Chapter 7: A Firefly on the Windscreen

'Medusa' had never gotten a 505 before. The one she received shortly after posting on John Watson's blog was her very first, in fact, but it couldn't have come from a worse source or at a worse time.

A 505 was a Hacker's SOS call. This particular 505 was from a Firefly under the alias of 'Serenity269', who moonlighted as a part-time journalist, and who'd been charged with writing an article, telling the truth about Sherlock Holmes.

With a bemused frown, Violet opened the ominous video call and clicked 'record'.

"Er, hello? Hello, is that 'Medusa'?" The young woman on the screen asked tearfully.

"Yes, yes. I'm here. What is it?" Violet asked, knowing that though she could see the other Hacker, for safety's sake, the other Hacker couldn't see her.

"I've been hacked. They've got everything-all our work-all our information. They know what we're doing-they know Sherlock Holmes is alive." the girl sobbed, "I'm so, so sorry."

"Who knows?" Violet demanded, feeling her back tense and her knuckles clench.

"I don't know. I swear I don't. I tried tracing them, but I got nothing except a message-"

"What does the message say?"

"It's a timer. It's counting down-"

"Counting down to what?"

"Five…four…three…two…" the girl's eyes glazed over in realisation and resignation just before she said: "One."

Before Violet knew what had happened, there was the sound of glass smashing and a tiny 'thump'. And then, eyes glassy, 'Serenity269' slumped forward, her head hitting the keyboard.

Eyes wide in shock, Violet asked weakly: "Hello? 'Serenity269' come in…What's going on?" Of course Violet knew what had happened; someone had discovered that Sherlock Holmes was alive, someone who knew precisely who he was: a genius consulting detective with a penchant for pissing off the wrong people, and that person did not want that information getting out.

Less than an hour later, Violet having calmed down, was re-watching the footage with 'Dracula' and Sherlock after the former had sent a car, determined that no way in hell was she to get on a bus.

"You see the laser-sight trained on her forehead?" Sherlock mused, "It's not wavering; whoever is holding that gun knows precisely what they're holding; it's not just a toy that their mate from down the pub got them; so they must have military training. They must have been exceptional-"

"Yeah, could you try not complimenting the guy who killed our friend to our faces, please?" Oliver ('Dracula') interjected furiously.

"She wasn't your friend; you've never met her in her in your life-" Sherlock scoffed.

"Not now!" Violet hissed at them, to which Oliver looked away bashfully whilst Sherlock continued his analysis of the video: "Whoever shot this woman was employed alongside someone who knows how to hack into someone's computer without leaving a trace. But they waited for her to call you; they wanted you to see her die. But it wasn't just a warning - they could have just sent you a message; they're telling you to run." He slumped into his leather armchair and steepled his fingers, thinking.

"Moriarty springs to mind." Oliver murmured absently.

"Only because you're an idiot-" Sherlock muttered, not moving from his pose.

"I beg your pardon?-"

"He shot himself in the head. I watched him do it. That's not something you can fake."

"Unlike jumping off a building." Oliver said sardonically, just holding back from impaling Sherlock with one of his antique spears. Ignoring the sarcasm, Sherlock replied: "Exactly."

"Boys, come on." Violet snapped, "We've gathered that Moriarty's dead; can we move on now?"

"I'm trying to think, but you'd be surprised how many names spring to mind-"

"You mean how many people can't stand the mention, never mind the sight of you? No, I doubt I would be surprised-"

"Right, that's it." Violet sighed, giving the pair of them up as a lost cause as she snapped her laptop shut, "I'm going home."

"No you're bloody not." Oliver said sternly, his steely eyes flashing meaningfully, "You're staying here, where I can keep an eye on you."

"It's not safe to put all your eggs in one basket."

"What on Earth are you-" but before Oliver could finish his question, Sherlock interrupted:

"She means that if someone were to track either of you down here, you'd both be killed quite easily, but if you're in separate locations, at least one of you has a chance of escape. But then you already knew all of that, which means that asking the question that you were going to was entirely pointless. In any case, I agree with her."

At this, Oliver's face contorted into a scowl, and his arms folded themselves. "Fine. But I want you to take care of yourself. And don't take any unnecessary risks."

Violet couldn't help but smile, as she slipped her laptop into its bag and zipped it up. "I'll be fine, I promise. Try not to kill my uncle while I'm gone."

"Ooh," Oliver smirked, "a bit much to ask, don't you think?" to which Violet shook her head and walked out of the door.

"You like her, don't you?" Sherlock murmured, eyes closed, as Oliver took a seat opposite him.

"Of course I like her-"

"No. I mean you want her."

Oliver grimaced, hoping he hadn't been too obvious in his affection toward the girl, who was, unfortunately half his age. "And?" he asked, trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

"You'll understand that, as her uncle, when I say that if you upset her unduly, I can't say that I'll be happy."

Oliver couldn't think of anything else to say but: "Fair enough." He just hoped that she didn't get shot before he even had a chance to hurt her.

Author's Note: I'd like to dedicate this particular chapter to Magesa, just because your reviews completely thrilled me on what was probably the shittest day of my life so far, honestly, thank you, and I hope you enjoy this one.

I also hope that Sci-Fi fans get the crappy reference. It's not brilliant, I know, but it's all I've got for this little chappie.

And the Soundtrack for this chapter is Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums by A Perfect Circle

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