Fleeting Impressions | J.M.

25: a young james

Sherlock stands before the edge of the rooftop, staring down below. I assume he saw John and I arrive at the Lotus Club separately and disappear into the building.

Moriarty behind him, paused in his speech and his pacing to stare at the door I just walked out of.

His grin stretches wider at the site of me standing before him. And my heart cracks a little more. Because I wish that smile was genuine. I wish that smile was for me and not for the fact that he just wants to play with my head.

"Why did you take Sherlock?" I ask in a bored tone.

Moriarty hangs his head in disappointment. "No, no, no, no" he mutters. "No," he shouts. "Stop being boring. You know why I have brought you here. You know why I took Sherlock and you know everything."

I am taken aback for a moment. Staring at Moriarty in disbelief. He should know by now that I don't know anything. In fact, I was the one most confused about this entire situation. I was the one who got played.

Sherlock still hasn't turned around and I look to him for answers. Like always.

"Stop that," Moriarty snaps at me. And I glance back at Sherlock again. At this point. I am very confused.

"Sherlock what is going on?" I only hear a sad sign in return.

"Sit down Sherlock, and let your sister think for herself. Sebastian," Moriarty calls and his sniper appears from the doorway. He makes quick work of sitting Sherlock down and training a gun at him.

I look to Moriarty again. "Explain then"

"No, you explain." He states back with a grin. "This was never about Sherlock, dear."

This was never about Sherlock.

What could he possibly mean? This was always about Sherlock. The games he played while I lived far away from Baker Street slinging ice cream. Moriarty played with Sherlock and they both fooled each other. It was always a game between them. Always the queen trying to protect the king, but the king is the prize. I was only in this to protect Sherlock, another piece to be used.

But then I look to Sherlock, and he looks defeated.

What has he not been telling me?

I turn around to pace along the building wall, glancing down at the street below with people walking into the Lotus Club.

I remember the hints that Moriarty gave me, the way that people would move out of my way, and gave me information.

The first clue: the playlist. What I originally thought was a way to get me to play his game, to taunt me with memories of our time together was actually a different clue. I take out the earphones to listen to Killer Queen while I think.

Yes, Caviar and Cigarettes was a clue to find Sherlock, but what about the other lyrics? Gelatine. Jello. Moriarty only had jello in his fridge.

The perfume on the card was from France. But not only that, it was specifically from Paris. Naturally. I roll my eyes.

I then remember the card also had another stain on it. A white eczema cream.  A case from mine and Sherlock's past comes to mind. The case that apparently led him to Moriarty the first time. I wasn't there for the conclusion of the case, but I was there when Sherlock told Scotland Yard all those years ago as kids. The pool flashes in my mind.

The water and tile. Carl's body already under a white sheet. Another boy was there, the one who found him. Sherlock took me by the hand and we hopped the train to get to the crime scene as soon as it reached the news. He knew it was foul play, the detectives were fools. But no one would listen to a kid.

I look to Sherlock, but he still won't look me in the eyes. I take an earbud out as Killer queen comes to an end and I walk over to my brothers still figure. Crouching down I reach into his pocket and remove the contents. A white card stock with eczema cream and perfume in an envelope. A black lotus menu with the specialty for today. And last, a thin jello lid.

I sign. We were given almost the same clues. The same obstacles and we both ended up on the same roof. The Holmes siblings are more alike than I want to admit.

I look at my brother in accusation.

"How could you not tell me?"

He looks at me for the first time, confusion in his eyes that only I can see. He doesn't know?

I look to Moriarty is disbelief. "James?"

"There we go," his grin is giddy on his face. "I told you, you were always the smartest Holmes sibling. The thing is, I've always told you that." He puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. "It was never about Sherlock, Etta."

•••

"Etta?" A small James asks me. "I like that name." He grins.

"I like the name James, too" I smile back happily at the cute boy in front of me. We sit here at the curb of the pool house while police officers bustle in and out. Sherlock is in there trying to convince the officers to listen to him. I told him he was wasting his time, even though I knew he was right. But I know that children are never listened to, even if we are geniuses.

I tell him of Sherlock and I's theory. How it was a homicide not an accident. But I also tell him about my thoughts, how it will go unsolved for a long time.

"Your smart Etta, smarter than your brother is. He's wasting his time trying to convince them," his hair ruffles in the wind. We sit in silence for another moment while I let the compliment sink in. I've always been told I wasn't the smart one. Smarter than regular kids standards, but not my brothers.

"I'm glad they gave us this jello," James tells me happily as he shoves another spoonful into his mouth. I nod.

"It's sad what happened to that boy," I say.

James' face falls into an emotionless mask that scares me for a moment. He glances at me with those haunting eyes before he lazily smiles again like it never happens. "I heard he wasn't too nice anyway."

He clears his throat. "Anyway, I'm going to go see if I can manipulate them into getting us more jello." He stands. "Come Queen, Etta, your jello awaits." He bows with his inviting hand out. I grab it, giggling a little at the older boy.

And like promised, James got us more jello. But before we could sit down to enjoy this cup, Sherlock came bounding out of the building, slamming the door into the wall on the way out. I look to James in concern, but I'm swept up by Sherlock before he can say anything. Sherlock, never giving either of us a glance.

I stumble after my brother with his tight grip on my arm. Before we round the corner onto the next street, I glance back to wave at my new friend, but he has disappeared.

I never got to say good bye. I never saw that handsome, curious boy again.

•••

James.