Okay, chapter two...
I wake up the next morning feeling as refreshed and happy as I hadn't in a long time. It is slightly depressing to know that my happiness depends so much on Father's well-being and presence, but I don't really want it any other way. I don't want to cut myself off him and his weird and wonderful being. A look at my watch tells me it is eight o'clock and I know that I need to get up. Father told me to be downstairs at half eight to discuss the plan and I want to be ready.
After a quick shower I put on jeans and a t-shirt and go downstairs barefoot and with my wet hair on a towel I have around my shoulders.
Although I am early, Father is already sitting there, concentrating on a folder with data I don't recognise, but I don't ask. I know that he will tell me everything I need to know. He looks up when I enter and I smile at him before I go to the fridge. Before long the eggs and the bacon are sizzling in the pan and I turn around, leaning on the counter.
"Father," I say and look at him expectantly.
"Spitfire. I will tell you soon, don't worry, but let's eat first, shall we?" Happiness spreads through my body as I hear him calling me that name. It's his nickname for me, and he doesn't use it very often, just when he's pleased. That he used it three times in less than twenty-four hours is almost a high score. I nod and turn back to our breakfast.
When the food is ready, I put it on plates and give one to Father, and I feel my happiness once again when he smiles at me.
"So, Spitfire, I have a job for you. I think you are ready to do this one, it is a harder one. But still, you should be able to master it without problems if you don't get distracted." He smirks and I can feel myself blush. He touches my cheek and I look in his eyes again, as he starts to explain what he wants me to do.
One hour later I rise from my chair. My job is at midnight, so I have the whole day to myself, even though I'm not allowed to really train. Some easy stuff yes, but Father doesn't want to risk me getting hurt before this job.
With my father's permission, I send a text to one of my best and closest friends, although I don't have many. I still think she's an amazing friend and she is. She is one of the few who I let come close to me and who Father approves of.
Irene.
She will know who I am, and I am right, barely ten seconds later my phone makes the text alert noise.
Sweetie. I have time in ten. Xxx
I smirk and go outside to catch a cab. It isn't hard, the cabs around here know me and know that I do give good tips. Father doesn't.
Exactly ten minutes later I stand in front of a small, but elegant brick house. Irene moves quite a lot, but the last time I met her she lived here and she hasn't given me another address.
Kate opens the door for me and I greet her with a nod. She smiles back and leads me into the cosy living room. I sit there and can't help but admire Irene's amazing sense of design. The room is held in warm colours and the small fireplace is lit. A few moments later The Woman enters in all her beauty and I jump up and go to hug her. Even though she is about twenty years older than me and I can always talk to her. It's not that I can't do the same with Father, he would have time for me, if not much, but still. There are some things a girl doesn't really want to talk about with her father.
I kiss her on both cheeks and then pull away to admire the dress she's wearing. The creamy-white fabric hugs her body and shows her curves off. Around her neck she's wearing a golden necklace with a tiny diamond, which makes her look beautiful, but somehow shy and innocent at the same time. I giggle at that, Irene is beautiful, but she is neither shy nor innocent.
I laugh about her confused face and when I explain everything it takes ages until we stop laughing. I notice only then that Kate is gone and we haven't got tea or similar. It isn't hard to make the deduction.
"Just had a client?" I ask and she smirks.
"I bet he didn't take it too well... Did you drug him?" I wonder and I know that I am right when she smiles mysteriously. Even though I know I shouldn't, I feel sympathy towards that unknown person. Irene drugged me once because I dared to threaten her and I can still remember the confusion, nausea and fear that came with it. Not to mention the pain of her riding crop on my arms, ribs and back. She is my friend now, so I will not do it again, but even if she wasn't, I'd only go against her with Father on my side.
When she leads me into her bedroom I can feel the happiness again. I wonder why I'm so happy today, but I don't know, and honestly, I don't mind.
We both take our clothes off and she cuffs me to the bed. She teases, and I hate and love it at the same time. Then my brain stops and I surrender to the mixture of pleasure and pain.
At about twelve I hug her and say goodbye to Kate. Even though every second I spend with Irene is wonderful, I always go after less than four hours. I don't want to get addicted to her and I normally I don't have this much time.
After a shouting match with a cabbie, I am home in fifteen minutes. It doesn't take long to change into fresh clothes in which I can train, and after ten minutes I've also found Andy and David. It doesn't need much to convince them to train with me, as I know them since I was five. After a careful but thorough warm-up, Andy and I start fighting with sticks. We are careful and move pretty slow because we don't want to hurt each other today. Yesterday was different, although we use safe weapons most of the time which can't really kill anyone, every third day we use knifes, which aren't sharp but have a taser with a low voltage in them, so that if we would really hurt each other with real knifes, we just get stunned. It isn't very pleasant, but we started something like a competition between us three, who could shock the others the most. The reason why Father told us to use them was that we wouldn't lose the fear of weapons.
Six hours later I am tired, but not overly so. Nothing a good nap wouldn't change, so I go upstairs and shower. Father already put out some clothes he wants me to wear while I'm doing the job and I have to admit, they are good. The soft fabric won't make any sound when I move and it is grey-black. It is perfect, as the mixture of light and dark with blend in perfectly while I'm in dark corners. Black wouldn't do, it wouldn't hide me, it would make me stand out as a black figure.
I put on a wide top and sweatpants and go to my bed. As soon as my head touches my pillow, I'm out.
I wake up at eleven pm and get up quietly. I'm dressed in no time and I go downstairs to Father's study. There is a ray of light beneath the door so I knock and enter. Father is reading that folder again, and puts one finger up to tell me to be quiet. I wait patiently until he looks up.
"It's time, Father. Is there anything else I can do while I'm on the job?" I ask and he shakes his head.
"The car is waiting for you. I'll see you tomorrow, Kiara." He says and I walk forward and touch his cheek with my fingertips. It is our way of saying I love you. I have never received a kiss from him and I don't mind. It is just the meaning you put to a gesture that so many people need, and when you change the art of doing it, but not the meaning, it doesn't matter. He doesn't hug me any more, but that means nothing. He only ever did it when I was scared, and that didn't happen any more.
Father smiles and touches my cheek as well.
"Have fun," he jokes and I leave.
Father's car drops me off at the biggest museum of London and I look up to it in awe. It is my second time I have been here and the last was a few years ago. I put my pony-tail in my hood and start picking the lock. Finally it clicks and I go inside.
There isn't any disturbance until I reach the second floor. It's not much, but I can see a bit of dirt on the floor and there are disturbances in the dust. No fingerprints, the other intruder must have worn gloves. I am pretty sure no one is in here any more, as the front-door was locked when I came and no one could have gone past me. Because – who would lock the door again before he left?
I walk into two more rooms and freeze before I enter the third. I can hear movements in the room before me and I can't help being worried. I was quiet while I walked in here, but not so that you couldn't hear me at all. Footsteps come closer and I hide next to the door. Then I can get a good glimpse of the man. He is only a bit taller than me and wearing all black. I nearly chuckle at that, but stop myself and attack him instead. I want to know what he does here and I can't risk hiding for he would have an advantage, if he were to find me.
He lets out a startled shout of surprise which turns into a shout of pain when I use my knife to cut through his biceps. But he is quick and he is good. If I had to guess I'd say trained fighter, but I can't be sure. I know it was a bad idea to attack him when he manages to disarm me after a minute. I was trained my whole life for jobs like this and I don't want to know how good this man really is when he is able to disarm me this fast.
I jump towards him and he neatly steps out of my way. I stumble slightly which he uses instantly. He kicks my leg and I fall to my knees. Only barely I manage to roll out of his way and away from the kick which would have hit my head and rendered me unconscious within seconds. I get up gasping for air and am frustrated when I see that the man is out of breath, but not as much as I am.
The next seconds are a blur. When I try to hit him, he catches my arm and flips me over his shoulder. The impact knocks all air out of me and I struggle in a hopeless attempt to get up again, even though I know I won't succeed. Suddenly I feel a heavy weight on my chest as he pins my arms next to my head with his knees and puts pressure on my shoulders, so I don't have any chance of getting free. The weight stops me from struggling as he sits with his knees on the pressure-points in my wrists. The pain makes my eyes water, but I stare defiantly up at him when he removes my hood. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees that I am a fifteen year old girl. Finally I get a good look at him. He is in his late thirties or early forties and has blond, but greying hair which is cut in a short style. His face would look kind, if he weren't pinning me down and hurting me at the moment. I suppose the fact that he is staring at me with his narrowed blue eyes and a grim expression on his face is a big factor as well.
"Sherlock!" He shouts and all my hope vanishes. Sherlock... The odds that he isn't who I think he is are small. And if he is, I have a problem. Another pair of footsteps comes rushing towards us, not bothering to be quiet, and the man who makes these footsteps is shouting.
"John? JOHN?" He calls with a deep baritone voice, but I can't really concentrate. The pain in my wrists is getting worse and I am desperately trying to figure out an escape plan.
Then the new man bursts into the room and I can't stop the tear that runs down my face and into my hair. Father told me a lot about him. That man is responsible for Father's absence of ten weeks that are burnt into my memories as the dark days. Father picked me up and continued where we had left, but from then on he was the middle of my universe. And exactly that man, Sherlock Holmes, is now here in the room, as his companion John Watson is holding me down on the ground. And he is still working against Father.
Watson looks up to Holmes and tells him with a quick nod that he's okay. I can see Holmes shoulders sagging with relief and store that away for later. Of course, Father told me that the two of them were close, but I didn't realise how close. Now I do, and I know that at some point of our encounter I will be able to use it.
My knife is lying just a few feet away. Maybe – yes! Holmes and Watson aren't concentrating properly on me and I know that this could be my only chance. I twist my hip and push upwards with my shoulders and Watson falls off me. He is stunned for a moment, I think he hit his head quite hard. I am already on top of him and desperately searching with my right for the knife, when somebody else, probably Holmes, grabs me by my collar and pulls me up. My collar chokes me and I stagger backwards, right in the arms of Holmes. He is quick, he really his, maybe even quicker than Watson, as he puts his arm around my neck. I am now in a choke hold and because Holmes is so much taller than I am, I can only stand as straight as possible, for the choke would get worse if I didn't. Before I can even think about struggling, I feel the cold metal of a gun on my temple and I stay still.
How is this possible? It should have been an open and shut job, Father would never let me go otherwise. That means that Holmes is faster than Father believes. And that is bad.
Holmes shakes me and asks me for my name repeatedly but I think I am getting a panic attack. I can only guess, I've never had one before...
"Sherlock," Watson warns and Holmes makes me sit down, the gun still trained on my head. His aim doesn't waver. Watson comes towards me but I cannot look at him. My chest feels too small, I can't breathe, the cold metal on my temple is spreading out and taking over my heart, stomach and lungs...
"Sherlock, point that damn thing somewhere else!" Watson says harshly and after a moment the cold metal on my temple leaves. Watson puts his hands on my shoulders and tells me to breath with him, and slowly I can breath again. I look at him, almost gratefully and now I can see the kind smile that I knew belonged on his face.
"What's your name, sweetie?" he asks, but I don't answer. I can't. If they found out who I am... He seems to give up now, and just looks at me. Suddenly Holmes gasps and I feel a sharp pain on the back of my head. While I'm falling, falling, falling backwards I realise that he hit me over the head with the gun. And in the split-second before I close my eyes, I hear Holmes's voice.
"Moriarty! She's his daughter."
And then everything goes black.
What do you think? Please R&R!