Part Ten:
"Sherlock," John yells as he's putting his coat on to go to work, "Sherlock! Where's Mrs. Hudson?" he asks.
"Visiting her sister this week," I answer him from the table where I'm eating breakfast.
"How do you?" he begins.
"I live across the street not under a rock," I roll my eyes. Johns shrugs his shoulders and then takes off. "Sherlock get out here," I yell into his room. No answer. I knock on his door but there's still no answer, "Sherlock?"
"I've been up for hours, what could I possibly miss?" he asks sneaking up behind me and making me jump.
"Where did you go? It's only 7:30 now," I ask walking back to my food.
"To make sure Mrs. Hudson was safe at her sister's," he says "Do you always eat this much?" he asks motioning toward my large amount of food set out on the table.
"When I'm stressed… or highly annoyed," I roll my eyes.
"How are you annoyed?" he asks curiously.
"By your stupid judgements," I suggest dumping my plate in the sink.
"Come on," he orders.
"Where are we going?" I ask following him out the door.
"To meet someone. If you want to change we've got to leave now," he says walking quickly down the stairs.
"I don't need to change clothes."
"You might want to," he says crossing the street to my flat's door.
"Why? Where are we going?" I ask again.
"Just trust me you'll want to be wearing something nicer than your work uniform," he says holding out his hand requesting my key. I ignore him and open the door myself.
"Give me two minuets," I say walking to my bedroom, "keep your eyes open. I can't imagine those men stopped by for a chat and just left when they found I wasn't here last night."
"Be quick," he says.
I enter my room and stop dead in my tracks. "Sherlock!" I scream. On the wall above my bed is a message. A message written in blood.
"Mori art?" he reads confused.
"Dying art," I say blankly staring.
"Pardon?" he asks walking toward the blood stained wall.
"That's what it means, well roughly," I continue my blank stare.
"Hey," he begins looking back at me, "what's wrong?"
"The body is behind the bed," I whisper.
"How do you?" he begins but then he sees the person's hand, "Kathryn call the police please."
Before doing as he says I walk toward the blood stained wall, "The blood has been here since last night."
"Do you know who this is?" he asks moving out of the way so I can see the body.
"Maddy," I sigh looking at her. He looks back at her, "She was my only friend growing up. We shared a room."
"A room?" Sherlock asks confused. He stands and walks to the other side of the room, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
"At the foster house," I explain.
"You never said anything about going through foster care," Sherlock says as he sends a text to someone.
"How many people like to talk about how their parents were brutally murdered and no detective could solve it?" I ask examining the body, "I was thrown into the foster care system because none of my family would take me in."
"So that's why you became interested in detective work? To find out what happened to your parents?" he asks looking around the rest of the flat.
"No. When I was younger I heard about your investigative skills. When you refused to help me I began studying. I wanted to find an answer," I explain still looking at the girl's body.
"Did you?" he asks turning to face me.
"Six months ago," I say standing up and turning to face Sherlock, "it was a man by the name of Jim Moriarty. I found out his enemy was the same Sherlock Holmes that refused to help me as a child. By that time, you were dead."
"So it wasn't a coincidence that you moved here?" he asked seeming surprised. Before I can reply John enters the flat.
"I've called the police," he announces looking at both of us, "Sherlock, you might want to leave if you don't want them finding out you're alive."
"They can find out it's fine. I was only dead for Moriarty," Sherlock says, "there," he points to Maddy's body, "dead since last night." John rushes toward her body as the police enter the flat.
"Watson where is it?" Lestrade asks running in, "Sherlock?!" He's surprised to see him.
"Afternoon Lestrade," Sherlock says.
"I thought you were dead," Lestrade says.
"You were meant to," Sherlock returns.
"I figure if you're here you already got all the facts. Either that or you killed her yourself," Lestrade remarks, "what can you tell me?"
"Ask my partner," Sherlock suggests. Lestrade begins to talk to John but is interrupted by Sherlock, "not that one. That one," he points at me. Lestrade looks at me hoping for an answer.
"Her name is Maddy Smith. She turned 21 two nights ago. Been dead at least five hours of a gun shot to the head. Clearly not suicide as there is no gun and this isn't her apartment," I begin to explain as if it is something everyone should know.
"Congratulations Sherlock, you've found a woman who is as strange as you," Lestrade asks, "If it's not her apartment, whose is it?"
"Mine," I answer without hesitation. Lestrade looks at me with a questioning glance, "I wasn't here last night. Sherlock and I came back here so I could change my clothes before we went to see his brother this morning."
"You spent the night at Sherlock's? Why?" he asks. Sherlock looks nervous to see my response.
"We were celebrating the fact that he was alive and I had a little too much to drink. I passed out and spent the night on his couch," I lie to avoid suspicious looks.
"Right. Okay, let's try and contact the girl's family," John says attempting to settle everything.
"She hasn't got any," I say. Lestrade and John look at me surprised.
"The girl went through the foster care system longer than I did. She's got no family to speak of. That's why she was visiting me," I explain.
"What's the writing on the wall?" Lestrade asks.
"Mori art, it means dying art," Sherlock explains.
"Can I have a minuet to think?" I ask.
"That means clear out," John says. Lestrade just looks confused. "She's just like him. She needs silence to think." Sherlock begins to leave as well but I stop him. As soon as everyone leaves I begin to speak.
"Holmes," I begin, "Moriarty. That's what was written. They killed Maddy because she's one of the only people I care about. The same way they'll kill John, Mrs. Hudson, and your brother."
"But why would the last letter of his name be left off? He clearly had time to write the y," Sherlock asks.
"The person working for Moriarty is obviously a fan of yours. It's like the Lady in Pink study," I explain.
"The message the woman left wasn't finished before she died," he remembers.
"Right. Meaning any simple detective would look at this and say it was a creative suicide note, but you would recognize the absence of a letter and put it together," I clarify for him.
"Moriarty."