Janine closed her front door, ready to relax after a long day. She had just had an interview with a future employer. The excitement finally got the best of her and the end of the day came with pleasure. She changed out of her dress and put on some comfortable clothes, wilting in a chair.
Just as she was drifting off, she thought she heard footsteps. She got up to check if anyone might have accidently wondered into her flat by mistake, it happens time to time.
"Hello?" She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Is anyone there?" She called. No reply.
Blaming it on her tired mind, Janine walked back to her room. Someone was waiting for her.
They had their back towards her, their figure shifting in the white light of the window, hands folded behind their back.
"Uh?" Was Janine's terribly brilliant reaction. "Excuse me? I think you have the wrong flat number." She said, voice wavering a bit. This could be a murderer for all she knew.
The figure held still, not even the sound of their even breathes made it to her ears.
"Excuse me?" Her voice came with more power. She thought she's rather go down fighting if this was a thief or intruder.
"If you don't answer right now I will call the police!" She firmly said. The figure took in a deep breath and turned ever so slightly, just enough to see their face.
Janine vaguely recognized her pale face. Something in the back of her mind told her this wasn't what was supposed to be happening, it wasn't right. She felt it, but she couldn't place it.
Then the coldest voice replied. "Hello Aunty dearest." They turned to face her.
Janine's voice caught in her throat, hands going cold and ears ringing. "You- you're supposed to be…" She managed.
"Dead?" Her sing-song voice flitted through the air. "Oh, what a welcome I receive." Her dark sinister eyes shone like a rat's in a sewer, greedy for food and not caring what it took to get some. "I thought you would be glad to see me… we haven't talked since last Easter." Janine remembered that. People gathered in a garden, the flames of a low fire on a cold day flicked at the back of her mind. Everything was going fine until, somehow, Great Uncle Winsley is found dead. The doctors blamed it on a heart attack. She knew the truth, though. "Pills are to never be kept around small children, you know." She chided, as if reading Janine's thoughts.
"Now. If you wish to get me a map of this lovely hell hole, that would be much appreciated." She sounded so much like her father it was unnerving. How she was back, no one knew.
Janine hesitated before grabbing her mobile and dialing 999. "No?" She tilted her head, eyes narrowing at the telephone. "Fine. I'll have to help myself." And with that, Janine fell onto the floor, unconscious. The operator picking up, barely audible from its place on the hard wood floor. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor Aunty has had too much to drink." She blinked down innocently at her.
I saw a post on Tumblr that said Janine might be Jim Moriarty's sister and I couldn't help but right a fic of this idea conflicting with the plot that Moriarty had children. 'Till the next time.