The Sociopath: A BBC Sherlock Fanfic

Chapter III: The Masked Man

"Sherlock!" John called as he reached the consulting detective. Sherlock turned to him, looking quite annoyed for getting interrupted while in his "Mind Palace".

"John, can't you see-"

"There's a clue. I found a clue." his flatmate had interrupted him without even thinking. He wasn't so sure to tell Sherlock about the masked man now, but since he had already gotten the sociopath's hopes up, he might as well tell him. And it was clear to tell his hopes were up---excitement started to show in his eyes.

"A clue?" he wondered after a short silence, tilting his head slightly(John could tell he looked diappointed that he himself hadn't found anything yet).

"Yes. I met a man who told me that you have to find and kill him in order to get the clue."

John hoped that the hesitation that followed meant Sherlock thought this was utterly crazy; kill someone? For a clue? But Dr. Watson knew him well, and killing somebody for a clue didn't seem much of a problem for the sociopath. Finally, Sherlock frowned and replied, "I thought you said you found a clue. . . ."

John also was really hoping that the detective would ponder at the fact that this man wanted Sherlock to kill him. Did that not sound the least bit suspicious to him?

"Well, technically it is, Sherlock. It shouldn't be hard for you." Sherlock paused only for a mere moment before nodding.

"True. Where did he go when you saw him? Show me." Sherlock said eagerly.

"Finally, a clue! I thought I would die of boredom if we never found one." he added a minute later, having great emphasis on the word "die". He was nearly hopping up and down on his heels now in excitement. John almost smiled at his immense eagerness, but still felt paranoid. What if it turned out to be a trap, as he predicted? He felt there was obviously no point in trying to persuade Sherlock that this man he is to kill could be all for nothing. The detective wouldn't listen; he was too set in his ways and when he made a decision, it was final.

John led his friend to the place where he met the strange, masked man, and taking him where he left. As they walked along, John noticed Sherlock glancing right and left, searching for the man, hs eyes clear with keenness. John heard him swear under his breath in growing restlessness. He hoped that they would find the masked man soon; Sherlock would possibly go completely insane if they didn't.

"Damn it!" John had almost jumped at the sudden sound of Sherlock's voice. "Watson, this is a complete waste of time! I don't think we are getting anywhere. It's like looking for a bloody cat!"

John had never heard his friend as ticked as he was now. And never had he heard such boiling impatience coming from his mouth. John guessed that Sherlock really was bored, and very agitated. He decided to stay silent though, only giving an apologetic frown in response. Not that the other needed an apology, anyway---through expression or not. Sherlock was, after all, just acting as a drama queen, according to Watson.

Suddenly, a soft chuckle slightly muffled was heard from behind them. Sherlock and John spun around to see the masked man standing there. "Oh, there you are. The famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. I see you've had a rough time searching for me, correct?"

Sherlock had taken a step toward the mysterious man, not giving him an answer but observing him silently. The man had tilted his head as he continued, "Don't really like to talk, do you?" Even though it was hidden behind his mask, Sherlock could tell by the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice that the man was grinning beneath it.

"I came for the clue. I came to kill you." the consulting detective finally spoke, his voice in a monotone; his grey-blue eyes still observing the other. John quietly looked back and forth from the masked man to his friend. He could not believe how serious the sociopath sounded! A sociopath indeed. . . he thought to himself with an inward sigh. Sherlock also looked quite calm: as calm as the masked man. The man walked towards Sherlock Holmes, whom watched him. John continued to feel anxiety rising inside of him. He hoped the man hadn't brought some sort of weapon for Sherlock to kill the man; worse, he hoped Sherlock would not kill him with his bare hands. But who knows? John knew. And if he knew anyone better, it was Sherlock. The sociopathic man was absolutely unpredictable.

"Fantastic!" the man had answered. I am glad that you can cooperate. Now-"
He was interrupted by Sherlock, who had suddenly kicked him in the gut, shoving him to the floor. The masked man stared up at him with his blue eyes widened in confusion and surprise. John looked just as bewildered. The tall, dark-haired man stared down at him with an expressionless look on his pale face, putting a foot upon his slightly heaving chest.

"Do you believe me to be stupid?" he said calmly, leaning down toward him. But the masked man's surpise faded to be replaced with a sudden laugh. "So you know?" he responded, his eyes showing that he was grinning beneath his mask.

"No, I didn't know. I simply figured you out. And anyway, it is quite obvious this is a trap. First of all, you waited for about an hour before showing up; it is clear that you have been watching me, waiting until I've let my impatience show. Then, once I've shown how frustrated I was, you came to me. Second of all, I can't just kill you and expect to easily get my clue, because then there would be a catch. There is always a catch."

John felt himself flood with relief. He knew Sherlock was not an idiot and would figure this out, but the detective did such a good job pretending to be lured into the trap, that John began to feel anxious for a moment.

The masked man merely laughed again before replying, "Very well done, Sherlock Holmes! Too bad you don't have a better audience to show off your astounding deduction. . . ."

Sherlock had begun to feel irritated, pressing his foot harder upon the man's chest, whom winced in reply. "And too bad you don't have a better audience to watch you breathe your very last breath. . ." he said, a crazed look in his eyes. John had taken a step back, not wanting to get in the way of the sociopath at the moment.

"Tell me this boss of yours! What is his name?" Sherlock demanded of the man under him.

"The Invisible Man." Sherlock, looking ticked, turned his head toward his flatmate. "Why didn't you bring your gun with you? It could've have come in handy."

John gave him a look, and opened his mouth to defend himself, but Sherlock interrupted, "Don't answer. Jut whatever, it doesn't matter."
He turned his attention back down to the masked man; the detective seemed to loom over him, casting a shadow on him. But the other still didn't seem intimidated. This began to change as Sherlock pressed down harder upon his chest, causing him to gasp for air. It was then that he knew the man valued his life, and was not yet ready to throw it away.

"Now, tell me the name of your boss!" he said again in a louder, more demanding tone. The masked man did not respond. This time, Sherlock grabbed his throat with a hand and began choking him, his eyes continuing to give him an insane look. John still stood a bit further away, watching silently with a frown. Well, what else was he supposed to do? Get in the way would absolutely be a bad idea, and worse.

Choking with great astonishment, the masked man managed to reach up to his mask and take it off. He looked about thirty, his hair a dirty blonde. "Alright, alright! I'll tell you, I'll tell you!" he said in a raspy voice, struggling beneath the tall man's foot. Sherlock let go of his neck, but did not take his foot off of his chest. Still breathing fast with a hint of fear, the man swallowed before speaking in a low voice.

"Moriarty."