Sophia Holmes and the Inexplicable Matchbox (Sherlock/Marvel Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Two

I spend the morning in the kitchen, studying the exterior of the box. I don't want to open it until I know that there's nothing dangerous inside it, so I run it through an x-ray to be sure.

Around lunchtime, dad comes back. "We have a case," he announces, as he comes through the kitchen door, then does a double take as he sees me sat up by the small x-ray machine. "What are you doing?"

"I have my own case," I say looking up and smiling.

He frowns. "Is that ... a matchbox?"

"Yep," I reply, taking the box out of the machine. There doesn't seem to be anything harmful inside - just something small, like a worm or a large maggot. "Fury gave it to me to find out what's inside. What's your case?"

"Isaac Persano: a French decathlete who was found completely out of his mind in a hotel room after being missing since March last year."

"I heard something about that," I say, narrowing my eyes. "I think it was on the news earlier."

Dad nods. "It would have been - he was the prime suspect in the murder of his personal trainer, Gabriel Allard who was found bludgeoned to death in a hotel room."

"Okay, so what's the case?" I ask, confused.

"He was found by a chambermaid at the Royal Hotel in Brighton," dad explains, "surrounded by over a thousand matchboxes all of which were empty. Except one."

The dawning realisation hits me, and I look down at the matchbox I was studying. "Seems like we have the same case."

"But how?" dad asks. "Coincidence? Unlikely."

"Perhaps Persano was HYDRA?" I suggest. "It would explain what Fury said about getting the matchbox from them, and Lestrade would have called you in because of the unusual circumstances."

"Possibly," dad nods. "Have you opened it?"

"Not yet. I've scanned it - there seems to be something living inside it. Fury reckoned it contained the 'inexplicable'."

Dad comes over and studies it. "What does he mean, 'inexplicable'?"

"I don't know," I admit. "That's all he said."

Dad paces away from me, taking the box into the living room and sitting down in his seat, turning it in his hands as he studies it thoughtfully. I go over to join him, sitting just behind him up to the table.

John appears at the door and knocks, but then realises that we're preoccupied and lets himself in. "What is that?" he asks, as he sits down in his chair.

Dad looks up at him. "A French decathlete found completely out of his mind, surrounded by one thousand, eight hundred and twelve matchboxes – all empty except this one."

"And what's in that one?"

Dad looks back down at the matchbox. "The 'inexplicable.'" Slowly, he pushes open the matchbox. A golden glow emanates out from it, in a similar way as the briefcase from Pulp Fiction, and dad grins in delight. I look over his shoulder, and my eyes widen in surprise.