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

Chapter 16- Smudges

Millie's POV

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I told John that I was going on a walk, to clear my head. Truthfully, I was too embarrassed to face Sherlock after the uncomfortable situation I found myself in last night. However, I did want to mull over my findings; after I had detached myself from Sherlock, I  went over some cases in my room to calm myself down. I was browsing my e-mails when I saw it; the lead. An anonymous message, with a riddle. 

FeOxygen Crossing, Interesting gathering..

I almost dismissed it as junk mail, but then my brain started to work: Fe is the chemical symbol for Iron. Combine oxygen and iron, and you get rust. Crossing? Rust crossing didn't make sense. Nor did rust road. But rust bridge. A bridge is an alternative word for crossing. And then it clicked- Rustbridge... Rusbridge Hotel. I looked it up, and scanned the list of large gatherings taking place over the next week. One caught my eye- a charity organisation, with a list of names that sounded unfamiliar. All except one:

R.Brook

Of course, it could just be a coincidence. I'm sure there are plenty of R.Brooks out there. But why would it correspond with the clues in the e-mail? R. Brook... Richard Brook, the manifestation of Moriarty. It was in the paper, I remember, after Sherlock's fake suicide. So that got me thinking about the other names on the list. I researched each and every one of them-

Nothing.

Those people didn't exist.

I'm still thinking about it now, as I sit down next to someone on the park bench on the hill. 

"Millie?"

I whip around, startled, and find myself looking at Emily, who is sitting down, arms folded and a frown etched across her face.

I get up to leave, but she grabs my wrist and tugs me back onto the bench with surprising strength.

"Don't go. Not yet."

"Why?"

"We need to talk."

She looks away from me, into the distance, thinking. Her eyes are narrowed slightly in the strong wind, and she says-

"I wasn't lying to you. I work with him. Occasionally. Not for him. I consider him a client." 

"That's equally alarming. And a bit too convenient, don't you think? You left out that detail."

She laughs without humour, and says-

"Let's talk about leaving out details, shall we?"

Something about her tone makes me stop. She's talking about Moriarty-

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Your point?" I say, sharply.

"My point, is that we all leave out details sometimes. It doesn't define us."

I'm struck by the truth in her words. She's right. I nod at her, although she isn't looking at me. She looks tired, like she has been up for most of the night, and there are remnants of dark eyeshadow smudged across her cheek. That's strange. She's a criminal, hardly a job that allows evening gatherings-

"Emily, were you at Rusbridge Hotel last night?"

"What?! How did-" she says looking at me, alarmed.

"Lucky guess. If you were there.. and Moriarty was there... a criminal gathering, yes, under the name of a false charity- oh that's good, really good-" I say, more to myself than to her.