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The sister... [Recently edited]

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My name is Mykala Watson. After spending six years in Australia with my best friends, I return to London expecting nothing more than a fresh start and a place to stay with my older brother, John Watson. Instead, I find myself living at 221B Baker St...

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Chapter 19 - And The Reunion [EDITED]

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Mykala POV
The journey back to Baker Street felt far too quiet.
That was the terrifying part.
With Moriarty, silence was never peaceful.
Silence meant planning.
It meant he was already ten steps ahead.
The twins were safe with Mary, which was the only thing stopping me from completely losing control. Every instinct I had as a mother screamed to go back and hold them.
But every instinct I had as a detective told me that if Moriarty was really alive...
This wasn't over.
Not even close.
And they are safer away from Baker Street.
Sherlock sat beside me in the cab, staring out of the window.
Thinking.
Always thinking.
John, however, was doing what John did best.
Panicking.
"Sherlock, what do we even do? We don't know his strategy this time. We don't know what game he's playing. He could have started something completely new, or he could be continuing from the last time, which means we need to think before we just walk into-"
"John."
He stopped.
Sherlock looked at him.
"We are aware."
John frowned.
"Well, someone has to say it."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Because underneath the frustration, I knew exactly what John was doing.
He was scared.
We all were.
The cab pulled up outside Baker Street.
John stayed behind to pay while Sherlock and I headed inside.
The second we stepped through the door...
I knew.
Something was wrong.
The flat felt different.
Occupied.
"Stay alert," Sherlock murmured.
I nodded.
My hand moved instinctively towards the gun hidden beneath my coat.
Then a voice echoed through the room.
"Oh, this is wonderful."
We froze.
A man stepped out from the shadows.
James Moriarty.
Alive.
Smiling.
"If it isn't my favourite consulting detective..."
His eyes moved between Sherlock, John and me.
"...and his little domestic arrangement."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Still trying to be funny, James?"
His smile widened.
"Always."
He walked casually around the flat as though it belonged to him.
Because somehow...
He always managed to make everywhere feel like it did.
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