Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sasha found herself—quite literally—sitting at a dressing room mirror, removing the elaborate and decorative glass earrings that were part of her costume.
She had the recollection of performing on stage for the grand Saturday night performance of Mozart’s The Magic Flute.
She had been starring in the leading soprano role of Pamina, of course—well, the younger leading lady.
She had memories of a fond relationship with the older woman, Marguerite, who played the Queen of the Night. But she knew none of the interactions she recalled had actually happened. She couldn’t sing for shit. She wasn’t an opera singer. She hadn’t ever met Marguerite.
But there she was, in her dressing room, wearing a Victorian-style wrap dress that was something a bit more casual and done down than her evening wear while she cleaned off the stage makeup and brushed out her hair.
She wondered why she was here, doing this.
No one else was in the room with her. The last thing she’d remembered was sitting at the dinner table with Moriarty—Vile—readying herself to explain to him what the “Trolley Problem” entailed, seeing as they were about eighty to a hundred years too early for its existence, give or take.
So…why was she suddenly aware of herself again?
A knock on the door answered her question. “Madam Adler? Someone is here to see you—a gentleman. I—he says it isn’t—I know this is terribly improper.” The young woman on the other side of the door seemed horridly flustered.
Sasha knew it was one of the costume assistants from France, Ruby. But she couldn’t help but laugh, because this was about to be a horrible crossover fiction with Phantom of the Opera if they weren’t careful. “Who is it, Ruby?”
“A—a gentleman by the name of Doctor Watson. Said you would know him by—”
Her heart leapt into her throat. Sidney! She had to cough to keep her voice from cracking when she spoke. “Let him in. It’s quite all right. He’s neither a caller nor a suitor. He works for a private detective.”
Ruby, rightly knowing not to ask any more questions than that, opened the door. The little mousy young girl had burning curiosity in her big brown eyes, though—there’d be rumors flying for weeks if she wasn’t quick about—
Wait.
No.
What did she care about rumors? She wasn’t really Irene Adler. This wasn’t her story. That person wasn’t real. And the person who limped into the room, leaning heavily on a cane, wasn’t an older British man, but her damn twin.
She shut the door behind Sidney and waited for a beat before she threw her arms around her twin and hugged her tight. “Holy shit, Sid—”
“I know—” Her twin clutched her back, the cane clattering to the floor, forgotten in her exuberance.
“I don’t know what to—how to explain—” Tears stung her eyes. Christ. She was going to start sobbing again if she wasn’t careful. Finally letting go of her sister, she shook her head and leaned down to pick up her cane. “It looks like you actually need this.”
“Yeah. I fucking hate this story.” Sidney took the cane from her and limped over to her settee before half-collapsing onto it with a grunt.
She reached down, picked up her ankle by the trouser, and hefted her clearly bad right leg up onto the settee.
“Virtue is lurking outside in an alleyway in a shitty disguise like I don’t know it’s him.
” She paused. “And I don’t even know how I know that because I shouldn’t. ”
“I know. A lot of weird shit is happening.” Sasha walked over to a bottle of white wine that was sitting by the wall in a bucket of ice.
Glancing down at a card placed on the silver tray it was seated on, it was clear that it was from some…
important somebody. She didn’t care. Pouring out two glasses, she walked back and handed one of them to her sister.
“This is a lot more intense than they let on.”
“You’re not kidding.” Sidney downed half the glass and put her head in her hand, resting her elbow on her knee. “Tell me you have a way to get us out of this.”
“I don’t know. I have a plan, but I don’t know if it’ll work.” She paused. “And it’s kind of a…dangerous plan. And I’m sorry in advance.”
The look that Sidney gave her could have withered plants.
“What did you do?” It wasn’t even really a question.
It was a statement of fact. The accusation was one that Sidney had levied at her many times in the past, though for far less serious things—like that time Sasha had borrowed Sidney’s car and wound up putting a huge dent in the bumper.
Even though Sasha was the far more boring and home-bound sister, that didn’t mean she was entirely innocent, either.
“I had to do something.” She spun her wine glass in her hand before taking a sip of it. Victorian wine tasted different. Not bad. Just different. “If I didn’t come up with a plot for this thing, Vile would. And whatever he came up with would be horrible for us both, so I did the best I could, and—”
“Just spit it out.” Sidney finished the glass of wine in a second gulp and poured herself another glass. “What nonsense have you gotten me into?”
“Well, I figured…So, okay. Before I explain what we’re going to do, let me explain what I’ve figured out.
As far as I can figure, these versions of the characters—Moriarty and Sherlock—aren’t the originals, they’re our interpretations of them.
Like the Hook that was in our Neverland wasn’t the Hook in the actual Peter Pan story, I think we can change how these versions exist on the page. Right?”
“Sure.” Sidney looked like she was either going to scream or she had the biggest headache in the world. She rubbed her right knee.
“Well. So.” She wasn’t going to let her sister get too far ahead in the wine, so she downed her glass and poured herself another before continuing. “Sherlock has always been about right versus wrong, yeah? Catching criminals, but—also about morality.”
“Whatever you say. I never read them. I watched those shitty movies a few years back, but that’s it.” Sidney frowned. “You’re building this up too much. This is going to be really bad for me, isn’t it?”
Sasha cringed. “Maybe?”
Sidney groaned. “What did you do, Sash?”
“Look—I’m trying to do something original so we can go home! I’m trying to use what we’ve got. Which is us. We’re the unknown variables here, not them. And I figured you’re—you’re really good at seducing people, so maybe—”
“Excuse me?” Sidney was glaring at her again.
“I’m sorry, that came out wrong, what I meant to say is that you’re really good at getting to know people and that they—they tend to fall for you—” Sasha had put her whole foot in her mouth. Her whole entire leg, actually. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I really didn’t. You know I didn’t.”
Sidney rolled her eyes. “You want me to seduce Sherlock. Like this is some bad internet fic? It’s been done before.”
“No, because that’s usually the end of it, right? Sherlock and Watson get together, the end. What I’m trying to do is…” This was where it got dicey. Really dicey. “Use that…to destroy Sherlock.” She paused. “My plan is to let the villain win.”
Sidney stared at her sister like she was insane.
Because maybe, just maybe, she was. “You’re going to have to repeat yourself. You want Sherlock to lose?”
Sasha let out a long, hard exhale. “Yeah.”
“And why do I get the feeling this will get me killed in the process?” Sidney grimaced and sat back.
“No, see? That’s the thing. If you’re successful, then you won’t die.
” Sasha combed both her hands through her hair and fisted the strands for a moment before speaking again.
“There’s a famous ethical debate called the Trolley Problem.
It basically states the following problem—you’re in control of a train track switch, and there’s a trolley coming down the tracks that has no working brakes.
You can control if it goes left or right.
On the right track, there’s one person tied to the tracks.
On the left, five. If it goes to the right, the one person dies.
If it goes to the right? The five die. What do you choose? ”
Sidney stared at her flatly. “I hate word problems. Always have.”
“It’s a moral choice.” Her sister shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that Watson has to be the one. And that innocent people have to be on the line.”
“You…want to strap me to railroad tracks, is the summary I’m getting here.” Disgust and fear boiled in her stomach. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I know, I know! I don’t want to! But Sidney, listen—if he picks you, which he should because you’re Sidney and you’re Watson, innocent people will die.
Moriarty and I will rig it to make sure they do.
Sherlock’s moral high ground will be destroyed.
He murdered innocent people out of a selfish need to keep his dear friend alive.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen that done before.
” Sasha had tears in her eyes. “I’m trying to get us home, Sid.
I really, really am. I’m not trying to hurt you, I don’t know what else to do. ”
Sidney searched her twin’s face. She knew her better than anybody. She should. Crestfallen, she let out a heavy breath and whined. “I don’t wanna die, Sash.”
Getting up from the chair where she was, Sasha sat down beside Sidney and threw her arms around her, snuggling in close to her twin, clutching her tight. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”
“I don’t know as you have a say in the matter.
” Sidney’s reply was far more glum than she intended, but whatever.
It was her ass that was going to be tied to fucking train tracks.
“So I have to try to seduce Sherlock, huh?” She made a pleh noise.
“I don’t think it’s gonna happen. Pretty sure he’s asexual. ”
“Probably. Well, don’t seduce him, then. But just—get him to care. A lot. That’s what this’ll all hinge on, in the end.” Sasha squeezed her a little.
Sidney squeezed back. “I could try to seduce Virtue. Maybe that’d help influence Sherlock.” Now, that was an angle worth trying.
“Maybe. But, you’re stuck in the story, aren’t you?” Sasha lifted her head to shoot her a curious look.
“I had a dream with Virtue in it last night.” Sidney blinked. “Maybe it was last night? I honestly have no idea what day of the week it is. Or what week it is. Or month. This fucking sucks.”
“Yeah, the scene jumps are really disorienting.” Sasha let go of her to top off both their wine glasses and hand Sidney hers. “But you can dream with them?”
“Apparently. I was having a bit of a—uh—I wasn’t handling things very well, and he came to make me feel better.” She grinned cheekily. “We kissed.”
“Oh, sure, it’s fine when you do it.” Sasha rolled her eyes.
“Mine’s the good guy! The one trying to save us!” She shoved her sister’s arm. “Yours is the one trying to get us both fucking killed!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sasha grumbled into her glass. “Whatever.”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it. That’s like saying, ‘you’re married to a firefighter, so why can’t I marry a serial killer?’ It’s entirely different.” Sidney shook her head. “I get it, you always did like the spooky guys, but no, Sash.”
“I wasn’t intending to.” Sasha glared at her. Now she was getting defensive. “He kissed me. I had no say in the goddamn matter, I’d like to remind you.”
“Uh-huh. I’m just saying it should stay that way.” Sidney knew her sister. And she knew that if tall, dark and evil came knocking, her sister was going to be powerless to resist. And—
There was a knock on the door.*
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” Sidney glared at the offending surface.
“Madame Adler? There is another—another gentleman here to see you, and he is also quite insistent—” a young woman called from the other side. “A Professor Moriarty?”
Sasha slapped a hand over her eyes.
“Oh fuck you!” Sidney shouted at the door.
Someone laughed, though Sidney couldn’t say from where. Only that it sent a chill down her spine.
* Speak of the fictional devil… -V