Athena Holmes was a quiet but intelligent girl. She kept to herself and found no care for the world. She can be described as a perfect mix of the other three Holmeses. Calm, cold and collected like Mycroft Holmes. Blunt, clever and sociopathic like...
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2012
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A T H E N A' S P O V
I raced through the dimly lit hallways of the grand house, my footsteps echoing ominously against the wooden floors. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to find Lady Harrington before it was too late.
As I turned the corner, I found Lady Harrington's assigned dressing room door slightly ajar. Lady Eleanor assumed that the ladies she invited would need a private area to freshen up. I pushed it open slowly, praying I wasn't too late. But as I stepped inside, my breath caught in my throat.
Lady Harrington was slumped in her chair by the vanity, her hand limp at her side. On the floor below it was a long pin that was once secure in Lady Harrington's hair, for her bun. Judging by the direction the pin laid on the floor, the grip still present on her hand and the blood splatter on her hand and floor, this was clearly suicide. Her face was pale, her eyes glazed over, fixed in a tragic expression of sorrow.
"No..." I whispered, rushing to her side. I felt for a pulse, but there was none. Lady Harrington was dead.
I stood there, numb, as the weight of it all settled over me. The room felt unbearably quiet, save for the soft rustle of the wind outside the window. Lady Harrington had been driven to this—her grief over Lady Arabella's death had overwhelmed her, and Moriarty's manipulations had pushed her over the edge.
"Miss Sterling?" came a voice from the doorway. It was Lord Wycliffe, his voice hollow as he stepped into the room. He froze when he saw Lady Harrington's lifeless body.
I turned to him, her eyes filled with both sadness and determination. "We have to stop this," she said. "We can't let him win."
"Let.. who win?" Lord Wycliffe asked, confused.
I sighed as I let my guard down. "I am not Charlotte Sterling. I was hired by Lady Eleanor to prevent a robbery she feared might take place tonight. I suspect that was also apart of Moriarty's plan. He disguised himself as Professor Cartwright to watch you all kill each other. He planned everything."
"I've heard that name before. People come to him as a desperality. But I thought he was dead?"
"He should be dead. Instead he's here." I stated.
Lord Wycliffe nodded slowly, though the fear still lingered in his eyes. "What... what do we do now?"
"We gather the others," I said firmly. "We need to confront this together. If we fall apart, we'll be playing right into his hands."
♱ ♱
The remaining guests gathered in the drawing room once more, but the atmosphere was different now. There was an air of quiet resolve beneath the fear. I had managed to keep the group together despite everything that had happened. Lord Ashcroft, now subdued and guilt-ridden, sat with his head in his hands, while Lady Eleanor remained stoic, though her eyes were rimmed with red.
