Author's Note:
Hello readers! First and foremost, thank you so much for taking the time to read this fic. It is an MCU/BBC Sherlock crossover featuring Natasha Romanoff, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
I also have my wonderful beta and best friend, Gracie Holmes, to thank for helping me through the writing process and catching all my mistakes. She's a kick ass writer. Go read her things!
As for this story, it is based on Black Widow's comic book story arc Name of the Rose, by Marjorie Liu and Daniel Acuña. A lot of elements have been changed for the story to make sense within MCU and for the story to be realistic, but I've quoted from both the comic books and from the films. Same goes for Sherlock. You'll see a more than a few familiar pieces of dialogue scattered through the fic. I don't own a single thing!
Author's Warning Concerning Triggers:
Because I want to be considerate and respectful with my readers, I also feel the need to explain that there will be references to sexual assault and miscarriage within the next few chapters. Absolutely nothing will be explicit. There will be no details concerning either of those events, or the immediate aftermath.
I know these are a very serious trigger for some people and I take that very seriously. Stay safe everyone!
"And in other news—the ongoing internet phenomenon, Sherlock Holmes, appears to have done it again! According to sources at Scotland Yard, the mysterious killer known only as the Sandman was apprehended earlier today—"
Natasha muted the BBC News anchorwoman and hooked a finger into the plastic cable of her nasal cannula, eyes fixed on the television screen. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson waded through a crowd of news reporters, refusing to comment. She wondered distantly when John would post a summary of the case.
Shivering, she freed her nose from the cannula and cast it aside with an impatient flick of her fingers. She felt sluggish, and cold.
Whatever they'd given her to dull the pain was doing a hell of a job, but it was also making it difficult for her to take stock of her situation. She didn't rule out the possibility that someone other than the hospital's nurses might've dosed with something to keep her subdued. Annoying and stupid. She hated feeling so out of control.
Dropping the remote, she shoved the covers aside and forced herself to sit up on the bed. Gritting her teeth, she swung her legs over the side and promptly folded in on herself with a fresh wave of pain. The tips of her hair brushed against her legs.
"Focus," she ordered herself.
Head swimming and hands shaking, she gathered her resolve and sat up straight. She didn't yet know how long she'd been out of commission, but she had things to do.
And they'd be coming for her soon, if they hadn't come for her already. She'd deal with that in a minute.
Very carefully, Natasha removed the IV catheter from the back of her hand and scooted forward to stand on somewhat steady legs. Her toes curled on the cold tile.
"Focus," she repeated.
She braced herself against the bedside table with one of her hands and breathed in and out, taking mental inventory of her body. She could feel the wound in her stomach where she'd been sliced open and sewn back shut, but a quick swipe of her fingertips told her the bandages were still dry. She decided they must've been recently changed and put it out of her mind.
Next she checked the bedside table for her belongings, but found no clothes in either of the drawers. Her hospital gown provided little protection against the frigid cold of the hospital room, but she put that out of her mind too. She'd experienced worse.
She was also missing her weapons and phone, both of which she needed and would be a little harder to replace within the next five minutes. The only items she'd been left with were a rose and ribbon she'd received only the day before, still tucked into a cream envelope addressed in her name: 'Remember, Natalia'.
Natasha grabbed it carefully, snaked that same arm around her abdomen, and padded barefoot to the door. Pressing her free hand against the surface, she closed her eyes and focused on the sounds outside.
It didn't take her very long to paint a mental picture. She already had a good idea of the hospital she was in, having factored in the location where she'd been attacked and the hospitals she knew to be in close range. She also knew what to listen for, after decades of training.
Satisfied with her assessment, she reached for the handle and eased her way out into the corridor. Immediately she clocked the the two agents posing as nurses a short distance away.
She hobbled forward, making it look like she was worse off than she really was, and waited until the first agent approached to jab a sharp elbow to his nose. When he went down, she landed a swift kick to his groin.
"Need immediate assistance," the second agent called into her comm. "Target is awake and lucid. I repeat—"
Natasha snatched the gun out of the waistband of the first agent's scrubs and leveled the weapon at one of her kneecaps. She shot one first and then the other, incapacitating her but not killing her outright.
People scattered, screaming and panicking. She ignored them in favor of finding an escape route.
Strategically, she knew the lift was out of the question. She took the stairs instead and dispatched three more agents coming her way with similar gunshots to their knees.
Before making her escape through one of the side exists, she stopped to disrobe one of the men and hurriedly changed into his clothes. She had to roll up his jean's cuffs to suit her height and his boots made moving more than a little difficult, but she wasn't going far. She had a safe house nearby.
Close to an hour later, she'd showered and changed her bloodied bandaging. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her skin was pale and there were shadows under her eyes. She covered the latter with a dab of concealer and slipped into a black blouse and loose black trousers. Comfortable but elegant clothes that would hide her injuries and camouflage bloodstains.
She snatched her trench on her way out the door and tucked the envelope housing the rose and ribbon into one of the pockets. She shoved one of the many guns she kept on hand in her web safe houses into the waistband of her trousers.
The air outside was cool against her skin. She closed her eyes for the briefest moment and contemplated what she was about to do next. There was no doubt in her mind that the agents at the Royal London Hospital had been with the British Secret Service.
She knew why they were after her, too—they knew.
Natasha was a woman of many secrets, but there were some she'd buried deeper than others. Secrets that were never meant to see the light of day.
When she'd leaked S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files, along with her own, months previous, she'd been confident that her deepest, most well-kept secrets were safe. Dead and buried, like the only people who could've known of them, aside from herself.
She never expected that those same secrets would come back to haunt her like ghosts. She still didn't know how the rose and ribbon factored into the attack, but the list of people who would target her was a long one.
Not to mention that if the British Secret Service knew, there was a very real chance other intelligence agencies around the globe knew as well. Realistically, there was no way to take on that much heat while conducting a thorough investigation, all by herself. She needed help. And the number of people she could call had, in the span of 24 hours, reduced itself to just one.
Of course, to ask for his help would be to break another rule, but 'needs must when the devil drives', wasn't that the saying? She hailed a cab and found herself pulling up in front of a black door with brass numbers and doorknob long minutes later.
221B Baker Street.
A quick study of the windows overlooking the street told her no one was home yet. She'd seen something on the news, hadn't she? A solved case. Eyeing the door a moment longer, she turned and walked round to the back. Breaking in through the bedroom window would be less conspicuous, especially when she didn't want to alert the landlady.
And of course, she wanted to avoid as much as Mycroft Holmes' security as she could. At least until she could disable it.
The inside of the flat was pleasantly warm, and the air smelled faintly of leather, cigarettes, chemicals and something else Natasha couldn't quite place. She peeled off her trench coat and draped it over one of the chairs set up in front of the fireplace. Plush charcoal grey leather, well-worn.
Her eyes strayed to the desk close by when she finished rooting around for any possible surveillance equipment, and hidden within the piles of paper and books, she caught a peek of something silver. She extracted the laptop from underneath, and carefully folded her aching body into what she could only assume was his leather chair.
She'd never met him in person. Per Mycroft's instructions, Natasha wasn't allowed to make contact. She'd understood at the time but her curiosity had been enough that she'd followed his career ever since.
Opening the computer on her lap, she pulled the gun from her trousers and placed it neatly on the armrest. Her hand felt clammy against the metal, but she ignored it. She wasn't sure how long she had before he arrived, and she didn't know if his doctor friend would be with him, but she busied herself with hacking her way in.
She'd always wondered why he'd erased his study on tobacco ash from the website. Perhaps he still had it on his laptop. She could use the reading material while she waited.