Felix had always been the gentle type, the kind of person who avoided conflict and embraced kindness. He couldn't understand why this was happening to him. Why was he being targeted? Why did his sister have to die — so young, so full of life? 

It was a curse.

The Holmes name was a curse.

Felix had no choice but to carry on, not because he wanted to, but because he was the heir. Because he was born with Sherlock Holmes' blood running through his veins. He hated it — always had. The legacy, the expectations, the constant shadow of a genius he could never hope to live up to. It weighed on him like a thousand-pound stone, pressing down on his chest with every breath he took.

He hated it.

From the moment he was born, Felix had been thrust into situations far too big for him to handle. He never got to live a normal life, never got to be like other kids, not because he didn't want to, but because he was born a Holmes. 

He hated it.

He hated how he was taught to handle weapons, how to protect himself, before he even knew how to ride a bike. He hated how, instead of spending his days dreaming like other children, he was pushed into work, into responsibility far beyond his years.

He hated it. 

He sacrificed his own life, his choices, his dreams, to pursue the so-called "Moriartys", chasing shadows in a never-ending battle. But even that wasn't enough. They had to take his sister as well. The one person who had made the pain bearable, the one person who had given him a glimpse of what a normal life could have been. She was stolen from him, too. 

He hated it. 

After Evelyn's death, Felix couldn't find peace. Grief consumed him, and vengeance became his only purpose. He swore he'd hunt down Dane James Moriarty, even if it meant staining his own hands with blood.

All because he was Felix Holmes.

After Evelyn's death, everything grated on Felix's nerves. His family, his friends, his co-workers — nothing felt right, nothing seemed to matter. The only things that offered him any semblance of comfort were the stars in the sky and the red roses in his family's greenhouse. During those days, it was the only place where he could be found — surrounded by the fragile beauty of the flowers, as if they were the only things still capable of grounding him. 

In truth, it was the roses that drew him in, their deep red petals a painful echo of the woman he'd once known. They reminded him of her — of the way she carried herself with quiet grace, the precision in her words, the calm assurance in her gaze. It was as if she had everything under control, as if she could navigate the chaos of life with effortless ease. Felix couldn't help but feel that, had she been in his shoes, she would have handled things far better than he ever could. He couldn't reconcile the idea of her as a killer. The thought gnawed at him, but his heart refused to accept it. She was too composed, too deliberate to be capable of such violence.

He didn't want to believe it. 

At the core of it, Felix knew that he kept returning because he clung to the hope of seeing her once more. 

More than anything, he craved the answers that had always seemed just out of reach.

Answers that only she had.

Why did the Moriartys persist in striking again and again, as though the bitter duel between Sherlock Holmes and William James Moriarty hadn't been enough? Why did they continue this endless war — why couldn't they find peace? Why, no matter the circumstances, did the Holmes always fall for the Moriartys' schemes, only to emerge victorious by some twist of luck? And why did destiny seem to repeat itself with each new generation? 

The questions spiraled, but no answers came. Why?

On the other hand, everything unfolded just as Diana had planned. Though her real name was Amelia Diana Moriarty, it had been her idea to change it from a young age. She was, after all, incredibly clever.

"Father, can we change my name?" 

"Why would you, Amelia?" 

"You see, if I have to go up against the Holmes, I'll need to be careful..." 

"What are you getting at?" 

"People are less suspicious of a woman, but what if they think they're dealing with a man?" 

Henry immediately grasped her reasoning.

"Would Diana James Moriarty work?" 

"Yes."

Her father couldn't quite explain how his daughter, an apparently normal 5-year-old, had come to believe that changing her name would somehow help her. But it made perfect sense. People were less wary of a woman — but what if they thought she was a man?

For the last 21 years, Henry and his daughter had meticulously gathered information on the Holmes family. They had learned everything they could about Felix: his personality, his sensitivity to strong scents, his inability to remember faces, and his tendency to confuse people's names.

So, when Diana introduced herself to Felix as "Diana James Moriarty," he immediately mistook her for Dane, misreading the name "James" as belonging to a man.

Diana, as a woman, had been taught the art of body language from a young age. She learned how to move in ways that could attract attention, confuse those who might pose a threat, or even make men fall for her. It was a skill she had brought over the years to perfection. And now, she was using it on Felix.

When they first met, the way she carried herself — her posture, the way she held her gaze, the deliberate strength in her movements — made her seem like an incredibly powerful woman in his eyes. She exuded confidence, and to Felix, it was an illusion of strength he couldn't easily ignore. 

Now, the only thing left was to win his trust. Diana knew she could make Felix believe in her, drawing him closer without him even realizing the true purpose of their encounter. 

And she had the perfect plan for that.

— A MONTH AFTER EVELYN'S DEATH —

Felix had begun the slow process of recovering from his sister's death, though the weight of grief still lingered, heavy and constant. The days were beginning to feel less like a blur, and moments of clarity, however brief, offered him some fragile comfort. Yet, there was one place he couldn't let go of — the greenhouse. It had become a place where he could still feel a connection to Diana. The scent of the flowers, the soft rustling of the leaves in the breeze, all reminded him of her presence. 

Felix returned to the greenhouse again and again, not just out of habit, but out of hope. He still clung to the fragile belief that somehow, someday, he might meet her there once more. The thought consumed him — he would find her again, in that familiar place, and he would finally be able to ask her why.

Each time he stepped into the quiet, verdant space, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the soft hum of nature, he half-expected to see her standing there, gazing at the sky as she did. He longed for the chance to look into her scarlet eyes once more and find some clarity — some answer to the questions that had haunted him since Evelyn's death. 

But all he ever found were the whispers of the past, the unanswered echoes that seemed to come from every corner of the greenhouse. Still, he couldn't let go.

One evening, as Felix made his way to the greenhouse, he noticed a figure standing motionless in the middle of the garden. The figure was gazing up at the stars, bathed in the soft glow of those. His heart skipped a beat as he froze in place, staring at her silhouette.

It was her — the woman he had met a month ago, Diana. His breath caught in his throat, and before his mind could fully process what he was seeing, he rushed inside the greenhouse, his steps quick and urgent. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled open the door, desperate to get closer, to see her again, to understand why she was here.

He could feel his pulse racing as he approached, the night air cool against his skin. She was still there, standing as though she belonged, completely unaware of his presence for the moment. Felix paused just for a moment, taking in the sight. Was it a coincidence that she was here? Or was there something more — something he had yet to understand?

Felix knew, deep down, that the Moriartys were far beyond his reach. He had spent years trying to understand them, trying to outsmart them, but the truth was undeniable: they were smarter, more cunning, and far more capable than he could ever hope to be. The Moriartys didn't just play the game — they controlled it. Every move, every strategy, every twist of fate seemed carefully orchestrated, leaving him always one step behind.

And then there was Diana. She wasn't just another woman he had met by chance; she was one of them, one of their closest accomplices. She couldn't be trusted. Her calm demeanor, her perfect composure — it was all part of the same scheme. Felix couldn't ignore the fact that she was no less dangerous than the Moriartys themselves.

As much as he wanted to believe that their meeting was just a coincidence, Felix couldn't shake the suspicion that it was all by design. She had played him from the start, weaving her way into his life with a purpose. And now, standing there, under the stars, he knew that whatever game she was playing, he was already trapped.

He knew, but he didn't want to believe it.

Felix took a slow step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The moonlight cast a soft glow on Diana's black hair, making it shimmer like a veil of midnight. Every part of her seemed to blend with the night, her presence both haunting and captivating. He couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter had been planned all along. 

"It's you, again" he said, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and suspicion.

Diana didn't immediately respond. She remained still, her eyes locked on the stars for a moment longer. Then, as if aware of his every thought, she turned toward him. Her gaze was steady, calculating, but with a hint of something else — something he couldn't quite place. 

"It's nice to see you again, Holmes" she said, her voice smooth and deliberate, like a soft melody that sent a chill down his spine.

Felix flinched, unsettled by the way her words hung in the air. There was something about her calmness, something too perfect, too controlled. It wasn't normal, not for anyone, especially not for someone involved with the Moriartys. 

"Were you the one killing my sister?" Felix blurted out before he could stop himself, his voice trembling with the weight of his grief and anger.

Diana's lips curled into a smile — almost amused, yet somehow detached from the gravity of his question. She took a deliberate step closer, her presence enveloping him like a quiet storm.

"Not at all" she laughed softly, the sound cold and almost mocking. 

"But if you're hoping for answers, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed."

For a moment, Felix stood frozen, his mind racing.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, his voice sharp.

She tilted her head, a wry smile playing on her lips. 

"You think I'm one of Moriarty's accomplices, don't you?"

Felix hesitated, eyes narrowing. "I mean, what else could you be?"

Diana's smile widened. "I'm the heir's sister."

Felix fell silent, his thoughts churning as he tried to process her words.

After a beat, he spoke again, his voice quieter, more measured. "Did you kill my sister?"

Diana's amusement danced in her eyes. "Not at all."

She stepped closer, her tone shifting, becoming more serious. "You see, Felix…" she began, her gaze locking with his. "I want to help you."

Felix didn't believe her, even though a part of him desperately wanted to.

"Why would you?" he asked, his skepticism clear in his voice.

Diana's expression hardened, her gaze unwavering as she met his eyes. 

"I hate my family" she said, her voice cold but steady.

Felix studied her closely, searching for any hint of deceit. But as he looked into her eyes, something in him shifted. He could tell — she wasn't lying.

Felix's mind raced, trying to piece everything together.

"How would you help?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Diana straightened, her gaze never leaving his. "My name is Amelia Moriarty," she began, her words hanging heavy in the air. "And my brother is Dane James Moriarty."

Felix's heart skipped a beat. The name hit him like a punch to the gut. He stared at her, a thousand questions flooding his mind, but the only one that escaped his lips was a quiet, why.

Diana knew she wasn't a skilled liar, so instead of weaving a false story, she decided to twist the truth to her advantage. Her name was indeed Amelia Moriarty, and she genuinely hated her family. That simple, unflinching truth was enough to make Felix feel the weight of her words, to make him question everything he thought he knew. 

She saw the doubt in his eyes, the way his mind raced to reconcile her confession with the world he understood. She didn't need to lie — reality was complicated enough to seem like one. And in that moment, Felix couldn't deny that she was telling him something real.

"You're probably wondering why," Diana said, breaking the silence with a quiet resolve.

Felix didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of her. She took a step closer, her presence suddenly more commanding, more intimate.

"You and I are similar, Felix," she continued, her voice softer now, almost conspiratorial. "My father and my brother have been collecting information about you. I know nearly everything about you... at least enough to say that you and I aren't all that different."

Felix froze, his breath caught in his throat. His mind raced as he processed her words. She knew too much. Too much about him, about his life, his family. It was unsettling, yet there was something in her tone — something almost... understanding.