Elise sat angrily on her bed. It wasn't his business if she was having nightmares. Stupid uncle and his deducing.
Suddenly, she heard her name being called.
By Sherlock.
She opened the door, walking down the hallway to the larger flat. "What?"
Sherlock and John were staring at the telly screen; John's mouth agape in horror, Sherlock's shut tight with concealed worry.
Elise turned to the screen, which was now portraying a huge raging fire, and firemen attempting to battle it.
The marquee appeared once more, and Elise mirrored John's expression.
Holmes Mansion Bombed
Elise squeaked out a remark, her voice lost in sudden shock.
Whereabouts of Government Official Unknown
"No body." Sherlock said simply.
Elise took it as an attempt at sympathy. "What… what about Anthea?" she said, shaking slightly.
John put an arm around her comfortingly. "The news crew tried to get something out of her. She's alive."
The camera panned around the wreckage once more, and Sherlock sat up from his chair. "Aha!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger accusingly at the television.
Elise looked up. "What?"
"A number, they left a number! Too selfish to let it be anonymous, almost all murderers are, they leave a mark…" he stopped his pacing, turning to Elise. "They planned out the death of Anthea and Mycroft! It was a number one!" He clapped triumphantly, and Elise immediately slapped him.
John held Elise tightly again as she began shaking. "Thanks a lot." He hissed at Sherlock, who was looking a bit like a kicked puppy.
Elise pushed away, walking out into the street, leaving the two men arguing.
"Elise dear!" she heard, and she turned around to see Mrs. Hudson gesturing madly at her. "Get inside, you'll catch your death of cold!" Elise realized she wasn't wearing a jacket, and sullenly followed Mrs. Hudson inside.
"Take a seat, I heard John and Sherlock having a row." Mrs. Hudson remarked, closing the door behind Elise. "Wonderful boys, but they don't know how to raise a child."
"I'm hardly a child, Mrs. Hudson." Elise returned. She didn't mean it to sound bitter, but it did.
"You're right, dear. You've been forced to grow up too quick." She sighed. "What with your brother's death, and now your father's gone missing…"
"He's dead." Elise replied quietly.
"Now dear, they haven't found a body!"
"No. He would have told me. He's dead, Mrs. Hudson."
Mrs. Hudson expected Elise to cry, maybe at least shake, but no, she seemed fine.
John had just given up with arguing with Sherlock when he suddenly realized something. "Where is she?" he asked, glancing around.
Sherlock looked in 221C. "She's not here, and she didn't come back here after our discussion."
John ran outside. "Elise!" he yelled.
Sherlock pulled John down. "Quiet, people are already looking for her! You can't start screaming her name!"
John burst into Mrs. Hudson's flat. "Mrs. Hudson, Elise has gone mis-" he stopped, Elise was sitting quietly at her table reading a novel while Mrs. Hudson sewed.
Mrs. Hudson looked up. "Problem, John?"
John let out a sigh. "Elise didn't tell us where she was going and gave us a scare."
Elise blushed. "Sorry."
Elise left with John, where they found Sherlock investigating Mrs. Hudson's doorway. He looked up and saw Elise.
"What were you doing?" Elise asked.
"Looking for fingernail marks from you being forcefully dragged away by a kidnapper. Didn't find any." He said briskly, and they returned to their proper flats.
Mycroft Holmes was definitely not dead.
He almost wished he was at the moment, as blood soaked his suit. His assailant showed no mercy though, as he attacked the child in his arms again. But he wasn't even touched, couldn't do anything.
The little girl looked somewhat like Elise, but she wasn't. She was crying.
The man with the whip stopped, and Mycroft held her close, wishing the gag in his mouth was gone so he could tell her everything was going to be fine.
"You have hurt me, Mr. Holmes." The man hissed. "So now I will hurt you. I will kill everything you love and then," the man kicked him away, and grabbed the little girl. He caressed her cheek, and then slapped her roughly. "…then I will kill you."
The little girl fell to the ground once more. The man with the whip left, and Mycroft held the girl once more.
"You're not my daddy!" the little girl exclaimed. "Why does he tell me you are?"
Mycroft couldn't reply, only shaking his head.
With a trembling finger, he wrote out 'Mycroft' in the dirt coating the floor of their prison.
The little girl mimicked him, writing out Emmy.
Author's Note
Really depressing chapter, sorry, but I hard to add something that actually applied to the plotline. Review, follow favorite, send oreos!
-ATLK