Deducing Tragedy Part Three: Hear No Lullaby

“My second visit from Sherlock Homes in less than a week,” she smiled from the table she was chained too. “Has my sister finally bored you into finding a new source of entertainment? Because, sorry to break it to you, but you’re just not my type.”

He sat down across from her, his face a mask of indifference, “Hanna has nothing to do with my coming here.”

Her smile grew. “Oh, Sherlock,” her head tipped to the side, “I love how you lie to yourself.” Ciri Pond Crepti, aka The Ripper Concidit, aka Emily Rain was sentenced to life in prison for the brutal deaths of two civilians. Well she would be if they could actually get to trial but half a dozen other countries wanted her head on a stick. She would live a long time while men in expensive suits argued over what should be done with her.

“I’m here about Vitamali.”

Her eyebrow twitched up, those blue eyes filled with a sort of deranged amusement. It made him uncomfortable. They were so much like Hanna’s eyes; some would even say they were identical, because they were identical twins. They didn’t bother to look past the label; twins are twins, they are the same in every way. Sherlock knew better, there was a difference. Not a tangible one, not one he could point out but it was there. Subtle, but real. “That’s what you said last time.”

He crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, “It is.”

“I proved less than helpful.” She said sitting up straight, her fingers tracing the silver links on her cuffs. “So why come back?”

“You’ve had time to think,” he said simply.

“Oh?” her smile shifted into a smirk, “And what have I been thinking about?”

“Eva Vitamali gave you up without a thought or care for your wellbeing.” When Hanna traded herself for Ben and Mary, Eva threw in her other daughter as an added bonus. She gave them Ciri’s location and told Lestrade to tell her something.

She raised an eyebrow, “The Mother of a criminal network that encompasses the globe gave up a bishop; taking out the other sides queen and retrieving her own in the process. I’m not one for chess but even I know what a beautiful move that is.”

“You don’t care?” he asked.

“About what?”

“She gave you up,” he said with a small frown.

“Mother has a plan,” she said leaning forward. “What pieces she sacrifices are hers to sacrifice.”

He let out a frustrated breath, “So you don’t want revenge.”

“Revenge was never a real motivator for me,” she smiled again. “After I killed my foster families I never really cared for it. No, Sherlock; if I wanted revenge I would take it on you.”

“Me?” he raised an eyebrow, “What for?”

Her smile remained, “My teacher is dead because of you.”

“Teacher?” he asked sitting up straight, his fingers interlocked on the table.

“Everyone has a teacher Sherlock,” she leaned back in her chair. “One to light their path, direct their life. Mine is dead and you are not.”

“Who?”

She offered him a challenge in her eyes, “Telling would be playing fair. I’m not play anymore.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he cocked his head to the side. “The Woman.”

“The Dominatrix,” she corrected with a wage of her eyebrow.

“She was your teacher-“

“Of course not,” she rolled her eyes.

“Then who?”

Her smile turned into a mocking frown, “Oh Sherlock, have you really lost a step like everyone thinks?”

“Mathers.” Tomas Mathers, Moriarty’s apprentice and Hanna’s Monster. Just saying his name made Sherlock’s blood boil. He was vial, cruel, and deranged. He took pleasure out of putting Hanna through hell. He was the reason she’d been blind, he was the reason she was deaf.

Ciri let out a laugh, “That untrained dog?” she giggled, “He taught me? Really?”

He glared in frustration, “Then who?!”

“Who indeed?” She jumped forward, her chains straining against the metal table. Their faces were inches apart and her breath stirred his hair. The guard move forward to intervene but Sherlock held up his palm to stop her in her tracks. Ciri’s smile grew, the raw madness sending a chill up his spin as she whispered, “A man, or more than that? Before I was but a spark, he blew me into a flame from which I burned across the continents.”

His eyes went wide, his lips just barely parted as he whispered, “Moriarty.”

Her smile fell as she slid back into her chair, “Jim was very dear to me Sherlock.”

“You loved him.”

For a moment her features lost the subtle notes of insanity and she looked like Hanna. She was sweet, innocent, and very sad…for a moment. “Of course I loved him. But that didn’t matter, he had to die. It was part of Eva’s plan. However he wasn’t the only one slated to die that day.”

He raised his head, “I was too.”

The madness leaked back into her featured as her eyes snapped to his, “Yes, you were.”

“Why?”

Her lips parted as her head tipped to the left, “Because of Hanna obviously.”

He glared at her, “I don’t understand.”

“Mother knew you and she would be perfect for each other,” she said, her eyes cast down at the table. “She knew you would give my dear sister hope when there was none. You were a pawn that had to be dealt with. Jim was made for you, from the beginning she constructed him to live and die… with you. He told you that.”

We were made for each other Sherlock. “He did.” He leaned back in his chair, “But how could she know I would be a problem years before I ever met her daughter? We were all just children.”

She shrugged, “I don’t pretend to understand my mother’s mind. I barely have control of my own.”

“Say she could predict all the variables,” he began, “what is her end game? What does she want?”

“That was above my pay grade,” she smirked, “I was just a bishop in her game. A tool she’s disposed of. I didn’t get to know the plan, I only did as told. There is only one person she might have told her plan too.”

“Who?”

“They won’t tell you anything.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

She laughed, “Sherlock, don’t you see? You already know.”

He frowned again, “What do you mean?”

“The only person Mother would tell her plan too?” she giggled, “You’re living with her.”

Hanna of course. Hanna, the woman he couldn’t even look at without getting angry. He didn’t know why he was always yelling at her; why he was always so cruel. He didn’t want to be like that, he loved her. He loved her so much.

He swallowed, eyes cast down at the table as he spoke, “One last question.”

“What more do you want to know?” she moaned in exasperation.

His eyes met hers, “When Eva gave you up she had Lestrade deliver a message.” She went still. All elements of amusements at his expense vanished from her face and her eyes lost the madness again. She looked scared. “What did it mean?”

The fear slowly faded back out of her expression and she smiled at him. “What message was that again?”

“You know,” he rolled his eyes, “I saw your face a moment ago, you know exactly what I'm talking about.”

“But you don’t,” she said with a pointed look.

“If I did I wouldn’t ask.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I think it’s a promise,” he said cocking his head to the side, “a promise that you will be free one day.”

She smiled, shaking her head slowly, “Oh Sherlock…” she sighed, “Don’t you realize now? Hanna and I will never be free.”

“The message,” he growled, “What does it mean?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You. Wouldn't. Understand.”

“WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!” he shouted slamming his hands down on the table.

Ciri only laughed.