"Melaine, you'll have to follow him," her brother instructed. "No matter what he does to Sherlock you cannot intervene. You know that right?"
Melaine sighed and threw her head back, her long, curly black hair tumbling over the back of the red sitting chair in her brothers private chambers. "Good GOD Mycroft, I DO understand the assignment. You can be positively boorish at times."
"Be serious for once in your life child!" Mycroft Holmes glared at his baby sister. She and Sherlock were so similar he was almost afraid for her. "I helped you get out of America, don't make me put you back there to deal with that scum on your own. You know I will!"
Her head shot up and she shot him an icy stare. Her eyes were not like her brothers cutting blue green, but rather a dark purple with gold around the iris. She had their mothers eyes, her small frame as well. "We're not to talk about America," she hissed between her teeth. "That was the agreement."
"Your agreement," Mycroft said in a bored and lazy voice. "Not mine." He had no idea how he had been saddled with two unruly younger siblings. He almost considered asking their mother if Sherlock and Melaine had a different father, but he knew that that would upset her.
"I understand what to do Mycroft," Melaine sat up quickly, uncrossing her legs and slipping her dark purple heels back on.
"But you need to leave Sherlock alone," Mycroft started, he thumped his hand on his desk, getting her attention. "We are a part of this game, but for his protection only."
Melaine took a deep shaky breath, trying to keep her anger in check. She was about to slap her brother, and perhaps drop kick him across the room. "Sherlock is my brother as well. If he is in danger I will save him. Just as I would save you."
"You mustn't," Mycroft said sadly, his voice soft.
"Why!?" Melaine exploded, she jumped up with a cat like grace. Unlike her brothers she was rather small, they always loomed over her growing up. Until the day she couldn't stand the family anymore and ran away to America. "What are you hiding from me Mycroft?"
Mycroft sighed, sitting back and looking out the window. "Melaine, when the day comes. And you will know the day when it happens. You must be there. You must befriend him."
She sunk back into the plush red chair. It was raining out, coming down in sheets. She knew Mycroft was wondering, as was she, where Sherlock and John where right now. Just as she was about to speak Mycrofts phone buzzed angrily. He glanced down at it and shook his head, a small smile playing along his lips. "Whats he done now?" Melaine asked.
"He just broke into an army base," Mycroft answered, busily texting back whomever was on the other end. He looked back up at his little sister. He didn't want to put her in danger, and he didn't want to have her cross paths with that devil of a man. But she was the only person for the job. The only one, like him, who understood what had to be done for their brother. No one else, besides John, could be trusted. And even with this he knew Melaine would not fail whereas John most likely would.
Not that there was anything wrong with John, he was their brothers best friend. More like a brother then Mycroft ever was to Sherlock. And Sherlock was forever fretting over Melaine, they had never indulged him in the knowledge of what had happened in America and that she was now one of Mycrofts top agents. But John had a ferocious loyalty to Sherlock, whereas Mycroft and Melaine knew when to dry the line with Sherlock and not allow him to overindulge.
Melaine snapped her fingers, bringing her brother back. "You know you can't tell John," she knew exactly what her brother was thinking. If she was in a room with them she always knew. It was as if the three of them shared a brain while in the same room with each other.
"Yes. I know," Mycroft looked up from his phone. "You must get to know Moriarty. No matter what happens dear sister." He stood up and walked around his desk. He towered over her, then scooped her into a hug. Both brothers were very different to Melaine, they never treated her as they did each other. "Be careful."
"Get off Mycroft!" She yelled, slamming her heel down on his foot. He grimaced and pulled away from her quite quickly. He handed her a cell phone. Only to be used by her, only to be contacted by him.
"Don't do anything stupid."
Melaine turned on her heel and walked out of the room. Her brother staring after her. He knew that all the men in the building were also watching her walk away, he shuddered, thinking of her with Sherlocks, and now their families enemy. But it must be done. He laughed, knowing that Jim Moriarty would have no idea what hit him.
She watched as her brother fell, his body hitting the ground. She had watched the two men fight, watched as Moriarty shot himself, watched as Sherlock called John. She knew what he must do and it broke her heart. To hear the catch in his voice as he told John he had made it all up. To a Holmes, that was a lie that could never be uttered. It was ugly and dirty on her own tongue as she repeated his words softly. Searing them into her soul.
She had no idea how he was doing it, but she knew he wasn't dead. But she couldn't think about that now. She had to go over and clean up the monster who had turned her brother into a liar to his best friend. If he hadn't already been dead she would have killed him herself.
Melaine stood up, shaking, tears in her lavender eyes and walked over to Moriarty. She shivered as the rain began, cutting through her nurses scrubs. She was surprised Sherlock hadn't noticed her as she walked the halls of . She tended to stay away from him, but she always watched him from afar. Hoping that he might notice. But he never did. Or perhaps he did but didn't let on, he knew, unlike Mycroft, what it meant to be so deep into something that you mustn't give the other person away. But that didn't mean she didn't miss her older brother.
She leaned down and placed her finger tips on Jim's wrist. As she did she realized he was still breathing, the rise and fall of his chest was subtle, hidden. She almost wondered if he was in fact, an actor. As he had tried to make Sherlock believe.
She screamed a girly scream as Moriarty's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His dark brown eyes popping open, a small smile playing on his lips. She too was a very good actress as well. "Oh my God!" she gasped, using her American accent she had perfected while she had been over there. "Thank God you're alive!"
He fluttered his eyelashes, he seemed out of it, spacey almost. He was very handsome, with his short dark hair and hint of stubble. She let herself sigh, making sure he knew she thought him attractive. "Where did that man go?" his voice was smooth and buttery, but she still herd the hard edge of steel amongst the sweetness he thrust at her.
"The man who killed himself?" she asked. "Where you up here trying to save him?"
A very small smirk was hidden at the corner of Moriarty's mouth. "Yes! He was a friend of mine! He sent me a text saying he wanted to end it all!"
"Oh my God. You're so brave to try to save him," she sighed, smiling sweetly at him. "Its almost heroic! And did he hit you? Are you hurt?"
He sat up slowly, then let Melaine pull him to his feet. "He hit me once, while I was trying to pull him from the edge. He must have knocked me out," he paused and looked down at her. "What are you doing up here?"
Melaine put a brave face on, "I saw him, standing on the edge. I'm a nurse and thought I could help." She stepped closer to him, the heat of his body streaming into her. He was in a coat while she was not. "I was to late…"she trailed off, grasping his hand.
He looked down, shocked, trying to figure out what this woman was doing. She was very beautiful, the raindrops clinging to her long eyelashes. Her eyes were stunning, he wanted to swim in them. Her lips were jutted out just slightly, full and luscious, he could feel the attraction between them. She might be a fun distraction for awhile. This could be very fun indeed.
"Come on!" she pulled him away from the edge, giving one final glance down at the pavement below. The choked sob that erupted from her was not fake. She watched as John tried to get to her brother, his face haggard and worn. The Soldier was about to fall. "We have to get you away before the police arrive."
"Whats that?" Moriarty asked, surprised again by this small woman, she pulled on him, dragging him to the door.
"The police will come! And they'll question you!" she yelled, pulling him into the lift, pulling him right beside her. Their arms pressed together. "Do you honestly want the police to talk to you?"
"No," Moriarty said quietly. "I would rather not talk to the police."
The lift dinged open and Melaine pulled him out, "Hey Joe!" she said to the guard at the door. "Have you met my boyfriend Frankie?" She danced to a stop, pulling Moriarty close to her and wrapping her arms around his waist. She grinned and looked up at him.
"Why no Miss Wright," the guard put a hand out, Moriarty shook it quickly, the put his arms around Melaine. He grinned a slow, seductive smile down at her.
"Well," Melaine giggled. "Now you have and we're off to grab a beer!" She pulled Moriarty after her as she danced out of the building. When they were out she let go of his hand, but kept hold of his fingertips. She looked around, everywhere but at her brother as he was being wheeled into the hospital. She caught a glimpse of John on the ground, broken and battered. All she wanted to do was go to him. But she knew that whatever her brothers plan had been, it was there to protect them all.
She knew when she pulled the phone Mycroft had given to her out of her pocket that there would be a text from Sherlock on there. From Mycroft as well. Each of them had these special phones, that only they could access and what they used to communicate with one another. She knew she couldn't look at that text until she was no where near Moriarty.
The Police were coming, so she hurried them up the street. They had to wait at a light, which was perfect. She grabbed Moriarty by the coat and pulled him down. Kissing him as if the world was about to end.
He sputtered and tried pulling away. Though he wondered what it might be like to kiss this girl he didn't want her to be the one in charge of this game. He tried to pull away, but she was quite strong. In the end he gave up and kissed her back, sliding his hands along her back, under her scrubs.
"hey!" she gasped, pulling away as the police ran into the building. "I was only kissing you because I didn't want the police to see you!" Her heart had nearly stopped when Lestrade had raced by her. She knew if he had seen her, her cover would have been blown.
"What do you mean?" Moriarty asked, his eyes were closed and his voice had gone deeper. He wanted to lean down and kiss her again. It had been a long time since he had been so surprised by a woman.
"Come on Idiot," she slapped him on the arm playfully. "My apartments just up here."
He finally opened his eyes and looked down at her. There was something in those eyes, he didn't know what she kept hidden so well. But he would find out. This woman would become his new project. He hoped it didn't end as badly as Sherlock had. It would be a shame to loose such a beautiful specimen such as her.
They crossed the street, she still held his hand tightly, and pulled him into a dark archway. She felt his pulse quicken as well as his breath. She smirked, she knew exactly what he was thinking. All men were so stupid when they didn't allow their heads to do their thinking. This was going to be childsplay.
They ran up the stairs to the third floor flats. Quickly she unlocked the door and pulled him inside. Mycroft had set her up with a decent flat. Decent for a nurse that is. It was only one room, a small kitchen in one corner, her bed under one of the two windows. She had collected odds and ends that most American girls living in London would have. She had to admit she quite liked her flat actually.
She had a Doctor Who teapot and mug that she left out beside her laptop and three Union Jack pillows. One on her bed, one on her small couch and the other at her dressing table. There were other odds and ends, a poster from the London Olympics, and one small picture of Tom Hiddleston from The Hollow Crown beside her bed.
"Oh crap," she sighed, as she closed the door, she walked across the room and pushed the Tom picture over. "Ignore my silly American fangirling." She giggled, then pulled her wet scrubs shirt off. She turned just slightly, looking over her shoulder at Moriarty who just stood there like a deer in headlights. "Do you want to get out of those wet clothes?"
Americans, Moriarty thought, as he watched her go behind a pretty patterned partition. He loved how uninhibited they were. He shrugged off his wet jacket and walked to the window, looking down as more police headed towards St. Barts. Something soft hit him in the back of the head and he turned around just in time to catch a pair of pants flying through the air at him.
"Whats your name by the way?" Melaine asked, her head peaking around the partition. "I'm Evelyn Wright, Evelyn of Maryland. Now change before you catch a cold!"
Moriarty looked down at his wet clothing. He had no idea how this day had become so different. First he won. He won against the almighty Sherlock Holmes and now he found himself in a naked womans flat. He changed quickly, not really knowing why, but knowing that he must. He realized how unlike himself this woman was making him. "My name is Richard. Richard Brook."
Melaine took a slow, deep breath, forcing her nerves to calm down. She let it out slowly, so he wouldn't hear her. Her phone was on the small table beside her. There were two texts on there. One from each brother. She powered the phone off, then plastered a grin on her face and came out from behind her partition. She was dressed as any young, attractive American woman would who had a handsome man in their flat. Short boy shorts, though hers were lacy and black and a purple tank top with a very low neckline. She pulled on a small cardigan and thanked Mycroft for making sure this flat had proper heating.
"Good to meet you ," she laughed, and gracefully sat down on her couch. She patted the empty spot beside her and giggled. "Sorry about the fit of the clothing! I met this one really handsome British guy at a Bar," she paused. "Crap, pub. You guys call them pubs here. And I invited him over."
"Did he leave with nothing on?" Moriarty slid into the spot beside her. It was rather on the small side and their legs were pressing up against each other.
Melaine threw her head back in silent laughter. He neck curving gracefully, her curly dark hair cascading over the edge of the couch in waves of darkness. She gave him a side long glance, her eyes peeking out through those bloody lashes of hers. "He left only in his boxers and jacket." She looked him up and down and licked her lips. "He was much smaller then you."
Moriarty grinned, and looked down at the tshirt he wore. It strained against his chest. This previous man had been a horrible dresser. "I hoped you washed them before allowing me to put them on." He drawled, then started to stand up. "I should really get going."
"Oh please don't!" Melaine grabbed his wrist. "I think I'm slightly in shock after seeing that man fall," she pulled a blanket loosely around her shoulders. But then she jumped up, and pushed him back down on the couch. "I'll make us some tea."
He shuddered, knowing very well that the American version of tea was nothing like that of proper English tea. But he watched her as she walked towards the small kitchen, watched as she gracefully put the kettle on to boil, and then try unsuccessfully to reach for mugs on her top shelf. He watched her shirt rise over her back, the silk fabric skimming it loosely.
"Can you come help me get these off of the top shelf?" she stood on her very tip toes as a ballet dancer might and tried to reach for it.
His body and mind were not working on the same level at this point. It was as if he were having an out of body experience. He felt himself stand and go over to her, placing his hand on the small of her back and reaching over her to grab two mugs from the top shelf. "Why do you put them that high up?"
"My brother did, the last time he was here," Melaine said casually, then cursed at herself. Having that hand on her back had distracted her. The thrill that ran through her was as strong as it had been while she had worked in America and just as dangerous. She hadn't meant to talk about any sort of siblings.
To save the moment she quickly turned, noticing that his own shirt was riding up. She had bought these clothes just for him, buying them on the small side to make sure he felt larger in them. She slid her hands over his flat stomach and heard the hitch in his breath. She was very surprised that she could break him this easily.
But apparently she hadn't, or she did, just not as she thought. He grabbed her around the waist and shoved her against the wall, one hand reaching for her throat as his mouth descended down on hers. A thrill went through her. This was the game she liked to play. A game neither of her brothers would ever understand, though she knew Sherlock had always been a close second. Even though she hated this man, hated him for what she had done to her family, even she had to admit he was a very good snog.
Moriarty couldn't stand it anymore, he couldn't allow this girl to play him. He knew there was something hidden under there, he could sense it. He knew that this might bring it out, bring the tiger to the surface. His hand drifted down her stomach and he heard her stifle a moan, then he heard a click. He pulled away from her as she held his very own gun to his chin. His lips slightly parted, his brown eyes sparkling.
"Don't think for one moment that I didn't know who you were Mr. Moriarty," she purred, running her hand down his ribcage.
He opened his eyes and stared into hers. "How do you know who I am?" he demanded, the edge of steel back in his voice, "And how did you know I had a gun?" he reached to grab for it, but she twisted under him, her heel catching the back of his leg, bringing him down hard on to her floor.
She gracefully lowered herself over him, straddling him. She put the safety back on the gun and threw it at her couch. It landed with a soft plop, Moriarty watched as it landed then inhaled sharply as she ran the flat side of a very sharp, rather small knife over his throat. He could feel a small trickle of blood as she pushed it lightly to his neck.
"The Great Consulting Criminal, being reduced to a puddle on an American girls floor," her voice was light and breathy, her eyes blazing. "You're not the only one who can play games."
"How do you know who I am?" Moriarty demanded, she didn't even flinch as he tried to get out from under her. She was very strong for such a small thing. "Who are you?"
"You're a clever boy," she ran the knife up one of his arms, letting it slide perfectly over his brachialartery, all she desired was to cut it open and let him bleed to death, never truly knowing who she was. But instead she leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Deduce me!" Then bit his ear, tugging at it.
With one final effort he managed to throw her off of him, though it did make him a bit sad. So he pinned her beneath him, pushing her own arms up over her head. He looked taken aback as grinned up at him. "How do you like it on the other foot?" he drawled, her knife in his hand as he trailed it over her stomach. This day had started out very boring indeed, but it continued to get better and better.
"Oh Mr. Moriarty," she sighed, "You think I will so easily be broken?" She sat up slightly to his horror, allowing the knife to push past her skin. She didn't make a sound, or flinch. She was utterly amazing. He could tell she was as crazy as he was. He pulled the knife out of her flesh. "I am unlike anyone you have ever met."
"You can call me Jim," he jumped up, pulling her up after him, then pulled her tank top up, the small wound was bleeding only slightly. Grabbing a tea towel he pressed it to her stomach. "I hadn't planned on cutting you."
She looked down, slightly shocked as he held the towel to her. She didn't think he would be so kind, or have those puppy dog eyes that seemed to beg her forgiveness. "For Gods sake man, it doesn't even hurt!" she was lying of course, when the blade had sunk into her flesh it had hurt like hell. But she had been trained never to let the pain show.
At that moment the kettle screamed loudly, neither of them were ready for that and they both jumped a mile. They looked at eachother and laughed. The tension seeming to melt away for the moment. Jim went and turned the kettle off and went about making tea. She watched as he moved seamlessly from one task to another. It was very fluid.
Saw Melaine with a man on the street. They were kissing. Does she know about Sherlock? – L
Of course she does Lestrade. Did you bother her? – M
No. You gave strict instructions not to bother her…or Sherlock for that matter. And look how that turned out. – L
Everything is fine. – M
How can it be fine!? Your brother is dead! Your sister was right there! I'm sure she saw him. – L
Melaine can take care of herself. – M
Do none of you care for each other? – L