Yay, 57! By the way, I'm sorry if the events with Maynard seem confusing, but it's all planned out. It will take a bit until I reveal what happened though, because Sherlock and Mycroft don't find out until then either. To sum it up: Something happened when Kiara was young, which traumatised her and made her afraid of Maynard. She thinks she escaped him and thought him dead/gone, but now they met again and Kiara is terrified again. She doesn't want to think about herself though, which is why I don't really write about it and why she won't tell Mycroft and/or Sherlock.
Well... Enjoy!
It is annoying how much the suicide stops us. He was our main lead, the one person we'd hoped would be able to tell us where Moran is. But no, now we'll have to find another way.
Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock comment on it again. We just keep searching, like we did it before Maynard and hope to find a note that'll help us pinpoint Moran's exact location – the ones we find are inconclusive, sometimes he vanishes for days on end, then he's in two places at once.
But I feel that something has changed. Sherlock is more tense, barely sleeps at all now and is even more rude that usual. Twice I even have to get up in the middle of the night to threaten to steal both his violin and his experiments and hide them for days if he doesn't stop torturing the poor instrument to make it sound like a dying cat.. The first time he doesn't, and Mycroft helps me to hide the violin, even though Sherlock finds it five hours later. Well, at least five hours, I had expected less time.
It is something unexpected that gives me an idea. Irene calls, and Sherlock answers my phone, as he was currently searching in my network-app. Whatever Irene says, I decide that it's punishment enough for answering my phone – Sherlock stiffens, and says shortly after saying a simple 'yes' when he answered a disinterested "I'm still not hungry, Irene."
I turn my head so quickly that I hear a strange popping sound, but it doesn't hurt so I don't stop jumping up and snatching the phone out of Sherlock's hands.
"Irene?"
"Kiara, it's been so long!" I can't help but laugh at her slightly exaggerated voice – I know she's confident and calm and seductive to other people but she behaves very differently when it's just us two.
"Only about four months," I answer with a smile and notice with a slight feeling of shame that I haven't thought much about her.
"Yes, but a) that's a third of a year and b) that weren't exactly the best conditions." That makes me sober up quickly. Irene and I didn't really see each other after Scottson let her go, only for a few hours in which I was completely in shock and not thinking straight. After that we had decided to part ways, hoping to keep her safe and distract Mycroft.
Mycroft. Memories suddenly flood my brain, how angry he had been and how much I had feared him in the five weeks after shooting Sherlock.
"Kiara? Kiara!" I can hear in Irene's voice that she said my name a few times, a slightly annoyed but also quite worried tone crept into her voice.
"I'm sorry, yes?"
"Are you alright?"
"Lost in thought, sorry – what did you want to say?"
"I asked how much of the web is left." Hesitating for a moment, I think about what to tell her. Can I trust her this much?
A second later I want to slap myself. When has she ever done anything that indicated she'd betray us?
"Moran." The other end of the line is silent for a minute, I can only hear her breathe.
"It's over soon, isn't it?" She asks, and Im not sure what she means. Our quest to detroy the web? My companionship with Sherlock and Mycroft? Or does she mean me – my life? There is always another meaning behind her words, but for once, I cannot decipher it.
"I don't know. Maybe?"
"Nice to know you know what you're doing." Irene laughs quietly to herself and I can't help smiling as well. She has this way of making me smile, always had.
"What did you really call me for?" I ask, remembering that she is not the person to call randomly.
"I called Sherlock." She replies, but I know she's just beating around the bush.
"You called my phone. Why?"
"Can I not just call you to chat with you?" I hide my smile, even though she can't see me, and quickly look at Mycroft and Sherlock. The latter is currently looking me, frowning slightly, obviously trying to deduce Irene's words. Mycroft is focused on the files he's reading, but he looks up every few seconds.
"You can, but you usually don't." She laughs loudly now, but only for a second, before she quietens down. That exactly worries me, though. Why did she quieten down? Is she in danger?
"Fine. I need your help." She doesn't sound too hurried, so I decide that she's not in iminent danger – but I know not to take this lightly. Irene wouldn't call me if I wasn't urgent.
"Can we meet somewhere here in London?" I want to get out of the house. I wasn't outside freely for some weeks, walking outside seemed too dangerous – what if Moran, or Maynard, or Dr Watson saw me? And besides, those of the police who know who I am, so basically DI Lestrade and the dark-skinned woman and maybe a few others, would arrest me on sight.
"I have some time, yes. What would you suggest?"
We discuss quickly where to go. Only when I hang up I realise we meet at the little café I met up with Melissandre when she found out who I am.
Speaking of Melissandre, I don't see her that much these days. She's currently on holidays, Mycroft didn't want to have to distract her as well. We sometimes text, and even rarer meet for coffee and a quick chat, but not that often. I make a mental note to text her when I come back tonight.
Irene looks well. One might have thought she'd be stressed, being in trouble, but she doesn't show it. Instead, we sit in the café and chat about every-day matters. Well – they are not every day for most people, but for us they are: The criminal world of England, and even more so in London is simple. Kill or be killed.
As it turns out, Irene is not in that much trouble. Of course, Moran is searching for her, probably to repeat Scottson's little blackmailing trick, but only half-heartedly and doesn't waste much money on it. It's rather that she has no place to stay – no place she wants to stay. Some clients already offered her places, but as she said, that's different. She doesn't trust them.
"So basically you want to stay with us." I state, but smiling, so she knows that I don't really mind her manipulating me.
"I want to stay with you, but the Holmes-brothers are a nice benefit. I'd never have thought I would meet them again, staying in one building with Sherlock, or him staying with his brother, voluntarily." Smiling softly, I nod. She had told me about her adventure with Sherlock, back when I hadn't known him personally. I had hated him then, for being Father's nemesis and for abandoning Irene in that horrible position, but I had also laughed about his failure to recognize the game Irene had played.
"He hasn't got that many other choices, does he? Anyway, I don't know how they'll react, I'll have to ask My. And I can't promise anything, Belgravia doesn't matter, but it's because of you that I shot Sherlock, so..." I feel my mood getting worse. I'm very happy Mycroft and I get along well again, but I don't want to risk it too much.
But as it seems, Irene has already got something else on her mind. She looks me up and down critically, and suddenly I feel self-conscious.
"It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?" She asks and I realise what date it is. The 26th of March, yes of course, she's right!
"Erm – yes?"
"You forgot it, didn't you?" Irene laughs and I can't help giggling myself.
"One day away from freedom and adulthood and you forget it!" It feels good to be really laughing again, with a woman. I enjoy living and working with Sherlock and Mycroft, but there are some things you need a woman for.
Pulling out my fake ID, I show her the date – Kiara Josephina Johnson is already twenty, tomorrow twenty-one.
"I am grown-up, actually – you see, I can brush my teeth on my own." We erupt in giggles once more, and some of the other customers look at us disapprovingly.
"Do Sherlock and Mycroft know?" Irene asks once we sober up.
"I'm not sure – I haven't told them but they're geniuses, so..."
"Doesn't matter – Your clothes look like they are at least two years old, what have you done to them?" I smile when I imagine her reaction to my answer.
"I've worn them – and they don't just look like they are two years old, they are." Her reaction is even better than imagined, a mixture of shock, surprise, disappointment and then determination flits over her face.
"That settles it – we are going shopping." She states, with such an expression of happiness and excitement that I fake-groan.