File 1: Samara Jones

Watson had in his hands that file named "Jones, Samara." He was amazed at what he saw, and Mycroft just smiled with incredible cynicism.

"What the hell...? How the hell did you...?" he sputtered.

"Open it," he commanded. Without hesitation John obeyed him and with desperation opened the file. He pulled out too many papers next to a few photographs, placed them on the table and began to spread it like a complete madman. "Don't worry, Doctor, the papers aren't going anywhere."

John looked up at him with very amazement and Mycroft kept that smile with his bloody effrontery, giving himself the airs of an all-powerful being. Typical of him. "What do you know, Mycroft?" John asked as he looked down at all the papers and thought which to take first.

"As soon as you mentioned to me the name of the little girl, and who possesses the same quality that defines Sherlock and me, I knew it was referring to the murder of Northampton," in it, Watson took one of the photographs and visualized a beautiful woman with long brown hair and brown eyes, identical to those of little Bell. "Sherlock is probably like a crazy looking for information in the newspapers or with his friends at Scotland Yard, but, regarding it, I'm afraid he won't find anything."

"Why?" he asked strangely as he removed his eyes from the photograph and posed them on Mycroft. "Oh, Doctor Watson!" he exclaimed as he drank his cup of tea. "I hope that you have time to hear a little story."

Meanwhile at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock left his room and walked straight to the living room. As he arrived, he appreciated, with a huge surprise, the child who was sitting on the floor and with a lot of newspapers around her. Feeling the detective's presence, Bell turned and looked at him, standing there, observing the chaos in which she found herself. With nothing else to do, she looked back at the papers and continued to move them. Sherlock approached where the little girl was and observed her curiously.

"I thought you were with Mrs. Hudson," the detective snapped. She shook her head. "What are you doing?" he questioned prying as annoying. "I help," she answered and threw a newspaper at Sherlock, who stepped aside to avoid it, and as the paper fell to the ground, he sighed bitterly.

"Your help would be good, if you said in detail what happened," he said angrily, but she ignored him and, realizing it, he sighed again with that bitterness and rolled his eyes.

Sherlock walked over to his much-loved couch and noted that on the floor were the files Lestrade had brought him a couple of hours ago. Somewhat seriously, Sherlock bent over to take them so he could read them and look for more information regarding the case.

As she picked up everything, he took a seat and took his cell phone out of his coat bag. He looked if he had any kind of message but had received nothing. Something desperate dialled John's number. Phone ring and quickly cut to voice mail. Listening to John's stupid recording, Sherlock left the following message.

"John, as soon as you hear this, go back to the apartment—and change that damn voice mail message." With a serious look, he hung up the call, turned off the screen and put it back in his coat.

"Well Mycroft, start talking," severe John said.

The eldest of the Holmes took one last sip of his tea and tasted it with too much pleasure, so much so that John was surprised to see him, perhaps feeling some disgust, however, he could not define exactly what he felt. He put the cup and saucer on the table and gently wiped his lips.

"Well, Doctor Watson, what you have here is the report on the murder of Samara Jones, who is the mother of the little girl who came with you."

"Okay," he spilled and resumed his view of the papers. "And why do you have such a simple murder case? That's work for Scotland Yard."

"Well, Samara Jones was a woman who caused certain problems for the British government." John looked at him surprised and at the same time at Samara's photograph. How could this beautiful woman possibly be in trouble with the British government?

"I understand your surprise, Doctor," Mycroft continued, "however, several mistakes she made in her youth caused us a very strong headache."

"What did she do?" John questioned worried.

"She was under investigation for terrorism cases, bombs in subway stations, threats to parliament..." he said as if nothing. "Was she a terrorist?"

"Doctor Watson, you are definitely deaf-eared. What part did you not understand?" he questioned annoyingly.

"Well Mycroft, explain me well!" he exclaimed upset. the eldest Holmes rolled his eyes. "Ten years ago, we had a case of a suicide bomber at London Underground stations. I don't know if you remember, Rupert Casey."

"Oh yes! I remember."

"When that tragic incident happened, as you will recall, there were more than thirty dead and a hundred wounded."

"Yes, it was a terrible thing," he replied flatly.

"A great tragedy for London that day."

"How does this involve Samara Jones?"

Mycroft moved from his seat and led his hand to the small table where Watson had scrambled all the papers, took one to show him why they involved Bell's mother.

"When we were investigating about Casey, we learned that he was living with Samara Jones and a third man we could never identify, at which point we arrested Samara. She denied any connection with the attack; she claimed she didn't know Casey's plans and she told us he was a weirdo, but nice guy and she never imagined he was a terrorist."

"And were you found her complicit in the incident?"

"Not really, Samara went free within days of arresting her for scant evidence, but we never stopped watching her, eventually we realized that she had a daughter and almost always did not stay stable in one place. She was constantly moving from one part of England to another. And that was of great concern to us."

"It was like, if she was running away," John whispered curiously. "Maybe she knew we had her under surveillance, but she was charged with a felony and in her youth, she was not a model girl. As I said, a headache for us," he let loose with contempt.

"And Rupert Casey is Bell's father?" John suddenly asked. "Unfortunately, Doctor, we do not know that information. Samara never recorded the father's name."

"Then... Bell is alone," he mentioned surprised and sad. "Not really, Doctor Watson," John quickly looked up at Mycroft. "Samara has a sister; when we arrested her for the Casey case, the sister pulled her strings to release her."

"And where is the sister?"

"When we heard about Samara's death, we were looking for her sister, but so far, nothing. It's like she vanished from this land."

"Do you think her is...?" he asked nervously. "I couldn't tell you if she was dead, Doctor Watson. All we know is that she went to North America and we lost track of her."

"Was she also involved in terrorism cases?"

"No, the sister has another kind of record, somewhat more similar to that of that woman," Mycroft replied, and John looked curious. "You mean..." he paused. He thought for a long minute until his brain made a connection. "To Irene Adler?"

Mycroft nodded.

"Only Sister Jones isn't so fussy in flashy cases, not at least like that woman, she's more subtle in what she does."

"God, what a family!" John exclaimed. "Anything else I should know?"

"That is correct, Doctor Watson. Samara Jones' last registered employment was as secretary to Charles Augustus Magnussen."

And upon hearing that name, John stood up from the couch and looked at Mycroft Holmes in terror.

The silence at 221B Baker Street was abruptly interrupted by the screams of little Isabelle. Sherlock, hearing the girl's desperate scream, dropped everything he had in his hands and lifted himself from his sofa.

"What's the matter with you?!" he shouted nervous.

Bell kept screaming until tears came out of her eyes. Not understanding the scream yet, Sherlock began to freak out. He did not know how to act with children, let alone be in a nervous breakdown.

At the living room came a worried Mrs. Hudson, thanks to that scream that was heard all over the place. As she entered, she discovered Bell yelling at a newspaper and Sherlock walking around like crazy from corner to corner and covering his ears with his hands.

"What's the matter?!" Mrs. Hudson shrieked.

"I don't know!" Sherlock shouted. "She begun...! Out of nowhere!"

"Bell, darling!" exclaimed Mrs Hudson as she hugged her. "Little girl, calm down!"

Feeling Mrs. Hudson's arms, the girl held on to them and leaned on her chest so she could drown out the scream. When Bell's screams turned to sobs, Sherlock stopped his walk and uncovered his ears. Still frightened by the girl's sudden attack, he approached both and looked at them in an altered manner.

"Why was that?!" he questioned angrily. Bell looked at him with those tearful eyes.

Mrs Hudson frowned at that question.

"Sherlock!" she exclaimed annoyingly. "Be more kind."

"Kind? Ha! I want to know, why did you scream, Isabelle?" he demanded.

She watched him annoyingly as he uttered her full name, however Sherlock ignored her. Seeing the detective's behaviour, the girl obeyed him and pointed to a sheet of newspapers. Curious about it, Sherlock looked at the blade to which the little one was pointing and was shocked to see the contents of it.

It was a photograph of Magnussen.

A/N:

Thanks so much for reading. I will be deeply grateful with any comments, constructive criticism, opinions and / or suggestions :3