Summary
Sequel to "A Study In Silence"
Rose Spencer has met Sherlock Holmes, and as with everyone else, the protective big brother steps in to interfere a little. Also, she has a little chat with Sherlock…
Warnings: Violence towards technology
Silencing a Brother
The day after the whole ordeal with the cabbie, Rose Spencer walked out of Scotland Yard, and was just about to hail a cab, when her phone started ringing. Frowning, she took the noisy devise out of her pocket, and saw the number was unknown.
Smirking she answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Miss Spencer. I think you know what your expected to do." Said the cool, and would be creepy voice on the other end of the line. She looked up, just as a sleek black car pulled up in front of her, door opening.
Chuckling, she replied lightly. "Of course." Ending the call, she got in the car, to see a brunette woman, dressed smartly, and completely focused on the mobile clutched in the hands.
The car ride was silent; she had learnt from John that "Not-Anthea" was not the talking type, and to try was useless. After a few minutes, she felt the car drift to a halt, and opened the door to find herself in what looked like a deserted factory, or storage space of some sort. In front of the car she had arrived in, about twenty meters or so away, was another car. And stood in front of said car, was the man himself, complete with umbrella.
She walked forward, hands in pockets, appearing completely relaxed, despite the small trickle of fear caused by the little voice in the back of her head, reminding her of what Sherlock had said. The most dangerous man you will ever meet.
Though, as she approached him, she saw the similarities again, and it reassured her in her theory. Taking a breath, she decided that it was time to put it to the test. In her most confident, and unwavering voice, she started the conversation.
"Mycroft Holmes. Pleasure to meet you at last." He appeared at first to be completely unresponsive, but she then caught the flash of surprise in his eyes. She smiled inwardly.
"Miss Rose Spencer. I assume my brother told you who I am then." He stated it as though it were fact, and she let a little self-pride slip into her tone.
"Only your first name. That was all I needed to know, apparently." She replied, doing an awful impression of Sherlock.
To her surprise Mycroft let out a loud laugh. "Well, I have never seen anyone try to do an impression of Sherlock. Ever!" He let his laughter die down again, and was back to business. "What is your relationship with my brother, Miss Spencer?"
Raising an eyebrow at him, she answered. "Please, call me Rose. Miss Spencer makes me sound like my Gran. And I do believe he stole a cab from me, and then moved into one of the rooms in the flat I am living in."
He laughed. "Stuff like that will happen if your not careful." The words were not his, she knew that. Mycroft Holmes didn't seem to be the type of person to say "stuff" and the word sounded wrong coming from him. That was when she remembered it was exactly what her brother had said. The laugh Mycroft had given was off, she thought, it sounded false. She didn't laugh back. She didn't even smile. She was a little more freaked out now.
And he knew it. He smiled again. But it was different this time. It was almost cruel, and the look in his eyes had her repressing a shudder - rather successfully, she noted with another little bout of self-pride.
"I have an offer for you, Miss Spencer." He was doing it just to get on her nerves. And damn him, it's working.
"I'm not interested." She stated, grinding her teeth slightly. She wanted to leave now.
"You haven't even heard me out."
"You want me to keep an eye on your brother, because you worry about him. Your also willing to pay me for it. I'm not interested."
"So the good doctor filled you in, even if Sherlock didn't." I smiled tightly at him. "Well, I suppose you should get home soon. Your things will be arriving shortly, soon followed by your brother. Do be careful around Sherlock Holmes, Miss Spencer." He warned turning away, walking back to his own car. "He can get into all sorts of sticky situations."
"I'm sure I will survive, Mr Holmes." Two could play the name game. "And stay out of my phone, and my flat." She could guess the sort of things he would do, and she didn't like the ideas she came up with. He just laughed at her.
As she went back to Baker Street, she mentally made a note to have a big talk with Sherlock.
Her friends had just dropped off her things, and she could see the guilt in the eyes of one of them. She knew what he had done. She ignored it, and had decided to deal with it when he left.
So they had talked, and caught up, the friend relaxing a little after thinking he had got away with it. After an hour, she said that she really should start unpacking, and that her brother would be there soon. They took that as a queue to leave, knowing the history between the siblings.
After seeing them out, she went to make a cup of tea, and sat on the sofa. She let her eyes roam the room, and found a small object in the corner of the room. Looking a little closer, without being obvious, she had found it was a camera. Then an idea struck her.
Looking around for paper and yet another pen, she went over to the desk, her back to the camera, and wrote a note for Mr Mycroft Holmes. Who else would it be?
Sitting in his office, Mycroft heard his phone ringing. Answering it, he found it was his assistant. She had seen something strange on the camera he had slipped into 221B Baker Street, while his brother was at the Yard, John was having lunch with Mike Stamford, and Miss Rose Spencer was talking to him in a warehouse. Frowning, he told her to send the footage to him.
Opening his laptop, he found the file for a live feed into his brothers flat, and what he saw both shocked and amused him.
Standing in front of the camera, holding up a piece of paper, was Rose Spencer. There was a note on the paper.
Mycroft, I told you to stay out of my flat. Now I will have to break your little toy.
She turned around, and put the paper on the desk. She then walked slowly and purposefully towards the camera, and picked it up. The view he got looked around the flat as she found out there were no wires. He smirked at the thought. The camera went back to her, and she shrugged at it. Then covered the lens with her hand.
For a moment the screen was completely blank, and he though the feed had been cut, but then the picture came back.
It showed what looked like the back garden of the little flat. The camera appeared to be sitting on the floor. It also showed a pair of black trainers, with a pair of black jeans covering the tops. Suddenly Miss Spencer came back in the shot, grinning like a little kid who just got what she wanted for Christmas. She held up her phone, on which was another message.
My mother was always known for her solution to many things.
He didn't understand it, but he had a theory when she moved the phone away, and lifted up a hammer. She then turned the camera to the sky, and there was a flash of dark, and the feed cut out.
He laughed at the laptop screen. Mycroft then took out his phone, and started to text for once.
Well played, my dear. MH
As she stood up, hammer in hand, she surveyed the damage she had done to the little devise. Even if it was still recording, and transmitting - which she doubted - the lens was completely smashed. She smirked. I did warn him.
Just as she threw the remains of the devise into a small bucket, that had collected rain water - just to be sure - she heard her phone go off. Taking it out, she saw a message from the very person she had just effectively smashed with a hammer, and thrown in a bucket of water.
She realised that he probably hadn't meant to annoy her and completely kill her smug victory, but he had.
She despised being called "dear."
Later that day, she found herself pottering about her room, speakers playing music - Pocket full of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield - and the incident with the camera out of her mind for now.
Through the solid rhythm pounding out of the bass speakers, a knock from her door sounded. Running to turn the music down, she went to the door, and opened it to see a very annoyed Sherlock.
"The door was making a lot of noise. Says he's here to see you." He didn't seem happy that he had to get the door, and Rose thought that in future, she should keep the music down, and get the door herself.
"Who is it?" She had first thought it was Mycroft, but then realised Sherlock would just take him upstairs.
"How should I know?" Wow, really grumpy…She thought. With that, he turned on his heel, and went back up the stairs.
She turned to see who it was, and was met with the familiar sight of a man shorter than herself, with piercing blue eyes, dark stubble on his chin, and his typical black polo shirt and black trousers. She smiled at the sight of her brother.
"Zach, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot you were coming over! There was a.. well.. An incident… with Sherlock's brother earlier...and...well I'll explain in a bit!" she laughed. It was good to see him.
"So I take it that was Sherlock then?" He asked, motioning upstairs. She nodded. "Well, you haven't got any coffee have you? I'm parched!" She laughed at him, he always wanted coffee.
Sitting in the living room of his little sister's new place, he looked around and saw it was quite messy. "Is that a skull?" He asked. But he didn't get an answer from her, but rather the man at the desk in the corner of the room.
"A friend of mine, well, I say friend." He muttered. He was kind of creepy really, and Zach didn't know whether to trust him.
"By the way Sherlock," He heard his sister start, in a tone that could only mean trouble. "How much do those little, wireless cameras cost? You know, the ones about the size of the old camera film tube bottles."
Sherlock's head snapped up at the description. He knew exactly what she was on about. "A few hundred each, if you on about the ones I think you are." He watched her carefully, and only got more suspicious at her muttering of "ouch."
"Why?" He asked.
"Well, I may have found one, and I may have proceeded to take it out to the back garden, and then…smash it…with a hammer…and then throw it in a bucket of water…." Sherlock had one of the rare moments where he was actually shocked into silence.
"Why did you have a camera in your flat?" Asked Zach, who was much more used to his sisters violent methods of getting rid of unwanted things, especially the ones that annoyed her.
"Sherlock's brother seemed to find it necessary to keep an eye on the place. Is it always the same warehouse?" She directed the question to the still silent man at the desk.
His eyes wide, he looked at her incredulously. "How on earth did you know he was my brother?" He knew they didn't look alike what so ever.
"You act alike, and you have the same eyes." She said simply, bringing in two cups of coffee, and returning for her own tea.
Just as Sherlock was about to defend his pride, and proclaim he was nothing like his brother, but Zach beat him to it. He seemed to be getting a little upset.
"Wait a second! A random stranger takes you to a warehouse, then bugs you flat? And I am the only one freaking out, why?"
"Because my brother is always over dramatic and trying to keep an eye on me. Did he offer you money?" when Rose nodded, Sherlock sighed. "He's getting sloppy…"
"Again, the only one, why? You've only been in London ten days, and already your sharing a flat with a creepy guy, while his brother stalks you! And you don't seem worried or concerned at all!" Zach was shouting now, but Rose had had enough of it.
"It's not like that Zach. I'm not completely stupid." She spoke normally, not raising her voice, but she didn't show any emotion either; only the slightest bit of defensiveness. Sherlock watched the two as though they were the best thing on television.
"Really? I'm trying to help you here!" Zach was still shouting. "He's a freak! Just look at him, I've only been here five minutes and I can see that! He has a skull on the mantle for Christ's sake! Add to that his brother sounds like some psycho stalker-" He was cut short by the hand that had drawn itself across his face. Not lightly, like the previous night either, Sherlock could see that. It was a full blown slap.
"Get out." This time it wasn't said in a normal tone. This voice was low, and deathly steady. It was full of disgust and disappointment.
He threw her a glare of contempt and took his leave. A full minute passed with just Rose looking at the spot her brother had been, her emotions carefully shutting down and locking themselves away again.
Sherlock watched her with fascination as this happened. He had a glimpse at her family life, and it was all new information to find an answer as to who she was.
Eventually she let out a steady breath, looked up to her new flatmate. "I'm sorry you had to see that." Getting no answer, she took another deep breath. "I'm going to go for a walk. See you later."
And with that, she left the living room, went down to her own room, picked up her jacket, making sure her box of cigarettes and lighter were in her pocket, and took her leave. All her movements were smooth, but seemed automatic. As though she had done this all before. Little did he know she had, so many times.
She wandered around for about half an hour, before she started to feel like she was being watched. She decided that she didn't care.
After a long while of mindless wondering, she found her self in the same park she had gone to the other day. She wandered a little over the grounds, until she found a little stream cutting through the land.
Sitting on the bank of the flowing water, in the shadow of a particularly large and majestic tree, she couldn't help but remember the words of the song she was listening to earlier.
Take me away! A secret place!A sweet escape! Take me away!Take me away! To better days!Take me away! A hiding place!There's a place that I go,Were nobody the rivers flow,And I call it there's no more the dark, sacred nobody 's only butterflies.Smiling wistfully, she remembered Wales, and her old home in Newport. There were always loads of butterflies in the summer. Flying so free and without a care in the world.
She missed the butterflies. She missed how easy everything was when she was younger, before her eldest brother got kicked out, before the middle sibling left for university, before he came back to argue, before she had her turn with their parents.
But, as she thought back to how things were, with a happy family, and all the lush greenery, and the butterflies, she couldn't help but think that, perhaps, had she been older, she would have seen all the little things. All the little hints that, really, behind closed doors, not everything was fine. And thinking back, Newport, even Wales, didn't feel like home anymore.
Central London felt like home now, with her little flat and crazy flatmates, and the possibly crazy brother of one of said flatmates. Even with all that had happened, she didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay, because life wasn't all familial problems and school work anymore. It was crazy friends and puzzles and trying to work out whether she could even trust the crazier of her two flatmates - because she knew she could already trust John, he was just a trustable person, really, she thought fondly.
And with that thought she decided that she should probably head back to the flat.
Getting in, she took her phone out of her pocket, seeing no messages. What, did you really expect an apology? She did at one point, but not anymore. Putting her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, as she went up the stairs to get a drink and maybe a pot noodle.
As she went into the kitchen, she found Sherlock at the kitchen table looking at something through a microscope. She didn't even question it, it just felt like normal. Though she did question the jar of something weird looking in the cupboard. Picking it up, she found it was, what looked like at least, a heart, pickled like you find eggs or onions. But it was a heart.
Frowning, she looked to Sherlock, who still hadn't looked up, and asked the dreaded question.
"Sherlock," She started, trying not to come across as insane, "Is this a pickled heart?"
Looking up from his work for the briefest glance, he replied. "Yes, I got it from the morgue earlier." He had said it as though it was a jar of jam, rather than a pickled heart.
Deciding that ignorance was bliss, she put it back where she found it, thinking it must be there for a reason. Taking out a pot noodle, she flicked the kettle on. It took her about half a minute to actually realise what he had said. When she did, she froze, eyes going wide, and puzzled frown deeply ingrained on her face.
Turning slowing back to her flatmate, she saw he was still in the same position. "Sherlock… What sort of heart is that…?" Not a question she thought she would be asking today.
"Human, of course. What else would it be?" He seemed generally lost to that, as though it was perfectly fine to have a pickled human heart in the kitchen cupboard.
"Any particular reason there is a pickled human heart in there?" She figured that she had better finish what she had started, why not?
"It's an experiment." He didn't even look up from his microscope. He didn't flinch or even move.
Still frowning, she nodded once, very slowly. Turning back around, she wondered if her brother was right about her living here. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she threw it out again. She knew it was right to live here….even if there was a pickled heart in the cupboard.
Pouring hot water to the mark into the pot of dust and dried pasta, she let it soak as she went to get a fork. After stirring the plastic pot of food, she picked it up, and made her way to the living room. Sitting on the sofa she put the plastic wrapped cardboard box and its constant metal companion on the arm rest, and sat back to eat the pasta, that now smelled absolutely mouth watering.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she heard Sherlock get up from the table in the kitchen. Looking up she saw him leaving the kitchen, and come into the living room to join her. He walked over to one of the arm chairs, climbing onto the seat itself and sitting on its back.
"Your brother's right, you know." He just put it out there, blunt as usual. But there was something different in his tone, as if he had a puzzle and wanted to solve it, but had to be nice to it do so. She saw he wasn't used to being nice.
"About what?" Of all the things he knew about her, that episode with her brother had completely thrown him off. And here he was again, expecting her to just dismiss the idea of her brother being right, but she didn't. He really didn't understand her.
"Any other person would have left by now. You have only lived here for two days, and already you have faced a serial killer, a skull on the mantle, a high functioning sociopath, and an ex-army doctor with a gun and a hell of a shot, who's not afraid to kill someone, as well as my brother, who has kidnapped you, tried to bribe you, and bugged your flat. You should be running away screaming." He said it all calmly, and as though he were talking about the weather, but his voice held a hint of curiosity that made her smile internally.
"Yes, I have only lived here two days, but it already feels like home. The serial killer was an example of a drastic situation that still didn't drive me away, the skull is hardly going to bite me, the high functioning sociopath is a good person, and - I think - not as sociopathic as he thinks, the ex-army doctor speaks for itself - a doctor - someone who wants to help people get better, even where the injuries are the worst. The same doctor, is very loyal and willing to kill for a friend, even if the man he killed was a very bad man. And as for the brother, he may have drastic and dramatic methods, but his intentions are good, even if he did bug the flat, though I think he got the message of not to do it again."
"Just because he got the message doesn't mean he will listen. He rarely does." She laughed at that. "I had a look around the rest of the flat as well, no more, though don't expect it to last long."
There was a moment of silence, and she turned serious again. "I'm sorry, again, for Zach. He never did like most things I did. And I don't think you are a freak… even if you do pickle human hearts and have a skull on the mantle." She chuckled lightly, while Sherlock smiled a small smile. He still didn't understand the young woman on the sofa, but he had always loved a challenge.
"So, since I have no idea, what do you actually do?" She asked. She figured that he worked with the police, but that was about it.
"I'm a consulting detective. When the pol-" he was cut off just then, and interrupted, as John walked in.
"Police are out of the depth they call him. Anyone for a tea?" He said, earning a light glare from Sherlock, and a laugh from Rose.
"No thanks." Rose answered, while Sherlock just ignored him. "So how long have you two known each other then?" They way they act together, and know each other, she guessed a few years, but she liked to be certain of things.
"Well, you know that day you saw me in the park?" Said John, getting a nod in return. "We met that day." As she had just taken a mouthful of pasta, she didn't have room to gasp in shock, and so ended up choking.
"Really? But you both seem so friendly with each other. I would have thought you had been friends for years!"
"Oh god no!" said John, going to the fridge for milk. "No it was all, violin at 3am and not speaking for days at a - oh fu..!" As he had gone over to the fridge, he had been recounting what Sherlock had said when they first met, but he had opened the fridge door and gotten the shock of his life, resulting in the very loud yelp of almost swear words - he had caught himself, mid-expletive. Slamming the door shut again, he lent his head against the cool metal door, trying to slow his heart rate back to normal.
Wondering what was going on, Rose got up and quickly moved into the kitchen, both to put her pot in the bin and her fork in the sink, as well as to see what John was actually doing.
Seeing him by the fridge, she figured there must be something in there. She heard him muttering, but couldn't make out what he was actually saying. So, unaware of what lay on a plate in the middle of the fridge, she gently moved John out of the way and slowly opened the door, feeling safe in the knowledge that nothing could beat a pickled human heart. She soon found out she was wrong. Very wrong. John had gotten himself together, and poked his head around just to make sure he wasn't imaging things.
But no. And so they both stood there for a long moment, wondering why on earth there would be a human head in the fridge.
Slowly they blinked, and Rose reached a hand inside the fridge to take out the milk. Closing the door again, she handed John the milk, with an expression that clearly said, are you sure you still want to use that?
Then they turned to Sherlock who was still sat on the back on the chair, but now had an expression that was far too innocent. Rose remembered that Lestrade had treated him like a kid. She thought she may as well try something similar.
And so, taking the tone she usually reserved for the small children she used to baby sit when they had done something they shouldn't have, but didn't know they shouldn't have. "Sherlock, did you put a human head in the fridge?"
"Where else was I supposed to put it?" This threw them completely off, and John looked like he really didn't know what to do. "You don't mind, do you?"
And now John was completely lost; lost for words and at a loss of what to do. Rose however, was less squeamish, and replied with another question, knowing he wouldn't move it. "Why, Sherlock?"
"I got it at Bart's morgue." He started, throwing himself up off his chair and launching himself onto the sofa. "I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death."
Rose had no idea what he was on about. And so did what she usually did when she didn't understand and didn't care; nodded as though it all made perfect sense. Though, looking at John, she saw, that even with his medical training, he didn't really understand either.
Deciding that it was probably for the best, she said she would see them both tomorrow, and went to her room and listened to her music.
She thought again back to her brothers words, and whether she really should just move out and find somewhere else. Yet after everything, even the head and heart in the kitchen, she still felt as though living at 221B was right for her.
So she decided to stick it out, and see where life took her. After all, it can get much weirder than it already has been, can it?