Chapter 1

The streets of London never really were quiet, but the way they were at two a.m. was the closest they would get to it. The moon was out, illuminating the corners the lamps missed. The occasional drunk and stray dog passed; sometimes even both together. Hardly were there actual sober people, much less people worth having a conversation with. Then again: who had conversations at two?

A girl walked down one of the backways, her heels clicking against the cobblestones. She wore a sleek black dress, and, since the night was predicted to be cold, had pulled over a light jacket. Her dark hair was pulled up into a bun; a few curls hanging loose, framing her face. She would have been quite pretty had she been smiling, but her facial expression was far from that of joy.

She glanced boredly around the deserted parking lot, as if waiting for something to happen. The only thing that did, however, was the drunk man who had leaned against a post for support passing out. But she couldn't be worried by him. It was his own fault, after all.

She tucked a stray strand behind her ear and began walking back outside the alley. This particular girl wasn't like most others her age. She was stubborn; and she would stop at nothing to get what she desired.

Her phone twinkled, and she didn't even need to check it to know who the text was from. She ignored it and continued walking, turning at the main road to go down another abandoned alley. Her icy blue eyes darted around the brick walls, squinting at the grafitti. Perhaps what she was looking for was there-

The phone chimed again, and, aggravated that it had snapped her out of her thought, she pulled it out. As she walked back out the second alleyway, she casually slipped it in the gutters. Surely it wouldn't bother anybody, chiming itself to glory in there.

The third alleyway was even more deserted than the first two, making her even more eager to look in it. She walked to the very center of the wall, and looked up, and then around. The street lamp's shadows barely reached the corner of the wall, and where she stood was only partially illuminated. It had a nice figure, though the shadows did seem to be more drawn-out than they were. She grinned to herself, for even in the dark, she knew exactly where she was.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her mouth. She sighed internally, and even though the hand tightened its grip, did nothing but smile. A little. Sensing this, her attacker let her go, and opted instead to hold onto her wrists, behind her back.

"They say the third time's a charm." Her voice remained calm and level as her smile widened. "I had hoped you would be smarter than that, but then again, you really aren't, are you?"

Her attacker slowly turned her around, still keeping a grip on her wrists. He came into view, and she could see that he was smiling, too. But it wasn't the same smile she had; rather, the kind of smile a predator had when he caught sight of his prey.

"Clara Holmes." His voice drawled out her name, thick with a northern English accent. She dropped her shoulders, watching him unblinkingly. "It's been a while."

"Too long." She replied, squinting at the boy in front of her. He was pale; strikingly so, and had a shock of mousy brown hair. To most, he looked like a normal English schoolboy, but Clara knew better. He was dangerous. Or at least, he liked to think he was. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten to come," she continued, her eyes cooly darting around their surroundings.

"Ah, you shouldn't have doubted me." He chuckled, and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a phone. One hand still holding her wrists, he dialed a number, before pressing it to his ears.

"Daddy's going to be proud, isn't he?" Clara whispered menacingly, a smirk plastered onto her face. Something in the boy flickered. Anger. And then he regained his neutral expression, simply raising an eyebrow to her.

The phone on the other end rung, twice, before it carried over to voicemail. The boy sighed, and hung up, putting it back into his pocket. "It would seem we've got a long walk." He said, gritting his teeth.

"Still doesn't care about you, does he?" He didn't even need to look at her to know she was smug. The way she tried not to snicker as she said it was evidence enough.

"My father's a busy man." His own voice sounded strained. "After all, there is only one Jim Moriarty in this world."

"One would think." Clara took a sharp breath before adding, "Grow up, Isaac. You seriously can't be that naive. It's bad for the family name." She then allowed him to turn her around and march her out the alleyway.

"You think you know me," he leered, as they walked down the empty street. A normal person would have assumed, by the way he was holding her, that they were a young couple coming home from the movies or a very late night stroll. What they didn't see was the gun that was strapped onto her belt, nor the snipers he had arranged to follow them on their route, just in case. Then again, they were anything but normal.

"Well, you finding me was very convenient, I must say." She tossed her head.

"What do you mean?" They continued walking as they talked.

"I need to talk to your father." Isaac raised an eyebrow at that, bringing them to an abrupt halt.

"Why?" He asked, squinting.

"If you want to know so badly, figure it out." She replied, indignation sparkling in her eyes. She said it like it was a challenge.

He didn't say anything more, and they continued on. They were at an intersection when a car passed by. Of course, an occasional car did pass by, even this early in the morning: but something about this car was different.

It stopped before the two of them, making them both tense. Isaac let go of Clara, who reached down for her handgun. The window of the passenger seat rolled down, and a painstakingly familiar face stared blankly at the both of them.

Clara groaned. "Uncle Mycroft!"

"Don't sound so disappointed," Mycroft Holmes chided her. "It wasn't easy getting out of bed at this hour, you know." She simply glared as the driver got out and opened the passenger seat for her. "Come in."

Isaac blinked, confused. He had specifically ordered his snipers to shoot whoever had tried to interfere with his mission. Why they hadn't shot the man in the car was beyond him. That is, until the man himself spoke up.

"Oh, and Isaac, dear- that is your name, is it not?- the police will find those hitmen of yours in the morning. Quite the headlines that'll make." He turned to Clara, who hadn't moved from the spot. Her hands were crossed, and she was still glaring at him. "Why are you still standing there? I asked you to get in, didn't I?"

She thought about the two options she had. In the end, going with her uncle seemed like the better one: simply being that he was a powerful man, and it wouldn't look good for her or her motives to go against him. Clara slid into the car, and the driver gently brought the door to a close.

"This isn't over," She said, channeling her glare at Isaac. The boy, to his credit, grinned.

"Indeed, it isn't." The window rolled up, and the car began driving away.

Clara sat in silence for a couple of minutes before sighing with frustration. "What was that for?!" Her uncle pulled out the earphones he had put into his ears and stared at her plainly.

"You're welcome," He said, before putting them back in and going back to his phone. Knowing him, he could have been listening to the radio, or reports of secret missions from the KGB. It was always hard to tell.

"For what? Ruining my one chance?" She leaned her head against the window, which was, as the night had been, slightly cold. Mycroft pulled out his earphones, looking more and more annoyed.

"If it's any consolation, it wasn't my idea to come after you. If it was up to me, I'd have left you alone with that sorry excuse of a boy."

"Then whose was it?" She asked, pulling away from the window. Mycroft Holmes was the type of man who took orders from nobody. Well, almost nobody. As long as Clara had been alive, there were two people whom she had seen have any sort of control over her uncle. She wondered which of the two could possibly have been the ones who had sabotaged her work.

"Mine." A third voice came from the far end of the car. It was male, and sounded unmistakingly tired. As it said, "Hello, Clara," she realized that she very well knew whom it belonged to. She also realized that if he was here, then there surely was something wrong.

That made three people who had power over her uncle. And Clara couldn't help but think that the newest addition was beginning to squander Mycroft Holmes's reputation.

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter! I would love it if you could write me a quick little review, since this is my first Sherlock fanfiction, as well as my first Next Generation fanfiction. Thank you, and stay tuned for Chapter 2!