Chapter 1 – Hello Mr Holmes
Emily PoV
I don't know why, but whenever I see a big black car with blacked-out windows and get a text saying to get in it, I always do. Believe it or not, but this has happened quite a lot recently and this has landed me in some quite sticky situations. I realise now that to people on the street, seeing a 14 year old girl get into a black car with no number plate arouses some suspicion of stranger danger. But honestly, I couldn't care less.
I got into the car and leant back into the plush leather seat and turned to the brunette woman texting and asked "So what warehouse am I meeting Mr Holmes in?"
She looked at me slightly taken aback by my comment then turned back to texting. We sat in silence for another 15 odd minutes (14 minutes 42.7 seconds, I counted) until we reached the warehouse. I got out and walked over to the man standing in the middle of the room.
"Miss Beckett. An honour to meet you." He said, charm practically dripping from his voice.
"I could say the same Mr Holmes, but unfortunately, I would be lying." I reply only sounding half as bored as I actually was.
"I would expect nothing less from you Miss Beckett." He quipped "I must congratulate you on your research, how long did it take you to hack the system?"
"No time at all Mr Holmes." I smirked at him for even thinking I would hack the British Government more than once, I get bored, but not that bored. "I didn't need to hack anything, I have dependable sources. So, how are you and 'mummy' dealing with the death of your dear brother?"
"What does mummy have to do with anything?" he snapped
"She doesn't have any relevance at all; I just wanted to hear the British Government say 'mummy'."
"I only occupy a minor position in the British Government." I scoffed at his comment.
"Oh please, you are the British Government. Now get on and tell me your request, so I can politely decline and walk away."
"Oh Miss Beckett, you have it all wrong." He smarmed, the fake charm suddenly returning to his voice making me want to vomit. "There will be no denying, as there is no request. It is an order, and you will co-operate."
"Now why would I do that? You have no way of ordering me around. I'm under 18, so you can't set the government on me, and I'm an orphan, no parents to boss around." I smiled at him triumphantly.
"You are no longer an orphan Miss Beckett," he smirked at the confusion and disbelief that must have been all over my face. "I am your new legal guardian."
I was shocked for a moment but shortly regained my calm. "So why, may I ask, would the British Government, the man pretty much in charge of the country, want to adopt me?" I gave him a devilish grin. "I am the odd one, the outcast, the trouble maker," I put on my best innocent smile "but I don't know why they think of me that way. Even my own aunt was too busy trying to seduce your brother to care for me. Now poor old aunty Irene is dead, and I'm stuck here!" I was practically shouting at him now but he didn't flinch, he just stared at me with his cold eyes. I paused and lowered my voice regaining my composure. "So tell me daddy dearest, why have you adopted me?"
"Well it seems that with Sherlock gone, the crime rate in London has risen."
"Not surprising really, I swear the police are less competent now than they were in the Victorian era. So you want me to become the new Sherlock?"
"Precisely, you shall be living in 221B with John Watson. I believe there is a spare room that is uninhabited. I will pay rent and put money in an account for you every month."
"God, you're even sounding like a parent now. Next thing you say will be 'be back by 9', and 'make sure you're warm enough'. So just stop talking now, or I will have to kill you." I'm sure I sounded like the stroppiest teenager ever, but he was getting on my nerves. "Let's go and scare John. It sounds like the only fun part of my day."
John PoV
I had just walked into the living room after taking a shower, fully intent on getting a cup of tea, when I saw a teenage girl sitting Sherlock's chair plucking at his violin. I ran up to her and practically snatched it from her grasp. "That," I said "is not yours!"
"It's not yours either." She replied looking up at me with a smirk. "I do believe it belonged to my late uncle Sherlock."
"Sorry, uncle did you say? I wasn't aware Mycroft had kids."
"I didn't last time I saw you," I jumped in surprise to see Mycroft sitting on the sofa umbrella in hand. "I adopted her yesterday."
"Yes, it appears that daddy had the brilliant idea of me staying here and being the new 'Sherlock' in town until the police get some wits about them. So what do you say, roomies?" She asked putting her hand out to me. I looked at the girl in front of me, her bright red dyed dreadlocks held up in a loose bun, bags under her apple green eyes. Her face was slim and defined. She was wearing tattered converse with brown jeans and a strikingly weird if slightly morbid top with the words Ironfist written on it. I took her outstretched hand and replied "I don't really have much choice do I?"