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

Chapter 5- Collision

Millie's POV

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The plane lands with a jolting thump, and the old man next to me jerks awake.

The flight back has been agonising. My imagination ran wild, spinning morbid fictions about the messy fates of Sherlock and John. I'm starting to believe that something really awful has happened to them,and I feel sick.

However, I can't deny it- it feels so good to be back. I don't think I've ever been so pleased to see typical English weather; the surly black clouds,  the cold, damp winds and  the endless drizzle. I file out of the plane, breathing in the muggy air. I haven't told Sherlock or John about my unexpected return. So far, the plan is to turn up unannounced at Baker Street, so that I can get an understanding of the situation. I am now sure that something has happened; their lack of communication combined with the break in at Baker Street has really unnerved me. I'm starting to think that they were connected.

But, I'm here now.

And I will find out what's going on.

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Emily's POV

"You think you can do it? Without getting us caught?" says John, unable to keep the nerves from his voice.

"Of course."

John looks up at Sherlock for confirmation, and he nods.

This is unusual.

Today, I'm on the side of the angels.

At first I refused. I arrived at Baker Street, and was somewhat surprised to find Sherlock making tea on my arrival. Turns out he wanted more than just my company. They told me that what they were going to ask me to do was dangerous, and could very easily result in capture, torture or death.

They had me at dangerous.

They want me to hack into Jim Moriarty's database.

From what I gathered, they want to gain the advantage in the game they're playing with Moriarty. And I can help them. I didn't tell them about the phone call earlier today- somehow I don't think they'd appreciate our conversation.

I accepted the offer, to combat the boredom and, although I don't like to admit it, the old Emily, detective Emily, wants to help.

Sherlock and John lean over me as I work, watching my fingers tap rapidly across the keyboard. I make an noise of frustration as I'm denied access.

I try again.

Nothing.

This is hard, really hard. Moriarty has blocked almost all cracking codes. I mentally scroll through the codes in my head, and find the one I'm looking for- I've never tried it before, and I know if I mess up, I risk detection. Detection is bad.

Very bad.

I hold my breath, and enter the numbers. 

The screen flickers.

I don't breathe.

Suddenly, the image changes, and I'm looking at files, thousands and thousands of files.

I look at John, who raises his eyebrows at me and shrugs his shoulders. Sherlock leans in closer to the screen, and says-

"Yes. This is it! His database.. everything... Scotland Yard would pay millions to see this, and we've got it right here, in this room... incredible..."

Then a small box pops up, on the screen. We blink at it, confused. Writing? Text? Code?

So nosy... 

"Shit," breathes John.

The screen erupts into numbers. I know what he's doing. He's running a tracing software; if I don't do something, he will trace the code back to 221B Baker Street. I don't want to think what will happen if he succeeds.

I respond by fervidly entering codes, sets of digits, letters, symbols, keeping up with software. It's a race. One mistake, on mis-type, and my resistance will collapse. Sweat beads on my forehead and I press my lips together with grim determination. I'm not going to lose. The intense typing continues for five minutes, which elapses into ten. My fingers are aching, and the fearful tension in the room is almost too much. I'm going to make a mistake, I know it,if only-

Suddenly it stops. I frown. I didn't slip up, I know I didn't. And then an error message flashes across the screen- the software is collapsing.

"Yes!"

"Did you do it? Christ, please tell me you did it," says John looking frantically between me and Sherlock.

"I did it. The software timed out. I outlasted it. Moriarty knows the system was hacked, but he doesn't know who did it."

"Perfect!," shouts Sherlock, making us all jump, "This is perfect!"

"But... the files?" begins John, confused.

"Oh ,I didn't need to see the files. I just wanted Moriarty to know that someone could break into his database. Don't you see John? We've just gained a huge advantage."

He beams at us, whilst pacing around the room.

"Is he normally like this?" I ask, leaning back and stretching out my fingers.

"Confusing? Self-righteous? A generally arrogant bastard? Yeah, that's Sherlock," grins John.

I laugh, and we watch in companionable silence as Sherlock paces around excitedly.

"Am I done here?" I ask, after a few minutes.

"What? Yes, you can go." he says dismissively.

"He means thanks," interjects John, crossing his arms and looking at Sherlock scathingly.

"Hm? Oh, yes, thankyou," he says, his mind elsewhere.

I laugh, and stand up.

"Well... Bye then. See you around," I say.

"Bye Emily. Thanks again, really. It meant a lot to him," says John, giving me a wan smile.

Sherlock doesn't say anything, but I don't take offence. He's quite amusing actually, lost in that funny brain of his. I wave goodbye, open the door-

-and collide head on with a mass of suitcases and curly brown hair.

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