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

Chapter 21- Missing Links

Millie's POV

"You're sure this is a good idea?" says John, out of breath as he tries to match Sherlock's pace.

Sherlock doesn't slow down.

"A good idea? Not at all. But it's the only idea, at present."

John an I exchange a glance.

We arrive at the lake, flustered and a little out of breath. 

"And she said she'd be here? Are you sure she'll turn up- I mean, she's not exactly stable, is she?" asks John, his hand tracing the welt on his jaw and wincing.

"Sherlock!"

We all turn around just in time to see a small, thin, young woman fling herself at Sherlock in a messy embrace, very nearly causing him to topple over. He makes a noise of exclamation and backs away from her rapidly. John raises an eyebrow, and nods at me.

That's her.

Elena Schott.

I can just about see a resemblance between her and Emily. Just. They have a similarly watchful expression. But Elena has a starved air about her; her eyes big and blue and sunk deep into her hollow face. Most distinctively, she has a thin raised scar running across the bridge of her nose and down each cheek. She looks emaciated, and distinctly frail.

I can't imagine this woman hurting John.

We stare at her, and her smile falters a bit.

"Are you... Elena Schott?" I ask, after a minute.

"Yes."

"Impossible. You're either lying, or insane. Elena Schott is dead," says Sherlock, examining her coldly.

"Sherlock."

"I'm not dead. Or lying, or insane. I just see things differently. They tried to kill me," she says, looking at Sherlock curiously. "But it didn't work. Because I can fight, and I stopped them. Stopped them breathing. I was frightened, so I had to hide. But I'm back now."

"Can you tell us who hurt you?" says John, gently.

"Moriarty."

"How-?"

"I worked for him, for a little bit. But he didn't understand that I was different. So he sent them after me, to fix the problem."

She's looking at Sherlock again, grinning widely from ear to ear. John pulls me over to one side, and says quietly:

"She's not as bad as before. She's calmer."

"John, do you have your phone with you?"

"Yeah..?"

"Take a photo," I say softly, so that Elena doesn't hear me. I don't want to antagonise her.

He nods, slowly, and pulls the phone out of his pocket, opening the camera application.

Click.

"Does Emily know I've come back to see her?"

"We've told her," says Sherlock stiffly, still a little taken aback by her obsessive interest in him.

"Good. She might be angry, though. And Emily...she gets very, very angry. She scares me, sometimes. She hurts people," she says, suddenly serious, her angular face pale. "I used to be scared all the time. But I'm different now. Better."

I swallow.

"Elena," I say softly, "Why do you want to play our game?"

"I read about it on John Watson's blog. 'The Great Game', it said. That's how I found out about him," she snarls, her expression darkening. "About Moriarty. I had to come back. To stop him."

"Why now?" asks Sherlock, walking in a slow circle around her. "Why turn up now, thirteen years later?"

"I couldn't find Emily. But then I saw her" she says pointing at me. "In the newspaper, with you, Sherlock. And she looks like Emily. They both have curly hair. So I found you. And I watched you. And then I saw my sister, coming to your apartment."

It makes sense now. Linking together the fragments of her story, of Emily's story.

Thirteen years ago, without Emily to guide her, Elena Schott must have been sucked into a life of crime, where people like her are manipulated, used as bait for those with pressing piorities. And Jim Moriarty is London's illegal underwold; their paths would have crossed, at some point.  She clearly didn't cope with the danger and the terror and the complexity of large-scale crime, and Moriarty is not a sympathetic man. She would have been a burden, and burdens are not worth preserving. Moriarty tried to get her killed, erase her from his picture permanently. But, judging by John's injuries, he underestimated her ability to be deadly, and to fight. She could well have killed her attackers, and fled, scared. Scarred, Elena sunk deeper into insanity, until she became what she is today. Moriarty didn't want to look like he'd lost, but at the same time didn't want to waste time and money tracking her down- so perhaps he feigned her death, making it look like a homicide. Emily was devastated, and turned to crime herself after the law failed to provide sufficient evidence for the cause of Elena's "death".

It's all falling into place.

"How do you do it? How do you kill them?" says Sherlock, to himself, examining her through narrowed eyes.

"Shall I show you?"

"Sherlock- " starts John, but it's too late, because Elena has spotted a lone dog walker in the distance. It's all too quick, too sudden, and we can only watch as she approaches the man, their collision forceful enough to knock him down. She laughs, and holds his jaw in her hands, elbows bent and wrists flexed.

There's a dull, insular crack.

The dog starts to bark. We reach them, panting, and John rushes over to the man, taking his pulse, although his neck is hanging at an unnatural angle, eyes glazed with an unseeing sheen.

"Oh my god...Sherlock, she's killed him."

Elena stops laughing, and looks down at her hands, confused.

Then she starts to back away, edging towards the forest fringing the park.

"Elena, stay where you are," begins Sherlock, but as he speaks she cries out and runs away, alarmingly fast, until we can no longer see her.

"John, call Lestrade."

"But... bloody hell, he's dead. We're going to be prime suspec-"

"Call him."

We look at Sherlock, and, shaking, John dials the number.

"Where does Emily live?"

"I... don't know."

Sherlock takes my head in his hands and stares at me, verging on frantic-

"You do know.Think. You saw her phone, didn't you, when you read those texts from Moriarty? There must have been some indication, a reminder, scratches on the screen from a key-"

"Yes. Scratches. Three short ones, an arch, the imprint of a key being impressed on the screen," I say, closing my eyes. "I recognise the sequence, the markings on the key.. they're similar to the lock sequence of the burned apartment, remember? But not identical... a nearby apartment complex, Coventry. That area."

I open my eyes.

"Brilliant," breathes Sherlock, and he lets go of my head. "We're going to ask around the apartment complex.Someone will recognise her name."

"Lestrade's on his way," begins John, hanging up, striding over to us.

"John, we're leaving. Coventry."

"What?! But the dog walker-"

"They'll sort it out. I do enough for them, they can manage this one on their own."

And he's off, caught up in the frenzy of a new case. John and I are jogging after him, and although we've just witnessed a murder, and Emily's lunatic sister is on the loose in London, John manages a strained grin.

"That man's impossible. Impossible. "

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