A notification appeared on Sherlock's mobile phone, alerting him of something that had been significant too long ago for him to care about. But he tapped on the event with his thumb and checked what had caused it to appear. The notification only was surprising due to the fact that Irene Adler had died earlier, and as far as the detective knew, she couldn't have completed the task that appeared on his phone screen. His curiousity overtook his mind and he processed all information he could gather from what was written on his screen.
"Hmm..." He mumbled.
"What?" John asked.
"The Woman is dead, correct?"
"Yeah...?"
"Well then someone else has begun to write stories for Moriarty."
"Who?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, John."
The doctor shifted his gaze off of his flatmate's tall figure and looked back at his newspaper, sipping coffee every now and then. Sherlock read the uploaded chapter of the story that had been used by Moriarty to mess around with him by sending him clues within the text. This particular section seemed like an ordinary chapter, no outstanding phrases that caught the detective's attention. Only the author's note had been a bit off-putting, stating that the identity of the new writer would shock him. Bluntly written, the genius would have three days to predict who was behind the computer screen, typing up the monotonous and indescriptive story segments.
"I'm going to play my violin now." The detective announed and reached for the stringed instrument that had been resting on top of the fireplace mantle.
John's eyes flickered back up to Sherlock's face for a second, knowing that him resorting to plucking at the violin would lead to long periods of silence from the detective while he attempted to solve his case. The doctor left the room, feeling not as welcome when he would be in the presence of a temporary mute man. He took Maire with him to go for a walk, the lanky violinist not minding at all. As soon as the front door had shut, lovely tones of the first movement in Seitz's Concerto No. 3 in G Minor filled the room.
It was as if he was in a drug-daze, released of time and only being aware of his thoughts. Not even the sounds of Mrs. Hudson banging pots and pans together on accident could distract Sherlock's fierce concentration. A small red mark had begun to appear as a bruise on his collar bone from the pressure of the metal piece that the end of his instrument. His fingers had become sore and back could no longer stand straight on its own, forcing him to put down the violin and sit back in his armchair. Sherlock's world was still inside of his mind palace, where no one else could bother his thinking.
Fragments of information were joined together like a connect-the-dots drawing and the mind palace faded away as he came up with a possible author for the newest addition to Moriarty's book of secret clues. The streak of only having female writers caused the probability to weigh more heavily on the side of having a girl or woman writing it. But, as this was a mastermind at work, the probability didn't matter as much because Moriarty knew how to trick Sherlock by switching things up.
"John, when was the last time you were in touch with my brother?" The detective asked.
"He left a while ago, dear, he's been at work for eight hours now. But don't fret, he'll be home any minute n-" Mrs. Hudson began to explain.
The door was gently opened, revealing the doctor being spoken of. His face gave off an impression that he was slightly worn out from his schedule. He had been checking on patients with all sorts of minor ailments that seemed desperate to be given a prescription of some sort to be dismissed from school or work.
"When was the last time you talked to Mycroft?" The detective questioned again, this time to someone.
"Two days ago, you were there when he stopped in to tell us how stupid it was of him to send his step-daughter to us."
"Hmm..." He thought for a moment over what his next move would be.
"I'm going to see him in a few days, if you're interested." John suggested.
"No, that's alright. I need to observe Lorelin."
"Why?"
Sherlock held his phone screen up to the doctor's face and let him figure out what it was, which wasn't a very successful plan. John looked back confused with an expression that begged the detective to explain what had occurred. Sherlock sighed and placed his phone back into his pocket.
"There's a new chapter."
"So...?"
"All of the previous writers died."
"Ohh, and you're trying to figure out who's behind this one before they get killed?"
"There you go, John."
"There was a link up there to a video edit. Might be interesting."
"I didn't quite realize that literature these days contained video media," Sherlock shrugged sassily and continued casually, "But thanks for that."
John smiled at the small comment of graciousness that never would've been uttered by the same man five years ago. He was happy with the slight visible impression he had made on his best friend. The detective took his phone out again and unlocked it, going back to the newest chapter of the story to find the video.
As it started, they saw that it was a short clip of a boisterous song's chorus with a GIF of Moriarty sitting down on the Throne of the Tower of England with a crown on his head. A teasing smile played over his lips and gave him the aura of a troublemaker. Sherlock made a point of figuring out what song had been playing since he thought it would be a clue as to who the mysterious writer was. The doctor stepped away briefly, thinking that the detective would figure it out on his own. Frankly, that wasn't the case.
"Help me find this song." Sherlock pleaded.
"How? There are so many songs in this world-"
"This song was performed by a male, it would be classified under alternative rock..."
"Okay..." John half-heartedly began his search.
"I've gotten an idea, but I want to confirm it through the song and artist."
After a long hour of scrolling through music wikipedias and youtube playlists, John had finally found the song. It was actually quite fitting for a character such as Moriarty. The detective listened for a few seconds, skipping ahead to where he thought the chorus would be and assured John that it had been the correct song.
"Panic! At the Disco? What kind of a name is that?" The doctor joked.
"I happen to know one person, who is also female, that would attempt to physically fight you for saying such a thing."
"So are you saying that whoever you know is the new author?"
"I believe so...and I'd better discuss it with my dear brother."
"Wait, why?"
"John, this is a female who has a taste in alternative rock music and would be targeted by this specific criminal. Please tell me the evidence proves to be quite obvious."
"Lorelin?"
"That's what my prediction is."
"Oh my God." John's jaw dropped in fear.
