Sherlock's Daughter

21 - Found Out

Found Out

Juliet Holmes paces from one end of the derelict space to the other, stepping on the cracks of the rotting floorboards as she goes. She can hear the odd scuffle of a rat mixed in with the scuttles of the cockroaches beneath her feet. She breaks out with a coughing fit for a few moments due to the mass of dust as she pauses in her pacing. There are lots of cobwebs and lots of dust and lots of dust covered cobwebs in the small room which used to be a lounge for a family of four. Now it is nothing. Just a room in an empty house on the edge of London away from everyone else. "Where's Sherlock?" James Moriarty's Irish lilt makes the house shiver and Juliet turn to face him.

"Not coming." She states darkly.

"Oh." She knows that he is acting surprised which is pushing her further and further towards the edge.

"He was never going to come Moriarty."

"You know... I think I much preferred it when you called me Richie." He chuckles darkly but halts when he sees the pistol being pointed straight at him by the sixteen year old. Her eyes are dark like her soul, she has been driven to insanity.

"Shut up!" She yells as she pulls the trigger and the sound of a gunshot ricochets throughout the rickety old house. James Moriarty's body goes flying backwards and the back of his head hits the wall with a crack. So much blood from his chest and the back of his head; his spinal fluid dripping out of his snapped neck...

Juliet wakes up with a start to the sound of her alarm clock blaring, she realises that she is still at her desk in yesterday's clothes with destruction scattered around her which she calls her elaborate plan. She turns off the rhythmic beeping and gathers the scraps of paper together to stuff in her desk drawer. She almost hears her back creak with exhaustion as she rises from the wooden dining chair to view her dishevelled figure in the mirror; her black skinny jeans and dark green flannel look like they could last another day with a spirt of deodorant which she picks up off her desk and sprays generously. She gives her short hair a quick comb before slipping into her black combat boots and leather jacket. She is about to leave the flat until she remembers some essential items, so she skips back into her room grabbing her phone, money and Oyster Card before leaving again to continue with her mission.

Sherlock yawns and scratches the back of his head tiredly as he exits his room. He has been working on a case the last few days which has been strenuous to say the least especially with absentness of his blogger who has been up to his eyeballs in work due to NHS budget cuts. The consulting detective scans over the mess of his kitchen and sighs; maybe he does need to tidy up... Mrs Hudson for one would be pleased. "Juliet!" He calls in the direction of the small staircase leading up to her room. No response. He furrows his brows a strides closer to the staircase and shouts again. "Juliet!" Still no response. He sighs - again - then travels up the stairs expecting to find his daughter lounging on her bed with headphones but he is very surprised when he notices the vacant room. "Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock yells as he skips back down the stairs then meeting his landlady in the lounge.

"What is it Sherlock?" She questions with a tired look in her eye telling the high functioning sociopath that she was still sleeping - that and the pale pink nightie.

"Juliet's gone, do you know where?" He asks urgently but Mrs Hudson shakes her head slowly making him huff. He hates this paternal responsibility it isn't who he is. Last time he checked he was a high functioning sociopathic consulting detective - the only one in world - who gets nicknamed as 'Psychopath' and 'Freak' not Sherlock 'Daddy' Holmes.

Sherlock's phone chimes making both him and Mrs Hudson turn to look at it on the desk. "Maybe that's her." She suggests but Sherlock knows otherwise but he trudges over to the device and picks it up to see a message from an unknown, untraceable number with just a picture attached. The picture of Sherrinford and Juliet on the beach all those months ago, the first time they met. Sherlock's blood bubbles in fury:

UNKNOWN is typing...

It is your fault he is dead.

Daniel Lester's death was a tragedy to society granted but Sherlock is not one for blaming himself and he isn't going to start now. His brother is just going to have to get over the death of his little toy boy. Sherlock is more focussed on the betrayal of his daughter, she's been seeing him in secret and it all makes so much more sense now. The disappearance after the shooting, the secret phone calls, all the questions. It is all starting to make sense. "What is it Sherlock? Is it Juliet?" Mrs Hudson asks as she wraps herself up in her robe.

"No. Let's just say Juliet is in a heap of trouble." He forwards the photo to his daughter with the caption: Care to explain? Come home. Now. Then clicks send without hesitation when it hits him; what else has she been hiding from him? If she is a true Holmes - and DNA tests claim she is - then she will have other secrets. Sherlock doesn't like things being kept from him, why else would he go to such extremes to find out John's middle name. Hamish. He chuckles at the stupidity of it before he scampers up the stairs to Juliet's room leaving Mrs Hudson in the lounge.

Sherlock groans when he sees the mess in Juliet's room, it is going to take him ages to unearth any secrets and he has to before she returns home so he can bombard her with facts like a barrister. But there is one thing which is obvious amongst the clutter of the rest of the room; the tidiness of the desk. In most rooms, the tables or desks are the pieces of furniture to become messy the fastest so why is Juliet Holmes' desk so clean? Sherlock approaches the desk and hovers his hand just above the base of the dining chair which has been tucked underneath. Still warm. She has only recently got off it but then he notices that the top drawer has been left slightly ajar. So he pulls it open and sees the bundles of paper stuffed inside making him curious.

It is all there. All the details for an intricate to end the life of consulting criminal James Moriarty making Sherlock panic. He thinks of all the consequences this plan could have if it goes head so he pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends several texts out in shear panic. He is not going to lose her to Moriarty's hands.

(To Sherrinford): Juliet is in trouble! I need your help, Baker Street. Now. - SH

(To Mycroft): I think Juliet is about to get us all into a tonne of mess. Including you brother dear. - SH

(To John): I need help.

(To Juliet): Stop what you're doing!

Now!

Please come home.

\~.~.~.~.~/

Juliet looks up at the almost destroyed, derelict house and then back down at her phone as it receives messages from her father. He knows. All about her meetings with her uncle and he wants to punish her for it. He knows about the plan. The plan.

But I have to get revenge. For Matt and Arthur.

You should go home to your father and forget about everything.

James Moriarty needs to die and you need to be the one pulling the trigger.

That would be murder!

Think about everything he did when you were captured by him and his men.

He helped you escape after sixteen years of house arrest.

Just do it!

Juliet almost chucks her phone at the wall in frustration but she doesn't but she knows what she has to do. For Sherlock, for John and Mary, for England. For the world. She sends her previously prepared message to James Moriarty's secret phone which she found the number for after weeks of scouring and hacking. James Moriarty is going to die today.

A/n so the next part is going to be very dramatic...