This is a fanfic I've been wanting to write for a while now...
Hope you enjoy!
~Sherlock~
"Now I've got Daddy's little girl." The man sneered. Even though I couldn't see him, I could tell from his voice that he was sneering. I bit my lip.
"Daddy doesn't care about his little girl." I snapped back and heard him laugh in response.
"Oh, I think he does."
"Then you don't know him as well as you think you do." I scowled. "If Daddy cared for his little girl, his little girl wouldn't be here, now, would she?" I rhetorically asked the madman. "No. She would be home, safe. Daddy never cared for his little girl. She was, dare I say it, 'normal.' Not a genius, no. She hasn't even seen him in years. He's probably already deleted her from his memory."
"I think not." The man sang and I could just imagine him doing some sort of jig as he spoke. "Two pips. Should I send him a picture of his precious little girl trapped here, in an abandoned building, with bombs strapped to her?"
"He wouldn't care." I snarled, wanting very much to rip this man's throat out. He was annoying me but I didn't dare move a muscle. He had several snipers trained on me and at any given moment, I could blow.
"He would. Just you watch and see...Now, call him, and repeat everything that I say." The man ordered and a phone was dropped onto my lap. I glared at the phone. The number was already dialed in. All I had to do was press call. Reluctantly, I pressed the button. I don't know what was worse. Possibly being blown to death or calling this 'high functioning sociopath' as he was fond of calling himself?
Sadly, I believe I would prefer the latter. I hesitantly pressed the green phone button on the screen and slowly raised it to my ear. Maybe, if I was lucky, he wouldn't recognize my voice.
But at the same time, a small part of me hoped he would.
~Sherlock~
Sherlock scowled at the woman standing in front of him. She was acting like a blundering idiot! He could see right through her facade.
"It's a fake. It has to be." he murmured mostly to himself, typing on his phone.
"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science." The woman told him and Sherlock suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
"It's a very good fake then." He whipped around to face her once again. "You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?" He questioned her. The woman flashed him an irritating glance before turning towards Lestrade.
"Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourselves and you're friends-" She began, planting her hands firmly upon her hips but didn't have time to finish when Sherlock's phone rang. He wasted no time in whipping it out and answering, putting the call on speaker phone. "-Out."
"The painting is a fake." Sherlock declared once he answered.
There was no reply.
"It's a fake." He tried once again. "That's why Woodbridge and Cans were killed." Still nothing. "Oh, come on, proving it is just a detail." He muttered rolling his head up towards the ceiling.
"Prove it." Came the response and Sherlock jerked his head back down. That voice...He could've sworn it was familiar. Shaking his head, Sherlock argued,
"The painting is a fake, I've solved it-I've figured it out."
"Still need to prove it..."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. This voice...
"God, it's just a kid." Lestrade murmured in horror.
"Teen." Came the automatic correction.
"It's a fake! That's the answer! That's why they were killed!" Sherlock tried but the excuse wasn't accepted.
"Quit stalling and prove it or she goes bye-bye."
Sherlock growled. "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?" He demanded to know. The person on the other end exhaled deeply.
"Idiot...10," The countdown began and Sherlock whipped around, approaching the painting and analyzing it.
"What did he say?" John wanted to know as Sherlock scanned his eyes over the painting.
"10. It's a countdown, he's giving me time."
"9,"
"It's a fake, but how can I prove it? How?"
"8,"
Sherlock tried to focus on the task on hand but that voice was getting to him. He knew it from somewhere. He knew he knew it from somewhere. He grit his teeth together and turned towards the professor. "This girl will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake! Tell me!" He ordered and the woman flinched while John shook his head in dismay.
"7,"
"No!" Sherlock shook his head, waving a hand in the air to stop the woman from saying anything. "Shut up! Don't say anything! It only works if I figure it out!" He turned back around to study the painting again. Lestrade and John shifted, anxiously watching Sherlock. This girl would die if he didn't figure it out! They already had one casualty. They didn't need another! Especially a young girl!
John turned and started pacing, Lestrade watching. He silently prayed Sherlock would figure it out, preferably before it was too late.
"6,"
"There must be something..." Sherlock murmured to himself.
"5,"
"He's speeding up!" Lestrade nearly exclaimed.
"Sherlock!" Even though John had only said his name, the detective could hear the underlying tone of urgency and John silently begging him to hurry. It was then Sherlock noticed what was wrong with the painting. He bowed his head then brought it back up, realization dawning over his features.
"Oh! Oh!"
"4,"
"In the planetarium! Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" Sherlock commented, pushing John out of his way and passing the phone into Lestrade's hand, ignoring the looks of incredulity they shot his way.
"What? Brilliant? What is?" John demanded to know, watching Sherlock walk away before turning back around.
"3,"
"Beautiful, I love this!" He remarked as he walked back their way. Lestrade fought the urge to slap him, instead yelling,
"Sherlock!" There was a girl at stake here and here was Sherlock acting like he could care less!
"2,"
Sherlock took the phone from Lestrade's hand and raised it. "The Van Buren Supernova!" He finally answered.
There was silence as everyone held their breaths.
"Managed to save her in the nick of time." The person finally broke the silence, John and Lestrade not bothering to hold the sighs of relief they released. "Always have to show off, don't you?" When they said this, Sherlock knew it wasn't the madman telling them to speak.
"Who is this? Where are you?" Sherlock asked.
"Larkin...Larkin Blackwood. I'm-"
Larkin Blackwood? There was only one person he knew who would go by that name.
"Darcee?" The name came unbidden to Sherlock and once he said it, his eyes widened a fraction in recognition. Larkin was silent. "Darcee?"
"The name's Larkin." They bit out, though the relief they felt was evident in their tone.
"Darcee? Who's Darcee?" John asked Lestrade, who shrugged in response.
"Not the name given to you at birth."
"And why would you care? I just want out of here, if you don't mind. Don't very much like having bombs strapped onto me."
"Where are you?" Sherlock questioned, already heading out the door, his pace quickening as he waited for a response.
"Hand the phone to someone else."
"Darcee!" Sherlock glowered at the phone. Why was she being so difficult?
"Hand it over!" With a scowl, he tossed it to Lestrade, who raised it to his ear. He nodded when she told him the address.
"Right. We'll be right over, just hang tight."
"Like I have any other choice." Larkin sarcastically muttered. Lestrade clambered into his cruiser, John and Sherlock climbing into the back. John glanced over to Sherlock in surprise. Normally, Sherlock would have ordered a taxi...What was the exception?
"Who's Darcee?" John decided to ask and Sherlock flicked his eyes over in his direction.
"She's..." Sherlock began before trailing off. "You'll find out."
John leaned back against his seat. Sherlock was distracted, that he could tell.
Who was this Darcee?
~Sherlock~
I breathed a sigh of relief once I hung up. The timer on the bombs had stopped and the sniper was no where to be seen. I waited for a moment, expecting to hear the madman speak but everything was dead silent. Not one sound. I slowly stood and wandered over to the window, peering down the six stories in time to see police cruisers speeding down the road, sirens wailing and lights flashing. The bomb squad was quick to follow, everyone darting out of their cars and rushing into the building. I slumped against the wall, sliding down until I was seated on the ground, my heart still pounding. I had never been so scared in my life!
All I remembered was walking to my friend's apartment after school like I normally did, when I was suddenly ambushed and knocked unconscious. When I woke, it was to find myself in this abandoned room with no furniture, bombs strapped to my chest, and listening to this weird man who spoke over the microphone and hid from sight. He had given me a phone and told me everything I should say to Sherlock. I closed my eyes, resting my head on my knees as I wrapped my arms around my legs. I thought I was going to die! And then he had to go and wait until the very last second to answer!
Always the show-off.
I could tell he hadn't changed one bit and sadly, he had recognized my voice. Of course, it doesn't help that I used my middle name, Larkin, and my favorite last name, Blackwood. Of course he would immediately know it was me. And now he was coming here. How did I feel about that?
To be honest, I didn't know how to feel. I mean, I had missed him, a lot, and I still loved him...But, at the same time, I didn't want to see him. I had thought we would never meet again, only for this to happen. Not exactly the way I had thought we would reunite...If we had ever reunited.
I could hear pounding on the stairs, telling me that the squad were on their way, and soon, the door to the empty room was flung open.
"Darcee!" I heard a familiar voice say and tensed when someone knelt in front of me, grasping my shoulders.
"Sherlock!" Another voice called out as two more people barged in.
"Miss. Larkin Blackwood?" Lestrade's voice said and I raised my head to look at him. He was a kind looking man with silver hair and chocolate brown eyes. "Are you alright, miss?" It was then I noticed I was breathing rather fast. Taking a moment, I inhaled deeply, trying to calm my frantically beating heart that threatened to rip itself out of my chest.
"Yeah." I shakily nodded. "I'm fine." I slowly stood, doing my best not to look in his direction. The bomb people came in and immediately removed the bombs, lifting a huge burden off my chest. I watched as they disabled it and couldn't help but release another breath of relief from having it gone. "Thanks."
"If it hadn't been for Sherlock, I'd hate to think what might of happened." Lestrade commented and I bit my lip at the name.
"...Yeah." I slowly said and began walking towards the door. "I need some fresh air."
"Darcee!" I heard Sherlock call after me but continued on my way, quickly descending the stairs. "Darcee!" I ignored him, rushing out the doors to the abandoned building and hurrying down the side walk. "Darcee!"
"Quit calling me that!" I finally whirled around and gave him an irked look. The tall man with black curls and icy blue eyes, wearing a black overcoat and pants, slid to a stop, the blonde, shorter, man slowing down behind him.
"That's your name, isn't it?" He shot back but I wasn't amused.
"Not anymore. The name's Larkin. Larkin Blackwood."
"No, it's not." Sherlock said before suddenly pacing. "I should have known earlier. It was so obvious! Using your middle name and then your favorite last name. How did I miss that?" He rebuked himself
"Because you're an idiot." I growled. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I have somewhere to be."
"Darcee,"
"I said to stop calling me that!" I stomped my foot in a childish manner, but I could care less at the moment.
"Why?" He drawled, tilting his head in question.
"You're Sherlock Holmes. Why don't you deduce the answer yourself?" I crossed my arms. He didn't reply, instead staring at me. Oh please! I scoffed. He couldn't really be confused. "You really don't know?"
"Wait..." The blonde man broke in, looking from Sherlock to me. "You two know each other?"
"Sadly." I replied. "Can I go now?"
"Darcee-"
"Please, stop calling me that! I hate it!"
"No, you don't."
"Oh my word...You haven't changed one bit, have you?"
"Excuse me..." The blonde interrupted again. "But...Who are you?"
"Larkin Blackwood." I replied and Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Her name's Darcee. Darcee Larkin-" He started but the man cut him off.
"Wait a minute...Darcee Larkin...Darcee Larkin? Where have I seen that name before?" He asked himself, putting his hands into his pockets as he pondered about it. I gave him a weird look. He couldn't have heard of me. I wasn't popular at all! "Wait! That file you're constantly looking at!" He glimpsed over at Sherlock. "She's the one you've been looking for for the past five years?"
I blinked. What did he just say?
"What?" I stared at him. John nodded.
"Yes! You are the one! You resemble the little girl in the picture he kept in the file."
"What?" I looked up at the tall man. "He's been looking for me?" I jerked my thumb in Sherlock's direction while looking at the blonde.
"I've never seen him work so hard before." The man shook his head. "He and Mycroft both."
"John." Oh, so that was his name.
"Why have you been looking for her, Sherlock? I thought you didn't really care about others. Normally, you just sit and solve the case in a matter of seconds without giving the people a second thought but I've seen you hunched over that file every night. You've been working on finding her ever since I met you."
"Why?" I found myself asking. "You...No. We never got along. You never cared for me. I wasn't a genius. I wasn't anything...amazing." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sherlock Holmes had been looking for me for five years now? He really... I felt tears blurring my vision. As much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn't bring myself to. I had missed him so much these past years.
"Who is she exactly, Sherlock?"
Sherlock sighed, gazing at me intently with a look I couldn't recognize. "Her name should give that away, John."
"What?" John looked momentarily confused. "Darcee Larkin? Or Larkin Blackwood?"
"Oh, please! You can't be that daft!" Sherlock scoffed. "The name on the file, John!"
"I only saw Darcee Larkin written on the picture." John said.
"John," Sherlock began, irritated that he had to explain every single thing to the man. "This is Darcee Larkin Holmes..."
For a moment, John was struck dumb, staring at Sherlock incredulously.
"Another Holmes?" He managed to say, glancing from Sherlock to me once again. He immediately noted the uncanny resemblance we had to one another. The black hair, icy blue eyes, the pale complexion... "Is she...your sister, then?"
"No." Sherlock replied and I shifted uncomfortable under his gaze. I looked away, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall.
"She's not your sister?" John frowned, looking at me again then back at Sherlock. His eyes widened when another thought struck him. "Oh...Oh gosh...Don't tell me...She's...She isn't? Is she?" He immediately swung his eyes over at Sherlock.
"Yeah." I found myself answering for Sherlock, kicking a rock while staring at the ground. "I'm Darcee Larkin Holmes...His daughter." I blinked after I had said it. John looked ready to faint, much to my amusement. "Man...Never thought I would ever say that again." I remarked mostly to myself, and was expecting something sarcastic or a stupid remark from Sherlock, but he remained silent. I peeked up at him through my bangs.
"D-D-Daughter?!" John sputtered in shock. Sister, he would probably have understood, but daughter? The Sherlock Holmes had a daughter?!
"Darcee," Sherlock said, and this time, I didn't correct him.
"Yes?" My voice was small as I raised my head to face him.
"We're going to Baker Street and you are going to explain everything." His tone left no room for arguing and John and I were left to follow him back to their flat.
~Sherlock~
Well, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I've always wondered what it would have been like if Sherlock had a kid so I decided to write a little fanfic about it.