theblueaurora

[theblueaurora]

The Unnamed Girl: Part 4

Master List

Find the previous part here:  Part 3

The damage of the explosion was much more disturbingly graphic in person. The telly doesn’t give justice to much, and an explosion is certainly no exception. Debris covered a block of Baker Street, the air heavy with smoke and soot covered almost everything in a slight coat. Just by looking around you could tell which emergency vehicles had been here the longest. Windows shattered across the street, few still intact. It was clear to see which flats are currently occupied, because sets of windows are boarded up while others the drapes are lightly fluttering.

“Inspector Lestrade!” I hear someone call. Turning my body to the voice, I see a young male officer quickly strutting toward Greg. Wait, when did I get over here? I am standing in the middle of the street, emergency personnel rushing all around me. I must have moved away from Greg when I was looking around. Still watching the interaction between Greg and officer, I see Greg’s face pale slightly and a dark expression cover his features. He looks up and over to where my feet were planted, making eye contact with me he gives a faint nod to summoning me. I force my feet to move.

“What is the matter?” I ask before I once more plant my feet a couple of steps from him. Without a sound he hands me a metal object, which I had failed to notice him holding. I cautiously take the possibility sharp item, holding it in front of my abdomen.

“They believe it is part of the bomb.” Greg informs me. Curiously, I look at it. The face up side is jagged, black, and scratched. I carefully flip it. There is a light pattern in it. Bringing it up more I can make out the design, it's an engraving; an engraving of a rose.

The world slows, my heart thunders in my chest, blood rushing in my head. I guess some part of me was hoping that this wasn't my brother, but this confirms my fear. A rose, my brother's symbol for him and his accomplices, for “M”. And once this soot is washed off it'd be blue. A blue rose.

“(Y/N)?” Greg's voice brings me out of my head, “You alright?”

“I'm fine,” I say, my voice a few octaves lower than normal, “This is proof of our suspicions. I guess I couldn't let that one spark of hope die. My heart got the best of me.”

“I'm sorry, I know you wish it wasn't him.”

“Yes, but wishing and hoping doesn't change a thing.” I hand him the bomb shard. “Should we get going?”

Greg nods. He quickly hands the bomb piece to a now confused looking officer and walks towards me. Lightly he places his arm around my shoulder, and turns me 90 degrees before he starts walking forward.

We walk a few yards until we reach an elegant looking door. It's a dark hard wood door, with an intricate, yet crooked, knocker and lovely characters that could be described as somewhere between a gold and copper tone. There was a light dusting of ash on the knocker on the bits that stick out the most. The wooden door has some light damage, most likely from the flying debris that the explosion caused. There is light wearing surrounding the knocker, as if it gets straightened frequently. There is also some wear on the bottom right corner of the door, from people rubbing into it.

Greg opens the door, without knocking, and moves to the side allowing me to go indoors. With a small nod of thanks I step inside the intriguing entryway. There is a small chamber with another door at the end, before Greg even had a chance to close the dark wood door I open the next one. Walking into the hallway I pause and look back to Greg so he can give me directions on where to go next. He walks towards me and to the stairs, lightly giving me an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Following him I walk over the stairs and extend my hand out to the wall, prepared to ascend the stairway. I stop.

Looking down I can see that my hand is trembling. The excitement and anxiety of all my worries and stresses is causing my hands to shake, and I am certain that the caffeine I had isn't helping. Everything that has happened in the last six months has lead up to this, and from now on I will be in the field looking for my brother.

I refuse to have an anxiety attack now. I need to be strong, I am the only one who can do this. Catching my brother is the only way I can help him. I need him back.

“(Y/N)?” Greg quiet voice brings me back into reality. My sight shot to him, leaving my still shaking hand. He's halfway up the stairs, his left foot a step above the other and his body turned to he can look at me.

I nod at him, informing him I'm fine.

“Well come on then.” I nod once again and take my first step upwards.

It's an older flat, I can tell by not only the exterior but the way the stairs creak beneath my solid boots. The way the wall feel under my fingertips as I use it for slight support. The design is a slight give away, but that look is still fairly popular, especially among the older population.

As I reached the first podium I can hear hushed voices. A deep baritone is the one that carries the most. I quickly turn the corner and see Greg standing in front of a slightly open door looking back at me. I smile half heartedly at him and start my way up the last remaining stairs.

“Lestrade!” The baritone voice barks. Greg turns and opens the door.

“Sherlock. Is everyone all right here?” He asks, leaning against the door frame. I stop two steps after I get up the stairs, patiently waiting.

“Oh yes we're fine.”

“You are waiting for someone, who.” It wasn't a question. There is no doubt in my mind that that is Sherlock Holmes.

“A friend and colleague.” He simply replies.

“Let me guess, a young woman. She works with Scotland Yard and is currently carrying a large and heavy bag.”

“How did you…?” Greg trails off. I smirk, so this is what it looks like when he get dumbfounded by the famous detective.

“Simple. I can tell it's a woman by her steps and the footwear. I know she works with Scotland because she wouldn't be here with you otherwise. Her slightly uneven steps tells me that she had a large and heavy carrier bag against her non dominant hip. And I know she works with and not for Scotland Yard is because if she worked for it she would not have a large bag with her.”

I can't help but smile. He had gotten everything right. And all without laying an eye on me. He had missed a few details, such as the small fact that I am working for his brother. But most people would have not gotten any of that just from the sound of my footsteps. Sherlock Holmes is truly a well gifted man.

I take a few steps forward, until I can see a bit more into the flat. A boarded up window is almost directory across from me, light only coming on through the very top, and semi translucent drapes frame the very sides. Dust particles dance in the sun rays. I step inside the room. I look to my left, where Greg is facing. A man in a bathrobe sits in a large black chair playing with the strings of a violin. The bow is in his right hand, the hand he is plucking strings with. Mycroft sits across from him, and I can tell by the droop in his shoulders that he is not happy to be here.

“Well done Mr. Holmes,” I say, “That was truly astounding. Only the sound of my footsteps gave you all that information. You most certainly are a brilliant detective! I am Dr. (Y/N) O’Connor, pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure.” Says the man in the bathrobe. He has dark and curly hair that is a mess. Some of it is from the explosion, that much is obvious, but I wouldn't doubt that his normal hair style isn't any better, just slightly less dusted. His skin complexion is surprisingly clear, especially for someone who nearly got blown up. He has surprisingly sharp cheekbones. Siblings often have similar features, but the only similarly I see between the Holmes brothers is their storm grey eyes.

“Great to see you again Lestrade.” Mycroft states. Sherlock rolls his eye and continues to play with the strings. I smirk at the small brotherly gesture. He didn't greet me, must be testing Sherlock.

“You too Mycroft.” He grunts and shifts his weight to a different foot.

“So, when did you start?” I look over to Sherlock, he's looking directly at me. It wouldn't surprise me if he guessed already but it feels more like he's digging around.

“Pardon me?” I ask, playing dumb.

“You're working outside of the office, are you not? And it's obvious that you had previously had been behind a computer because of your posture.

“Well yes, you are correct. I actually start today.” I reply.

“With whom?” He sounds smug, he must know I'm to be working with him.

“Isn't that obviously?” Sherlock gives me a smirk, proving it. I smirk back. “I'm going to enjoy working with you Mr. Holmes.”

“I've told you both before, I'm not going to work with anyone from Scotland Yard.” He must suspect Mycroft is involved in this. After all I can't see Greg coming up with something like this.

“Lucky for you my position at Scotland Yard was temporary. I only worked there to get some information.”

“Information for what?”

“Not what, who. I was looking for information on one individual, which is why they wish to place me with you.”

“And who is this individual?” His gaze left me and returned to his violin, he seems to have lost interest. His loss of interest will only last a second tho.

“The man I was gathering information on is Moriarty.” Sherlock’s head snaps towards me the instance my brother's name leaves my lips.

“Moriarty?”

“That's right.”

“How did you get…” Sherlock was cut off.

“Sherlock?” A voice yells from downstairs. Footsteps follow, loud and heavy. Must be taking two stairs at a time. “Sherlock!? Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, yes. I'm fine.”

“Sherlock!”

“John stop your blabbering.”

“What the hell happened here?” He asked, looking from Sherlock to Lestrade, and then continues to scan the damage my brother brought to this flat. He hasn’t noticed me yet. Hardly a surprise though, in times of trauma we often look to those who we know on a personal level. I can't help but feel surprised that he doesn't look to Mycroft.

“Well, the official answer is “gas main exposition”.” Lestrade answers.

“And the unofficial answer?”

“A man who I've been hunting down.” Sherlock answers.

“And who would that be?” John asks, a hint of hesitation in his tone.

“James Moriarty.” I answer, making John turn to me for the first time. His eyes widen a bit in surprise.

“Well hello.” John flirts. He certainly gets distracted easily.

“Yes, hello.” I say, I make my voice bland, monotonous. As much as I hate to be rude, this discussion needs to happen and he nor I can be distracted with flirtations.

John looks to Sherlock in surprise at my tone. Sherlock is paying zero regard to his flatmate, he is too engrossed in his violin. Looking to Mycroft John sees that the brother is no help either, as he is suddenly interested in his umbrella. John lets out a sigh of defeat.

“So,” Sherlock starts, still looking down at his instrument, “What do you know about Moriarty?”

“I know his first crime; a number of other crimes. Where he grew up. His best friend, his partner in crime. Some of his associated. His favorite spot.”

“How did you come by all this information?” Sherlock says, finally looking up from his distraction. I resist the urge to glance at Mycroft, knowing Sherlock would catch the tiny movement.

“I have my sources.” I smirk for a split second before continuing, “What matters is that we have the information, the how is not as important as the who. Moriarty is what matters. Catching him is what matters. I have been after him since college, but until I few months ago I didn't have the resources to get what I wanted.”

“Well, tell me what you know about him.” Sherlock demands, giving me a smug grin.

“What I know is that James Moriarty is a psychopathic narcissist who is far to smart for the average law enforcement to find.”

“Hey!” Greg protests. I shoot him a look silencing him.

“In fact, even an exceptional person may find it impossible. But with a superb mind it is completely feasible. That is why I need your help Sherlock. You are the only person who can find him. He has taking a liking to you and we can use that to our advantage. He sees your mind as a challenge, a gigantic game, but if we play our cards correctly he will lead us straight to him.”

I feel eyes on me but mine are locked onto Sherlock's. A few dragged out seconds pass and the only sound that can be heard is from beyond the walls, racket from the people and the sirens that still fill the streets below.

“Fine. We shall see how you hold up to my rigorous demands.”

[theblueaurora]

The Unnamed Girl

MASTER LIST

WORK IN PROGRESS

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[theblueaurora]

The Unnamed Girl: Part 3

Master List

Find the previous part here: Part 2

Beep Beep Beep

“Oh, shut up!” I command my alarm, reaching up to hit the large button. Sluggishly sit up in my bed, my body craving more sleep. The neon glow told me that it is 8:01. At least I got to sleep in today, but after staying up so late it hardly felt like a treat.

Greg sent me a link to Dr. Watson’s blog late last night and I couldn’t help but read it. Getting an eyewitness’ view on Sherlock was fascinating. It gave me insight on Sherlock and Dr. John Watson that I otherwise wouldn’t have gotten. Greg never spoke of Sherlock the way John did, and Greg hardly ever spoke of Sherlock’s flaws, apart from Sherlock’s tendency to make him look like a imbecile. Although after reading the blog, it looks like Greg has an even greater respect for Sherlock Holmes than I first thought.

I grab my alarm off of my night stand and turn it off, not wanting it’s annoying sound to fill my bedroom once again. Slowly, I stand up and make my way to the kitchen. I have a few hours before Greg will pick me up here, but I would like a morning to myself before I start to work with a man who I hear does not have a strict sleep schedule. Mycroft warned me that it will take getting used to, and I have no trouble believing that.

Having reached my destination I turn on the coffee maker, needing a little extra fuel to get me going this morning. Starting my usual morning routine, I go to the bathroom to start getting ready for the day ahead.

Having showered and gotten my hair mostly dry I can finally sit and enjoy my cup of steaming coffee. I make my coffee with two sugars and wander over to my seat by the window. I love living on the top floor because I don’t have buildings obstructing my view of the sky. That as well as the fact that I am further away from the clamour of the city, and I get the echo of life rather than the blare of it.

The sky was the same patchy dark grey colour it was was last night, even in my small apartment I could feel the tingle of oncoming rain. I take a small sip of my bitter sweet drink and sigh. Having a feeling that this is going to be last morning like this for a while, I can’t help but smile at the fact that this might be the quietest my life may be for a lasting moment. I sit and enjoy the tranquil setting.

A few moments go by before I hear a soft familiar buzz from my phone. Looking around for a second I finally spot it by my coffee maker, still on the charger. Standing, I quickly make my way into the kitchen. Unplugging my phone the screen lights up, saying that I have two text messages. Unlocking it I see that the first is from Mycroft and the second from Greg. It’s only 8:41, I wonder if something’s happened. Mycroft never texts if he can talk, same with Greg. Curiously, I open Mycroft’s text.

Change in plans. D.I. Lestrade will pick you up earlier than previously arranged. Remember, do not mention that Moriarty is your brother to Sherlock.

What in the world happened? Mycroft very rarely changes plans, especially long planned ones like this. Oh no, this text was sent at 7:58, I wonder when Greg will get here. Shaking off the uneasy, panicky feeling rising in my chest I open Greg’s text.

I’ll be there in ten minutes, there is something we need to talk about before we leave so don’t leave your flat yet.

Well that answers that. Something must have happened, that’s the only logical explanation. I wonder if it has anything to do with all the sirens I heard all of last night and early this morning. I have better get dressed quickly before Greg gets here. I take a sip of my now warm coffee before setting it and my phone on the counter and quickly dart to my room.

Greg warned me that Sherlock can leave without a seconds notice, so I’d better dress practical. I grab a pair of jeans from my dresser, throwing them on my bed as I approach my closet. I grab the first thing I see, a cream colour blouse. This should work. I make my way around my room as I quickly get ready. As I’m about to leave room I grab my glasses and contacts off of my night stand. I can see fairly well without them but who knows what I will be doing today. Putting my glasses on I walk back into the kitchen, placing my contact case onto the table as I pass it.

I gather the rest of my items; my umbrella, my still warm phone charger, my wallet. I place everything thing into my purse which is hanging on the back of a chair. I retrieve my laptop from my desk and stuff it into my padded bag, along with it’s charger. My phone once more buzzes. I walk over to the middle of the room, and place my bag onto the small table before I look at my phone.

I’m outside, I’ll be up in a minute.

Perfect timing Greg. I’ll be ready just as soon as I get my boots on.

The door is open, let yourself in.

Having sent him a quick reply I place my phone on the table, making sure it’s screen up so I can see if it lights up. Without a second thought I walk over to the door and grab my knee high boots. As I approach the kitchen I pull out a chair so I can get boots on and zipped. My body is telling me I should be freaking out, I feel as if I am about to start trembling, but my brain is demanding that I remain calm. I need to do this, I need to do this for my brother, for James.

I look around my flat, I see my two bags are on the table, next to me. Yesterday’s newspaper is peeking out from under them, I hadn’t thrown it in my recycling bin yet. Three of my four chairs are tucked neatly under the table. Looking up I see the still nearly full pot of coffee on my counter, I had been expecting to have time for another cup or two. I could bring some with, I do have a travel mug, but I don’t want to carry it around with me. I’ll already to have two bags to worry about as it is. Sighing, I rise to my feet and make my way over to the machine, turning it off. Maybe I can get a cup later. I turn around and lean back onto the counter, my cramped yet ideal lounge is on the other side of my table. It consists of a sofa and a chair which is facing my favorite window rather than my small flatscreen. There is no coffee table, only a small end table between the seating and a tray next to the window. My flat is petite and delightful, and Greg often jokes that I made it mirror myself.

I hear a light knock and my door suddenly opens. Speak of the devil. Greg stands in my door way directly to my right, his usual cheerful grin, that is more like a smirk, greeting me. I smile back, his smile is so infectious. He walks in with a nod as a greeting and closes the door. My smile grows as I see the two coffee cups from the cafe down the street, one wedged between his forearm and torso, the other in his hand. My savior! He occasionally will get me a coffee when he stops by, he knows how much I love that place. The coffee nearest his torso must be for me, because the one is his hand has the sweet smelling golden liquid around the edge of the lid.

“Good morning, (Y/N)! I thought you could use this!” He hands me my coffee. “Two sugars, just the way you like it.”

“Mornin’ Greg!” My naturally alto voice is a few octaves higher than normal, the smile on my face the reason. “You’re my hero, thanks.”

“Have you seen the news yet?” My smile drops as I see the grim look in his eyes.

“No, I haven’t had a chance yet this morning. Why? Did something happen?” I ask, curiosity coating my tone.

“Yes. And the way Mycroft sounded he believes it to be the work of your brother.”

He gives me a sympathetic look as he walks into my lounge and grabs my remote off of my end table. He steps in front of my sofa and turns on the telly, flipping through channels as soon as the screen lights up. I can’t help but to smile at the fact that my already small lounge looks like a doll house compared to Greg’s giraffe like height.

“Here, watch this.” I walk over so I’m standing next to him.

The reporter’s voice rambles on for a few moments before a picture of a smoking building, a majority of it’s exterior wall collapsed. First response is there, and a few reporters and news crews are visible.

“Back now to our main story. There was a massive explosion in central London on Baker Street. As yet, there are no reports of any casualties and the police are unable to say if there’s any terrorist involvement. Police have issued an emergency number for friends or family…”

“That’s enough.” I snap. Greg gives me a concerned look, without looking away from me he lifts his hand and clicks off my telly. I walk away from Greg across my flat to my counter, I set my coffee down as I turnaround and lean back.

“So, do you think it’s Moriarty?” He asks gently. I look him dead in the eyes, giving him my answer.

“Let me guess, that was spitting distance from Sherlock’s flat,” He nods, “It was a message to Sherlock. Mycroft was right, James Moriarty is fixated with him. The fact that no one was killed that means that it was either a warning or the simpler and more likely reason that it was a way to get Sherlock’s attention. This is all a game to him, and Sherlock is his new favorite toy.”

“You don’t think Moriarty would hurt Sherlock, do you?” I don’t answer right away, rather I walk past Greg to the window. His body turns with me. I stare out the window,

“No. At least not yet. For now all he’s doing is pulling strings. He and Sherlock have yet to face off head to head. Sherlock Holmes should be safe for the time being. James isn’t done with his newest plaything yet. Once he’s bored however, there could be several outcomes to this game his, none good.”

“We should get going, Mycroft is expecting us.”

“Let’s get going then.” I say, as I walk over to the table to grab bags, then return to the counter where my coffee is sitting. I walk over to the door and open it, looking to Greg I signal him to go out first. As I’m halfway out the door I pause for a single moment and grab my coat. Once we are both outside my flat I close the door and lock it, not knowing when I’ll be back.

Find next part here: Part 4

[theblueaurora]

AVENGERS PREFERENCE

Steve

He likes to be the big spoon. Being able to wrap his arms around you, being able to hold you close and keep you safe, gives him a sense of being grounded back into reality. He likes to stick his nose in your hair and inhale the odd yet satisfying scents that make you smell like you. Sometimes in the middle of the night you turn over away from him. Most if the time he ignores it and moves over to continues to cuddle with you. But every so often, when he had a bad day, he will get up and lay behind you once again so he can feel you whole body against his and he know that you are safe in his arms.

Steve can tell when you're having a bad day. Much like your partner you need to feel him, to know that he is real and that he is yours. On these nights you refuse be the little spoon, you want to face him. If he is wearing a shirt you clutch it like your like depends on it, if not then you press your hand against his chest. He finds it very endearing. On these night there is zero chance that either of you are rolling away from each other.

Tony

He likes his personal space when he sleeps,so most nights you two stay on your own side of the bed. On days when he has a bad day, he doesn't go to bed with you. He stays in his lab and works until the early hours of the morning, he sometimes doesn't go to bed until you are waking up, if he goes to bed at all. But when you have a bad day? He drops everything to cuddle with you. The two of you face each other as he holds you close. You like to play with the front if his tee shirt and feel the fabric between your fingers.

Thor

Thor is a back sleeper, which only gives you only so many ways to cuddle with him. Your favorite however is to use his (huge) sprawled out arm as a pillow and lay against his large frame. Depending on your own mood sometimes your arms are close to your chest and sometimes they are hugging him, well as much as they can. For both your’s and his bad days his reaction is the same. He will wrap his pillow arm tightly around you body, his massive hand resting on your hip,which forces you even closer to him.

Natasha

She loves to be the little spoon. She likes to be protected rather than the protector. When she had a nightmare she often curls up into a fetal position as you wrap yourself even more tightly around her. She wraps her arms around herself and often finds herself clinging to your clothes. She slowly starts falling back to sleep, and loosening her feather grip on your clothes, as you hum whatever your favorite song is at that moment.

While Natasha likes a break from being the protector most nights, if she feels something is wrong or if you are not at the well protected Avengers compound, she likes to be the big spoon. She likes the feeling of you in the safety of her arms if you are in the slightest bit of danger. Natasha will rest her chin on your shoulder so she can hear better and be even more vigilant. She will also do this whenever you feel vulnerable. If you have had a bad day or if you wake up from a nightmare nights will be similar to this. Her holding you in her arms. Her first priority is you.

[theblueaurora]

The Unnamed Girl: Part 2

Master List

Find the previous part here: Part 1

“Right this way ma'am.” An older gentleman says to me as I walk through the front door. He leads me through a series of corridors. The walls were tall and decorative designs cover them. Paintings of kings and queens line said walls, the almost life size royalties seem to be staring straight at me.

“Yes, of course.” Why did I say that? My anxiety must be getting the best of me. Walking through nearly soundless halls, every person we pass staring at me with curiosity, is all a bit unnerving, and the paintings certainly do not help. Where could I be? I know we are not in at the Diogenes Club, not only is there talking but because I see the occasional woman, so we must be at some sort of government building. It is times like this that a knowledge of government buildings in London would come in handy, especially now that I won't be trapped in my office anymore.

The man in front of me came to an abrupt stop, snapping me out my thoughts. He gestures to a door to the right of us, then leaves without a word. This must be where I am needed. I take a deep breathe before approaching the door. Why am I so nervous? I’ve met with him before. Holding my hand up to the door I knock.

“Come in.” A slightly nasally, British accent comes from the other side of the door. I timidly open the door. “Aw, Miss (Y/N) O’Connor. I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost.”

“No, not at all Mr. Holmes. Traffic wasn’t on our side, however.” His casual manner relaxed me a bit. He was sitting at his large desk to my right.

“I see. Why don’t you come in and have a seat? We have a lot to discuss.” I do as he says, closing the door as I leave the entry way. “And please, call me Mycroft.”

“Yes, of course sir.” He grimaces at me slightly, which I can only assume is for calling him ‘sir’. I smile at him in an apologetic manner. Now that I am closer to him I can see him a bit better. He is wearing a black pinstripe suit, with a white dress shirt and a bold red tie. His receding hairline is very visible with his hair brushed back. I can't help but feel slightly underdressed, wearing only

“So, I'm sure Lestrade has told you that part two has begun.” I nod. “Good. We discussed this in great lengths when you first came to London. The plan is simple, you need to assist my brother in capturing James Moriarty. You have knowledge of him that no other person has. Insight to his thoughts and actions. I am going to ask you once more, are you sure you are going to be able to handle this?”

“All I want is to have James stopped. He is responsible for God only knows how many murders. He's a criminal, and a bloody brilliant criminal at that. I can't help but feel slightly responsible for his actions. He is a,” Breathe (Y/N), breathe. I look away from him and towards the window, the drapes are nearly closed, not allowing me to see anything but sliver of light. “He is a psychopath, and even at a young age I could see that there was something just not quite right with him. I need to help stop him, and I need to bring him home, and in order to do so I need the help of Sherlock.”

“From what I understand you and James Moriarty used to be quite close at a young age.” My head snaps back to him, he has his hands clasped in front of him, lying on top of a deep blue folder.

“Yes, very close.” I reply without hesitation.

“And that is why we need your help. You saw him change, you saw the triggers and the signs even if you don't realize you did. You are our best chance at getting ahead of him.” He said to me in a way that could almost be considered gentle, but his face showed no change from his usual look which is somewhere between boredom and distaste.

I feel several emotions surge through me. Fear, loneliness, anxious, hurt, weak, but most of all confidence. I may be scared as all hell, but that is not going to stop from pushing forward. Feeling a burst of certainty I speak my mind.

“I want to prevent any further murders. James Moriarty is a dangerous man and must be stopped. The question is will it end in him dead or alive. I personally prefer the latter.”

“I would also like him alive.” I unintentionally tense up at his words. His face shows slight surprise at my action.

“Yes, but for a completely different reason. You want to know everything he has done, as well as all of his connections. I want him alive for selfish reasons.” I can't help but feel a bit bitter at Mycroft previous comment and it shows in my voice. I cast him a glare as he opens his mouth.

“No, that is not selfishness, that's human nature. There is a fine line between what we want to do and what we should do. Not once have you crossed that line in this case. You have the power to do great things with that mind of yours, yet you chose to become a psychologist. Most psychologists have a reason for being in the field, and you are not an exception.” I look away from him as a wave of guilt hits me. He's right, and I shouldn't let petty things bother me.

“I used to think I was interested in psychology so I could figure James out, but now I realize it's because I want to prevent what happened to me from happening to anyone else. Little did I know when I started college that both of those reasons are why I'm standing here today.” I open my mouth to say something else but then stop.

It isn’t like Mycroft to talk about anything touchy feely, so why is he now? From the little time I have spend with Mycroft Holmes there is three logical possibilities. One being he saw how tense I was when I first entered his office and did not want me to be like that the rest of our meeting. Two, he wanted me to let anything I haven’t told him about James Moriarty slip. Or three, he doesn't want me to have another outburst. However, I am relaxed now, and I have nothing to hide. I think that it is time to get pack on track.

“So, from what I’ve heard of your brother, he won‘t be too keen on wanting my help. What can I do to convince him that I am capable enough to work alongside him, or at least help him?”

“You are very intelligent, but not the same way Sherlock is. If you can prove that to him I can almost guarantee that he will be begging for your help. You have information he wants, information that could help him bring down Moriarty.”

“Ok, sounds like it will be easy enough.” I feel confident that I can get Sherlock to work with me. The question is how willing will he be. “And what do I do if he won't share with me? It's obvious he will want the knowledge I have on James, but what if he somehow gets information about him that I don't have?”

“Leave that to me. I have a very close eye on my brother, very little slips past me. And I'm sure you will have Dr. Watson on your side, if he finds out Sherlock is hiding things from you I'm quite sure he'll tell you. After all, women are one of his weaknesses.” I chuckle slightly at his words. Being a woman in a man’s world has its pros and cons, but it certainly has an advantage in this case. I've heard from Greg that Dr. John Watson is a ‘lady’s man’.

“So, when will I meet the great Sherlock Holmes?” I hold a light tone of sarcasm in my voice, although I am overjoyed to have the pleasure of meeting the world's only ‘Consulting Detective’. Mycroft frowned at what I called his younger brother. Mycroft Holmes may act like he is cold, but sibling rivalry doesn't need warm feeling, I should know.

“Tomorrow. You and Lestrade will be meeting with him around noon. Lestrade will pick you up and you will walk over to his flat.”

“Walk?” I interrupt. Why would he specify ‘walk’?

“Yes, walk. You only live a quarter mile from his flat.” He replies with a somewhat annoyed nature. “Lestrade will explain the situation to him, that you are to help him with Moriarty. Of course Sherlock will have some objections, but once Lestrade tells him that you can get him information that he otherwise couldn't come by, I doubt he will make too much more of a fuss.”

I say nothing, just nod. Emotions are getting the best of me, and I don't want my voice to betray me. I'm so close to getting James off the street, after years of worrying about him. Worrying about what he's doing, who he's hurting. I wish he could have used his intelligence to help, not destroy. Like I am, like our parents did.

“Shortly before you came I emailed Lestrade that same information. He is well informed and has dealt with Sherlock numerous times before. Are you comfortable with the plan?” I nod, still not trusting my voice. “Good. Then I believe that is all we need to discuss.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you again for giving me the chance to help. I want him caught just as much as you do, maybe even more.” He silently nods.

“That reminds me, for the time being I would keep the relationship you two have a secret from Sherlock. He sees family as a weakness.”

“I was already planning on keeping that little factor disclosed until absolutely necessary. It is not information I like to share or discus, but you already knew that, didn't you?” Mycroft gives me a questioning glare.

“Now why would you say that?” His voice held a certain challenge to it, as well as a hint of curiosity.

“Because while you repeatedly said ‘my brother’, you never once said ‘your brother’. That as well as every time you said you brother's name you said it very monotonous. And I know it can't to be polite because that's not who you are. I know I don't have the cleanest record, and I certainly have some minor anger issues, which I clearly displayed only a few moments ago. And I never once said ‘your brother’ so I didn't invite you to say it. Which I deliberately did, by the way. I wanted to get a better feel of you, see if you would call him brother like Lestrade does in private.” A small smirk spread across Mycroft’s face.

“I think that you and Sherlock will get along quite well.”

Find the next part here: Part 3

[theblueaurora]

The Unnamed Girl: Part 1

Master List

Author’s Note: This is my first fan-fiction that I have published, and I hope ya’ll like it. I have several ideas on how to continue, and the reaction I get from this and the next part will decide that. No mater what, however, whether this is mere 4 or a grand 44 parts, I will work to make sure this story is worthy of our fine fandom.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N)!” Hearing a familiar Scottish accent, I look up from my pile of papers to see the bright smile of Astrid, standing in the doorway of my office.

“Good morning Astrid. Can I help you with something?” My assistant smiled and strolled over to my desk, her tight, black curls lightly bob near her shoulders.

“Here is one ‘Sebastian Moran’, as promised.” Astrid stated, gently handing a dull yellow folder to me.

“Thank you, Astrid.” She gave a slight nod before darting from my office.

Leaning back into my surprisingly comfortable desk chair, I place the thick folder on top of my already sizable pile of papers. I pick up my bright blue mug and take another sip of my steaming coffee, but not before inhaling the intoxicating aroma of the caffeinated treat. The others at Scotland yard often tease me, saying I spent too much time in America. I guess six years will do that to you. Looking at the dreadful file, I place my coffee back onto my desk.

Although I have only been at Scotland yard for seven months, the work is already draining me. Not because of the hours or the amount of work I was receiving, those were the pleasing aspects of the job. No, the work is draining me because of my number one case, the main reason I am here. The reason I have been working long days, and longer weeks, often falling asleep amongst the pile of papers in front of me now, is the work of one man. One man who I know better then anyone else. One man who poses a threat to all of England. James Moriarty.

For the last seven months, I have been working with the British government and Scotland Yard to gain as much info as I possibly could on James Moriarty. The boy I grew up with is now a national threat. This is only part one of our plan to defeat him, and I pray part two will happen soon because I do not know how much more I can take. They felt I was most qualified for this job, not only because of my insight to him, but my PhD in Psychology. They felt that I was their best bet at catching the man I used to care about.

Hearing a light knock on my door, I look up. There stands Lieutenant Greg Lestrade. He is a tall, thin man. His grey hair is obviously dyed, but it somehow works on him. He is wearing his typically slacks and a plain dress shirt.

~~~

“Detective.” I greet with a light smile, “Please, come in.”

“Thank you.” He says as he struts into my office and hesitantly takes a seat in front of my desk.

“Is there something I can help you with sir?”

“No, no. But we need to talk. I just received a call. That call said part two is a go.” I feel my mouth open slightly in surprise.

“So soon? I was thinking it’d be at least another week. I just received a file and have hardly went over it. He must know that.”

“Of course he does, the bastard knows everything. Apparently something has happened and we need to jump the gun a little. I’ll make sure you get any further files we receive, but you will be in the field from now on.” I feel a combination of several emotions topple over inside of me, fear and excitement the most dominant.

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you ready for this?” I meet his eyes, they show kindness and understanding. He knows how hard this has been on me. We have become quite close over the last several months, he has become a dear friend to me.

“No.” I say honestly. “But I know that it is time and I know that this needs to be done.”

“It won’t be quite the same without you here.” Greg informs me. I smile at him.

“We both know you’ll be seeing plenty of me.” I chuckle lightly.

“True.” He chuckles with me. “Also, he would like to see you before you leave today. Said he’ll send a car for you at noon. I’ll have Astrid bring you two boxes for your things.”

“Thank you Greg.”

“Anytime.” He replies, as he slowly gets up from his seat across from me and makes his way towards the door. Greg turns back to face me just as he is about to vanish from my sight, his left hand on the door frame. He smiles lightly at me, but there is a somber look in his eyes. Gregory Lestrade hates goodbyes, that is quite clear to anyone who is close to him.

“I’ll be fine, Greg. I mean, how much trouble could Sherlock Holmes possible be?” The somber look in his eyes changed to that of amusement.

“You’ll soon find that out, won’t you?” Greg asked, and walked away. I guess I will be, won’t I? 

Find the next part here: Part 2