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Chapter Text

He had just finished another job for Moreau in the eastern Europe, delivering a simple message that he was sure the intended party had received quite clearly. Now he was in the airport,waiting for his flight to begin boarding when his cell beeped from an incoming text message. The message simply read “I have another assignment for you before you return home. Check your messages.”

He quickly shot off a text that told Damien that this job was be the last one he'd be doing for awhile before he used the phone to open up his email account. The job was in London, England and he noticed Moreau had had someone to already change his flight for one about an hour away. He couldn't miss it as it seems this job would require him to be there by a certain time tonight to meet with one of Moreau's associates: Jim Moriarty.

Upon reading the man's name, Eliot Spencer's frown deepened considerably. He had only been in the same room once with the man when Moreau had hired him to strengthen the plans for one of their bigger jobs and the man had been so clearly insane that even Eliot couldn't help but feel creeped out by him. Still the man was a mastermind criminal when it came to planning crimes and Moreau hadn't wanted to take any chances that anything would go wrong. Now Damien was sending him to meet with that psychopath again and Eliot decided that he'd be having words with him once he got back to San Lorenzo.

The flight to England was uneventful, and soon Eliot found himself at the designated meeting place that Moriarty had sent Moreau. The man who met him however was not the psychopath he had been dreading seeing but instead it was a man named Sebastian Moran, who was clearly one of Moriarty's lieutenants. He gave Eliot clear instructions to go to 221B Baker Street in central London and get into the residence by posing as a repairman. He was told he was to kill the old woman he found there if this man named Sherlock Holmes did not kill himself in a few hours.

“How am I supposed to know if this Holmes kills himself?” he had asked.

The man produced an ear bud. “I'll be watching to see if Holmes offs himself like my boss wants and if he does, I'll call you off. But if he doesn't, then kill the woman you find there. Understood?”

“Who is this woman? To Holmes I mean?”

Moran shrugged, “Not that it matters but she is his landlady.”

“Landlady? Why kill her then? What does she matter to him?”

“What does she matter to you? Eh?” the ex-solider handed him a gun with a silencer already on it.

“And don't think about backing out kill her if the order comes down because you don't want to get on my boss' bad side.”

Even though he wasn't liking the idea of killing an old woman he nodded and took the gun the hit man offered him. After checking it to see if it was sufficiently loaded he stowed it into a tool box the other man had given him and left the man to find transportation to 221B Baker Street.

Moran called out one last warning, “Just do as my boss says and kill Holmes' landlady if I tell you to or my boss will hunt you down and then he'll make you wish you'd never been born!”

Eliot didn't acknowledge the man in any way but walked until he found a street he could hail a cab from and was soon after on his way to 221B Baker Street.

*

The cab, he supposed, arrived on Baker Street in good time and after he paid the driver he went to the door marked 221B. He knocked on the door and was surprised how quickly it was opened. On the ride over he had decided that attempting to sound like a native Londoner was not a good idea and so when Martha Hudson appeared he gave her a friendly smile then said in a Southern gentlemanly way, “Good day, ma'am. I'm here to fix your doorbell.”

A look of puzzlement crossed the landlady's face, “You're American?”

“Yes, ma'am. I am.”

“But I didn't called for anyone to repair our bell,” she replied.

“Well you see, ma'am, I believe it was a Dr. Watson who made the repair arrangements a few days back with my boss and I'm sorry to say this is the first chance I've had to get to it.” Eliot gave her the most honest look he could give her, but the old woman didn't seem to be buying his story so he knew he'd have to move onto plan B which was tie her up while he waited for confirmation of her tenant's death.

He was about to force his way inside when a smile brightened her face and she stepped aside.

“Come in,” she ushered him in and closed the door. “I'm just surprised Dr. Watson found the time to make the arrangements as everything has been so mad around here lately with everything that is happening to Sherlock.” She lead Eliot to where he could get started on the repairs. “But I am glad John, the dear boy, was able to find the time somehow. I've been meaning to do it myself but just haven't.” She went on to say it hadn't worked for months since Sherlock shot it.

Eliot smile and started up the ladder, “Just give a few minutes, ma'am, and I'll have it working again good as new.”

The door opened at that moment and out of the corner of his eye Eliot saw a short, blonde man rush through. He knew it had to be one of the two men who lived her in the apartment upstairs but which one he wasn't sure but given Holmes was supposed to be meeting with Moriarty right at this moment he assumed it was Dr. Watson.

John stood there looking at her, relief flooding his face, hardly taking in the presence of the man up the ladder. “You're all right then, Mrs. Hudson?”

She smiled, “Of course I am, dear. And look the repairman you arranged has finally come to fix the doorbell for us!”

Eliot watched the doctor closely, waiting to see if he'd expose his deception with the landlady, laying his hand on the gun in case he needed to deal with the man. But that problem never arose as realization flashed across the man's face and he hurried back out the door yelling for a cab as soon as his feet hit the curb.

Eliot heard Mrs. Hudson ask him what was wrong.

“I've got to go find Sherlock!” was all he said before ducking into the cab and urging it to drive off.

Eliot was relieved when the good doctor left because he now only had to deal with the landlady if the time came to carry out Moriarty's orders. He need only keep up the act a little longer, and so went back to repairing the doorbell, which unfortunately was going faster than he would have guessed. He had just started to wonder how he'd delay leaving without arousing the suspicion of Mrs. Hudson when she asked him if he'd like to have tea with her.

He smiled at her. “Why yes, ma'am. I would, thank you.”

“It'll be ready in a few minutes. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

Eliot nodded, and put up the last of the tool in the box. He caught sight of the gun as he set on the floor near his seat, and closed the lid. All he had to do now was wait to see if the order came down to kill the lady in the kitchen who chatted from the kitchen, trying to draw him into a conversation while she put the finishing touches on their tea.

The more he listened to her, responded to her, the less he liked this whole situation and the more angry he got with Moreau for putting him into it. He didn't really relish the idea of killing the man he had seen just a few minutes ago but right now he couldn't help but wish they'd wanted him to take out Dr. Watson instead. Killing the man with a single bullet from a sniper rifle would be far easier than doing it in close quarters and looking the older lady in the eye as he shot her in the head.

A knock suddenly echoed at the door. Eliot froze. Not willing to risk someone else's life, he quickly reached for and pulled his gun. "Don't," he said quietly. "I don't want to hurt you but I will if it becomes necessary."

"If it's money you want..."

"This isn't a robbery," Eliot said, sounding disgusted.

“Then what do you want?”

Just then a voice joined in on the knocking, “Mrs. Hudson?”

Eliot kept the gun on here and looked cautiously outside to see a man he was no familiar with standing on the steps. He moved back to her before he asked, “Who is that man?”

“He's the real man that's supposed to be fixing the doorbell.”

“Will he go away if you doesn't think you're home?”

She nodded nervously, “Y-yes, I think so.”

“Keep quiet then.” Eliot ordered.

The knocking stopped as soon as he had finished saying the word, and Eliot checked to be sure the man was leaving but before he had left earshot the kettle began to whistle in the kitchen. It was in vain to hope repairman hadn't heard the whistle because they soon heard his voice again.

“Mrs. Hudson?” The man yelled, banging on the door again and sounding even more concerned.

It quickly became clear the man was not going to go away without knowing the landlady was all right, and so Eliot motioned for her to open the door. He moved to a spot where he couldn't be seen but would still be able to act if she didn't do as he told her. “Get rid of him now, and don't let him know I'm here or that anything is wrong.”

She nodded and began to open the door.

“I don't want to hurt either of you but I will if he doesn't go away or finds out I am in here. Understand?” he said to re-emphasize his point.

“Yes, I do.”

She opened the door and to Eliot's relief acted fairly naturally telling the repairman that he'd need to come another door as she had an appointment she had forgotten about.

“Would it be all right to reschedule?” she asked.

He nodded, “Yeah, I suppose.” He gave her a date and time.

“That sounds good, dear. If I can't be here I'll ask one of the boys if they can be when you come.”

“Please try to make it Dr. Watson if you can. No offense, Mrs. Hudson but Mr. Holmes doesn't have the patience to answer the door let alone deal with anything I might need of him.”

She smiled understandably, “Of course, dear.”

“Mrs. Hudson, are you sure everything is all right?” he whispered.

To her credit the older woman didn't show any sign anything was wrong and she nodded. “I'm just a little tired, dear. Maybe coming down with a cold or something but it's nothing to worry about.”

He stared at her for a long moment before saying, “Well I guess I pop off to my next appointment then. You take care of yourself, Mrs. Hudson. And please if you do come down with something, talk to Dr. Watson, hmm?” With that he was gone and she shut the door, locking it.

Eliot stepped up behind her. “You did good.” He directed her towards the kitchen but instead of letting her shut off the kettle he did it himself then directed her to a chair. “I won't tie you up as long as you keep your hands on the table top and keep quiet.” He pulled out one of the other chairs keeping the gun on her.

They stared at each other for a long time before she asked, “Why are you doing this if you don't want money? Does it have something to do with Sherlock?” She shuddered remembering one of the more unpleasant times when someone had broken into the flat while she was there because they had business with the consulting detective. When he didn't answer her, she drew a conclusion, “It does, doesn't it? What do you want with him?”

“Quiet.” Eliot replied in a firm yet not unkind one. He was trying to listen to what was going on wherever Moriarty was meeting with Sherlock Holmes. He knew Moran was near that meeting, watching it in some way, because it would determine whether or not the man put a bullet into John Watson's head. It was an event he hoped never happened because he'd had to do the same to the woman sitting across from him.

“Will you just tell me what's going on, please?” Mrs. Hudson finally pleaded when he didn't answer her. “Why are you here?”

He looked at her, still keeping one ear to the communications tie to Moran, while trying to decide what he should tell her if anything. He was here to kill her if Holmes didn't go through with killing himself and was it a cruel thing to tell her if he didn't die by his own hand she would die in his place? However she saved him the trouble of making that decision him.

“You're here to hurt Sherlock, aren't you?”

Eliot opened his mouth to deny it.

“Yes, you are! I can see it in your eyes! You're here to hurt him!” She swallowed hard as tears welled in her eyes, and her voice a whisper when she said, “Or kill him. That's why you're here isn't it? To kill him.” Her voice had turned angry and she swiped at a tear that ran it way down her cheek.

Eliot thought his hatred at the thought of having to kill this sweet old woman couldn't get any deeper than it was but seeing her crying at the thought the detective would be killed by him made it all that much worse. The truth might be worse, would without a doubt scare her but he decided to tell her the truth and when he did it Eliot had the nerve to look ashamed. "Not him, ma'am," he said softly. "I'm sorry..." he trailed off.

“Then who?” she asked. “It can't be John you're here for. Please not that dear, sweet man!” Then she remembered that Eliot had allowed an opportunity to do just that pass when John had shown up unexpectedly worried about. Not he wasn't sent after John Watson, “You've come for me, haven't you? It's me.”

“Yes.”

That knowledge seemed to give her some courage and in a strange sort of way gave her comfort because it meant that neither of the two men who were more than just a source of income for her would be hurt. But if she was going to die she wanted to know something from him first. "I want the entire truth of this. Tell me the whole truth now," she said standing. "If you're going to kill me anyway, there's no reason to sit and wait, now is there?”

At her movement he raised the gun again, and ordered her to sit down.

“No, I won't until you tell me!”

She was a woman who had nothing left to lose and wasn't afraid of him, so Eliot made his decision. “All right I was sent here to kill you but only if a certain... event didn't happen.”

“And what might that be?”

There was no way to soften this. “I was sent to kill you if Sherlock Holmes does not kill himself today.”

She gasped, and sat down suddenly asking, “How do you mean if Sherlock doesn't kill himself today?”

“The man who hired me to kill you has something against Holmes, enough that he wants him not only dead but disgraced, and he wants him dead so much he's going to threatened to have anyone he cares about killed.” Eliot said with a shrug. “Two others besides you are targets too.”

The landlady didn't have to give it much thought about who one of the targeted people were. She knew by instinct John would be one of the targeted given how inseparable he had become with Sherlock since that first day they first stepped together into the flat they had now called for over a year. They had become close so fast, even when they had rows she knows they understood and cared about each other in a way went far beyond ordinary friendship.

As to who else come be on the list she briefly considered Mycroft being Sherlock's brother and all. But something made her quickly eliminate him as a possibility and it wasn't really because how much the two brothers bickered whenever they were together. It was something else in her heart that just said Mycroft wouldn't be a target by whoever wanted Sherlock dead.

Then she just knew who it was and before she could stop herself, “I know one must be John Watson because he means far too much to Sherlock for him not to be. But the other one I can't think of who unless it is his brother?”

“No, it's someone named Lestrade,” Eliot replied.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened, “Not Detective Inspector Lestrade!”

“Unless Holmes knows more than one man by the name of Lestrade then yes, it's him.”

Mrs. Hudson's contact with the detective inspector had been scarce over the time the boys had been living upstairs. Lestrade only came there when he needed to ask Sherlock to come help them with a difficult case. She may not know him well but also knew he didn't deserve to be murdered anymore than the other man who she knew did.

“Do you know how the man who wants Sherlock... dead is going to force him to do it?” she asked, closing her eyes again at the thought of him dead.

Eliot shook his head. “No.”

“If you did would you tell me?”

“What would be the point of telling you?”

“I want to know if he's going to be made to suffer before he finally passes.” Tears escaped her closed eyes and she looked like she was about to break down further.

“I don't know what he's got in mind for your... friend, ma'am and that's the truth.”

Unexpectedly her eyes opened, meeting his in a soul wrenching gaze, “You don't think Sherlock will kill himself for us, do you? You really think you'll have to kill me because he doesn't think enough of the three of us to take his own life?”

“Ma'am, no offense but I really hope I'm wrong and he does do it.”

"Why?" the woman asked softly.

“Because there's no honor in this," Eliot replied. "And I..." he stopped himself before he revealed more.

“And you what?”

Eliot knew he shouldn't tell her anything about his doubts but that didn't stop him. “I'm a tired of being a monster. I'm tired of having my hands dripping wet from all of the innocent blood I've spilled and I'm tired of this road I've been traveling towards hell for years.”

“Then why don't you get off that road, dear?”

Her question surprised him because there was no condemnation in her voice at all. He was saved from having to answer her by hearing Moran's voice in his ear.

“It's over. Sherlock Holmes is dead. The stupid wanker actually jumped off the hospital building to save 'em and he did it in front of dear 'ole Dr. Watson!”

Eliot yanked out the ear bud, not wanting to heat Moran's commentary any further, and put the piece in his pocket. He looked at the woman sitting across from him and he didn't know how to tell her that a man she cared about actually took his own life to save hers.

“It's over isn't it?” she asked.

“What?”

“Oh please don't try to lie to me and say he didn't. Sherlock is dead... he... he killed himself.”

Seeing the old woman's pain hurt Eliot to his core but he didn't lie to her. “Yes, he's dead. I'm sorry.”

“Don't!” she replied angrily. “I don't want your sympathy! He killed himself for us but you might as well have been the one to do it!” More tears had welled up in her eyes but she refused to cry anymore in front of him. “Oh Sherlock, my dear dear boy why?”

Eliot knew now that it was finished, he needed to leave before anyone showed up here. Whether the police or Dr. Watson if any them came and he was still here he knew she'd tell them who he was and what he had been sent here to do. So he took out a length of rope from the toolbox and started towards her. “I'm sorry but I am going to have to tie you up now.”

The woman didn't seem to hear him or acknowledged him. Without waiting any further he started tying the rope around her as gently as he could but with enough tightness to keep her in place until after he was gone. The last thing he did, as much as he hated it, was find one of her own dish towels to serve as a gag.

He said simply, “I'm sorry.” as he moved to tie it in her mouth.

The landlady turned her head to evade the cloth. “I don't suppose promising not to scream would do any good?”

“No sorry, ma'am it wouldn't.” He knew she'd likely want him caught since she no doubt held him at least partially responsible for Sherlock's death.

“Then I want to say something to you before you put that bloody thing in my mouth. If you are as sorry as you seem to be, you at least owe me that!” In the corner of her eye she saw his hands drop.

“All right.”

“And come around here so I can see you!”

Eliot stepped around to the front of her seat. She looked at him for a long time like she was studying him and Eliot found it hard to not look away from her eyes as they bore into his. Eliot knew exactly what Sherlock Holmes was famous for, he knew the man could have picked him apart in less than a minute, revealing things about himself he considered secret. She might not be Sherlock Holmes but the feeling he got while under the old lady's scrutiny was what he imagined the late detective's gaze would have felt like.

“Are you going to continue being what you are right now?” she asked. “Are you going to keep killing innocent people for the money or because you're told to by another man?”

“I've already decided that this would be the last job I'd do for the man I've been working for... especially if it ended with me having to kill you.”

“Will you promise that?”

Eliot nodded, “Yes ma'am, I will. Even if the man I work for decides to kill me for wanting to break away from him I promise you I am out of this life for good.” He moved to tie the gag in place again and again she moved her head so he couldn't.

“I want one other promise out of you, love, and then you can put that awful bloody thing in my mouth.”

“All right, what is it?”

“Promise me instead of hurting people, from here on out you'll try to help them. Turns whatever skills you've used to hurt and kill to heal instead. Will you promise me that?” The landlady asked.

Eliot nodded solemnly. “I promise. But tell me how do you know I'm not lying to you right now? How do you know I'm not going back to doing what I've always done?”

“I know because I can see it in your eyes. I may not be Sherlock...” Her voice broken when she said that man's name and after a deep breath she went on, “But I can read people a little and I think you really are tired of being this horrible person you are. You want to change, to find some kind of redemption. I see something in you that says you deserve the chance to find it, and you're young enough that you can't be beyond saving.”

Eliot nodded, a knot suddenly in his throat from her belief in him. He didn't say anything else but tied the gag in finally as gently as he could, and she allowed it. He gathered up the tool box, stashing the gun back inside, and hurried out onto the street with a brief glance back at her. He walked a few streets over from Baker Street before hailing a cab straight to Heathrow airport as he knew he needed to leave England as soon as possible.

Hours later when his plane landed in San Lorenzo and after he'd been welcomed back by Moreau, he did not forget his promise to Mrs. Martha Hudson of 221B Baker Street, London.