Here's chapter 5! Sorry for the wait, I was on holidays... Hope you enjoy! Btw, I don't own them. Obviously. Just Kiara.
In the next few months Father keeps me in the house. He won't let me outside, not even with guards because he is scared. On my birthday we go out though. He comes with me and it is one of the most amazing days of my life. I only see Holmes and Watson in the papers, getting more and more famous as Father is searching for a way to get his revenge.
Three months after my encounter with Holmes and Watson, he calls me to his study.
"Spitfire, the plan is ready. From now on, you will not see me for a bit. I will be arrested and in court, but that doesn't matter. You will be safe afterwards." He says and touches my cheek when one tear falls from my eyes.
On the next day, he breaks into the Tower, the Pentonville Prison and the Bank of London at the same time. As he said, he is arrested and I have to wait six weeks for the court case. Needless to say, I am on drugs again the whole time, light drugs and sedatives, but drugs non the less.
Father comes back after the trial. He is found not guilty, and when I ask he tells me he threatened the jury. He also wants me to get clean again and one day later, he leaves again. When I read in the papers on the day after that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud and committed suicide, I shake my head. I met him and I don't think he is a fraud – he is dead now and I am safe, but I can't help feeling a bit queasy. My only worries are where Father is.
Andy comes to me, sad, and gives me a letter.
"He told us to give it to you only if something really bad happens. We got the news today. I am sorry, Kiara, your father... He is dead. He shot himself. I – I saw his body, and made sure that he would be buried properly, I can tell you where he is." He says and I can only stare at him for a second. Andy isn't ready for my sudden attack, and I manage to get him to the floor, crying and screaming. He is lying. He must be! Why should Father shoot himself? That was ridiculous. Andy doesn't defend himself when I hit him and hit him. I don't now how much time passes or what exactly happens, but the next thing I really notice is me lying on him, crying into his already soaked through shirt while he is hugging me.
"Shush, Kiara, shush. I'm so sorry." He whispers and I nod. After I get up and pull him into the kitchen, he takes his phone out and shows me the picture of my father, lying dead on a slab, with the exit wound of the bullet on the back of his head. I don't know why, but his eyes are still open, and are staring up, up, up, into nothingness. I reach the sink only barely and vomit into it. I know that I have to believe it now, but the sight of his eyes, so hart and crazy and cruel against other people and so kind and caring when he looked at me are now lifeless and don't mean anything any more.
After a few minutes I stop retching and Andy gives me a glass of water and I nod gratefully. Then I open F – his letter.
Spitfire.
If you ever read this it means I am dead or dying and I am so, so sorry for that. I think they told you what happened. As I'm writing this, I know that Sherlock Holmes and I will meet. He will have committed suicide and died as a fraud because I will have snipers threatening John Watson, Martha Hudson and Gregory Lestrade.
Believe me when I write that I don't want to leave you. I'm not planning to do so, but if it is the only way of saving you, then I will not hesitate. Spitfire, I want you to know that however way I die, it is not your fault. If I die jumping in front of a bus because it might safe your life, it is NOT your fault. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise.
Spitfire, I left you a bank account with twenty-five-thousand pounds on it. It is under the name Kiara Josephina Johnson for the case that my plan to discredit Holmes and make James Moriarty disappear fails. There is a small safe in your room behind your wardrobe. The combination for it is the PIN you used on your first phone. I'm not writing it down here because of the fear that this letter might fall in the wrong hands.
In that safe will be the card for the bank account, a new passport, a new birth certificate and some other documents you might need.
Sebastian Moran will take my place. He will inherit everything except one thing. I have changed your fail-safe app. No-one will know if and when you click on it. You have access to most information, unless Sebastian changes anything, but I doubt that. You can't change anything though. Your involvement will be practically untraceable.
Spitfire, I am scared. I know my plan to discredit Holmes is working in the moment. But if you read this, then something must have gone wrong. I don't want to leave you and I am scared of what will happen to you.
One more thing. Even if I'm gone, don't waste away. You are my fire, my flame, and I don't want to extinguish it by dying. Do whatever you want. I won't think bad of you if you swap sides, I won't think bad of you if you join Sebastian. But I want you to be happy, that is my last request.
I love you, Spitfire. I am sorry.
Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal
I didn't notice when exactly the tears start to fall, but my face, my hands and parts of the paper are wet. Andy comes and hugs me again, as I sit quietly by the window and disobey.
Everything Father said in his letter is true. I found the safe with all its contents. Father told me to be happy and don't feel guilty, but I disobey. My heart is breaking everyday again and I can't stand it. I won't go into Father's study now, and after a look in his bedroom I have to run to the toilet and vomit. Andy and David are there, but it's not the same. Father is gone and even though he wasn't here that much, and sometimes it feels like he will just walk through the door and scold me for taking so many drugs, heavy drugs, now, but he won't and although my head knows it my heart won't accept it.
I know that I'm wasting away. I see the looks in David's and Andy's eyes every time they think I can't see. They are sad about Father's death as well, but me being like this hurts them more. But I somehow like it. I like to disobey because he didn't hold his promise either. Because he isn't here to scold or punish me.
Now one really understands and accepts my grief. Well, there is one man who would if he knew what I am going through. That I am going through this phase of grief as well. John Watson. I see him on the papers or the news quite often, he's limping and using that cane again. He is thinner than the one I remember and looks a lot older as well. The thought that I could defeat him easily now crosses my mind, until I realise that I am in no shape for that, I am as bad as he is. He is being accused and bullied and offended by the press but he stands his ground: Jim Moriarty was real and so was Sherlock. I admire him for that.
Somehow that one thought pulls me out of my trance. I see myself clearly now: a drug-addict. No one important any more, not Kiara Moriarty, not Spitfire. Just someone. It hurts, but I know I needed that realisation.
Andy and David are overjoyed. The first time we train they think I am still as good as I was and we use the taser-knifes. We throw them in a dark corner after that. My strength and stamina is gone and I need a few months to get back to my old status.
In that time I learn how Sebastian Moran commands Father's empire. I don't like it. He seems to think he is better than Father and doesn't hesitate to say that out loud. The carefully designed web father had put so much effort in nearly breaks. All the fine threads are gone after a month because Moran couldn't control them, and the bigger threads are wavering.
Nine months after Father's death I decide to do something. I cut myself loose from Moran and run away. I try to do this twice, the first time I confide in David and Andy, and although I trust them completely and they would never betray me, they hold me back. They say it is too dangerous and not what my father wanted. But the second time I succeed. With my fail-safe app I look into the database, and also in 221B. Watson is there. But it doesn't look the same. Dust is nearly everywhere, and he doesn't seem to care. He is still mourning, mourning for Holmes. I figure that the only reason why I'm not in the same state is that I know the reason why Father is dead. Watson just knows Holmes committed suicide but doesn't know why.
When I look into Holmes bedroom, I frown. It is worse here. If it weren't for the dust, I might have thought Holmes left only moments ago. There is one jacket on a chair and even though the bed is made, there are slight creases on it. The wardrobe door is slightly open. Yes. John Watson is still mourning. And he won't stop for a long time. I don't know why it makes me feel queasy, but it does.
One week later I am in Paris. I rent out a little flat there under the name of my bank account, but I can't stay indoor this night. The small club I saw when I walked through the streets to find the flat is still open, so I dress up a bit and go. On the fake passport I am already nineteen, but nobody asks about my age and I enter.
The night is loud, I am tipsy and I enjoy it all. The next day I go there again. When I leave this time, I see someone, someone familiar. I know I saw him yesterday as well, but I can't believe it's him. The night ends and I leave without talking to him.
What do you think? Who did Kiara see? R&R!
-Valkyrie