Emily's POV
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I sit back on the bed, crossing my legs and sipping coffee as I scan through The Web database, looking absentmindedly at the scrolling updates. I've been so preoccupied recently, I haven't had the chance to hack anything substantial, and my client list is continually increasing. I don't want to go all out, and crash British National Security, because I feel indebted to Mycroft for manning the rescue operation in China. I wrinkle my nose as this thought crosses my mind- I am going soft. Every now and then I feel like I should pack up and visit the side of the devils, to prevent the continual boredom that plagues me when I start being too good.
However, that would mean inevitable contact with Moriarty- the self-proclaimed connoisseur of crime and illegal activities- I can't start hacking again without attracting unwanted attention.
And I've seen enough of that man to last me a lifetime.
No you haven't.
I ignore the voice whispering doubt into the fissures of my mind, and lean in to the screen, taking in the newest information. A couple of people are missing. A few hundred are dead. Nothing out of the ordinary. Some leaked code. Advertisements for murder. The usual. I'm about to shut down and give up, when the screen lights up, blinking a notification.
_Accept?_Decline?
I recognise the URL setup and code as a freetrack to my webcam. A video message request. I toy with the idea of accepting the invitation. A year ago, and I would have declined it without thinking twice. But boredom does strange things to your logic.
It could be anybody. And because the request is emanating from The Web forum, the chance of it being a save-the-children appeal is very slim.
I weigh up the consequences against the entertainment it could provide me with.
And I click _Accept.
The screen pauses for a minute, loading, and I position my fingers on the keys in preparation for a fight against what is probably an increasingly malicious virus. The screen flickers. And a tab opens.
It's Moran.
I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise, and lean back, reaching for my coffee mug. He grins and shifts in the blue light of the webcam, sitting back in the chair and cracking his knuckles. The scar on his face is embossed by shadow, and his blonde hair is tousled and knotted. I take in the surroundings in the background- I don't recognise it. It's clearly a hotel room. Relatively low-budget. But not foreign. It has to be in London, somewhere, because the tracking software I have permanently installed on my laptop traces his location to be within a ten mile radius.
"How are the bruises?"
"What bruises?" I say sweetly, smiling as coyly as I can.
"Oh come on, I know I got a few good hits on you. If it makes you feel any better, mine haven't faded."
"What do you want?"
His eyes flit up for a fraction of a second, above the laptop screen, his shark-smile fading. And then he looks at me again.
"I want you to back off."
I laugh. He bristles, visibly tensing up, and I know that he would like nothing more than to reach through the screen and smash my skull. He's a strange man. Banter one minute, senselessly violent the next.
"I understand now that you're no ordinary woman, Emily Schott, but even you couldn't begin to anticipate the complexity and the danger you're wading into."
YOU ARE READING
Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*
Fanfiction"That is not danger," said he. "It is inevitable destruction. You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organisation, the full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realise. You must stand clear...
