Okay, hey you there! I'm assuming you are reading my other story, Kiara Moriarty, Consulting Criminal Junior, as well because this story won't make much sense otherwise. This is just a collection of some chapters not in Kiara's POV, but in Sherlock's, John's, Lestrade's,... I don't know :D I have some in mind, but you can always send me requests! And now, enjoy The Job?, John's and Sherlock's POV.
John and Sherlock were inside the museum, looking around, searching for clues for their newest case which included a woman, murdered with one of the artefacts of the museum.
"Sherlock, we need to split up," whispered John after ten minutes of searching, looking for unusual things in the probably most unusual places of England. The knifes and jewellery in the glass cases glittered and shone on Sherlock's face, as he nodded.
"You take this and the second floor, I take number three and four," Sherlock answered and was gone within seconds.
John sighed. This would be another long night with nearly no results on his side, and with some luck all of what they needed on Sherlock's. Again.
John shook his head and continued his search.
After thirty minutes he was up on the second floor. A few times he had thought he had heard something, but nothing was there. The last room, which actually is directly on my way out again, was in front of him. Again, he thought he heard some shuffling, but his only chance was to check, and besides, which idiot besides Sherlock and him would be here at this time?
Suddenly something grey and black jumped out of the shadows and John let out a shout of pain when the figure stabbed his arm with a knife. But then, army-training kicked in. Fighting stance, fists up, analyse. Any weaknesses? None visible, but smaller than average. Any strengths? Knife, surprise effect, very fast. Solution: Change those three.
These thoughts flitted through the brain of the army-doctor within less than a second, so he was ready. His opponent was good, very good, but John had more experience. Quickly, but in more time than John would have liked, he disarmed the young man (as he was pretty sure it was a young man, judging by movements, style, strength, etc.). The other seemed surprised and slightly frustrated, which only helped John. It has always been, and will always be, that the calm is better. The man jumps towards the doctor, but he was expecting it. The neat step out of the way and the kick to the knee brought the attacker to the ground. John nearly cursed, though, when the kick to the head missed because of the other man rolling out of the way.
The attacker was clearly out of breath and John instantly felt grateful for the chases through London he did with Sherlock. This lead the opponent to a mistake. Catching the fist thrown towards him was easy and the next move, flipping the young man over his shoulder, was textbook.
Weakly struggling, the other man was gasping on the floor, when the doctor knelt on his wrists and sat on his chest to keep him from moving. With his free hands he removed the hood from his attackers head and gasped. The young man was actually a very pretty, fifteen-year-old girl, with pale skin, freckles and red hair.
Sherlock was nearly as quick as John, so he was already walking down the steps again to help John, when he heard the blogger shout his name. Instantly, he broke into a run, shouting the doctor's name. He burst into a room and found, surprisingly, John on the floor, pinning down someone.
With a quick nod the army-doctor told him he was all right, and Sherlock felt embarrassingly relieved.
Suddenly the person John held down, fifteen-year-old girl, red hair, pale skin, grey-black clothes, grim, pained expression – lives with her father, no mother, obviously trained, was doing a planned job while in here, something familiar, something important, something he missed, pushed John off her, causing him to hit his head. Sherlock was stunned for a moment, what did just happen?, as the girl jumped onto John, searching for her knife, fight with John, lost, blood on the knife, John hurt, obviously wanting to threaten John. That was what caused Sherlock's action. Anger pulsed through him and he grabbed the collar of the girl and pulled her up. This would cause her to stagger backwards into his arms, and his predictions were correct as usual. Putting his arm around her neck, he took out his gun and pointed it against her temple. She froze instantly.
And then something weird happened. The detective shook her and asked her name repeatedly, but she didn't react at all, only her breathing quickened.
"Sherlock," John suddenly said, sharply, and the tall man carefully sat her down, realising that she was having a panic attack, but didn't move his gun from her head in any way.
"Sherlock, put that damn thing somewhere else!" John said sharply, and Sherlock understood that the gun wasn't exactly helping her.
"What's your name, sweetie?" asked John, smiling, but the girl didn't look at him, as if she were afraid – afraid of being recognized?
Suddenly all the pieces slotted together and fit. Sherlock didn't hesitate, but hit the head of the girl with the butt of the gun. As she was falling back onto the ground, he saw John's confused and annoyed look.
"Moriarty! She's his daughter."
Well? Please R&R! I hope you enjoyed, the next ones will add a bit more insight, I promise :D
-Valkyrie ;)