A little one-shot fun times with Victor and Marion! Fandom is BBC Sherlock, and WARNING: CUSSING. LOTS. Yeah, that’s all as far as warnings go. Oh just some clarification: this is around 8 months post-Reichenbach (if wewe don't know what that means, look it up) and let's just say Marion didn't take the incident too well...
Vic rolled his eyes, staring out of the foggy window of the cab as it careened through the sodden streets of London. He felt the gray eyes of his brother on him, but he purposely ignored John, pretending to have found something incredibly interesting outside. As the cab pulled onto Baker Street, John spoke.
Vic didn’t respond. John tried again. “Vic, uh...you’ll be staying in the room inayofuata to the study, if that’s okay,” he alisema simply. Vic gave a curt nod, face still pressed to the glass. “It’s the only one open. It used to be--”
    Vic cut him off, a trace of impatience in his voice. “I know. It’s where Sherlock slept. Harry told me already.”
    John looked quizzically at the eighteen-year-old. “She did? What...what else did she say?”
    Vic shrugged, turning briefly to glance at his brother, then returning to the window. “Nothing much. She, uh..she told me not to bring him up around you. alisema it was a bit of a sore subject.”
    John sighed, willing away the memories that had gathered on the edges of his mind, threatening to flood over him. “It’s fine with me. I’ve gotten over it, for the most part. But, well...just don’t mention it around Marion.”
    Vic turned completely to face him, now curious. “Marion?”
    John picked at a stray thread on his jumper. “Harry didn’t mention her? She’s... Sherlock’s sister. Around your age, I would think. And, well...it’s been a rough eight months.”
    Vic nodded, understanding. Just then the cab slid to a stop inayofuata to the curb, and John opened his door and stepped out, giving a quick nod to the cabbie. “Coming?”
    Sighing, Vic pushed open his door and stepped into the chill London air.

After tossing his suitcase with his few belongings into his new bedroom, Vic went into the main room. John had left for his work at the hospital, and after a brief introduction with Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, he was left to his own devices. Vic looked around at the room; it seemed comfortable enough, a little too dim despite the light streaming in through the windows, but pleasant. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Vic stood against one ukuta and slipped his phone out of his pants pocket, absentmindedly scrolling through his contacts.
    A series of footsteps, followed kwa a loud clanging and rattling, caused Vic to look up. A girl, about his age kwa the looks of it, had stomped into the jikoni and was rummaging through the cabinets, throwing pots around. Raising an eyebrow, he studied her. She was much taller than him, although that wasn’t saying much, with dark curls pulled into a tight ponytail and eyes that looked to be some mixture of blue, green, and gray. She finally found what she wanted, a silver handgun that made Vic instinctively flinch, and strode into the sitting room without bothering to close the cabinets. Vic watched her flop down on the couch, kicking off her boots, and wondered why she kept a gun in the jikoni cabinet anyway. She didn’t seem to notice Vic standing against the wall, but then again, no one usually did. This must be Marion, Vic thought.
    “Bored,” she muttered, carelessly flicking the gun between the fingers of one hand while tugging her hair out of its ponytail with the other. Vic narrowed his eyes and watched the wild curls cascade down her back.
    “Excuse me?”
She glanced over to him briefly, not seeming at all surprised to see him standing there, but then went back to fidgeting with the gun. “I alisema I’m bored,” she repeated through gritted teeth.
Vic nodded slowly, straightening up and slipping his phone into his pocket, one wary eye fixed on the pistol in her hand. “Is it always like this? Boring, I mean?”
She didn’t reply at first, but stretched out on her back, propping her bare feet up on the arm of the couch. Still fingering the gun, she exhaled slowly, her breath a low hiss. “Yes.”
Vic frowned and leaned back against the wall, reaching for his phone but deciding against it. Sighing, he pulled a stick of gum out of his pocket and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately. “Well this is boring.”
Marion pushed herself into a sitting position and turned to face him, her pale eyes piercing into him. “This is zaidi than just boring,” she announced, her voice calm and assured. “This is painfully, agonizingly, deathfully horrible and dull. Now if wewe don’t mind, I’ll just...” She trailed off, raising her gun and shooting at the wall. Vic jumped at the noise, giving a small yelp as his face went white. She turned to him, a wide, almost maniacal grin painted on her face, and he glared at her.
“You really shouldn’t be doing that,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. Her grin grew even wider as she fired three zaidi shots, not even bothering to look where she was aiming. Cold fear bubbled through Vic’s body, quickly replaced kwa blinding rage. He gave a low growl.
“Let me rephrase that,” he hissed, his voice dangerously low. “Do. Not. Do. That.”
    Marion smirked, one finger hovering over the trigger as she looked him dead in the eye. Something about her eyes, so bright against the backdrop of dark hair and pale ivory skin, made him shiver. He struggled to meet her gaze, flashing her a look that alisema Do it. I dare you.
    Grinning, she pulled the trigger.
Vic shuddered as the room shook from the impact--was it really shaking? au was it just his morbid imagination? as his rage boiled over. “You fucking---” He trailed off, clenching his fists, tensing his muscles like a wild cat stalking its prey, and without warning, he pounced.
    Marion gave a tiny squeal as the boy slammed into her, tackling her in a headlock and driving her into the wall. His fists flying, he tried desperately to wrestle the gun from her hands, and she didn’t seem at all surprised at his strength, despite his diminutive size. She winced as a well-placed ngumi, punch collided with the side of her nose, but didn’t seem to be affected for the most part. Of course, this only fed Vic’s violent rage, and he gripped her neck as he pressed her into the wall. She made a noise that sounded almost like laughter as she fell backwards, pulling him down with her. He grunted, receiving a bony elbow to the chest and another to the cheek, when suddenly the pressure on him lifted. He pushed himself into a sitting position to see Marion standing over him, brushing off her kanzu, koti and grinning broadly.
    Shakily he rose to his feet, breathing heavily, his moyo pounding and blood boiling with adrenaline and anger. She may have several inches on him as far as height went, but he would not let this girl beat him that easily. Letting out a low growl, he sprung on her again, once zaidi wrapping her into a tackle and pushing her against the same wall. Another ngumi, punch to the nose, this one accompanied kwa a sickening crunch and a spray of blood, and a powerful kick, and the gun had dropped out of her hands and clattered to the floor. Gripping her shoulders, he slammed her against the ukuta with all his strength, pinning her to the vertical surface. However, after a few moments of desperate wriggling, she had slipped out of her kanzu, koti and whirled around, reversing the advantage and pressing him flat against the faded wallpaper. “Not very gentlemanlike,” she alisema pompously, smirking. He tried to counter with a kick to her face, but she was ready for him, and in one fluid motion, had grabbed onto his ankle, swung him to the ground, and attacked with a mwepesi, teleka kick in the balls.
    Excruciating pain shot through his body, and, finally giving up, he doubled over, clutching his throbbing crotch. Quiet laughter, and he looked up, glaring at the grinning figure of Marion, wincing and muttering curses at every wave of agony that pierced through him.
“Well that--fuck--wasn’t very--god!--ladylike of you, bitch.” It wasn’t clear whether that last obscenity was directed towards Marion, au just a general curse, but Marion didn’t seem too affected. That infuriating grin was still plastered on her face, and she wiped a trickle of blood from her nose, highly amused kwa the whole situation.
    “Who says I have to be ladylike?”
Vic had sunk to his knees, wheezing, trying to kumeza the bile that had risen in his throat. When he had finally regained some breath, he retorted with, “Then why should I be gentlemanlike?”
    Pinching her nose, presumably to stop the blood flow which had already slowed considerably, Marion shrugged. “Society, I suppose.”
    Vic was still breathing heavily, although most of the pain had abated, and shakily he rose to his feet. “Either way, wewe shouldn’t have fucking done that.” He glared at her, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie. Marion was smirking again; the sight of it was infuriating. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve wiped that shit-eating grin off her face in an instant. Still glaring, he tried to figure out what was worse about this situation, that he had been beaten--had let himself get beaten--by a scrawny girl like Marion, au that she was enjoying it, and her eyes had a certain spark when she was excited like this that made the clear, intense blue even brighter, the green even lovelier. Lovelier? he cursed himself mentally. Victor Hannibal Watson, shut the fuck up. Yes, this entire situation was about as bad as it got.
    “Don’t wewe have something to say to me?” he demanded, the effect lessened slightly kwa the fact that his voice was still hoarse and broken from his loss of breath.
    She shook her head. “Um, no, don’t think I do,” she replied loftily. Vic raised an eyebrow, one hand drifting towards his still-sore crotch.
    “Really? Are wewe sure about that?”
    She scrunched her face in thought, then quickly shook her head. “No, nothing.” This girl was exasperating, and Vic had Lost his patience.
    “Fine,” he said, turning away and beginning to walk towards the door. Behind him, he heard her slide her phone out of her kanzu, koti pocket and blow a stray curl out of her face, and he could practically feel her smirking. Turning briefly, he announced, “Well I’m not sorry either,” and crossed his arms as he began to walk. Marion shrugged.
    “No one alisema wewe had to be.” He ignored her and hunched his shoulders, shoving his hands in his pockets. She spoke again. “And if wewe think I’m joking, I’m not. I haven’t had this much fun in ages.” A momentary pause. “Plus I don’t usually joke.”
    Vic turned, raising an eyebrow. “Good. Neither do I.” They locked eyes for a second, Vic already turning to walk away, when the girl spoke again, her calm voice with its pompous intone frustrating him.
“By the way, do wewe still have my gun? Because I would like it back.” Vic just stared at her, fingering the weapon that he had pocketed during the fight and sliding the end out. The metal surface blindingly reflected the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows of the room, and the sleek barrel made an instinctive shudder course through his body. Victor hated guns. “It was a gift,” Marion continued. “And it’s my gun. The only thing in my life with--” she paused, scowling, then snapped her fingers expectantly. “I’d just like it back please.”
Victor turned to face her, sneering as he hugged the gun to his chest. “You’re joking, right?” he scorned. “Oh right. wewe don’t joke.”
Marion had that infuriating smirk on her face again, and it was grating at Vic’s patience. “Fine!” he huffed, angered to the point of surrender. “Have your fucking gun back!” Throwing the gun at her, he stomped over to one of the armchairs and collapsed into the seat, trying to prevent the headache that was beginning to set on kwa rubbing his temples. A quiet rustling told him that she had caught the gun and slipped it into the pocket of her coat, and he glanced over to find that she had pulled out her phone and appeared to be texting someone. A sekunde later, a loud bang, and a wingu of smoke and sparks exploded from her coat, barely imba the end of her long curly ponytail. Looking down at the still smoking pocket, Marion raised an eyebrow, frowned, then returned to her phone. Somehow this angered Vic; maybe it was the fact that his little trick hadn’t affected her, au maybe he had just wanted her to react au acknowledge him (why would I want that? he tried to chide himself; I don’t need her attention), but he felt heat rush to his cheeks. Clenching his fists and forcing himself to look away, he let out a huff of breath. “Fuck wewe too,” he muttered irritably.
She obviously heard, because she responded with a pompous, “Oh, I knew it would do that.” He didn’t have to look to know she was smirking. Vic felt the heat flush to his cheeks as rage once zaidi boiled over; he didn’t even try to stop himself this time.
“Liar,” he growled, gray eyes shooting daggers in her direction. For a mgawanyiko, baidisha second, the grin was wiped off her face, but it quickly returned, although her cheeks had gone white. She narrowed her icy eyes, her expression one of pure unbridled fury. Must’ve hit a nerve, Vic thought.
“I. am. not. a. LIAR!” she barked through gritted teeth, her voice rising until it was a yell that practically shook the room. Vic bit back the string of expletives he wanted to spit at her, but instead responded with deadly calm.
“Then how the fuck would wewe know that the gun was going to go off? wewe are a liar. It’s impossible to detect what I did. I should know.”
Once more, the color drained from her face, but this time the white faded into deep magenta. Clenching her fists, she shoved the phone back into her pocket as fury, as tangible as if it were bullets au knives, shot off her in waves. Her voice, too, had grown icy as she spoke, barely louder than a whisper.
“I didn’t lie, and I didn’t detect. I deduced it, wewe son of a bitch, and if wewe call me a liar one zaidi time, I swear to the non-existent god you will pay.”
Vic raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the stinging glare she was sending him. “Deduced? Prove it. au I can say you’re a liar. And it’d be true.” There is no way she could’ve figured that out, he tried to reassure himself, even knowing that it probably wasn’t true. The sister of Sherlock Holmes, the man he had never met, yet had heard so much about, could deduce anything. He was sure of it. He just hoped to God that for once, he had stumped her.
She took a deep, ragged breath, shaking with anger, before beginning to spit out words at a mile a minute. “You took the gun in the first sekunde I had it, even though I was simply shooting at the wall. wewe seemed rageful at the fact that I was flaunting something, and so for that wewe wanted some type of childish revenge. When wewe took the gun wewe first clicked the safety on and wewe aimed it at your chest but your fingers were working slightly on it just beforehand, in positions not used to start the safety. wewe then took it with wewe and turned from me, pausing every couple of sekunde in our little 'conversation' while wewe worked it. Finally, when wewe did return it I noticed that the barrel of the gun was a little zaidi greasy than usual, and that it also seemed a tad heavier and smelled of a faint chemical that can explode without harming at a certain point of pressure. I figured it out, alright, and I'm not a fucking liar, wewe arsehole.”
Vic was speechless for a moment, and could do nothing but nod. “W--uh--good. Very good.” He pulled a small vial out of his pocket and tossed it to her. She examined it quickly, nodding appreciatively. He cleared his throat. “Good...But not perfect.”
Marion raised an eyebrow, fingering the vial. “What did I miss?”
“I didn’t want revenge because I was rageful. I wasn’t angry that wewe were flaunting anything. I wanted to get rid of that fucking gun because well...” he paused, unsure how to say it. “Because it’s a fucking gun. And wewe were shooting it at the fucking wall. And...well just, fuck you.”
She laughed, and he could tell from her frown, the furrowing of her brow, that the gears were once zaidi beginning to turn. “I see. Unable to complete a sentence without using the word ‘fuck’ at least once, twice when especially angry; body, shaking not with rage but with something that resembles fear; sweating; utilizes circular reasoning in order to evade a particular answer; hesitation...You’re hiding something. You’re scared. Of the gun.”
Vic paled. She...she couldn’t...oh, just fuck it all. “Maybe. Does it matter?”
“Possibly. Not quite sure. But wewe were infuriated when I shot at the wall. I should’ve known that it was your weakness earlier on. Bit slow on my part. Let’s see..something happened in military school? No. Friend got shot in battle? No, wewe were never in war, came nyumbani before wewe could graduate, in fact, and it wasn’t a friend.” Vic couldn’t help but marvel at the girl. If she wasn’t blatantly inaonyesha off, he might have actually been impressed. He carefully studied her face, watched as it dawned on her. “Aha! I figured it out. The reason you’re afraid of guns...” she trailed off, and when she continued, her voice was a whisper. “John Watson.”
Vic froze, feeling the blood drain from his face as she spoke the chilling words. Immediately he was filled with outrage. How did she know? There was no way she could tell all that just kwa looking at him! He opened his mouth to speak, but found that the words forming on the edges of his mind didn’t want to come out. He quickly closed it, staring at her. She gave a tiny shrug and pulled out her phone. Clearly this conversation was over.
Vic pulled out his own phone and started a new text to Harry but paused, unsure of what to say. He was cleaning the screen with his sleeve when Marion spoke again.
Vic looked up, perplexed. “What?”
Marion rolled her eyes. “Your name,” she repeated, an edge of irritation in her voice. “So I can insult wewe properly later.”
Vic blinked at her. “Uh..Victor. Victor Watson. Call me Vic,” he added.
She nodded. “Marion Holmes. Pleasure.” She then proceeded to whip out her phone again and began texting furiously. Vic raised an eyebrow.
“Who are wewe texting, may I ask?” he said, sneering slightly.
“My brother,” she replied loftily, not looking up.
Vic took a moment to process this, and when understanding came, the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Marion, your brother is dead.”
Shit. He immediately regretted it, as her face grew ghostly white in response to the dark words still hanging in the air. She narrowed her eyes as, blanched, she shoved her cell phone into her kanzu, koti and backed out of the room. Muttering curses to himself, Vic crossed the room and sank into one of the overstuffed armchairs, wishing he was anywhere but here.

“Where’s Marion?” A few bleary hours had passed, and John had returned from work with boxes of Chinese takeout. Now the two brothers were seated at the table, eating slowly; Vic couldn’t help noticing the towering pile of papers that had been pushed to one end, au the stained dusty glassware that filled the sink. Probably remnants from Sherlock’s time, he thought, but didn’t bring it up. Marion hadn’t been seen since Vic had spoken those terrible words that afternoon.
John looked at Vic expectantly, waiting for a response, and Vic shrugged. “I dunno. She...uh...locked herself in her room earlier, I think. Wouldn’t come out.”
John nodded. “She tends to do that sometimes. So, how was your first day?”
Vic dropped his fork down onto his plate with a loud clatter, his stormy gray eyes dark with frustration. He practically spat out the words, the sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.”
Yay! Oh and if wewe want zaidi info on lovely Viccy-poo, check out his bio on the link. If wewe want zaidi info on Marion, just ask link.