Oooohhhh we are finally getting somewhere! This part is already written, so expect quick updates :)
When I wake up, I can feel Mycroft's breathing, it's steady and could almost convince me, but it's not deep enough, and too controlled.
"Good morning, Mycroft." My heart is beating quickly as I try to say the words as calmly as possible.
"Hello Kiara." I wait for him to add something, but he doesn't, and for several minutes, neither of us moves.
"How are you?" he interrupts the silence, it feels like a peace-offering.
His question actually makes me think and I find that I don't have a definite answer.
"I don't know. Better than yesterday." I stay how I am, not looking at his face, not sure whether I want to.
"You called me My yesterday." He states it in a calm voice, but I still freeze. It was clear he had noticed it, but I hoped I would have a bit more time to get ready for this.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
"What happened in your nightmare?" So I didn't tell him. I won't do that now, either, at least not in detail – because why should I tell him? It's so sentimental, and so horrible to dream things like this that he'd feel strange.
"Moran killed you and I couldn't do anything. And I couldn't find you when I woke up." He's quiet for another minute. Then - "I don't mind."
"Hm?"
"You calling me 'My'."
I nod once, but can't suppress the smile that is breaking through my calm facade.
It's like a switch has been flipped afterwards. Of course, not everything is fine, and we are still not as close as we used to be, but there is progress.
Later that day, I realise which date it is. Double-checking it on two calendars and asking both Mycroft and Sherlock, I finally believe it. It's the 15th of January, exactly two years after I met Sherlock and Watson for the first time. I don't mention it to either of them, but I know Sherlock has noticed. But in comparison to me, it's not a good memory to him. Of course, without that day, he wouldn't have met me, but I am ninety percent sure he'd rather not have met me, if it had changed the events that happened afterwards. I see it in his eyes the whole time. Had I not been in the museum that day, he wouldn't have fought with Watson that day. Had I not been there, they wouldn't have kidnapped me, and Father wouldn't have acted that harshly, that quickly. Had I not been there, he could have still been with his friend.
Of course, Father had plans to kill him, and would have done so, probably successfully, otherwise. But he would have had more time with Watson, and he might die any day now. Moran could attack us without problems, and we would not be prepared properly. On second thought, Sherlock and Mycroft probably have a plan b.
I try to act like I'm not noticing what kind of mood he is in and avoid him the next few days.
That is exactly the reason why I am outside right now, shortly after three, four days after my nightmare. It's only a bit wet, and the air is fresh, but it feels good to walk through the city again. That is when I notice a hubbub at the end of the side-alley I am walking through.
The crime-scene is not very closed off, so I inch closer to see and take pictures for Sherlock. To my surprise, it's Sherlock's 'friend' from Scotland Yard, DI Lestrade, who is there investigating, and I smile at the memory of our one and only meeting.
Reporters and curious bystanders are trying to get a good picture, even though Lestrade did manage to hide the body with some kind of tent. The few pictures I get aren't very good, but they should be able to distract Sherlock. Looking around the crowd, I do see some familiar faces – criminals, higher and lower ranks, who I know from Father.
But one face, one person isn't normal. I recognize him, it isn't hard, I have seen him so often the last few weeks, and he is pointing a gun at Lestrade. He does it very well, hiding the gun in a way that it was just pure luck that I saw it.
I sigh while I'm taking my little hand-gun out, raising and shooting in one fluid movement. The bullet narrowly misses Lestrade and I frown, but hits Henry Scottson right at the heart.
"Well, that were my normal walks through the city," I turn around and run.
I can hear them behind me, at least three officers, chasing me.
"Stop her! Stop that girl!"
The people on the crowded street I'm on luckily don't understand instantly what, or rather who the caller meant, so I have a few more seconds. The long walks through London pay off now, as I know all the alleys and pathways and little back streets off by heart.
As soon as I turn left I curse my bad luck. Of all the ways I could have taken, this one is the one with no other paths crossing it, except for one.
My own breathing is rough and loud in my ears as I turn right into the other pathway and keep running. I'm not sure where I am going, the only option is to run and hope that I'll lose them eventually because they mustn't know that I am connected to Mycroft in any way. Besides, if they found Sherlock, all hell would break lose.
The next alley I turn into is long and quite wide, maybe one and a half meters, but without any crossings. I know why, I am in the part of the city where there isn't such a web of streets and alleys and paths.
"Stop now or we'll shoot!"
Most officers dont wear guns, and only a few more meters to go, the next turn is so very close, so I don't stop. I know I need to lose them soon, but it won't take long until I'm in another part of the city.
Suddenly two persons appear in front of me, a man and a woman, both holding a gun, pointing it at me. Breathing harshly, I come to a stop and turn around, only to see the three policemen behind me.
"Hands behind your head, turn to the wall," the voice of the woman is stern, and I know that they've got me now, but I'm still angry.
I let the air in my lungs go in a rush and narrow my eyes, and then slowly do as I'm told. The woman pushes me a bit further to the wall and then grips my wrists, bringing them behind my back and cuffing them, before she makes me turn around again.
"Do you have any weapons on you?" I shake my head no, but she still checks and sadly finds the knife and the gun. At the raised eyebrow I only shrug.
"Well, apart from them..." My voice is confident and cheeky, just as I want it to be, just as it needs to be to fit my persona. The little girl trick won't work, not with the weapons, so I'm not even going to try that, but maybe this will.
"What's your name?" She asks and sounds very annoyed now, so I decide to continue my charade.
"I can show you my ID if you'd let me," I smirk at her when she narrows her eyes, "All right, left pocket."
She carefully takes out my purse out of my left jacket pocket and frowns.
"Kiara Josephina Johnson. Well, Miss Johnson, I think you will have to come with us to the Yard."
"Any time."