Corruption

The inside of the house was just as picture-perfect as the outside. To John, the house looked like it had been born directly from one of those house decorating programs on television. Everything seemed to be in perfect order; there was nothing out of place. Sure, a couple of fashion and gossip magazines lay on tables, but it looked like they meant to be there. He wasn’t really sure how to explain the style – modern contemporary, perhaps? The design did show some of the townhouse’s original style; from whatever time period it had been built.

Shiloh smiled, catching John’s marveled expression. “Isn’t my home beautiful, John? As much as I would like to say I decorated it myself, I did have some help.” She walked over to the fireplace in what would have originally been the library. A wall separating the entrance hall and library had been partially knocked down, leaving only the bottom half so one could see over the edge. That library had been converted into a sitting room; two couches faced the fireplace, bookshelves lined the walls, and against the opposite wall was a very old-looking desk. “I tried my best to keep the original style, as this had been built in the late 1800s, but I really do love modern furniture.” She motioned towards the fireplace, which appeared to be the house’s original, though it had definitely been fixed up several times over the years.

“It is very lovely,” John agreed, walking over to stand next by Shiloh.

Sherlock was busying himself with nosing around the woman’s home, looking through papers, trying to find something that would help him make sense of the situation. Everything he saw, however, was simply bills, magazines, and letters. Nothing of importance.

“Do you have coffee?” Sherlock asked after a moment, turning to look at Shiloh who had still been telling John about her home.

Shiloh looked sad. “I don’t drink coffee, so I don’t have any lying around. Is tea alright? I do have some brewing at the moment.”

“Of course.”

Shiloh smiled and walked away, to wherever the kitchen was. He supposed it would be downstairs, given the time the house had been built, unless it had been moved elsewhere. Sherlock joined John next to the fireplace.

“What do you think of her?” John asked, staring down the way she had gone.

“I don’t know.”

John stared at Sherlock oddly. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You always know.”

“She’s nice, I suppose. What do you think of her?” Sherlock seemed oddly uninterested now, leaving John bewildered.

“Well, uh, she is nice. Very sociable.” John replied quietly.

“You find her attractive, do you not?”

John’s eyes widened. “Even if I did—”

“Oh, don’t deny it. She is attractive. Not your type, though. You like women who are simple, even mundane.”

“Sherlock! I do not!” John protested, finding the other’s words insulting.

Before their petty argument could continue, Shiloh appeared with a tray. She set it on the glass-topped coffee table and sat down.

“Boys, the couches aren’t for decoration. Won’t you take a seat?” Shiloh motioned to the white couch opposite of her. Sherlock and John took the invitation and sat down, Sherlock on the very edge of his seat. While Shiloh poured them each a glass of tea, adjusting it to their tastes, Sherlock stared at the woman – how could he not have known she existed?

After a moment, Shiloh let out a quiet laugh. “Sherlock, why don’t you stop trying to figure things out on your own? I’m right here. You may ask me whatever you’d like.”

Sherlock raised his chin. “Alright,” He said, “Where do you work?”

“Right to the point, of course.” Shiloh laughed again. “I worked with the government, but I’ve recently resigned. Bastards, they are.”

“What do you do now, then?”

Shiloh grinned. “Nothing. It’s wonderful.” Then she looked thoughtful. “From time to time, however, they do beg for my help. Similar to your situation, is it not?”

Sherlock thought about that for a moment – why would the government need her help? And with what? “Did you know you were adopted?”

“Of course. David and Mary aren’t idiots.”

“You don’t even call them mum and dad?”

Shiloh gave him an are-you-daft look, before shaking her head. “No.”

“Why did Mycroft know about you and I did not?” Sherlock asked, not bothering with anything trivial. He honestly did not care about her family; he just wanted to know who she was.

“Did he tell you anything about me, Sherlock?”

“He said you were not stable and I should stay away.” Sherlock replied, to which John turned and gave him an incredulous look. Not stable? Bloody hell, then why were they here? John felt his skin crawl just wondering what that meant. Was she a psychopath? Being treated for mental insanity?

“He says a lot of things,” Shiloh mused, “But he’s probably right. Too late now, though.” She didn’t seem troubled by what Sherlock told her; she just accepted it.

“Now, how exactly are you unstable?”

Shiloh smirked. “Haven’t figured it out yet? I heard you’re brilliant with such things.”

He didn’t reply.

“Government testing. I was adopted simply for the sake of being put into the program. That’ll definitely destroy a childhood.”

“What was the program?”

“Training.”

Sherlock sighed. He wasn’t getting much out of her—she was being incredibly vague.

“Training for what, Shiloh?”

She pursed her red lips and glanced at the ground.

“How am I to explain? I was trained to be—to be the best, I suppose.” Shiloh glanced over at John, who seemed rather interested in the conversation. Though he wasn’t speaking, she knew that he was perhaps the most interested. She was going to change the subject to involve him, but Sherlock spoke again.

“You’ve got to have more than that.” Sherlock exclaimed, in an irritated tone.

Shiloh turned to glare at him with cold eyes. “Do not raise your voice at me, Sherlock. You are a guest in my house and I do not appreciate such behaviors.”

Sherlock was rather taken aback at this – he hadn’t expected her to lash out. He started to grow uncomfortable with the situation, but refused to let it show. He knew nothing about the woman—she could very well be insane, as Mycroft had more or less told him. Sherlock didn’t know, because he couldn’t read her.

The woman recovered from her sudden anger. “I’m not supposed to talk about it… You never know who is listening.” She smiled.

“I don’t remember what they were training me for. It’s become instinct; something I don’t realize until it is happening. Does that make sense?”

Sherlock nodded slowly. He supposed it did. Still, he was frustrated with Shiloh. He just wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“Do you talk to your parents often?” Sherlock asked after a moment.

“No. Like I said, they adopted me solely to put me into the program. I was just an experiment. Do you talk to your parents? Is your father still in jail?”

John’s eyes widened as he turned to look at Sherlock. His friend’s face turned hard as he stared at the woman, wondering exactly how she knew that. He was positive that it had been hidden from the public, and yet…

“Of course not, my bad.” Shiloh continued. “He was released from jail after claiming mental insanity. And exactly eight years after killing your mother, he killed himself.”

“So you surely must understand what Mycroft meant when he said I was unstable. Imagine what you felt, multiplied by an absurd amount. Imagine what a person becomes, Sherlock. Maybe then you can begin to understand what happened.”

Sherlock blinked. He wasn’t sure how to take this. She’d certainly struck hard, right into his core. It wasn’t so much her mentioning the murder, rather than her knowing about it. She knew so much, and he knew nothing. Well – one thing he did know. Shiloh was most certainly insane. He just didn’t know to what extent.