The Third Half

by Rusty Tater Tot

First was Mycroft. He was obviously important. After all, he was basically the British Government! Next came Sherlock. Internet phenomenon with the funny hat. World's only consulting detective. The only man on the planet who could be such a dick all the time and get away with it. Between the two of them, it was easy to forget about little Alaya, the youngest of the Holmes.

9. Chapter 9

Nothing.

Silence.

Not even Alaya's superior tone made its way into her subconscious.

The reason?

Allie Holmes had shot herself in the head. And generally, after shooting yourself in the head, that's the last thing you do.

Conveniently, the Holmes' family rarely acted general.

Allie was just alone in her Mind Palace. Everything was the colour of blood, and it was entirely empty aside from her, but Allie was there and Allie was alive.

And she wouldn't stop laughing.

"What is wrong with me?" she asked, choking on yet another giggle as it rose in her throat. She sighed at the lack of response; she wasn't used to being without Alaya.

Stepping out of her Mind Palace was more difficult than it normally was, but Allie thought that was justified. After all, normally Allie had Alaya with her, and normally Allie hadn't just pointed a gun at her own head and pulled the trigger, and normally Allie didn't potentially almost kill her prim and proper brother, Mycroft.

"Probably not something I'll want to try again in the near future," she said quietly as she glanced at her brother's unconscious body propped up against the desk. "In fairness," she said as a reply to her own comment, "it's mostly Sherlock's fault for leaving his room so screwed up."

After shooting herself in the head (with blanks, obviously) Mycroft had taken a frantic step backwards, tripped over a lamp lying on the ground, and fallen onto the wall, knocking himself out. The second his eyes closed, Alaya disappeared.

Allie opened the mini-fridge in the corner of the room. "Just apples," she said to herself. "How boring."

Something, somewhere in her mind, was screaming, but without Alaya to translate Allie had to push it back.

"Who are you?"

The voice that posed the question made Allie spin around. It was childish but strangely strong at the same time. What she found behind her was just as strange.

"I'm James," said the man. "And I don't know who you are."

"I'm Al-aya, I'm Alaya." Something told Allie that she shouldn't tell this man that she was Allie. "Alaya Holmes, isn't it?" asked the man with a smile. "I could tell. You've got his eyes." "Who -"

"Your brother," James said. "We're friends. And those, my dear," he continued, motioning to the bag of apples Allie held. "Are for me."