THE TRUST

By Marylouleach

Romance / Action

Chapter 43 The Vow

Chapter 43: vows

John knew he was being followed. It would be foolish to believe he was free. James had eyes everywhere. His normal escort was an Alpha by the name of Caleb. Caleb only took orders and his were to keep John from running off or in anyway betraying Moriarty. John knew that the gun Caleb walked around with wasnt for the Doctor's protection; more like his demise.

They had accomplished all the tasks Moriarty had sent them to. John's job now, as the official Doctor for the organization, was to treat the scrapes and wounds of Moriarty's most loyal. The Omega was so much of a legend that criminals feared the very mention of the man's name. John compared him to Voldermort when he was alone in the room he had been given.

It was a nice room with a bed and a bathroom all his own. The clothes in the closet were things he surprisingly enough would wear. Comfortable jumpers and jeans, not a suit or tie in sight. It was disturbing that whomever purchased the clothes knew John's size in everything from shirt to pants, trousers and shoes.

Someone was a joker, though. All his pants were red, not his usual choice but at least they were comfortable.

John heard his silent companion cough and clear his throat. "Oh piss off, Caleb. I'm not going to run off. It's my funeral you know."

Caleb shrugged no reply, his green eyes looked behind John to the slow moving hearse and single black car behind it. John moved to get closer. James had mentioned in passing that John's funeral was today.

"Morbid fascination. Don't judge me." John grumbled at the ever silent Caleb. Caleb glared in the direction of some trees and John shrugged, seeing the telltale security team.

"They are most likely Mycroft's men, probably just making sure there aren't any assassins out to kill Mr. British Government himself. Not that he would show up to my funeral. Bastard is probably happy to be done with me."

John neared carefully, the two of them were dressed today in suits despite John's aversion to dressing up. Today, Jim had wanted to make a point and after a torture session, John had been sent in to patch up one of Moriarty's own. The Beta had done something to displease the ever so changeable criminal and he had been punished. John was sent in to set an arm and bandage some fingers.

Moran had been there to warn the Beta that next time the Doctor had to make an appearance it would to administer some twisted drug. The bleeding man had nodded his understanding spitting out teeth and sobbing.

John remained silent, he schooled his face to be passive. It was a great imitation of Sherlock's bored expression. The genius would have been proud.

The once blond Omega felt ridiculous with the black mustache and dark hair but Jim had insisted so John did as he was told. He had to play whatever game Moriarty wanted, just to get close enough to kill the bastard.

The way he had laughed about the demise of Grandmere, his ridiculous vendetta and now the cat and mouse games he had planned for Mycroft Holmes.

John was careful keeping his distance from the would be mourners, just as the sky decided to open up rain. Caleb drew near, producing a brolly that would make Mycroft Holmes jealous. The two stood off to the side pretending to place flowers on a grave. Amanda Berman December 30, 1985-December 5, 2010 Loved.

The Omega watched as he crouched down pretending to grieve. The Service had been conducted privately. At least, that's what Clara had let slip. He could see no member of his family, there were no friends, only three solemn forms, then another car was pulling up behind the black government one. DI Lestrade exited with Mrs. Hudson the two were not acknowledged by Mycroft or the small figure dressed in black John recognized as Violet Holmes.

"She's probably wanting to spit on my grave." John mumbled. There was no Sherlock and the Doctor slowly stood up. Why would his Alpha show up? He found such things to be silly and a waste of time.

"This was a mistake." John started to leave the cemetery. Caleb stayed in stride with the Omega's shorter legs. The doctor didn't know why but his heart ached and damn if his eyes didn't start to water. It didn't matter. John would still protect the posh bastard. Sherlock never promised love, it was John who had said it first and fuck if he didn't feel the pain of rejection. His shoulder burned in response.

"I was hoping he would show up so I could maybe kill him myself." John lied to Caleb who as usual said nothing.

~0~

Clara sat in the interrogation room holding an ice pack to her forehead, her bruised face was eliciting sympathy from the Alpha's of Scotland Yard.

The dark haired young Omega knew just how to play the part of a weak injured Omega. Everyone was eating her lies for breakfast, her perfectly fabricated story.

"I don't understand why I've been asked here once more. I've given my statement." The Omega wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes down on the table, deep down her jaw was clenched. She hated these little acts, the expectations that she was the weaker gender. She'd fooled them all. Jim had demanded she help and she was happy to pull one over on a few dumb knottheads.

It was genius, kidnapping John Watson. It was really freeing him. He was free of his sister's completely ridiculous idea of protection and familial duties.

Clara smiled inwardly. Jim had let her keep Harry Watson, and keep her Clara had. Alpha's were fun to break in. Harry wasn't exactly responsive to the positive and negative reinforcements. Right now the Alpha was collared to a wall in Clara's closet on a hunger strike. Well, Clara would show Harry once these idiots finished with her.

"Yes, just one more time." The dark haired caramel skinned Alpha detective offered Clara a hot cup of coffee. Clara flinched instinctively when the dumb woman patted her hands tutting.

"Sssh, you're safe here." Donovan promised, and Clara kept her eyes on her coffee. The Omega held her breath, damn these Alphas with their protective stink, she wasn't a bitch in heat, it had the opposite effect on her.

"It was as I said. These armed men entered the safe house. I don't remember too much after I was slammed into the wall and beaten by the brutes-"

"Did you get a chance to see these attackers, can you remember any tattoos or markings?Really anything will help."

"I wish I could remember. I won't forget the sound the John made when they kicked him. He begged them to leave his sister alone, she was putting up a good fight. I thought they were men sent by Mr. Holmes. I tried to tell her to stand down. They were so aggressive." Clara started to sob, this was becoming so tedious.

Her face did hurt. That bastard Caleb had done a good job making her look the part. Oh well, James always paid so well. She needed the money to further her cause. Sure, she made a deal with the devil. She owed James Moriarty, or rather when she knew him it was Brooke. Her mother and father had been part of the vast drug empire, one that that bitch Holmes tore down. Clara lost her parents during the raid and the authorities had sent her to that hell hole of an orphanage.

"This is ridiculous, she doesn't have anything new." Donovan growled "It's a waste of time." The Alpha petted and cooed pulling the Omega into her side. "I'm cutting her loose. You can tell the boss it was my call. Just because he's wrapped in the Holmes'-"

"Watch it." DI Lestrade stormed in catching his Sergeant and DI Dimmock off guard. Clara made note of the man's black suit, and the familiar Holmes reek, she would have to pass that on to Jim. The DI had attended the funeral, interesting.

"Sir, this isn't helping anyone." Donovan protested.

Lestrade shook his head, "Cut her loose then. And Miss-"

"If I can help, I will." Clara cut the man off, attempting a meek look wiping at her eyes with the back of her shaking hands.

"I'll show you out." Donovan helped the young girl to her feet, leading her towards the door, an arm securely around her shoulders. "There now, the mean old DI won't be bothering you."

Clara nearly ran into Sherlock Holmes in the hall, he growled baring his teeth. Damn, if he didn't have an aggressive scent. Clara took a step back and immediately hated herself for it.

"Cut it out freak. We've asked her the same questions and she has nothing new. Lestrade said to let her go."

Clara wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands all so dramatically. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Holmes. John was such a sweet man. He showed loyalty all the way to the end. After they attacked him-"

Clara took joy seeing the self proclaimed genius blanche. He was a fool. "Well, it's in the report. Alphas can be so savage in their attacks. I also wish to give my condolences on your grandmother. I heard she recently passed. It's a sad thing that Omegas of any class can't be safe in their own homes. Although, I'm not surprised you've decided to not attend your own Omega's funeral. After all, even though the loss of one's property is vexing, it can always be replaced." Clara pulled away from agent Donovan who had to tackle the snarling consulting detective. Clara had intentionally pushed buttons and she hurried down the hall, trying to retain her laughter.

"That's going to sting." She winced when one of the officers had to subdue the enraged skinny Alpha with a truncheon.

~0~

Sherlock couldn't breath, the world was a dizzy array of grays and whites. John was dead, John was dead and he would never know Sherlock loved him. John had been killed and according to that Omega's accounts, brutally raped.

Grandmere was dead. Quinton was still in critical condition his Omega was catatonic. Grandmere Helena was no different. John was taken and it was Mycroft's fault.

Once more, Mycroft had failed to protect-no it wasn't just Mycroft. Sherlock should have somehow predicted this attack. Mycroft had warned him, and now it was too late. Moriarty.

Sherlock said the words to himself, committing them to memory, having no face to put it to. He had a dark cell for the information he collected thus far. His own homeless network became tightlipped when Sherlock started asking questions.

Moriarty. There was nothing on him. He was a ghost, a ghost with no records. This was personal, all of this, and Sherlock had a nagging suspicion it had nothing to do with his helping capture drug dealers or Mycroft prosecuting arms dealers.

He needed to interview Clara once more, that Omega rights activist. Her statement was air tight but Sherlock didn't believe it. Why was she left alive when John and Harry were murdered. And she said that Harry fought while John cowered. That wasn't John. His-his John would always fought.

She claimed John had called for him, until they carried him away. And why was the safehouse being operated with no security. Only Clara, Harry and John had been in the building? Clara's reasoning being that John wasn't a threat to himself or to escape.

Now John and Grandmere were dead and Moriarty was to blame. This faceless villain. So many questions left unanswered, Sherlock couldn't sleep and he refused to attend a funeral where an empty casket would lay to rest in John's place. He vowed to avenge John and Grandmere and avenge he would. Sobbing over an open grave was not going to bring the killers to justice. Neither would shooting up or doing a line of coke, oh god how he was tempted. FOCUS! SHERLOCK FOCUS!

He would find who did this, every last one of them. He would see them bloodied by his own fists.

His thoughts were interrupted. Why was that Omega Clara leaving the interrogation room? Lestrade had delayed him by demanding he sleep for a few hours. He had also tried to convince Sherlock to attend the farce of a funeral. USELESS!

He had hung back at the flat faining compliance, when in reality he was sorting through everything in his mind palace. Sleep would only slow him down as was food. His transport needed none of it and now the delay was costing him valuable time with the only living witness. Suspect?

She was talking but something in the way her eyes met his, the tightening of her jaw. She was angry but not at the situation, more at Sherlock? She didn't like Alphas. That was apparent. Clara wasn't what she seemed and Sherlock knew it.

Her well placed words like barbed darts hit their intended targets, causing his nerves to prickle and his vision to see red. Sherlock lunged at her and that's all he could remember before the air was ripped from his lungs and his vision exploded with stars then darkness.

He remembered being a young boy sitting at his Grandmere's card table. She was dealing the cards.

"Sherlock, you must be able to read a person's poker face. Everyone lies, Sherlock, but the question is about what? The best liars have half truths knitted into their words. Look at the eyes. Liars are easiest to read there. They'll distract you with their words and their body language but the eyes give us all away. "

"What if they don't meet your eyes Grandmere?"

"What have they to hide?" Grandmere smiled placing her cards on the table.

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