Sophia Holmes and the Great Game (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Ten - The Lost Vermeer Part I

The bombing is headline news the following morning, and we gather in the front room to watch the report. The banner beneath the video footage describes it as a gas explosion that killed twelve people, but as the picture zooms into the corner of the high-rise building it's clear that's far from the truth.

"Old block of flats," he points out, pointlessly.

"They can't seriously still believe that it was a gas explosion," I say, my horror of last night replaced with anger.

I ran a search for Moriarty after we came back last night, but I've found nothing. There's not even a mention of him on the hospital staff records. The only trace of him I found was on Molly's website but even with that, I've come to a dead-end tracing him back.

For me, that only strengthens my belief that he's the bomber - or at least the person behind the bombings - even if he doesn't get his hands dirty himself. No ordinary person, regardless of how good they are at IT, would hook up so much security to mask their IP address.

"He certainly gets about," John says, nodding in agreement.

"Well, obviously I lost that round," dad says, frustrated, "although technically I did solve the case."

Dad is just as annoyed as I am, which is quite understandable. He mutes the TV with the remote control and looks thoughtfully into the distance.

"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him," I say softly.

"Just once, he put himself in the firing line," dad adds, putting a finger up to exaggerate our point.

"What d'you mean?" John questions.

"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things but no-one ever has direct contact."

"He's obviously got enough influence to employ somebody else to talk to the old woman, but he didn't want somebody else talking to us," I say thoughtfully. "He sets up a sort of intermediary out of hostages so we are more willing to participate in the cases he sets up for us."

"What ... like the Connie Prince murder - he-he arranged that?" John questions and I nod. "So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"

"Novel," dad says quietly, his face full of admiration.

If he wasn't endangering the lives of innocent civilians, I might agree. His organisational skills and network of followers are simply marvellous.

John turns to look at us in disbelief before looking back at the screen, where a new story has come up. "Huh," he sounds, jerking a finger towards the screen.

I follow his gaze in time to see footage of Raoul de Santos being bundled out of Kenny's house by police officers. How ironic that the two stories should come so close together. We watch as Raoul is loaded into the back of a police car, then John looks over at dad, whose gaze has been diverted back to the pink phone.

"Taking his time this time," he says, and I hum in agreement as John looks away, clearing his throat in discomfort.

He obviously doesn't like our participation in this game, and he certainly doesn't like us treating it as a game. "Anything on the Carl Powers case?" he asks as the camera zooms in to focus on Kenny Prince holding that god-awful inside-out cat.

"Nothing," I answer, taking my eyes away from the TV. "All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection."

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?"

"The thought had occurred," I admit.

"So why's he doing this, then - playing this game with you?" John asks, directing this to dad now. "D'you think he wants to be caught?"