Dedicated to the Debauchery

9: Hopeless

Walking up from behind Holmes, he spoke, "Be smart Mr. Hope. You've already achieved your goal haven't you? Is that not enough? Turn yourself into the police." Watson demanded.

You chuckled and all the men looked over towards you, "Oh John," You commented chuckling again before you continued, uninterrupted. "What need has a dying man, for being smart?"

"He's already given everything, and he's too tired to continue." You spoke gravely. "Look at his eyes, Mr. Watson...  Do you see any reasoning behind them? No, because it has all been used up to avenge his wife. Someone who he will never see again."

You continued, letting out a small sigh, "Honestly, I don't blame him."

Hope seemed to like you, smiling as he began speaking, "I like this one. They know well." He spoke, looking towards you, then up at the sky as he breathed in deeply before coughing.

He simply looked back at John and Holmes, "Turn myself in?" He seemed to chuckle before he coughed, holding his side in obvious pain.

Blood peaked through his hand which he held over his mouth to try and stop the crimson excretions from making its' way through the gaps of his fingers. Red stained the side of his mouth as he continued talking through the pain.

"Ya see, I don't have much time left." He spoke, smirking even at the notion of his own demise. 

"At this stage of the game, I may as well already be dead. All's lost, I gave all I had to my benefactor."

"This deal." Sherlock continued, "and what, prey tell, are the terms?"

"It is a simple matter gentlemen." he spoke as he reached into his pocket coat, pulling out a gun.

John gasped from right next to you, you held his shoulder. But even with the comfort, he reached into his pocket, grabbing his own gun and pointing it back at the man standing a few ways away from him.

Sherlock then used his own hand to try and reassure that Hope wasn't going to shoot. He only looked at Holmes in return.

"My life has been destroyed by the corruption of aristocrats. My tales at an end." He finished, bending down and spinning the gun towards Holmes. "And I want you to close the book." He finished, looking towards Sherlock and John.

The gun rattled across the ground, metal scraped as the barrel looked more and more inviting to dear old Mr. Hope.

"In other words, pick up the gun and end this suffering,"

John looked at the man wide-eyed.

"Since you uncovered Drebbors vile secret, it's only fittin' that I die by your hand." He tried to reason.

Then, he looked towards Fred in the distance on one of the rooftops, looking down at you all as he held on carefully. All of you followed, your gaze present on the mysterious man in the distance.

"And who's that?" The detective asked.

"The one who got Lucy's ring back for me."

"Events have been carefully arranged after I'm dead, kill me and he'll reveal the identity of my benefactor." He finished, still gazing at the clothed villain in the distance, holding on by merely a hand to keep himself steady.

"Tending to your affairs even before you're gone from this world, how very thorough."

Hope turned around, looking at all of you all once more, "Yes indeed, he truly is an incredible person. When I arrived at Drebbors mansion at the appointed time, the door opened as if by magic, and there was nary a soul around to interfere."