Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 12- Waterbrook Hotel

Millie's POV

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Seething, I storm out of the cafe and down a random street, walking quickly to vent off my anger. I'm really not used to dealing with so many emotions at once. I'm not sure who I'm angry at; Emily, for threatening my friends, Sherlock for trusting her, or myself for being so tactless.

I should not have mentioned her sister. Elena Schott died in 2001. Disabled. Murder victim. The law never pressed charges. 2001 was the year Emily stopped being a detective, and became a criminal hacker. According to sources, she's currently the 3rd most wanted criminal in the UK. And it's not hard to see why. I was senseless, and angry, so I used her pressure point against her.

I slow down my pace. It's really no wonder she threatened Sherlock and John. 

Someone roughly pushes past me. I turn around, irritated,then stop-

Spray painted across the brick wall, in the same writing style as the lettering on the mirror at Baker Street-

Silly Millie

I photograph it, and send it to Sherlock. 

I need to get back to Baker Street.

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Emily's POV

I'm sitting in the kitchen, calmer now, but confused.

Millie knows about Elena. She could break me. But would she? I saw anger, hatred and jealousy in her, back at the cafe, but not cruelty. It's the not knowing which is getting to me. I let out a long, shallow sigh. I could carry my threat through. I could destroy Sherlock and John- all it would take is two framed crimes and access to the media database, but, the truth is, I don't want to. I like Sherlock, in spite of myself. I don't want to hurt him, or his friend.

I look at the clock.

9:00 PM

I should probably leave.

As I slip on my jacket, and close the apartment door, I start to think about Millie's analysis of Jim Moriarty. It was unnerving how she pinpointed exactly what I felt when I was around him. Except, when Millie was describing him, she sounded disgusted- more at herself, I think. I find myself inexplicably attracted to danger. Must come with the job.

I'm in the taxi now. I seem to spending a lot of time, recently, being ferried around London by cab. Gone were the days of peaceful hacking at my apartment, I think with sarcasm.

Waterbrook Hotel is huge. I have to crane my neck to see the top battlements, and the white brick walls are illuminated by expansive blue floodlights. Showy, dramatic, statement. Of course he would be here.

I feel very understated as I walk into the lobby. There are women my age here, too, but they're all dressed in sweeping ballgowns and adorned with expensive jewellery. Uncomfortable,  I adjust my ponytail and straighten out my simple black t-shirt. I walk past one of the many mirrors. I'm hardly made up for a place like this; all I have on is my usual mascara and eyeliner.

Remember what you're here to do.

This thought soothes me. I'm here to illegally extract information for the most dangerous criminal mind of my generation. The women around me are probably here for an exceedingly expensive hen night. I don't need to look like them.

My phone vibrates.

Roger Brook. Business Appointment~JM

It takes me a second to work it out.