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"You're Mycroft Holmes's daughter, aren't you?"

Clover turned around to face a rather familiar man. In her left hand, she held a silver platter with a slice of white cake resting on it. In her right hand, she held a fork in which possibly came in a set with the plate. "Mycroft Holmes? Yes, I'm his daughter. I never noticed any genetic similarities. I'm Clover Holmes. And you?" She set her meal down.

"Professor James Moriarty." the man replied as he extended a hand. He was wearing a casual Westwood suit.

"A pleasure to meet you, Professor Moriarty." Clover shook his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Holmes. Please, do call me 'Jim', as I am in hopes of a bit of an acquaintanceship with you." Moriarty ended the quick handshake and grinned, giving a bit of an exuberant air.

"Tell me, Jim," Clover sounded rather unsure, "How did you figure out who my father is? More importantly, how did you come about Scotland Yard? Nevertheless, why are you here, and how do you know my family?" She wasn't sure of the man. He seemed quite hospitable, but Clover knew that his tolerable, charismatic glow could fall under subject of trickery.

"Lady Luck." Moriarty replied with a slight chortle. "I'm new around here. I happen to be a friend of your uncle's. Ah, yes, quite the poppet, is he not?"

Clover knew a liar when she came across one. "For one, Uncle Sherlock is not a 'poppet'. He cares about mathematics, as well! For two, he doesn't have 'friends'. For three, he doesn't work here." She reached for her handheld Revolver that she'd 'borrowed' from Sherlock. "Now, I'm going to ask you one more time--how do you know my family, how did you get here and what is your business doing here?"

"Ah, yes." Moriarty remained calm. "Definitively a Holmes. Quite the snappy attitude and cunning brilliance."

"Flattering will get you nowhere." Clover glared, slowly pulling the gun out of her beltloop. "Now, answer my questions."

"Ah, alas, I cannot." Moriarty sighed, noticing the young Holmes pulling a gun from her beltloop. Quickly, he grabbed her by the wrist and turned her about rather abruptly.

This caused Clover great pain, and she dropped the gun. "G'ah!"

The man kicked the barrel of the gun, forcing it to fly up into his hand. He nestled the tip of the barrel to Clover's right temple. "You see, young Clover, the lion doesn't answer to the lamb." He cocked the gun. "I may have seemed as the lamb in the beginning, but I am ever /so/ changeable. Your uncle knows this all too well."

"Let me go!" Clover twisted about in his grip.

"Ohoho!" Moriarty laughed. "Feisty, are we?"

"No." Clover growled. "I'm agile."

"Of course. You're so much like your uncle. You simply believe you can save anyone...anything...but you always fail. So sad. So depressing. Poor, miserable soul!" The heartless man chimed.

Description
"You're Mycroft Holmes's daughter, aren't you?"

Clover turned around to face a rather familiar man. In her left hand, she held a silver platter with a slice of white cake resting on it. In her right hand, she held a fork in which possibly came in a set with the plate. "Mycroft Holmes? Yes, I'm his daughter. I never noticed any genetic similarities. I'm Clover Holmes. And you?" She set her meal down.

"Professor James Moriarty." the man replied as he extended a hand. He was wearing a casual Westwood suit.

"A pleasure to meet you, Professor Moriarty." Clover shook his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Holmes. Please, do call me 'Jim', as I am in hopes of a bit of an acquaintanceship with you." Moriarty ended the quick handshake and grinned, giving a bit of an exuberant air.

"Tell me, Jim," Clover sounded rather unsure, "How did you figure out who my father is? More importantly, how did you come about Scotland Yard? Nevertheless, why are you here, and how do you know my family?" She wasn't sure of the man. He seemed quite hospitable, but Clover knew that his tolerable, charismatic glow could fall under subject of trickery.

"Lady Luck." Moriarty replied with a slight chortle. "I'm new around here. I happen to be a friend of your uncle's. Ah, yes, quite the poppet, is he not?"

Clover knew a liar when she came across one. "For one, Uncle Sherlock is not a 'poppet'. He cares about mathematics, as well! For two, he doesn't have 'friends'. For three, he doesn't work here." She reached for her handheld Revolver that she'd 'borrowed' from Sherlock. "Now, I'm going to ask you one more time--how do you know my family, how did you get here and what is your business doing here?"

"Ah, yes." Moriarty remained calm. "Definitively a Holmes. Quite the snappy attitude and cunning brilliance."

"Flattering will get you nowhere." Clover glared, slowly pulling the gun out of her beltloop. "Now, answer my questions."

"Ah, alas, I cannot." Moriarty sighed, noticing the young Holmes pulling a gun from her beltloop. Quickly, he grabbed her by the wrist and turned her about rather abruptly.

This caused Clover great pain, and she dropped the gun. "G'ah!"

The man kicked the barrel of the gun, forcing it to fly up into his hand. He nestled the tip of the barrel to Clover's right temple. "You see, young Clover, the lion doesn't answer to the lamb." He cocked the gun. "I may have seemed as the lamb in the beginning, but I am ever /so/ changeable. Your uncle knows this all too well."

"Let me go!" Clover twisted about in his grip.

"Ohoho!" Moriarty laughed. "Feisty, are we?"

"No." Clover growled. "I'm agile."

"Of course. You're so much like your uncle. You simply believe you can save anyone...anything...but you always fail. So sad. So depressing. Poor, miserable soul!" The heartless man chimed.