The doorbell rang and Sherlock went to go get it. It wasn't John, because he would just come straight in, and it wasn't Ms. Hudson because she would do the same.
I heard Mycroft's voice and groaned internally. I didn't want to see the man who tried to send me away to foster care again.
"Why hello August. I see that you are uninjured from the explosion?" Mycroft twirled his umbrella and smiled at me. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.
"Yeah I'm okay. A bit of glass but we were lucky." I attempted to smile at him.
"Good, I'm glad." Mycroft sat down on the couch, and Sherlock stood across from him. I decided to finish my toast in the living room, and sat on John's armchair. Maybe this could be a family bonding session. I snorted at the thought.
"I want you to take a case for me, it's important." Mycroft started. So that was the reason Mycroft had stopped by.
"Sherlock! August!" Suddenly John came sprinting up our stairs. He glances at the boarded up windows, and then to me and Sherlock.
"John." Sherlock mumbled from under his violin. He was plucking at the violin's string, trying to tune them.
"I saw it on Telly. Are you guys okay?" John turned to Sherlock.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah we're fine. Gas leak, apparently." Sherlock looked at the windows and sighed.
"I can't." Sherlock replied, looking at Mycroft.
"Can't?"
"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time." Sherlock muttered, continuing to pluck at his violin strings.
John looks across to Sherlock in disbelief. It was rare when Sherlock turned down a case. Especially since Sherlock didn't have any cases to work on at the moment.
"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance." Mycroft insisted, staring at Sherlock.
Sherlock sulkily flicked his fingers across his violin strings. "How's the diet?" I grinned at their brotherly rivalry.
"Fine." Mycroft scoffed. "Perhaps you can get through to him, John."
John walked to the windows to investigate the damage done by the gas leak. "What?"
"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."
"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock glanced at John, then back at Mycroft.
"No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so ..." Mycroft slipped up.
I looked at my Uncle in surprise. Korean elections? Why would the British government get involved with that? I saw that John and Sherlock were looking at him the same way that I was.
"Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?" Mycroft covered up. "Besides, a case like this – it requires ... legwork."
Sherlock turned to John, who was absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"
"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa." Mycroft deduced. I studied John further, by the way he was standing, it looked as if he had slept somewhere uncomfortable. Such as a sofa.
Sherlock studied John, "Oh yes, of course."
"How ... Oh, never mind." John huffed and looked down.
"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became ... pals." Mycroft had brought up. It was true, there was at least two people at our doorstep a day who wanted Sherlock to listen to a mystery of theirs. "What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine."
"I'm never bored." John admitted.
"Good! That's good, isn't it? August how are you getting along? Child's services haven't picked you up yet for awful parenting?" Mycroft snickered, smiling at me.
"No. I'm doing just fine." I defended myself. Mycroft wasn't the most pleasant person.
"Oh. Happy birthday, August. I know it was yesterday, but better late than never right?" Mycroft babbled from his chair.
Sherlock and John looked at me in surprise. "You didn't say it was your birthday." Sherlock muttered.
"I didn't want to be a bother." I admitted.
"Again this makes me question your mother's choice of name. You were born in a winter month yet your name is a summer's month. Odd." Sherlock concluded, narrowing his eyes at me.
I sighed in exasperation. He loved picking on my name.
"You should have said something August, it's no bother to at least say Happy Birthday." John came up and rubbed my shoulders. I smiled at him.
"Anyway, Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends." Mycroft went to hand Sherlock a case file, but then decided against it and handed it to John. "A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."
"Jumped in front of a train?" John asked.
Mycroft sighed. "Seems the logical assumption."
"But ...?"
""But"?" Mycroft urged John on.
"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident." I filled in for John.
Sherlock was applying rosin to his bow with a small cloth. He smirked noisily.
"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick." Mycroft informed, glancing at me and narrowing his eyes.
I snickered. "That wasn't very clever." Sherlock smiled at his lap.
"It's not the only copy. But it is secret. And missing." Mycroft sneered.
"Top secret?" John asked.
"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands." Mycroft demanded. "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."
Sherlock huffed in annoyance and rose the violin to his shoulder, ready to play. He looked at Mycroft. "I'd like to see you try."
"Think it over." Mycroft threatened.
Mycroft turns and walks over to John, offering him his hand to shake."Goodbye, John."
John politely stands and shakes his hand.
"See you very soon. Oh and John - don't mention August in your blog. Conceal her relations with Sherlock, don't need that information getting around."
"Why?" Why did Mycroft want me to be a secret?
"Sherlock has a lot of enemies. Let's leave it at that." Mycroft went and walked downstairs, shutting the door on his way out.
Sherlock began to repeatedly play a short irritating sequence of notes. John frowned across to him but Sherlock continued to play. I screwed my face up at the terrible sound coming from my father's instrument.
"Why'd you lie?" I questioned. "You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why Ms. Hudson's wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"
"Why shouldn't I?" Sherlock said, shrugging.
"Because that would make too much sense." I sighed. I stood up and put my plate and mug into the kitchen sink. It was getting full. I started loading the dishwasher up when I heard Sherlock's phone ring from across the room.
"Sherlock Holmes." I heard Sherlock say into his phone. "Of course. How could I refuse?"
Sherlock stood up and switched off the phone, he put his violin onto the seat and headed to the door. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?"
"If you want me to." John said, humbly.
"Of course." Sherlock smiled at John. "I'd be lost without my blogger. August, are you coming?"
"No. I'll finish the dishes and meet up with you guys later. Ill text you to see where you're at. I think Molly might needs me at the morgue." I said, putting another dish in the dishwasher.
Do you need my help today? I sent the text to Molly after I finished putting the dishes away.
Yes, I would love help! I typed at my phone and grinned, I actually loved helping Molly at the morgue. Most people would think that working with dead bodies was creepy, but it was actually interesting to see that there was so many ways someone could die.
I put on my winter coat and walked outside, waiting for a cab. Once I saw a taxi I waved it down and got it. "Bart's morgue, please."
I arrived at my destination and handed the cab the money. "Thank you."
I walked towards the morgue and looked for Molly, when I spotted her I rushed towards her. "Hey Molly!"
Molly smiled at me, "Hey August. I'm a bit stumped on my latest project. This man died of unnatural causes, but I can't seem to find anything." I glanced behind Molly to see a middle aged man on the inspecting desk.
"It seems as he was poisoned, but there is no needle marks. And nothing in is ingestive system." Molly stated, poking the deceased man's skin.
I studied the body and moved the man's glasses. When I didn't see anything I looked at his hair and felt his head. There was a remotely large bump that was emerging from his hair. How did Molly miss this?
"Molly there's a bump on his head. Possibly a needle mark. He was murdered." I confirmed, backing away from the body.
"August you're a genius. I'm so glad you help me." Molly grinned at me and wrote down the final report. Suddenly a man with tanned skin and groomed eyebrows walked in.
"Oh! August this is my boyfriend. Jim this is August. Sherlock Holme's daughter." Molly introduced me. I studied Jim further. No way he was into Molly. I didn't want to believe in stereotypes, but he looked like he could pass for being gay.
"I didn't know he had a daughter. This changes things." Jim said.
What does he mean changes things? "What?"
"Oh, I'm a huge fan of Sherlock. I read his blogs." Jim smiled at me. I didn't like him.
"Gotcha." I politely assured. I finished writing down the diagnosis of the man Molly and I were examining and put my pencil down.
"I think Sherlock should be here soon. Let's meet him." Molly said, trying to lessen the awkward communication.
The three of us left the room where the body was held at and went into another room that held Sherlock and John.
"Hey guys." I greeted, smiling at the boys. John smiled back, "Hey."
Sherlock briefly glanced at me before returning to his microscope.
"Any luck?" Molly asked.
Sherlock triumphantly shouted. "Oh, yes!"
Jim came up behind us, but then stopped halfway. "Oh sorry. I didn't..."
"Come in! Come in!" Molly assured Jim, who was hiding behind the door. Why was he so nervous?
Sherlock glances over to Molly and then to Jim. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." Molly introduced. John turned to look at Jim.
"And..uh..." Molly stammered. I loved Molly, but did she really forget John's name? I sighed and shook my head.
"John Watson. Hi." John filled in politely.
"Hi." Jim smiled at John, but then locked his gaze towards Sherlock admirably. "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"
"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." Molly giggled, staring intently on Sherlock's reaction. I sighed again. It was obvious that Molly had a crush on Sherlock and was using Jim to make him jealous.
"Gay." Sherlock muttered. I hid my smile, I wasn't the only one who thought that.
"Sorry, what?" Molly defended.
""Nothing." Sherlock turned to Jim. "Um, hey." Good coverup.
"Hey." Jim lowered his hand and accidentally knocks a metal dish off the edge of the table and scrambles to pick it up. "Sorry! Sorry."
John turns away and face-palmed, while Sherlock looked irritated. Jim wasn't the best person t be around a science lab. Molly's boyfriend puts the dish back on the table and then scratches his arm as he wanders back towards Molly. I sighed. Again.
"Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at The Fox, 'bout six-ish?" Jim covered. I would want to leave too.
"Yeah!"
Jim stoped beside Molly and put a hand on her back. "Bye everyone. It was nice to meet you, Sherlock."
Sherlock ignored him and continued to look into his microscope. I groaned internally. Why did he have to be so rude?
Jim awkwardly turns and leaves the room. Molly waited for him to leave before speaking. "What d'you mean, gay? We're together."
"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." Sherlock glanced over Molly's body.
I gasped. "Sherlock! You ass. You don't say things like that. Especially to a girl."
Sherlock didn't even look up.
"Two and a half." Molly tried to defend herself. I felt bad for her.
"Nuh, three." Sherlock argued. He wasn't even talking to me and I was getting irritated. I can't imagine what Molly is feeling.
"He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil ...? He's not." Molly insisted angrily.
"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock snorted.
"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair." John argued.
"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." Sherlock looked at John.
"His underwear?" Molly asked, still angry at Sherlock's deductions.
"Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here..." Sherlock showed the card Jim had left behind. "...and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."
Molly stares at Sherlock for a moment but then turns and runs out of the room.
"Charming. Well done." John said sarcastically.
"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" Sherlock questioned. He actually looked confused. Oh my god.
"Kinder? No, no, Dad. That wasn't kind." I commented, crossing my arms and looking at him.
John looked at me in surprise when I called him Dad, but I ignored it.
Sherlock puts down Jim's card and then reaches over and moves one of the trainers on the desk closer to me. "Go on, deduce."
"Really?" I was still angry at Sherlock's rudeness from earlier.
"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me." Sherlock commented.
I sighed. "Retro design, from the eighties. These are quite big so they are a man's."
"But?" Sherlock looked at me.
"But there's traces of a name inside in felt tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes. So these belonged to a kid." I concluded.
"Excellent. What else?"
"The owner loved these shoes. They cleaned them often and changed the laces. Maybe three times?" I finished, looking to Sherlock. "How did I do?"
"That was pretty good, August. You're getting the hang of it. You missed some important parts, but you're getting there." Sherlock praised. I grinned, I loved when I made Sherlock happy.
"There are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old. They're not retro – they're original. Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine." Sherlock deducted. It still amazed me how he could do that.
"But there's still mud on them. They look new." John pointed out.
"Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it." Sherlock picked up the shoe and looked to the bottom of it.
"How do you know?" I questioned, I really did want to know.
Sherlock nodded towards his computer screen. "Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me. South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."
"So what happened to him?" I asked.
"Something bad." Sherlock concluded, sighing. "He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So, a child with big feet gets...Oh. Carl Powers"
"Sorry, who?" John asked, completely lost. I had no idea what Sherlock was going on about.
"Carl Powers, John."
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's where I began." Sherlock jumped up and went towards the door. "Are you coming August?"
I thought about it, "No. I'm staying here."
"Suit yourself." Sherlock walked out the door and soon John followed.
I went to find Molly and sat by her. "I'm going home."
She looked at me, "Okay. Thank you for your help today, August." I grinned up at her and left, hailing a Taxi to 221B.
Once I arrived I took my shoes off and flopped on the couch. I was exhausted. Soon, I fell asleep.
I woke up to John and Sherlock coming inside the flat. I yawned as they conversed about the case Sherlock was working on. They had five more hours before the woman on the end of the phone was to die. John filled me in on Sherlock's case a couple hours ago over text, I felt awful that people's lives were at stake.
"Your brother is texting me. How does he know my number?" John came to the living room where Sherlock was surrounded by papers from the case.
John put his phone away and walked in the kitchen. "Look, he did say 'national importance.'"
"How quaint." Sherlock sighed.
"What is?" John questioned.
"You are. Queen and country." Sherlock rummaged through his papers again.
"You can't just ignore it." I chimed in from the couch, wiping the sleep from my eyes. I was annoyed that they had woke me up from my nap.
"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now." Sherlock grinned.
"Who's that?" I said, stretching my arms over my head.
"John. And you, go with him." Sherlock demanded.
When John and I made it to Mycroft's office, I was wide awake. Sherlock also demanded that I wore a dress, and John a suit. I hated dresses.
"John. August. How nice. I was hoping you wouldn't be long." Mycroft walked in the office and smiled. "How can I help you?"
Mycroft walked straight past John and put down the report on the desk, imperiously waving a hand in John's direction to signify that he can sit down again. He did.
"Thank you." John sat down, and I took the set next to him. "Um, well, I was wanting to ... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans."
While John and Mycroft talked about Sherlock's case, I played on my phone. It's not that I wasn't interested, because I did, but something made me feel off with Mycroft.
I broke out of thought when John went to stand up. "Time to go."
"Wait. John you go, I would like a word with August." I looked over to John and he shrugged.
I stayed in my seat, and Mycroft waited for John to shut the door before speaking. "Are you comfortable staying with Sherlock?"
I was puzzled, he already asked me that this morning. "Yes. We are getting along fine."
"Good. I'm glad to hear. If you need anything, you can text me." Mycroft assured me.
That was a kind offer."Thank you, that means a lot."
Mycroft smiled."I give you my deepest apologies about your uncle. He had been dealt with appropriately, think of it as a late birthday present."
"How... how did you know about Charlie?" I was stunned. Did Sherlock tell Mycroft about him? He wouldn't do that.
"I am the British government. Nothing gets past me." Mycroft assured me, smiling again.
"Thank you." I said sincerely. I meant it.
I got up from my chair and left, feeling a weight off my shoulders. John and I left to go return to 221B.
I walked in the flat and flopped back on the couch. Sherlock was studying a microscope when we came in. My eyes drooped closed when I rested my head on the pillow.
I faintly heard Sherlock and John talk about the case, but they faded out of my hearing shortly.
"She's exhausted." I heard John comment.
"Yes well, August has become very busy, helping with Molly and all." Sherlock said, I could tell he was looking at me, even with my eyes closed.
I felt someone lift me up and go upstairs. Sherlock was carrying me to my bedroom.
"How kind of you." I whispered, amused.
"Just go to bed." Sherlock sighed, setting me down softly on my mattress. I fell asleep instantly.
The next morning, Sherlock and John insisted that we went downstairs to the cafe for breakfast. I liked the idea of having pancakes instead of toast.
John and I sat opposite from Sherlock. I shoveled the freshly cooked pancakes in my mouth as Sherlock tapped his fingers against the table, keeping his focus on the pink phone he possessed.
"Why do you hate tea? Is that some Irish thing? To not like tea?" Sherlock questioned me as I took a sip of my coffee. I almost choked. "What? No I just don't like it."
"You're obsessed with coffee." My father stated.
"I like it." I said, amused.
"Mmm. You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?" John sighed, smiling down on his plate of food. He eats another forkful of food, but paused. "Has it occurred to you ..."
"Probably." Sherlock said, not letting John finish. I hated when he interrupted people.
"No – has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you." John warned, putting a fork full of eggs in his mouth.
"Yes, I know." Sherlock smiled at John.
"Is it him, then? Moriarty?" I asked. John had told me that Sherlock was being sent a series of puzzles, and if he didn't solve them then the person who called Sherlock on the pink phone died. It made me sick.
"Perhaps."The pink phone beeped and Sherlock switches it on. A photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appears on the screen. I recognized her.
"That could be anybody" Sherlock stated.
"Well it could be. Lucky for you, me, Ms. Hudson, and John watch far too much telly." I grinned, my Irish accent filled the cafe.
John went to go turn on the Cafe's TV and pointed to the TV. Suddenly, the pink phone rang and I heard an elderly voice through the phone.
When Sherlock ended the phone call, I looked up at him. "What happened?"
"Twelve hours before an elderly woman dies. I have another puzzle to solve." Sherlock got up from his chair and we followed him out, heading to the Morgue.
When we arrived, Connie Prince's body was laid out on a table, a sheet covering her body leaving her head, arms, and chest bare. I was slightly star struck. I had loved her show, it was sad that she had died.
Sherlock examined the body. "Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna... Something's wrong with this picture."
"Eh?" Lestrade looked over to Sherlock.
"Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong. August. John" Sherlock analyzed, looking over to John and me.
John and I came closer to Sherlock. "Yes?"
"The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?" Sherlock asked, prodding Connie's skin. "But the wound's clean – very clean, and fresh."
I realized what he was implying. "How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?"
"Eight, ten days." John answered.
"The cut was made later." I confirmed.
"After she was dead?" Lestrade questioned.
"Must have been. The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?"
John and I study the body, deep in thought.
"You want to help, right?" Sherlock looked at us.
"Of course." John said, nodding at Sherlock.
"Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data." Sherlock ordered.
"Right." John went to leave the room and I followed, wanting to help as well. I hated death. I hated the person who was doing this to Sherlock, forcing him to solve puzzles to save people's lives. It was disgusting.
Moriaty. He was the one doing this.
A/N: im ded actually rip. Okay and this is FOURTEEN PAGES ON WORD. Holy shit. Bravo for getting to the end of this chapter.
Im sorry this follows the episode too closely, I tried to change it up a bit. This will be the only episode from the series that this series follows that closely. It just helps me advance the plot ;) The next chapter will be the last chapter from The Great Game.