Reincarnation

by fallenfromthetop

Maybe Sherlock isn't dead, there's been rumors...actually Sherlock has a niece he's never known he had. Only thing is, she's as smart as him. And she's determined to find whoever can help her find her family. And that would be Sherlock. The image doesn't belong to me, all the credit goes to the artist/photographer

'Lestrade!'

Lestrade turned to the voice that was calling his name.

It was Sergeant Donavan.

'Lestrade!'

A very worried Sergeant hurried up next to him.

She held up a phone, across was scribbled:

Anothr mrdr, Northumberland St. Com nw.

Anderson

'Another one.' Said Donavan, her lips pressed together, a frown obviously across her face 'Seventh one this week.'

Lestrade sighed, rubbing his forehead, the week was really busy, well, obviously, anyone would be busy if there was a murder each day.

'One second, Donavan. You head off first, I'll follow on later.'

Donavan nodded grimly and headed off to her car. Seconds later, Lestrade heard a car rumbling to life and driving off.

As soon as he heard all that, he collapsed on the metal chair. He had almost no sleep the entire time. Without Sherlock, the PD literally collapsed, Sherlock was the only one to be able to solve this cases in less than a day. For the PD it took months, and most of the time it was a lucky break, like Anderson stumbling across the pencil case and solving the crime.

The rest….well….were left un-solved.

It had been a major crash-down for the PD when Sherlock died.

Donavan had still refused to admit that having Sherlock was a good thing and would do a lot of good toward the department, instead insisting that Sherlock was a fraud.

And for the sake of maintaining his public status, Lestrade had claimed that he believed that Sherlock was a fraud.

But secretly, Lestrade wouldn't believe it, he had been with Sherlock longer than anyone else, he knew that Sherlock could look at a person and tell them their entire life story, it was an easy and simple matter for the Sherlock Holmes.

No one except Sherlock Holmes knew that he had once killed a man. An elderly that was rather annoying and was also causing problems for him. He had shot that man on his face and buried him.

Sherlock had deduced it in less than a second.

'You're reaction to a dead person and the murderer on top on a body was special, everyone was disgusted and horrified, but your expression, your expression was lust and pity. Lust could be because of the pressure. But pity? Pity is only felt by ones who have experience such before.'

He had been shocked and couldn't believe that after all those years of hiding and changing his identity, just a single glance at him could un-ravel the entire planning and plotting.

But Sherlock didn't tell anyone.

He kept it a secret.

He never used it as a blackmail or threatening.

And that was the reason why Lestrade just couldn't believe Sherlock was a fraud, or at least a horrible person who would kill willingly.

Lestrade couldn't tell people why he didn't believe that Sherlock was a fraud because telling them would probably lead to him being thrown to Pentonville Prison.

Lestrade stood up from the chair. He had a murder scene to go to, not daydream around his office.

He walked from the carpeted floor and exited the building. When he hit the streets, he waved for a cab and entered the first one to arrive.

'Northumberland Street, please.' Lestrade said, at the same time buckling his belt on, safety first, he remembered his mother telling him. The cabbie nodded and the cab roared off.

It took 10 minutes to arrive there. The ten minutes including an almost car crash, another cab driven off the road and himself puking at the other end of the car.

That road trip made Lestrade promise to himself that he would get a car.

And no more cabbie drives from now on, good old fashioned walking would get him around.

When Lestrade walked off, he almost didn't pay the cabbie, but who could blame him? The driving was so bad, they had might as well replace the cabbie with a mole.

'Here.' Lestrade slapped a few dollars in the cabbie's hand and walked out, he sighed, sweet sweet ground. Honestly, Lestrade almost kissed it.

He strode towards the crime where Donavan was waiting by the entrance.

'Anything?' he asked her. Donavan shook her head, slightly ashamed, this was the seventh without a single clue, or at least a solvable clue.

Lestrade sighed inwardly, he actually could solve it, but he would need the child, and dragging children in to crime scenes weren't the best choice ever. This child was special, she had been known to solve a couple simple cases, but it was solved in very mature ways.

At the beginning, as soon as Lestrade had heard about the girl, he had immediately asked for her, but it was a few minutes before he found out she was only 13, it had been really disappointing. They could have solved the crime by using the child. But she was too young. A child her age shouldn't know about such horrors yet, even though she was an orphan with a foster mother and no one would care about that, she was still better off without knowing such things. Also, if he allowed it, he'd be breaking ever single rule and also a few un-spoken ones.

But it was desperate now, the seventh death, the seventh murder. It was hard to admit but they needed her.

'Donavan, I need the child.'

Donavan's eyes widened,

'No, we can't! No more asking people for help. I had a life time's worth of it.'

'She's the only one able to solve these sort of things.'

'But….no! Look, what happened when we asked the freak? The police department just broke down, we can't afford revealing more information to another civilian!'

Lestrade paused, it was a fair point, they really couldn't risk another break-down like the Moriaty and Sherlock Holmes business.

But as a balance, London couldn't take any more of these murders.

He would have to risk it.

Reluctantly, he pulled out his phone and pressed a number in. Gatyby had gave it to him when he found out about the girl. Then he pressed the call button, Donavan's mouth slowly dropped wide open with horror.

Ring ring ring ring…

'Maris speaking. Who's calling?'

'Detective Lestrade.'

'Uh….I'm not in trouble am I?'

'No, no. Not at all, almost the opposite. I have a few questions for you.'

'Alright, go ahead.'

'Are you the orphan that managed to find someone's dog by looking at their clothes?'

'Yes….'

'And the one who found someone's daughter by asked them a couple of questions?'

'Yes….'

'And the shoes incident?'

'Yes, what do you want? I'm kinda' in the middle of a lesson at school, the teacher's giving me weird looks.'

'Ah, well, we need your help.'

'….what?'

Here comes the hard bit, admitting he needed a child to help them solve a crime.

'We need your intellect.' He said through gritted teeth.

'No, I heard that, I thought you didn't like asking for assistance. I mean, you guys are the police.'

'Yes, but a second eye wouldn't do much harm.'

'Oook, but you're going to have to give me permission to get out of school, cuz' I don't think teachers will be particularly pleased with me just walking out of the door.'

'Very well, I will call you school.'

'Uh, alright, bye.'

Static.

Lestrade lowered the phone, Donavan was looking like she was about to burst in to a series of swear, but in order to respect someone with a higher status than her, she was going to have to keep it in.

'Are you sure it's smart for the child to come?' she asked persistently.

Lestrade sighed again. He looked at Donavan.

'Look, I don't like it either, but that's our choice left, I swear, if I had any another idea I would use it.'

Donavan nodded unhappily and said,

'I'm going to go in first, Anderson is already inside doing some research.'

'Yes, alright.'

Lestrade keyed in the girl's school number.

'Hello, Bradbird Middle School.'

'Hello, I am Detective Inspector Lestrade, I need one of your students.'

'Oh. Um. You're the police right? Ok then, um, are police allowed to do this? Actually, don't answer that. Very well, but you must have the student's parents' permission, or I'm afraid we are not certified to allow a student out of school at these hours.'

'Yes, yes I do, I need Maris Genry.' Said Lestrade impatiently, he needed to get in soon.

'Ah. The orphan, I was wondering why she was requesting to leave. Yes, alright, good bye.'

'Wait, I haven't even given her where to go!'

'You haven't? Strange, she said she was going to Nortumberland Street. Is that the correct location?'

'Uh, yes, yes it is, very well, goodbye.'

'Goodbye, Detective Inspector Lestrade.'

He lowered the phone, how had the child know where to go? Unless she traced where the signal was coming from, she would have no idea where to go.

Ah well, Lestrade shrugged, maybe she guessed.

He waited for five minutes for the young teen to arrive. Finally she came to sight, she walking instead of in a cabbie, she seemed calm enough and was slightly slower than she really needed to be.

She was wearing her normal uniform with white t-shirt and a tie on, a thigh length skirt and a blue bag slung casually across her shoulder. Her hair was bob-cut and chestnut brown. Her Mary-Jane shoes clapped against the pedestrians road as she walked.

When she got close enough, she smiled a little bit and held out her hand.

'Maris Genry. Nice to meet you, Detective Inspector Lestrade.'

Lestrade winced a bit at the use of his full status.

'Uh, Mr Lestrade will do.'

She nodded.

'Is there a reason why you want for me to be here?'

'Yes, follow me.' He started walking towards the house.

Faintly surprised, Maris followed.

As they were walking closer towards the crime scene, the others gave Maris looks, what on earth was a 13 year-old child doing in a middle of a crime scene?

When they reached the room, she saw a group of forensics standing there along with Donavan who glared at Maris, whom glared back just a ferociously.

The room was plain and white-washed, expect for a single wall which was colored with a series of colors. The body was slumped at the end of the wall; blue eyes wide open in fear. She was in her mid-thirties and had a purple and green tube dress on. Her blond hair was speckle with blood that all came from the gaping hole in her throat; a circle had been slit out of her throat.

Near him, Anderson was standing there and investigating the body. When they entered, Anderson turned around.

He had a series of emotions crossing his face, first surprise, then shock, then annoyance and finally anger.

'What the hell is a child doing in the middle of a crime scene? This is a place only for the police, kid, get out!'

Maris stepped forward, anger clearly across her face too, she was opening her mouth to reply with something snarky when Lestrade placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from moving.

'Wait, Maris. Anderson, shut up, we need her, she the child.'

Instead of relaxing Anderson seemed to grow angrier.

'But, what? Ok, fine.'

Lestrade nodded.

'Good.' Then to Maris 'Can you please find out what all this means?'

'Alright.'

Then reluctantanly, Anderson moved out of the way to allow the child to look at the wall and its colors.

It was a while before Maris spoke again.

'The colors, look, all primary and secondary colors, obviously this person is very obsessed with using significant colors. But it's not just some random colors used, this person was very clever, the primary colors and the secondary colors are in a certain place and a certain sequence.' While saying this Maris quickly pointed all this out, her speed almost matching the Flash himself.

'What is one of the most well-known sequences in this world?' she concluded 'What is a very common thing seen every day?'

Anderson cut in, an annoyed look on his face.

'Fibonacci sequence, it's really famous, the golden ratio, everyone knows it. But why are you concentrating on the wall? It's not important, the body is.'

Maris glared at him

'Oh, shut it, Anderson, that's too complicated, and how on earth will the sequence be transferred to colors in a few sentences written? And about the body, that's not important the colors are. And the sequence, it can't be the Fibonacci sequence. No, it must be something easier, something small to write down in a sentences, it must be something simple, something basic, something – '

She paused, then a lightblub lit in her face. She started walking around the room in feverish excitement.

'Oh, clever, really, really clever!' She was beaming, a huge grin on her face.

Everyone looked at one other, most of them shrugged. Donavan just raised an eyebrow.

Maris glanced at them, annoyance clearly across her features.

'You're kidding me right?'

They all looked at the young girl.

'I've given you basically everything to lead you to read this message and you still don't get it.'

Nobody moved, so Lestrade decided to shake his head, it felt stupid to admit to the younger child that he had no clue what so ever to what Maris was rambling about, but it was an honest gesture.

Maris sighed, rolled her eyes and continued.

'What is the most basic of all computer systems?'

No answer.

'Come on! At least one of you should know this, it's elementary!'

'Uh..uh pixels?' tried a helpless forensics

Maris let out a sigh of frustration.

'Systems, idiot, I said systems not screen!'

Then Maris calmed herself down.

'Computer language, binary code, it's one of the most essential things in the world, it runs the world, literally, without computer systems we are hopeless, without the internet pass we are lost. This person was smart, the code chosen would be one that everyone would have heard of, but probably don't know how to read it.'

Donavan stepped forward.

'Good job, you may leave, we'll get another person to read it.' She said dismissively.

A look of annoyance passed through Maris's face,

'Oh no, I know how to read binary numbers. Besides, do you even know which ones are the zeroes and which one are the ones?'

Donavan paused, no, she didn't.

Maris smirked.

'No, didn't think so.'

Maris turned back to the wall where the senseless words were written.

There was silence in the room as she paced quickly back and forth, occasionally seeming like she was counting.

Finally she said.

'There's more primary colors than secondary colors.'

'So?' Anderson said annoyingly 'What good is that going to do to us?'

Maris didn't even bother turning around.

'Well, Anderson, if you're so determined to prove that whatever I am doing is wrong you are completely welcome to leave this room. Go on. Leave. Let your little girlfriend tell you later.'

Anderson frowned.

'Girlfriend?'

'Yes, Donavan, she's your girlfriend isn't she? I mean, the way you look at her and the way you stand by her. But wait,' Maris turned to face Anderson, a quizzical look on her face. 'I thought you had a wife?'

Both Anderson and Donavan went pink. Donavan started fiddling with her scarf, glaring at the wall.

Maris grinned evilly, obviously her childish nature had taking over her normal static personality.

'You know, I'm really expecting a divorce really soon, I would be happy to help you file a divorce. I mean, you've even let Donavan sleep in your bed. The nice warm comfy black-sheeted black, and maybe minus the clothes…'

'Prove it.' Anderson snapped, his temper going, his face turning an alarming shade of redish-purple, 'How do you know that she didn't just stay in the lilo because the weather was bad?'

Maris smirked, this smirk more snarkier than the other one.

'I'm more than willing.'

'Donavan, your scarf, its white, also wool, tends to get a lot of unwanted things trapped in it. It's cold isn't it? You'd wear your scarf to bed, keeps you warm, though chance of being accidentally strangled by the scarf will be heightened, most people don't care, I see you are one of them. So, if you wear your scarf to the bed, it would probably catch the bedsheet fiber along with its normal stitching.'

'How?' said Donavan, still refusing to admit that Maris was right, her glare now directed full towards the young girl.

'Ah, well, there's light strands of purple in it, since you seem to be fond of purple, after all purple lipstick, purple bracelet, it is probably the color for your bedsheet, not your jacket, because you don't seem to be wearing anything on the middle body containing much purple. Now, why is there strands of black in it as well though? Could be your hair, but your hair is curly, that strand is long and straight.'

The couple blushed furiously.

Maris smiled, this time genuine, she might as well place in the punchline.

'And Anderson, your scarf has strands of black in it, once again, since you sleep in it, it's probably your bedsheet. But why does Donavan have the same sort of strand and material on her scarf?'

Maris turned back, facing the wall.

'Now,' she said 'The rest of you, do the maths. It's simple enough.'

Everyone look at Donavan, then at Anderson. Then back at Maris. But she was concentrated about the wall, staring in to it.

Purple, red, orange, yellow, green, purple, yellow…

FindmeBASTANTEBIGH20

Findme?

A code word?

Too obvious.

A name?

Who'd have a name like that.

A place?

Fintmy?

Doesn't sound alike.

Phidmy?

Ditto with the last situation.

Phimey.

Yes. 'Phimey's the first word.

Now.

BASTANTEBIGH20.

2 Hydrogen and 1 Oxygen.

Water.

BASTANTEBIGWater.

Bastante:

Spanish (n.) Quite

QuiteBigWater

Sea?

No, too big, she would just say BIGH20, not BASTANTEBIG.

Pond?

Too small.

River or Lake.

Lake.

Phimey Lake.

She whipped out her iPhone and tapped a few buttons. A frown plastered across her face. She jabbed a few buttons on her phone, occasionally crying out in dismay when the internet was slow.

Most of the people in the room were staring at her, only Anderson and Donavan weren't doing anything. It was obvious that the love-birds were still annoyed at Maris's clever deduction, and drawing them out even though they had covered their tracks very carefully. As for everyone else, they were confused at her movements and her sudden selection of using a digital object.

On Maris's phone:

Phimey Lake
Grant County MN
54 acres
ID 26024800

Phimey Daily:

Tree Protest

Let the trees live! Let them strive! Cry the Tree-Lover society Don't let them disappear, let them thrive!

Phimey Government have announced that they were to take down the forest clearing near the Lake to create a mall for the residents living near. It wasn't long before the protesters raged in. And unfortunately destroying the village police station to make their point. The government are deciding to take down this society if they continue to rebel at such ways.

UPDATE: Since the threaten, the tree-lovers society have stopped protesting, though rumors of protests have been spreading no such move have been made.

A Golden Moment

Recently, near Phimey Lake, a gold rush had been found, Mr. Hotin was the lucky one to come by it. He will be selling the nuggets for a few hundred dollars only! With 25 carets of pure gold, these nuggests are the most rare even seen.

'I have never seen such beautiful things before, they are really one hundred percent perfect.' Says Scientist John Melony 'They are really rare!'

But as mentioned Mr Hotin is going to sell them at a very cheap price! Come on April the 5th to claim one of the rarest Golden Nuggets in the world.

Turning Point

The government it deciding to dam the Phimey Lake since its flooding has causes much grief towards the society, the damming will be done on Feburary 15th. More information can be found on the official website for the damming project

Daily Offenses:

Wanted: James Moriaty

Crime offense: Have murdered three people in order for the lake not to be dammed, have been named as the most dangerous criminal within Phimey Community.

Mrs. Rechin is willing to pay $100,000 for the capture of Mr. Moriaty dead or alive.

Maris paused at the criminal's page, Moriaty, sounded familiar. Maybe she encountered him before? Maybe she read about him? Or maybe it was T.V or a magazine…..maybe she heard of it before, she just couldn't place where…

Normally she would rack her brain for it, but there wasn't enough time. Second choice, time to ask the police.

'Has anyone heard of James Moriaty before?'

The entire room stiffened. The tension increases by more than a double. There was a shuffling of feet, a couple of uncomfortable coughs and one or two nervous glances at her.

Maris could feel it happening. She looked up, her hazelnut brown eyes glancing at the other people, they all avoided her suspicious gaze.

'What?'

'Jim-sorry-James Moriaty, was created by Sherlock Holmes. He's not real, his actual name is Richard Brook, a children's program storyteller, he's won many awards.' Said Lestrade, slightly hesitantly.

Maris frowned, she remembered a newspaper article quite a while back about Moriaty breaking in to the Bank of England, Pentonville Prison and the Tower of London, apparently with a piece of gum and diamond. but she shoved the matter aside. She was more concerned about another matter.

Sherlock Holmes?

Homes is a maiden name of her mother. Honestly, it was a lot like Holmes, at times, she spelt it wrong herself.

But back to the main subject.

Her real mother.

She was abandoned at birth; only thing she knew was the name of her biological mother, she had found out from her orphanage mother, she had pressed it out of her, blackmailing and bribing eventually did it.

The name she had looked on ages for was Natalie Curtie Homes.

She had also tried her father's name, but her orphanage mother only knew her mother's name.

Soon after that, a family adopted her, they were kind, and they encouraged her to try and find her real family, they had wanted her to be happy, suppressing her urge to search for her biological family was probably going to hurt her.

And so, even since finding out such information, she had been really keen on finding her parents again. She had tried everything, internet, books, CDs. Most of the time she got information on Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock Holmes (she completely ignored those) and a lot of the Google search engine going:

Do you mean Natalie Holmes?

But no mention of Natalie Homes was made.

Eventually, she just gave up altogether, it was pretty much fruitless to try and continue it, even after two years, she had only gotten a name. One name.

'Sherlock Holmes? Holmes? You mean H-O-L-M-E-S, right?'

Lestrade nodded.

'Is that even important?'

But Maris was already inside her little Mind Palace.

'Holmes…' she was muttering 'That's almost the same as my mother's maiden name. Homes, wait, the letter, the ineligible letter, the one right next to 'o' it looked like a one, no, wait, it wasn't a one…it was….it was…..it was an L! '

After the twelve years of searching, only now she had fully understood the scribbled words given to her by the orphanage mom.

It wasn't a one.

It was a L.

Her name wasn't Maris Coly Homes.

It was Maris Coly Holmes.

'I'm Maris Coly Holmes.' She whispered. 'Not Homes, Holmes.'

Unfortunately, she had voiced this out loud…..to the ears of the entire Police Department.

'WHAT?' went the synchronized voices of the police department.

'Huh?' Maris looked up, a confused look on her face, and then a serious look went back on her face.

'Uh, well, sorry. Never mind about my family.' She said, even though a slight beaming smile was on her face 'Back to the subject.'

But no one would listen.

'You're related to Sherlock Holmes.' Said Donavan, disbelievingly.

'Mm. Yes, so it seems.'

'Sherlock Holmes.' An eyebrow arched.

'Yes, what is so important about it?'

'THE Sherlock Holmes.' Another eyebrow raising up.

'The?'

'Don't you know? He's a really infamous freak.'

'Infamous?' Well, after all, Maris had ignored all the Sherlock Holmes Google searches, how was she supposed to know?

'Yes, murdered quite a few people.'

'Murdered?' That was new.

Donavan opened her mouth to reply Maris, but Lestrade replied for her. He first sighed, then he said.

'Don't you read the news?'

Maris shrugged.

'Once every six months, I guess.'

'Ok, then, do you watch the telly?'

'Not allowed.'

They all glanced at each other. Anderson let out a sigh of annoyance, this girl was taking up a lot of time.

'Well. Are you-….nevermind. Back to the point,' said Lestrade 'Why were you mentioning about Richard Brook?'

Maris held up the black iPhone 4s, brandishing the Phimey Village most recent criminal page.

'Duh.'

The police department quickly scanned what was being held in front of them.

'How do you know Phimey is the place to lo – '

'The colors were a binary code, as mentioned, it was just a simple matter to figure out which ones where the 1's and which ones were the 0's. So here, there were more primary colors than secondary, since there is more 0's in a binary code, then the primary colors must have been the 0's. Then just convert to the letter or the number that it is trying to express, or in this case, letters and numbers. Next, just find out what it means.'

Lestrade (and pretty much everyone else, except for Anderson and Donavan) was taken aback, they knew the girl had a reputation for solving out simple things, but they had definitely not expected the girl to be at Sherlock's level. Actually, to be honest, as soon as she revealed her uncle was the Sherlock Holmes, the surprised was lessened by a tiny bit.

'The freak reincarnates.' Muttered Donavan.

But Maris heard it.

'No, I can't be a reincarnation of Sherlock Holmes, he died a year ago, I am thirteen, how could I be a reincarnation? Use your brain.'

And again Donavan opened her mouth to return a snappy reply when Anderson went.

'If you have no idea who Sherlock Holmes is, how come you knew when he died?'

'Lestrade told me.'

All eyebrows in the room frowned down.

'No I didn't' said Lestrade 'I never mentioned when Sherlock died.'

Maris sighed and ran a slim pale hand through her bob-cut chestnut hair.

'Directly through your words, you didn't, but in a way, you did. You weren't very comfortable talking about Sherlock Holmes, which means the worse of the trauma is still lingering faintly. Trauma tends to stay for long periods of time. Since you are not in the best to talk about him, but still do a bit, it means the some of the worse of it is still here, but most of it already seeped away. This sort of stage is around quite a couple of months after the trauma, thus is the reason why I used a 'year'.'

A couple of 'oh's went around the room.

Maris shoved her phone back in to her pocket.

'Well. I'm done here. It's certainly been really nice, I'm glad I had something else to do. I was very bored at school.'

She picked up her checkered school bag and headed for the marble framed door.

No one stopped her.

Just before she left, she waved and winked.

'Bye!'