Authors Note: Oh goodness, this is getting a bit out of hand... Don't worry, I have a plan to get it all back on track, including the actual Johnlock aspect of it all... In all, that whole thing should take 4-6 more chapters... I am going to try and get it all done in about ten days or so, but I am SUPER busy with life and stuff, so that may not happen. Anyway, I'm sorry if this chapter is confusing, I tried to make it less confusing than it was originally. Anyway, thanks for reading, please review if you can! (If you are wondering how helpful your reviews are, I posted chapter 5 I think yesterday or Monday and got this chapter done and posted since then because of your reviews! Thanks!) :), CarvingApples
John stared. First, he stared at the girl. Then, he stared at Sherlock. Chelsea was smiling, a triumphant smile. John really could see Sherlock in her. If you imagined Sherlock as a girl, there she was. And she was so young. As she stood up, John could see her more fully. Her hair was a bit wavy, falling neatly around her shoulders. Her eyes were like Sherlocks, clear blue glass that seemed to pierce your soul. She was sort of tall for her apparent age and she was wearing Black converse and fingerless gloves as well as the rest of her dark ensemble. This all made her face stand out. She was as pale as sherlock, with an almost frosty look about her. She and Sherlock shared many things. However, she did have some characteristics of her own. She stepped towards Sherlock, wearing the same slight smile the boy himself sometimes sported, and began to circle him, weaving between her brother and John with an appraising look on her face. Finally she sat back down on the couch, seeming satisfied. John barely breathed.
…..
Sherlock entered his mind palace abruptly, as if his brain was eagerly pulling him away. His feet carried him to the stairs, which he took two at a time, bounding towards his library. He wasted no timefinding the files labeled "The Roset Experiments." And sorted through until he found the report labeled "Holmes" He read through it again. It had been a fascination of his once, when he first found it in Mycroft's safe and copied it into his mind palace. It read just as he remembered:
This document is the secure and confidential hard copy of a top security report belonging to the Roset Initiative.* If you are not authorized, to read this document is considered a federal crime classified as treason and you will be sentenced according to the current laws of the country and government.
Trial Code: CH3LS34Parentage: Lydia Violet Holmes
Scott Ryan Holmes
Parents Relationship: Married
Other Children: Mycroft Lyde Nathan Holmes - 11 years - IQ 160
William Sherlock Scott Holmes - 4 years - IQ 162
Knowledge of Parents: None
Clearance Level of relations: -
Method: Test tube surrogate + Serum A3
Surrogate Mother: Chloe Rose Ridian (Clearance 5)
Name: CH3LS34 "Chelsea Roset (Holmes)"
Birth weight: N/A
Health: N/A
Additional: Deceased at 4 hours old - Confirmed: Alfred Raine
Status: FAILED
Experiment Team: R-5
Science and Genealogy: Karan Habar ( Clearance MAX) [D]
Overseer: Alfred Raine (Clearance MAX)
Assistant: Katya Freid (Clearance 8) [D]
*Roset Initiative objective: To create the next generation of workers for SSSUK. Roset is a branch of Sensitive Secret Services UK (SSSUK) and is the Raising Of SSSUK Employee Trials. (ROSET)
Released to Mycroft Holmes (Clearance 6) in 2008 by Alfred Raine
Sherlock never knew exactly what it meant, but it seemed like there had been an experiment by an initiative called Roset involving his family and a birth of some sort… His sister? But the baby or subject had died. The overseer had confirmed it. Not the scientist, though, which had always bugged Sherlock. Now, this girl was claiming to be Chelsea Roset. She showed signs of sharing genetic characteristics with Sherlock. Could she be his sister? Sherlock stowed the file and returned to the outside world. There was the girl, Chelsea, sitting there in front of him perched on the arm of the couch. She looked expectant. Sherlock scanned her. She was surprisingly hard to read, but he managed. He had to get the upper hand somehow. "So?" She asked. Annoying.
"You live alone but with frequent visitors, probably the ones who just slammed the door behind us." Sherlock began. "You have a habit of biting your nails when you are anxious, which appears to be quite a lot, which means possibly a disorder, Generalized anxiety or a panic disorder of some type. You have had a constant father figure in your life for a while who has recently died, leaving you alone in this flat." Sherlock took a breath. The girl looked unfazed. "You are obviously a criminal, though what's more you are a genius. You have one friend, and that would be the one in the picture with you, I presume?" The girl nodded.
"My parter in my training, Jim. James Moriarty, if you want to hunt him down. He-"
"Abandoned you." Sherlock finished. That shut her up for a second. "You are impersonating my dead experiment sister that I never even knew for sure was real, from the Roset Initiative… Or you are her, which seems more likely considering our resemblance and similar intellects. Bt then the question would be, logically, who faked your death? And the one logical answer would be Alfred Raine, the overseer of your trial. He was the one who handled the experiment and marked you as deceased. From the D's next to his associates, I can guess that they are actually deceased, likely by murder, the culprit being Raine himself…" Chelsea raised her hand to her face and started to bite at a nail before thinking better of it and dropping it limply to her knee. "Which means," Sherlock continued "that he is dead, being your trainer and deceased father figure. All black in mourning for a murderer." Sherlock turned to John, who looked like he was trying to make sense of all of it.
"So," John said hesitantly, "she's your sister that nobody knew about through a crazy experiment that was super secret and some guy involved faked her death and then killed the witnesses and recently died and her other evil in training kid left her and now she's blowing shit up?"
"Elegantly put," Sherlock sighed, "but yes, that's basically it. Oh, and she has us locked in her flat." John stared at Sherlock intently with an odd look about him.
"Are we in danger?" John asked flatly.
"Only if you rebel against your new awesome 15-year-old overlord." Sherlock and John turned as Chelsea spoke. "Otherwise you'll be fine. Anyway, nice deductions. Don't you think so, John? Oh, of course. You always do, don't you?" John looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Sherlock himself looked slightly confused. Chelsea regarded them, satisfied. "Long story short, Sherly, I'm you-point-two. Roset saw that your parents had made two geniuses already, so they wanted one, naturally, for themselves. They did a lot of these experiments. I was the most promising and highest level. I was going to be trained as the head of SSSUK, meaning I would have been just about the most powerful person in Britain, if not the world. I was engineered to be like you and Mycroft, but far better. But I died. Or so the record says. No, Alfred took me. He raised me to be for the purpose of eradicating a great evil." She smirked. "The SSSUK, that is. Evil as possible. God, if only you knew, big brother." She sighed violently and laughed, flopping back onto the couch. "Of course, I have to look after my own interests first, don't I? And those include stealing jewelry, racking up a fortune, and blowing up the evidence. I don't know if I ever will get around to the SSSUK. That would be a bit heroic for a villain. I'm too classy." Chelsea laughed.
"You aren't better than Mycroft and I." Sherlock scowled, seeming a bit hurt.
"Oh, brother, brother, brother. The highest IQ ever recorded? Most say 228. But it's hard, because the test is designed for the average mind and stretches to the realms of genius. Your last professional IQ was estimated at 170, if I'm correct. Quite improved. Mine is estimated circa 235 by the last professional I saw. Of course, IQ is fluid. Anyway, don't worry, it's very confidential. Just between me and a dead man." She shifted on the couch and smirked at Sherlock, then reached over to the table. On it was sitting a jar of coins and an empty bowl. She poured some pennies into the bowl and some on the floor. "How many left in the jar, John?" She asked.
John cleared his throat. "Uh, I don't know. 450?"
"Way less," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "About 280."
"253 in the jar, 89 on the floor and 34 in the bowl, making 376 pennies total. Count if you like."
Sherlock went forward and snatched the bowl. John watched silently as the boy sorted them into groups of some sort and scanned them over. "Yes," he said, "I see." He proceeded to count those in the jar in the same manner as John organized his brain. Sherlock's sister. Born in an experiment. Supposed to be raised to be the head of a secret organization. Taken and marked as dead. Raised to fight the secret organization. Crazy genius because of her parentage and a special science thingy. Turned to a life of crime to live. Blew up the jewelry store. Sherlock's sister. Sherlocks bloody sister!
"Okay there, John?" The voice belonged to Chelsea. John found himself nodding. He couldn't believe that he was talking to one of the smartest people in the world, and she was a fifteen-year-old girl.
"Yeah."
"Don't address her, John." Sherlock said calmly, not looking up from his counting. He'd moved on to the pennies on the floor. "She's holding us captive. Never give your captor information. Despite how it may look, we are not free to go."
"Ahhh," came Chelsea's voice. "Now he's catching on. Of course, no need to bother with the hush-hush anymore. I can read you like a book. Humans are made of patterns. In fact, everything is, by my way of seeing it. And you two have some about you that are quite intricate." She began to hum a slight lilting tune of a cheerful nature and sunk back into her couch. At about the same time Sherlock finished counting and stood up. "Yes." He said. "I see you are a good estimator. There are only 366 pennies total. You miscounted one in the bowl." Chelsea smiled.
"Oh did I now?" She asked, flipping another penny onto the floor. "Maybe you just didn't count the one in my hand. Silly you. Now let's go, John, you first." She jumped up and walked into the other room, motioning for John to follow.