I've been running all my life. Away from the horrid memories of the sacrifices my mother made to protect me, and to protect my name from this evil world we live in...
But everything's changed...
I've recently found out my mother was murdered by a psychopath; choosing the wrong pill in a game of chance that would give away her secret. That gave away my name.
That cost her her life...
I heard a man named Sherlock Holmes had solved my mother's case along with others who had fallen of the same fate. I must find him so I can warn him: for he does not know what he has gotten himself into...


15. Pasts & Resolutions

I look at my phone in sheer panic. I swivel around to see I am surrounded by cameras, watching my every single move from every single angle possible. Then, just out of the corner of my eye, I see a black sleek sports car pull up. Guess who comes out of it.

"Rachel?" Phil keeps repeating.

Mycroft inches closer, and without a moments hesitation, I run. I run as if I was running from zombies, rabid dogs, and even the T-Rex from Jurassic Park, all at once. My options were treating me like I was a Great White shark: If I stop, I die. If I keep running, I will still eventually die, but at least I will have more time.
At least...that's what I thought...

In the one small moment I look back, I clumsily run into someone. I look up. The man I had run into is in all black and looks as if he's with the...


I gulp and attempt to slowly back away, only to run straight into Mycroft. I look up and hold my breath to see Mycroft's ever-so-not-friendly sly grin.

"Ms. Rachel Wilson..." Mycroft says as his grin turns to a slightly concerned frown. "On behalf of the British Government and my own foolish actions, I believe I owe you an apology..."

PJ and his friends had gone away by now, but I knew PJ would be back soon if Phil tells him what happened (which he most likely will.). Meanwhile, Mycroft had invited me to talk over a game of chess, and I oddly agreed. I was the white, Mycroft the black.

I move one of my pawns forward. "So...you're saying that what you put me through was all...a test?"

Mycroft nods as he moves one of his knights. "Your move, Ms. Wilson."

I take one of my own knights in right hand, but I squeeze it tight in frustration. I then move it to my left hand, stand from my seat, and slap Mycroft from across the board. "Well, I suppose I deserved that..." Mycroft says, rubbing his now pink colored cheek.

"Yes, but you also deserve this." I say as my knight takes his bishop. "You are so lucky we are in a public place, Mycroft, because if we weren't, I would fucking KILL you."

"Do mind your language, Ms. Wilson." Mycroft replies with a hint of sass. He moves his rook.

"You know you didn't have to send a fu -I mean, freaking- assassin or whatever the hell that was to shoot my leg!" Mycroft looks puzzled, not by the game.

Mycroft wipes the look off his face quickly and sighs. "Language, Ms. Wilson," I groan, but he continues. "But I never sent an assassin to your home. That was of the 'Wilson Family Murderer', or at least I would presume."

I move my own bishop. "Well...nice to know that the 'Wilson Murderer' has my telephone number, because he's been texting me quiet a lot." Mycroft's eyes widen. "I've been texted from different unknown numbers every time, so there's no lead on that. Sorry."

"Checkmate." He says with a sly smile as he moves his queen to take my king. I sigh as he stands up to leave. "It was a pleasure to get things out of the way, Ms. Wilson." I watch as he slips into his black sports car and drive off to who knows where. I get up and dial 999 on my phone, then rush back to Baker Street with my finger on the Call button.


When I get back to Baker Street, I am unusually greeted by Sherlock when I arrive at my flat.

"You confronted my brother, didn't you?" He asks.

"How did you know?" I say with a sly smile, as if I was testing his abilities. He smiles back.

"Only Mycroft can stall a chess match for that long." I laugh. I remember that Sherlock was my guard for today.

Later, I manage to convince Sherlock to go on a walk with me. Sherlock asks me a lot about my past, to which I reply honestly, and I then ask him about his past. This continued for most of the walk.

"So, you got your violin from Mycroft when you were 10?" I smile in awe that he had been playing for that long. He nods with a small smile on his face. We are close to 221B, but I wanted to keep talking about Sherlock's past. It was just so interesting, and I had barely scratched the surface. Sherlock looks up at the now darkened sky with the twinkling stars above and spins 'round, as if he was going to take off from the ground with a jetpack. I start laughing.

"Um, ground control to Major Tom?" I say through my laughter. Sherlock spins back forward and looks at me with the biggest smile I have ever seen him with. He leans over to me and whispers something in my ear.

"We're being followed."

I don't look back, but I do laugh as if he had said something funny. We walk past Baker Street and keep walking for a long time. As soon as we are far enough away, and to the point that I can't take the fact that we were being followed anymore, I grab Sherlock's hand and run! Pretty soon he gets the idea and he starts to take the lead, directing us to an alley after about 7 or so minutes of running straight to catch our breath.

"I...I think...we lost him..." I say as I attempt and fail to catch my breath.

"LOOK OUT!" Sherlock yells as he throws a punch directly towards my face. I duck as his fist hits a man who comes out of the shadows of the alley. Sherlock then proceeds to beat him up, yelling at the top of his lungs, "RUN RACHEL!!!" I start to run, but I am grabbed by a mysterious man in a ski-mask! I try to scream, but the man covers my mouth before I can say anything. Other people come out of the shadows and start to pound Sherlock the living daylights out of Sherlock!

I scream and kick, but it affects nothing as the man drags me out of the alley and throws me into a large white van. I hear him lock the doors behind me, and I look out the window to see Sherlock, covered in blood, barely alive, with other ski-masked goons kicking at his stomach.

"SHERLOCK!!! SHERLOCK!!!" I scream as the van starts up. I pound on the window and keep screaming his name, but to no avail.

The van drives off, and I am only left with the gruesome picture of Sherlock in my head to think about...

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