Side of the Angels ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book II} *UNDER EDITING*

Chapter 1- Taxi

Emily's POV

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Almost there.

I abandon the mug of coffee on the table, and lean in to the rapidly scrolling numbers on the screen. I keep up with the digits, tapping in the code that will destroy this security system from the inside out. With a flourish, I sit back,  press the final key, and watch the screen flicker.

I'm in.

Scotland Yard's criminal database. This shouldn't take long at all. My phone's ringing, but I ignore it. I stretch my fingers and glance at the list of names on the paper in front of me. I memorise them, and begin searching the profiles. In a few minutes, these people will no longer exist. Every scrap of information gathered by the police on these individuals will be erased. Without looking away from the screen, I take a sip of coffee, and begin the process. Five minutes later, they're gone. My client will be happy. My phone's ringing again. I re-boot the cracked security software, to cover my tracks, and shut down the computer.

Satisfied, I lean back and reach for my phone.

Two missed calls, from an unknown number. I frown, and text my client: It's done.

The phone rings a third time, vibrating in my palm. I answer it quickly, curious.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Emily, speaking?" says an unknown voice. Irish, I think.

"Yes."

"Good, good. Just calling to let you know that a particular detective has shown an excessive interest in your recent... activity. Sherlock Holmes. I expect you've heard about him?"

"Yes, I have. Who's speaking?"

I sense the person on the other line grinning.

"That would be telling. Consider this a heads up. Bye now. Oh, and congratulations on your work on Scotland Yard. Very smooth."

The line goes dead.

I consider what's just been said. If this person is telling the truth, I should be worried. Sherlock Holmes has quite the reputation. I switch on the computer. However, I know his weakness. He likes to be clever. I type in his name, and begin gathering information on his location, recent cases, contacts- I don't write it down. I store it in my head, carefully filed in catergorised sub-sections. If he likes things to be clever, I'll make this simple. 

I grab the jacket off the back of my chair, and lock the apartment door. The phone call has unnerved me- I don't like not knowing. I wait on the busy street, and hail a cab. I climb in, and the driver gives me a tobacco-stained grin.

"Where can I take you, sweetheart."

I lean back into the seat and fold my arms.

"221B Baker Street."

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