Since his call from Mycroft, Sherlock had tried desperately to find out what had happened, why James Moriarty was suddenly plastered over every screen in London. He couldn't find an explanation. He had watched him die, he had watched him place the gun to the top plate of his mouth and pull the trigger. He had watched him fall back into a pool of his own blood. Moriarty was dead! There was absolutely no doubt about it. People bombarded him constantly asking for the explanation he hadn't yet discovered. Lestrade asked more than the others, his questions were constant, asking for information, asking for advice, asking about everything. Although the pictures had vanished, and there had been no sign of Moriarty or any other villain since, people involved with Sherlock still worried. The citizens of London however blew it off, assuming it was a prank pulled by some high scale hacker, a rumor that Mycroft himself came up with to keep them at bay.
Sherlocks mind raced through all possibilities, assessing why somebody would do that. He knew that every person trying to harm or scare had a reason, Mary had her reason, Magnessen had his, even Moriarty had reasons. But this, a new player in this seemingly never ending game, he or she, was a fan. They knew about Moriarty, they knew about Sherlocks weaknesses with Magnessen and how Sherlock would react with Moriarty back from the dead. It led way to someone new, someone who knew. Sherlock continued to search through people, people who would hate him, the list was quite long, but none of the names however on the list had reason to love or even remotely like Moriarty.
This began to anger him. Not knowing bothered him, it had since childhood. He had kept up with Mycroft daily, working on figuring it out together. He preferred to work with John Watson, but he was with Mary, nine months pregnant and ready at any moment to have a child. Working with Mycroft however wasn't nearly as bad as Sherlock had imagined. They worked off each other, bouncing off ideas and clues. If it wasn't for their childhood grudges, Sherlock thought, they would've made a good team after all.
The sun beat into 221B as Sherlock walked anxiously around the flat. He pressed the nicotine patches harder into his skin as he paced, running through the list of names again. Even Mary and John appeared on the list in his mind, both had strong enough reason to hate him. He brushed past them however and continued on. His phone rang loudly from the couch, causing Sherlock to stop in his tracks. He stared for a moment then picked it up. "What is it Mycroft?" He muttered, annoyed his thought process and been interrupted.
"I found a girl" Mycroft smirked.
"As in a girl, girl?" Sherlock questioned, assuming he was talking in terms of a relationship.
"A client" Mycroft clarified.
"Details?" Sherlock pried.
"I received an email" Mycroft explained as he began to read off his computer screen. "Dear Mr. Holmes, I believe you have been waiting for information on the case of James Moriarty. Looks like I'm your girl. Contact me for farther information. Love always Cecelia." Mycroft paused.
"Seems useless, just a fan" Sherlock sighed. "You can tell by the-"
"I'm not finished" Mycroft continued to read. "P.S if you don't come to me, I will come to you"
Sherlock thought for a moment. "Fine, let her come to me" he hung up and threw the phone back to its spot on the couch and continued on with his list. Janine, Irene, Anderson. He was unaware of Mycroft's email back.
Sherlock has declined the offer to meet you, I suggest we meet up for dinner and I will help you get to him. He is stubborn as an ass after all, there is a nice little place on Baker Street we can eat and chat, bring your girls. The plan will work.
Love always, M