On every paper read the same headline, more or less. Sherlock Holmes, innocent but too dead for it to matter. It made my eyes roll and my lips raise in a smirk. Idiots. Everyone was encaptured by this story, this fascinating story of the poor dead detective. The BBC had called me twice for an interview, UTV seven and Channel 4 endlessly. Everyone wanted to know how I felt. How I felt would be unsuitable for a family show.
John asked me to meet him for coffee here although I was unsure. Since the incident with Sherlock two years ago we had strayed away from each other, meeting rarely if even. It was hard lying to him constantly even if I tried to claim those type of things didn't bother me, but it did bother me and it frustrated me and it killed me. That's why, after eight months without having spoken to him, I was a little taken aback.
As usual, I was late, but that was mostly on purpose. I stood outside and brushed my hair out of my face, ruffling back the curls. I walked in and saw him, staring down at his drink with a vague look in his eyes. Coffee, I guessed, he never drinks it after two pm and it's half one now. He has tired eyes which suggest a lack of sleep, probably due to the upcoming anniversary. His shirt is without a crease, odd considering he couldn't iron to save his life. Bulge coming from his jacket pocket indicates a small jewellery box, nothing else matches the shape. His hair is nicely trimmed and he-Oh God!
I sat down across from him without greeting, looking at him with concern. How could this be allowed to happen? It's absolutely horrid!
"I don't like that moustache." I said immediately.
John looked up, a familiar look in his eyes that didn't stretch to his mouth. "Hello, Yvonne." He said, bringing his hands up onto the table and holding them together. He has news. "What was that? Two seconds? Must be a record."
"Your birthday is coming up John. A nice razor might be your shaving grace." I joked.
He managed to smile at that. "It seems a lot of people don't like it."
"Do you?" I asked. In another phrasing it might have sounded supportive, but my eyebrows were together and my eyes were wide. Shocked. "Well, I'm guessing you didn't bring me here to talk about your facial hair. Let's get to the point."
"Busy?" John guessed.
"Not until half three, then I have a UN conference." I explained. The waitress came over and I ordered an espresso.
"Isn't that in-"
"Private jets." I answered quickly. I smiled a little. It was nice talking to him again.
"I see." He said in a voice that stated otherwise. "Well I wanted to talk to you about something. Something er big."
"Oh! Can I guess?" I asked, smiling brightly.
John scowled, but I think something inside of him was saying yes. He wanted to see deduction. He wanted to see a mind working quickly and seeing little bits of information brought together to make something with sense.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Fine."
Okay, let's study the basics here:
-hair trimmed
-large alteration to the looks
-freshly ironed shirt
-bulge in jacket pocket
-slight weight gain
I looked over him. It was so obvious, how did he expect me not to get it? This was far too simple.
"You're getting engaged. Four days time I would assume." I said. I paused for a moment, my eyebrows coming together. "To a woman."
John looked confused and annoyed, sitting straight in his seat. "Yes a woman!" He said. "What did you think?"
"Well, what was I supposed to think? You and Sherlock lived together, both primarily single. Your chairs faced each other, John, I could only assume." I said. The waitress handed me my espresso and walked off again.
"We weren't-"
"Together. I know, I get it." I said, rolling my eyes. "But still. You wear sweater vests. You never hit on me." I almost felt disappointed that he was gay. "I mean, you seemed attracted, but I assumed you were maybe impressed by my outfits or just heated from Sherlock's presence-"
"But I kissed you." John said. He looked astounded. Assuming he was going around telling people the happy news today, I guessed this wasn't the first shocked response to him being straight.
"No. I kissed you. You were just a participant. But that hardly means anything. It was out of curiosity." I said, shrugging. I drank back my espresso while John looked shocked.
"B-Back to the point." He said, shaking his head out of disbelief. "I am getting engaged to this wonderful woman. She's called Mary, I'd love for her to meet you and I want you to come to the wedding."
If I was so dramatic, I would have choked on my drink. His wedding? The only weddings I've been to have been on missions. To get secrets from royalty using any means of persuasion or stop an assassination. But to just act like I'm at a regular wedding. Would I have to dance?
"Are you.. sure?" I asked. He might not have heard himself.
"Of course." John said. He smiled encouragingly. "I want you there, Yvonne. I want you to sit at the top table; telling me all the secrets about the guests or explaining why weddings are absolutely ridiculous."
I felt a bit.. amazed. I paused, not knowing what to say. I was touched. I mean after all that happened he was asking me to the wedding. I thanked him, explained to him how honored I felt, my sincerest thanks to both him and Mary, how I would definitely see him soon, and how I hoped it worked out well.
"Yvonne?" John asked. "Are you all right?"
Of course, I didn't say a word of this and instead sat there, staring at him with my eyebrows raised. He looked a bit scared.
"What happened? Did I.. break you?" John asked. He looked around carefully.
The shrill ring of my phone snapped me out of my haze. I jumped, taking my phone from my pocket. That was odd.
"Sorry. Yes, wedding. Definitely go." I agreed. I checked the Caller ID. John snorted a laugh.
Mickie
"Oh, I had better answer this." I said. I held it up to my ear and hoped it wouldn't be loud. "Yvonne Holmes."
"Sister mine, your services are needed." Mycroft's paced voice explained. "We need you to infiltrate a military base in the East. I'm bringing him back and I need your help."
"Bit rusty after a few years out of field work, are you?" I asked. Sherlock's coming home? I expected as much considering Jim's web of lies had finally been unhooked and Sherlock was a free man.
"Not at all. Just thought you might enjoy fetching our brother back." Mycroft defended.
I smiled despite myself. "When will you pick me up?"
"You're at that coffee house across from the science museum, yes?" Mycroft asked. I looked around and saw the CCTV camera, giving it a small wave.
"Hello, brother." I said.
"I'll have a helicopter pick you up on the roof. Oh, and tell John I don't like his moustache." Mycroft said. We both hung up.
"Mycroft doesn't like the moustache." I said to John, turning around. John was still staring at the security camera, eyes wide.
He rolled his eyes. "This is becoming a pattern."
"I better go. Have to get something back for the government, the British one this time." I said, standing up. I left my part of the bill on the table.
"Well, good luck." John said with a sigh.
Serbian was a relatively easy language to learn on the flight over. Mycroft was determined that he didn't need to read any book, he would pick it up with his wits. Idiot. Learning the language was the hard part, getting into the army system was easy. Mycroft dressed as a soldier and I dressed as a washer woman, covering my face as not to be caught out.
I walked down the dank tunnels where Mycroft told me they had caught him, holding a basket that seemed to hold potatoes; but underneath held tracking systems, walky talkies, spare clothes and water.
The dark walls dripped from leaking water and the pipes occasionally hissed. Apart from the few scattered torches, there was no light. There was numbered guards, apparently they had such a strong belief in their security that they could even listen to music while they worked. I got by on the sound of footsteps and Serbian yelling, remembering the instructions.
'You broke in here for a reason!' A man said angrily in his native tongue. I heard a thumph, followed by a groan.
"Gde je opsti, decko?" I asked a guard. He nodded me in the right direction and I thanked him, quickly following the noises.
From an opening in the wall that wasn't quite a door, light flooded out. Finally somewhere I can see my hands. I walked in and saw a scene before me. One guard sat back in a chair, shade cloaking him. Another stood, bald headed and hand raised. He had a scar across his head, dorned no uniform, was muscled and stood like a trained man. I would say navy man. By the looks of him I would say his wife is having an affair.
At the back wall of the room a man lay limp, either arm hanging from rope. He had long, unwashed, hair that need a comb through it. Even looking like this, I recognised my brother. He looked a right state. Mycroft could have gotten him down sooner, my God.
"Gospodine, vi ste potrebni svojim pretpostavljenima." I said loudly, as if it were an order. I addressed the only man in the room I wasn't related to. He looked over his shoulder and turned, looking confused. "Zvuci lose. Uzeti krompir."
He jumped where he stood and ran out of the room.
"Hajde, brze!" I yelled after him. His footsteps echoed down the hall until they didn't.
I stood still, watching the door for any sign of guards coming. Mycroft stood out of his seat and walked over to Sherlock, as if each step were a precise movement he had to make. He leaned down and whispered,
"There's an underground terrorist network active in London. A massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over," He stood up properly. "Brother dear. Back to Baker Street.. Sherlock Holmes."
I turned and smiled, pulling the cloak from over my head and taking my hair down from it's bun. "Think it's time to untie Shirlee now, Mickie." I said.
Both brothers looked at me with a scowl. This was much better.
Naturally it only took a few minutes before they were bickering. Even down the hall of Mycroft's building, I could hear them. Idiots. I held Sherlock's few necessary possessions; passport, bank card, blue scarf. He would need now that he was coming back from the dead. I opened Mycroft's office, and for once he didn't tell me off, to busy arguing.
"You were enjoying it." Sherlock said.
"Nonsense!" Mycroft defended. I rolled my eyes.
"Definitely enjoying it." Sherlock decided.
"Look, do you have any idea what it was like Sherlock, going undercover?" Mycroft asked, sitting out of his chair. "Smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise, the people!"
"God forbid poor Mycroft touches a commoner!" I added mockingly. He shot me a look. "That's a Tuesday for me, brother." Mycroft rolled his eyes and sat back.
"Do I not get a thank you either?" I asked, putting down his stuff.
"Both of you seem so intent that I would have been stuck without you." Sherlock said. He lay back. Finally all that dirty hair was being shaved off of him. I preferred it when he didn't look like a member of his homeless network.
"It hardly matters about that, the point is we did try." I said. "I was having a nice drink and a chat before Mycroft asked me to help him get you."
"I didn't need help, I allowed you to come along for your sake." Mycroft said quickly.
"And when have you ever had a nice drink and a chat with someone that didn't end in civil war?" Sherlock added.
"That was one time." I defended. They both gave me a look. "Fine, twice." They didn't seem content with that.
"I didn't know either of you spoke Serbian." Sherlock said.
"I didn't. But the language has a Slavic root." Mycroft said. "Frequent German and Turkish words. Took me a couple of hours."
"It took you a day." I corrected. Sherlock smirked.
"Hmm. You're slipping." Sherlock noted.
"Middle-age, brother mine. Comes to us all." Mycroft said.
I smiled. Fair enough excuse if ever I had heard one.
"I need you to give this matter your full attention. Is that quite clear?" Mycroft asked.
Sherlock was finally getting back into a nice suit. He was freshly shaven and his curls had their spring back. It was starting to feel like he never faked his death. His eyes were still the same colour, like our mother's. He still had his complimented bone structure. It was nice.
"What do you think of this shirt?" Sherlock asked.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft said sternly.
"I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft. I don't see how Yvonne couldn't just do it and you could leave me be." Sherlock said, buttoning up his shirt.
"She did her part getting the information for us." Mycroft said.
"After one of your men tried, failed and died trying to get it." I added.
"Fine. I need you to put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart." Sherlock said, pulling on his blazer.
"There's going to be a terrorist strike on London." I said, standing up properly. "A big one. You can either hurry it up or breathe in it's ashes."
"And what about John Watson?" Sherlock asked.
"John?" Mycroft asked.
"Mm. Haven't either of you two seen him?" Sherlock asked. I wondered how long it would take him to ask that.
"Oh yes. We meet up every Friday for fish and chips." Mycroft said sarcastically. "Yvonne." My cue to speak.
"I've been keeping in touch. Had a nice drink and a chat." I said, repeating my own words. Sherlock didn't fail to notice that. "He doesn't know you're alive and I would advise you bring the news to him gently. He didn't take it well."
Mycroft handed me John's file and I handed it to Sherlock. He opened it and shifted his eyes across the paper.
"Hmm, no." Sherlock said, looking down at John's picture. "Well, we'll have to get rid of that." How were they not a couple?
"My thoughts exactly." I agreed. "But 'we'?"
"He looks ancient. I can't be seen wandering around with an old man." Sherlock said. He dropped the file on Mycroft's desk. Sherlock sighed and stood up straight. "I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted."
I raised my eyebrows. I have never been good at feeling emotions, but understanding them is easy. Sherlock's in denial.
"You think so?" I asked.
"Mm, pop into Baker Street, who knows, jump out of a cake." Sherlock suggested with a smile. The way he moved suggested he would happily jump out of a cake. Oh brother dear, have you no sense?
"John doesn't live in Baker Street anymore, Sherlock." I said. "Why would he be? It's been two years." Sherlock turned to me, looking confused. "He's got on with his life."
"What life? I've been away." Sherlock said. Apparently he was under the impression they were a couple just as much as I had been. He looked at me with a certain sincerity before turning to Mycroft. "Where's he going to be tonight?"
"How would I know?" Mycroft asked.
"You always know." Sherlock said.
"He has a dinner reservation on the Marylebone Road." Mycroft explained. "Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion. Though I prefer the 2001." Both brothers stood, side by side. It was amazing the slight differences between them.
"I think I'll drop by." Sherlock said.
"You won't be welcome." I said, standing in front of them. "Trust me."
"I don't." Sherlock said. He sounded light hearted, but in truth he had never trusted me. You marry an evil mastermind once and you bare the weight forever, apparently. Maybe he would take my word if I had never crossed him. "Now, where is it?"
"Where's what?" Mycroft asked.
"You know what." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
Mycroft's assistant came in, carrying his coat. Sherlock slipped it on and smiled. His coat.
"Thank you." He said. He turned to Mycroft. "Blud."
Sherlock left, smirking. I looked at my eldest brother.
"Almost makes me wish we had left him in Serbia." Mycroft said.
"The day's not over yet."
Loud knocking or angry locking? What's the difference? I groaned, draping my blanket around me and standing. After four days in Serbia I needed a long sleep and it was so horridly interrupted by this loud or angry knocking. I took out the footstool and stood on it, looking out the fisheye. The distorted, moustacheless, face of John Watson was what greeted me.
"Yvonne?" He asked, knocking again.
I kicked my stool to the side and released a hand, opening the door. I smiled, that's what you have to do.
"Much better." I commented, nodding to the bare lip. "Sherlock will definitely appreciate it."
"You knew." John said.
"About?" I asked. I knew what he was talking about, but you can never be certain.
"Your brother. You knew, you knew he was alive!" John said angrily.
"Can I explain this to you inside? Bit of a draft." I said.
He sighed and walked in, storming past me and into the kitchen. He knew this place too well for my liking, knowing me too well was dangerous. I closed te door and followed him. He stood at the counter and then looked confused. He pulled out my dual pointed blade from underneath it and his eyes widened.
"Hey! Put that back." I ordered. He did as told cautiously.
"Why is their a knife under your counter?" John asked. "Actually never mind. Why didn't you tell me about.. Sherlock?" He still had trouble saying his name.
"Do you not understand the concepts of secrets?" I asked.
"That's not the right answer!" John said angrily, slamming his hand on the table. I didn't jump. "I-I'm sorry. I'm just-"
"Mad, clearly!" I said, rolling my eyes. "I'd advise you not to make to many loud noises. At gunshot level I have triggers."
John looked around, joining his eyebrows.
"I'm sorry." I said after a moment. "I mean.. I'm not terribly sorry, but in any sense I do feel slight regret for seeing you go through this when you didn't have to. I knew because Sherlock needed me-Not to say he didn't need you- but he needed me to unravel Jim's web that held him false."
"Jim?" John asked. After a moment he recognised the name. "Moriarty."
"Both are right." I said. "Tea?"
"No, no. I had better be getting to work actually." John said, rubbing his head. "Sorry, I just needed to know."
"Don't we all. How's the engagement?" I asked. "Sherlock interrupted it, I gather."
John smiled a little. "You could say that."
(More soon if people like this!)