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snowbellewells · 4 years

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The Case of the Heart in Armor {Part Six}

Summary: Killian “Holmes” Jones is rarely surprised or shocked anymore, but that all changes when he meets one very stubborn - and very beautiful - pickpocket, and trouble brews in the distance, hidden by the London fog…

Wow, I’ve finally reached the end of this tale (which was really only intended to be a one shot at the beginning). I’m sorry that it has taken so long, but I absolutely appreciate all who have read and commented on this one, and especially @courtorderedcake who provided the artwork above which inspired it to begin with. Thanks so much for sticking with me, and I hope you will all enjoy the conclusion!

From the beginning: Here or on AO3

Part Six

Blinking her way back into awareness was a difficult process when Emma Nolan sucked in a harsh, strangled breath as her eyes blearily opened, still clouded and unable to focus properly. A dark shadow leaned over her, someone in vaguely human shape; not one that she could recognize as male or female, but rather some sort of unknown threat. Instinct from years of self-protection kicked in and she tried to flinch away from an arm raised with a weapon. Yet, even as she moved to stretch a hand out in defense against the blow, to her horror, Emma realized in a flash of descending panic that her movements were brought up short by her being bound tightly to the surface on which she lay.

Gulping in a frightened rasp of air, she began to fight and wriggle more violently, to little avail; her breath coming with continued harshness as her heartbeat raced in anxiety. It felt as if the dark chamber she was in was closing around her, dwindling to only herself and the specter above her.

A low, sultry chuckle passed the stranger’s lips, her assailant leaning in close enough that Emma could at last make out a gleaming smile and painted lips, the abductor now obviously female. The voice which followed was silken, slithering over her skin like a menacing serpent. “Well, hello, Miss Nolan. Welcome to my workshop. This will be all the more entertaining with you awake to participate.” The deeply colored corners of that sinister expression turned up with evil satisfaction. One gloved hand stroked along the side of Emma’s trembling face, despite her determined attempt to remain still and stoic, not showing the true extent of her fear.

“So sweet,” the unknown woman cooed with false sympathy. “So needlessly lost. I do apologize, dear, but you were necessary to draw him out.”

It was then that Emma registered the sharp gleam of the blade in the woman’s other hand; the one which had been raised above her head when she first woke, but which had escaped her focus as she blearily tried to understand all that was happening. Her brow furrowed, unable to process what this woman could want, or how taking Emma would lure anyone else, even as her thoughts raced for a way to avert a painful and life-threatening blow.

Unfazed by Emma’s quickly whirling thoughts and inner turmoil, her tormentor shocked her once again. Instead of plunging the weapon into her chest as Emma had expected, the woman instead drew the knife sickeningly alone Emma’s collarbone and down her arm. A thin line of blood welled up in the wake of the cut, and Emma hissed through her teeth at the sting, in spite of her best efforts. She still pulled against her restraints, but it did little good; only seeming to bring her captor more enjoyment of the deadly game. The only comfort Emma could find within her predicament was that this witch seemed in no hurry to finish her off. The cuts the woman was making obviously hurt, but they wouldn’t kill her any time soon.

Her focus was stolen moments later as the blade sliced into the soft skin of her inner elbow, twisting cruelly and forcing a whimper from Emma’s tightly clenched mouth. She jerked her head away, refusing to watch the sadistic glee lighting those dark eyes looming over her, but a sharply manicured hand gripped her chin and turned her back to face her doom. “Ah, ah, ah, now pet, you can’t stop watching. We’ve almost reached the main event.”

As if on some unheard cue, the heavy wooden door across the basement room began to rattle and groan as something rammed against it; once, twice, a third time, with increasingly desperate force. “Hmm,” the shadowy figure mused. “Right on time.”

Suddenly, with an unearthly shattering and rending, the door burst from its hinges, wood splintering as it was caved in by three avenging forms charging through into her prison. With a howl of such raw emotion she wouldn’t have imagined him capable, Killian ‘Holmes’ Jones hurtled across the small, dank space in a flash, clearly intending to tackle to the ground the murderess holding her prisoner.

His charge was brought up short by the dagger suddenly poised directly over her heart and a coolly staying hand. “Not another step, Holmes,” that cultured voice ordered as calmly as if she were suggesting he sit down for tea. “Miss Nolan has served her purpose beautifully, but I can still cut out her heart if need be.”

Killian Jones… Emma’s breath stuttered again without her command at the anguished look on the gentleman detective’s face. He nodded his head grudgingly, wordlessly agreeing to this fiend’s demands and freezing in place. For the life of her, Emma couldn’t fathom why Jones cared so much, but he looked as if it might undo him should this woman drive her blade home. Beyond him, she could see David and Graham, both looking worried for her and at a loss; her brother practically vibrating with thwarted rage at the cuts which had already been made against her skin.

“You’ve made your point, Regine,” Killian spoke, his voice icily controlled, as he held the woman’s gaze. “What is it that you want? You have our attention; there’s no need to punish innocents further.” He gestured to Emma as he said so, not looking her way, struggling to seem as if she were just anyone to him, but his words were still a hissed threat. The implication was clear: Millsen would not get what she wanted if she killed the young woman under her raised knife.

Pursing her garish red lips in a sort of pout, Regine Millsen abandoned her hovering stance over Emma’s prone body. Seeming assured of the fact that Emma could not escape, Regine instead began to stalk toward ‘Holmes’ Jones with a sinister purr. “Really, you could be a bit less predictable,” she chided, as if playfully admonishing a willful lover. “You’re making this too easy with your honor and good form and such nonsense.”

As she spoke, seemingly focussing all her attention on Killian, Graham had stealthily attempted to creep around behind her toward Emma. Suddenly, Regine’s free hand shot out toward Watson, and he was thrown back against the stone wall with a single shout of surprise, a sickening thud of impact, and then silence. Shaking her head ‘no’, she arched a sculpted brow at David after, as if to question whether he wished to be next.

Eyes zeroing back on Killian’s in a flash, she questioned,“Now, Holmes, where were we? Oh yes… Are you ready to make a deal? If you’re so concerned for the innocent, I will allow you to stand in her place. It seems only fair.” She shrugged lightly as if it weren’t of much consequence, the gesture fooling no one, as he had been her true quarry all along. “You failed to care so much for the death of my sweet, blameless Daniel. Not such good form after all, hmm? Still your unconcern came back to me as the final piece needed to solve my puzzle after all this time.”

Though certain his horrifying theory had been correct, Killian still had nothing with which to fight against her, not while Emma Nolan’s life hung in the balance. Unable to do otherwise, Killian paused any movement, holding fast just where he was with hands raised in patient supplication. With a nod of acquiescence, he gritted begrudgingly, “Aye, you harpy, you know I’ve no other choice. What is it you wish me to do?”

Holding his breath, he waited for this dangerously unbalanced foe to move her blade away from Emma before he did anything else that might unsettle her. Managing to subvert his expectations once again, at his compliance, the sharp, edgy rage and unpredictability that had painted Regine Millsen’s face eased and she straightened regally, moving toward the detective with what would have almost seemed a seductive sway and a simpering expression of satisfaction on her face. “I knew you would see sense, Mr. Jones. You are billed after all as a man of reason.”

Killian did not respond to her attempt at flirtatious distraction; holding himself rigidly still, and only with strict self-control, managing not to shiver away from her questing fingers as they traced uninvited along his jawline, down to his collar and grazed along his upper chest. For the first time ever, he found himself cursing his predilection to leave his top few shirt buttons undone; he wanted no part of this vicious creature’s touch lingering upon his skin. Clenching his teeth, he tried to focus on the fact that under different circumstances he could have heard Emma laughing at him in such a predicament, shaking her head with exasperated mirth and telling him it served him right if he left half his chest on display; some poor woman would have to touch it.

The thought of Miss Nolan in happier times immediately sent his gaze searching for hers over their foe’s shoulder. Even pinned down as she was, he could see that since her attacker’s focus was no longer solely on the younger woman, Emma was already wriggling and working at loosening her bindings and freeing herself from Regine’s knots of rope. The pickpocketing skills she’d honed for a lifetime - her natural deft touch, slim build, and sleight of hand - might just save them now if they were lucky and he could buy her a bit more time not under Millsen’s rapt observation.

Without further hesitation, Killian resolved to do just that, gritting his teeth against the snide comeback burning on his tongue and forcing himself not to enrage the woman, he continued to hold himself still rather than pulling back or pushing her away. Despite the disturbing feeling of Regine Millsen’s sharply pointed nails and chilled hand slipping inside his shirt front and mapping the planes of his chest in a possessive way that caused bile to rise in his throat - he would much prefer the intrusion than for her to go back to gouging and slicing at Emma Nolan’s pale and flawless skin.

It almost seemed as though Emma could read what was going on in his mind. Even if he would once have labeled her as little more than a nuisance and thorn in his side - pretty, but a dishonest thief and an annoying distraction - he was quickly coming to realize that few people had ever as quickly seemed to understand his meaning, his thought process, and incisively glimpse right behind the protective veneer of cool detachment he wore like a mask, as this wisp of a woman had done at first meeting. It was the pocketwatch she had nicked, but those small, graceful hands reached inside him much further than that. If he were as given to the romantic bent as he had once foolishly been, he might have claimed she had pulled his heart out clutched in her sticky fingers as well.

A particularly unfortunate exaggeration to make in their current situation, he chided himself, snapping back to reality as the murderess before him finally removed her unbidden touch from his chest, and stood back to face him squarely, gauging whether or not she had his full attention. He needed to stop dwelling on more pleasant moments and focus on his opponent. Yes, he could physically overpower her in a fair fight, but he didn’t know what this woman’s next move might be, nor what sort of occult power she might throw at them next. He couldn’t risk trying to simply cuff her or disarm her until he was sure of the advantage - the opportune moment. If he failed, any of his compatriots, and most likely Emma, might well pay the price with him. Thankfully, he could see that Emma was making progress - one arm was moving much more freely than it had been, and with a couple more minutes unseen, she would hopefully free herself. He was banking on it, as he might or might not be able to provide much more than distraction if those few minutes went as he was beginning to suspect they would.

“Well, now we come to it at last,” he spoke up, forcing his voice to a low, smooth rumble and purposefully returning Regine Millsen’s blatant stare with his own, making certain he had her undivided attention while he noted a flash of gold over her head. Emma had her hands free and was working on the knot at her stomach. It might hurt, but if he could prolong this just a little longer… If the others were free to run when need be and he could still get Millsen in his grasp…

All he said was, “You have me right where you wanted, don’t you?”

“That depends,” Regine purred back with a sinister quirk of her brow. “You know why you are here, and what I desire? And you mean to cooperate?”

Holmes gave her a condescending smile. “Possibly,” he shrugged, “if you answer a question for me first. If you admit what all of this has been about. Why hearts? What can you possibly hope to accomplish with a person’s heart cut from the body?”

“Why resurrection, of course,” she replied, as if it were as sensible and normal as any sane rationale. “You must have heard the theory… the possibility of reanimation… a man as well-read and learned as you. I have come so close to success so many times, and now the missing piece is right within my grasp; the single reason why each time before has failed. I needed the exact heart strong enough to withstand the procedure with enough armour to shield it until it can bring my Daniel back to me.”

Killian tilted his head, knowing he needed to keep her talking just a few moments longer. He could see Emma frantically working at the knots holding her ankles now; heard Graham stirring back into wakefulness over against the wall where he had landed and knew David could help him. Only a few more seconds, just a couple steps closer and he could reach her, hopefully grab Millsen and stop her, before she could retaliate. He attempted a look of curiosity as he asked, “And it’s mine? What made my heart so special? How did you even know?”

Shaking her head and clicking her tongue with a sort of feigned disappointment, Regine gave him a questioning eye. “Really now, Holmes. I’d think you might have that answer worked out for yourself. After I had made attempts with, shall we call them less-than-suitable donors, it became clear that only the most resilient of hearts, organs which could withstand pain, undergo trauma, and carry on beating, could possibly handle what the feat of reanimation requires. Once that was clear, I remembered our previous meetings long ago - the passion and depth in your eyes, though clearly guarded and walled for strength against easy temptations - even against a match as fine as I was then. At the time, true, I was offended. But now, I can only be grateful. I did not forget such reserve and discipline, and it was easy to learn it had only carried on and grown in your daily life and distinctions over the intervening years.”

Killian nodded sagely, as if truly taking her reasoning under consideration. Then he queried, “And I suppose I should simply submit to being the catalyst for such a remarkable event, regardless of the personal cost?” He couldn’t help a small amount of his contempt for her plan at last leaking through his voice. It was preposterous! The sheer arrogance of her presumption! How could she possibly imagine it would go? Would anyone offer oneself up gladly? But then he thought of the scene he had burst into moments before. If it stayed her hand from shedding Emma’s lifesblood - or that of anyone he cared for - then he admitted that he would submit to the woman’s most insane demand.

Luckily, he could see that Emma was even at that moment finally free of her restraints and climbing down from the worktop upon which she had been laid.. The pretty blonde - whom he might as well admit had captured his attention as no other in years - leaned against the table’s edge, looking a bit woozy and off-balance for a moment, either from loss of blood or whatever Millsen had used to knock her out, but then she straightened, eyes meeting his quickly and hardening with determination.

Now was the moment. Emma was on her feet and free to run; he simply had to hope, trusting the capabilities of the two men behind him to have each other’s backs. He only needed a moment to arrest the strike he was certain Regine Millsen would make with the blade still in her hand, to catch her while she was focused on removing his heart, rather than her seemingly magical abilities to fend off capture. Meeting the occultist’s hungry gaze, he finally blew out a short breath through his nose, hoping he looked sufficiently resigned, as if bowing to his choice and the sacrifice he faced. “Very well,” he acknowledged. “You obviously know I cannot save my own skin and allow you to stalk others if it is within my power to stop it. If I have your word that Miss Nolan goes free, that this is the end of your murderous reign, then do what you will.”

She smiled, dipping her chin slightly to affirm her agreement. “Of course, Holmes. You have my word. Once I gain this heart of yours, my work will finally be complete. I’ll have no need of any more.”

Muscles tensed, every fiber of his being at the ready to lunge forward and grab her as she prepared to strike the final blow to his chest, Killian’s focus narrowed. There was no margin for distraction or error. Regine Millsen’s arm raised in triumph; her deluded assumption that he was giving himself over to simply stand as his heart was carved from his body lending a crazed fervor to her actions, disregarding caution in her avarice and the nearness of her goal.

The villainess swept forward, knife’s edge bared, and Killian crouched as she was in motion, raising his hands to capture her wrists once it was too late for her to pull back. Then, suddenly, a scream of rage and fear rang throughout the chamber and bounced off the stone walls. Regine’s form collided with his own, but with far more weight and force than her slight body should have carried. Both of them were borne to the ground; Killian’s head striking against the cement floor hard enough for his vision to swim and the solid mass of more than just the witch he had expected pressing down upon him.

He groaned involuntarily, trying to keep his vision clear to subdue their murderess while she was also stunned. Unfortunately, the blow to his skull was sharply compounded by a ragged, burning fire that flared along his side. Agony shot through him, realizing that the knife must have been caught between himself and Millsen in their fall, and though not dissecting his heart, it was still carving a painful line across his torso.

Regine had not moved, but suddenly Emma peeked over her abductor’s motionless shoulder. A heavy metal object he couldn’t identify was clutched in her trembling hand, and Killian was just aware enough to understand that she must have used it to render Millsen insensate as she had plowed into the other woman - saving herself and him too. Well, maybe, if only he weren’t so disoriented… “Emma?” he questioned, tongue seeming thick and too unwieldy to speak properly.

“Jones?” she replied, eyes shining widely with fear and concern. “Are you…?” Those intriguing eyes widened as she took him in, her chin wobbling only a second before she turned to cry out her brother’s name urgently.

Holmes suddenly felt highly unconcerned with everything but her face so near his own. “You - you saved me,” he managed to state awkwardly as he attempted to touch her face. His fingers couldn’t reach their goal, and his hand fell back to the floor, stained with blood.

“Just take it easy, Jones,” she murmured, threading her small delicate fingers with his own, despite the sticky residue. He grinned at her with a giddiness that was almost loopy, prompting a watery smile in response that wheeled alarmingly in his vision. “What can I say?” she added. “It seemed like the honorable thing to do.”

But her voice and all the other noise and movement in that strange, cavernous cellar was already fading away, growing softer and smaller, as if gaining distance from him - until there was nothing there at all.

~~~~~~~~~***

Two Weeks Later…

Upon leaving his London flat, Killian ‘Holmes’ Jones drew in a grateful breath of the crisp morning air, more than past his fill of Graham Watson and his physician’s orders to stay abed until the knife wound in his side was fully healed and his blood loss recouped - to say nothing of the fussing and smothering he had endured from Liam in the past fortnight. He would not have expected it from the man, but his elder brother was as overprotective as a crochety nursemaid since his injury, barely leaving Killian alone long enough to feed and dress himself, and rushing headlong back into his chambers if Killian so much as let a hiss of discomfort escape.

He could admit to himself, since he had finally been allowed to leave the house for a short walk in the fresh air, alone and under his own steam, as he had been promising he was capable for some days, that the wound where Regine Millsen’s blade had sunk into his flesh was indeed still tender. He held himself gingerly as he reached the bottom step and moved out onto the busy sidewalk. All the same, he was not about to let on to another soul. In fact, he would not in the least be surprised if he were to turn round and look up to find his sibling and Watson peeking out through the window curtains and keeping an eye on him. He would not even put it past them, after the well-intentioned but ridiculous mollycoddling he had endured, to find Nolan waiting for him at the corner, a police escort to see him home safely at the end of his stroll.

Still, as he found his natural gait and started down the familiar street, Killian knew despite his irritation, that they were only so anxious because they cared. He had looked to be in dire straits there for a moment on the floor of that vault. His head had struck the floor with enough force to bring on concussion, and once he had passed out, he had been utterly unresponsive to all their pleas. Added to the fact that the blood spilling from his side had been hard to stem at first, and he knew he had given them all quite a turn. And Emma, well…

Miss Nolan had been the only one who had not visited him in the hospital, or at his home afterward as he convalesced. She had sent a handsome bottle of rum with a note expressing her sincerest thanks for his chivalrous rescue, along with the cheeky reassurance that she had indeed paid for the fine liquor. He could just see the sparkle in those bright green eyes, and her challenging smirk as he imagined her teasing him with the words aloud. All the same, he wished to see her alive and well, and no worse for wear, with his own two eyes, regardless of his belief in her brother’s assurances.

Upon pressing David Nolan further, the inspector had admitted reluctantly, with eyes downcast, that Emma blamed herself. Apparently she thought that he wouldn’t have been so badly hurt if she hadn’t tried to help take Millsen down. The very idea made a fissure split through the ancient and already weakening protection around his heart. It had been nothing of the sort. His own plan had been last ditch and slipshod at best, and that she would have thrown herself back into harm’s way to come to his aid, after what she had already been through, meant more to him than he could adequately express or comprehend. He would never begin to blame her for the effort.

If he could just tell her that!

Therefore, as he turned the corner and walked on toward the nearby park, Killian felt a smile break across his weary face at the sight up ahead. The brightly colored pushcart full of carnations, asters, lilies, and all variety of cheerful blooms was wonderfully familiar, and as he tried to pick up his pace, he could only hope that its lovely proprietress would be there as well.

When Emma Nolan’s bright golden hair caught the sunlight as he drew near, Killian knew his pleased grin must have stretched wide enough to make him look quite the fool - and he could not find it within himself to care. Her back was still turned to him while she counted out change for a customer, wishing them enjoyment of the daisy bouquet they had purchased. Her trim figure stood straight-backed and proud, as strong and confident, alert and ready for action, as she had proven herself to be time and again. The swelling in his chest as he neared her side and reached out to gain her attention told Killian he had missed her more than he would have ever thought possible.

Once her customer had moved on, Killian tapped Emma’s shoulder lightly, holding his breath in nervous anticipation as she turned his way. Her beguiling gaze met his the moment she did so, green pupils widening in surprise before quickly falling to her hands as they fluttered nervously over the blossoms before her, anything to avoid his concerned and all-too-knowing stare.

“Emma,” he breathed, his voice hushed and raspy, overcome at seeing her there before him again. Her obvious anxiety and the pained guilt in her bearing tore at him. Even if she did not return the deeper feelings he could no longer deny, Holmes was glad he had come looking for her. He could not bear for Emma to go on blaming herself.

“Please, Lass, look at me,” he begged softly, reaching shaky fingers out to touch her chin and tilt her face back up to meet his own.

Shaking her head abruptly, the jade of her irises welled with unshed tears and she tried to pull away, but Killian persisted, needing her to see his sincerity. “You’re so bloody brilliant, Emma Nolan,” he hastened on before she could stop him. “Truly. Do you not even realize how rare the person who could have kept their wits about them in that dungeon? You were drugged, injured, and still you managed to free yourself and think of another as well. Yet, you haven’t given me a chance to thank you.”

He tried to take her hand, to press it in gratitude, but Emma resisted, spluttering in disbelief. “Thank me?! Are you mad, Jones? It’s because of me that - ”

“No, not another word of blame, Darling,” he interjected firmly, intent on seeing her let that burden go. “The way I see it, you stopped our foe and saved my life. I’ll not hear any talk against your actions.”

Deflating, Emma shook her head in fond exasperation, knowing it wasn’t worth arguing further. His mind was set, and she honestly felt nothing but relief. No longer than she had known him, and as mad as he had made her when they met, the image of him splayed across that cold stone, his blood pooling beneath him, had refused to leave her mind, haunting her night and day, and repeating cruelly that if they had lost him, it would have been her fault. Biting her lower lip sharply to keep uncharacteristically emotional tears from pouring out, she pulled Jones to her finally, embracing him tightly with all the emotion she had tried to hide.

When she stood back to right herself, Emma offered the infuriatingly handsome detective a hopeful smile. “Thank you, Jones… Killian,” she whispered. “I can’t say how glad I am that you’re alright.”

He flushed a telling pink under the scruff on his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears at her words. Dipping his head at her show of affection, Killian prepared to leave her to her work. With a wink, he spoke once more before departing, a hint of his previous charm in the words. “Until we meet again, Miss Nolan,” he bowed and turned to go.

“Soon, I hope,” she answered knowingly. A grin was already crossing her face as he stopped abruptly, hand freezing while he felt curiously in his waistcoat pocket. Pulling an object from it, Jones turned to her with his pilfered watch in hand.

“How did you - ?” he began to ask.

Emma only gave him a mischievous wink of her own, a woman needed a few secrets after all. Shrugging playfully, she offered in a tease, “I think you more than earned it.”

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#csrolereversal ff #cs Victorian au #cs au mc #the case of the heart in armor #part six #the conclusion at last

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