It was raining. Not badly. The sort of light rain; too much to be called a drizzle, but far too little to be called rain.
The weather didn't suit the occasion.
In her mind it should have been pouring. Storm clouds, lightning, thunder. The works. But that wasn't how the real world worked. After all, people died when the sun was shining too.
She came here often, but after what she did she knew she wouldn't be returning. Not for a long time anyway.
Swallowing hard, Ally set down the box in her hand.
Flowers seemed stupid, her father never liked them. And besides it seemed like a waste; she'd rather leave something meaningful than something that died in a few days.
"I brought you a cup of tea," Ally said, picking up the thermos off the ground, empting onto the grave. "And your favourite snack." she said pointing to the box. "I also, put in a bit of paper from your favourite book. Only the acknowledgments, I'm afraid, but I think you'll agree with me that defacing a classic to be an irredeemable act."
"I'm leaving today." she said, closing the thermos. "I don't know where, but I'm leaving. I'll be back. I promise."
Ally sighed, looking up at the clouds. Three weeks ago, she was crying; constantly. Everyday. All the time. Two weeks ago, she ran out of tears and resorted to screaming and breaking things. One week ago, John left, and now, here she was.
No tears, but the sadness hadn't faded or diminished.
Instead hovering around, like a permeant dark cloud.
"I'm going to miss you, but I hope you know I furious at you and hope when you reach wherever you are; somebody beats you with a wooden stick. Preferably Crowley. And if you don't know who that is or why I chose him, you really are an idiot." she said coolly.
Everything she said, came out cold now.
Cold and dead.
"I know, you're dead and probably can't even hear me, but if you can and if you do happen to come across Jim Moriarty again. I would like you to tell him, I miss him too and then tell him I hope he burns in hell. Once again, Crowley, please, fulfil that." Ally said, tucking the thermos into the bag.
"Goodbye Dad…Dads. Dads. Goodbye Dads. I love you both; and if two turn out to be alive; I will murder you both." Ally said, sliding the bag over her shoulder.
"Vivamus, moriendum est."
THREE MONTHS EARLIER.
"Falls of the Reichenbach, Turner's masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
'And Ally.' Ally put in, in her head as the crowd applauds.
Ally watching them all with interest, deducing each one. They were at an Art Gallery, the one which had been robbed a few weeks ago. Only took them three days to find the missing painting and the missing culprit.
Not bad.
"A small token of our gratitude." The Gallery Director said, handing her father a box. Sherlock took the box, glancing at it. 'Diamond cufflinks.'
"Diamond cufflinks." Sherlock confirmed, making Ally smirk. "All my cuffs have buttons."
"He means thank you." John said to the Director, choosing to ignore Sherlock's comment.
"Do I?"
"Just say it." Ally grumbled, wriggling uncomfortably, she really should have worn a better dress. "Thank you." Sherlock said, stoically.
'Thank god.' Ally thought, she and Sherlock about to walk away, before John held them back, gesturing to the cameras and the press.
Ally rolled her eyes. She and Sherlock and John stopping for the photos.
'Boring.'
"Back together with my family after my terrifying ordeal; and we have one person to thank for my deliverance – Sherlock Holmes."
'And Ally.' Ally thought bitterly, but really the annoyance was being smoshed between John and Sherlock. In any case; the missing Banker hadn't taken them too long, but it was an interesting case and one the press once again was definitely interested in.
The people applauded (what else could they really do?) and the Banker's son, turned around handing Sherlock a small wrapped box (sending Ally a wink)
Ally shut her eyes, glancing up at the sky. 'Please.'
"Tin pin?" Ally mumbled, under her breath. "Tie pin. I don't wear ties." Sherlock replied, looking quite put out.
"Shh." John hissed. As the reports ran to them rattling questions and snapping photos. Ally was happy she decided to wear jeans this time.
"Smile."
"Peter Ricoletti: number one on Interpol's Most Wanted list since 1982. But we got him; and there's one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads…" Lestrade announced, in there police reported conference thing.
Ally was too bored and really wanted it to end so Anderson and Donovan would eat her home-made brownies.
And no, she hadn't hit her head or something.
She put laxatives in it. 'Better stock up on toilet paper…' she thought, smiling to herself. They had been particular annoying, so she was being particular vindictive.
She was a Moriarty after all.
"With all his customary diplomacy and tact!" Lestrade cried only the three of them catching his sarcasm. "Sarcasm." John mumbled. "Yes."
Polite clapping began as Lestrade, walked over to them, handing Sherlock a package. "We all chipped in." he said cheerfully, smiling as Sherlock began to unwrap it.
Pulling out a…hat.
"Oh!" Sherlock cried. Ally snorted, trying not to laugh out loud.
"Put the hat on!"
"Put the hat on!"
"Yeah, Sherlock, put it on!"
'This is gonna be good.'
Sherlock glared at the reporters, glancing at Ally, who shrugged. 'Can't get ya out of this one.'
John cleared his throat. "Just get it over with." he mumbled under his breath.
Simmering with annoyance, Sherlock put the hat on his head, the reports going mad with glee; snapping photos and clapping.
Ally pulled on a smile, though it wasn't for fake.
Anderson had taken a bit from the brownie.
221B BAKER STREET
3 WEEKS BEFORE…
"Boffin. Boffin Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock snapped, throwing the latest newspaper onto the pile. "Someone's in a bad mood." Ally sang form her chair, sipping a cup of tea.
"Everybody gets one." John said, from the sofa, taking the new newspaper. "One what?"
"Tabloid nickname: 'SuBo'; 'Nasty Nick." John said, flipping through the paper. "Shouldn't worry – I'll probably get one soon."
"Page five, column six, first sentence."
Instantly John turned to the page, Sherlock picking up the hat, punching it angrily in the air. "Why is it always the hat photograph?"
"Because you look ridiculous in it." Ally mumbled, setting her cup down. "The like making us feel stupid, because they are." she said calmly.
"What sort of hat is it anyway?" Sherlock asked, turning it back and forth rapidly.
"Bachelor"? What the hell are they implying?"
"Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?"
"Could you two just relax?" Ally cried, getting up, watching them with amusement. "The implement of bachelor is that you're still single and living with a madman and his kid. And-" Ally said, snatching the deerstalker from Sherlock's hands. "It's a deerstalker."
"My god," Ally said, tossing the hat onto the chair. "You two, are getting so obsessed over these article, it's just meaningless people jabber."
"Easy to say; there, Brainy Ally Holmes." John read from the paper. "What!" Ally cried, snatching the paper from John. "They wrote about me? Oh—wow, that nice. The brilliant Ally Holmes; the brilliant detectives daughter, age 13, while clever is duller and quieter in comparison to the her shining father-"
"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do – throw it?"
"... confirmed bachelor John Watson!"
"Duller and quieter—what the fu-
"Some sort of death frisbee?"
"Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful." John said, pausing the chaos of voices. "It's got flaps...ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John." Sherlock said, throwing the hat, which John caught expertly.
By expertly I mean, he really didn't even need to try.
"What do you mean, more careful?" Ally asked, holding the paper down.
"I mean this isn't a deerstalker now; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a private detective anymore." John said, pointing at Sherlock, holding his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart. "You're this far from famous."
"Oh, it'll pass." Sherlock said, slumping down into his chair.
Ally walking across the room, throwing the paper into the fire place, watching it burst into flames. "Dull and quiet, my ass." she grumbled under her breath.
"It'd better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on you." John said, pointing at Sherlock.
Ally moving the burning paper about with the fire poker. "It really bothers you."
"What?"
"What people say."
"Yes."
"Your one to talk, whining about your hat." Ally said, getting up dusting her hands. "About me? I don't understand," Sherlock said, turning to John. "Why would it upset you?"
Ally glancing between the two, rising an eyebrow. "Serious, you don't know?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at her father. Sherlock glanced at her, seeming honestly confused.
Ally smirked, shaking her head. 'Someone's sleeping on the couch tonight.'
John stared at Sherlock, before looking away, swallowing hard. "Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news."
Maybe if she were psychic or something, she would have noticed the shift in the air, thetell of something happening. But she didn't, instead, after a quiet few weeks. Ally lay down on her bed, playing one off her favourite songs. Overture to Rossini's: The Thieving Magpie.
A classic but somehow, important, she always seemed to be hearing it.
TOWER OF LONDON: 11:00
Bending his head from side to side, cracking his neck. He lifted his phone, switching it on, shutting his eyes, completely relaxed. Rolling his head, spreading his arms out, as the song began to play.
TOWER OF LONDON, SURVEILLANCE ROOM.
"Fancy a cuppa, then, mate?"
"Yeah, why not?"
BANK OF ENGLAND 11:00
"Gilts at seven; Dutch telecoms in freefall. Thank you, Harvey." Bank Director said, not looking up from his screen. The man set the tray down and left the room.
PENTONVILLE PRISON 11:00
"What do you say: refuse them all parole and bring back the rope!" said the prison governor sarcastically (I hope), slamming a file down on his desk. "Let's begin."
TOWER OF LONDON, SURVEILLANCE ROOM.
Suddenly the alarms began to blare, the some of the TV screens going blank.
This is an emergency. Please leave the building.
"Sir, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." The security guard said, lightly touching his shoulder. Whipping around he sprayed something into his face the man collapsed, flicking off his cap. Smoothing down his hair, staring at the jewels.
BAKER STREET
"Right, I'm coming!" Ally called opening the door, staring down at the package on the doorstep.
BANK OF ENGLAND
The Director glanced down at his tea, the cup and liquid shaking; the entire building seeming to be vibrating. "The vault!" the Bank Director cried, as an alarm rang out.
His screen flashing: VAULT OPENING
As a graphic on his computer; showed the door to the vault swing open. The man's jaw dropped, staring at his screen; the tea pouring onto his lap.
BAKER STREET
Ally set the box onto the table, glancing at her father who was busy looking at something though a microscope; John reading the paper in his nightgown. "You guys order anything?"
"No."
"Nope."
PENTONVILLE PRISON.
"Sir, security's down, sir. It's failing!" a warder cried, bursting through the door, an alarm ringing out. The prison governor jumped up; sweeping his mug clean off the table spilling its contents on the floor.
BAKER STREET
Ally opened the box, pulling out a plastic crown and sceptre. "What?" she mumbled, glancing at John who set his paper down.
Ally reached inside, ripping open the letter at the bottom of the box.
TOWER OF LONDON.
Dancing around the room, pulling on a black pair of his leather gloves; he picked up a fire extinguisher. Dancing towards the case, grinning; he raised the extinguisher, ramming it into his chewing gum and diamond.
The glass shattered to pieces; littering the floor; as he continued to smash though it until the pane of glass, fell to the floor leaving a clean entrance.
Charging inside the Tower; they stared at him.
At Jim Moriarty sitting on the throne inside the case. Wearing the robes, a crown on his head, the orb between his knees; holding the sceptre in his hand.
Opening his eyes, he smiled at police in front of him.
"No rush."
BAKER STREET
"Oh my god." Ally breathed out setting the letter down, just as Sherlock's phone buzzed. "I'll get it, shall I?" John asked, jumping up, glancing at the phone.
"No, i-I'm not—""Ally mumbled, holding the letter to her chest; her eyes glistening with tears. 'I'm not ready.'
"Here." John said, holding out the phone to Sherlock. "Not now, I'm busy."
"Sherlock…"
"Not now."
"He's back." John said heavily turning to Ally, who was crumpled in a heap. Staring blankly like she had seen a ghost.
Sherlock lifted his head, taking the phone.
Come and play.
Tower Hill.
Jim Moriarty x.
Sherlock's eyes widened, sinking back into the chair. "Ally, Ally what's wrong?" John asked, bending down next to her. Sherlock swiftly getting up; taking the letter from her.
"It's from him." Ally whispered, glancing up at him. "He's back.
Hush little baby don't say a word
Daddy's going to buy you a mockingbird
When the mockingbird won't sing,
Daddy with write its neck with a diamond ring
And if the diamond ring, won't shine
Daddy'll get you a crown with a golden shine
Don't fret Ally, I know I've been away
But, Daddy missed you
So, so much
Really,
Daddy loves you, my sweet little girl.
I can't wait to see you, past eleven o'clock
Goodbye for now, I'll see you soon
But just one question, before it's noon
One last one, before his doom.
Did you miss me, Ally dear?
Thoughts?
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