Consulting Sniper (Moran's Story)

Chapter 1: Consulting Sniper

Alright, who in the actual hell let Mycroft tell her side of the story first?

It's not that I'm unsatisfied with it or that it's incorrect or anything; it's that it must be invalidated altogether!

It doesn't mention me!
Her twin.

I am Mycroft Holmes's twin sister, and she failed to mention me whatsoever!

I am the writer of the Holmes family, not her! I wrote two survival manuals on how to survive in the jungle; I did, not her. I WENT TO THE GODDAMN JUNGLE. Mycroft clearly hasn't been anywhere near any jungles.

I am Sabrina Moran, formerly Sabrina Moran HOLMES, and this is my version of this tale.

I believe that Mycroft should be shot.

Don't even lie. I know you're tired of Mycroft's posh, overinflated voice, aren't you? You've probably been tortured through an entire book about the most BORING person in all of London, and you probably wish you could get a shot in the head from this sniper rifle also.

Well, I am here to rectify this situation, so to speak. You'll find out why I'm here later on, but for now, here's all you need to know.

Two words. RELEASE BARGAIN.

I bit the bait. But you know the only reason I'm doing this is because I'm dying, right? If I wasn't, I would not have done this... I should have shot both myself and Sherlock at Reichenbach. This goes to prove it.

As you probably know, I've smoked heavily for years. Jim hated it; he wouldn't let me smoke in his office or on the job or anywhere fun, so I had to go out to the balcony in my room or leave or something so Jim didn't have to smell it.

Do you think any of that got me anywhere? If you mean further into a pre-dug grave, then yes. The drinking must not have helped, either. And all of the other drugs... Maybe Jim had a point; maybe Jim was right.

Jim Moriarty was always right.

I felt for him in a way that I haven't ever felt for anyone else. But there's no one like Jim. I'll never feel that way again. I know this as well as I know that I'm dying, which is pretty well.

I guess Mycroft and I may be similar after all.

Damn her. Moving on.

But I can say that my story is more exciting, by far. I was in the army, I was on an expedition, I killed a tiger for God's sake while I was there, came back, and worked for Moriarty for over a decade.

He didn't like it when we used last names with each other though. To me, he was always Jim. And to him, I was just Sabrina. I wasn't Moran, consulting sniper and second-most-dangerous person in London. And he wasn't Professor Moriarty, most dangerous person in London and consulting criminal.

I'd like to say that Jim pulled me up from the bottom and made me who I am now. I can only partially say that.

I am a Holmes, and I cannot ever forget that. None of us will ever be defined by any man. That is probably one of the only good things that I can say about that godforsaken family.

Just look at Mycroft, if you want proof.

Oh, was that wound still raw? Well, let me throw some more salt in it.

All I was to Mycroft was a statistic. The first person she really hated, the first person she really wanted to kill, the first person she shot. And I hope she reads this, just so I can say this to her:

Damn you, Mycroft Holmes. Damn you to HELL.

And Sherlock; oh, don't even get me started on HER. She is even worse than Mycroft. She killed my Jim. He would've lived! And there's no way Jim would have even done much to her; he loved playing with her head too much.

He's dead. There's no question about that. I know he's dead. I saw his body. I touched his hand in the coffin. I kissed his lips once more before they took him away.

And I watched them bury his body, which I identified and put in the casket myself.

I'll never live it down that I couldn't kill Sherlock. It's not that emotion held me back. Just my gun, which failed me when I needed it most, and my wits, clouded by my incessant drug use.

It was never to be. Such a shame for me. But oh, such a relief for her.

Sherlock Holmes files me in the ranks of those who have sworn revenge against her. I am Sabrina Moran to her. I don't have enough blood shared with her to avoid that.

I don't care. I'm dying, I miss Jim, and I have to set my own record straight.

I am Sabrina Moran, and I was Moriarty's consulting sniper.

Now, I'm not anything to anyone.