Authors Note: This chapter is ridiculously short, I know, but I wanted to end it on a bit of a cliffhanger… Anyway, this one is mostly plot about Chelsea R. Please review if you feel like it also, it is a huge
motivator for me... Thanks! 3
John walked slowly out of the University building and into the blinding sunlight. He had just started towards Sherlock's house when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Sherlock. John whirled around. "Hi" he said. Did he sound too eager to greet? Did Sherlock think he was an idiot? John's mind raced through the possibilities like never before, stopping briefly to instruct his heart and lungs to shut the hell up.
"Hello, John." Sherlock said. "Anything interesting happen today?" John looked up at his friend. He'd said his name. John could've smacked himself as soon as the thought passed through his mind. God, sometimes he hated himself for his idiotic thoughts.
"Apart from my English Lit teacher bribing us with biscuits? Nothing much." John replied.
"Were they good biscuits?"
"No." For some reason, Sherlock seemed amused by this.
"Well, my friend, we have a visit to pay to a Chelsea R, don't you think?" John nodded and grinned. "The game," Sherlock said, "is on!" With that statement Sherlock launched himself off into the crowd. John pushed the word 'Graceful' out of his mind and ran after the swift, graceful figure.
…
Chelsea R. was world class, or so she liked to think. She had a habit of passing as an amateur until the big reveal. She preferred to work privately, keying her explosions just right so that their traces disappeared along with their targets. She had invited the Watson and Holmes boys because they had been quite in the middle of her most public show yet. And anyway, she was connected to Holmes in a few ways… he just didn't know yet. And the robbery would have gone flawlessly without them. She hadn't been in the market for jewelry, though it was a nice side effect. She'd done it to strike fear. She'd prepared it to make an entrance for her grand heist. To up the body count and take out Scotland yard unit by unit until she was ready. And something had gone wrong. Someone had ruined everything. And she wanted something from them. She either wanted them on her team or removed. And she always got what she wanted. Just ask Mycroft Holmes. Or don't. He'd never tell you anyway. She's the most dangerous and the biggest secret of his life. And now Chelsea Roset was putting the kettle on. She was expecting visitors, after all.
Sherlock was perfect. At least to John. He especially liked his eyes. And the way he looked back as he walked to the address of Ms. Chelsea R. The way he looked back at John was spectacular. And calculating.
Something was up with John. That much, Sherlock knew. The shorter man had his hair carefully tousled and was wearing a nicer outfit then usual. He had a faraway look in his eyes as well. Sherlock fell back slightly to observe Johns hands. They were fidgety. Date tonight maybe? Sherlock found himself becoming slightly upset at the prospect. Maybe he was just afraid of losing his first and only friend. His friend who already couldn't possibly care more than Sherlock. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and matched paces with John, who became even more visibly nervous. Maybe he had bad news? Maybe meeting the thief was scaring him? Sherlock ran through the possibilities, eliminating one after another until only a handful remained.
Sherlock and John walked silently up to the cherry red door attached to the small flat belonging to their thief. Before they could ring the bell, they heard a shout from inside. "Come in. It's unlocked."
Sherlock pushed open the door and the two stepped cautiously inside. They were in a living room complete with an old green couch and a desk full of laptops. There was also a small coffee table set with tea and biscuits. On the couch lounged a girl of no more than sixteen, with dark brown hair cut shoulder length. She was wearing black jeans and a black jumper. At first John thought she must be a hostage. She couldn't be their thief and explosives technician. But then she spoke. "My name is Chelsea Roset." The door slammed closed behind them and John started. Sherlock remained completely calm as the girl turned around. Her face was remarkably like Sherlock's. They could have been siblings. "But you can call me Chelsea Holmes if you prefer, brother dearest."