The black car pulled up to an expansive mansion nestled in the countryside just outside of London. John gawked at the edifice wondering if it was a castle. It was made up of big white stones covered in green ivy. The trio exited the car and onto the brick pavement as Guinevere's chauffeur drove the car off to the garage.
"Quite the castle you have picked out here Guinevere. Does it come with a dungeon for you to torture your victims in as well?" Sherlock asked clearly irritated with his daughter.
"It didn't originally, but I had one installed." Guinevere replied her red lips forming a smirk as she ushered them under the large archway and into her palace.
"The house was a gift from my dearly deceased husband. It's been in the family for years. I loved the English countryside, outdoor feeling about it. I figured it would serve perfectly as headquarters for my new operations." Guinevere said her accent thing while waving her hand showing off the main room with two large staircases leading upstairs.
"You are not an outdoor person Guinevere." Sherlock said flatly.
"That is not true, I love the outdoors. I drink my wine on the patio." She said genuinely hurt.
"Would you like a tour?" She said turning to John.
Before Sherlock could put in a sarcastic comment John interrupted him.
"No I would not like a tour I would like to know what the bloody hell is going on." John yelled breathing heavily through his nose.
Guinevere arched an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this reaction. She expected him to go along with her little wedding and house party with no questions.
"I see you have many questions. Come into the drawing room. I'll bring up my best bottle of red and then we can discuss." She said with a slight smile as she slowly slinked off to find a servant to bring them a bottle. Sherlock was already making his way to the room, he assumed was the drawing room.
The drawing room was bright due to the large picture windows and had floor to ceiling bookcases. Dainty chairs and a few love seats were scattered across the room, but the main focus point was by the windows where a large harp rested black against the light coming in.
"I have played ever since I was a little girl. I was always taught that a lady should have knowledge of music. A harp seemed perfect for me. It seems so big and impressive, but plays the softest music. Quite a big instrument for the little sound it makes." Guinevere said entering the room. John couldn't help but notice that her statement about the harp might have had another meaning.
"It's a beautiful instrument. Sherlock plays the violin. It appears that the Holmes are a string family. Did he teach you to play?" John asked innocently.
Sherlocks head whipped around to his friend who seemed confused at his reaction. Guinevere suddenly found something very interesting in her black wedding dress she was still wearing.
John got the impression he had struck a chord somewhere.
Thankfully a butler came in with a bottle of wine and three glasses. He poured for them and left, the awkward silence, taking over once again.
Guinevere picked up a glass with the two men following in suit.
"I did not spend much time with my father when I was young. An instructor at my boarding school taught me how to play." Draping herself on a chaise lounge taking a small sip from her glass.
John awkwardly stumbled over an apology before Sherlock made him sit down as he went to go look out the window on the country side.
"So Guinevere I like to think I am your father's best friend. It came as quite a shock to learn that he had a daughter. Naturally he didn't answer any of my many questions." John said after taking a sip from his glass.
Guinevere looked over to her father who had his back to the two. She smiled, thinking about how nice it was to be back with him.
"Any questions you need answered direct them towards me. My father is a brilliant man, but very blunt and doesn't always read people well." She said flashing a small smile towards John.
"Why do you have a Russian accent?"
"I grew up in Russia. That is where I went to boarding school. I have been all around the world through. I spend most of my time in Moscow, but London is my home, even though I have never lived here." She said looking back wistfully at her father.
Sherlock still didn't turn around but was listening to every word she said. He felt a slight wave of guilt wash over him. He was hoping John didn't ask any more questions. He didn't want John to hear the answers to them. Of course, being John he was curious and kept asking questions.
"How old are you? You don't seem very old to be getting married." John said, looking between the father and daughter.
Before Guinevere could give her own answer Sherlock interrupted. If John was going to learn all of his dirty secrets he would rather John hear if from him.
"She is twenty-three. She was born on July 3rd, 1993. She was an accident. She was never supposed to happen. I was sixteen years old at the time and an avid abuser of drugs. I was on an extreme high and wasn't thinking straight. I got her mother pregnant from a one night stand and a year later I was told that I was a father. I haven't talked to her mother since Guinevere last visited me which was when she was ten years old. Her mother isn't important and I don't want to hear any more questions about the topic. In fact, I think this was enough for today. We should be taking our leave now. John I will be in the car." Sherlock said forcefully putting down his untouched glass of wine and quickly stomped out of the room not making eye contact with his friend or daughter.
As soon as he was out of the room he leaned up against the nearest wall holding his beating heart. He thought it was going to burst out of his chest. He had so many thought circulating throughout his mind, he couldn't think straight.
He needed a cigarette.
Back in the room John was awkwardly looking at his glass of wine, refusing to make eye contact with the girl in front of him.
"Well my father has always been one for the dramatics hasn't he?" She said trying to put on a brave face even though it was clear that Sherlocks words hurt her.
"I should be going I guess." John said awkwardly standing up and taking one of her slim soft hands in his shaking it.
"It has been a pleasure meeting you Guinevere. I hope I will be seeing more of you." He said the last statement more like a question.
She wiped the sadness from her face an instead smiled at the man in front of her.
"Oh yes Mr. Watson. I have no intention of leaving London. You will be seeing much more of me."
John climbed into the car and looked at his friend who was nervously chewing on his left thumb nail a habit he did when he needed a smoke.
"You could have handled that better. You didn't even hug your daughter. Or say it's nice to see you. You didn't even say hello not a simple hello." John said chastising his friend.
Sherlock stopped biting his thumb and looked at his friend as the black car lurched forward. He contemplated what to say to John.
"I would not hug her if my life depended on it. Do not let her smile fool you John. She will kill you without blinking if it suited her. She is a monster and only cares about her money and looks. I have no intention of rebuilding my relationship with my daughter. I can see it in your eyes you want us to have daddy daughter moments but I regret to inform you that I refuse to spend time with her. She is evil and a monster." Sherlock said all of this very slowly and seriously hoping his friend would understand him.
John just looked at him and shook his head.
"Unbelievable. Sherlock it is clear that she came to London to spend time with you. I was watching her talk about her home Sherlock. She wants to be here with you. She wants to begin a real relationship with you. Yet you treat her like this. Unbelievable." John said, shaking his head again looking out the window.
Sherlock did the same and observed the buildings on the drive back.
"You will see what I am talking about soon John. You are blinded by her beauty right now. That's how she gets away with it. Just you wait. She will show her true colors soon and then you will see the real Guinevere." Sherlock said, closing his eyes resting his head against the window, knowing that all though he wanted the girl out of her life she was not leaving anytime soon.
Later in Guineveres mansion she had changed into black lingerie with a sheer black robe around the ensemble. She was looking out of the window at the night sky thinking about her father and the events of the day. Guinevere was anxious, almost as if she was expecting a visit.
"Here is that bottle of wine you asked for mam'." The butler said coming into the room.
"Thank you Manson that will be all." Guinevere said deep in thought sighing. She had this itching feeling that he was going to show up. Perhaps she was losing her touch.
Just then there was a crash downstairs and the sound of screaming.
Guinevere looked up, a grin on her face. She was right.
"On second thought Manson, fetch another glass." Guinevere said turning around with a broad smile.
While he was retrieving a glass she dimmed the lights in the room and lit the fireplace.
Manson came back with another glass putting them on the table and exited the room through the two French doors.
Guinevere retied her robe and poured two glasses of wine, leaving one on the table. With a lazy smile she returned to her spot looking out the window.
Suddenly the French doors were thrown open.
She heard the doors close and then slow heavy footsteps.
"Please, join me. I had a glass poured for you. I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up." Guinevere said without turning around knowing just who it was.
"Quite ironic, because I was beginning to think that you were actually dead." Came the quite low voice of the intruder.
"That is your first mistake. You will never be rid of me." She said smiling taking a sip.
"Oh believe me, I am aware of that. I am reminded of you every morning." He said taking off his dress jacket unbuttoning his shirt.
Guinevere turned around to admire her handy work.
Standing before her was Jim Moriarty smartly dressed with his shirt unbuttoned revealing a scar on the left side of his chest. She walked up to him and traced the scar with her manicured fingers.
She traced the big loopy G and H with a smile, remembering the night she gave it to him.
"You and I have unfinished business Guinevere Holmes."