Okay, here's chapter seven! Thanks for the support, everyone, it is nice to know that someone actually reads this :D
Telling Mycroft was fun, I remember when I sit in the chair Mycroft's assistant gave me. Sherlock and Mycroft are making something like my fail-safe app for Sherlock's phone, but only with some information of Mycroft's computer.
Sherlock had told me where Mycroft would be. With my little handgun I had stopped him when he came out of the toilet, and asked him whether 'dear Myco wanted to go on a walk with me'. I hadn't left him much choice and he had been confused because of the Myco-comment, so he had come quietly. I had led him to the small hotel-room Sherlock and I had rented out for the week, and after I had locked the door I said Sherlock's name loudly, much to Mycroft's confusion. Just before he had asked me though, Sherlock had come into the room and greeted his brother. Mycroft had sat down quickly and asked for an explanation, but had laughed afterwards and told us to come to his office with him, where we are now.
The first two persons we want to attack are a big thread called Jennifer Stone and her deputy James Smith. I have met them both, they are dangerous, intelligent individuals, and I hope neither Sherlock nor Mycroft make the mistake of underestimating them.
Sherlock and Mycroft plan it all. Thanks to my app we know pretty well where Stone and Smith are going to be, but we always have a backup plan. We can't risk failing once and then waiting for too long.
Anthea is annoyed with me. I am teasing her the whole time, telling her jokes and funny anecdotes which she can't help but laugh about. She thinks I am immature and childish, but she's allowed to do so. I stole her phone at least three times, after all. The hazelnut-coffee I asked her for is put on the little table next to my chair and when I look up I see Anthea and her phone. Weird, she is. I am slightly jealous of her ability to walk in high heels without stumbling, let alone texting the whole time. Or whatever she is doing.
I sigh loudly for like the fifth time and look around. Mycroft and Sherlock wanted me to plan with them, but I declined. I can't be bothered with it, I am far too impatient. I will rely on Sherlock when the time comes.
Sherlock and I have a weird relationship. We aren't friends. We aren't enemies. I wouldn't say that I don't trust him, I'd just say that I am careful. The night in Paris was two weeks ago. Sherlock has got to known me better, but I am still as clueless about him as I was before. He lived in another flat for the time, but that's going to change. Mycroft says that we need to know each other better, and I agree. We are going to live in the family home of the Holmes, and Sherlock is annoyed about that. I am curious. I have no idea about his background, and I want to know.
The car we are sitting in is beautiful. Black, shiny, big. Black leather seats, tinted windows. I only know we are going to the Holmes Manor, but I can't see anything. After twenty minutes the car slows down and Sherlock, who is sitting next to me, sighs.
"What's up, genius?" I tease, and he frowns.
"Kiara, I-"
"Relax, it was a joke... So, really, what's up?" I ask.
"This is where I grew up. It is... different to what you might expect and also not a very nice place for me."
For the next five minutes he is quiet.
When the car stops, my door is opened by one of the drivers, as well as Sherlock's. I look at him, but he just gets out. I follow and stare in amazement when I see the house. Or rather, really the manor. It is huge. Victorian. Impressive.
The sandstone makes a beautiful contrast to the surprisingly blue sky, the big windows mirror everything around us.
Sherlock leads me to the door and knocks. I giggle when a man in a plain black suit opens. He is about sixty, with a strict, but kind face and grey hair. This is so old-school. Big house, butler, house-maids?
"Master Sherlock. Master Mycroft already told me you'd be coming with your companion, he'll be here for dinner." He greets us and takes our coats.
"Thomas, this is Kiara Moriarty. Please refer to her, if you give any information to anybody, as Johnson, for her protection. My old rooms?" Sherlock is completely at ease in his role. It makes me wonder. He told me he didn't like it here, but he seems to know Thomas well and like him. His parents were the problem then. Sadly they often are, and I am happy that Father wasn't.
The butler nods and Sherlock walks towards a big staircase. I just follow him and look at everything, while he seems to be very sure of where he's going and not bothering to look at the paintings.
Finally we reach two doors. They are dark and wooden, and very heavy. Sherlock opens the first and goes inside. The room behind is strange. It is Victorian, with a big four-poster-bed, rugs everywhere, dark wood – but also modern. There is a massive TV-screen on the wall opposite the bed, a DVD and CD collection beneath it, various gaming equipment like Wi, Playstation and xBox with games and controllers and a laptop on the desk.
"This is your room," Sherlock tells me, "Mine is next door. Be downstairs at seven."
I just stare after him. Well, that was rude. I frown and shake my head, but can't stay angry. This room is amazing. I go through a door at the other side of the room and see the bathroom. As everything here, it is big. Bathing tube, shower, toilet, two sinks, and a whole lot of products. Strange. Even my favourite shampoo and make-up is here.
I wash my face and brush my hair, and then look into the mirror. It's the first time I really see myself without make-up in a good, big mirror. I look different to what I remember. My face isn't as round as before and I look older. My skin is still as pale as it used to be, but I have some freckles on my nose. My lips are fuller and my eyes are slightly bigger and have a different shape. It's nearly invisible, but there.
I look older, a bit sad and if I had seen too much for my age. I had, definitely. My hair is a mess. Although it is brushed, it isn't very healthy. Probably because of the last ten months.
With a sigh I exit the bathroom and my room, and knock on Sherlock's door.
"Come in!" he calls and I enter.
The room looks the same as mine, but there is one more door. I guess it is where he used to sleep, as he said to Thomas that we'd stay where he lived, but I don't dare ask or look. He doesn't look up when I come in, and neither when I sit next to him on his bed. It's strange. He is in his Pjs, something I have never seen on him before. He isn't doing anything, not on his phone, not on his laptop, nothing.
"What are you doing?" I ask him, when he doesn't do anything else to acknowledge my presence.
"Thinking."
"What about?"
"John."
It is unusual that he is so open and so not rude, that I am a bit taken aback. I had expected him to brush it off or ignore the question, but he doesn't.
"We'll find Moran. And then you can go home."
I don't say that I don't know what I am going to do, whether I'll go to follow Father's footsteps or live alone or kill myself, as I had planned before I met Sherlock in Paris, but I think he heard it anyway, even though he doesn't comment on it.
"Yes, but how long will it take? My mind-palace is the perfect storage room, I'm used to noticing and remembering every single little detail. And now I go into John's room, and I find the image of him, the one you showed me. It's driving me mad, I can't delete it, how can you people live with this?"
I hold him after his rant, and to my surprise, he only stiffens slightly, but doesn't pull away.
"I don't know, Sherlock. I don't know..."
He chuckles quietly and we sit in peace.
So, what did you think? Also, I've got a question to you. I already know roughly who Kiara and Sherlock are going to face, but I have no idea how! Please, comment with ideas, like cases, what should happen, how, when, etc. I really need them to continue, I already have the end but not this part!
Thanks guys :D
~Valkyrie