Chapter Seven: Ebony

AN: sorry it's taken so long. New chapter tho!

When Shea passed out, all previous plans rushed to the back of my mind. I had been planning on telling Sherlock that we had information about Moriarty tonight, during the dinner, but before I could, she fell, I couldn't think of anything else. Everyone at the table moved, arising into a slow panic. Doctor John Watson, rushed around the table, crouching down next to Shea.

"She's still alive, but barely..." he paused. "She's not breathing!" He looked up at his wife. "Hurry! Call an ambulance!" Mary quickly obliged, looking very concerned. She turned away, dialing the number.

"We need to keep her warm," Sherlock said suddenly, I looked up at him. It seemed his entire countenance had changed. He was soft spoken, he took his large coat off the back of his chair. He laid it over Shea, and I tucked the collar under her chin. Mary returned, gripping her bag. She was a strong woman, I could tell, but it seemed that the years had stripped some of it from her. She lost a child a long time, perhaps this brought back bad memories. Hamish pointed out something I had been too worried to notice.

"Why is she suddenly so sick? Does this happen often? Or..." He looked up at Sherlock. "Is there something else going on?" Sherlock nodded ever so slightly, still looking at Shea.

"She never gets sick." I said slowly. "She is always seemingly impervious to disease...this isn't just sick." John nodded, chiming in.

"This is much too serious for something like that anyway, it must have been inflicted...maybe through the food?" Sherlock whipped back to the meal that was forgotten on the table. The sauce on Shea's plate had unknown herbs in it, Sherlock dipped his fingers down into it and examined it before licking it off. Instantly he spit it out, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Poison." He looked back at Shea for a second, then walked around the table muttering to himself. "Oleander... probably meant for me, too precariously set, and much too easy to recognize to have been carefully thought out. We are looking for someone who didn't care who he hurt in the process, He wasn't very wealthy, oleander isn't expensive or hard to find. but first..." He looked up, I could the sirens and very soon, the blaring lights of the ambulance was just outside the windows of the restaurant. John called Hamish over to help carry Shea without having to drag her. They quickly went down the stairs and out into the parking lot, followed by the rest of us. Molly walked in the back with me.

"Are you okay?" She asked softly. She hadn't said a word since Shea first fell out of her seat.

"I- " The gravity of the situation suddenly came crashing in on me. I felt weak, like I could barely stand. I didn't cry, I never did. I sank. Molly put her arms around my shoulders. I stood up straighter, trying to appear strong.

"That's okay dear, you don't have to be strong all the time, you can let your guard down sometimes." She said. 'If only you knew the half of it...' I thought bitterly before stopping myself. Molly was so very kind. She helped everyone around her, especially Sherlock. According to my father's reports, he had changed a lot, much softer now, not different personality, but more willing to show it.

I watched as they loaded my sister onto a stretcher, and pushed her up into the van. It felt as if the world stopped, like time had slowed significantly. Everyone looked to be moving through thick syrup. I couldn't move, couldn't collapse, my body was paralyzed, I couldn't think. My mind was slow. Suddenly, I raced up into the van besides her, my heart racing. Throbbing. Back and forth, slow and fast. My mind couldn't decide which it rather prefered. I grasped her hand tightly as they closed the doors behind me. Molly seemed to be the only thing that wasn't blaring, running back and forth, panicking. She was a solid stone in the river of the world. I couldn't really remember the rest of that night, my mind flashing on and off, memories like a camera shutter, flashes. Not a steady stream like it should. One minute we were inside the ambulance, the next we were racing down the halls, and later, In the white room, doctors and nurses running around, quickening to a blur, working to keep her alive, having to restart her heart once. I should have been yelling, screaming, crying. She was my sister and she was dying. But I wasn't... I stood, stone still, frozen in place, watching as my vision went blurry.

Time rushed past and before I knew it she was breathing slowly, The lights were off in the room, dark, I was the only person in the room. They asked me to leave, to return home. I couldn't. I felt as if I would have betrayed her to do so. She was breathing shallowly but even so... She was alive.

I looked over at her from the window, finally feeling some peace. I sat down into the chair that the nurse had been ever so kind to move in here, and laced my fingers into hers. She looked calm when she slept. They had washed her face when taking her in, and I could see her honestly. I smiled slowly and sighed. She was truly beautiful.

I put my head down slowly, suddenly taken over by exhaustion. It was well past midnight, and I hadn't had a good night last night. I quickly fell to sleep, lying my head next to her.

I woke up the next morning, still lying next to Shea. I looked up at the clock. It read 8:50. Oh NO! I thought to myself, I was going to be late for work. I jumped up and almost ran past the bed. Before leaving, I gave my sister a quick hug. Within minutes, I was in a taxi on the way to the work.

I arrived and opened the door, the small bell at the top of the frame chiming. I saw my boss look over, first looking slightly frustrated before seeing me. Instantly concern masked his face, he came over and put an arm on my shoulder. It was funny how close I'd already become to them. He was a large man, with dark skin, and a slight accent.

"Are you okay?" He asked lightly, guiding me behind the bookshelf, to a circular table. I breathed in ready to lie. I couldn't, he was so, easily honest, no malice behind his words. But i couldn't afford think like that.

"I'm fine." I said with a smile. He looked at me, lowering his eyebrows.

"no honey, you're not..." He said, and tilted his head. "you look awful..." He said looking down at my crinkled dress, and probably dark eyes.

"Thanks..." I muttered slowly. He laughed loudly. It was a wonderful laugh, big and very joyous, couldn't help but laugh along. I stopped quickly, not feeling the heart to laugh any longer. I looked up at him slowly.

"Well, my sister..." I explained the story quickly, trying to make it as uneventful as possible. He nodded surprisingly understanding. He smiled crookedly and helped me to stand, he pushed me gently towards the door,

"There's no way you're staying here." he said. " Go home, get yourself cleaned up and visit your sister. You need this." I looked up at him in mild surprise, people weren't generally so kind to me, I suppose that was the joy of this, working undercover, I wasn't me anymore.

I was led to the front door of the shop and push out lightly by one of my more bubbly co-workers. I smiled and laughed lightly to them, all the while thinking. I felt... happy, but fake, here. Like I wasn't my true self, and I wanted to be, so very dearly. To be me, without worry. I sighed. There would be no time for that. I ran back to the flat, rushing into the front room. I sank back against the door before noticing something beneath the window on the other side of the room, paper. I walked over and picked it up, checking for a return address or such. The envelope was blank. I slowly tore open the flap, checking the contents, there were several papers inside, I pulled out the most noticeable, a card. It wasn't colorful and cheerful like you'd think they should be, but it only made so much sense, I opened the card and saw a stamp in the top left-hand corner, a small magpie. It was his insignia, his way of saying who he was without blatantly shouting it to the world. That's probably why the envelope came in through the window. It was already rather risky, writing a letter to one inside the home of Sherlock Holmes. He would suspect something immediately.

The card was short, and unimaginative, I wondered why he'd even sent it. It was for Shea, remarking on her health. I checked the envelope again, setting the card down on the windowsill after shutting the curtains. I pulled out the other paper, a much longer letter, addressed to me.

Ebony,

I received word about Shea late last night, one of my men was there, checking on you. I have mailed the enclosed letter for her, put it by her, make sure she see's it, it will help reenact her willingness.

My men have also informed me that you haven't continued with our plan, in telling Sherlock. I assume that you forgot because of Shea, but you must not let her get in your way. She is only your younger sister, and is not to lead you, I would that you continue in this mission fervently...

I shook my head in slight disgust, he put off Shea as another one of his pawns, but i suppose to him, we are all puppets. I shivered in memory of my nightmare. I skipped down the letter a bit, shifting to a more necessary bit of information

...After expressing your knowledge of my system, tell him the things we have discussed, and how you think to destroy me, he will fall for it immediately, jumping at the opportunity to take me down. make sure to act well and convince him. We will lead him to the trap and take him down, but you need to use Shea, she is necessary to the plan. It will not be hard...

I sighed, there we go again. Necessary to the plan?! I thought, what did this have to do with us? It was always for his selfish needs, I wondered sometimes why he couldn't just leave us out of all his work, Shea always wanted to help, but I don't think she quite realized... what was happening.

Jim Moriarty

I lowered my hand to my side, staring into nothingness, thinking. I quickly went into the kitchen and took out a match, lighting the letter and leaving it in a small bowl, to burn to ash. Whenever my father sent a handwritten letter, he soaked the page in a certain kind of poison, one that seeps from the page and into the air, eventually choking the victim in his or her sleep. The envelope of the letter has a protective seal as not to prematurely set off, but once the seal is broken, the poison is free to roam. The only way to stop the poison is to burn the letter and dissolve the ashes in water. The heat destroys the reaction and the ash sludge left after the water helps to purify the air, getting rid of any of the toxin left, and leaving the remains harmless, to be disposed of anywhere else. Only those close to him know of the secret, so that anyone not meant to read will quickly be disposed of. The letter had quickly burned down, leaving a feathery pile. I put the bowl under the sink, filling it halfway. I left it on the counter, and returned to the windows, uncovering them and cracking them open, dispersing the smell of burning.

I frowned slightly, disliking the feel of being watched, but I was used to it, it was something you lived with if you knew Moriarty. I sighed and shook off the feeling, walking around the corner. I looked around, tiredly taking in my surroundings. Time seemed to be oozing slowly by and I still had a couple hours until lunchtime. I decided to leave at about noon so that I could have time to make myself at least somewhat presentable.

After I picked up the get well card and a book from my room. I walked out the door, pulling on a jacket as I went. Stepping out onto the curb, I raised my hand up to call a cab so that I could go to the hospital. I went through the front office in a daze, walking along the white halls. I stepped into Sheas room, walking over to the side of her bed. I stood the card on the small table besides her and sat down on a chair. She hadn't woken up yet, and lots of tubes were connected to her, hanging plastic bags staggered around the bed. I pulled out the book and started to read, aloud to her.

I had been reading for a while when the door of the room slowly drew forward. I look up to see that Molly had come for a visit. She carried a few white flowers, which she quickly put into a vase and watered, after acknowledging me. She put the vase next to the card and smiled at me, sitting on one of the other chairs in the room.

"How are you doing?" She asked rather bluntly, but kind. "I suppose it's stranger for you in a way, I've grown used to people close to me getting hurt, or being in danger, with a husband like Sherlock..." She laughed to herself. "but to you, I truly can't imagine what you're going through." It was an interesting phrase. Not one you often heard, people didn't often recognize things like that, that everyone is different, not only in appearance, but experience and personality and... how we each perceive things.

"I-" I sat back. "I'm worried. I suppose about this, but about so much more. Should we be here? I almost feel as if.. well she belonged so well, but at the same time we don't live here. In London. It is such a big city, so much for two nearly children to be taking in alone. to be expected to be able to do." I worded myself carefully, disgusted with the lies.

"Don't think this was your fault honey," Molly said, gesturing to Shea. "It was wise to come here, but if you do think it's too much, you can always leave, stay somewhere else." She looked down, looking at Shea. "But you two girls... even after this short time, have become... close to me- to us. almost like..." She squinted slightly. "Almost like you were my own..." She looked up at me, her brows wrinkled, then back down at Shea.

"Really?" I asked as if a child, but she was honest. It was wonderful, I feel like flying for a second, completely ignoring anything else she said. I realized I had never truly been treated like that. She didn't reply, but was rather looking down at Shea, a wrinkle in her forehead.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked slowly, not know what she could be look for.

"I-uh..." She paused. "She almost looks like -without her make-up and such- like... like Sherlock." She laughed softly, shaking it off. I scooted over and looked at Shea, having never noticed it before. "She looks more like him than like you!" Molly laughed to herself, probably trying to mend the somewhat awkward silence that had ensued. It didn't help much. The problem was, she was right. I looked down at Shea, and for the first time in my life I saw why our father had hated her, and why she was always mistaken for 'just a friend' instead of a sister. She didn't look like me, she looked like Sherlock.

"No, but you're right..." I said softly, looking up at Molly. She stopped smiling and her face morphed into one of concern. "She doesn't look a thing like me... or our parents for that matter." Molly looked away for a minute, thinking.

"Do you have any photographs of them? your parents?" She then said suddenly. I had to think quickly.

"Um, no... My father, before he c- died. He burnt all our pictures, but I can remember them..." I said, looking down.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to bring up the topic." Molly said apologizing. I shook my head.

"No, it's okay. anyway..."

"Right." She stood up and walked around Shea, taking in the perspectives. "I suppose It might be just a coincidence but..." I looked at her questioningly. She sighed in resignation. "A long time ago I helped Sherlock with something, evading a man. Moriarty." I shuddered inwardly at the sound of his name being said by someone so pure. "It was- complicated, things had to be done, we had to trick him, and others. In the end Sherlock had to die, and I helped him to do it." I nodded, knowing the story well. "After the fall we had to find a place for him for time enough to take down the rest of Moriarty's operation. I had a family summer home on the coast, hardly used, so we went together. I uh..." She blushed severely. "I got pregnant... but Sherlock had to leave. I went back to London, but before I got there, the child had died, a miscarriage. Or so I thought... Whenever I try to remember the situation, it's just fuzzy-blurry. It is very strange, I never remembered feeling sad about it." I thought slowly.

"and you think...?" I started.

"Maybe..." She said. "When you were young, do you remember any evidence of her being adopted?" She asked. I thought back to when I was very young. I only remembered faint memories, but it added up, father's hate, moran's disinterest. Shea's whole personality. I looked down to her panicked, what would we do if it was true, and what did our father do this for?

"How do we find out?"