Shadows of the Past (BBC Sherlock) -1-

7. A New Game

Those court shows on TV didn't compare to being in a legitimate courtroom, with such an important trial going underway. It was a breathtaking experience, being in such a massive room. 

John and I were in the public area above, where we had a good view of everything, including the back of Moriarty. Sherlock had just been called up.

This was either going to go really well or really bad.

"A 'consulting criminal,'" said the prosecuting attorney. She sounded business-like, dressed in the traditional robes. She even had the white wig atop her head. It made her look downright silly to me.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply.

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating."

Definitely not, I thought angrily.

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage as assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler."

There were muffled snickers travelling around the courtroom. I hid a small smile behind my hand.

"Would you describe him as—?"

"Leading," Sherlock interrupted her.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness." His eyes shifted towards the defending lawyer. "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

"Mr. Holmes," the judge hissed, clearly irritated.

"Ask me how," the detective instructed the prosecuting attorney. "How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?"

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help," the judge snapped.

I threw a side look at John. Movement on the opposite side of me caught my attention. A woman sat next to me, her ginger hair in braids behind her back. She was dressed like everyone else, which made me feel even more underdressed than before. I wondered if she was more than just a spectator.

"How would you describe this man—his character?" the prosecuting attorney asked Sherlock.

I squirmed in my seat a little bit.

"First mistake," Sherlock said instantly, "James Moriarty isn't a man at all—he's a spider; a spider at the center of a web—a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Sherlock's description couldn't have been more accurate. Am I considered a part of the web he's talking about? I wondered now if Sherlock had seen me before the trial had officially started.

The prosecuting attorney cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to move the trial onwards. "And how long—?"

"No, no, don't—don't do that." Sherlock closed his eyes in annoyance. "That's not really a good question."

"Mr. Holmes," the judge snarled.

"How long have I known him?" Sherlock went on. "Not really your best line of inquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something." His last remark dripped with sarcasm.

I shivered, remembering that night all too well. Faintly, my left shoulder throbbed.

"Miss Sorrel," the judge said, leaning forward a bit, "are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?"