Valiant {Book Two of the Incandescent Trilogy}

Chapter Eight: Family is Power

A/n: I highly advise listening to Skylar Grey's "Back from the Dead." I do love this chapter, and if any of you have been paying attention to the chapter titles, the chapter in which Sherlock fell was titled "Memento Vivere" and the one in which he returns was titled "Memento Mori." This plays in later this chapter, and you'll see it was a rather important piece of foreshadowing.

CHAPTER EIGHT: FAMILY IS POWER

Sherrinford's phone was ringing, and he had no intention of picking it up. He let it ring until it had stopped, watching it with an expression of disinterest. Then, just as soon as it had stopped, it started ringing again. As he had done the time before, Sherrinford watched it, adamantly refusing to answer it. After a moment, it stopped ringing. Sherrinford smirked as the screen lit up with a new message.

You aren't amusing, you petulant child. Judas is a go. Do you part or I may have you executed.

– SM

Sherrinford laughed, shoving his phone in his pocket. "Rachel?" he called. "Get the car ready. We have someone to pick up from work."

"What car would you like to take, sir?"

He wandered over to the wardrobe, pulling open the drawer. He ran a hand over the various ties, stopping as his fingers brushed over a crimson coloured tie. He held it to the arm of his black blazer, contemplating how it would appear before knotting it around his neck expertly. "The Jaguar will do quite fine." said Sherrinford, adjusting his cuffs.

"Sir, might I ask what you're doing?"

Sherrinford stopped before the full length mirror. "It's time," he said, admiring his reflection, "for a family reunion."

♠

"Ms Watson?" Monica said, knocking on the glass door—Amelia had replaced it with the last fiasco with the door. She didn't want what had happened the last two times to occur again. It was as though the door was cursed. At least with the glass door, it was easier, and cheaper, to replace than the wooden ones. "There's a...um... Someone's... Someone's here to see you."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Did they schedule a meeting?"

"I-I don't think they need to, miss."

"What do you mean?"

"She's means that we're practically family, and you should see me even if I don't have a meeting scheduled." A lanky girl with hair the colour of the darkest coal, and eyes the same cold, calculating blue as Neptune. Her jaw was sharp and thin, and she looked emaciated with her protruding cheekbones, the skin stretched taunt. She wore an ash grey pantsuit, and the stark white shirt she wore below had three buttons undone.

Amelia had never met her before, but she recognised her instantly. "I do, but this isn't her." she quoted from memory. "Now, I understand." She turned to her secretary. "Monica, you may go. In fact, just have the rest of the day off. I imagine this might take a while."

The woman raised a singular eyebrow as Monica rushed out of the room. "I'm afraid I also don't understand."

"No, I didn't expect you to." Amelia said. "It was something Sherlock said to me a very long time ago upon being asked if I was his sister. I'm presuming he was talking about you."

She smiled. "Charlotte Holmes." she stuck a slender hand out. "Call me Charlie."

"Pleasure." Amelia didn't take her hand. "Might I ask what you're doing here?"

"I sent you a note." she said. "A very long time ago. Addressed to my brother. A Parker Duofold—Iridium nib, I believe I was."

Amelia wasn't surprised. "You sent us the pink phone."