Games of Grief Read online

  Games of Genus

  Baker Street Archives Book 1

  C.J. Strange

  Contents

  Britishisms

  Flareborneisms

  Foreword

  1. Watson's Secret

  2. Lestrade's Debrief

  3. Watson's Flatmate

  4. Lestrade's Detective Sense

  5. Holmes' Client

  6. Lestrade's Investigation

  7. Holmes' Investigation

  8. Lestrade's Saving Grace

  9. Holmes' Dark Fate

  10. Watson's Deduction

  11. Lestrade's Sting

  12. Watson's "Sting"

  13. Lestrade's Oversight

  14. Holmes' Firecracker

  15. Watson's Heroism

  16. An Epilogue

  About the Author

  Britishisms

  For authenticity’s sake, I really wanted to use as many commonplace British words, idioms, and phrases as possible, hopefully without jarring American and Canadian readers out of their immersion too much!

  advert • advertisement, commercial, television spot

  barmy • insane, crazy - “He’s driving me absolutely barmy!”

  bell • a phone call - “I gave him a bell yesterday.”

  beg your pardon? • wtf?

  belter • good time, grand experience - “We went out last night, had a belter!”

  birds • women

  blinding • extremely good - “What a blinding meal that was.”

  bloke • man

  bobby • police officer

  bollocks • shit

  bonnet • hood (of a vehicle)

  brew • hot beverage (typically tea) - “Fancy a brew?”

  brill • brilliant

  chap • man

  chicken out • wuss out, decide against - “Don’t chicken out this time.”

  collar • arrest

  coppers • police - “Someone went and called the coppers.”

  cuppa • hot beverage (typically tea) - “Emotions later, over a cuppa.”

  dodgy • suspicious, unsure - “That sounds pretty dodgy too me.”

  earwigging • eavesdropping - “I didn’t mean to earwig!”

  fit (1) • attractive, gorgeous - “This mate of mine is seriously well fit.”

  fit (2) • ready to go - “All right, it’s about time to go. You fit then?”

  flat • apartment

  flatmate • room mate

  football • a sport that isn’t hand-egg

  fortnight • a two-week span

  geezer • man

  git • asshole

  hard • tough, streetwise - “He thinks he’s proper hard.”

  knackered • exhausted - “Fuck the gym! I’m proper knackered, I am.”

  knees up • party, revels - “We had a right good knees up the other night!”

  legit • legitimate

  love • a term of endearment for a friend - “How you doing, love?”

  malarkey • ado, nonsense - “I’m not in the mood for any of that foreplay malarkey.”

  mate • pal, friend - “Oliver and Duncan are pretty good mates.”

  mobile phone • cell phone

  motorway • freeway, highway

  muppet • idiot, goofball, but like those cute little felt creatures

  nice • cool, awesome, sweet

  nowt • nothing - “It’s naught to do with me.”

  oi! • hey!

  Old Bill • police

  owt • something, anything - “I haven’t seen ought yet.”

  pikey • vulgar slang for a traveler, used recently for those who live any kind of simple, cheap, or ‘boho’ lifestyle

  pillock • idiot, prat

  pissed • drunk

  plastered • drunk, again...

  poxy • stupid, fucking - “I’m seriously done with all this poxy traffic.”

  proper • extremely, very - “I’m proper good at boats!”

  pub • bar

  rat-arsed • drunk, AGAIN... we have a LOT of these, don’t we?

  reckon • imagine, think, presume - “I reckon it’ll be all right.”

  right • extreme(ly), very, large (used for emphasis) - “We had a right laugh about it!”

  ring • call, phone

  rubbish • garbage, trash

  rubbish bin • garbage can

  savvy? • understood?

  shag • fuck, sleep with, have sex on - “I really wanna shag him tonight.”

  sharpish • quickly, swiftly - “I would get out of here sharpish, he’s looking for you.”

  shite • shit, crap - “What a load of absolute shite.”

  son(ny) • boy (somewhat derogative) - “Listen here, sonny.”

  spanner • idiot, asshole

  telly • television

  tosser • idiot, asshole

  trainers • sneakers

  trousers • pants

  twat • idiot, asshole

  wanker • idiot, asshole

  well • extremely, very - “He was well drunk, and it was only noon.”

  Flareborneisms

  Here’s a list of all of the made-up words and terminology, and other specific phrasing choices that are used throughout the Flareborne book series.

  Anomaly • one who has developed supernatural abilities since the Flare five years ago

  BitID • a mandatory centralized databank containing one’s identity, financials, resume, etc

  Botch(-Job) • vulgar slang for an Anomaly

  CD • yes, they were brought back, as a means of controlling what people listen to

  Coin • cold, hard cash; no one deals in Coin except “terrorists and thieves”

  Cooperative Housing • ghetto housing built for Anomalies; AKA, “the Coops”

  designation • an enamel warning pin the Sovereignty require all Anomalies to wear visibly

  FaceFolio • the number one social media platform of your favourite dystopian hell-hole!

  FreeNet • the web that exists beyond the country’s controlled firewalls; AKA, the “InterNet”

  Fringe • areas of land close to the coasts where the Sovereignty’s presence isn’t as iron-fisted

  Jolly Chef • Britain’s #1 roadside greasy spoon, serving travellers for over 80 years!

  Magick • a term many Anomalies have begun to adopt for their supernatural abilities

  OVD • they replaced DVDs and Blu-Rays in Britain; AKA Optimum Video Disc

  Properdry • proper nice athletic wear, made in Britain and worn with pride

  Roman Wall • an impassive structure at the English-Scottish border; AKA Hadrian’s Wall

  Sovereignty • the cruel new face of the British government, as of early 2019

  sterling • UK pounds (currency)

  Superflare • a global environmental/societal catastrophe in June of 2023, AKA the Flare, which somehow gave Anomalies their supernatural abilities

  media watermark • the Sovereignty seal of approval for approved literature, movies, music, et al

  WebbTech • the foremost and Sovereignty-approved tech company in Britain

  WrightTech • dubbed the “world’s best computer company”; their tech is illegal in Britain

  For Sarah-Jane, a proper ‘foxy lady’ who taught me to break the rules, live life loud, and always color outside the lines. I wish you were here to enjoy this one.

  Foreword

  This modern, RH adaptation of Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes has been modified and modernized to fit your dark, dystopian screen and the ever-expanding #Flareborne Universe.

  It contains relationships that are borderline abusive, triggering situations and scenarios, and some (*ahem*, I’m saying nowt) character death.
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  I hope you find its contents as therapeutic to read as I did to write!

  — C.J. Strange

  For British-American and Anomaly-American terminology, world history, and all other information pertaining to the #RenegadeArchives series, join us on Facebook!

  CJ’s Brigade

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/cjsbrigade/

  1 Watson's Secret

  University College Hospital, Old London Town

  November 5 2028, 02:55am

  My guess is, if we haven’t had to pump any stomachs or stitch up any crowdsurfing-related wounds by three o’clock in the morning, everyone who attended the Pyronamix music festival tonight is probably dead.

  “What is it?”

  “Hmm?” I snap out of my trance, and the steady bustle of the A&E Department is twisted suddenly and sharply into focus.

  “That face.” One of my medical interns, Sinead, is smirking as she leans on the triage counter next to me. “You get that little—that glazed-over look in your eyes, when you’re daydreaming about something. You remind me of the doctor from that American show, having all your little mental fantasies, there.”

  Even if I had been willing to discuss the grotesquely dark sarcasm of my own inner musings with a student, her comment is enough to jerk my mind elsewhere.

  Away from my concerns that the Sovereignty were correct. That the reason we’ve not seen hide nor hair of any drunken teenager all night long is because it’s simply not possible to host a bloody music festival without triggering an absolute worst case scenario.

  “Dr. Matthews,” I say, lowering my voice considerably when I do. “Come on. No discussion of un-watermarked media on shift.”

  Sinead rolls her eyes. She’s headstrong. It’s part of what makes her a truly spectacular doctor, but unfortunately, it’s also what’s likely to get her arrested one of these days. I always imagine if I ever have a daughter, I’ll probably end up with a daughter like Sinead.

  “Do you know how dodgy it is that the government gets to decide everything we’re allowed to read and watch and listen to?”

  “You shouldn’t even be admitting to owning it,” I grumble, but she just grins right back at me, with a twinkle in her eye that tells me whatever she’s about to say next is a complete and utter lie.

  “I’m not.”

  I settle my elbow against the countertop, which I discovered during my first year here as an intern is the perfect height for doing so. Accident & Emergency is oddly quiet for a Saturday night. In fact, aside from the usual two or three ‘domestic accidents’ we anticipate around closing time, my students are mostly milling about or catching up on prescriptions and paperwork. And while I should probably avoid looking the metaphorical gift horse in the mouth, shut up, and ride it…

  Something feels off.

  And while I’m normally the type to knuckle down and carry on through, a very dear friend of mine once told me to always trust your gut when it’s trying to tell you something.

  “Did you know,” I say through a smile, not quite mimicking the very same friend, “that when you lie, your eyes glaze over?”

  Sinead scoffs. “Uh-huh. And did you know, love, that the whole five o’clock shadow thing only makes you look like you get less sleep?”

  “Ngh.” I tilt my head to one side so I can pinch the bridge of my nose with two of my fingers. “Less sleep would imply that I got some sleep.”

  “Flatmate?”

  “Flatmate.” I groan, shaking my head. I’ve already said too much. “And I’m not exactly supposed to discuss my private affairs with any of my students, so I’d appreciate it if you could—”

  “DR. WATSON!”

  While I really do prefer not to liken my relationship with my students to that of a mother hen or mama bear, I’m definitely attuned to their cries for help. The shriek of a young intern who has positively zero idea how to handle a situation is enough to wrench me from the triage station—both physically and mentally—and propel me across the hospital floor.

  “What is it, Be—”

  The fetal figure my intern is crouched over comes into stark, gruesome view all too quickly, cutting my sentence in half. My hand rushes to my mouth to cover it, more to keep the words back than any unwanted bodily fluids.

  And speaking of ‘bodily fluids’…

  I shove my student away. The girl, twenty at most, is drenched in so much blood it’s hard to make out where her skin ends and clothing begins beneath it all. It appears to be coming from multiple wounds, and multiple orafices, too. Jeans and jacket alike are unrecognizable. There’s so little left of her throat and shoulder I have no idea how she made it this far.

  The other on-shift MD is barking orders at my interns, an egomaniac with a bone to pick taking advantage of my momentary speechlessness.

  I’m not even bothered by it. All I can do is stare.

  Do something, Watson.

  The girl is in my arms and, with help, I’m hauling her onto a guerney wheeled in by two of my students. Voices and hands and pieces of medical equipment are passed back and forth across her motionless body. Someone scans the BitID chip implanted in her right wrist to get us an identity and medical records. I need to assist. I can’t let go of her.

  The entire A&E Department has narrowed to a pinprick, a single burst of stark white light against a backdrop of blurred color and a din of noise. My hands are still on her, my skin pressed tight against hers.

  My hands are still on her.

  Watson. You can do something.

  It’s true. I could do something. If not to save her, to damn well try.

  But, with the thrum of my students and coworkers all around me, I daren’t.

  Even as the small ball of energy—that tiny little spark of warm, white light I always do my best to smother and cover up, especially on-shift—gathers heat and intensity in the pit of my stomach. Even as it burns brighter, faster, hotter—

  I smother it. Just like I always do.

  As much as I want to save this patient, fate’s tugging me in an alternate direction.

  There’s something you can do to save her, Watson.

  If only you were man enough…

  2 Lestrade's Debrief

  New Sovereign Yard, Old London Town

  November 5, 04:10am

  The locker next to mine slams shut. It probably rattles, but I don’t even hear it. Nor do I hear PC Maguire trying to get my attention, until he eventually gives me a shove with his shoulder.

  “Oi, you all right, Gav?”

  … it’s a bloody good question. Am I all right? It’s taken so long for anybody to ask me, I ain’t had to give it any thought. ’Til now.

  “Don’t really know in all honesty, Bert,” I admit in one single, raspy exhale. My locker is open, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got everything I needed out of it. Now I’m stood staring at my custodian helmet and sidearm with my mouth open like some sort of gormless twat.

  Maguire folds his arms across the white button-up shirt of his uniform and slumps against the wall of lockers.

  “Gav,” he says. “You just made the collar of a lifetime. Thanks to you, the Anomaly bastards who sabotaged Pyronamix are in custody. You just put two terrorists behind fucking bars, mate—you should be well stoked!”

  My fellow officer is right. I should be over the moon for all my work on this case. Five months after their base was discovered in Manchester, after we were sure the entire anti-Sovereign terrorist cell had been destroyed, I’ve just spent a week undercover bringing in some of the survivors. Except—

  “I don’t reckon they did it, Bert.”

  Maguire stares at me, in that way he does when he thinks I’ve said something stupid.

  “Have a laugh,” he says after a long pause, shoving me again. “The whole fucking place went up in flames. Witnesses saw the Anomalies using Magick to do it.”

  “They also saw a bunch of people ripping out each other’s throats with big, pointy fangs, mate.”

  Mag
uire shrugs. “More Anomalies. Other Anomalies, they come in a whole whack of different types. Look,” he says, and he lowers his voice and leans in closer to me. “You’re sounding like a right proper criminal, or something. And I know you don’t mean it, but people ‘round here might start barking up the wrong tree. You hear me?”

  I smirk bitterly. “Yeah, I’d hate to be overlooked for the promotion I’m never gonna flippin’ well get.”

  “I told you, it’s ‘cause your old man’s a Superintendent,” Maguire says flippantly. “And a bloody good one, at that. It’s like reverse-nepotism. No one wants to be seen as trying to kiss his arse.”

  I roll my eyes, but say nothing. Superintendent’s only son or not, no one deserves to be little more than a foot soldier in the fight against crime for over a decade. Not when they have bigger dreams, anyway.

  Maguire peels his huge body off the lockers. With one British parent and another who immigrated from Kolkata before we permanently closed our borders in 2022, he helps make up the 1.8% of the force who aren’t fully caucasian. I don’t want to say I’m proud to be a friend of his, but… yeah.

  Not a lot of white coppers these days would be.

  “You’re proper upset about this, aren’t you?” He’s frowning again. “About arresting felons?”

  “No,” I reply, quick and defensive. I’m still staring aimlessly into my locker. “B.L.A.Z.E. were an Anomaly terrorist cell who caused national panic for years, I’m chuffed to see them doing time where they belong.”

  “So what is it, then? Time of the month?”

  I scowl. Any reference to me that’s soft or feminized sets me on-edge. “Piss off.”

  “Don’t be such a romantic. What’s eating you?”