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

Chapter 13- Fractures

Emily's POV

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In hindsight, that could have gone a lot better.

I lied, impulsively. And I don't think Sherlock, Millie or John bought it.

But what was I supposed to do? I can't exactly tell them the truth. They'd never trust me again.

I'm also very concerned about the fact that Moriarty is now in Switzerland. He will make another appearance, and what am I going to say when he does? I sigh, sitting down heavily on my bed and resting my head in my hands.

They are going to find out, I know they are.

I make a half-hearted attempt at cleaning up the devastation around me, but give up after five minutes. I retrieve my dress from under the bed, tossing it into the wardrobe, out of sight. I can hear Sherlock talking to Mycroft on the phone. Words like "body" and "murder" and "killer" pepper each sentence. John's clattering around in the kitchen, and I can hear Millie outside, presumably going back to inspect the body.

It's like a staged normality.

I lift the wooden table back into position, and re-organise the contents, listening shamelessly in to Sherlock's conversation. Apparently Mycroft isn't happy with our progress. He's telling Sherlock to get a move on, before the reputation of the British Security sector collapses. Sherlock says he doesn't care, and he'll take as long as he needs. John's telling Sherlock to watch it.

Then there's a scream. 

My first thought is Millie.

I drop everything, and wrench open the window, looking out wildly-

Millie stands up, wide-eyed. She shakes her head, and points back inside the building.

She mouths one word:

Irene.

I swear, and turn on my heels, joining Sherlock and John. Sherlock's on his feet, looking around frantically, trying to source the location of the scream.

Millie runs into the room, breathless-

"Irene. Third room on the left. Go!"

We snap into action.

I'm the first one out into the corridor.  I sprint down to Irene's room, and reach out to pull the door, but it's locked. Sherlock's next to me, hammering on the polished wood, and John shouts:

"Irene, open the door!"

We can hear whimpering inside, the sound of a sob mixed with fear. Millie looks at the lock, and then at me-

"Break it down."

"What?! I can't-"

There's another hitched breath of choked terror, and Millie grips my arm tightly:

"Do it."

I mentally apologise for the constructional damage, and take a few steps backwards, bracing myself. I run at the door, ramming my shoulder into the wood and grunting-

"Why do I have to do this?"

But I continue regardless, slamming into the door twice, then three times, and on my fourth collision I hear the metal lock strain and snap under the pressure. I kick it, hard, and the door gives way, flinging open in a crescendo of splintering wood.

I steady myself on the doorframe, catching my breath as Millie, Sherlock and John rush into the room.

Irene turns round, her face blanched in horror. She's standing in front of her dressing table, gripping the ledge with white knuckles. She's incapable of speech.