The Disgrace

The Bitter End

Verity's eyes blinked open reluctantly. She could see nothing but velvety darkness closing in, and she struggled uselessly against her bindings. Verity felt her back rub against a cold stone wall.

She heard a metallic grinding noise as light flooded into the room in a thin, horizontal sliver that covered the length of the wall. The sliver grew wider. Verity suddenly became aware of the gust of cold air rushing in from outside the room, and shivered. The sliver of light had become fully pronounced now, and as her eyes adjusted, she could see that the room was actually a garage.

Dusty and dirty, cobwebs hung from almost everywhere possible, and she swore she heard something skitter past her foot and under an old fridge.

There was a slender figure standing in the blinding light, and Verify strained her eyes to make it out. The figure came closer and she saw that it was a woman. She was blonde, her face wrinkled with age and worry. She looked like she had children somewhere, held by an obscure branch of Moriarty's newly reformed network. Her old, ragged clothes suggested she'd been reluctantly doing Moriarty's work for a while.

She walked briskly to a metal table in the far right corner of the garage. There were several panes of glass on one side and a small hammer on the other. She lifted up a pane and laid it in the middle. In the other hand, she picked up the hammer and began breaking up the glass steadily with the flat side pointed up.

"You don't have to do this," Verity began. "Sher--"

"Sorry, love," she said. "Not allowed to speak to ya. Only got three more months, and I ain't gonna blow it now, am I?"

"He's got your children."

The woman stopped breaking the glass and was silent for a moment. "And my 'usband. Russia or summat, as I 'ear," she mumbled. "But I don't argue. Can't, can I? He'd kill 'em."

"If you let me--"

"No," said the woman firmly. "I bet you fink that if you really believe, it'll all be good an' well, like in the fairy tales, yeah? Well the world don't work like that. You might as well go on an' say your prayers, cos there'll be no getting outta this one." She sighed. "Now look, you've got me talking when I said I couldn't speak to ya! I'll get another month for this, I will. Tricky little...." Her words became indistinct as she continued to smash the glass.

How long they were in each other's presence with nothing but the shattering sounds of the glass, Verity didn't know. A few bits of glass had tumbled over to her feet, and she saw that they were about tenth the size of a penny. After a while, the woman dumped the shards into a burlap sack and stood at the mouth of the garage, awaiting something. Sure enough, Verity heard the sound of crunching gravel and saw a large black van creeping up the drive in reverse. She tossed the bag in the back to someone with large black gloves. The woman turned away from the van and went for Verity.

• • • • •

Sherlock had come to an answer several hours before his phone rang again, but he had combed over his decision so often that he'd doubted himself four times.

He picked up the phone. "Hello, Moriarty, I suspect I've run out of time?"

"Time for an answer, Sherlock," he crooned. "Finish the game."

Sherlock took a breath. "'He who makes it wants it not. He who takes it knows it not. He who knows it wants it not.' The only plausible answer is counterfeit money."

Moriarty laughed mockingly, and Sherlock's heart dropped into his stomach. He began to feel sick. He was wrong, and it would cost his sister her life.

Outside of the flat on Baker Street, the large black van sped by the building, and Verity, tumbling and skidding, was thrown out onto the sidewalk. Blood poured from her mouth as she tried to stand. She put her hand over her mouth and retched involuntarily. The glass bits dug deeper into her throat and she squeezed tears from her eyes. Verity knew she wouldn't survive long.

"Where is Verity?" Sherlock demanded. Moriarty continued to mock him, caught up in the joy of outsmarting the great Sherlock Holmes.

Verity staggered to the door and grasped at the handle. Once she had entered, she began to climb the stairs, her breathing labored and painful. She collapsed at the door of 221B, the place she first slept here, the place she heard that beautiful violin. She weakly banged her fist against the door. "Sherlock," Verity gasped painfully. If anyone could help her, it was her brother.

The door flew open and Sherlock caught sight of his sister, blood speckled with something that caught the light running down her chin. He numbly helped her to the couch to lie down, knowing he couldn't save Verity. She writhed in pain. A tall figure in a Westwood suit appeared in the doorway.

"What did you do?" Sherlock demanded. Verity answered for Moriarty.

"Glass shards...in my throat," she managed.

"Just enough to make you suffer," Moriarty confirmed a little too joyfully, more to Sherlock than Verity. Sherlock shook his head to clear his mind. He donned a furious look and approached Moriarty.

"What was the answer?"

"Oh, Sherlock, still haven't changed much have you?"

"The answer!"

At this, Verity stirred. "I-I know…the answer," she said weakly. Her brother rushed to side again, now that she had something to offer.

"What is it?" Sherlock said. Verity took a ragged breath and fresh blood made its way down her chin. "Verity, please," he coaxed. "What was the answer?"

"…a casket." Sherlock was still. It all fit, and he knew it. He who makes it wants it not. He who takes it knows it not. He who knows it wants it not. Moriarty had toyed with him, and, again, a life was taken. His actions, Sherlock swore, would not pass with impunity.

Verity looked up at her brother, frozen, fully aware that her life was slipping from her. She reached for him and began to speak, desperately trying to make right her wrongs. "I'm sorry…I was…a d-disgrace…useless…." Tears slipped from Verity Holmes's eyes.

"You weren't useless, Verity. You were brilliant," Sherlock said in an attempt to calm her. Even so, he felt a lump in his throat. He smiled sadly despite himself at the sight of newly found serenity in her blank eyes. "Bloody brilliant."