The Irish Connection – London Calling

Aoife Quinn smiled happily to herself as she approached the beautiful three story house in Mayfair where she lived with Mycroft Holmes, the love of her life, the man she'd first met only a few short months ago, when in her role as consultant for the Irish Department of Justice and Law Reform, she'd formally approached Whitehall for assistance to find Jim Moriarty, the psychopath who'd murdered her twin brother so long ago.

Their meeting that day and the sequence of events that had brought them together in her manor house in Wicklow, Ireland, had made her life change course dramatically. His brother, the famous detective, Sherlock Holmes, had taken her word that 'Jim Moriarty' was not dead, and more importantly, had taken her case. Together, the two Holmes brothers had helped resolve her fifteen- year quest to prove her brother's murder.

The whirlwind romance that had followed between herself and Mycroft and the mammoth changes in her life since then, had made her the happiest she could ever remember being. Besides her parents and a few close friends, particularly Michael Reilly, an Irish DI who was like a brother to her, she had felt quite alone for most of her life, so to have found such happiness so rapidly with this extraordinarily gifted Englishman was as unexpected as it was welcome.

Mycroft Holmes had supported her, challenged her and stimulated her from their first meeting, so it was an easy decision to relocate to London. Her company and family owned businesses and properties in London anyway, pride of place being the five star Connacht Hotel in Covent Garden, so it was a convenient opportunity to keep a closer eye on her British portfolio too. She had a trusted team and Board of Management operating back in Dublin so for the first time in her life she felt free to explore this new and wonderful relationship.

She had decided to walk back from her earlier appointment, hugging herself with pure joy as she imagined what Mycroft's response would be to what had just been confirmed by the very private and discreet gynaecologist, the office of whom she'd floated out of twenty minutes earlier. She had managed to elude her security detail after leaving the house that morning, making her way to Harley Street unaccompanied, simply because they had not expected her to evade them; but she had wanted to find out for herself, to tell Mycroft their news first, before any security team filled him in on where she'd been.

Aoife was used to security as she'd had it her whole life. She was the owner/director of Irelands wealthiest indigenous company, Oisin Holdings, and topped the 'rich list' of Irish people and so she'd always had discreet and professional bodyguards. Her remit for the last number of years was to work as a security consultant herself for the Irish Government so she'd fully accepted and co-operated with Mycroft's security team since she'd moved to London to live with him a few short months ago.

She'd arranged with the Taoiseach to work from London as a security and enterprise consultant, through the Irish Embassy, specialising in Anglo Irish relations. Michael had moved to London with her too, much to her delight, seconded from the Irish Gardaí to working on Irish/NI cross border security, under her direction. She laughed to herself thinking of him, because he seemed to be in his element. He was spending a lot of time with Sherlock, now that the two of them were mates and John Watson was less available as a new father, as well as charming every attractive single woman in his vicinity.

As usual though, her thoughts flew back to Mycroft. She had a strong suspicion that she had not fooled him at breakfast, when he'd asked her about her plans for the day. She grimaced, momentarily feeling guilty as she recalled his chilly demeanour in response to the very first lie she'd ever told him; white though it was. She had caught the momentary flicker of hurt on his face when she'd responded that she was meeting Sherlock and Molly in 221B to go over the final snag list before signing off on the renovations. She knew he knew she was lying; but he had not challenged her.

She rolled her eyes as she once again pondered the ramifications of loving the smartest man on the planet. You could get away with nothing! He'll understand shortly, she thought, and wondered what the chances were that he'd be home early that evening. Just this once she might ask him to come home, she decided. She could not wait to see his face when she told him their news. She put her hand back in her pocket and stroked the envelope with the sonogram picture of their baby, and her eyes glistened with happy tears.

She greeted the unusually stern security men stationed at the gate of the house as she passed them to walk up the long side path to the front door. She smiled at them apologetically, guessing guiltily that they must have got into trouble for losing her earlier. They were obviously pissed off, she thought, because they remained stony faced. She'd get Mycroft to be nice to them later.

Aoife keyed in the security code to release the lock. She frowned at the 'error' message that flashed across the security pad and glanced quizzically up at the camera over the door. She rekeyed in the code that had been changed only the day before but the error message flashed again. Sighing, she pulled out her mobile phone and called Mycroft. He must have changed it again for some reason, and neglected to tell her. He had appeared a little distracted of late. He answered just as she thought it would switch to his voicemail.

"Aoife."

She frowned slightly again, the first feeling of unease creeping over her. His tone was off.

"Hi Mycroft, sorry to disturb you but I can't get into the house; has the code been changed again since yesterday?"

"Yes, it has."

Cold and brittle voiced, and it was all he said. Aoife stilled. Something was very wrong. There was a long and ominous silence while she waited for him to continue; to explain to her what the hell was going on. Finally, he broke the silence, exhaling one long impatient sigh.

"You no longer have access to my home. Your possessions have been packed and delivered to the Connaught Hotel." He paused again, and then continued, "you know why."

Aoife felt the blood receding from her face. Her stomach flipped over and her heart began to race in her chest. She had no idea what he was talking about; what was wrong with him, and felt an overwhelming wave of anxiety and panic. She swallowed back a large lump that had lodged in her throat. Her voice was very low; very quiet, as she responded,

"Actually, no, Mycroft, I have no idea why."

He emitted another one of those awful, impatient, disparaging sighs and she had to bite back a gasp of hurt.

"Alright Aoife, if you insist on dragging this out. 'Someone'...", he drawled the 'someone' out so sarcastically, so coldly, that Aoife felt herself freeze, just freeze up, because this person, this voice on the phone, was barely recognisable as the man she had thought loved her completely.

"Someone" he repeated, "revealed the British Government's tender bid for the new Google European headquarters deal to the Irish Government's negotiating team, and lo and behold, they bid from under us and won the tender..." He stopped then and there was silence again. Aoife's mind raced. She shook her head in unconscious denial.

"And you assume it was me?" So quiet, her voice, she thought abstractedly; this must be what shock does because she could hardly speak, hardly hear her own words.

"I don't make assumptions, Aoife. I know it was you. I'm actually disappointed that you're denying it. You know who I am. What is the point in lying?"

Aoife felt her heart crack in her chest. She sucked in very deep breaths and bit the inside of her lip; trying to keep control, trying not to cry in front of him, this cold fucking stranger who she now knew was watching her through that camera over the door. She stuck out her jaw determinedly, took a deep breath and said,

"The only time I have ever lied to you was this morning. I'm leaving the reason for that 'lie' on the doorstep, and no, Mycroft, I'm beginning to realise I don't know who you are. I don't know who you are at all."

Aoife took the envelope containing the sonogram photo out of her pocket, stooped down and lay it on the door-step. Her heart wouldn't stop thumping in her chest and she desperately fought back the tears she knew were coming. She fought them and held them off, because she knew that when she finally succumbed to them, it would be a very long time before she stopped. Tall and dignified, she turned from the door to leave forever, and then paused. She lifted the diamond Tiffany key pendant that Mycroft had given her over her head and dropped it through her fingers. She watched, almost detachedly, as it tumbled towards the step. The platinum chain landed and splayed; partly covering the envelope. Then, rigid jawed, she walked back down the pathway and out onto the footpath.

In his office in River House, Mycroft Holmes watched her walk slowly back down the path, her magnificent head held high, and exit onto the street, until he lost sight of her completely, and his heart splintered in his chest. He had trusted her, loved her, and she had taken that trust and broken him with it. He lifted his phone to the senior agent guarding his home. "Follow her and make sure she gets to the hotel safely." He didn't wait for an answer and turned off his phone, wiping a ridiculous tear angrily from his cheek.

'Deep breaths Aoife, deep breaths. Control yourself. Call Michael; get Michael,' Aoife told herself as she walked aimlessly down the road. She was cold, trembling, and she knew she was on the verge of going into shock. She felt Mycroft's agents following her and she hated them then. She lifted her phone and called Michael and thank God, he answered on the second ring.

"Howaya Aoife," and it was Michael and his familiar Irish accent, beloved, like home, and she almost lost it. She took a deep breath and couldn't speak, afraid the dam would break before she was ready, while she was outside, exposed, where someone may recognise her, might photograph her. "Aoife, what's wrong?" urgent now because he could hear her trying to control her breathing. He flipped the phone to speaker so Sherlock could hear her too.

"Come and get me Michael, please.," it was faint and it was pleading and it was so not her voice, but it was the sound that was coming out of her mouth. Michael jumped up off John's chair, locking urgent eyes with Sherlock Holmes as he grabbed both their jackets and they both moved towards the door.

"I'm with Sherlock darlin, we're coming for you. Where are you? Are you ok?" The two men raced down the stairs and out onto Baker Street, sprinting now to Michael's car. Aoife took another deep breath and gripping her last tendril of control, she replied,

"I'm up the road from Mycroft's house in Mayfair," she stopped walking and stood still, waiting for them. "Tell Sherlock I have another case for him." She closed her phone and leaned back against a garden wall, hugging her waist with her arms. As the car raced to Aoife Quinn, Sherlock rang his brother and the phone went straight to voicemail. Ten minutes later and their car pulled up beside her. Sherlock jumped out and gripped her arms, rapidly scanning her for injuries. She stepped back out of his hold.

"I'm fine Sherlock." He shook his head slowly and taking her hand gently in his, he led her to the car.

"No, you're not Aoife," he said calmly, "but you will be; trust me." She looked into his eyes then for the first time and he clenched his jaw at the stark pain he saw in hers. He coaxed her gently into the back seat and sat in beside her as Michael drove to the hotel. Though she tried to pull it away, he refused to let go of her hand, feeling the slight tremble from it and feeling the rage rising in him because of it. Aoife was trembling, this beautiful, warrior women who hadn't flinched against deranged psychopaths. She was close to shock and deathly pale. He squeezed her hand.

"Tell me," he said firmly, and she turned her head to look at him briefly again, before staring at their joined hands as she collected her thoughts.

"I've been accused of both industrial espionage and of deceiving the British Government, as an Irish official. I need you to clear my name, defend my personal reputation, my company's reputation and above all, my Government's reputation, before I go home to Ireland." She dropped his hand and stared silently out the car window. Michael caught Sherlock's eyes in the car mirror and said furiously,

"I'm going to fucking kill your brother."