"Alright, you have some explaining to do. First, who are you? Second, who were those men? Why were they here? Why are you-" John was cut off by Sherlock.
"John, if you want any explaining done, you must give her a chance to speak," Sherlock insisted.
"Thanks, Holmes. My name is Lara, I'm sixteen, and I clearly know more about you than you know about me," the girl said.
"Wouldn't count on it," Sherlock muttered.
"Oh, really? Please tell me more about myself," Lara insisted.
"You're not sixteen, you're fifteen and a half. You're right handed, and you prefer not to use that gun. It was not your gun, it was your fathers. You took it after he died in an accident. You're a long way from home, not that it's much of a home, it was abusive. However, your parents taught you how to fight, if nothing else. We've met before, though only you remember. You have not been to England before, and all the information you have about John and I is mostly that which you've gathered yourself, though you had a bit of help from my brother, Mycroft. I could tell you more, but you already knew that."
Lara smirked. "So, you do know a bit don't you?"
"You're only fifteen, you're alone, and you just killed a man?" John asked. "We should call Greg," he said, looking at Sherlock worriedly.
"No! You can't call Lestrade!" she exclaimed.
"And why the hell not?" John asked, "You just basically broke into our flat and then killed a man in it."
"Oh, you know they were coming for you, with all the 'Find them… I want them alive,' shit," Lara said bluntly.
"Could you watch the language please?" John countered. Then, looking at Sherlock, who appeared deep in thought, he said, "Sherlock, are you planning on taking part in this conversation?"
"Crap, he's coming to," Lara said, referring to the head man on the floor, who's eyes were fluttering. Lara grabbed a book off the shelf and whacked him upside the head with it. The eyelid fluttering stopped. She gave a little snicker, "Books: amazing resources on a bunch of different levels."
"You're Irene Adler's sister," Sherlock said suddenly.
"What? What are you talking about? Who's Irene Ad-"
"Oh, shut up! I know you're lying, you're not American, and you're The Woman's sister."
"What are you two talking about?" John exclaimed.
"Well, that got me about this far," Lara said, holding her thumb and index finger together.
"Wait, you're Irene's sister?" John interceded. "I didn't know she had siblings."
"Of course you don't. She has a reputation you know!" She looked at John as if he were a stupid dog. "If I was mentioned, A) my reputation could be tainted, and she's a loving sister, so she wouldn't want that. And B) she could be in danger, but for God knows what reason."
"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter now that she's gone, does it," John replied.
"Uh, John-" Sherlock warned.
"What are you talking about?" Lara looked confused, then, as if she realized, "She's not dead." She scolded. "She's very much alive, saved by the great Sherlock Holmes himself." She gestured grandly towards Sherlock.
"What? Sherlock, what the hell is going on?" John tried to sound menacing, but just sounded puzzled and weak, both Lara and Sherlock noticed.
"John, I couldn't tell-" Sherlock was interrupted by a moaning coming from the men on the floor. Lara looked to Sherlock and said, "We have to kill them and get rid of them. It won't help, though, they were just sent to pick you up. The man behind all of this is so… Never mind. Do you want to question them first?"
"Nuhhh…ugh…" The men rolled their heads while giving semi-conscious grunts. Suddenly, the man who was in charge snapped awake, and, noticing he was tied to a kitchen chair, snarled, "What the f**k is going on?"
"I think, you should be the one telling us what is going on. You are the ones who broke into our flat, after all," Sherlock growled. The man suddenly seemed to understand what was happening, and announced, "I'm not telling you s**t." Sherlock looked at John, who looked back at him as if to say, What do you want to do? Then he looked at Lara, who wore a devilish grin, ready to shoot the man or hurt him in any way, shape, or form.
Trigger-happy? No, doesn't like using guns. Oh, wanting revenge. What for? Questions were swimming through Sherlock's head.
"Are you sure you don't want to tell us anything?" Sherlock persisted.
"Positive," the man spat out.
"Alright, your choice," Sherlock quipped. He then proceeded to grab the back of the chair and started dragging it toward the window.
"What are you doing?" Lara and the man asked at the same time.
"John knows. I'm reenacting what happened to the American after harming Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock said gleefully.
Crash! The man was out the window, toppled on top of Mrs. Hudson's bins. Again.
"Alright, let's go see what he has to say now," John offered.
"Oh, he'll have quite a lot to say," Sherlock replied, running down the stairs.
The three of them ran up to the man, groaning on the ground, cuts and blood covering him. He lay on his side, coughing up blood. Sherlock walked up and turned him onto his back, then lifted him into a sitting position. Lara and John threw each other worried looks.
"As I asked you before, who are you and why are you here?" Sherlock shouted, and Lara winced.
"I'm here to collect-" the man paused to spit out blood, "-you and your boyfriend."
"We aren't-" John tried to correct him, but was interrupted by Sherlock:
"Who are you, and who are you working for?" He roared.
"I told you, I'm not telling you anything!"
"Tell me!" Sherlock was losing his patience, not that he had much of it, and he decided to speed up the interrogation process. He took the ignorant man's arm and twisted it almost all the way around.
"Jim... Jim Moriarty!" The man screamed in pain.
"And who are you?"
"Uh, Sherlock..." John interrupted.
"One moment, John! Who are you?"
"Uh, Sherlock, it's important!"
"What John!" He snapped.
"Lara's gone."