I Need a Gangsta//Jim Moriarty

I. "My Guessin' Game is Strong."

"In Greek mythology, Amalthea was a nymph and the foster mother of the infant-god Zeus, who brought him up on the milk of her goat and shielded him from harm and from his wrathful father, Cronos."

Mycroft fiddled with the keys to his home, biting his lip, he finally found the right key and inserted it, unlocking the door.

He stepped inside and threw his things on the chair.

Creak

His head snapped to the staircase and he placed his hand inside his jacket pocket. He cautiously walked up the steps and to his office.
He quickly flipped on the light switch and took a deep sigh of relief.

"Amalthea," he said. "I wasn't expecting you. How'd you get in?"

Amalthea sat behind his desk with her heeled feet propped up on the table. She had folders open and was reading top secret information.

She took a bite of an apple that she held loosely in her hand. She didn't bother glancing up at him.

"You should really get better security," she said. "They couldn't see a flying death turtle if it hit them in the face."

Mycroft took a seat across from her and placed his umbrella across his lap.

She quickly glanced at it. "Still carrying that thing around, I see."

"Yes. You've dyed your hair?"

"Yes. Not everything can stay the same," she hummed. "I presume Sherly text you."

"Yes. Sherlock did text me."

"I figured as much. It didn't take long for the two of you to put me away."

"Anthea, I can-"

She waved him off. "Enough. I'm here now. And I plan to have some fun. Try and stop me and you'll end up like your guards outside, gutted."
She stood to her feet and walked towards the door.

"Bye, bye, Myc. See. You. Later." She threw her apple towards him and he caught it.
         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What are you doing here? This is a crime scene," Greg Lestrade said. Amalthea turned back and smirked.

"The names Holmes. Amalthea Holmes. You'll be seeing me around here a lot. Sherlock!" She turned and joined the side of her brother.

"My, my, what have we here?"

"I haven't seen you in ten years and all you can say is, "what have we here"?" Sherlock spat.

"You're right," she said. "How inconsiderate of me. Let me try again. Why are you just standing there instead of solving this murder case? The man's tongue has been sewn to his ear. I find it rather wonkers, but that's just me."

"If you're so smart, you figure it out," Sherlock snapped. She raised an eyebrow and removed her sunglasses, thrusting them into Sherlocks hands.

"Watch and learn."

She stood over the dead man, her eyes scanned him up and down taking in every detail.

"It was the wife," she said grabbing her sunglasses and putting them on before beginning to walk away.

"How do you know that?!" John called.

"Her guessing game is strong," Sherlock sneered. Amalthea glared at her brother.

"Dirt on the ring, duh. He was obviously being naughty. There are some nail polish markings on his skin, he fought with a woman. The color of the nail polish residue, blue, is the same color she's wearing in that picture over there.  Furthermore there are beer stains on his clothing. Someone was drinking, most likely him, judging by the stain patterns. She got tired of his infidelity and abuse, I know he abused her because the marks on his hands. She knew he'd be weak when drunk, so she grabbed the butcher knife, a rather ordinary weapon and began cutting away. The stitches are very skilled, she is most likely a doctor. How very uncreative, I would've shoved the tongue down his throat."

She walked out and down the street, calling for a cab.

"Wait!" She held the door to the car open as Sherlock raced out after her.

"How did you do it?" he asked.

"How did I do what?" she asked in a taunting way.

"Don't play dumb, sister mine. How did you escape?"

She smiled at him and patted his shoulder.

"You're the detective," she said. "You figure it out."

She ducked down in the car and slammed the door shut. The cab drove off, leaving Sherlock standing there, alone to his thoughts.