Vatican Cameos

Cameo Holmes. Daughter of Sherlock Holmes. When Sherlock faked his own death, the world fell apart. And now, everyone is counting on her to take his place as consulting detective. Will she succeed? Or will it be time to call "Vatican Cameos"?


2. Options

"Dad?" I approached my father, he was staring off into space again.

"Yes?" He asked me abruptly.

"What are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"I think you know what."

"Are you doing your power of deception again?"

"Well I am related to you."

"So, tell me. I am so interested."

"Don't sound so sarcastic." I snapped.

"I'm not. Just tell me what you want to know." My father looked up from his newspaper, giving me his full attention for once.

"What are you going to do about... you know who?" I muttered the last part quietly, I didn't want John to hear.

"Who's 'you know who'?" John asked, coming into the living room. His hair was dripping from his shower, and he was rubbing a towel across his head.

"Nobody. Voldemort." I said hastily.

"Oh, ha ha very funny." John said sarcastically.

"I know right." I grinned at him, as he continued to rub his head.

"So, who is it?" John said, I wished he'd drop it.


"It clearly is because you've both gone quiet."

"I'm going out. Vatican." I announced, standing up to leave. My father would understand the code, but John wouldn't.

"See you. Vatican." My father said, he repeated it to show that he understood.

"Vatican what?" John asked, completely clueless.

"Nothing. See you Cameo. Hey, can you check the bridge for me? I found something suspicious there." My father added, giving me the location of meeting.

I left the house and headed for the nearest bridge, he could have been slightly more specific, but I'll have to presume that he meant the nearest one.


A little while later, I saw my father's figure striding towards me, his big coat flapping in the breeze.

"So, what do you want to talk to me for?" He asked.

"I was just wondering what you're going to do about Moriarty?"


"Yeah, so, have you thought about it?" I questioned. His blank look told me that he clearly hadn't considered what he was going to do. "What about a disappearance?"

My father frowned down at me, "how am I supposed to do that?"

"I dunno. People do it all the time. You know? Just disappear." I wave my arms around for added effect.

"People do it all the time. Sherlock Holmes cannot simply disappear. What about John? Molly? Lestrade? So many people would see through it."

"Mother." I say, he has forgotten one person. He always forgets to mention her. Forgets.

"What about her?"

"She'll see through it too. You always leave mother out. What is wrong with her? Did you fight?" I ask, determined to reach the bottom of a debate that we've been having for years.

"I'll tell you the truth when I think you need it."

"You always say that! In your eyes, I'm never going to need that piece of information." I glare at him, it is traveling in the direction that this conversation always goes.

"You will. Just not yet." He takes a deep breath, calming himself. "Now, tell me what your plan is. I presume that you have one?"

"How do you know I have a plan? You're the one who has to solve the problem." I cross my arms, showing that I am still very much infuriated with him.

"If you don't have a plan, why did you want to talk to me in private?"

I lean against the railings, gazing at the swirling water below, wondering whether anyone has drowned. I look around at the rest of the railings, and words spring to my mind to describe each place. Suicide. Attempted suicide. Murder. Bomb? About three-hundred people have died on and around this bridge. I frown, wondering why.

"What are you doing?" My father asks me, as I bend down to inspect the worn iron.

"Nothing." I say, standing up. "Yes, I do have a plan."

"I knew it! Go on then." He cries triumphantly before watching me steadily.

"Faked death."

My father looks at me with bewilderment etching his features. He looks at the worn railings, at the salty tear stains on the iron, at the tall buildings in the distance.

"Well, I suppose it could work." He says carefully.

"Unless you have any other bright ideas?"

"No. I didn't. We'll have to plan this very precisely. And we must have a back-up option, just in case this doesn't work." He looks down at me, looking pleased with me for once. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I reply, turning away from the bridge.

The death bridge. Where you plan your death.

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