The Art Of Corruption ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book III}

Chapter 1- Technical Difficulties

Emily's POV

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I'm scrolling through the seemingly endless messages flooding my inbox when it happens.

My laptop lights up, the keys flash, and the monitor starts whirring at a pace which tells me that I should be alarmed. I stop typing and lean in, momentarily confused. The screen flickers, then dies, so that all I'm left with is a disconcerting reflection of my own face.

And then all hell breaks loose.

The system re-launches, and my defence software is kick-started, telling me that I'm being attacked; an external virus is currently raging through my files, corrupting and deleting everything it finds. I swear, and launch into a counter-attack, tapping in lines of code so quickly the joints in my fingers click with the sudden strain.

As a criminal hacker, I really can't afford to have my files destroyed.

Although deeply frustrating, this kind of thing happens frequently: I'm constantly on unstable sites, so picking up viruses is common practice. Normally, my self-coded defence software can handle the minor ones, but occasionally I get a really vicious virus that tears through the code, and it becomes a battle of who can administer commands more quickly- me, or the virus.

I don't usually lose.

However, this one is putting up a fair fight.

My phone vibrates on the table next to me, and I glance up as I type, to see who it's from-

It's Sherlock.

I ignore it, and continue my assault, gritting my teeth as the momentary diversion causes me to lose my pace, and the virus takes over. It's a struggle; a yo-yo like test, where one minute I've almost cracked it, the next it comes close to shutting down my laptop. Five minutes later, and I think I'm winning; it's starting to show signs of damage as the rapidly scrolling numbers begin to slow down. I grin at the screen, and start up my final attack, when-

My phone vibrates for a second time.

This must be important.

Sherlock never texts more than once, unless it's absolutely necessary.

I think I've got enough of an advantage on the virus to spare a couple of seconds and open his texts. I lean across the bed, picking up my phone and swiping across the screen to unlock it:

Emily, I need you at Baker Street. Now. -SH

And then:

This is urgent. -SH

My laptop begins to flicker as the virus, sensing my stall, takes hold once more. I reach across and begin entering code one-handed as I text a reply back to Sherlock-

Sorry, not now. I'm busy. -ES

I abandon the phone on my lap, and turn my attention back to the screen. I've just started to get back into the flow of things, when Sherlock's almost instantaneous reply comes through:

This is an emergency. -SH

An emergency?

I pause, torn. I can't let this virus destroy any more of my files. But at the same time, I can't live with myself knowing that something terrible has happened to my friends, and I could have prevented it.

I look at my laptop, still teetering on the edge of collapse. I look at my phone.

I groan with frustration, and rip the motherboard chip from my laptop, effectively pulling the emergency lever and halting everything. It's only a temporary solution. Chances are, when I get back on the virus will still be there, and it will have corrupted the vast majority of my files.