Greg Lestrade:
(Detective Inspector)
Remained baffled throughout the events of his well trusted friend and Ex-Girlfriend's death's.
Jim Moriaty:
(James Moriaty/ Richard Brook)
Was ready for whatever the Army Doctor could throw at him. Minimal Damage, he liked to call it.
John Watson
(Captain John Watson, M.D)
Lost his two Best Friends to Jim Moriaty, it was time for revenge.
Miller Staschak
(Nark/Madison Studler)
Was always the smartest in the room; that was until she came face to face with Sherlock Holmes.
Mycroft Holmes
(The Iceman)
Kept a close eye on both the Female Detective and his Brother.
Sherlock Holmes
(Freak/the Virgin)
Thought that the rest of the world was no match for his brains, until he met Miller Staschak.
29th April 2006.
Miller Staschak had come close to death more times than she could count.
There were multiple times she'd been shot, other times she'd been tortured for days on end. Of course she preferred the second one, she liked pain, she loved the pain, it was something that she was addicted too. It was her drug that got her lost in everything; if ever she needed to escape she would reach under her bed or bathroom sink and pull out the scalpel she had taken from the morgue and begin to cut herself, she had become intoxicated with the feel of the endorphins rushing through her body, the feeling of her blood dripping down her wrist and into the bathroom sink, turning the water a dark shade of pink. Sometimes she even laid in the bath and did it, the water stinging the cuts, making it feel even better. There had only been three people who ever noticed the long white scars that contrasted against her pale skin. No one else noticed the finer details and no one ever looked at her closely enough.
John Watson was the first to notice them, after spending the morning in bed with his Girlfriend, kissing and caressing every inch of her skin, he had noticed the bumps and silver thin scars along her wrists.
Sherlock Holmes was the second, Miller and himself were on a case, chasing a murderer down a alley-way before he wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her along faster, when Sherlock couldn't run any further he stopped and looked back at her before inching her sleeve up and rubbing the skin on her wrist, she had flinched and responded with turning away from the Detective, a look of worry crossing over his face.
Mycroft Holmes was the third, Miller couldn't recall how he had noticed them, maybe it was Anthea who had noticed them when she was forcing Miller into the shower, and of course Anthea would report to her Master.
Miller was never really sure why she started cutting, it could have been the fact that she had lost her whole family to Moriaty, or when Moriaty had raped her to get back at Sherlock. She knew whatever the reason it had been because of James Moriaty. She hated him.
"Sorry I'm late," Miller announced, to the man standing on the rooftop with her. "No problem, I've got all the time in the world." The man replied, cracking his neck, she smirked, noticing his nervous jitter.
"Nice touch, by the way." He continued, "Your Lover's rooftop. It's a great place to do it." Miller walked closer to the edge her stomach flipping in circles. The man joined her and peered over, "Look, you've even got an audience." He announced looking at the people getting out of the taxi. "Oh and Sherlock and John should be joining us, you timed it perfectly." Miller grimaced and took a step away from the edge and breathed heavily,
"Sherlock would never believe that I jumped." She said, shaking her head. The man looked down and laughed softly.
"Miller, dear Miller. I'm not giving you the easy way out. Jumping would mean it's over in an instant." She turned around and looked out over London, relaxing slightly, "How then? I know you want me out of the picture, you just want Sherlock all to yourself." The man laughed and clasped his hands together, "Sherlock doesn't give you enough credit, you know, maybe you're the smarter one out of you two." Miller turned around and faced him; looking him right in the eyes, "Get it over and done with." She whispered, her voice breaking. He grinned and pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket, "I hope John doesn't mind that I borrowed his gun." Miller shook her head, "I'm sure it's fine." The man laughed, "Turn around dear, Sherlock's coming home." Miller turned around slowly and looked at the cab approaching, she took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Three shots rang out, all three penetrating her chest, she gasped in shock and fell forward.
Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson were getting out of the cab when the bullet's sounded. Sherlock and John immediately looked up and The Army Doctor reached for his gun, which so happened to be absent from its usual place. A figure lay sprawled against the concrete, heavily bleeding from the several chest wounds she had received,
"Sherlock," John called, "Help me turn her over,"
Sherlock hesitated before joining John; he knew that red hair from anywhere. He bent down and rolled her over before hearing a sharp intake of breath from his friend, of course even with her hair sprawled over her face and her forehead heavily bleeding you could still manage to notice Miller Staschak's beautiful face and the ghostly white colour that had overcome her features.
This pain was of course unimaginable it wasn't just the feeling of all the blood flowing freely from the wounds in her chest and her forehead, it was the feeling of hate for herself, how stupid had she been to meet him up on that roof top. She had no idea how her life would end, she had always hoping in some blaze of glory but now she was regretting that very through because all she could feel was the overwhelming since of pain making its way through her body and the feeling of horror.
She'd let James Moriaty win.