Chapter eight: Murder!

I'd made it halfway home, I don't know how I was able to shake Sherlock Holmes, but I did. This was my stomping grounds, not his. I sloshed through a puddle of water and stepped on a broken bottle. I gasped in pain and leaned up against a brick wall to pull the glass from my foot. I hissed as I pulled the sliver free. I examined the ground, determined to avoid more of the dark spots.

As I prepared to move on again, I heard a man shout in pain. I paused as my blood ran cold for a moment. I could have sworn, it was my father shouting in agony. I hesitated and listened to what was going on.

"You think you saved her?" An unfamiliar voice sneered. "You didn't!"

My father, I was certain of it now, laughed bitterly. I knew his laugh well. "I did. She's married now and you," he groaned in pain and coughed. I suspected somebody hit him in the stomach. This felt like a nightmare. I wasn't supposed to be here. "can't….get your greedy hands on her."

"Ha!" That was my stepmother's voice I heard. "Do you really think that Sherlock Holmes is going to stick with her? You're wrong!" she laughed and I heard a rustle of paper. "See this? This is Sherlock Holmes's writing. I intercepted a letter for her from him, this marriage, is a sham!"

"You're lying." My father gasped out.

"Ha! He tells her that she will be free to marry the man that she truly loves after they marry. He simply needed her hand in marriage to dig up your wife's corpse."

"And he will find that you…murdered her!" My father spat.

I gasped and covered my mouth. "Murdered?" The other man said in a teasing, Irish voice. "No. she drank the poison of her own accord."

"After you pointed the gun at my head!"

I shook my head in denial. I couldn't believe I was actually hearing this. "Well," he hummed. "it was rather the point to motivate her to drink the poison. It worked well though didn't it?" his tone darkened slightly. "Then you had bump into Mycroft Holmes a few months later and arrange for her to be 'safely' married to Sherlock Holmes. Well, that's not going to happen, I'm still going to get her."

"She knows nothing!" My father spat. "And you won't get her."

"Well," at the sound of a click, I carefully peer around the corner and I find my father on his knee, facing my direction. His eyes widen for a moment, before facing my stepmother and the other man. Both of them have their back to me so I cannot identify the other man. "you see, she doesn't know me…and I can and will woo her to be my wife. Sherlock is the type of man to marry a woman to examine a corpse, not the kind to keep her after the ceremony."

"She won't have anything to do with you, Moriarty!"

I bit my lip so hard I drew blood. "Yeah, well, you won't be around to warn her about the 'bad boys' this time."

It was then that Moriarty fired a gun three times and my father fell back onto the pavement. I couldn't hold back a scream as I turned and ran. I didn't look back, I didn't even bother to look back. I wasn't going to give them a face to match with the scream. I ran hard and fast. I knew these streets like the back of my hand and that gave me an advantage. I was in shock, but my survival instinct was strong. I tore Sherlock's robe rounding a corner, but I didn't stop. I knew a shortcut that would get me back on an actual road sooner.

I ducked through a large hole in a fence, ran through some bushes and splashed through an icy cold stream. I wasn't going to stop running though. As I reached the edge of the park, I risked a look back over my shoulder, to my relief, there was no one behind me. But I wasn't stupid enough to stop running. I still had several blocks to run before I made it back to the Holmes house.

I stopped for a moment to gather my wits about me before whirling around and smacking into somebody. I screamed in terror and looked up to see Sherlock standing there! I began shaking in relief as he looked down at me in confusion. I never thought I could be glad to see Sherlock Holmes, but I was in this moment.

He however, was not glad to see me. "Oh, for God's sake," I threw my arms around his waist and clung tightly to him. "will you let go," His voice began to die in curiosity. "what….is…going on?" He gripped my shoulders and pulled me away from him, but I didn't release him. His eyes narrowed as he studied my face before widening in slight concern. "What happened? Tammy? What is it?"

I gasped for air and as much as I wanted to say what I'd seen, I could only get out two words at a time. I pointed back where I'd come from. "My father….murdered. Shot…Elm Street."

"Murdered?" The almost delight in his voice was almost enough to send me off into another bout of hysterical screaming. "Someone murdered your father?" I nodded, as his grip on my shoulders grew tighter. "Did you see who did it?" I nodded and he semi-groaned. "That won't be much fun." I stared up at him in horrified shock at his cruel, unfeeling words. "Who was it?"

I didn't want to answer him, but a firm shake from him sent the word bubbling out of me. "Moriarty!"

Sherlock's eyes flashed and his grip on my shoulders tightened. "How do you know about Moriarty?" I wanted to answer him, but I couldn't speak. I began crying harder and Sherlock gave me a shake. "Tell me!" He shouted in my face. "Now!"

I inhaled and screamed in agony. "He killed my father!" Everything began to break over me in waves and I began to hysterically fall apart. "Oh God! My father's dead!"

"Where?" He shouted. "Where?!" I couldn't take his violent nature. I wrenched free from his grip and ran away from him. "Tammy?" He bellowed behind me. "Stop!"

I refused to stop. I continued running away from him. A carriage came out in front of me, forcing me to stop. The carriage door opened and fortunately, it was Mycroft with his parents. Sherlock grabbed a hold of my arm. Again, I was able to wrench free and I threw myself in Mrs. Holmes's arms, sobbing hysterically.

"What did you do to her," Mrs. Holmes snapped in fury. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes?!"

"Me?!" Sherlock snapped in shocked indignation. "I didn't do anything. Her father was just murdered."

"Oh for God's sake," Mycroft snapped as he got out of the carriage. "you've really got to work on your sense of timing." Mycroft resumed control of the situation. "You two, take her home, send a policeman down here. We'll go keep an eye on the crime scene and make sure it isn't contaminated. Where is it brother mine?"

Sherlock pointed. "She came running that way. She wouldn't specify where on Elm Street."

"Well, shall we?" Mycroft asked, furnishing a gun from underneath his night robe. "Shouldn't take us more than five minutes to find it."

Sherlock glowered at him. "This requires legwork, you're actually going to investigate?"

"Well, I figure it's the least I could do for your bride."

At the word bride, I began crying harder. I didn't remember anything much after that. Too much had happened for me in the past ten minutes. My father was dead, murdered by my stepmother and somebody that Sherlock knew. Now, they were going to be after me for some reason. Now, I was tied into a family that I had no right to be in. I had a mother-in-law who cared for me, a brother and father-in-law who were indifferent to me and a husband who hated the sight of me.

And...the drama begins!