Felix immediately took the most logical course of action, prioritizing the immediate need for help. He quickly called the police, explaining the situation as clearly as possible, before reaching out to his family to inform them of the unfolding events. He focused on taking the necessary steps.
In no time, the mansion was unrecognizable, swarming with officers and investigators as it transformed into a full-scale crime scene. The atmosphere was now charged with urgency as police scoured every room, every hallway, searching for any clue — no matter how small — that could provide a lead to uncover the truth behind the brutal murder. Each officer moved methodically, their eyes sharp and focused, determined to piece together the mystery that had shattered the mansion's façade.
In much the same way, Felix and his father, the renowned detective Aaron Holmes, began their own investigation, focusing on the two rooms that seemed most crucial to the case — the man's and the woman's. With years of experience guiding him, Aaron led the way, his sharp eyes scanning every corner for subtle signs that might have been overlooked by others. Felix, as a Holmes should, was quick to follow his father's example, and tried to piece together the story hidden within the chaos of the rooms. As they meticulously searched, the tension of the moment pressed in on them, each of them fully aware that the answers they sought could lie in even the smallest, most overlooked of clues.
Unfortunately, in those rooms, there was nothing of any real value to be found, aside from an old, weathered diary. It seemed to be the only item of significance amidst the otherwise barren space. The diary was carefully handed over to Felix, its fragile pages holding the potential for secrets or forgotten memories that might offer insight into the past.
The Holmes family returned home, and as soon as Felix stepped through the door, he couldn't contain his curiosity. He immediately took the diary that had been given to him and began to carefully open its brittle pages. The faint scent of aged paper filled the air as he started reading the first few entries, each word drawing him deeper into the mystery that surrounded the book. The cryptic notes hinted at a story long buried, and Felix's mind raced with questions about what he might uncover within its pages.
" 25 December 2039,
My name is Arthur, and I am the head butler of the Moriarty household. Today, the Moriarty heir was born, but I wasn't allowed to see him. Lord Henry insists on keeping the child a secret for now. He told me he would lock the boy away in a room with his mother, raising him in complete isolation to shape him exactly as he desires. Lord Henry, you see, is a firm believer in pedagogy. He knows that by controlling every external influence, he can mold his son into the person he envisions. To be honest, I feel a deep sense of sorrow for the heir. The reality that awaits him will be a harsh and unforgiving one."
Felix turned the page, his fingers trembling slightly as he moved to the next entry. The words seemed to bleed onto the yellowed paper, the ink faded but still legible, as if the author's pen had not wavered despite the years that had passed.
"7 August 2040,
A year has gone by, and the boy is growing. Lord Henry's methods are harsh, but they seem to be working. Young Moriarty is a quiet, obedient child, with a mind that absorbs everything like a sponge. There are moments when I see glimpses of something darker in his eyes, though. A coldness, a calculating nature that makes my skin crawl. Lord Henry is proud, of course — he sees it as the perfect result of his efforts. But I wonder, sometimes, if the boy's heart has been hardened beyond repair. Will he ever know how to love?"
Felix's eyes narrowed as he read the passage. The mention of a "darker" nature in the boy intrigued him. Was this the beginning of the man Moriarty would become? The idea sent a chill down his spine.
" 25 December 2044,
Today is Young Moriarty's fifth birthday, but his parents can't be here with him. I'm allowed to see him for the first time today, to give him a cake and sing him a birthday song. Until now, I've only had brief glimpses of his scarlet eyes through the door when I brought meals to his mother. He was always sitting in the dark, so I could never see his face properly, but his eyes… those deep, scarlet eyes always seemed to pierce through the shadows. They captivated me, in a way I can't explain, though they unsettled me too. There was something about them — an intensity, a knowing — that made me feel like this child was already far older, far wiser, than he should be. I can't help but wonder what Lord Henry has truly created in that dark room, hidden away from the world."
Felix's breath caught as he read the entry. Scarlet eyes.
"Like Amelia's eyes…"
The words seemed to echo in his mind. Felix felt a strange chill run down his spine. He knew exactly what the butler was trying to convey. The eyes — those unsettling, scarlet eyes — had a familiarity to them. He had seen that same intense, almost otherworldly gaze before. Diana. She had mentioned it before, her eyes, the way they had looked so similar to the heir's.
Felix's thoughts began to race. Is that why he tore her eyes out? He whispered the thought under his breath, as if saying it aloud would somehow make the gruesome idea more real.
"Because they were similar to hers?"
The pieces began to fall into place, though it was a horrifying puzzle. What kind of twisted relationship could exist between the Moriarty heir and his sister? Was there something more sinister in their connection — something that drove the heir to commit such a grotesque act? Felix felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The more he uncovered, the darker the mystery seemed to grow.
Felix's mind raced as the chilling thought settled in. His fingers hovered over the pages, his eyes scanning the entries again. There was no mention of Diana, not a single word.
"Why isn't any page talking about Amelia?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "Isn't she still his sister?"
The question lingered in the air, unanswered. If the heir had a sister, someone who had been close to him, why did the diary remain silent about her? The butler had written about the boy's early years, about his isolation, and even his unsettling nature, but not a word about Diana. Felix's mind began to turn over the possibilities. Had something happened to her? Or had she been erased from the story entirely?
The absence of her name felt like an ominous gap, a space that begged to be filled with answers Felix wasn't sure he was ready to find. Was Diana somehow involved in the heir's upbringing, or had she been a casualty of his father's twisted ambitions? He turned another page, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping to uncover the truth.
" 25 December 2046
Today is the heir's 7th birthday, which we spent together again. We grew closer. Young Moriarty now tells me every single thought in his mind."
Felix paused, rereading the words, a sense of unease settling over him. The butler's tone was unsettlingly casual, as if he was recounting a normal relationship between a servant and a child. But something felt off. The bond between the butler and the heir, especially considering the boy's previous isolation, seemed far too intimate, too familiar.
Felix couldn't help but wonder: What exactly had they shared during those years? How had the boy changed since that first birthday, when he had been locked away in the shadows?
But it was the next part of the entry that sent a shiver down Felix's spine.
"She talks about everything," the butler had written, "her dreams, her thoughts, even her darkest desires. And they frighten me."
Felix's breath caught in his throat. Dark desires? Was this the same innocent child the butler had once pitied, or had something far more disturbing taken root in him? The bond they shared had obviously evolved into something far more dangerous, and Felix couldn't shake the feeling that he was only beginning to scratch the surface of a much darker reality.
He continued reading.
"She told me 7 is a lonely number, and that she will be 7 forever."
Felix blinked, his mind racing to make sense to those words, but it was a puzzle he couldn't solve, just yet. Felix had never given much thought to numbers, let alone the idea that one could be defined by a single digit.
"7?" he repeated, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"I asked her what she meant. She simply smiled, a distant, almost wistful look in her eyes. 'Seven is the number of solitude. It's the one that stands alone, separate from everything else.' Her voice softened as she spoke, as if the number itself held a deep, personal significance."
Felix felt a shiver run down his spine. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her words than just a random musing. It was as if she was sharing a secret with the butler — one he wasn't sure he was ready to hear.
"Wait." Felix paused, his brow furrowing. "Why is it a she now?"
He glanced back at the diary, his eyes skimming over the lines. The entry he had just read had described the same person as a he — a young man with a quiet demeanor, always somewhat distant. But now, in the same diary, the person was referred to as she. Felix's mind raced. Was this a mistake? Or was something deeper at play?
The words seemed to blur together, the sudden change in pronouns catching him off guard. He quickly flipped back through the pages, but he couldn't find an explanation. The subject, whoever they were, had always been described as he until this moment.
"Did something happen?" Felix murmured aloud, as if expecting the diary itself to answer.
His fingers hovered over the page, the ink heavy with meaning. Had the person changed, or had the writer simply begun to see them differently? And if they had changed, how could they have done so so suddenly, without warning? There was a sense of finality to the shift — an unspoken truth tucked within the lines that Felix wasn't sure he was ready to confront.
He closed the diary slowly, his mind swirling with questions, but one thing was clear: whoever the subject was, they were no longer the person Felix had first imagined.
Then, Felix realized. He was still a Holmes, after all.
His breath caught in his throat as the pieces finally fell into place.
"The Moriarty heir is a woman," he whispered to himself, the words sounding almost foreign, like a secret that had been hidden for too long.
The diary had described the heir as a mysterious figure, someone always veiled in shadows and whispers. He had assumed the reference to "he" was merely tradition, a reflection of the powerful family's long-held expectations. But now, as the pronouns shifted, as the tone of the words changed, it became clear that everything he'd believed about the Moriarty heir was wrong. The heir, the one at the center of all those rumors, was a woman.
Felix's thoughts tangled in the implications. It wasn't just the sudden realization that shook him; it was the weight of the revelation. The Moriarty family, notorious for its influence, its power — its legacy — was now under the rule of a woman. A woman who had somehow remained hidden in the shadows, her true identity obscured by layers of myth and secrecy.
But why would the diary, and the writer, have referred to her as a man for so long? What was the significance of the shift in pronouns? Felix's fingers tightened around the edges of the pages, a mix of curiosity and dread flooding him. There were questions here that reached beyond this diary — questions that could unravel the very fabric of the Moriarty family's future.
And now, Felix was caught in the middle of it all, uncertain whether he was uncovering the truth or stepping into a carefully crafted lie. Yet, he knew what to do.
He rushed out of his room, his voice strained with urgency as he called for his father.
"Felix, what's going on?" his father's voice came from the hallway, filled with concern.
"We need to go back to the mansion," Felix replied, his words sharp and hurried. "I've figured it out."
His father frowned, confusion crossing his face. "Figured what out?"
Felix glanced back, frustration mixing with his determination. "I'll explain later. There's no time. We need to leave now."
In no time, Felix and his father found themselves standing once again in the eerie silence of the mansion. The police had long since closed their investigation, leaving the place to its shadowy stillness. Felix strode into the house, his steps steady and unwavering as he navigated the familiar terrain. He had known this would be the outcome.
And just as he had predicted, she was there — waiting for him. Standing at the top of the grand staircase, her figure framed in the dim light.
"Diana," Felix called, his voice steady, though a hint of challenge lingered in his tone.
She met his gaze, her expression one of amused recognition, as if this encounter was exactly what she had been expecting.
"Well done, Felix Holmes," she said, her voice dripping with a mix of admiration and something far darker.
"Who are you?" Felix asked, his voice steady, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed his mind. He had been anticipating this moment, but the truth still eluded him.
Diana's lips curled into a faint smile as she took a step down the staircase. Her scarlet eyes locked onto his, sending a chill through his spine. She didn't need to answer right away — her gaze alone seemed to pierce into his very soul, as if unraveling the secrets he had yet to discover.
"You should have figured it out by now," she replied, her voice calm, almost mocking. "The pieces were always there, Felix. You just had to look a little closer."
Her eyes glowed with a strange intensity, and Felix felt the weight of her presence, as if every word she spoke pulled him deeper into a truth he had never wanted to face.
Aaron, who had been standing silently beside his son, finally spoke, his voice low but firm. He had put the pieces together long before Felix. With a swift motion, he pulled out his gun, the metallic click echoing through the tense air.
"She's the Moriarty heir, isn't she?" he said, turning to Felix with a grim understanding in his eyes.
Felix froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his father's demeanor. "Father, wa — "
Before he could finish, Aaron's steely gaze remained fixed on Diana as he leveled the gun at her. "Moriarty," he said, his tone cold and unwavering. "Do not move from there if you don't want to die."
Felix's heart raced as the weight of his father's warning settled in. He had known this encounter would be fraught with peril, but not like this — not with his own father standing between him and the woman he now realized had been playing him from the very beginning.
"How amusing," Diana finally spoke again, her voice dripping with both amusement and disdain. She took a slow, deliberate step down the staircase, her gaze never leaving Aaron or Felix.
"You brought your father along? How adorable," she taunted, a cruel smile curling at the corners of her lips.
Her movements were measured and graceful, but there was something deadly in the way she descended, as if every step brought her closer to sealing their fate. Felix felt his pulse quicken, the tension in the room rising with every word she spoke. He could see the dangerous confidence in her eyes, and it only made him more uneasy.
Aaron, however, remained unmoved, his gun still trained on her. "Enough games, Moriarty," he growled. "This ends now."
"How selfish you are, Aaron Holmes," Diana said with a biting edge to her voice, her words lingering in the air like venom.
She took several calculated steps closer to him, her heels clicking on the floor as she closed the distance. When she finally stood before him, her eyes locked onto his with an intensity that seemed to pierce through his very soul.
"Not only did you defeat my family," she continued, her voice laced with bitter anger, "but now you're planning on defeating me too? Are you not giving your dear Felix any space at all?"
Her words cut deep, twisting the knife in a way that made Felix's chest tighten. Diana's gaze flicked toward him, a cruel smile playing on her lips as if she were savoring his discomfort.
Aaron didn't flinch. His grip on the gun tightened, but his expression remained as cold and unyielding as ever. "This has nothing to do with Felix. This is about stopping you," he said, his voice unwavering.
Diana's smile only deepened. "We'll see about that."
"Stop right there, Moriarty!" Aaron commanded, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.
"Shoot yourself," Diana retorted, her tone dripping with disdain.
In an instant, her demeanor shifted dramatically. Her vibrant red eyes, once filled with fierce determination, dulled to a lifeless gray as her gaze locked onto the father. It was as if a switch had been flipped, revealing a depth of turmoil beneath her defiant exterior.
"You're out of your mind if you think I'll ever do that," he shot back, incredulity lacing his words.
She insisted, her voice cold and unwavering. "Shoot yourself."
Suddenly, Aaron's eyes changed as well. The once bright, fiery blue hue faded, giving way to a pale, lifeless color that seemed drained of all vitality. His gaze lost its intensity, taking on an eerie, almost unnatural dullness, as though the light had been extinguished from within. It was as if his soul had momentarily slipped away, leaving behind only an empty shell.
"Shoot myself?"
"Yes, shoot yourself."
Aaron slowly lowered the gun, his grip tightening around it as though it were the only thing anchoring him to reality. He stared at it, transfixed, as if the weapon itself held some dark power over him. His hand shook ever so slightly, but he didn't let go. The cold metal seemed to burn against his skin, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Every inch of his being screamed to do something — anything — but still, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the gun.
"What did you do to me?" Aaron asked, his voice hollow as he lifted his lifeless gaze to Diana, his expression a mix of confusion and quiet fury.
Diana met his stare, her lips curling into a faint smile. "I am a Moriarty, after all," she replied, her tone carrying a touch of disappointment, as though the answer should have been obvious.
Aaron stood still for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. His thoughts swirled, and then, as if a veil had been lifted, clarity began to settle over him.
"I understand it now…" Aaron sighed deeply, the realization washing over him like a cold tide.
Turning slowly, his eyes softened as they landed on Felix, who stood silently at his side.
"I'm sorry, son," Aaron murmured, his voice thick with sorrow and regret.
Aaron raised the gun to his head and, with a final, shuddering breath, he pulled the trigger.
Aaron shot himself.
The father's blood erupted in a gruesome spray, shattering against the walls and splattering across the room. Crimson droplets painted Felix and Diana's faces, a stark reminder of the horror that had just unfolded.
Diana calmly retrieved a napkin from her jacket, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She wiped the blood from her face with an unsettling ease, as if the gruesome sight of death was a familiar companion in her life.
Then, without a word, Diana began to step aside, her movements deliberate and slow, as if savoring the finality of the moment. She reached for the door handle, her fingers wrapping around it with a quiet confidence, as though she had already made her exit countless times before.
Then, without warning, Felix lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grasp Diana's wrist, halting her mid-step. His fingers tightened around her, a desperate surge of emotion flooding his chest. His face was a mix of confusion, anger, and something far deeper — betrayal. He stared at her, his grip unrelenting, as though he could force some sort of answer out of her with just the strength of his hold.
Diana froze, her body tensing for a brief moment, before she slowly turned her head to face him. The same calm, almost bored expression still lingered on her face, as though his touch was little more than an afterthought. But the coldness in her eyes, sharp and unyielding, told a different story.
"What did you do?" he asked, disbelief etched across his face.
"I killed him, didn't you see?" she answered, her tone almost casual, as if discussing the weather.
"Why? It was between you and me, wasn't it?" His voice trembled, a mix of anger and confusion.
Diana met his gaze with unwavering intensity. "You should never trust a Moriarty."
Felix paused, his fingers loosening around her wrist as the weight of her words sank in. For a moment, he stood there, motionless, trying to make sense of everything. Finally, he released her, stepping back as if the truth had slapped him in the face.
"Is this the start?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread.
Diana didn't hesitate, her eyes glinting with a cold, unreadable knowing.
"Can't you tell?" she replied, her tone sharp, almost amused, as though she had expected the question all along.
Felix's heart sank. In an instant, the absurdity of his own words hit him. He realized how stupid his question had been, how blind he'd been to the inevitable. The game had always been bigger than him — he'd only just begun to understand the rules.
"The body in that study was your father's…" his voice resolute. He swallowed hard before continuing, "I could tell by the eyes."
Diana stood motionless, her gaze fixed on him, the slightest shift in her expression betraying that she was listening, really listening. Felix saw it then — the cold flicker of something in her eyes, a spark that made his blood run cold. He had her attention.
He pressed on, his voice growing steadier as he spoke the truth he had pieced together.
"While the body in the other room was your mother's. You tore her eyes out so I would confuse her for you, so I would continue believing there was a male heir."
Felix stopped for a moment, his breath catching in his throat.
"And you are the Moriarty heir," he said, the words coming out in a quiet, almost accusatory whisper. "You were born on December 25th, 2039. You'll be 7 forever."
"You found the diary," Diana said, her voice laced with amusement. She leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, as though Felix's discovery had been inevitable. Her eyes glimmered with a cold, calculating delight, as if she were watching him finally grasp the last pieces of the puzzle.
Felix stood still, his heart pounding in his chest. The diary was the key to everything. It was the final confirmation of the twisted truth he had feared, the truth he had only dared to imagine.
Diana's expression softened, but not in a comforting way. It was the look of someone who had long since accepted the darkness of their own existence, who found amusement in the unraveling of another's reality.
"I wondered how long it would take you to connect the dots," she continued, her voice almost gentle now, as if humoring a child who had finally caught up to a game she had mastered long ago.
"Why do we have to continue this?" Felix asked, his voice thick with exhaustion, a raw edge of despair creeping in. "This war has been going on for hundreds of years, can't it stop with us?"
Diana paused, the amusement in her eyes fading for a brief moment. She looked at him, her gaze piercing, and for the first time, Felix thought he saw something human in her — something fleeting, like a shadow of regret, or perhaps understanding. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the cold, calculating figure before him.
"I literally just killed your father, but you're here talking to me instead of swearing you'll end me?" she said, her voice dripping with irony, but there was a flicker of something deeper — something almost... curious.
Felix didn't answer right away. He stood there, wrestling with the truth, the chaos of his emotions swirling. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but tinged with a sense of recognition.
"You and I are similar, Diana."
Her brow arched, intrigued but unamused. "How so?"
Felix took a breath, his eyes meeting hers. "You know well what I mean. The only thing that tells us apart is what we grew up with."
Diana paused, her lips curling into a faint smile. "Go on."
Felix exhaled slowly, collecting his thoughts. "You grew up between bad things, you were taught how to sin before anything else. You were molded by a world that bred violence, manipulation, and cold ambition."
Diana stopped him, her tone sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.
"And you were grown up between good things, you were taught to not learn what a sin is. To live within your little bubble, believing in ideals, never having to face the real darkness that people like me live in."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with truth. Felix could feel the weight of her words, the sharp contrast of their lives laid bare in that moment. They were both products of their upbringing, shaped by forces beyond their control, yet somehow standing at the same precipice now — each one realizing the other's truth.
"Come with me," Felix said, his voice filled with a quiet, desperate plea. His eyes locked onto hers, trying to convey everything he couldn't say in words. "I can change your life. We can end this war if we are together."
Diana paused, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she looked at him, puzzled, as though the very notion of it made no sense. Her brow furrowed, and a cold laugh escaped her lips.
"I think you don't understand, Holmes," she said, her tone laced with annoyance, the flicker of amusement gone entirely.
Felix's heart sank. His last flicker of hope, the fragile thread that had kept him clinging to the belief that something could be different, began to fade away, slipping through his fingers like sand. He took a step back, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his failed attempt.
"I am a bad person," Diana continued, her voice steady and cold, as though she were finally accepting the truth of her own nature. "You're a good person. My role is to haunt you, and I have to follow that path."
Felix stood there, staring at her, feeling as if the world had shifted beneath him. He had hoped — foolishly perhaps — that they could break free of their respective destinies, but Diana's cold, certain words left no room for change.
And in that moment, Felix realized there was nothing he could say to change her. The war, their lives, the endless cycle — they were already written, and neither of them could escape what they were born into.
Felix broke the silence, his voice low and probing.
"How did you convince him to kill himself?"
Diana smirked slightly.
"A method similar to the manipulation my father invented, but it only works with a woman."
Felix narrowed his eyes, piecing it together.
"Did you make me find that diary on purpose, to lure me here so you could kill my father?"
"Yes," she replied, her tone unwavering.
"Were you aware that I wouldn't have cared if my dad died? You can understand that better than anyone," he pressed, searching her eyes for any hint of remorse.
"I knew," she said simply, the weight of her words hanging in the air.
"So you did it to show me what you're capable of?" Felix asked, the realization dawning on him.
"Exactly," she confirmed, a chilling satisfaction in her voice.
"Diana James Moriarty," Felix said, his tone now secure and firm, as if a newfound strength had surged through him. His eyes locked with hers, unwavering.
"I am Felix Holmes, the tenth heir of the Holmes household. I will bring you down."
For a moment, Diana stood still, her expression unreadable. Then, a smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, and her eyes gleamed with amusement once more. She tilted her head slightly, studying him as if he were a mere curiosity.
"Felix Holmes," she repeated, her voice soft but laced with a dangerous undertone. The way she said his name sent chills down Felix's spine, a cold shiver of forewarning that made every hair on his body stand on end.
"I am Diana James Moriarty, the tenth heir of the Moriarty household. " she continued, her voice smooth and sure.
"I have been waiting my whole life to meet you."