Katie Holmes

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

*Five Weeks Ago*

The flat was silent, even though two people, one of them a sixteen-year-old girl, were inside.

Two moles of oxygen peroxide to one mole of hydrochloride acid. Wait, that's not right...she looked up from her experiment. "Dad," she said quietly, trying not to make him jump. He didn't. "I think I did something wrong."

He put down his vial and severed ear, sweeping around the kitchen table to observe her reaction. She was attempting to recreate an experiment of his from a month ago, in an attempt to further her own abilities.

Holding up the acid-burned thumb with a latexed hand, Sherlock looked at her. "What did you put on it?"

She recited the ingredients and he smirked, setting it down. "It was a three to two ratio, not two to one."

Her cheeks burned. He encouraged her saying, "You're doing well. I was stuck experimenting on grass and leaves when I was your age; I do not expect you to do exponentially better, Katie."

Kaitlyn Holmes nodded and cleaned up. It was late, and she was expecting someone, so she would try again tomorrow. Tucking her dark hair, matching her father's, behind her ear, she carefully cleaned the chemicals off of the kitchen table. Kaitlyn (called Katie by her father) had the sharp mind and eye of her Holmes relatives, and didn't miss a single thing in her clean-up process.

Sherlock glanced sideways at her. Her face structure always reminded him of her mother, a clever kind-hearted woman who had looked past his hard outer façade and had loved him. At least, he had thought she loved him. Then Moriarty...and she was gone. He had lost her. He turned his head away and shook it to clear his mind. Thinking of Danika always put him in a strange mood, and at these times Kaitlyn asked the most about her.

Just as Kaitlyn finished, both Holmes turned to the pounding of feet on stairs. Kaitlyn walked over and opened the door just as a little girl came speeding through, intensely pursued by her older brother and sister and followed at a leisurely pace by her parents. The Watson's.

Amelia Elizabeth, the oldest of John and Mary's kids, was twenty-two; the middle child William Scott (named after William Sherlock Scott Holmes) was seventeen; the youngest at eight was named Erika Harriet.

William, known to Kaitlyn as Will, turned from Erika-who had attached herself to Sherlock-and scooped Kaitlyn up in a hug. Kaitlyn laughed and hugged him back. "Will, relax! I'm fine!"

He swung her around before setting her down. Amelia grabbed her next, sandy blonde hair flying everywhere. "What happened? Why didn't you call me? Did you get shot?"

Kaitlyn pushed away. "Do I look like I was shot?" Amelia was an avid worrier, obvious by the creases in her forehead already.

William grabbed Kaitlyn's hand to pull her attention his way. "Kat," he said, using his own nickname for her, "what happened? Dad said you and Sherlock were in a fight with terrorists!"

She waved it off. A few gunshots and a fist fight with a twenty-year-old guy didn't equate as a real fight to her. "Bruises, that's all. Can't be avoided. Why isn't Erika letting go of my Dad?"

Mary looked up from trying to coax the girl from Sherlock's legs. "She saw something...I think. She's been screaming for him since we left our flat."

Erika's lip started to tremble. "Erika, what happened?"

Bursting into tears, Erika tangled her fingers together tightly. Kaitlyn ran forward and rubbed her back. The Watson's stood back; Kaitlyn assumed they had all tried this already. William especially looked desolate.

"Erika, is it possible for me to help you?" she asked. Erika nodded. "Can I help without knowing the problem?" Slowly the girl shook her head and moved from Sherlock to holding Kaitlyn. Sherlock, looking very uncomfortable, stood back up.

Kaitlyn sat poised on her toes, holding Erika tightly and waiting for her to calm down enough to talk. "Th-that man," she whispered, "the one Uncle Sherlock talks about." Kaitlyn nodded, urging her to continue. "I saw him."

Her body froze. Surely this little girl couldn't be talking about Moriarty, not James Moriarty.

"You saw a picture?" she asked.

"No. I saw him." Erika looked Kaitlyn in the eye. "I went downstairs with Amelia, but I got ahead of her. He looked at me, smiled, and walked away. But I knew who he was! He didn't know that I knew, but I did!"

Her louder comments were heard by the adults, and Mary and John crouched down. "Who did you see, Erika?"

She couldn't bring the word to form at her lips, but Kaitlyn knew. Allowing Erika back to her mother, Kaitlyn stood up. "Moriarty."

Nursing a bruise, which didn't actually hurt, she stepped out and walked upstairs to her room. William and Amelia followed her.

"Moriarty?" William hissed angrily. "Are you sure?"

Kaitlyn nodded, yanked to a stop on the landing before her door by Amelia. The big sister had tears in her eyes. "Was Erika in danger? Did I put her in danger by not being there?"

Kaitlyn didn't sugarcoat it. She and her father were famous for that. "Yes. Erika was in danger."

Amelia nodded. "I'm going back downstairs," she said, but it was so quiet that they hardly heard.

William made himself comfortable in her impeccable room, knowing that if he even ruffled the sheets he'd have to fix it before leaving the room. Kaitlyn looked at the pillows tumbling to the floor and took a deep breath.

"Why do you think he was there? He wouldn't kill Dad, would he?" William asked. Kaitlyn almost rolled her eyes; surely he wasn't that dense. But she knew the reason for his uncertainty; he was still processing. It took normal people much longer to process things like that than it did her.

"No. He may have been looking to send my dad a warning. He wouldn't make such a sudden move like that." Kaitlyn looked up at her wall of tacks and papers. It was the record of every sighting or mention of Moriarty throughout her whole life, and it was nearly empty. "You don't see him unless he wants you to," her dad often said.

And he wanted Erika to see him. The question was-why?