Sherlock shoved the key for 221B Baker Street into the keyhole, John staying behind him paying the taxi. He kicked the door open, striding in. John had to rush in so that the door did not slam on his face since he had left his keys inside.
"Hello Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called from behind her slightly open door.
"Hello Mrs. Hudson!" he called in response as he jumped up the stairs two steps at a time. John waved at her as he trooped up the stairs in a more normal fashion. When he reached the door to their apartment he nearly ran into Sherlock since he was rubbing his eyes out of tiredness. They had spent the entire day running around London searching for a murderer and they had hardly had anytime to sleep or eat.
"Um…Sherlock?" he asked loudly, trying to look over Sherlock's high shoulder. "Why did you stop?"
"John," Sherlock whispered "Please be quiet."
His voice was so serious and so filled with meaning that John immediately felt any word he wanted to say fall from his mouth.
"Don't move a muscle until I tell you too." The voice was ruff. "Step away from the door and raise your arms above your head." John felt Sherlock slowly step away, hands raised above his head. He moved towards the entrance of the kitchen. John moved his hands above his head. "Close the door." John nodded slowly. He kicked behind him and shut the door.
The time which passed in the next moment, albeit brief, allowed for John to create some impression of the situation in front of him. There was a chair sitting in front of the windows. John's eyes widened when he saw that a woman was sitting in the chair, gagged with her arms tied behind her and her legs tied to the old wooden chair. A man was standing behind her; at least John thought he was a man. His face was covered in a black ski mask with no holes for eyes, his body covered in a black sweater and pants. But the thing that scared John the most was the fact that a knife was pressed rather tightly to the woman's neck. Small droplets of blood were already forming on her pale skin.
"Hello Sherlock." The man said, pressing the knife tighter. The woman's eyes widened even larger, if that was possible. Her eyes flickered between Sherlock, the knife and John. "Bet you never expected to see her again." He laughed eerily, waving the knife for a second before slamming it back on her neck.
"You don't have to do this," Sherlock said pointing one hand slightly in the man's direction. "You don't have to bring her into this. We can just talk."
The man laughed again. He reached down a hand and yanked up the woman's sleeve to reveal an arm covered in deep cuts, some covered with dried blood while others were still fresh with small amounts of blood seeping out. Sherlock's eyes widened. The man lowered the knife, lopping an arm around the woman's neck and pulling her head back slightly. He slit her arm and her eyes watered but she tried to blink the tears away. The blood began to form small droplets, sliding down her arm to drip off onto the ground.
"Please." Sherlock's teeth clenched.
"Aw. Am I making the famous untouchable Sherlock upset?" he asked in a baby voice, moving the knife back up to the woman's neck. "Why don't I just kill her? I'm sure your friend who is standing there completely confused would like to know what is so important about this girl here."
"Let her go."
"Not going to tell? Sad."
Sherlock reached behind him for a second before reaching a hand out in front of him. In his hand was a gun and he cocked it before pointing it directly at the man's head. The man laughed again.
"Let her go." Sherlock's voice was dripping with hatred. John's eyes widened. Sherlock didn't pull out a gun on anyone. He had thrown someone out of a window for giving Mrs. Hudson a minor cut, he had held out a gun on Moriarty. But both of those had a reason. From what John could tell it didn't seem like Sherlock knew the man or the woman inside their flat. But he was holding out a gun pointed at the man's face while his teeth were clenched tightly.
Sherlock tightened his finger on the gun. "Let her go or I shot." The man paused for a second, tilting his head in consideration. Then he leapt away, dropping the knife to the floor and jumping through the slightly open window that John had just noticed. Sherlock raced after him, poking his head out of the window. The man had jumped to the nearly empty street and ran away.
John moved towards the woman in the chair, but before he untied her Sherlock spun around. "Don't touch her." John looked at the tall man by the window in confusion. Sherlock was walking carefully towards the two of them, waving to John to back up. He carefully moved away.
Sherlock carefully untied the woman's gag with his long fingers. It fell and the woman took several large deep breaths. "Now you come!" she snapped, shuffling her hands in the rope. "You took your time to come home! I'd been here for about an hour before you arrived!"
Now that she was able to talk, the fear that had filled her eyes was somewhat gone. But in the back of her strangely pale eyes there was still a flicker of the flame of fear. John was amazed to see the fact that the woman who was sitting in the chair, her face filled with annoyance, looked startlingly like Sherlock.
She had the same long, thin and pale face. She had the same air about herself that announced to the world 'Everyone is an idiot'. The dark chestnut hair that hung around her face was slight waved, drifting down over her shoulders. Her outfit, if stained with blood, seemed to fit her perfectly. Her white shirt hung loosely from her thin frame, a dark scarf wrapped around her neck, knotted at about her right shoulder. The dark jeans on her legs ended with a pair of black flats.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked from his position kneeling in front of her.
"I don't know," she said sarcastically. "Maybe I had no choice about it because I was dragged here after sitting alone in a dark room for about a day!"
Sherlock and her glared at each other for a few seconds before John finally spoke.
"Um…Sherlock?"
"Yes?" the man in question asked, not turning to look at him.
"Who is she?"
"My little sister. Obviously."
John nodded, still not quite understanding. "I didn't know you had a sister."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You didn't know I had a brother until he asked you to spy on me. I don't tell you everything there is to know about my life."
"Who's that?" Sherlock's sister asked, nodding towards the man by the door. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend Sherlock."
Sherlock ran his fingers through his dark curls in annoyance. "He is not my boyfriend! He," Sherlock reached a hand behind him to point at John "is my assistant."
"You never had an assistant before." She pointed out. "In fact, you claim that you don't need an assistant."
"I needed a roommate."
"And…" she prompted.
"He interested me. All right! There, I said it! He interested me."
She smiled, and it seemed to be an actual friendly smile. Not something filled with coldness, something that seemed like it would fit her face better. But the warm smile seemed to fit it in a different way. "Good for you Sherlock. You needed someone."
They stared at each other for a few more seconds, eyes studying each other's faces. The woman seemed to have forgotten the fact that her arms and legs were attached to the chair or the fact that one arm, and possibly the other, was covered with deep cuts while there was another cut on her neck. Instead, she seemed more focused on drinking up Sherlock's face.
"I haven't seen you for seventeen years." Sherlock said with a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
"It wasn't my fault that you went away to university," She wined. "I was left alone with Mother and Father! And you never visited!" Now she sounded much more of a younger sister then a woman who was only moments ago scolding Sherlock for being late.
"Mycroft visited every year!"
She looked at him in annoyance, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh yes. I always forget about my loving older brother who always told me I needed to act my age."
"Well, didn't you?" Sherlock asked exasperated.
"No, in fact I acted as if I was your age and that threw our sweet brother off. I believe he was hoping for an idiot younger sister after he had failed so much as being an older brother to you!"
"Well I'm sorry! I came back for some Christmas Diners!"
"Every two years or so idiot!" That may have been the first time John had ever heard any one call Sherlock an idiot. "Did you ever think about the fact that I missed you? Do you ever think about anyone else at all? Because my dear brother, it certainly seems like you never think about anyone but you!" Breath was coming fast out of her mouth and she was glaring at Sherlock.
"Well I'm sorry!" He sighed in annoyance. "I wasn't the only one avoiding the family! Where were you that last Christmas before you went off to university? And all the Christmas Diners after that?"
"I was trying to convince myself that you didn't exist, that you were just a figment of my overactive imagination, so that I wouldn't miss you when I left," she snapped. "And then, since I hate our family as much as you, I didn't come back for Christmas after that. But seeing as you were able to gain enemies, you were able to do quite well without me."
"Aura, did you really think I had forgotten you?"
"Yes," Another tear dotted her eyes and she tried to blink it away. "Yes Sherlock, I did."
"Um…Sherlock?" John asked from his position in front of the door.
"Yes John?" Sherlock asked, turning his head to look at the man in question. Aura looked as well, head tilted in an expression that looked, again, like one of Sherlock's.
"Shouldn't you untie her?"
"Yes Sherlock, why don't you?" She turned back to Sherlock. "I know for a fact you gathered everything that you needed to know from the first five seconds of entering this room and you're just keeping me in this chair so that I don't kill you first chance I have."
"Well you would!" he wined.
Aura shrugged as best she could. "Good point." She opened her eyes wide. "But I won't do that anymore dear brother." She blinked her large eyes slowly.
"Promise?" Sherlock was never one to be moved by his younger sister's attempts to persuade him to do things.
She sighed. "Yes Sherlock. I promise."
Sherlock moved behind her, his long fingers moving to untie the rope that was latched around her wrists. The rope fell away and she moved her hands in front of her, rubbing her raw wrists. Her eyes followed Sherlock as he moved to untie her ankles. When he leaned back on his heels and looked across at her (even on his knees he was tall), he was surprised to see her looking as sad as he had ever seen her. Her pale eyes were watering, hands clutched around her mouth as she tried to stop the tears from flowing. But tears were still managing to squeeze out.
"Sherlock," she whimpered. Sherlock looked at her nervously. The detective, as brilliant as he is, was not good at working with emotions. Especially those of his younger sister. Though over the years he knew that she had hardened herself like he had, she was still human. Her tears could still fall. "I'm so scared."
Sherlock reached out his hands to rest on her shoulders. She looked into his face for a second before falling into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. His eyes fell closed as he held her tightly. She was slightly falling off of the chair, but Sherlock's body was preventing her from falling.
John's eyes widened even larger (if that was possible) at the affection being shown by the usually un-touchable Detective. Sherlock held Aura for about a minute before pulling back slightly. Brother and sister looked into each other's eyes before Sherlock pulled her standing. She wobbled slightly on her feet before managing to stand straight. He brushed off her shoulders. "Do you need anything?" His eyes searched her face caringly.
"Something to eat?" her voice sounded weak now that she was standing. Sherlock glanced back to John; his eyes telling him get something from the fridge. John moved to the kitchen, avoiding the piles of mess on the counter. He pulled open the fridge. Thankfully, they hadn't eaten everything from his last trip to the grocers so there was still actual food. John managed to find an apple hidden away behind the rest of the food. He returned to the main room, holding out the apple. She took it carefully, biting into the skin to suck out the sweet juices. As she chewed Sherlock lead her over to the sofa, under the yellow smiling face with bullet holes. She carefully sat down and Sherlock sat next to her, rubbing her shoulder. She leaned against him, taking another bite.
John looked around the room, already feeling out of place with the two siblings calmly sitting there. Her pale eyes were watching him as he sat carefully in the desk chair. The room remained silent as she ate. Once the core was the only thing she held in her hand Sherlock spoke.
"Who was that?" He asked her and she didn't move.
"I have no idea." She said it so quickly that even John didn't believe her.
"You know I don't trust you. At the first sound of his voice you knew who he was." She turned and smiled at him, knowing he spoke the truth.
"You know me well Sherlock. But what I said was correct. Though I knew where he was from, his age, his heart rate, his emotion, if he was married or not, how hungry he was, if he was particularly rich, if he was particularly poor, if he was working for someone or if he wanted money for the first time I did not know who he was." She counted off her fingers as she spoke. The apple fell to the ground but no one bothered to pick it up. Sherlock smiled at her words and she smiled at him.
"Do you have a theory of who it was?" he asked her.
"About two. Would you like me to share them with you?"
"Yes please." She stood and began to pace. Her footing was much more sturdy now that she had eaten something.
"George R. Hillings; school teacher in Manchester, no known reason for him to have anything to do with us."
"No. It wasn't him."
She nodded, agreeing. "It was very unlikely, yes. But he fit the requirements. Jake P. Hampton; currently in the Navy for the United States of America."
"No."
"I agree. But both of them fit the requirements." She crossed her arms, looking down at her older brother.
"Yes, they do. But it wasn't either of them. It was someone else." he stood as well, pacing alongside her.
"I have no other ideas." Her arms spread out about her.
"Um…" They both turned to John. He looked up at them, confusion evident on his face. "Who are you again?"
"I am his little sister." Her arms crossed. "I believe we told you that before."
"Sherlock doesn't have a sister."
"Clearly, I do." Sherlock said, falling back down on the sofa. "Anything else?"
"Why didn't you tell me you had a sister?"
"Because I hadn't seen her for seventeen years so I didn't think she was quite that relevant to you."
"Don't brothers and sisters usually talk to each other? Like call each other or email…"
"Well, we aren't normal brother and sister, are we now?" she said it simply.
"No." John shook his head in confusion. "No you most certainly are not normal." Aura laughed, a sound that Sherlock hadn't heard in a long while.
"Do you know where you were before he brought you here?" Sherlock asked her, turning to look at her. She continued to stare straight ahead.
"Let me think." Her eyes closed and her hands raised. She began to move them in the air, as if she was searching a touchscreen. John looked at Sherlock.
"What is she doing?"
Sherlock looked on at her proudly. "Her mind can take an image of her surroundings if she so chooses. As soon as she realized what was happening she would have begun to take images. It's quite simple really."
"What was that voice thing about? How was she able to match up the voice to those two men?"
"Basically the same thing as the image. She can take a recording of someone if she hears them, even in a crowd."
John nodded just as Aura spoke again. "Be quiet! I have to concentrate." Both men fell silent, obeying the woman before them. She worked for a few more seconds before opening her eyes. "Pen and paper. Now." Sherlock eyed John, communicating with a silent message. John sighed, searching through his desk until his hands landed on one. She held out her hand for it and he put it there. She sat back down in the chair, resting the paper on her knee. She began to draw something and Sherlock leaned in to see.
The room she drew was rectangular and tall. Windows shone in the middle of the roof but from the way she drew no light managed to seep down to the floor. A chair was sitting in the middle and a figure was sitting in it, body limp and weak. There was a figure standing in front of the chair, arms crossed behind them as they looked down. It was clearly a male. No one else was in the room but a shadowed door could be scene against one of the walls.
"Can you draw the man's face?" Sherlock asked, pointing his finger down at the drawing. She tilted her head, considering.
"The man there isn't the same man from your apartment; but yes, I can draw him." Her pen touched the paper again, slightly to the side of the original drawing. The man's face began to take shape and Sherlock's teeth clenched. John leaned over to see what it was.
Before his eyes, line by line, the face of a familiar man was taking shape. He had only seen him a few times, but he would always be able to recognize the face.
Because Jim Moriarty stared up at him.
A/N: Do you like this story? I always loved the thought of Sherlock having a sister, so I decided to create my own. Please leave a review with what you thought. If you have any suggestions of where you want the story PM me or post them in a review and I'll consider them. Hope you enjoyed. Goodbye.