Lilith || S. 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬√

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𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐥𝐞:
(𝐯.) 𝐓𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫

⪻⪼

"𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎?" Sherlock Holmes demanded. Lilith chuckled nervously, "I didn't mean that" she spoke, rubbing the back of her neck.

"People tend to reveal their deepest secrets in emotionally unstable situations" he mused.

They watched in silence as the doctor sewed the stab wound up, careful not to cause further damage.

"He will be alright, just needs some rest, that's all" the doctor said, cutting the string.

The duo sighed, relieved that John was okay.

⪻⪼

"𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐? 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎?" sighed Mycroft Holmes, ending his conference call with the President of the United States and Canada.

He had called every country's President and interrogated them about the whereabouts of Lilith.

It was quite hard, owing to the fact that she hadn't stated anything about her other than that she was now an orphan.

Thousands of people could've been named 'Lilith', but which one?

The man had tried as hard as he could to describe her, but failed. Black hair and brown eyes? Too common.

The only thing that mattered now was that his little brother was safe and sound.

She could be a Russian spy, for all he knows, since their president refused to meet them.

"Lilith Bardot," said Sherlock, slamming the letter on Mycroft's desk, "Did you forget?".

Startled, the man typed in the name 'Bardot', and almost instantly, a long list appeared on his computer screen. He scrolled all the way down to the letter 'B', but found nothing.

As he scrolled, the furrowing of his brows became more clear. "Nothing," he sighed, finally giving up, "She's not registered in here,".