Sherlock called and told me he thought he had a case I might be interested in. I agreed to meet him and that is how I found myself at the scene of a brutal murder at about 2 AM in the middle of February. I had stopped at an open diner and got a hot coffee, which I was sipping as I walked towards the caution tape. I spotted Sherlock and John, so I increased my pace in order to reach the only two people I was familiar with. I was ten yards from them when a female officer barred my path.
"What do you think you're doing?" She screeched at me. "This is a crime scene! No civilians allowed to get through!" I tried to dodge her, but she quickly stepped in my way again. "If you continue to persist, I will have no choice but to place you under arrest!" My cheeks were burning with embarrassment as well as restrained anger.
"Donovan, she's with me." Sherlock said from directly beside the evil cop. In his voice I could detect an undertone of coldness, which made this Donovan cop flinch.
"Who would be with you?" She sneered nastily at him. "You are such a freak!" I saw red at her belittling of Sherlock.
"Hey! He's not a freak." I growled at her through my teeth as I walked underneath the tape. "So if I were you I'd shut up and keep your thoughts to yourself, before I make you. And I can bet you that there will be irreparable damage done to your face." With that I went around her, and stopped directly beside Sherlock and John.
"You alright?" John asked me, having noted my embarrassment, as we started to move towards the little home in which the murder had been committed. I laughed a little and nodded my head.
"So why have you called me here?" I asked as we passed other police officials. I noticed a man being taken to a car in cuffs.
"I didn't do it!" The man was screaming. "I would never have killed her!" My skin crawled as I looked at the business man. Honestly I couldn't picture him committing an act of murder. Maybe embezzling but not murder.
"Brutal murder." Sherlock informed me. "Lestrade only called me to see if I could figure out what his motive was."
"A motive?" I asked him, my brow furrowing in confusion. Sherlock wasn't here to catch the killer, which was obvious as they already had the man arrested. So why had Lestrade called him?
"Yeah. The husband is - "
"I don't want my crime scene contaminated!" The nasally voice of Andersen, head of the NSY forensics division interrupted Sherlock's sentence. We merely ignored him, as usual, but at the last minute I gave him a one finger salute.
Stepping inside the house, I could see the brutality of the murder, it was quite literally painted on the walls. Blood covered the majority of the house, dripping off picture frames, light switches, etc. Luckily I had a pretty thick constitution, and had exhumed bodies before, or else I probably would have vomited. John inhaled sharply, and looked sick, while Sherlock looked around like he amazed by the sheer quantity of the blood.
"Ahh… Miss Winchester." Lestrade came into the room. The last time we had met had been over eight months ago, when I had impersonated a federal agent. The perks of having a powerful boyfriend, included the smoothing over of my discretions. Lestrade had been informed that the entire matter had been taken care of, so I didn't have to worry about any police matters, or such punishments.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade." I greeted him with a slight smile.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, still a little suspicious of me. Which I couldn't blame him for. I didn't exactly give him a great first impression.
"I invited her Lestrade," Sherlock interrupted with a bored tone. He strode forward looking at the blood painted walls of the house.
"What happened?" I asked the Inspector as I looked down the hall, noting the hand prints, startling red against the white paint of the hallway.
"The wife was murdered. Tortured by the looks of it." I glanced over at him. He had a sickened look on his face. "Her husband bound her to a chair and using various instruments began to slowly kill her."
"What's wrong?" I asked him, beginning to move down the hallway, following the handprint trail.
"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked, sounding confused at my question. Yeah, I get it, a stupid question while standing in the middle of a murder scene.
"I mean, if the husband did it – it would be considered solved. Shut and close."
"You wouldn't have found the need to call me." Sherlock finished for me. I shot him a glare, before disappearing into the bedroom the wife had been murdered in. There was the chair, in the middle of the floor, with the woman still tied to it. To the side, there was a moved nightstand with several pairs of scissors and knives which had clearly been used tonight.
"Apparently the husband was coming home. From Bath at 10:30 P.M. when we have estimated the time of death." Lestrade said from the doorway allowing Sherlock and John to pass through the doorway and enter the room.
"And?" I asked, looking directly at Lestrade.
"The security tapes show him entering the home at 10:07 P.M."
"Yet the husband says he came home at what time?" I asked Lestrade, while Sherlock looked at us both interested.
"12:58 A.M." Lestrade said after looking down at his notepad. I nodded already thinking through the possibilities which could have done this. Demon, ghost, wraith, ghoul, pretty much anything.
"Interesting." Sherlock muttered, still examining the body of the woman.
"Can I get the security tapes?" I asked, standing up, moving out of the way of Sherlock and John. Lestrade looked torn.
"I can't just give a civilian - " I rolled my eyes and pulled out my phone. Mycroft had still been awake when I left the house, so I didn't feel too guilty about calling him at this hour. Dialing him, I spoke with him briefly and then passed the phone to Lestrade. In twenty minutes, I had a copy of the security footage.
"Satisfied?" Sherlock asked me, once we were all in the back of the cab. I nodded, leaning back in my seat.
"Yeah. I've totally got to get your brother to make me a badge. One that gets me anywhere." I grinned at Sherlock. "One that opens any door I want it to."
"Just pickpocket him. That's what I do." Sherlock said, totally serious. I burst out laughing at this statement.
"You're flat or back to my house?" I asked, stifling a yawn. It was bloody late at night or early in the morning, whichever you want to use.
"Yours." Sherlock said and then was quiet the trip. We finally pulled up in front of the imposing house. Mycroft was still working, I noted as John paid the cabbie. His study light was still on.
"He's always been like that." Sherlock said to me, before we made our way to the front door. I let us in with the key and we stopped in the hall. I took their coats and hung them with my own on the old-fashioned coat rack before leading them into the living room.
"Wow." John whistled, looking all around him at the beautifully decorated room. "Nice place."
"Thanks John." I gave him a smile as I put the DVD into the machine.
"You changed some of the decorations." Sherlock hummed, noting all the changes I had made, sitting on the beautiful black leather sofa.
"Yeah." I smiled, grabbing the remote before perching on the arm of the couch and flicking the tape on. I fast-forwarded the first six hours of surveillance, stopping when we reached 10:05 pm. Looking at the footage, I stopped it when I noticed something very unusual.
"What is it Lia?" John asked, as I rewound the surveillance footage.
"Look." The husband was seen walking towards the house when he turned and noticed the camera. That wasn't what I was pointing out – it was the silver the eyes shone for several seconds. John whistled in amazement.
"What is that?" Mycroft's voice startled me. I jumped and nearly fell off the arm of the couch in my haste to look at Mycroft.
"Uh, a shape-shifter." I said, turning to glare at the snickering Sherlock Holmes. He was only snickering at my apparent jumpiness.
"A shape-shifter?" John sounded skeptical.
"Yeah, a shape-shifter. There's tons of lore on shifters, werewolves are the most popular but there are also skinwalkers." I told him. Mycroft walked away, at my explanation. I just shrugged at this action, as he usually tried to care what I was working on.
"Right so this thing just impersonates husbands to kill their wives?" John raised an eyebrow at how ludicrous this sounded.
"Perfect way to commit a crime. Pin it on a person everyone would suspect." The husband's targeting their wives is really ingenious," I admitted.
"Huh." Sherlock said. "Why'd his eyes glow silver?"
"People believe that the eyes are the window to your soul. That's probably why. Showing off the inhumane side of the person." At that point I yawned. I mean it was like three in the morning.
"Well, we'll be off then." John said, getting up. Sherlock opened his mouth, but John stopped him quickly. John forcibly pulled a pouting Sherlock to the front door, where after retrieving their coats, they left. I locked the door behind them, before checking that the salt line wasn't broken. Then I shut off everything on the lower level.
I stopped at Mycroft's study, where he had sequestered himself again, after wandering out of the living room, once he had heard what the creature was. I knocked on the impressive oak door and waited for Mycroft's disembodied voice to give me the ok. Finally he did and I walked into his clean and spacious office area.
His study was painted a beige color with all wood furnishings. His huge desk was positioned in much the same way as the United State's President's desk, in front of the huge plate glass window. There was a large stone fireplace in the corner. Ceiling to floor bookcases on the wall opposite the fireplace with two huge leather chairs in front of his desk.
"Helia." Mycroft said looking up from a document he was in the process of writing.
"Mycroft." I greeted, walking across the hardwood floor to perch on the edge of the large leather chair. He looked at me for a moment before giving me a smile.
"What can I help you with?" Mycroft finally asked, setting down his real silver fountain pen, capping it so it didn't leak onto his document.
"Nothing." I replied, stifling a yawn. "I didn't come for you to give me help. I just came to talk to you.
The yawn I had been stifling during our conversation came out.
"Oh?" Mycroft asked amused, leaning back in his chair. "You don't need a badge? One that will unlock any door?" I frowned at him, not amused. Sherlock must have told him.
"Well, yeah, but that wasn't why I came in here!" My frustration was starting to show. Mycroft smiled at me gently, before he got up from his chair.
"No. I wouldn't insult you by saying that, my dear." Mycroft came to a stop beside my chair, and looked down at me. "You're tired."
"Yeah," I agreed, allowing my tiredness to show.
"Go to bed, darling." Mycroft urged me gently.
"Are you coming?" I asked him. He shook his head in denial. "Why not?" I demanded, not liking how he wasn't going to get any rest before tomorrow.
"There's been a situation in Hong Kong." Mycroft said, before turning to look into the fireplace, like it was an interesting piece of art.
"Oh." I blinked. "I understand. They need you to put out a fire." I got up from my chair. "Save the world Mycroft." I had my hand on the doorknob when Mycroft's voice stopped me, dead in my tracks.
"Wait, Helia." I froze, but refused to turn around. "I'll be done in about ten minutes." I turned to face him. I had understood about him needing to put out a fire, but sometimes I needed Mycroft as much as the government did.
"Promise?" I asked him, not daring to hold out hope for such a small favor. He nodded and crossed the room to gently kiss me.
"See you in ten, Helia." Mycroft gave me a smile before disappearing behind his desk once again. With a smile gracing my own lips, I went to his, no our bedroom now. Going into my closet I chose the teal blue silk short pajamas Mycroft had gifted me for Christmas. Then I did my nightly routine, for the second time, and washed my face, brushed my teeth and then my hair.
Leaving on Mycroft's bedside lamp I slipped underneath the black and blue comforter and the fur sheets. Once Mycroft had found out how cold I could get, he ensured that Eva, the housekeeper, buy only fur sheets for winter. He also made sure another blanket was always folded at the foot of the bed. Looking at the clock on Mycroft's nightstand – 4:34 A.M. – I groaned and pulled Mycroft's pillow towards me before falling into a light doze.
"Good night love," Mycroft's voice invaded my drowsiness and I felt a pair of warm lips on my forehead.
"My?" I stirred a little and he shushed me before pulling me towards him. I hmmed and rested my head on his arm before falling back asleep.
"DEAN!" I screamed, sitting bolt upright. Mycroft turned to face me from the desk he had in our bedroom.
"Helia?" He put down the file he was reading. I looked up at him with fear evident in my eyes. I felt the burn of tears as the memories of Dean, Lilith, and the hellhounds burned into my mind. "Oh Helia!"
With a sob, I got out of bed and snuggled into Mycroft's lap and his able embrace. He rocked me back and forth on his lap, while my tears stained his dress shirt. After a while, my sobs dissolved, but Mycroft still held me, running his hands over my air, as he knew that I needed the small amount of comfort that he could offer right now.
"I'm sorry." I mumbled into his chest, feeling much like a child due to my outburst. But this case was bringing back memories.
"Sh, it's alright Lia." Mycroft gently soothed me, still stroking my luxurious mane of brown hair.
"It's stupid though." I lifted my head up enough, so that I could look at him. His hands stilled in my hair as I looked into his grey eyes. He was waiting for me to voice my reasoning. "Dean's alive. I know that, yet I'm still haunted by the memories of Dean being torn apart!"
"Helia, it isn't stupid." Mycroft said. "Even though Sherlock isn't particularly fond of me, if something would befall him, it would break my heart." Mycroft looked so vulnerable in that moment, admitting that, that my own heart bled for him.
"My," I said softly, raising a hand to his cheek. At that moment Mycroft pulled into a kiss. This one we both tried to battle for dominance. In the end, with a sharp nip to my bottom lip, Mycroft won the battle. I didn't mind though and accepted this defeat, letting him rush my senses, effectively overwhelming me.
"You do things to me, things that I never thought would happen to me," Mycroft said, leading his forehead on mine after our kiss. When he exhaled, I inhaled, which made our closeness seem a little more intimate.
"Well I do seem to have that effect on people," I teased him, feeling breathless. He chuckled before sitting upright.
"Sherlock called me a few hours ago. Wanted me to wake you up so that he could take you to the crime scene again."
"Why?" I asked, my back resting on the unyielding arm of his chair.
"He simply told me to tell you that he said 'think!'." Mycroft raised an eyebrow at me. I laughed at that oh-so-typical Sherlockian statement, before I began to contemplate what he said and what he could mean. Then it clicked.
"OH!" I cried out, getting off Mycroft's lap. "I have to go look at the surveillance tapes again!" With a quick kiss, I bounced out of the room, and ran to the living room where I watched the footage again. Suddenly it all made sense, and I was texting Sherlock before I could even say surveillance.
"Sherlock Holmes."
"Hey, I figured out what you meant." I told him as I walked through the house.
"Oh. That was faster than I anticipated." Sherlock admitted. I felt a little insulted, but shrugged it off as a typical Sherlock thing to say.
"Yeah. I just watched the footage, like fifteen minutes ago, for the second time. So I just need to get a shower, get dressed and eat." I told him, walking up the huge staircase.
"So I'll meet you there in about an hour and a half?" Sherlock asked. I nodded in agreement before realizing he couldn't see me and that I had to verbalize my thoughts.
"Yeah. Meet you at the scene." With that I hung up before trotting into our bedroom. Mycroft paid me no mind as he continued his conversation in some Asian language. I got into my closet and pulled out a pair of black slacks, a form fitting red top, and a black blazer.
After showering, I dressed, added some light make-up before walking out of the bathroom. I picked a pair of black and red heels, slipping them on before turning to look at the silent Mycroft. He looked highly interested, as his eyes raked over my form appreciatively. I could feel the heat from his stare sinking into my bones.
"You look amazing." Mycroft said, before getting to his feet, and grabbing my hips in his hands.
"Thanks." I grinned at him cheekily. He just gave me his look. "A little different from what I'm used to, but this business look, I think it's working well for me."
"What time do you have to meet Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, giving a soft groan at my words. I smiled wickedly.
"One-thirty. Which is in like forty-five minutes." I replied. "So I have to grab a quick bite to eat, then quickly catch a cab and pray for no traffic."
"Well you have fun." He gave me a quick kiss before releasing me. "I'm going to the office, so I'll be home late, once I finish the meeting I have with the leader of the UN. Be safe, ad please do try to be careful."
I nodded before running off in order to raid the kitchen for a quick meal. It ended up being an apple, a couple packages of single serve trail mix, and a bottle of grape juice. I ate on my way to the crime scene, before stuffing the snacks into my purse.
When the taxi reached the scene, I looked out of the window to see Sherlock pacing in his large, black overcoat. Shaking my head I got out of the taxi and gave the man a twenty note. Then I turned and walked to Sherlock. He gave me a look, before turning on his heel to join John.
"Right on time." Sherlock announced before striding towards the back of the building. John rolled his eyes at me, before following Sherlock.
"Sherlock found the trail," John said, once I had caught up to his pace. Looking around I saw the bloody handprint on the bricks.
"Where does it go?" Sherlock demanded, looking around frustrated as we came to a standstill. "It can't just disappear!"
"I dunno Sherlock." I sighed, a little frustrated myself. He looked agitated as John suggested that we go to Baker Street to think things through. In the end though we all went to Baker Street and pooled out notes, to come up with nothing.
Two days later, I was roused from sleep by my cell phone. Mycroft groaned in annoyance as I flipped the lamp on. He had just gotten to sleep an hour ago after taking a call from the French Prime Minister. I just sighed as I answered Sherlock's phone call. He had quickly learned that he needed to call me at night instead of texting me, as I was less apt to answer a message. I ended the quick call and rolled out of bed, fumbling to find a pair of clothes in the still dark room.
"Where are you going?" Mycroft grumbled, from his side of the bed.
"There's been another murder. Identical to the other one. I'm needed." I shimmied into my jeans, pulling a soft black undershirt of Mycroft's on.
"Be safe my dear," Mycroft finally said, sitting upright.
"I will. And you, go back to sleep." I scolded as Mycroft hadn't been sleeping a lot. He acquiesced, with a nod, before turning over in bed. I quietly slipped out of our house, making the trek to another house, in Belgravia.
London was strangely dead sounding this early in the morning. Not a lot of traffic. I found myself just breathing in the cool February air as I walked the distance to Belgravia. Maybe I could find a cab somewhere, but I knew that none would be on our street just yet. Mycroft would have had the chauffeur out, but he had come home with Mycroft a few hours earlier. I just didn't want to disturb the poor man.
Sixteen hours later, John brought me another coffee. It was the only thing keeping me awake. Sherlock was pacing after discarding the case files on the desk.
"I can't figure it out!" Sherlock bit out, a little agitated. I rolled my eyes as I retrieved the cell phone Sherlock had given me, out of my pocket. Mycroft had texted me five times in eight hours. A record for He-Who-Does-Not-Like-To-Text.
~How's things going? – MH
~Don't let Sherlock annoy you. – MH
~Please be careful. You always seem to end up injured. – MH
~Is everything all right? I haven't heard from you in a few hours. – MH
~Call me. I knew the man who murdered his wife. – MH
My eyebrows furrowed as I read and reread his last text several times. My hand shot forward and snatched the files on the desk. The first suspect, Mr. Burblell. Occupied a small position in the government as an assistant to a high ranking official. Name undisclosed. The most recent suspect, Mr. Scheller, occupied a position in government, rank considered classified.
All of a sudden everything click as I threw the files down, capturing the interest of John and Sherlock. I pulled my jacket on and fetched one of the bags of weapons I had. One was here in Sherlock's flat, another was in the house, another was hidden in the Diogene's Club, and the final bag was located in Mycroft's office. They got up, but I shook my head.
"No. Stay here." I told them, leaving. "Look for me if I'm not back in two hours." With that I left the flat, and went back to the first scene of the crime. Walking around to the back of the building, I found what I was looking for. Catching another cab to Belgravia, I walked to the back of the sandstone building and found the thing that connected both of these cases.
Picking up the sewer grate, which took a lot of my strength, I dropped down into the sewer system. Clicking on my flashlight, I started moving down the tunnel. I found a pile of goo, which was the creatures shed skin. I dry-heaved, but reminded myself that I had to do this job. I mean really who else was going to? Plus, Mycroft's life may be on the line.
I passed another pile, and then another. Sending off a quick text, I looked behind me to find a man. I was convinced that I was closer to the thing's nest, and seeing it made me recoil. I couldn't quite get my gun aimed in time, shooting only to lose the creature. I flashed the light all around me, only to have a pipe hit me in the head from behind. I hit the slimy and filthy floor like a load of bricks.
"Ah, good you're awake." My vision was blurry as I finally woke. I blinked rapidly to clear it, and finally I was able to focus on what was in front of me. A mirror image of myself. "Poor Helia Winchester. Mummy died when all three of us were little. Daddy was always hardest on us. He didn't tolerate anything less than perfection from you. Some nights he would strike you in anger, but you never complained. You never hated him for it. Never ratted him out to Uncle Bobby or Dean did you? Never wanted to make him less than proud of you."
"What the-" My mind was blown. This thing downloaded all of my memories like Sam said that it had done in St. Louis. I had spent much of the time tied in the sewer with that thing, unconscious so I only had what Sam said to go on.
"No you are friends with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. To top it off, you are being care of by the British Government. Dean came back from the dead and Sam is to become Lucifer."
"How do you know that?" I asked, stunned by it's intimate knowledge of my life.
"Because I am you." The other me grinned. "Now you are going to sit there, until I finish my plans."
"What plans?" I asked, trying desperately to loosen the knots on my wrists.
"My plans to take over the government. Your boyfriend, Mycroft Holmes, is the piece of the puzzle. So influential. And you will stay by my side," It/me said. I glared at the creature.
"And I will-"
"Will what?" It/me sneered. "Tell people I'm not Mycroft? Who would believe you? They would cart you off to a mental institution. That being said, be a good girl and stay here until I have a need for you."
With that statement it/me left the concrete prison in which I was tied. I struggled violently, feeling the skin begin to tear from my efforts. The knots weren't loosening at all, but I refused to cry.
"Helia?" A voice called out. A familiar voice. My head perked up. Dr. John Watson to the rescue. With Sherlock Holmes probably.
"John?" I called out, allowing my body to sag appreciatively against the pole I was tied against.
"Hey." John suddenly appeared in my vantage point. He knelt down in front of me, running his eyes over my frame, checking for injuries. "You alright?"
"Yeah. Just get me out of here." I pleaded. All of a sudden I felt my ropes being cut. Sherlock ran a hand over my exposed wrists before inhaling.
"John you need to check her hands." Sherlock said from behind me. John frowned and went to grab for my hands, but I pulled back from him.
"No!" I cried out, pushing myself to my feet.
"Helia!" John admonished, reaching out to grab ahold of me.
"No John!" I protested, dancing out of his grasp. "He's going after Mycroft next!"
"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked, a note of concern filtering into his voice. I nodded as he moved towards the exit.
"He told me so." I cried out. "John if you really must examine me, please do it in the taxi."
That's exactly what John did once we got to the cab. He pulled my wrists in front of his face and snapped on one of the back lights. He began to look over the raw, bloody strips of missing skin that were on my wrists. Luckily John kept a roll of gauze in his inner pocket, and I always had a couple medical bandages in my bag as well.
By the time we had reached the government building in which Mycroft had an office, my wrists were beautifully wrapped. Sherlock paid the cabbie. I didn't stop for a moment, concerned about Mycroft. I hefted my heavy bag over my shoulder, before quietly opening the door to the government building.
It was open, which wasn't exactly surprising. These government officials came into their offices at all hours. They kept odd hours as well. Mycroft, for example, was usually gone before I awoke at 6:30 A.M. and never in bed before 1 A.M.
"Where's his office?" John asked me, quietly.
"Follow me." I whispered, before leading the way to his office. We all had to zigzag through the halls which seemed to be mazelike. Finally I reached the door of Mycroft's office and put my hands out, in an effort to stop the two determined men.
"Helia!" John hissed, quietly. I just put a finger to my mouth in a plea for silence. Sherlock nudged John's arm, before pointing out the cracked door.
Silently I reached into my bag, pulling out a Browning, a Colt, and a Glock, all three loaded with silver bullets, as well as three silver knives. I gave the Browning to John and a knife, then handed Sherlock the Glock and a knife, and kept the Colt and a knife. Dean and I had always felt more comfortable with Colts, but Sammy had a chromed Beretta.
Motioning to the two men, I tiptoed to the door, indicating for the other two to be silent. I even slowed and quieted my breathing as I leaned against the door jamb. The gun was held in front of me as I patiently waited.
"You won't be able to get away with this." Mycroft's voice wafted out into the hallway, telling me/it.
"Oh, but I will." Me/it said. I peered into the room, through the crack in the door. It/me was facing Mycroft on the chair. "You see, I want to change things for my people. And you are my way to do that."
With a snarl I threw open the door and rushed into the room. Surprising John and Sherlock stayed behind heeding my silent instructions. I, however, was fueled by my emotions and didn't think as I held the gun on the creature.
"Oh, look," It/me greeted me, rising from the chair gracefully. "Helia."
"Leave him alone." I said, keeping the gun trained on the shape-shifter.
"Oh, I can't do that." It/me practically purred. "You see, Mycroft here, is the key to my plans."
"Helia," Mycroft said softly, from his place behind his desk. I ignored his plea and kept my full attention on the creature I was hunting.
"So you want to use Mycroft's position in order to help you." I stated blandly, not at all surprised by his plans.
"Of course. With Mycroft's power I can do anything I want." The shifter smirked. "I can finally change the laws and let my fellow shifters become a part of society for a change."
"That's not going to happen." I snapped, shifting my weight subtly onto my right leg.
"Oh, I think it will. You see, if I become Mycroft I can have you discredited and removed if you try to say anything." It/me said, before it shed its skin, leaving an oozing pile of goo on the floor. "Kill me now."
The shifter changed its skin to mimic that of Mycroft. I had to swallow as I realized what I being forced to do. My hands started to sweat and tremble from this unexpected event.
I remembered how I had frozen when Sam and I came across both Dean's in St. Louis. I couldn't pull the trigger then, and to be honest, I wasn't entirely sure if I could pull the trigger now.
"Ah John, Sherlock, so nice of you both to join us." I turned to look at the two men in surprise. That hadn't been a part of the plan.
John fired a shot at the creature, which ducked, and it went crazy. The creature hit Sherlock, throwing him into the opposite wall, where he lay unmoving. Then it turned to John and threw him into the desk, where his head collided with the edge of the desk. He went still.
Mycroft had started to struggle against his bonds as the creature tossed Sherlock and then John around his office. The creature turned to me. I felt paralyzed with fear as it moved towards me. It/Mycroft grabbed a hold of my hair and chucked me into the wall where a lone bookcase stood. I slammed into it headfirst, feeling the disassociation of a head injury, but still managing to keep a grip on my gun.
"Now my little Helia, I don't want to have to torture you." It/Mycroft gently ran his hand over my cheek down to my neck.
"Leave her alone!" Mycroft roared from his seat, shifting the creature's attention from me to him.
"I don't think so." It/Mycroft practically purred. "You see once you are gone, it will only be us two. And I can do whatever I want to Helia."
"You are wrong." I said feeling dizzy but pointing the gun at It/Mycroft.
"Are you going to shoot me Helia? Remember how you froze when you had to shoot one of my brother's who looked like Dean?"
"Yeah, but not this time." Without thinking of it, I pulled the trigger. It/Mycroft fell to the floor, not going to impersonate anyone else after this.
"Helia." Mycroft breathed out in relief. I stumbled to the desk and used the silver knife to cut his bonds. "Are you alright?" Mycroft caught my chin in his hand, running a finger over the tender area on the left side of my head. I winced. "Sorry, love." Mycroft brushed his lips over that piece of my skull.
"Shh-urlock." I mumbled beginning to slur my words. "John."
"Shh." Mycroft shushed me, gently pushing me into his plush leather chair. "I'll go check on John and Sherlock." I hummed in response and sank back in his chair. Mycroft gently uncurled my fingers from the gun, locking it into a desk drawer before going over to the rousing men on the floor of his office.
An ambulance was called and the three of us were rushed to hospital. Sherlock and John were discharged after getting examinations, but I was kept overnight for observation with my concussion. My wrists were properly cleaned and bandaged and the doctor determined the wound on my head didn't need staples or stitches.
The next morning, Mycroft and I were waiting for the discharge papers. Mycroft had continuously asked me how I felt for almost an hour until I couldn't take it anymore. I snapped at him. For the past forty odd minutes he had been quiet, though he kept throwing me concerned looks. In order to fight the awkwardness, I flipped on the television, flipping past stations. The majority of it was junk, all stupid shows, but I finally settled on a news channel. I figured both Mycroft and I would like that, Mr. British Government and all, but he would probably tell me he already knew what was on the news.
"Katie Wayne reporting for the BBC news. We have just gotten an update on the story we have been following all night. It appears there is still no trace of the mysterious man who assaulted a high-ranking government official last night in his office. The police are baffled by this case, although there were three other witnesses. Apparently the man's brother, a friend, and his fiancée were all involved." With a click I shut off the television, trying to digest what I had just heard.
"If that was a Mycroft Holmes way of a proposal, you'll have to try again." I told Mycroft, not looking at him. Mycroft didn't have a chance to answer before the doctor came in and gave me my instructions for discharge.