Yay new story! Okay, I really think this is one of my best stories so far. I have eighty something pages handwritten so hopefully I can post regularly *crosses fingers* Let's hope. Enjoy?

Introduction

The roaring music blasting into my ears through my earbuds blocked out all unwanted noise. The playlist I was listening to was full of an assortment of my favorite heavy bands; Five Finger Death Punch, Stone Sour, Breaking Benjamin, Sick Puppies, and Skillet. I wasn't interested in what was going on around me. Not the streets of London, not the cab I was in, and most certainly not my father trying to talk to me.

"Sierra," he said warningly. I couldn't hear him, actually. I read his lips and facial expression. I ignored him. "Sierra Holmes, you listen to me right now young lady!" I rolled my eyes and pulled out my earbuds. I could still hear Stone Sour blaring from my lap.

"Since when was I a Holmes?" I retorted, looking away from him back to the window. "And why are we in a taxi? You don't take cabs." He was about to answer when I cut him off. "Oh, wait, I know. You don't want to alarm and or annoy your brother by pulling up in your car, which would introduce the option of being ignored. But, using a cab, there is a higher chance of someone actually opening the door and therefore a higher chance that he'll take my sorry ass off your hands."

"Don't use that tone with me," he said.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," I snorted. "You suddenly become 'daddy' once Mum dies and you expect me to listen to you? Fat chance, Mycroft." He sighed and turned away, giving up on trying to talk to me. I put my earbuds back in and watched the streets go by.

I was going to live with his brother, Sherlock. When he came to pick me up at Mum's funeral, the first words he said were, "You look like a girl version of my brother." So I guessed Sherlock had wavy dark hair down to mid-back and bright eyes. Apparently Mycroft was "too busy with government business" to look after me. That was just fine. Let you down once, they'll always let you down. That's how dads were; in my opinion at least.

I watched London pass by my window. Small shops, cafes, apartments. Cars, cabs, busses, bikes. Business people, drug dealers, teenagers, beggars. I saw all of it. I looked up as the cab slowed down. There was no light or traffic, so we were here. I looked out the window opposite me and saw an apartment door labeled 221B. I took in all surrounding landmarks to get a feel for where I was.

Mycroft got out of the car and I followed him. It felt awkward. Not because of anything I did or that I was wearing jeans, a cami, combat boots, and a hoodie, but because I was wearing that while the man I was with was wearing a suit and tie. He knocked on the door and an older woman opened it.

"Mycroft," she said. "Come in, come in." He nodded at her in greeting as I followed him silently. The woman turned her attention upstairs and shouted, "Sherlock! You have company!"

"I'm busy," an irritated voice yelled back. The woman shook her head and motioned for us to follow her upstairs.

"It's your brother and a friend," she said as we entered the flat. A man with short curly dark hair and bright eyes looked up from a newspaper. Huh, I did look kind of like him.

"Mycroft," he said. "Who's that with you?"

"Your niece," Mycroft replied.

"I don't have a niece," Sherlock said.

"Thank you, for denying my existence," I muttered sarcastically.

"Denying your existence? Of course not," he said. Damn, he spoke fast. "How could I possibly deny your existence? You're standing right in front of me!" He looked me over carefully, his eyes darting all over the place. "Teenager, obviously grieving. Worn earbuds indicate that you listen to music often. The music you listen to is very special to you, based on the way you hold your music player protectively even while it's in your pocket. That sweatshirt comforts you, shown by the way it's wrapped around you but not zipped. Because your eyes are darting around so quickly, I'd also say you're very observant. Just like me."

"You have a habit of telling people things they already know, don't you?" I asked. I did one last sweep of the room with my eyes before moving on. "Based on the papers lying around and the article pulled up on that laptop, you're either a cop or a detective. But, since a cop wouldn't get their assignments from the paper, you're a detective; a private one at that. The full garbage can indicates that you don't take every case that crosses your path. There are too many doubles of essential items in the flat for it just to be you, so you have a flatmate. Material peeking out under your sleeve means nicotine patch, therefore a used-to-be smoker who's trying to break the habit."

"Good, you actually pay attention to your surroundings," he said. "What is she doing here?"

"I want you to take her, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "I don't have the time to look after her."

"I'm not a kid person," Sherlock said.

"And I'm not an uncle person," I shot back. "And yet you're stuck with a teenager and I'm stuck with an uncle. Fair trade."

"We'll see," he said. "We're going to Scotland Yard. I've got an interesting case that I want you to try and solve. If you can help with cases and not just drag me down, you can stay." I heard the door downstairs open. Well, close actually. I couldn't hear it open over my music.

"Sherlock!" a man's voice yelled up. Sherlock's flatmate, I guessed. "Why is there a cab on hold outside?"

"You held a cab for us? Thank you, Mycroft," Sherlock said and walked past us. I followed him out. We passed a man downstairs as Sherlock said, "Come on, John. We're going to Scotland Yard." John followed us into the cab and Sherlock gave the driver directions.

"And who are you?" John asked.

"Sierra," I replied.

"My niece, apparently," Sherlock said.

"I'm sorry, your niece?" John said.

"Mycroft has a daughter," Sherlock said.

" 'Mycroft has a daughter' is sitting right here," I sighed. We sat in silence for a minute.

"What are you listening to?" John asked out of the blue.

"American heavy metal," I replied in a monotone as the song switched Tired by Stone Sour. I fully expected him to nod awkwardly and change the subject like everyone else did, but he didn't.

"Can I have a listen?" he asked. I couldn't help but be a little surprised. Everyone usually thought I was either lying, or too strange for them to care. I nodded and handed him one of the earbuds and he put it up to his ear. We listened to my music on shuffle for the rest of the ride.

When we arrived at Scotland Yard, the Detective Inspector led us on a five minute walk to an area taped off by the police. There was a body of a woman lying facedown on the pavement. She was wearing an expensive business dress with a dark overcoat. Her body was caked in dried blood, but her jewelry was spotless.

"Why did you bring a child here?" the Detective Inspector, Lestrade, asked Sherlock.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't speak," I said softly, incredible aware of the volume of my voice as I turned up my music to block out all other noise. "I may not be able to hear you, but your lips flapping distract me." I leaned forward to examine the body further.

The blood seemed to come from various small puncture wounds around the body; the neck, both wrists, just under the ribcage, behind both knees, and the base of the spine. The part of this that bugged me the most was the spotless jewelry, not a drop of blood on any of it. This held so much of my attention that I almost missed her hair chopped off and scattered around the body. I noticed her neck angled oddly and removed my earbuds so I could hold a conversation.

"The blood loss isn't what killed her," I said bluntly. "She died when someone snapped her neck, removed her jewelry, and put it back on when the blood dried. I would rule this out as just a murder, but it's too curious."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Only took you twice the amount of time it took me."

I rolled my eyes and continued, "I need her job and hobbies. Then I can get somewhere with this."

"She was a high school technology teacher," Lestrade said. "Danced on her own time."

"That's it," I said. "She must have had a chip or a drive that someone wanted. Someone tried to slash at her neck from behind with a sharp weapon. But, as a dancer, she was athletic enough to lean forward, saving her neck but losing her hair. Though dodging several more times, she did get snipped in various places before her attacker got frustrated and hit her in the back of the neck with a blunt weapon, thus killing her. Her jewelry was then removed as her killer looked for the computer chip. After not finding it where it was supposed to be, in her left gold bracelet, he put the jewelry back after the blood had dried. So, the chip is still back in her flat."

"Very good," Sherlock said. "You've earned your keep. We've given them the information they need. We're going home."

"No no, not yet," I said. "Now I'm interested. Take me to her flat, I want to find this computer chip."

"We're going home," Sherlock repeated himself.

"I'll grab a cab afterwards," I said. "I'll be back before morning.

I put my headphones in without the music playing so I could hear around me without it being noticed that I was listening. Lestrade started leading me away, but I heard John tell Sherlock accusingly, "You don't trust her."

"Not as far as I can throw her," Sherlock replied.

"Which is actually pretty far," John pointed out.

"She's Mycroft's daughter," Sherlock went on, ignoring John's comment. "I wouldn't put it past him to have her spy on me."

I gave no sign of having heard their interaction; just turned the volume on my music back on and followed Lestrade in silence.

"Give me twenty minutes," I told Lestrade as we walked into the flat. The place was already crawling with police and detectives muttering to each other. I sighed, "In silence, please." I walked straight into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. She would've kept the chip somewhere close to her. I turned on the bedside lamp and looked carefully around the room. Very clean, not many places to hide something.

A black spot on the lampshade caught my attention as my eyes returned to the bedside table. It seemed odd that a woman as tidy as her would leave something like that there. Taking a closer look, I grinned. Genius woman, she was.

I turned on the overhead light and turned of the lamp. Removing the lampshade, I inspected the lightbulb further. Sure enough, there it was. The computer chip in the lightbulb, somehow not fried from the head. I unscrewed the lightbulb and put the lampshade down on the bed.

I carefully shattered the glass over the bed so it made as little noise as possible. I grabbed the still hot computer chip and shoved it in my pocket.

"You are a smart child," a voice behind me said in mock impressment.

"I thought I asked for silence," I replied softly, turning around. The man in front of me was most certainly not a detective. "This is a private investigation, sir. You need to leave."

"But I am investigating," he said, trying to sound truthful. The "trustworthy" look on his face was too forced.

"You're lying," I deadpanned. I looked him over carefully, raking my mind for any memories that might tell me who he was. "You're name is Mroiarty, isn't it?" I asked as I recalled listening in on a phone conversation between Mycroft and Sherlock. "And you sent someone else to kill that woman. All for this." I held up the chip.

A hand covered my mouth from behind and I closed my fist around the chip as hard as I could. I kicked backwards, my foot connecting with a leg. I heard a grunt of pain, but whoever it was didn't loosen their grip. I kept gripping the chip. In my struggle, I glimpsed a flash of silver. This was the guy who killed the teacher.

With my free hand, I unplugged my headphones from my mp3 player. If this broke, Sherlock owed me a new one. I threw it as hard as I could. It hit the door with a large clatter. By the time Lestrade rushed in, Moriarty was gone. I was still struggling against the man with the sword, gripping the computer chip for my life.

"Hey," Lestrade ordered, pulling out his gun. "Let her go." The man let go of me and jumped out the window. Lucky for him, we were only on the second floor. He was running already by the time I made it to the window, having already shoved the chip back into my pocket. "Did you see him?"

"No," I replied in a monotone. I never liked conveying emotion through my voice. If I did, it would've been shaking. I walked over to the door and picked up my mp3 player. Plugging my headphones back in, I gladly realized that it still worked. "I'm done here. I'll catch a cab back." I walked out to the street and hailed a cab.

I could swear Moriarty watched me the whole way home.

A/N: So that's chapter one! Please review, I love knowing what people think. If you liked it, why? If you didn't like it, why? If it was so so, why? What do you think about my character?