Fleeting Impressions | J.M.

24: Part for the Queen

It took me two hours. Two hours by walking across the city because no other cabby would take me.

Okay, I get it. I have a little blood on my face and a sour expression, but that is no excuse to deny a girl service.

The lotus club is finally in front of me.

I walk in, killer queen playing through my headphones as I stand in line, looking around like I'm just a regular customer.

I see a man in the corner, dressed nicely. But a small skin colored wire in his ear gives it away. I look to the barista, a slide to her step and a confidence in her posture. A marksman perhaps?

I make it up to the menu infront of me and I try not to laugh out loud at how obvious Moriarty is being. The special today: caviar and cigarettes? Funny.

I turn down Killer Queen before giving a smile to the Black Lotus member. "I'll take the special, with a Jim," I snicker. "Whoops, sorry I meant Gin."

She winks.

"The specials are served behind the VIP lounge."

I nod before turning around.

Pulling back the red curtain embroidered with a dragon, thick smoke wafts through the air.

A man on the left side glances to me before looking ahead. And I notice everyone else in here doesn't bother to look my way. But the tapping of fingers on glasses, the bob of their knees under the table, all give away that they are trying to physically not look in my direction. They must have been given orders.

Every one of these men and women in here are Lotus members. Guns peaking beneath shirts, tattoos, and coiled muscles. I move to the back of the lounge where I find a familiar face.

"John."

He's frantically looking around at everyone who won't give him a time of day. Asking questions to gang members like his life wouldn't be in the line.

"John." I get his attention this time. His hands wring together while he approaches me.

"I was given a clue about the black lotus and I know Sherlock must be here. We have to find him. He was stolen right out of that court room. I just went to the bathroom-" he rambled on, the worry in his voice present.

I put a reassuring hand on his arm, hoping to calm him down. He needs a Holmes right now.

"John, listen, you need to take a breath. For Sherlock. You can't find him if you are not thinking clearly." I squeeze his shoulder before letting go.

"Right, right. Enough of the sentiment," John steels his composure in front of me. Turning into the army doctor once more before my eyes.

"Now. We need to go to some sort of back room, staircase maybe. A basement or an upstairs," I raise my voice a little over the music and John points to a door a few meters back. I grab his arm to pull him through the crowd. People flocking out of my way, parting for me.

Like a queen.

My steps almost falter at the thought. But I keep going.

The door leads out to a dark lit hallway, stairs going up and down. I think quickly. Where would Moriarty want to keep his favorite Holmes sibling?

Oh darling, you are too predictable.

"John, why don't you check in the basement," I ask him before ascending up the stairs. I convince him it's to cover more ground, but really I would like to have a chat with Moriarty and my brother.

"Right," he nods like the good soldier he is before stomping down the basement stairs. I smile for a quick second: he's so willing to run into dangerous situations for Sherlock.

I then get right onto my mission. I have a feeling that this will be Moriarty's final move. I mean, he's played with me before,
But now he has Sherlock. Both of the Holmes siblings that he seems to like to mess with the most. Why couldn't he of played around with Mycroft's heart.

I think about all that I have went through with him.  Could it really be that I developed feelings in that short amount of time? I never do that. I was taught, as a Holmes, to never have sentiment. My brothers installed that in me for ages.

And they were right to do so. I picked the one person on this planet that I really couldn't have. The enemy of my brother, the great Sherlock Holmes.

The measly sidekick for a sister fell for the Napoleon of crime. I tried to deny it. But I got caught into the web. What I felt for him was as real as it was going to get.

But I was just a pawn in his game. The queen before he got to the king.

After I get my brother back, I will try whatever it takes to take down the web of James Moriarty. Then, will I no longer be stuck.

I stand up to last door above the stairwell, two stories above the ground before opening up to see the rooftop.

And like a grand entrance to my own final scene, the characters in the play are before me, ready to preform.