Darkest of Times [Albert J Moriarty] - Moriarty the Patriot

Act 6, Scene 5 - The Truth

"I, Albert James Moriarty, own up to William's crimes."

The mind of guilt is full of scorpions.

Neither William nor Sherlock's bodies were found in the Thames, even after the search parties dredged the bottom of the river. It was almost as if they had vanished once they hit the water.

The pain and suffering that William went through emotionally was greater than any of the group could have imagined and they realised this more after he'd gone through with falling into the water. Each of them felt as if it was their duty to lessen the burden and weight that Will had carried towards the end, even with him no longer around.

The guilt they all felt festered in many ways. However, Albert was deeply troubled by letting William solely take the blame for the crimes they had all committed and wanted to do something about it.

"Are you sure about this, Albert?"

Eyebrows furrowed, Mycroft untucks his hands from his jacket pockets, a strand of his dark hair hanging down his forehead.

Wrists chained together, his brown curls unruly and his cravat loosened, Albert looks at Mycroft with a sincere expression.

"I was the enabler in these crimes and I ordered William throughout this whole conspiracy. I will take full responsibility for the crimes in his place."

"Do you know what you're getting yourself into?"

Albert nods. "I understand completely."

For Albert, taking full responsibility for the plan is his way of atonement. Despite what Moran had said to him, he knows what he needs to do to wash Will's blood stained hands. Although his conscience may feel less heavy, this burden is made worse for others.

-

The cell block is cold and dark. Dusty brick walls along the hallway, the rusty metal barred cells are locked with large padlocks and a wooden chair sits in the corner of the hall. A chilling dripping sounds from the ceiling, crows caw outside and carriages ride past on the cobbled streets in the distance.

"You can go."

Following Mycroft's instruction as he steps aside from the open door, Eleanor thanks him, slowly advancing over the threshold. She turns back to look at him.

Mycroft sends her a downcast smile. "I'll be right outside. Take as much time as you need."

Nodding, she watches as he slowly pulls the iron door closed and it clatters on its hinges.

Her steps echo against the stone floor, heart racing as she crosses her arms over her chest, shivering.

"Albert?"

Ambling towards the end of the dismal corridor, she takes in a sharp breath, a hand over her mouth in shock.

Hunched over on the silver bench inside the cell, Albert's hair is in an array, his tie and blazer both discarded to the side.

"Albert," Eleanor gasps.

He jumps up from the bench, rushing over to the bars as she does the same on the other side.

"Eleanor, my dear,"

"Albert," She grasps his hand through the bars, eyes glossy. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," He assures her, his other hand reaching up to her cheek. "You needn't worry about me. How are you?"

"I'm..." She intakes a sharp breath. "...not doing so well."

Albert bites his lip. "Is it because of all this?"