Hi guys, so this is the first chapter, I hope you like it. :)


London. A place so unlike any other, it seemed to have its own heartbeat. However most people only ever saw the bright city lights and colourful window displays. They didn't see the darker places: full of twisting alleys and deserted buildings. In one of those very deserted buildings, an office block to be precise, sat a young woman at a desk. Her long golden hair kept falling into her eyes as she tapped away and her computer. In the background, a CD of classical music was playing, a gift from her employer.

The Angel grinned to herself as she added the last few lines to the computer code she was constructing. It had taken her all night, but at last it was done. A code that could break into every governments encrypted files and publish them on the internet. Names of spies in deep cover, military base locations, all at her fingertips. She pulled out a small black phone from her pocket. Now all she had to do was call the very man who could put a stop to her releasing the codes. After all, as her employer said, what was the fun of the game if no one else was playing?

"Hello? This is The Angel. I would like to speak to Mycroft Holmes."

At that very moment on the other side of the great sprawling city, three people ran. Their hearts beating and their lungs burning in want of oxygen, they gave Chase. The man in the lead, a heavy built man in a ski mask, had been fleeing from the scene of his most recent murder, not expecting to be caught when his path had been blocked by none other than the mysterious Sherlock Holmes. He had the doubled back on himself into a deserted industrial ground, where he was dismayed to hear three sets of footsteps. He carried on running away from the detective, and ran past an empty storage container. The next thing he knew was that somebody had tackled him to the ground from above. "Nice jump, Kat." Said Sherlock.

"Nice work Sherlock, can you come in tomorrow to fill in the paperwork? I can't be bothered this late at night, and you all have somewhere to be. Night." Lestrade said all this as he lead them to the police tape, he lifted it up for them and sent them on their way.

The Angel was smiling to herself as she watched her favourite detectives go to their favourite Chinese restaurant after finally apprehending a jewel thief with a tendency to remove the limbs of the person wearing the jewels. They were laughing and smiling together. At least the woman was laughing and smiling, the imposing male figure simply sat there, observing.

On The Angels other screen, the blog of a Doctor Watson was open. She had been an avid reader since her Employer had pointed it out to her. She found it amusing how the good Doctor thought any of the crimes he had helped solved even scratched the surface of the operation she helped run. Soon though, they would know.

Soon.

"You do realise Sherlock, that you will be the one paying for my new leather jacket. I can't believe you dropped it in the Thames! And you John! Why didn't you stop him? Has Mary taught you nothing?" Kat had been ranting to them about the fact that she had been on a date when he texted her that evening the whole taxi ride. She had hoped he would have, because Brandon was terribly dull, but still! "And another thing! You would think..." Kats words died in her throat when she saw the black mersades belonging to one Mycroft Holmes. They entered their flat ,after paying the taxi, to find Mycroft sitting in Sherlocks chair with a grave expression on his face. "It seems, little brother, that England once again needs your help. Moriarty is back. And it seems he has an assistant. The Angel."

This was too easy, thought The Angel. Mycroft had done exactly what she'd expected. Run straight to his little brother for help. It was quite amusing really. They said they hated each other, yet always seemed to rely on the other whether they realised it or not.

She leaned back into her soft leather chair with her headphones in her ears. She loved listening to other people describe her. It was fun to see how much was true and how much was rumour. She was also curious how long it would take the great Sherlock Holmes to realise who she was. Maybe she would give him a hint, to edge the game along. She never was a patient one.

But for now she was content listening to Mycroft Holmes try and describe her, when he himself had little to go on. The only things he had were her codename and a picture taken a few years ago when she had slipped up once. Her only time. After that she had placed several duplicate "Angels" to try and throw them of the real picture. She wondered to herself whether the youngest Holmes could deduct which was real and which were fake...

The Angel... Kat had thought she had heard the last of The Angel when she and john left Afghanistan. The Angel was the one who had sent the guns that had almost killed them. By the look on johns face, he knew this as well. If The Angel was around, London was in danger. Kat knew that she had to stop her. The Angel.

"Sherlock. I need you to do this. For us. Not England. Us. We know her, well we know of her. She is the reason me and john have matching scars on our shoulders. Do this for us. Find her. And end Moriartys web." Kat said this in a hushed voice, her eyes held a faraway and dead look. It was in that gunfire where her fiancé had been killed. She wanted revenge.

The Angel sat back in her chair deep in thought. She knew the name Katrina Roberts from somewhere. A few clicks at her computer and she managed to pull up a old newspaper article holding the obituary of a Dr M. Hope. He had died on the front line, after a raid on a terrorist base ended in a bloodbath. The soldiers had thought they would be unarmed. Little did they know her Employer had tasked her in delivering weapons to the gang. The target had been a particular soldier in the group, but the gang were told to kill everyone, so that little fact would never be revealed. Unfortunately two soldiers had made it, though considerably worse for wear. It seemed those very two were her Sherlock's little accomplices.

This would make things more complicated.

Kat had been sitting in the exact same spot for the past four hours. Sherlock had dragged her along to Barts and was working in the lab, but there was nothing that Kat could do . No bodies to check over, no items that needed searching for, no cifers to dicifer. She couldn't even go to see John and Mary, they had gone to Southend for the day. Kat just kept taking out her phone and reading the text. Every time she did, her head filled with snatches of memories: Matt proposing... Afghanistan in the winter... the children she had helped deliver to the local women... and the glimmer of red hair flying free out the side of the helicopter that dropped the bombs and crates of guns...

Kat sat up suddenly. She felt to contained in the stuffy lab. She rushed out of the door, muttering "getting coffee." When Sherlock looked up at the noise.

After a brisk walk around the block and a stop off at the canteen for coffee, Kat made her way back to the lab. She wasn't looking where she was going and ended up bumping into some one...