This Story is based on the character from 'the Other Woman', that might be Dr Watson's future wife, or not. I'm leaving it vague, so don't name her, Daphne du Maurier style.
Chapter 1: Missing presumed ...
I know that something's happened to her, she'd not go anywhere without her MacBook ... and hardly any of her clothes are missing ... and she'd not go anywhere without telling me. I reported her missing to Lestrade. He took all the details, but I intercepted the look between him and Sherlock over my head. I may be an idiot, Sherlock, but I'm not a fool!
The police were obviously going to do nothing and begging Sherlock to investigate wasn't getting me anywhere. He kept saying to leave it with him, but was obviously working on the new cases that came in and not doing anything to find her. Mycroft was more hopeful, at least at first - I swallowed my pride there and was going to walk on coals, go on bended knee, anything it took, but found I didn't need to.
"Very old friend of the family. Her father saved my life more than once. Would have done so without you asking ... was already onto it as it happens ..."
He was less satisfying to talk to on the occasions when I asked about progress, however, and gave the impression that it was breaking the official Secrets Act to talk about it at all with me. His driver stopped the car on my last visit and his assistant, the one I'd once found so attractive before I'd met 'her', spoke to me frankly - "You know she's bad news, Dr Watson! Even the CIA had their suspicions when she was working for them. People she was investigating suddenly disappearing ... dropping dead ... happened too many times to be coincidence ... think about it, is this someone you need in your life? ... you'd never know what she was up to ... and Mycroft is stringing you along, keeping you quiet ... think about it, Doctor ... just think about it..."
I didn't bother to ask Mycroft again after that.
Two weeks and more - I can tell you to the second, though you'll think I'm as touched as they all do - had gone by and Sherlock was unmovable, despite some lengthy petitions on my part. And then he went away to Germany for nearly a week on another case ... sometimes he can be the most heartless man on the planet - sometimes - ha!
While he was gone I got a steady round of calls and the unexpected, 'I was just in the neighbourhood, so thought I'd drop by's from Molly, Lestrade and even Harry - and now I recall, Mrs Hudson has been popping up with all kinds of excuses the past few days - since when has that very capable widow needed anyone else to lift something off a high shelf or take the rubbish out? It's as if someone had orchestrated them to keep an eye on me.
Sherlock was still immersed in his case on his return and refused to discuss any of it with me. Then when she'd been gone for just over two months and we'd still had no news of her, I was sat at her MacBook one day pretending to look for something inconsequential for one of Sherlocks' new cases, but actually scrolling through her files looking for anything that might lead me to her. The Skype bleeped and her name came up on the screen - doubly odd as this was her laptop. I was too stunned to move and then I was aware of Sherlock over my shoulder, pressing buttons and then there she was, sitting well back from the screen on a high-backed chair.
She had on more make-up than I have ever seen her wearing before and smart clothes, not her usual grunge look - she looked stunning, but not really herself, like an older and more serious sister. I thought at first she was wearing a wig, but it seemed to be her own hair, a little longer, professionally streaked and styled in a neat and businesslike manner that was so unlike her usual look.
Her head was turned slightly downwards and to her right, but she was looking right at me with a blank gaze, which could be distain or indifference, it was hard to tell.
"Call off the dogs, Doc!" she said. So we were back to Doc then.
I swallowed hard, "What do you mean? Are you alright? Where are you?"
She sounded weary now. "I'm fine ... I'm not coming back ... call off Mycroft's people, Doc ... and your boys too, Sherlock!" her eyes flicked over my shoulder to where Sherlock was standing "... there's no point in putting out a missing person call for someone who's not missing and doesn't want to be found ..."
I couldn't understand what I was hearing. Last time we'd met we'd become engaged - we'd been in love - hugely, achingly in love - or at least I had ... so what was different now. If I'd thought that the pain of her disappearance was immense, this was excruciating but I wasn't about to accept it like that. "Why? What's happened? When are you coming back?"
"Sherlock not told you about my past yet then? Sure that was more to save your feelings than to preserve any fond memory he has of me - well, you need to ask your friend a few more questions and take a little less crap from him ... remember I told you Mrs Wong's previous profession? Well, my little 'gap year' was nearer four years ... yes, that does make me a bit older than I'd said, woman's prerogative to lie about her age ... well, I worked for her for a fair percentage of that time. And when I wasn't - and sometimes when I was - I was using all the weapons in a woman's armory to bring down some of the people who just might have been responsible for my parent's death - I expect death was a blessed release after I'd finished with their reputations and their family relationships ... some of the wives were impressively imaginative in their revenge, but never so much as the mistresses ...
"Acting was my first choice of career before my parents died, by the way. I could have been Keira Knightley, or so I'm told. I don't just do the little girl lost or crazy young adventurous - I do a good line in Irene-style dominatrix too, high-powered business woman ... smart brunette, fiery redhead, ditzy blonde ... I speak a dozen languages and dialects, can do a fairly passible Russian, American, Korean, you name it ... accent. When you next see Irene, Sherlock, tell her I've nicked that 'naked introduction' thing she does - might amuse her. Very effective in the right settings ...
"I've worked for the CIA, MI5, MI6, the KGB and other organisations that don't even have names they are so secret. I've never been a card carrying member of any of them - prefer being my own girl, set my own agenda. I've infiltrated multinationals, crime syndicates, the Triad, the KKK even, once. My grandfather was in the business, head of a crime syndicate in his day in Albania - impressive pedigree - doesn't take much to convince some of them."
I was incredulous - not that I didn't believe half of what she was saying. "I don't care", I said. "Just come back, come home ... to me."
She grimaced slightly. "Have you not got it yet, Doc? No, I guess not - nice guys judge other people on their own standards ... and I'm not into nice guys ... not when they get serious and it's no fun anymore ... I was never one for being cosseted ... though it was fun up until then, I'll give you that much."
"Why did you do it? Why just disappear after saying you'll marry me? Why say it if you didn't mean it?"
There was a heart stopping silence and then she said, "What difference does it make? It makes none ... That one's for you, Sherlock ... You'll have to check the rest yourself ..."
Sherlock spoke for the first time. "I don't need to, I remember. Message received. The curse of perfect recall is remembering verbatim trivia best forgotten."
There was a long silence while they eyed each other. I felt the two of them were talking in code and that my broken heart was so far removed from their orbit that they weren't aware I was still there.
"I don't believe you!" I almost shouted, standing up to lean closer to the screen. She recoiled slightly and then recovered herself and, leaning forward, she picked up something that was on the table next to the laptop she was now using.
"Maybe you'll believe this," she said, looking suddenly animated, angry, but more alive than before, and was holding up a ring between two fingers. "See what this is?" she asked. I nodded - my engagement ring - and she threw the little ring in the air and caught it in her left hand. "Open window behind me - on the thirteenth floor here - and this is how much I care ..." and she tossed it behind her still staring blank-faced into the screen in front of her and then leant towards me for a moment as if to kiss me ... then the screen went blank and she'd gone.
"Sherlock, what did she mean? What's going on? There's a heap you're not telling me and you can start with 'what difference does it make'."