The Mystery of Jayden Holmes (A Greg Lestrade fanfic)

Chapter One

“Why the act?” he spoke finally.

“This nice act is a good way to build a good clientele. They think you’re this great, easy-going person, but then when you have a sudden change in personality it scares them into getting you what you want. It’s adorable how scared people get when their lives are threatened,” I explained with a wink.

“Clientele?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing in America this whole time? You’re not the only consulting personnel in the world. I’m only back in England because a close friend of mine needed my assistance.”

“Close friend? And who exactly would that be?” he questioned. John cut the conversation short when he walked in with my cuppa.

I took my tea from John without taking my eyes from Sherlock. “So, how is it having my twin as a ‘friend’? Hellish, I suppose? Obviously not as Hellish as Afghanistan, but a close second.”

“You sound exactly like Mycroft,” John grumbled and I rolled my eyes in irritation. “But yes, it is very interesting.”

The room grew silent, John looking around awkwardly while my twin and I had a bit of a staring match. I finished my tea before my phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered, turning away from the two men.

“Where are you?”

“I’m on my way now.”

“Have you even delivered the message yet?”

“Not yet, I-”

“Know that if you mess this up-” he hissed, but

I stopped him.

“Calm down, love.”

“And what did I say about cutting me off like that?”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I will personally break you.”

“Just stop. I’ll be there soon.”

The line went dead and I let out a quiet sigh and turned back to Sherlock.

“That ‘close friend’ of yours?” he questioned, standing up.

“Yes, and he sends his regards. He says ‘the game is on’.”

“What is she talking about?” John asked, a hint of worry seeping through his voice.

“Jim Moriarty,” Sherlock answered for me.

“Oh, you’re so smart, brother dearest. America has done me well. I’m Mr. Moriarty’s head of the American web. And do try to avoid letting big brother know about this encounter. Good-bye boys.” I walked out of 221B Baker Street without another glance back. When I got outside, one of Moriarty’s many associates was waiting outside to pick me up. I slid into his black car and started fiddling with my phone. Jim would be angry and I knew that wouldn’t end well. We both had tempers and an attitude to match. We were definitely a deadly combination.

 

When I walked into his home I took a seat on a plush white couch and looked around. He had remodeled the place since I had last been there. A white carpet to match the couch was spread out on the contrasting hardwood floor and a wine cabinet sat alone in the far corner. I looked up just as Jim walked in in his favorite Westwood suit. He didn’t acknowledge me at first as he opened the door to his small office, but then he turned and motioned for me to follow. I silently followed him into the room, cringing when I heard him lock the door. As I turned to speak, I was greeted with a slap to the face.

“One, you weren’t supposed to tell him about your position and two, I didn’t appreciate your tone earlier,” his tone was venomous and that alone was enough to make me want to apologize for everything I had done.

“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t, so I just assumed-” He hit me again.

“We don’t assume. And why would you tell anyone that? You may as well have went to Parliament and yelled ‘I’m a world class terrorist’! I picked you because you’re a Holmes. You’re supposed to be smarter than this! But turns out you’re like everyone else, stupid!” he screamed the last word barely an inch from my face, his smooth Irish accent thicker than usual.

“You picked me because I was the only Holmes to be easily swayed from the side of the angels,” I muttered as a pitiful excuse. At my reply he pinned me to the wall by my throat.

“Why? Why do you make me do this to you? I don’t know what to do with you anymore.”

“You could kill me. It might make life easier for both of us.”

To my surprise, the look in his eyes went from vicious to hurt. He looked away from me, staring a hole in the floor, but I could still see the vulnerability in his features. He let go of me and just rested his forehead against mine.

“It’s getting late…” he murmured simply and ‘gently’ pulled me from his office and to his room.