Maeve Eavan Moran Moriarty belongs to a Spider and his Tiger. She is their only relation; their only weakness.
At only 11 years of age, she has spilt the blood of many. She can identify every type of gun and can just as easily pull the trigger.
But...
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'Hi, you wanted to see Sherlock?'
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Maeve left the sleek car and stepped out, nodding to the henchman who opened the door for her. Her feet found the cobble floor and she stood up, observing her new surroundings. The last thing she expected to see at Baker Street was rubble strewn across the ground and the whole front of a house missing.
But then she remembered that this was all to plan, an explosion in a neighbouring flat as a first lead into her father's puzzle. The 11 year old was feeling nervous as she trod up to the looming door, the numbers 221b engraved in gold on the front.
In fact, she was so engrossed in thought that she collided head-on with a man holding a peculiar umbrella.
"I would advise you watch where you go, little one." The stranger spoke with a stern yet calming tone.
"Sorry sir." Maeve squeaked as she eyed the man. He walked away, using his umbrella as a cane, seeming to disappear in front of her eyes.
Shrugging the incident off (she had dealt with much worse), she stood on her tiptoes reaching the knocker, and shook it twice. In a matter of seconds, the door flew open;
"Mycroft Holmes, if you have come back to pester your little brother more-"
The lady speaking came to an abrupt stop as she noticed the small child. Her face immediately changed into a wide smile as she peered at Maeve.
"Oh, hello dearie. Are you looking for someone?"
Maeve already knew who the old lady was; she was Martha Hudson, the housekeeper of the 221 flats and a former exotic dancer. Her deceased husband ran a drug cartel and she was the 'receptionist'.
"Hello Miss, I was looking for a Mr Sherlock Holmes." Maeve enquired.
"Sherlock? Are you a client?"
"Yes. I have a very important case to discuss."
"Well, I'll go let him know. But I must warn you, he isn't really very good with people." Maeved shrugged at her warning and watched as Mrs Hudson climbed the stairs. She heard the opposing strings of a violin ring throughout the corridor followed by muffled voices.
Father had already told her about Sherlock's characteristics, she knew excatly how to use them to her advantage. She wasn't the innocent, young girl she ought to be.
A few moments later, Mrs Hudson came back down the stairs accompanied by a man that was definitely not Sherlock Holmes, rather his blogger John Watson. He cast a small smile at Maeve and nodded to Mrs Hudson who scurried off.
"Hi, I heard you wanted to see Sherlock?" He asked her.
"Yes. You're his blogger, John Watson, aren't you?" John looked a bit surprised at Maeve's statement.
