Little Holmes

Chapter One

  Ella Holmes sat motionless in the flat, distraught from what had just happened, she felt drained. It didn't feel right, sitting in his chair. Not after what she'd just seen. Silently, she stood and walked out of 221B, with the event repetitively replaying in her mind. She was going to St. Bart's hospital, she had to. She had no clue why, all she knew is that something wasn't right. After a short cab drive to the hospital she cautiously walked up the stairs and stopped dead in her tracks. She was now staring at the rooftop door hesitating to open it, her hand loosely held onto the handle when her phone rang causing her to pull away. She didn't bother looking at the caller ID, she knew there would be only be one person calling her.

"Mycroft, I'm really not in the mood to argue right now," she said quietly.

  "Nor am I, sister mine. I just thought I should ask you to not make any stupid decisions," he said with an emotionless tone.

  "Like what," she snapped at him.

  "Oh, I don't know, trying drugs like Sherlock, tracing his steps. It's not good for you. But I already know you've gone to Bart's," he said coldly.

  "I had to, Myc. It's the last place he was, and it feels like I'm missing something. Sherlock wouldn't just-" She broke off, unable to continue. After she'd regained her composure, she spoke again. "I'm not Sherlock. I'm not going to jump, Mycroft." She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice.

  "Please, just...be careful." He sighed down the phone.

  "I will," she assured, her tone slightly softer.

  She hung up and pushed open the door walking onto the roof when a wave of sickness dawned over her. She expected it to be empty, but she instead found two people standing, facing away from her. They were looking down at the pavement below. She recognized one of them, but then again, how could she forget. James Moriarty, the man who was responsible for her brother's death, stood in front of her in his Westwood suit with a sinister look pasted across his face. His right hand man, Sebastian Moran, was also with him, looking like a giant...man of destruction or something. She was awful at analogies. She felt anger build up inside her and she balled up her fists, letting the door slam shut behind her, which caused both of the men to turn and look. He was smiling victoriously. James was supposed to be dead, yet here he was.

"Moriarty," she hissed. A wide grin took over his face.

"Oh, little Holmes how lovely it is to see you," he said sarcastically. "You would have thought for a genius he would have figured out I wasn't dead. He didn't even check." he laughed knowing exactly how to push her buttons.

"You're supposed to be dead" she growled.

"But I'm not." He smirked and held out his hands looking down at himself proudly.

"I wish you were." She spat.

"Oh? That's not nice, sweetheart." He tilted his head and she launched herself at him, tackling him and dangling him over the edge of the roof much like Sherlock had done. His face was calm as he gazed up at her, a smirk twitching at his lips.

"Mad your brother's dead and I'm alive? Go ahead, let go. Become a murderer. Just like me. Just like Sherlock." He said intimidatingly.

"Sherlock was a good person, not a murderer. You're a piece of shit, you deserve to die." Her eyebrows knitted together as she stared at him. He wasn't lying, she would've been able to tell.

  "What, Sherly didn't tell his baby sister? About how he murdered all...what was it Seb? Ten?"

"Thirteen, boss." Sebastian said in a monotone voice, unconcerned that his employer was being dangled over the edge of a roof.

  "He heartlessly slaughtered thirteen people," spat Moriarty.

  "He didn't. I should just let you fall," Ella said, slowly losing her calm.

  "If you let me fall, you're not an angel anymore. If you let me fall, you're just like me." The idea repulsed her more than him being alive, so she let him stand. He brushed off his jacket.

  "I've got to go now, little Holmes. Stay quiet about this, yeah?"

  "What makes you think I'm not going to tell Myc-"

"Mycroft?" he asked, cutting her off mid-sentence.  "Tell big brother and he'll wake up in a burning building with no chance of escape. Tell anyone, in fact, and I'll kill three innocent people for every person you tell." She balled her hands into fists as she watched him go. He winked at her before he left. Her blood was boiling and her face burned bright red. She left quickly after that. She knew Moriarty was alive, but she wasn't going to have three innocent people die because of her, and he knew that. So she couldn't tell anyone. But there was no way in hell she was letting her brother's murderer get away. That left her with one option. She'd have to kill him.

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  Leaving Baker Street was hard. Her, Sherlock, and John had had some nice memories there. Cluedo, cases, skulls, sword fights, so many memories she was leaving behind. But they wouldn't be safe until Moriarty was stopped. Still, it didn't feel right to her to just leave John behind like that. She left him a coded message. No way Moriarty would be able to tell she'd told him with how coded it was.
   He apparently could. Three dead bodies were found almost immediately. They were all laying next to each other in the middle of the sidewalk. One had 'I' spray-painted on it in red, the middle one 'O' with a smiley face in it, and the last a 'U'. And, on top of that, John had no clue what the note meant. She sometimes forgot that not everyone had the skills of a professional cryptographer. So she left 221B with a small backpack, guilt, and determination.