Chapter 8

Sherlock awakens five hours later with a start, his face buried firmly in a pillow. His mind, racing a mile a minute, seems to ignite sparks as he stares at the wall in front of him with deadly concentration: had the wall been a living organism, it would have fled in horror from the sight his smoldering icy blue glare concocted. If Moriarty was Hope's father…then who was the mother? He blinks, his wind palace being rummaged through frantically, papers and files getting thrown randomly across the hallways and rooms as he searches for an image the one woman he knows would have been behind this: Irene Adler, The Woman.

And they looked alike: her and the child. They both had the same papery white skin tone, the same delicate features…but what if Hope wasn't Moriarty's daughter like he seemed to think…? What if she was his, Sherlock's?

Another realm of possibilities explodes through his mind.

He and Irene had dated years ago and a child could have possibly resulted from their relationship. Irene had always left their dates early mumbling about having to meet someone. Was this why? Was she leaving him to see a murder? Leaving him to see Moriarty instead?

They had dated roughly five years ago.

Hope is around five years old.

But was it possible Moriarty was lying, playing yet another game of cat and mouse with the high-functioning sociopathic sleuth? It was possible, right? Sherlock couldn't be a dad…it was preposterous!

The room is dark and quiet save for the sound of his phone is ringing shrilling on the bed beside him. With an irritated sigh he looks at the screen: the number is blocked.

"Hello?" He answers, allowing an irritated edge to keep into his voice because he is expecting Mycroft to be on the other end. It is not Mycroft.

"Hello, Sherlock," A silky voice purrs into his ear: a voice that can only belong to the dreaded Jim Moriarty.

"Hello, Jim. Having fun are we?" He says sarcastically and, to his surprise, hears laughter on the other line.

"Now don't be like that Sherlock. Aren't you curious as to why I let you live? Why I let both you and John go?"

"Not in the slightest," He lied.

Jim pretends to not hear him, "You see, Sherlock, I've been watching you, quite a lot, really." Sherlock's eyebrows turn downwards as concern watches over him, "You and Ms.…Molly Hooper seem to be spending a lot of time together lately. Going out to restaurants…going to her apartment…walks through the park." He pauses for effect, "Now don't tell me your little pet, John, is starting to domesticate you." He chuckles, his laugh cold and condemning. "There's more than way to control you. It seems I no longer have to threaten your precious little doctor."

"What do you want?"

"A blood sample."

"A blood sample? Why didn't you just take one when I was down there!"

"Because it was too easy, and where's the fun of getting my men to hold you down to acquire some DNA when you would give it freely?"

"When?"

"I'll text you the details, my dear. Oh, and Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Don't try to trick me, Sherlock." The line goes dead abruptly as Moriarty hangs up.

They meet at an abandoned warehouse. The doctors come out, decked in white with white masks obscuring their faces, showing nothing but the dead, emotionless eyes as he rolls up his sleeve with a haughty shake of head, his dark wavy hair cascading over his face. It takes only five minutes before they're pulling out the needle and walking away with about pint of his blood. He glares at their retreating footsteps for a moment before turning his gaze onto a please Moriarty.

"And now?" Sherlock asks, keeping his voice evens as he rolls his sleeve back down.

"And now you leave."

"And what? Wait until you decide to initiate the game? Wait for more bodies to be added to the cemetery?"

"Oh course."

"And the girl?"

"Who, Hope? Oh, don't worry, she's fine. For now. She's playing the part pretty well. With Hope's cooperation, I'll have her in my clutches soon enough."

"'her'? Her who?"

"Why her mother, Sherlock. Have you figured out yet who she is, yet?"

"Irene Adler."

"One and the same. Now I'm going to have to cut our visit short. Tell Molly I'll be seeing her soon. Goodbye!"