. "Good morning, Inspector". London said as Cruz took the final step. "Holmes! Thank god you're alright!" Inspector Cruz cried out in relief. London turned to face the Inspector and noticed Cruz immediately draw his attention between Alexander, it seemed London's deduction may have been correct, and the cut on the Consulting Criminal's face. "Apart from a slight mishap with an experiment last night, that quite literally blew up in my face as you can already see, why wouldn't I be alright?" London asked.

"William Jackson. You were right about him. He was the one responsible for the torture and murders of the men who served the military, namely the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. At your suggestion I did some further digging and found that his father was Captain Bradley Jackson. It seems you were correct with your deduction that William was convinced he was murdered and was targeting members that served his father's unit in hopes of finding his killer." Cruz had no idea how right he was and the man responsible was currently leaning against the table.

"Which brings me back to my earlier statement." Cruz said and London raised an eyebrow. "How so?" The Consulting Criminal calmly asked even though he was struggling to contain his laughter. "I received an anonymous phone call last night that William would strike again and this time he was coming for you! I tried calling you several times and when no-one answered each time, I got worried and fearing the worst, I made my way over to his house. Where I eventually found him dead in the basement and upon searching his body I found a list of names. Every one of them had been killed and your name was the only one left."

"How very fortunate for you, brother mine, that the Inspector did his job, while you were out doing god knows what." Alexander replied. The sarcasm and threat went over the heads of Cruz and Elliot but London heard it loud and clear. "Yes, lucky me". The Consulting Criminal spat out through tightly gritted teeth but he quickly recomposed himself. "So, Inspector, it seems you've now got yourself another solved case. Congratulations."

Cruz smiled. If only he knew the truth, London thought. "Once again I couldn't have done it without you. You deserve majority of the credit. Thank you." The Inspector replied and looked at his watch. "Well gentlemen, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut my visit short. I've left Donovan in charge of the station so I really should be on my way. So as always London, I am truly grateful for your help." Cruz outstretched his hand for London to shake, the Consulting Criminal firmly accepted it and with nod to everyone and an extra look in Alexander's direction, Inspector Cruz took his leave.

When London was sure Cruz was gone, he broke the silence that had fallen and turned to face Alexander
. "I shall tell you what I told William seconds before I killed him. 'Do not test me. You aren't remotely clever enough to come out on top.' I overlooked nothing. I'm the one who placed that call. I'm the one that let the phone ring out knowing that Cruz would begin to worry and ultimately come looking for me after I failed to answer his call after only the third attempt and yes I'm the one who left that list on William's body knowing all too well that once Cruz found it, he would arrive at the only conclusion he could, which in his mind was that he had the right man. No suspicion was to ever befall me. However you are more than welcome to ask Cruz yourself once you leave here." London said as he sat down at the table to resume looking at what Alexander had brought him.

"Nature teaches beasts to know their friends". Coriolanus (Act II, Scene I)

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