The Game is On (A Sherlock Fanfiction)

BEEP BEEP BEEP

I slam the off button on my alarm and roll out of my bed, onto the floor. I flip my long, brown, curly hair out of my face and slowly stand up, slipping my feet into the white, fuzzy slippers sitting on the cold wooden floor. I shuffle my way down the hallway and don't bother to look in the refridgerator as I pass it, knowing that all that's kept in there is my dad's experiments.

My dad lies on the couch his fingertips pressed together and brought to his lips. I've learned not to disturb him when he's in this position. He's thinking, more likely than not about a recent case. His laptop sits open on the table. I shuffle over to it and read what was sent to him.

Dear Mr. Holmes,

It has come to my attention that my dearest aunt has fallen ill, the symptoms being a very high fever, vomiting, and one strange thing.. Her eyes are yellow. Why is this? I hope you can answer this.

Sincerely,

Martha Rattinger

"What do you think?" he turns his head toward me.

"I think you haven't anything to think about. Could be simple liver failure."

"Most likely, yes. Don't know why I'm dwelling on this so much." he jumps off of the couch and walks over the table.

"You're tense. John should be here by now, shouldn't he?"

"37 minutes late." he paces the room.

As if on cue, John bursts through the door. "Traffic." His son follows closely behind.

"Liar." I whisper.

"What?" John questions.

"Your hair. It's slightly parted to the left, which isn't the usual case. You were in a rush. Maybe you slept through your alarm or you were taking time to rush him, which is more likely since you're not known to be a heavy sleeper. He wouldn't get ready.. State of his clothes. Pressed slightly since his mother had just ironed them soon before you got here. And there wasn't any traffic from your place to here. I checked. Liar." a speak quickly. My dad behind me laughing and John crosses his arms. I sit myself down on my cushioned chair by the fireplace.

John laughs. "Amelia Holmes, you are just like your father."

"I'll take that as a compliment from you." I mutter. "Oh and can you tell mum that I need a hand from the morgue?" I ask my dad.

John's son looks at me, scared. "John never brings his children with him. Which one are you?"

"Ronald."

"Why did you come?"

"I..uh.." he stutters.

"The hand is for an experiment." I explain and walk into my room and get dressed. I put my coat on. "I really must leave." I say, pulling my phone out. "Uncle Mycroft." I wave the phone at John while I exit the flat.

 I close the door behind me and pretend like I'm walking down the stairs. After a while, Ronald whispers "Wow. That was. Fantastic."

I smile and actually rush down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson stops me at the base of the stairs. "Don't forget your scarf dear." she says and I grab it and wrap it around my neck, walking out the door. Uncle Mycroft's assistant sits in a car out front. I get in reluctantly, not wanting to take orders from my uncle. I don't speak to his assistant the ride to the location. Surprisingly, the location is at his office, which doesn't happen too often.

I walk up the stairs and then into his office where he sits calmly at his desk. Well.. somewhat calmly. I sit down across from him in a large, cushioned chair. "So what is it? A national emergency I suppose since dad would have refused."

"Well, yes. You see.. Moriarty. Jim Moriarty is back."

"That's dad's business, isn't it?"

"Yes, but this time... he's after you."

"Why?"

"Because he want's to get to your father, with the one thing in this world he cares about. You."

"What do I need to do?"

 "Don't tell your father." I nod. "If he knew then he would get himself killed."

"To be fair, this isn't a national emergency."

"We're expecting bombs being planted. Go and find them."

"Gotcha." I walk out of his office not saying another word. I refuse the ride home, wanting a nice long walk to think this through.

 Moriarty is after me. My father told me about him. He killed many people. Carved IOU into an apple. A completely genius, mental man. I can't get my dad involved, and I can't get the police involved. People will die. I don't know what to do. I don't like not knowing.

Before I know it, I lose my train of thought and magically end up back at 221B. I walk up the stairs slowly. Everyone I know could die. The only way to stop that from happening was to wait. I don't like waiting either.

I make it upstairs where my dad lays on the couch and John and his son sit on two of the three chairs sat by the fireplace. They turn to look at me when I enter. I don't say a word. There's an unsettling silence between us. I know something that they don't. Something they should know, but they can't.

They know not to ask about what Uncle Mycroft and I speak about, but I'm almost sure that my father has already figured it out. "National Emergency?" he asks.

"Yes." I lie. If I've learned anything over the years, it's how to lie to my father, which isn't easy.

"So John, where were we?" he turns over to Watson.

"Oh yes.. well, Ronald is looking for a flatmate." Watson glances up at me. My fathers jaw tightens. My fists clench and my palms begin to sweat.

"And?" My jaw is cramping. No I can't be his flatmate. That would put him in danger. I bite my lip. I look at Ronald. Cat Lover, Compulsive Liar, Heading to be an Army Doctor in 3 months.

"Why does he need a flatmate if he's leaving to be an army doctor in three months?" I ask. Ronald looks at me in awe.

"No way. Who said anything about being an army doctor?" his jaw hangs open.

"Nobody." John smiles.

"Then how-"

"I saw when you came in how you stood upright and stiff like you've been in military training for a few years. The tips of your thumbs aren't worn down as much yet so I've supposed you haven't gone into battle. Army Doctor? Simple. Following in your father's footsteps is statistically likely of those in your bloodline."

"Wow. That. Was.. Bloody brilliant!"

"And there's the Holmes family for you." John mutters.

"Oh and I don't like cats so that wouldn't work out to well, would it?" I say and turn quickly, rushing into my room. I sit down on my bed and listen to the conversation. Ronald's face.. I can't quite get it out of my mind. His messy blonde hair and his bright, blue, happy eyes. I look in the mirror and all I see is dull brown hair and cold, unsettling blue/grey eyes.

I noticed, growing up, that my mum acted differently then my father. Reacted to things. Got sad, and angry. Oh yes, I've seen this in my dad too, but much less. My dad could sit through an explosion across the street and be playing his violin 5 minutes later. But mum sees dead bodies every day, so she's hardened her emotions, but the brick wall that she built crumbles to pieces sometimes.

I don't feel like my mum feels. I don't feel sad, or angry. Happiness? Jealousy? Pity? These things are foreign to me. There is one thing I do feel. Excitement. When I get a new case. When I prove someone wrong or get to prove that I'm clever. The rush of running down side streets to catch a criminal in a cab. And when I'm not excited, I'm waiting to be. Waiting for the next case, a new criminal mastermind. And I don't like to be kept waiting. It's like being trapped in a cage for too long.

So what am I going to do about Jim Moriarty? By my judgement, he should begin his plan tomorrow. But what is his plan? What am I to do? Do I get John to help me? No that could get him killed. Getting the police involved would just worsen my situation. I must face Jim Moriarty on my own. To protect my family... and....ugh.. friend?