Moriarty's Musician

The Master Blackmailer, Part 4

"So when did you start smoking again?"

Sherlock lifted his eyes and exhaled a large cloud of smoke as his newest guest entered the room.

"And cigars, no less. Mummy will be very disappointed."

Mycroft Holmes withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and dusted the chair before taking a seat. As he looked around the flat, his eyes rested on the phonograph as the music continued to play.

"So where is she?"

"She's safe."

"I thought we understood each other, Sherlock. She was to remain here." Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the floor and sighed. "You know how dangerous she is."

Sherlock dabbed the end of his cigar in the teacup and watched the last remnant of smoke disappear.

Mycroft pursed his lips at his brother's lack of urgency. "Well, brother dear, it seems our little musician has now made a number of very powerful enemies. While you were away visiting, she attended the London Symphony accompanied by none other than James Moriarty."

Sherlock showed no emotion as he continue to dab the cigar.

"I take it you already knew that?" Mycroft said.

"I knew they were together, yes, but I didn't know where they went."

Mycroft leaned closer. "So let me bring you up-to-date on the latest happenings while you were away. Annabelle Watson attended the biggest upper crust social event of the year, on the arm of Satan himself. With one conversation, she let them all know that the little apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Mycroft waited until Sherlock turned his head and looked at him.

"Sherlock, where... is... she?"

He stared at Mycroft, his face unreadable. Mycroft frowned and leaned back in his chair. He took a cigar out of the little box and ignited the end and deeply inhaled. He held it for a moment, then exhaled a long, tight line of smoke.

"My informant said she was dropped off here last night then left this morning with Nicholas Byron, the son of –."

"I know who he's the son of." Sherlock's nostrils flared as he got up from his seat and started pacing the room. "Why are you asking me about her whereabouts if you already know, Mycroft."

"Because, little brother, we have tried to speak with the Byron family but they're refusing to communicate with us." He took a deep breath. "I need to know where you think she has gone."

The rage building in Sherlock finally gave way. "She's with James Moriarty!"

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he studied his brother. "And why do you believe she's with him?"

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair as he thought about Annabelle. "Because I texted him that she was in danger when I saw her leave with Byron."

Mycroft shifted in his seat. "You texted Moriarty?" he said, "Why..." He shook his head as he studied the cigar. "So you're telling me the Napolean of Blackmail has now joined forces with the Napoleon of Crime. Brilliant."

"You're wrong. She's nothing like him."

Mycroft chuckled as he looked at Sherlock. "Do you mean she's nothing like Moriarty or Charles Augustus Magnussen?" He tilted his head as he looked at his brother. "Ah, now I understand, she's gotten to you." He smiled slightly. "The great detective Sherlock Holmes has been bewitched by the offspring of one of his greatest enemies. How rich!"

Sherlock gritted his teeth, stood up and walked over to the phonograph. He gently lifted the arm, set it back down on its cradle and switched it off. He lowered the lid and looked out his window.

"She's nothing to me. I could care less what happens to her... but John would never forgive me."

Mycroft studied him, knowing he lied. "There's something else you should know, Sherlock."

He looked at Mycroft. "That they want her dead? I already knew that."

"Yes, well, of course, they do." Mycroft smiled. "Since you killed her father, they've been enjoying their freedom." He took another drag of the cigar. "There's something, however, they don't know yet but it'll come out soon. It's just a matter of time."

"You're obviously going to tell me so get on with it," Sherlock sneered.

Mycroft smiled. "Annabelle Watson is the sole beneficiary of Charles Magnussen's estate, including Appledore and his entire media empire." He chuckled at Sherlock's shock. "I see you didn't know that little tidbit."

Sherlock sat back down, as the gravity of his words started to sink in. Mycroft couldn't resist the opportunity to rattle his brother.

"I'll give you something else, it appears Magnussen himself trained Ms. Watson for a number of years at her private school, under the name of Professor Milverton... but I'm sure you already knew that too."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft. "Did you have your spy gear recording my conversation with her mother too?"

"Oh, Sherlock, I didn't go that far but now that I know you have an emotional tie to the girl, I won't make that mistake again. Now tell me what you've learned from Harriet Watson."

Mycroft leaned back in the chair expectantly, but Sherlock remained silent as he met Mycroft's eyes.

"Come now, brother, I've been open with you."

Sherlock sat back down and stared blankly at his fingers. "She was on heavy antidepressants when John and I met with her, but she did confirm that Annabelle does not realize who her father is. Her mother was quite clear about that."

Sherlock thought back to the women at the psychiatric hospital who was playing the most beautiful piece on the piano when they arrived. When John greeted her, she ignored him and kept playing. She refused to leave her seat to speak to them until a nurse gently pried her fingers from the keys and helped her to a table.

As they watched her, she swung her head back and forth and tapped her fingers on the table to a silent concerto in her mind. She only stopped when John brought up about Annabelle. She listened quietly, a small smile on her face as he told her how proud she would be of her daughter.

Sherlock wasn't as gentle with her emotions as John. He already knew Annabelle had some involvement with Magnussen. It was clear in the connection she had to the phonograph and the CAM initials engraved on the bottom of it. It was those initials that had him calling John and tearing out of his flat to see her mother, leaving Annabelle sleeping.

"So what else?"

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft. "She said she had a brief affair with him and somehow he found out that Annabelle was a product from their union."

Mycroft nodded and studied the handle of his umbrella. "She was a musically gifted child. A child protege, perhaps. She could remember any musical piece after hearing it only a few times and easily reproduce it on the violin. Her abilities would have been publicized. It's no wonder Magnussen found her."

Sherlock stood and once again started to pace the floor. "Her memory is beyond exceptional so he was training her..." He paused as he ran his fingers through his hair, then suddenly raised his arms above his head. "He was training her... training her to be his back-up drive... his cloud storage."

They both looked at each other in grim realization.

"We must find her," they said in unison. For once, they were in perfect agreement.

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