Sherlock sat in his chair, his violin spread on his lap. He held the bow in both his hands, using both of his index fingers to hold it, and looking through the small gap between the wood and the string. John was out getting groceries. They had run out of milk again, caused once more by one of Sherlock's experiments. John was upset with him, as it was the third time this week, but it wasn't Sherlock's fault that milk held so many different experiments. At least, that was his excuse to John.
He sat tapping his foot. The client he was supposed to meet was taking a while to get here, and he couldn't take it much longer. He sighed in exasperation and got up angrily. I don't have time for this, he thought as he started pacing.
A knock came at his door. Mrs. Hudson peeked her head in, and Sherlock gave her a look as if saying, "Well, where is she?"
"Your client is here, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he said, with a fake smile.
She moved out of the way to reveal his client. Sherlock quickly analyzed the woman, but there wasn't much to tell. She hid it all so well. She a tall, slender woman with longish auburn hair, pulled up in a ponytail that shortened it quite a bit. But it wasn't an uptight ponytail; the one that uptight business women wear, for her long bangs were swept across behind one ear. Her brown eyes were scanning him over as well, taking him back a bit. She was dressed almost like him, too, with a dark purple shirt and jet black dress pants. She gave him a smirk, then spoke.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, her voice somehow different than what he had expected. It was a bit...darker, a bit more grave than what he thought.
She walked over to a chair that was set in the middle of the room, her shoes clicking slightly as she walked. She sat and started fiddling with her cuffs. He walked around her, trying to read her over. From what he could tell, she was quiet, intelligent, clean. She was the youngest child in her family, chances are a twin. She was semi-professional, willing to break some rules to get what she wanted. She was calm, relaxed. But that was it. He couldn't tell if she was married, divorced, had pets, or her intentions. But there was something about her, something that he wasn't quite sure of, that made her one of the most interesting people he had met.
"So..." Sherlock said, trying to get her to reveal her name.
"Jane," she stated.
"Jane. Is it just Jane?" He asked.
"For now," she smirked again.
"So, Jane, why are you here?"
"I believe that I can be some assistance to you. I understand that you are having some difficulty dealing with," she paused, trying to find the right words, "an acquaintance of mine."
"And that would be?" Sherlock pressed.
"Jim Moriarty," she said, with a slight hint of hatred in her voice.
He stopped pacing and looked at her. This was something that definitely caught him off guard. How can she possibly know who he is? Did she work for him? Was she his lover? Was she is wife?
"If your wondering how I know him, I thought you'd already came to that conclusion."
"Say I didn't know..."
"What do you know about me, Mr. Holmes?" she asked.
That was a very good question. She didn't give away as much as he hoped, but maybe that was her intention. She was growing impatient with him, he could tell that much. So, he did what he knew best. Observe...and improvise.
"Well, I know that you are reserved and quick-witted. I know that you have an older sibling or two, and probably a twin, judging this on the way you present yourself. You are relaxed, but not used to being around people, again, by the way you present yourself. You don't let your feeling show, unless it's to someone you trust. You are vastly intelligent, and can read people and places with just a glance; you see everything. You are in a career that no one else is in, because no other career path fit you. You play an instrument, a stringed instrument, judging by the small calluses on your fingers. No pets, lives by yourself, though looking for someone to live with-you may want to tuck in that number from your pocket. You are-"
"Just like you," she finished.
"Almost," he said, smirking a little, "And, I can also tell that Jim Moriarty is more than just an acquaintance. Am I right?"
She smiled, "You're not wrong."
He smiled, too, "Yes. So how exactly do you know him?"
"You still haven't figured it out?"
"Amuse me."
"You obviously didn't look well enough."
"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, frowning slightly.
"Look at me. Who do I remind you of? Not my personality, but my features."
He looked. Then it hit him. Her eyes. He had seen those eyes before. They were the eyes that had haunted him for months, but on someone else's face. The face of evil itself.
"It's not an easy thing to admit, having a twin brother who's a murderous psychopath," she said quietly, staring at her lap.