Sherlock's Daughter

8 - The Diogenes Club

The Diogenes Club

In a quiet suburb of London, John is gently winding his baby while Sherlock is erratically drumming his fingertips on the arm of the chair with one hand and flipping his phone with the other. It has been a month. A whole month since Juliet came and then went with James Moriarty; Sherlock is agitated. Anything involving the psychopathic Irishman ends in grief and bloodshed which everyone knows which is most likely why John is keeping a close eye on his consulting detective friend. "Look Sherlock. How about you ask Mycroft for help? I know he isn't exactly brother of the month and I know you two have old scores, sibling rivalry etcetera but he is the British government. There must be a reason for that."

"He killed his predecessor." Sherlock states in a robotic tone. John lightly chuckles but then realises that this might be the truth so his mouth forms a flat line. Sherlock peers at his blogger and rolls his eyes indicating it was sarcasm. "I am kidding John. Mycroft doesn't like to get his hands dirty."

"Sound familiar?" John questions thinking back to that dark night when they met Jim Moriarty, properly for the first time.

*Flashback*

It is midnight; Sherlock and John are standing around the edge of the pool where Carl Powers tragically died all those years ago. They have just met the man behind all the evil schemes, this game. Jim Moriarty. "Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?" He cheekily asks, his Irish lilt flowing in the large room. Sherlock suddenly removes the pistol from his trouser pocket and aims it at Jim.

"Both." Jim stops and looks back at him, unafraid.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" He introduces himself with a sly grin as Sherlock tilts his head and looks more closely at the man present before him making Jim giggle under his breath.

"Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point." Moriarty paces alongside the deep end of the pool as Sherlock brings up his other hand to support the one aiming the gun. Jim bites his lip as if disappointed.  He turns to face Sherlock just as the sniper's laser flickers over John's upper chest. Sherlock briefly turns his head towards John, a questioning look on his face. "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." He explains while beginning to walk again.

*End of Flashback*

"Both Moriarty and Mycroft would get their hands dirty if needs be." Sherlock says with his emotionless expression still etched on his face. John scoops up his child and lays it down into the crib in the living room. The infant gently drifting off into the land of dreams.

"What do you mean?" John questions, taking a seat opposite the consulting detective.

"If Moriarty was faced with a thug in an alley threating to mug him or even kill him, he would defend himself wouldn't he? He wouldn't only do that but when he has a chance to get away he won't run...he would kill his attacker instead." He ruffles his hair and pockets his phone realising there won't be news anytime soon. "Or have someone else kill him at a later date."

"Charming." John cynics. "What about your brother?" Sherlock ponders for a second, thinking of all those times Mycroft has helped him out.

*Flashback*

An eighteen years old Mycroft Holmes is making his way across the school campus heading towards his Law class. But as he walks around the corner he hears muffled cries and thumping but as he walks closer he sees the commotion. Some poor kid is having the shit kicked out of them by a group of guys from his year group. The bully is kicking the victim over and over in the stomach as the younger boy rolls around in tears. It then hits Mycroft. The victim is Sherlock! He lets his textbooks fall out of his arms and shrugs his satchel off his shoulder before shouting, "Oi!" He rushes up to the bully and as the bully turns punches him square in the nose. There is a cracking sound and blood spurts but Mycroft doesn't care for that. The three older kids run off as fast as they can leaving their black and blue victim weeping on the hard concrete floor. "Sherlock..." Mycroft sighs and kneels down to see to his brother.