Deviation Actions
Literature Text
It's a warm late spring night in a nothern London suburb, the air heavy and humid, black clouds rolling across an indigo sky where a large moon shone silver.
There's a small two story, outside painted white with a pale blue door, a high fence and lovely flowers growing in the windowboxes.
Inside a small bedroom on the second floor, the walls pale yellow and edged in butterflies, a little girl sleeps.
Her name is Sasha, four years old and newly adopted by the Braus family just a few days before.
Her face is a rounded heart, dark bronze hair in waves that spread across the pillow, the flashing moon outside throwing shadows. Tucked beaneth her arm is a whale, pale blue-grey with a white underbelly and large black eyes. A little tag is sewed to it's front, with the name Mr. Whalon Finn in a hastily scribbled hand.
Downstairs, Charles and Amanda Braus as cleaning up, soft music playing for the radio. They're talking as one washed dishes and the other folded cloths as they discussed Sasha starting school the following fall and wondering for their son, Colin, who'd been a bit distant since they'd told him about Sasha's adoption.
Neither of them notice the soft creak of the back door opening, nor the three black figures making their way in. With a brief signal, two head for the stairs while the third, dark eyes empty, remained behind. Silently, he pulled the pin on a green canister then quickly rolled it into the kitchen. It was still for a moment, before a plume of white smoke billowed from it.
It wasn't long before Charles and Amanda Braus hit the the cold tile kitchen floor, out cold.
~*~
Colin Braus woke with a start and he realized he'd fallen asleep while reading his favorite book, The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle. He loved it alot and he wished he could do what she did; leave home, join a ship crew and sail the world for the rest of his days.
He scowls, rolling over and staring at the ceiling with narrowed blue eyes, putting his arms behind his head.
But he couldn't. Instead he had to stay here till he was of age in eight years. In this stupid house with his stupid mum and dad and-
Sasha came to mind, those big brown eyes and long hair in a bouncy ponytail as Dad chased her around the backyard, and his scowl deepened. Couldn't they have been happy with him? With the one son they'd been lucky to have. Ungrateful.
Maybe I should've just died like the others.
Despite his bitterness, he felt a flash of guilt and sighed. He knew it was just jealousy. Jealous of the new child in the family as if she was a newborn and he was five. Shouldn't he be happy?
For once, he wouldn't be alone, wouldn't be welcomed home by an empty house and a meal in the oven made by the housekeeper. A brief set of messages from his parents saying they'd be late coming from work, as always. This was his chance to be a brother, like he'd always wanted, always hoped when Mum got that glow and Dad started looking for things on the internet. Only to have that dream extinguished a few months in.
They'd stopped trying when he was eight. Then found a solution in a little bright eyed old woman from the orphanage. Within a few months, they were moving in a bed, toys, painting the old storage room in bright girly colors.
This time he would be able to play with someone, read to them as his nanny had, patch them up when they fell and make them laugh with silly stories and tickle fights.
The thought of all these things made his scowl melt away into a smile. The idea of laying side by side in the grass, staring at the clouds in the warm sun, or playing in the rain while it was still summer.
Maybe...maybe tomorrow he could tell Sasha one of the stories he wrote. One of the nice ones he wanted to get published when he was big. Yeah...That'd be nice.
The fuzziness from his happy dreaming had begun to lull him back to sleep when there was a scream from down the hall.
A scream from Sasha's room.
"Sasha?!"
The ten year old sprung form bed and grabbed his cricket bat from it's place at his bedside, rushing out of the room. The time lapse had been less then ten seconds, tops.
But as he raced and swung into the room, he found it in shambles, the covers and pillows strewn, window wide open and letting in the hot humid air that smelt of rain. Silver moonlight spilled in, pooling and centered upon the gutted remains of a Mr. Whalon Finn.
********************~~~~G.D.LG~~~~ ********************
"Vi! Viola, it's time for school! Get dressed quickly so you can have breakfast!"
At the sound of her mother's voice, Viola Watson-Holmes opened her eyes, the pale jade orbs shining behind messy black curls and long thick eyelashes. With a few blinks, she's up, making her bed in a sleepy trance. She passes her desk, murmuring a 'good morning' to a bleached white skull donning a wreath of dead roses that was wedged between a few large medical books and a bust of Edgar Allen Poe.
Stumbling over to her dresser, she throws off the oversized stripped shirt she wore, one she'd stolen from her mother the night before in place of a nightie, before pulling on a white long sleeve, a black skirt, striped leggings and her new knee length boots. She shrugs on a slightly too big black vest, slipping her locksmith set and a pair of fingerless gloves into the roomy pockets, before grabbing her scarf and, with some difficulty, wrapped it around her waist, clipping it into place with a small silver pin. Around her neck glitters a small locket, her name enscribed across the front.
Due to her recent growth spurt, much to her annoyance, she could barely wear her scarf anymore and most of her old clothes, including her long coat. Which is why, including the fact it was nearly summer and getting warm, she had this vest.
After brushing her teeth, Viola hurries into the kitchen, following the smell of freshly brewed tea to find a very familiar scene in front of her.
Her mother, John Watson, was simultaniously buttoning up his shirt, drinking his tea, and trying to put his favorite jam on some toast, obviously in a rush by his messy hair and hints of sleep that hung in his eyes.
Her father, Sherlock Holmes, was leaning against the counter in a long apron, a white dress shirt and black pants, drinking from a large cup as he spoke on the phone, curls ever the mess hanging over heavily bagged crystal eyes.
The rest of their kitchen was no better then the overcrowded table, wedding clutter and science equipment covering the counters and filling the shelves that didn't have food.
Viola couldn't help but smile.
"Morning Mummy. Morning Daddy."
Sherlock looked up at the lovely bell tone of his little girl and gave a tired smile.
"Morning love."
"Mhorning Swhetie." John waved, mouth full of toast.
Viola clambered up into her chair, finding the only clear space at the table, finding a large cup of milk and a plate of eggs, bacon and toast waiting for her. She inhaled the yummy homemade breakfast then she dug in.
"Eat fast, Vi." John said, swallowing. "We need to go."
"I'll take her, John." The tall man in the apron said, hanging up the phone.
"What?" He looked at his detective in surprise.
"I've got to go meet Molly at Bart's. I'll just drop her off along the way." He walked over to his blogger, leaning in and giving him a kiss. "Otherwise, you'll be late, love."
"O-Oh, alright."
They shared another kiss (or two) before John was downstairs and off to work.
Sherlock watched his future husband leave with an affectionate gaze before setting down his cup of tea and turning his eyes to Viola, who was eating quickly, excited. Because she recognized the look he had and, after swallowing a big mouthful, grinned.
"What's the case?"
"Double homicide. Two wealthy gentlemen who made their fortune together in cosmetics, found dead in a vault built during World War II that one of the men donated to a museum. Apperantly they were visiting it together and were found the next afternoon, dead."
"Cause of death?" She asked as she chugged the last of her milk.
Sherlock shed his apron, before putting on a fresh black jacket and beginning to button it up.
"Appearent asfixiation. Someone locked them inside and they suffocated. At least, according to Lestrade's team of idiots. We're to meet him at the safe soon."
Viola had finished her last bit of breakfast, eyes thoughtful as she carries the dishes to the sink.
"An old safe like that, even if in good condition, shouldn't have such a tight seal. Also, if it was in a museum, why did no one find them before they died?"
"These are things we will find out soon."
Sherlock pulled on his coat, turning with a flourish to Viola, the little girl immediatly taking his outstretched hand. She'd grabbed her work satchel, having transferred her lockpicking kit to it, along with a notepad, the latest book she was reading, Frankenstein, as well as an entire tin of chocolate chip cookies.
She'd developed a hell of a sweet tooth lately, mostly due to her father's habit of taking her to a nearby candy shop, one he himself had gone to as a child, and buying her giant boxes of candies every time they went.
"Let's go, love. We've work to do."
They left, walking downstairs hand in hand.
"What do you think Mummy will do when he finds out I'm going on cases with you?"
"I don't know why it's so bad that I'm training you in the ways of a consulting detective. I told John I was going to pass along my intellect to you so that the next generation could function properly." He huffed as he locked the door to 221B behind them. "And it's not as though it's everyday."
"No, only a few times every two weeks for last three months."
Sherlock hailed for a cab then sighed.
"I'm rather disappointed he hasn't figured it out yet. I taught him better then that."
"I'm surprised the school hasn't contacted him yet." Viola giggles as a cab comes up and her Daddy holds the door open for her. "Really is a rubbish place."
"Yet you refuse to change schools, my little violin."
"Of course." She smiled, buckling in. "Can't leave Alex there. Geniuses like us have to stick together."
Sherlock looked at his daughter with a raised eyebrow, but she had pulled out a small paperback, opened it to a dog eared page, leaning on her hand as she tucked her legs in and begun to read.
He smiled a little.
She was becoming quite the lovely girl, and Sherlock was glad that, while she had the intelligence that lived up to anything he could do, she also had her mother's warmth and humanity. Even with her temper, which flared when she and John fought, she was more then ready to be a consulting detective someday, if she so chose. And that both filled him with pride and worry.
Because it was a dangerous game he and John were in, and it only seemed to be getting more and more perilous. Sherlock gave a pause, as the part of him that was most human and thus, loved Viola more, suddenly voiced something he hadn't thought of.
If something bad was to happen to both him and John...what would become of their little girl?
********************~~~~G.D.LG~~~~ ********************
Alex heard the familiar beginning of Viola's ringtone, Driven by You, and he flicked his phone open, which was small and black, to find he had a text from her.
Hm?
He opened it and read the short message.
Lex.
Not going to be there today.
Workng with Dad.
See you tomorrow.
-V.W-H
Again?!
The young brunette scowled, shoving his phone back into his pocket and trying to ignore the twinge of jealousy he felt.
He was sitting in the back of the library, reading Moby Dick, wearing dark jeans, runners and a navy blue v neck over a white long sleeve, a light black coat over the arm of the chair he was in. His bangs were shorter, but his dark brown hair still hung just above chocolate brown eyes, which were narrowed now in annoyance.
He hated the days when Viola went on cases with her dad. He hated that he was jealous of her dad for getting to spend so much time with her. He barley got to see her during school as it was, but it was just unfair that Mr. Holmes took her along on cases so much.
He shoved the tome away, not bothering to remember his page or mark it with the bookmark Sebby had given him, of a man in a long cloak standing in a large barren plain with a gun in one hand and a long sword in the other.
Come on, Lex.
Viola's teasing voice trailed through his mind, and he imagines her beside him, long legs drapped over the chair's arm, her head on his shoulder, curls tickling his neck ever so slightly.
Cheer up.
But Vi...you gotta understand that...you're the only one who's ever treated me like a normal kid. You see me like you, a smart kid who, yeah, is weird, but you like me for it. Before I met you, no one else did, not even Seb. When he looks at me, he sees Dad.
He sighed, putting his head back.
Why am I talking to myself?
He thought of his guardian, who was probably at work now, and wished he'd take him with him, even though Sebby hated where he worked. But he couldn't exactly be a mercenary and raise a kid at the same time, could he?
I wish Dad and Vlad were still here...
Alex reached into his backpack and, from a secret pocket between his binder and pencil case, he pulled out an old crumpled photo, edges worn from constant handlings over the last few years.
The photo itself was of Alex, a few months from being three and dressed in a dinosaur t-shirt and jeans, sitting on a slightly younger Sebby's lap, the blonde man actually smiling and his dove grey eyes gentle with affection. Sitting beside Sebastian was Dad.
He was lightly tanned, wearing a beige jacket over a white V neck, his widow's peak of dark hair peeking beneath a hat that exclaimed LONDON, smiling face covered in stubble he refused to shave, deep eyes shining with mischief. On his lap was Alex's elder brother by a year, Vladimir, wearing a black coat, shorts and a shirt with a cartoon monster on it.
It was easy to see that Vlad and Alex each took after one of their parents, as his brother had bright blue eyes, black hair that was soft and wavy, and a smile that could get him out of any trouble, while Alex's hair and eyes were brown, and he'd inherited his father's intelligence and love of troublemaking.
Though, Alex's couldn't remember ever having a mother, but was sure Vlad took after her because he didn't look like Dad at all.
But Alex did. They had the same ears, the widow's peak and a simular laugh, by what little he remembered.
The young boy sighed deeply, touching his Dad and brother's smiling faces, the want to see them again making his jealousy fade away.
His Dad had died a few years back, maybe six or seven months after the picture was taken. Seb hadn't told him any details. Just that...his dad took the 'easy way out'. He hadn't really understood what that meant. He still didn't.
Then, to make matters worse, only weeks after the funeral, Seb had taken them to the park to play on the first sunny afternoon in the longest time. They'd had a picnic, played tag and flown a little kite they'd made and decorated together. While they were on the swings, a lady had shown up, really pretty and wearing a fancy dress.
Before Alex knew what was going on, Sebastian called Vlad and told him he was going with the lady. The boy remembered them both crying, clinging to each other until Seb pulled them apart. He'd held him tightly as the lady took a sobbing Vlad away, telling him it would be okay and it was for the best.
He hadn't seen his brother since. Seb didn't talk about Vladimir. Or Dad. Or about what it was like being Dad's own personal killer.
Once, while Seb was in the shower, Alex had found his gun, stashed beneath his pillow. It was heavy, a dull grey, but engraved with a message in fancy letters.
To Tiger, my own instrament of chaos. Love Boss.
When Alex asked who Tiger was, Sebastian had blushed, to his amusement, and said 'Tiger' had been his Dad's nickname for him. When he asked why Tiger, his guardian's face went scarlet and he was sent off to bed before he could ask anymore questions.
Alex opened his eyes, smiling as he came back from his memories.
He flipped the photo, looking at thier names.
Seb had changed Alex's last name a month or so after his dad's death, to protect him from people looking for information about him, and this picture was one of few that held his real name.
Sebastian Moran, Alexander J.M. Brook, Richard Brook, Vladimir A. Brook: Visiting The Crown Jewels
I hope so xD And I am pleased to annouce I will be doing Season Three of my story. Mostly because I don't think I could stop thinking about it until I did! *laughs*
So what do you guys think? I am seriously on the verge of begging for feedback.
Hope you enjoy it~
Lots of Love
-Dee
I pity the mother(s) when they found out; probably committed suicide out of shame, the poor woman/women.
I want to know more about Vladimir/Vlad. It's cool to have "Daddy and Daughter" bonding time over cases with Sherlock and Viola. He totally would do something like this, regardless if the child was his or not and whether they could handle the sight of blood or not.