Authors Note:
Ok so this hasn't been betad yet, but I really want to post it.
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock, wish I did. The new one is awesome. But like I said, don't own it or any of the characters except for the ones I created for this fic. ]
By the way this is the start of a series so if you like this one I hope to post the next installment soon.
PROLOGUE
It had all started when Sherlock was Eighteen. He was in university studying abroad in Washington DC in The States. There was a murder on campus, a marine. NCIS got involved. Unlike most of the students currently on the campus Sherlock had actively pursued the case finding it far more interesting than his current studies.
He had met the 'probie' attached to the NCIS team, Cecile, and had found a kindred spirit in her. She was as observant as he was, though far more modest and easy going. They came to an understanding and unknown to everyone else he helped her solves the case. For the next few months they had what could be considered a relationship I suppose, though not by any means a conventional one. Of course, since when has Sherlock ever been conventional?
After Sherlock had moved back to London he got a letter. It told him that Cecile was pregnant. It also told him that she was perfectly all right with him not being there. His life was in England and hers was in DC and that's how it should stay. So he stayed in London.
Cecile sent him photos of his daughters, she'd had twins, about twice a year, and she told him that they knew who their father was and it was their choice if they wanted to see him when they were old enough. He would send them presents on their birthday and at Christmas, always scientific presents.
Everything went quite smoothly for the first sixteen years of the twins' lives, but of course nothing good can ever last.
It was May 29th 2013 and Cecile was busy chasing a petty officer accused of murder. She ran through the rain toward the docks where he had disappeared, her long dark brown hair sticking to her face, her sharp blue eyes picking up every minute detail of the area around her.
After a few minutes of running she had the petty officer cornered in a warehouse. "Give it up, McFannigin. We know you were the one who spiked the captain's drink with cyanide. We have overwhelming evidence. Just give it up." She said calmly and steadily.
The petty officer looked panicked, which was never good. Panicked people did stupid things and he wasn't exactly that smart to begin with. He raised his gun in a last ditch effort to escape and pulled the trigger. Cecile was already jumping to the side firing two shots as soon as he'd gotten his off.
The petty officer fell to the ground dead from a double tap to the heart. "Damn!" She breathed. "I wanted to take him alive." Sighing she walked over to his body and kicked the gun away from him. She crouched down to check if he was still alive but didn't feel a pulse, then.
*CRACK*
The sound of the gun startled her but not as much as the crimson stain that started to bloom on her chest.
*CRACK*
She fell to the ground gasping for air as blood began to drip from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were wide as she searched for the shooter, but there was no one there.
"Michael." She managed to gasp out, but her partner was at least another five minutes away and from the rate she was bleeding she'd be dead before then.
"He won't be here in time you know." A cold voice said casually. A man came into her line of sight, but her vision was blurring and she couldn't see him clearly. "No ones coming this time."
"Who are…" She trailed off in a coughing fit, blood spraying over the concrete floor.
"Who am I?" He finished for her. "You may as well know after all you'll never be able to tell anyone." The cold voice spoke softly. "I am known as Moriarty." With that there was a final crack as he buried a third bullet between her eyes.
Sherlock's phone rang while he was at a crime scene. "Sherlock Holmes." He answered quickly.
"Mr. Holmes. You are listed as the next of kin for Elizabeth Emily Holmes and Amelia Dana Holmes, correct." A soft female voice asked.
"Yes." Sherlock's eyes had widened and he started walking away from the body before he had even begun his deductions.
"I'm afraid there has been an incident."
"What happened?" Sherlock barked immediately his eyes widening with fear for his girls.
"Don't worry your daughters are completely fine. They are in no danger." The woman told him reassuringly.
"Then why are you calling me?" He asked sharply.
"Their mother Special Agent Cecile Richards left specific instructions that they live with you in the event of her death…" The woman started.
"Cecile died." Sherlock breathed softly.
"I'm afraid so Mr. Holmes. I am sorry for your loss." There was pity in the voice now.
"How did it happen?" Sherlock asked his voice shaking ever so slightly as panic began to set in. He was going to have to take care of two teenage girls, and he hadn't even told his lover about them. How was John going to react.
"She was shot in the line of duty. I'm afraid that's all I know." The woman replied kindly. "The funeral is in two weeks. The girls will be staying with a friend of the family until after the funeral. We will arrange for someone from Scotland Yard to pick them up at the airport and take them to your home at 221b Baker Street."
"Of course." Sherlock answered quietly. The woman on the other end of the call hung up and the beep of an unreturned call sounded in his ear for a few moments before he followed her example and put his phone back in his pocket.
"Is something wrong?" Lestrade asked breaking into his thoughts.
"Of course not." Sherlock answered briskly returning to the body and beginning his deductions.
Sherlock kept a tight control of his reaction to the news of his daughters' eminent arrival until he was finished with the case. John left to go to his surgery and Mrs. Hudson was out.
"My daughters are coming. I'm going to have to be a father figure, how am I going to be a father figure? I've never been good around children. The last child I was near ended up crying because he saw one of my experiments. How am I supposed to take care of them?" He began to rant to no one in general. He began pacing and walking around the flat in a very agitated way. "I don't even know what they're like. I've never even met them. I wasn't supposed to meet them until they were eighteen. Cecile was supposed to take care of them." He stopped. He hadn't seen Cecile in almost seventeen years. He had just been a kid when they had had their fling, because that's what it had been. But he had felt true friendship for her and knowing he would never see her again hurt.
"How am I going to tell John?" He wondered running his hands through his hair over and over again. "I never even told him I had kids, now I have to tell him they're moving in with us. Sure he probably won't mind but still. I don't know how to handle children; I leave body parts in random places of the house. What if they hate me? What…No, no, no, no, no, this won't help at all. I have to calm down and think about this rationally." Sherlock's eyes caught sight of an envelope that had been shoved under the door. Raising an eyebrow he picked it up and examined it.
The stationary was ordinary, but the postage stamp was American. Slicing it open he pulled out a letter and a bracelet. He gasped. "That's the bracelet I sent to Cecile when I found out she was pregnant." He opened the letter hurriedly.
Dear Sherlock,
I guess if you're reading this I'm dead, always a risk in my line of work. My lawyer has orders to mail this to you at 221b Baker Street, yes I've been keeping tabs on your where abouts, in the event of my death. I've updated this letter once a year since the twins were born so that the information is accurate.
I know you'll love the girls Sherlock and I know that right now you must be freaking out. All I have to say is that you shouldn't. The girls are sixteen and they can pretty much take care of themselves. Emily, Elizabeth likes to be called Emily, even has a very lucrative hobby. She writes and sells songs to different artists. She's quite good and she gets ten percent royalties for every copy of the song sold. You'll get along with her just fine I'm sure.
I've noticed over the years that the girls, while identical in appearance, are very different in their personalities. Emily is much more like you and Amy is far more like me. I know you'll get along with them fine Sherlock. Just remember that with my lifestyle they are used to a certain amount of freedom. Trust them to do the right thing Sherlock; nine times out of ten they won't let you down.
Try to be their friend more than anything else. They don't need a parental figure anymore, and I can assure Emily will resent you if you try to be one. You'll have to find room in your fridge though Emily will have her own experiments. Don't worry Sherlock. I've done the hard part of raising them; you just give them a place to stay and a shoulder when they need it. You will be an excellent father Sherlock. I know that you will love the girls and get along fine with them, just don't try to control them. They'll hate you for that.
I'm sorry it didn't work out between us Sherlock, but it was never meant to be. We weren't in love and even if I weren't dead we never would have been. I regret that our daughters didn't know you growing up but I'm glad they'll get the chance now. I hope you've found someone you can share your life with. You deserve it Sherlock, you really do. Just remember what I've said and don't freak out. It won't solve anything.
With lots of friendship and understanding,
Cecile Richards
Considerably calmer Sherlock folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope before putting it in a safe place. She was right freaking out wouldn't solve anything, and the twins were old enough that they didn't need a father they needed a friend. Taking a deep breath he sat down and began to decide how to tell john.
The funeral was a week later. Amy and Emily were solemn as they watched their mother lowered into the ground. "Come on guys." Michael said kindly after the ceremony. The girls both looked at him. There was only one way to truly tell them apart. Amy's black curly hair was only shoulder length and she had bangs, Emily's hair was long and usually either tied back in a ponytail or let loose to cascade down her back and over her shoulders.
In every other way besides personality they were identical. They had the same gray-blue eyes. They were both tall, about six feet, and skinny. They were very well formed, with curves that made most of the boys in their neighborhood drool and run into things.
A dead give away as to who was who, however, was their personality. Amy was rather preppy, though she'd never admit it. She wore bright colors and skirts and what Emily called 'girly' clothes. She was always eager to please people she cared about and was incredibly smart, of course they both were.
Emily on the other hand was Amy's polar opposite. She dressed all in black or very dark red; she wore leather and rode a Harley. She was also brilliant, snide, cynical, and when she wanted to she could rip you to shreds with her barbed tongue. She wasn't afraid of hurting people's feelings and often times her sister wondered if she even understood other people's feelings. Most people often dismissed her as just another punk until she opened her mouth and showed how brilliant she really was. She was also the more aggressive of the two and while she never went looking for a fight she was never one to back down. She was trained in several different martial arts in varying degrees, though nothing below a black belt. She did kick boxing and had been interested in the MMA. She was also incredibly scientific. She would often bring home dead animals to either dissect or turn into one of her experiments.
Michael came out of his musings about the twins and gave them a sad smile. Amy tried to smile back but it was watery because she'd been crying so much. Emily just stood there for a moment looking back at the new grave before turning and walking to Michael's car. She hadn't shed a tear, and she wouldn't until she was completely alone. That was her way.
They got to the airport quickly because there wasn't much traffic. Their bags had been checked through a few hours ago. They each had carry on items that they hadn't trusted to the airlines. Emily had her guitar and laptop, and Amy had her painting set and laptop. Michael hugged them and bid them goodbye as they handed their tickets to the bored looking flight woman. Emily couldn't help but notice that her hands were shaking indicating some sort of degenerative disease that she was obviously trying to hide because her leg wouldn't stop trembling and she was leaning heavily on the podium that was her work station.
They found their seats and stored their bags on the rack above them. Sitting down Amy curled up in her seat while Emily drew one of her legs up and tucked it under her while she looked out the window. The plane took off half an hour later and Emily turned her attention to the people around her.
Amy had fallen asleep tear tracks staining her cheeks as she breathed softly. Emily pulled her laptop out after a while and started typing up notes on her latest experiment. Amy had woken up by the time she was finished.
The rest of the plane ride was spent in extreme boredom for Emily and sadness for Amy. Emily wasn't that upset at leaving the US but Amy was. Amy actually had friends, Emily didn't. More tears started falling from Amy's eyes and Emily didn't know quite what to do about it. She had never been very good at the whole comforting thing, that was what Amy was good at.
Amy fell asleep again before the plane touched down. Emily breathed a sigh of relief as they got off the plane; she wasn't very fond of small spaces and a lot of people. She preferred her experiments and quiet to people. There was a man in a light brown jacket with a sign that read HOLMES on it.
They walked over to him. "Hi." The man said kindly. "I'm with Scotland Yard. NCIS Special Agent Michael Barret called and asked if we could send someone to take you to 221b Baker Street." He explained.
"I expected as much." Emily answered simply.
"Thank you." Amy said with a small smile. "I'm Amy, and that's my antisocial sister Emily." She said jerking her thumb in Emily's direction.
"I am not antisocial, I just prefer my experiments over being around a lot of people." Emily said emotionlessly and Amy shook her head.
The man from Scotland Yard helped them get their luggage into the car. They had a lot since they were moving in with their father for the conceivable future. He drove them to Baker Street and helped them get the luggage inside the building. "Do you need anymore help?" He asked politely.
Emily could see that he wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. "No." She stated matter-of-factly.
The man nodded and left. "Why'd you say that?" Amy asked puzzled.
"He obviously didn't want to stay here any longer. He was practically bolting out the door before I even said anything." Emily explained as she grabbed a bag of her luggage. Her luggage was black and Amy's was light blue. They made their way up to 221b. Emily was just about to knock, but she heard raised voices and decided to listen in first.
"How could you fail to mention that you have kids?" A man shouted angrily.
"I've never even met them, John. I hadn't expected to until they were at least eighteen either." A second man's voice answered calmly.
"It doesn't change the fact that you waited until now to tell me they were moving in here." John shouted angrily.
"I didn't think you'd mind."
"Of course I don't mind that they're coming. I mind that you didn't tell me they were coming."
"Does it really make that much difference?" The second man sounded rather bored.
"Yes, Sherlock it does." John yelled angrily. "For gods sake, your kids are coming and there's still a human hand in the freezer."
Emily was suddenly very interested. "I'm conducting an experiment to see whether or not extreme cold can change someone's finger prints." Sherlock defended himself.
Emily smiled a little at that; maybe there was finally someone else who would understand her experiments. "I highly doubt that your kids will enjoy having to see a human hand when they want to get something to eat. And you do realize that we have nothing to eat right now, don't you?" John was obviously beginning to calm down.
"I was aware of that, John." Sherlock answered. "I also decided that tonight we're ordering take away."
"We'll have to seeing as there's no time to get to a market before they close." John groused a little.
Knowing the argument was over Emily knocked. "Come in." Sherlock called.
Emily opened the door and started hauling her bags in after her. When they were sitting in the middle of the room she went to help Amy with hers, but John was already helping her. Amy smiled a little at him in thanks.
Turning toward Sherlock Emily ran her eyes over him in thought. "Mom was right." She said musingly.
"Your mother was right about what?" Sherlock asked.
"We did take after you rather than her." She answered with a grin. "I'm Emily by the way, and that's Amy."
Sherlock nodded. "This is…"
"Dr. John Watson." Emily interrupted. "Where were you stationed, Iraq or Afghanistan?"
"How did you know that?" John asked in surprise.
"The laptop on the table is open to the log in window and says Captain J. Watson meaning you were in the military. The medical bag peeking around the corner there says that you're a doctor, and the slight limp in your leg, I'm assuming it is psychological by the way, says that you were injured. Most likely the injury occurred within the last couple of years, tops. Where are the major conflicts currently in the world, Iraq and Afghanistan, so where were you stationed?"
"Afghanistan." He answered softly.
"You were injured though, weren't you?" Amy asked quietly from behind him. "But it wasn't in the leg, I'm guessing somewhere in the upper torso. Am I close?"
"He was shot in his left shoulder." Sherlock answered for him.
Emily smiled wider. "I knew it." She declared victoriously. She and Amy shared a 'we actually have two parents now' look.
"Knew what?" Watson asked worriedly.
"You two are together, as in share a bed together." Amy answered cheerfully.
Emily rolled her eyes. "Where should we take our stuff?" She asked instead.
"There is a room upstairs. I'm afraid you'll have to share." Watson answered.
Emily shrugged and Amy groaned. "Great, now I have to get a new pair of ear plugs."
"What's wrong with your…Oh wait, I used them for an experiment didn't I?" Emily said with a small smile.
"I was so not using them after that." Amy made a face of disgust.
"Why not, they were still usable." Emily insisted.
"No they're not. You fed them to the dog." Amy exclaimed.
"Oh, I checked and they wouldn't have hurt him. Besides I wanted to see just how strong stomach acid is."
"She likes to experiment too, doesn't she?" Watson asked Amy softly.
"Yeah. Get used to finding dead animals in the fridge on a regular basis." She sighed.
Emily ignored them and grabbed two of her bags in one hand swinging them over her shoulder before grabbing her guitar and her laptop case. "So the rooms at the top of the hall?"
"Yes." John answered.
"Kay." With that Emily walked out and started climbing up the stairs slowly.
Amy sighed. "I really am gonna need those ear plugs." She muttered as she grabbed one of her bags and her painting kit before following her sister.
"Do you need any help?" John called after them.
"No." Emily called down sticking her head out of the doorway to their new room. She made two more trips while Amy was unpacking upstairs before she started unpacking her stuff too.
The twins had a long-standing arrangement for when have to share a room. Amy gets to decorate one side and Emily gets to decorate the other. So they started putting their stuff in its proper places.
Emily took a wall rack that was in one of her bags and placed it on a series of hooks that had been placed in the wall for pictures. Then she put her light weights on it, lining her heavy weights on the floor in a corner. She put her guitar case in the corner by the door and threw her laptop on the couch where she would be sleeping. Emily grabbed her clothes and threw them on top of her heavy weights in the corner before pulling out a few posters and taping them to the walls.
Amy had been taking her clothes out of her bag and folding them neatly before placing them in drawers and the closet. After she was finished perfecting her clothing areas she took her make up and set up an area on the bedside table for it along with her nail kit. She set her painting up in the corner by a window. Taking her posters out of her bag she started taping them to her side of the room. They both took their books and started filling the book shelf, when that was full the desk was next, then bedside table drawers and then Emily just started putting them in stacks on the floor.
By the time their bags were empty a few hours had passed. Their father and John came up after they heard Emily start playing her guitar. When they opened the door Emily was sitting on the couch that Mrs. Hudson had put in the room after she heard that Sherlock was going to have someone else staying in the flat. She had one leg drawn up under her and the other dangling over the edge of the couch. A pad of legal paper with musical bars drawn on it and a pen sat next to her on the sofa and her guitar rested firmly in her hands as she plucked the strings.
She started playing again but after a few bars she stopped and quickly scribbled something down on the paper. John cleared his throat. "Is there something you wanted John?" She asked before Amy could even open her mouth.
Emily looked up for a moment and caught sight of her sister's eye roll in her general direction. "Are you ever civil?" Amy asked irritably.
"You should know the answer to that Amy, after all we do see each other quite frequently." Emily answered with a rather bored expression on her face.
"We were wondering if you were hungry." John broke in. "Did you want any take away?"
"What were you planning on ordering?" Amy asked with a smile, she was getting fairly hungry.
"Chinese, I'd say." Emily said off handedly.
"How did you…"
"Know?" Emily finished for Watson. "First, the closest restaurant that stays open late is the Chinese place down the street, second there's a take out menu in your hand with a Chinese symbol visible. Simple isn't it?"
"Oh, do you have to deduce everything?" Amy grumbled half-heartedly.
"I know you do too, Amy, the only reason you don't let everyone know it is because you don't want to be labeled a freak like I've been." Emily sighed in a put upon fashion. "Oh and I'm fine thanks, not really very hungry."
"I swear sometimes I think you're anorexic." Amy commented with a small frown.
"Not anorexic, just not hungry." Emily shot back.
"Oh come on, you have to be at least a little bit hungry. You didn't eat anything on the plane, and you didn't have breakfast before the funeral." Amy rolled her eyes. When Emily remained silent looking down at the pad of paper beside her she huffed. "Fine have it your way. We'll be downstairs, come down if you want anything." John and Sherlock followed her as she stormed past them slamming the door behind her.
On the other side of the door Emily looked up and frowned slightly before sighing and putting her guitar back in its case. She wouldn't be able to concentrate enough on it tonight to write anymore. Instead she curled up on the couch and started to think about everything that happened, analyzing every little detail.
Downstairs Amy had told them what she wanted for dinner and curled up in an armchair in front of the TV. She stayed there staring at the screen as some guy pranked a whole bunch of people on some bad reality show.
"Foods here." John declared about twenty minutes later. Amy got up and stretched. "I went ahead and got something for Emily in case she decides to come down."
Amy shrugged. "She won't."
"Well in case she does there's something here for her."
Amy smiled shaking her head but she didn't comment. She opened the freezer to get some ice for her water and didn't even bat an eye when she had to reach over the hand to grab some ice.
"Doesn't that bother you?" Sherlock asked quietly.
"Nope." She answered simply.
"Why? Most people would run screaming."
Amy looked at him with a wry smile. "I've gotten so use to Emmy's experiments that no it doesn't bother me."
"She experiments a lot I take it." John asked curiously.
Amy shook her head in amusement. "Understatement of the century. Mom had to get her her own mini fridge because she got tired of finding dead animals in the butter dish."
"So she only experiments on animals?" Sherlock questioned seriously.
"That's all she can really get her hands on isn't it. I mean we are only sixteen. Like anyone would trust us with a body." Amy answered as they sat down to start eating.
After they had finished Amy went back to watching TV. Sherlock and John went back to doing whatever it was they had been doing. A few minutes later Emily walked into the room and flopped down on the unoccupied couch. Amy glanced over at her.
"What's wrong?" She asked Emily. A mumbled answer was her reply. "What was that? I don't speak gibberish you know."
"Bored!" Emily shouted. "God I haven't even been in London for twenty four hours and I'm bored already."
Amy got a mock-horrified look on her face. "The most terrifying thing I have ever heard is those words coming out of your mouth." She grinned.
Emily gave her a look of disdain. "I am so glad that my boredom amuses you." She said sarcasm dripping from her voice. Suddenly she turned toward Sherlock an odd glint in her eyes.
"NO!" Amy shouted jumping to her feet.
"You have no idea what I was going to say." Emily protested.
"I've seen that look in your eyes before, Emmy, right before you built a bomb." Amy replied sternly. "Whatever you want to do, no!"
"It was only a little bomb. I didn't even use an entire stick of dynamite."
"Where did you get dynamite?" Emily smirked mischievously. "Wait!" Amy broke in before she could answer. "I don't really want to know."
"Suit yourself." She said with a wink. She walked over to Sherlock. "What is there to do here?" She asked walking over the coffee table to sit on the couch next to her father. John raised an eyebrow at that but didn't comment.
Sherlock looked down at her. "At the moment." He paused. "Nothing."
Emily made a face. "I'm going to bed." Amy announced suddenly. "I officially hate jet lag."
Emily waved her off absently. "Yes, yes. You're tired. Now go to bed." She turned her full attention back to her father. "I do have one question."
"Oh, and what would that be?"
"What do you want us to call you? I mean there is father but that seems far to formal and stiff and it's just not my style, dad seems a bit too familiar seeing as we've just met. Of course I could call you Holmes but that would get confusing because that's our last name too, I could also just call you Sherlock but that seems a bit odd." Emily said all this very analytically. "But then again everyone I've ever met has told me I'm already odd, so that wouldn't really make a big difference. But seeing as it's what I'll be calling you I figure you should choose which one."
Sherlock considered it for a moment. "You are correct father is a bit too stiff for my tastes but dad does not fit properly either. Holmes could get rather confusing so that's not an option. I believe that the best option would be to simply call me Sherlock."
Emily nodded. "You know I don't need a father." She mused quietly.
"Then why are you here?"
"We're here because the government is comprised of nothing more than five year olds in expensive suits." Emily huffed slightly.
"Yes, indeed it is." Sherlock agreed amiably.
"There's some take away in the refrigerator if you want any, Emily." John said standing and yawning. "I think I'm going to go to bed. I have work in the morning."
Sherlock looked up and saw the 'follow me?' expression on his lovers face. "I believe I will join you." He said standing as well.
Emily rolled her eyes as she heard the bedsprings creak as soon as they closed the door.
Sighing she grabbed the take away and turned on the TV to a crime drama. She would watch these sometimes when she was bored so she could solve the case before anyone on the show had any idea who had done it. It was somewhat entertaining.
The next morning John woke up and started his normal morning routine. He took a shower and got ready for work. As he walked into the living room he saw that the TV was on and Emily was asleep in his armchair the box of take empty on the floor beside her.
Picking up the take away box he threw it in the trash and covered her with a blanket before turning the TV off. Emily woke up as the blanket was dropped on her but she kept her eyes closed and her breathing even until she heard the door close softly.
A pair of grey-blue eyes snapped open and Emily rose from the chair in a fluid motion. Sighing softly she went upstairs and quietly started to hunt through her clothes for an appropriate outfit before she went into the main bathroom to take a quick shower.
When Emily emerged from the steam filled room her hair was already starting to dry. She had changed into a black tank top, tight black jeans that hugged her hips perfectly, and her trademark black leather motorcycle boots. She cast her eyes around the room as she pulled the hair brush through her tangled hair a few more times before quickly and expertly gathering her hair at the nape of her neck and tying it into a ponytail.
Throwing her brush on a chair she threw herself on the couch and stared up at the ceiling with a bored expression on her face. It wasn't long before she heard footsteps on the stairs and then a knock on the door. Groaning she stood and went to open it.
"I'll get it." Sherlock said as he emerged from his room. Emily smirked at the very carefully hidden, slight, limp but didn't comment. "You have a case Lestrade." He said as he opened the door, it wasn't a question.
"Yes." Lestrade admitted grudgingly.
"The murder in the park." That wasn't a question either.
"There's been another murder and we haven't made any headway." Lestrade said somewhat reluctantly.
"Where?"
"Next to the Waterloo Bridge on the bank of the Thames. Will you come?" He seemed to almost be pleading.
"Whose working forensics?"
"Anderson."
"He won't work with me."
"He's not your assistant."
"I need an assistant and Watson's at work."
"Will you come?" Again that rather pleading tone came to his voice.
"Yes. I'll follow you." Sherlock answered off handedly shutting the door in Lestrade's face.
Sherlock suddenly smiled. "Yes. A double murder." He whooped as he hurriedly grabbed a blue scarf and tied it around his neck before shrugging into his long black wool coat. He quickly ran down the stairs.
Emily grabbed her leather jacket and swung it around her shoulders following him. He hailed a taxi and she jumped in behind him. Sherlock gave the address before turning to her. "You do realize this could be dangerous?"
"You do realize I can take care of myself, Sherlock." She retorted with a smirk. "So how about you fill me in on the way hmmmm."
"There was a murder in Hyde Park three days ago. A single stab wound to the heart. Very cleanly done, it went straight through Harry Wilsons aorta and he bled out within a minute. He was found at three twenty in the afternoon on Wednesday but time of death was approximately ten hours before that."
"So he died at roughly two am Wednesday morning."
"Correct. His wife Rachel Wilson was suing him for divorce and taking his three children with her. There was practically no evidence what so ever. He had no ties to any illegal activity and apparently he was one of those people who everyone seems to get along with. Though I have no idea why that is, those people tend to get on my nerves a bit." Sherlock informed her.
"Murder weapon?" Emily asked wile she fastened her timing chain necklace around her neck.
"No, and other than a clean stab wound the medical examiner couldn't say anything else about the wound." He sounded annoyed.
"They didn't let you see the body." She stated matter-of-factly.
"No, they did not." Sherlock said. "Why are you wearing chains?"
"Oh, I like them. It's my style." Emily answered with a mysterious smile.
"Hmm." Sherlock said but didn't comment.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they stopped Sherlock paid the cabby and they got out. Emily took a look at the view and then focused on the police cars and tape a little ways down the bank of the Thames, under the imposing shadow of the Waterloo Bridge.
The pair set off at a brisk pace and arrived at the tape in a very short amount of time. "What are you doing here freak?" A dark skinned woman asked. She was standing just inside the police tape with a walkie-talkie in her hand. Emily didn't like her in the least.
"I came to have a look around." Sherlock answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Why?" The woman sounded rather put upon.
"I was invited." Sherlock practically hissed. He lifted the tape and stepped under it holding it for Emily. She quickly ducked under the tape as well.
Immediately Sherlock made for the body. Emily was about to follow him. "Wait." The woman who'd called her father a freak said. Emily obligingly stopped and waited. "You should stay away from Sherlock Holmes."
"And why is that?" Emily asked her voice belying none of the anger that was beginning to build deep within her. There were no outward signs of her anger, but it was still there and this woman was treading on thin ice, very thin ice.
"He's a psychopath." She answered simply. "He doesn't get paid for this you know, he does it for fun, he gets off on it. One of these days we're going to be standing around a body and he's going to be the one that put it there."
"And why do you say that?" Emily's voice was still calm and controlled, completely even. Right now the only person who could tell she was angry was Amy and that was just because they knew each other so well.
"He's a psychopath, they can never just watch for long." The woman answered as if it was obvious.
"I don't believe I caught your name."
"Sgt. Donovan." The woman replied with a kind smile.
"Well, Sgt. Donovan might I suggest that you keep your nose out of other people's business in the future." Emily told her before turning and walking away before she did something she'd really regret.
"What do you mean by that?" Donovan asked as she followed Emily to the body. Sherlock looked up, as did Lestrade. "Answer me!" She demanded when Emily remained silent.
Emily stopped about five feet away from Lestrade and her father and closed her eyes for a moment. "Do you want an ordered list, or do you care what order I inform you?"
"Inform me of what?"
"Your numerous shortcomings of course." Emily sounded rather bored actually.
"What do mean, numerous shortcomings?" Donovan asked ever so slightly shocked. Sherlock couldn't help but smirk, he'd wanted to do this for quite some time but had continued to restrain himself. Obviously Emily would show quite as much restraint as he had.
"Well for starters you give in to jealousy as you so clearly showed when you insulted Sherlock. You insult people to make yourself feel superior. You speak about things that you have absolutely no clue about, which just makes you look like an idiot by the way. You lie. You obviously prefer dating married men; I don't particularly like women who help men cheat on their wife's. You lack even the smallest amount of observational skills making me wonder why you're in law enforcement in the first place. Perhaps you simply like to carry a gun." Here Emily shrugged before continuing her considerable list of Donovan's loathsome attributes in a calm level unhurried voice. "You suffer from a major inferiority complex, which causes you to insult others so you can make them feel as inferior as you do. You really should see your shrink more than once a week you know. You let your anger get the better of you. You let your emotions control you, which makes you liable in stressful situations. Oh and did I mention the complete lack of anything more than cotton filling the empty space between your ears. After all if you can't even differentiate a psychopath from a high functioning sociopath you must not be very intelligent. Now would you go back and stand by the tape so we can get some actual work done without your stupidity getting in the way."
After the clear dismissal Emily turned and covered the short distance to her fathers side. Donovan was speechless, but anger quickly gave her her breath back. "Who are you, and how dare you speak to me that way?" She seethed.
Emily turned around with a rather put upon sigh and looked at a seething Donovan. "Oh." She said with a small smirk. "You'll find out who I am soon enough. No need to spoil the surprise. And I was only speaking the truth. If you can't handle that then I suggest you go into a safer profession, perhaps software design."
"Donovan go brief Anderson." Lestrade ordered hoping to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. With a final glare at Emily Donovan turned and strode angrily over toward Anderson where they immediately began talking animatedly in hushed voices glancing over at the group every once in a while.
"She really should learn that there's a time and place for everything." Emily said breaking the tense silence that had enveloped the area around the corpse.
"Quite." Sherlock agreed. "Excellent deducting by the way, Emily."
"Thanks Sherlock. It was amazingly simple really." She shrugged. "Now what's with the body?"
"Ah yes. How about you tell me what you can see?" Sherlock suggested. He wanted to see how good she really was. Emily glanced at him before kneeling down next to the body. She silently analyzed all of the details provided her.
The woman had long brown hair, but she could see very faint blonde roots. There was a diamond ring on her left ring finger, but there was a tan line on her right ring finger. Sliding the ring off a small amount she saw there was no tan line. The skin she could see was waxy. Leaning a little closer she sniffed detecting the strong scent of mildew, and another scent. It smelled sickly sweet, like rotten fruit.
She pulled the gloves someone had given her on and continued her observations. Moving the hair gently she noticed a bar slanting through her ear. She smiled as she put that together with the neon pink tube top, fishnet leggings, knee high neon pink vinyl boots with stiletto heels she was wearing. Running her fingers along the insides of the woman's elbows she felt tiny little marks in the skin and pulled something from her pocket. Using her magnifying glass she saw small needle marks, and they weren't hidden. Emily looked at her shoulders and upper arms. Grab marks and fading yellow bruises dotted both.
Emily glanced up at Lestrade. "Any chance I could turn her over? No, didn't think so." She answered her own question when she saw the stern expression on his face. Running her fingers along young woman's arm she stood and pulled her gloves off. She ran the wet part of the glove over the back of her hand. "Hmmm." Walking to the edge of the Thames she stuck her hand in the water for a moment before pulling it out and flicking the excess water back into the main body.
"Well?" Sherlock asked.
"She's a natural blonde. Not a pro but wanting people to think she might be. She's single probably went out clubbing and ran into the wrong person, her safety precautions didn't help either, which means the bastard isn't afraid of reprisals. She's been in the water at least two days, just took her this long to get beached. She's got diabetes but doesn't inject herself in the proper places, which makes it harder for the meds to work. Someone stole her jacket and her purse. I'd say someone abused her, most likely a man, probably her father. She's been out of the water for a while too." Emily finished cataloguing what her observations meant and looked over at her father. "Anything I missed Sherlock?"
"Without being able to observe the rest of the body, no." Sherlock answered.
"How on earth did you figure that out?" Lestrade broke in.
Emily gave a sigh. "Sometimes I have trouble understanding how you people can walk through life with absolutely no clue as to what's really going on around you." Turning to the body started cataloguing. "First she has blonde roots indicating she's not a natural brunette, she dies her hair. Maybe she doesn't want to be blonde, maybe she was trying to impress someone, or maybe she was trying to hide. She's wearing a diamond engagement ring indicating she's not a prostitute; no self-respecting pro would ever wear her engagement ring when she was working. Since she's not a pro her clothes indicate she was clubbing, as does the bar in her left ear. She usually wears her ring on her right ring finger meaning she's not engaged but she wants it to look like she is. It's the oldest trick in the book when you go out clubbing and you meet someone who creeps you out. Switch ring fingers and make sure the guy knows your fiancé is a six-foot tall two hundred forty pound MMA fighter, usually they back off. The fact that this one obviously didn't means the killer isn't afraid of reprisals, or thinks he's invincible. Her skin is waxy and she's freezing cold means she's been dead a while. The minimal decay suggests she's been in the water for at least most of that time, as does the smell of mildew that is also present near the waters edge. The needle marks in the crook of her elbows could mean drugs but the sickly sweety rotting fruit smell around her mouth says she missed her last injection of insulin for her diabetes. She has bruises most of them are old as they've already started to heal, she would have worn a jacket to cover them up and there's a dark bruise that looks post mortem from where her purse was viciously pulled off her wrist. The bruises ranging from old to new indicate that whoever hurt her has been for some time. From the size of the marks I'd say they were either male or a woman with rather large hands. The fact that she uses the trick with the ring instead of just going clubbing with her boyfriend says she's single so the abuse is probably from her father."
"And you got the she's been dead two days from the fact she's cold. The water's cold." Anderson interjected acidly from behind Lestrade.
"No, there's a henna tattoo on the underside of her arm. It takes at least a couple of days for those to come off and she would have put it on fresh if she was going clubbing. All that suggests she' been dead for two day's not just how cold she was." Emily said as if explaining it to a small child.
"Right." Sherlock said. "I think that's more than enough to get started. Shall we Emily?" He motioned for them to leave.
"Yeah. We've gotta make a quick stop before we get home though." Emily said. "Oh and I want to see those bodies once they're in the morgue. My cell number is in your jacket pocket. Text me."
Sherlock hailed a cab and they got in. Sherlock glanced at her. "You seem to be very observant."
"Mom always said I took after you and Amy took after her." Emily shrugged. "Carnaby Street." She told the cabby as she relaxed back into her seat.
"Why are we going to Carnaby Street?" Sherlock asked somewhat suspiciously.
Emily grinned. "We are going out tonight. And I know you don't have the proper attire."
"I assure you my attire is satisfactory if we are going out tonight."
"No it's not. And I don't think any of my clothes will look good on you. They're all made for women. But don't worry I know what I'm doing." Emily said.
"Where are we going tonight?"
"A club." Emily answered simply. "I noticed a small mark on her neck. When I found out we were coming to stay with you I looked up clubs in London and I think she went to a specific club. We should blend in when we're there, I can you need a little help."
"I can blend in anywhere." Sherlock protested.
"Please. Something tells me you'll need a little bit of training to pull this off." Emily rolled her eyes. "Now stop whining and follow me."
Sherlock paid the cabby and they got out. "This way." Emily called as she began weaving her way through the throng of shoppers. It took a few minutes for her to find the right place, but eventually she found it quite easily.
"The Blackrose?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"Oh I've surprised you. Sweetness." Emily laughed a little.
"Hello, May I help you?" A young man asked. He was wearing leather pants, a dark purple, long sleeve mesh shirt, and a pair of knee-high leather boots with buckles and straps all over them.
"Yes. I'm looking for a clubbing outfit for him, and me." Emily answered briskly. "Where is the men's section?"
"Over there." He pointed toward the back of the store. "If you need anything just yell for Dave."
"Thanks I will." Emily said dragging her father toward the back of the store by his wrist.
"Emily I really don't think that this is a good…" Sherlock started to protest, but Emily cut him off.
"Just think about what John will say when he sees you wearing leather. I have a feeling it will be a very late night for you two." She told him a mischievous light in her eyes. Sherlock gulped but didn't protest further as she started rummaging through racks of black leather and dark colors. She found something that she thought would look great on him. "Hmmm." She hummed thoughtfully as she looked him up and down appraisingly. "A size 40 I'd say." She grabbed a few items and thrust them into Sherlock's hands before pushing him toward the dressing room. "Try them on." She ordered closing the door between them.
While Sherlock was struggling into the gothic outfit she had picked out Emily went over to the accessories. She found a ring that looked like a snake eating its tail and a spider web bracelet with a chain attaching a spider ring to it the web. She also found a two row studded leather collar. Grabbing these she went over to the women's section of the store and started looking around.
She found a sleeveless short black dress with a handkerchief skirt. Finding her size she threw it over her shoulder and went over to the changing rooms. "How are you doing?" She called into Sherlock's changing room.
"I'm fine." Sherlock called back.
Emily smirked. "I'll be right back." She went into a different changing room and tried on the dress she'd found. It was tight, but it was supposed to be, and it laced up on both sides. She loosened the laces a little so she could breathe easier and looked in the mirror. The dress clung to her curves perfectly; the thin handkerchief skirt had graceful arches that caused sharp triangles to hang down on the sides and in the middle of both the front and the back.
Stepping out of the dressing room she went back over to Sherlock's. "Are you done yet?"
"Yes."
"Then come out." Emily said rolling her eyes. The door opened and Sherlock stepped out. Emily smiled as she saw the outfit she had picked out complemented him perfectly.
"I still don't see why you insisted on me trying these on." He grumbled.
Emily sighed. "Because we're going to a club tonight. I must say that outfit looks good on you." She said taking in the tight fit rubber zip vest that showed off the muscles in his arms, the black bondage pants (she was sure he wouldn't have tried them on if he knew what they were). "What do you think of the dress?" She asked spinning around.
"It is incredibly revealing showing that you enjoy…" Sherlock began in a very analytical way.
"Don't analyze. I already know what it says about me. All I want to know is if it looks good on me or not." Emily clarified. They didn't have time for a lot of analyzing. She still had to pick out a pair of boots for him.
"Yes it looks good on you." He sighed. "May I take these off now?"
"No!" Emily declared dragging him back into the main part of the store. "Dave." She called.
Dave walked over to them. "What can I help you with?" He asked.
"We need a pair of boots to go with his outfit, could you help me out?" Emily answered simply.
After looking Sherlock over Dave smiled. "I think I know a pair that would go very well with this outfit." Dave said giving her a knowing look.
Emily rolled her eyes. "Lead on then."
It only took a few minutes for Dave to find Sherlock's size and for Emily to deem them appropriate. They were leather boots that went up to Sherlock's mid calf with spikes all over them.
She smiled as she fastened the choker around his neck and put the ring she had found on him. Stepping back Emily whistled appreciatively. "You know." She said. "I don't think John will be able to keep himself from ravaging you the second he sees you." She told him firmly. "But we need to get back to Baker Street."
They quickly changed back into there normal clothes. Emily took the clothes, boots, and jewelry up to the check out. "I am not getting these." Sherlock declared.
"You don't have to." She answered pulling some cash out of a zippered pocket inside her jacket.
"Where did you get that?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I had a rather lucrative job during school, and Mom left me half of everything." She answered her voice soft and slightly hesitant.
She bought everything and they left to go back to Baker Street.
A half an hour after they had arrived back at 221b Baker Street Emily had already changed into her dress, fishnets, clubbing boots, and was doing her make up. Amy was still sleeping soundly because of the jet lag so Emily was being very quiet. When her make up was done she found a couple of things she'd need and went downstairs.
Sherlock was just coming out of his bedroom dressed in the clothes that she'd gotten for him. After she'd explained that she'd seen an H on the girl's neck Sherlock had told her there was an identical mark on the first victim's neck. She had also informed him that it was a club mark for The Hobgoblin, a popular gothic club. He had realized that they'd need to blend in and had agreed to wear the outfit she had picked out for him.
She looked him up and down before sighing and moving to help him with something he had gotten a bit wrong. After she'd straightened his clothes out she had forced him into a chair at the kitchen table and started putting the make up on him.
He had protested vehemently at that point but she had simply arched an eyebrow and told him to let the expert work. He glared at her as she powdered his face so it was even paler than it usually was. She'd put black lipstick, dark eyeshadow, and eyeliner on him. Then she had fixed the choker around his neck and fastened some clip on got hearings onto his right ear.
John got home just as she was putting the fake black nails on his fingers. "What is going on?" John asked a bit faintly eyes never leaving Sherlock's black clad frame.
"You mess up his make up I will hurt you." Emily said simply with a small smirk. "You'll have to wait until after we get back from the club tonight."
"Speaking of which how do you plan on getting into the club?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.
Emily rolled her eyes. "I have my ways. And you don't need to know them." She said as she knelt down to fix the straps on his boots. Stepping back she looked at him with a satisfied expression. "It'll do."
"What'll do?" Sherlock asked with a rather worried expression on his face.
"You're outfit, you're make up, we'll have to do something about your personality though. If you're going to be pretending to be a sub you'll have to lose the attitude."
Emily started.
"What do you mean pretending to be a sub? Whose sub?" John asked with a viscous gleam in his eyes.
"Mine."
"What?" John asked his eyes narrowing.
"Well obviously he doesn't know enough about goth subculture to be a dom. You haven't been in this particular subculture for quite sometime so you don't know enough about what is currently happening in the goth underworld. I do. The only logical choice for his dom is me. And I'm his daughter so I'm not going to make a move on him." Emily explained calmly.
"What exactly is a sub?" Sherlock asked with a rather worried expression on his face.
"Submissive." Emily said offhandedly as she pulled her elbow length gloves on.
"What?" Sherlock exclaimed. "No, no, no, no absolutely not. I am no ones sub."
Emily raised an eyebrow and smirked while she finished putting all of her jewelry on. Normally she didn't wear any make up besides a chain around her neck and a couple stud earrings but when she went clubbing she wore bracelets, earrings, necklaces, rings, and anklets. "Well, I'm not going to be your sub, and I know more about the culture than you do. Logically I am the only choice for a dom. Besides your not really my sub, you're just pretending to be."
"I suppose I can deal with this for an hour." Sherlock grudgingly admitted. Emily smirked.
"Then lets go. I'll give you a list of things to avoid doing and ways to behave when we're at the club in the cab." Emily said grabbing a long leather trench and throwing it at Sherlock. "You can't wear your normal wool it'll stand out too much and we want to blend in."
Emily grabbed her leather biker jacket and the pair left.
While they were in the cab Emily explained that since she was dom he did what she said when they were around other people. He had to at least try to be polite and he should follow the basic rules of clubbing: don't leave your drink unattended, don't start a fight, don't get drunk.
It was dark by the time the cab pulled to a stop in front of the Hobgoblin, 33 Kentish Town Road. Emily got out first followed by Sherlock, who kept his posture submissive. Emily showed her I.D and so did Sherlock. After Emily handed the bouncer their cash he marked an H on each of their necks. "Enjoy yourselves." He said as they passed through the archway.
Emily waved a hand and gave him a wink. They walked into the main room to find it already crowded. "How did you get in? You aren't twenty one yet."
Emily showed him her I.D. "This says I'm twenty two. Keep it realistic and don't use a fake name. It usually works. I know people." She explained in a low voice. A young man, about twenty five, came over to them.
"This is your first time here." He said. "I haven't seen you before."
"Yeah." Emily answered cocking her weight on one hip. "I'm Elizabeth, but most people call me Emily."
"Welcome, Emily. Whose your friend?" He eyed Sherlock with open interest.
"Sherlock, his name is Sherlock. And he's spoken for." Emily said vehemently wrapping an arm around his waist.
"I see. Well, enjoy yourselves and I hope to see you again." He said moving away.
"Come on. Let's get a drink." Emily said pulling over toward the bar.
"How can you hear over that annoying pounding?" Sherlock asked quietly into her ear.
"Practice. And don't call it that. This is one of the hottest metal bands in London." Emily informed him while they moved toward the bar.
Sherlock huffed but didn't respond as they placed their orders. Emily got a coke, and Sherlock got a red wine.
After the first half hour of scanning the crowd and listening to the band Emily's cell vibrated. "Emily." She answered.
"We have the preliminary autopsy report." Lestrade's voice said into her ear.
"Good. What was the tox report?" Emily asked.
"She had the same drug in her system as the first victim."
"What drug?"
"Ketamine Hydrochloride." Lestrade answered after a moment.
"Ketamine, that's a date rape drug."
"Yeah."
"It isn't normally tested for. You have to be looking for it, and you have to do it quickly. Those drugs metabolize quickly."
"Your point?"
"Why were you looking for it?"
"Something Sherlock mentioned to the ME made him want to run the tests." Lestrade said and Emily could practically hear the shrug he gave.
"I see." Emily replied calmly her mind whirring a mile a minute. "We may have a suspect for you tonight Lestrade. I'll be in touch." With that she ended the call and replaced her phone in her pocket.
"The second victim had Ketamine in her system too." He stated simply.
"Yeah." Emily replied in a whisper. "Ok so here's what we know." She moved closer and whispered in his ear so they wouldn't be overheard, and it didn't look out of the ordinary in this place. "They were both drugged with Ketamine a high grade anesthesia, they were both here, and they were both stabbed." Sherlock nodded. "So we're looking for someone who was here both nights, had access to there drinks, and has Ketamine in their possession. And is most likely male." She added as an after thought.
"A male is statistically more likely." Sherlock agreed.
Emily gave the bartender a smile as he returned with their drinks. She glanced at his hands and noticed that there was some form of white powder on the fingertips of his left hand. He smiled a rather leering smile at her and turned to walk away. "Don't drink that." She told Sherlock.
"I wasn't planning on it. I saw the powder too."
"It wouldn't be too difficult to add Ketamine to some sort of powdered substance and then let it dry." She mused.
"And whenever the powder was dissolved it would reactivate the Ketamine."
"Exactly." Emily whispered into his ear. "Can you distract the bartender while I take a look behind the bar?"
"Of course." Sherlock responded. "I would have more luck than you would anyway." He smirked.
"I know he's gay." She whispered before slipping away into the crowd.
Sherlock started flirting shamelessly with the bartender a moment later and while the creep was distracted Emily crawled behind the bar. She quietly pulled out drawers and she struck gold in the third one. A bottle of liquid half full labeled Ketamine was sitting half hidden under a bar rag. She smiled as she slid the drawer closed and crawled back out from behind the bar.
Emily slipped back out of the crowd and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck from behind. "I think it's time to go. Greg just called and said that he's off work waiting for us." She said loudly enough for Simon, the bartender to hear.
Sherlock submissively stood and paid for their drinks before allowing his daughter to lead him out of the club. "There was a half full bottle of Ketamine in the third drawer I looked in. He did a lousy job of hiding it." Emily said as they hurried along the street.
"We should just call Lestrade." Sherlock said as she walked quickly down the road.
"Why waste the time. We're only a block away from the Met." Emily shrugged and continued walking.
Sherlock shrugged and followed her.
Anderson was briefing Lestrade on the physical evidence they had collected at the scene, what little there was, when Emily and Sherlock swooped into the room. Lestrade looked up and his mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of Sherlock in his goth outfit.
"What in the hell is going on?" He asked in a rather shocked voice causing Donovan and Anderson to turn around.
"We figured out who your killer is that's what going on." Emily answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"And who is it, freak?" Donovan asked looking at Sherlock.
"Simon, the bartender at the Hobgoblin." He answered her imperiously.
"I suppose that would explain the clothing." Lestrade said thoughtfully.
"Well it explains his. I always dress like this. Although this is actually the only dress I own." Emily said thoughtfully. "It took forever to find an outfit he would consent to wearing."
"He consented to wearing that?" Anderson asked with a sneer.
"Just because your bedroom life is limited to your wife's vanilla tendencies and Donovan's blowjobs doesn't mean everyone's is. I think John rather liked what I picked out, if the fact that he looked ready to jump you before we even left 221b says anything." Emily answered with disdainful sniff in Anderson's direction.
"You do realize that there is currently a killer at the Hobgoblin no doubt looking for his next victim, and we're sitting around discussing clothing." Sherlock pointed out.
"Quite right, especially considering he tried to drug us or at least one of us." Emily added.
"Shall we go to the Hobgoblin then?" Sherlock asked Lestrade.
"Can you prove that he was the killer?" Lestrade asked tiredly.
"I found a half full bottle of Ketamine in a drawer behind the bar and there was a knife strapped to his leg. I have a feeling that if you test it your victims' blood will be on all over it. He didn't seem that smart." Emily commented. "Also you should find some Ketamine laced powder on his hands. That's how he introduces it without being noticed." Lestrade nodded as he stood and grabbed his coat.
The arrest went smoothly. The club owner had allowed them to search behind the bar as long as they didn't disturb the patrons. The bartender was arrested and his hands were given a street test for Ketamine. It came up positive. His knife came up positive for human blood.
After everything was finished the club owner came over to Emily with a phone. "Phone call for you Emily." He said.
Raising an eyebrow she took the phone. "Hello."
"There is a car waiting outside for you. It would be in your best interest for you to take a little ride." A smooth male voice spoke to her.
"I'm not going to know who you are until I get to my destination am I?" Emily asked.
"Perceptive. No you will not. I look forward to finally meeting you, I've been watching you all your life." The voice said before she heard the harsh beep of someone hanging up a phone.
Frowning Emily handed the phone back to the owner and walked outside. An expensive black car was waiting for her just like he'd said. The door opened and she got in, her curiosity winning over her common sense. A woman with long brown hair was typing on her blackberry and barely even acknowledged her presence.
Sitting back she spent the ride to where ever she was going quietly observing the other occupant of the car. It was a half an hour before the car stopped and the door opened. Emily got out and looked around. "A warehouse." She stated with a raised eyebrow. "Interesting." She said turning to face a tall lean man in an expensive suit leaning on an umbrella. "Oh, is this going to be one of those climactic scenes where you tell me that I have five hours to live unless Sherlock finds me?" She asked sarcastically.
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit you know." The man replied.
"Only people who don't properly understand or appreciate it say that." She said softly. "So why don't you tell me uncle why you brought me here?"
"How did you know who I was? I never introduced myself."
Emily smirked. "My mom always said that Sherlock's brother was a nosy bastard. And who would know that I was in London that would actually care besides family. Also mom used to make regular bug sweeps of the house in case you managed to get any in there. You've lost quite a bit of weight since that picture was taken." She added. "Mom thought I should know what my relatives looked like."
"Ahhh, you are quite correct. I am your uncle Mycroft Holmes. Well now that that's out of the way. I have a proposition for you."
"Which would be. And please do hurry this along I don't have all night you know." Emily replied motioning with her hand for him to get on with it.
"I am willing to offer you a substantial sum of money in exchange for information on your father."
"What sort of information?" Emily asked curiously.
"Nothing you would feel uncomfortable telling me. Simply what he does on a regular basis, any special events that happen in his life." Mycroft answered with a wave of his hand. "Inconsequential things really."
"Then why do you want to know?" She asked with a knowing smile.
"I worry about him…constantly."
Emily smirked. "I think I'll take the offer, on a couple of conditions."
"And these conditions would be?" Mycroft asked.
"Well, obviously you've been watching me." Mycroft nodded. "So I think no tattling to my parents as to what I do, no trying to control me in any way. Believe me I will not take kindly to it, and I'll become quite bored. You don't want me to get bored." Emily said carelessly. "Also how much are we talking?"
"Four hundred pounds a month."
Emily nodded thoughtfully. "That'll work. I'll give you the account to transfer it into later. Oh and the next time you want an impromptu meeting text me." With that Emily turned and walked back toward the car. "I assume it will take me home."
"Yes." Mycroft said with a slight nod to his assistant. "I shall be seeing you soon."
"Yes you will." Emily answered as she got in. This was definitely going to be more interesting than going to high school in DC she mused with a smile.
Author's Note:
Please Please Please review!
I had to put John and Sherlock together. I mean they are perfect together and John would make a great parent after the initial shock. I think I wrote Mycroft pretty well too, he and Emily are going to clash so much over a couple of things but I won't get into that now. Let's just say I wouldn't want to be him when she's done with him (evil smirk).
Amy didn't show up much in this fic, that'll change in the next one. PLEASE REVIEW! Can't stress that enough.