After apologizing to John profusely, you tugged a lock of Sherlock’s hair, “I may have kissed John but you injured that that sweet girl… I’ve told you time and time again that it’s sometimes best to let people discover things on their own.”
“I was only trying to help,” he said, batting you hand away without looking up, and you rolled your eyes, picking up one of the trainers to look it over while he went over what he’d gotten from them. He was reaching the end when you tilted your head, causing him to pause, “Tell me.”
“Something about this seems familiar but I’m having trouble placing it…. 20 years… I was barely ten and you only thirteen. Mycroft had just left for university,” you trailed off pressing a thumb to you lips in thought. Sherlock blinked a couple of times and then softly breathed, “Carl Powers.”
Your head snapped up, “What?”
“Don’t you remember? Carl Powers…. It’s where I began.”
“Oh…” you hummed, tilting your head at the shoes, “This just became a lot more interesting… and personal.”
It took only seconds for you to get lost in your mind and Sherlock narrowed his eyes at you, trying to figure out what was going on in your head. It was a futile attempt and he quickly abandoned it moment later in favor of sorting through his own thoughts.
You were quiet all the way back to the flat and long after that, throwing yourself onto the couch while your brother worked at the table. It wasn’t until Sherlock sent John to meet with Mycroft that you moved, languidly rolling off the couch and then getting up to follow him out. Sherlock didn’t look up but almost immediately demanded, “Where are you going?”
“To bake,” you offered simply and with that you slipped out of the flat, making your way back to the warm haven of ovens and flour you’d created for yourself.
You always thought best when kneading dough or mixing icing and before the bakery you’d filled the flat with various baked goods when you had a case. Back then you’d pawn them off on friends, you were fairly social, and your brothers- much to Mycroft’s chagrin. During what you and Sherlock liked to call the Not So Big One- a particularly challenging case that had lasted for over a month, your eldest brother had ended up nearly ten pounds heavier after you’d gifted him four different cakes of fairly substantial size with extra frosting.
Now you had the bakery, which almost always needed you to bake more. It was late afternoon but luckily the bakery was always busy and the ovens ran most of the day to keep up with the demand for fresh goods. On top of that, it was Friday and people were out late with hankerings for a cookie or a cupcake so you could make a few batches without having to worry about them going to waste.
Three batches of cookies and two trays of cupcakes later, you stood back from the ovens and fingered the slip of paper in your pocket. Richard or Jim, as you had decided that name suited him better, was a very interesting mystery to you now. You didn’t even bother to hack through files or do your usual cyber stalking as you did with those you found interesting because you knew you wouldn’t find anything.
Over the past few hours, you’d been piecing things together- he hadn’t known you and Sherlock were related, so he’d not only been interested in you before hand but had also not anticipated your presence in the lab. You were an unplanned surprise in what seemed to be an elaborate and carefully calculated scheme targeting your brother. He was powerful and dangerous- a criminal. You should have told your brother, even now you knew you should tell him, but when something was as interesting as this you couldn’t bring yourself to ruin it with Sherlock’s odd sense of morality.
Instead you’d picked your brother’s pocket to take the number that Jim had left, the same number that was in your own pocket now. You pulled it out, running your fingers over the writing- Should you contact him?
It could be dangerous…
You smirked to yourself, whipping out your phone- who were you kidding?
You loved danger.
When James Moriarty received a text on his phone from an unknown number he expected it to be a Holmes but was wrong as to which Holmes. It gave a time and a place and nothing more- simply signed KH. Intrigued, he finished up his job faster than he’d planned and went to clean up… it wouldn’t do to show up for this little meeting with blood on his shoes and shirt. He had not been happy that your connection to the Holmes boy had slipped though his network unnoticed and there were those that had to pay for that utter incompetence. And they paid dearly.
The place you had picked was an very upscale bar well away from where your brothers or John would stumble upon you and you already had a drink in hand when your companion arrived. You spotted him as soon as he walked in through the mirror behind the bar, giving a curious smile at the new style of clothing. He had on a black suit- an expensive-looking Westwood- with a red shirt under a dark grey tie with little black widows on it. His hair was neat for the first time in all the time you’d known him and he’d noticed you looking at him, making eye contact with you in the mirror.
You pointedly ignored his gaze, returning to your drink as he approached you, and in a matter of seconds his breath was on the shell of your ear as he purred, “Fancy seeing you here, Miss Holmes.”
You shot him a smirk, “I must say I like the new look. Suits you.”
“Back at you, darling,” he hummed and you picked up a light Irish accent as he took your hand and pulled you to standing so he could give you a slow twirl to look you over. You had picked out a shimmery golden cocktail dress for the occasion paired with matching shoes and the whole thing looked killer. You loved dressing up but rarely got the chance, which was one of the reasons you’d picked this particular bar. Not to mention you wanted to impress this man… this very interesting man.
You studied him closely once you were facing him again and then quirked an eyebrow, “You know my name now… do I get the pleasure of knowing yours?”
He tutted you, responding as he leaned to kiss your knuckles while retaining eye contact, “That would ruin the mystery and where’s the fun in that?”
You let out a lilting laugh, “Fair enough.”
The two of you looked each other over carefully as you claimed a booth in one of the darker corners and as soon as you were settled he pursed his lips, “You haven’t told your brother… nor do you intend to. Why is that?”
You knew he knew the answer but responded anyways in a smooth purr, “You intrigue me.”
He looked smug for a moment before you turned the question back on him, “I am a wrinkle in your master plan- it would be beneficial for you to remove me from the equation and yet I still breathe. Why?”
The devilish smirk that spread across his face made your heart flip flop in your chest as he rumbled lowly, “Because you intrigue me as well.”
A long moment of prolonged eye contact ensued as your heart raced and then he suddenly grinned in an almost goofy way, gleefully exclaiming, “And I’m overly fond of your cookies.”
You chuckled and for the first time in your life you felt like maybe you’d found a man that wasn’t a total waste of your time. This could be the beginning of something new and very, very entertaining.