Miss Moriarty is Holmes!

Chapter1: Meeting Sherlock Holmes

It's been 2 and a half years since our eldest and dearest brother, Jim Moriarty, died. He'll always be the best brother, parent, and friend to us. He'll always be in our hearts.

2 and a half years ago, in the funeral, I can't help myself but to cry. I don't like crying because I've been comforted by my tears' coating my self-esteem for all my life. It appears that's what I'm best at. Sebastian Moran---my brother's trusted assistant--- me, my other brother, Jake, and some people who I barely know were the only ones in the funeral. Even a beautiful woman named Irene Adler came and gave flowers.

I know, my brother doesn't deserved condolences and sympathy because he killed millions of innocent lives. He doesn't need sympathies and understanding, I remember him saying when we were teenagers.

But the criminals of the world whom he helped cried and greived for him. They grieved for their sponsor and master. It's not a usual thing for 'big-time' criminals.

Jake stayed outside with Sebastian Moran. They chatted and blew their cigars. I walked outside to call him, because he never came in the funeral. I understand that it's been hard for him, but it's been three days also that he never came in. "Jake, when will you go inside and see our brother in the coffin for once? It's been three days." I asked, leaning at the door. He looked at me and frowned. He gave Sebastian a sign to leave us for a moment."Sigh, Joan dearie, life's not fair, isn't it?" He said, twisting his cigar between his two fingers. "You know that's not my name for all this years." I reminded him, "It's Ella Gunther." He laughed crazily, "Well, if you say so, Ella Gunther. Did brother gave you that name when you were 9?"

"Well, yeah. Didn't brother gave you a name also?"

"Sigh, Joan dearie, dearie. Aren't you tired of living in fear? We must be proud of our terrifying last name."

He smiled and looked at his cigar. He's not into himself. He's not the Jake I knew anymore.

"Do you know who's fault is this?" He asked.

I was about to answer, but no words came out to my mouth. His brows suddenly knitted in anger.

"Well, who else? It's that pesky detective!"He violently threw his cigar. Everyone looked at us. I gave out a silent cry, but I get used to it. Lately, he has extreme mood swings and drinking problems. He doesn't even smoke before.

Since the day we heard about the news, Jake locked himself in his room for 1 week. I, myself, was very worried for him. He can't accept the death, and now it's eating him alive. It's driving him insane. He curses and punches the trunk of the tree 'till his knuckles bleed.

I decided to leave. I can't bear to see him like this. I just can't take it anymore. I went back to America shortly after our brother was buried.

I'll be honest, I can't blame that 'pesky' detective, he was doing what was right. My brother did it for his loved ones, for me and Jake, but it wasn't right. He could have been a real I.T worker or a normal person with a normal job to provide us in finance and everything we need. All we need is a brother who's always there for us.

But he gave us love and care that no brother could ever give. He has feelings, just in case no one knows. Deep inside that monster, was a loving brother who was once a 'human being'.

But now is the time to move on. The names "Ella Gunther", and Joan Moriarty never did exist. Staying in the infamous last name, 'Moriarty', won't bring me good. I am afraid of my family, I am afraid of my origin. I'm just an elementary teacher, who loved kids so dearly, with no one to be with. Just a normal teacher who decides to live on her own. After all these years and things I've been through, I went back to London again with a hope of having new life. This is the present day.