For otp221b, who bid for me in the LoveTrumpsHate 2018 Auction. Hope you enjoy this my dear, I certainly enjoyed very much writing it. It's the second time I'm part of an auction, and the first they bid for me. I hope many people will enjoy this story, and that the ones to receive the donations will be able to do good with those too.
When Mummy Holmes makes that comment in the series, about turning monstruos, it seems like a joke. What if it weren't? What if there were more to Mrs. Holmes than any of us know? This fic explores that, a bit. With loose references to James Bond (imagine a world were the movies and books exist, and things also happen in reality, but the books and movies purposefully change and exaggerate things so people don't believe such people could actually exist and be doing that kind of stuff).
Crown Jewel
By: Lalaith Quetzalli
When people see Mrs. Holmes all they see is a quirky old woman, former mathematician, mother to two of the most intelligent men in the UK. No one remembers Margot Vernet, MI6 Agent, one of the very best in the business. Until someone puts a bullet in her boy, now she will show them just how monstrous she can get.
Standing beside a window leading to the Holmes kitchen I can hear the teasing and banter, it's almost enough to bring a smile to my face. Almost… except a moment later I cannot help but remember how exactly I came to be where I am right now…
"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle." Sherlock said eventually. "You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people… so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern."
Sherlock had no idea… for the first time ever, he'd no idea at all…
"But she wasn't supposed to be like that." I said, trying and failing to explain all the thoughts rushing and crashing through my head. "Why is she like that?"
"Because you chose her." Sherlock said, as if it should have been obvious.
And maybe, from his point of view, it was. That didn't help.
"Why is everything… always… MY FAULT!"
As Sherlock went on a tangent that somehow ended with us taking Mary (my lying, cheating, bloody psychopath of a wife) as a client, I realized that Sherlock really didn't understand it. For perhaps the first time since we'd met, Sherlock had completely failed at deducing something. He was right about my past, my being so absolutely unable to endure life in the suburbs, and of course about himself… but he somehow failed to grasp the fact that I hadn't chosen Mary to be my wife because I somehow knew she was exactly the same, it was the complete opposite in fact.
It was her or death. Mary and I began dating at a time when I'd begun contemplating death way too much for it to be healthy. When I first returned from the war my therapist told me I needed to adapt to civilian life. Life with Sherlock, while civilian at first glance, deep down it was anything but. It was its own form of war, and I loved that. So when I lost that… when I lost Sherlock… it was like being discharged, again; except it was also worse, because I'd nothing left. Nothing at all. I contemplated suicide for quite a while, until I realized that some people would be very disappointed in me if I did that. And even if they were no longer a part of my life (aside from a night in the pub every once in a while), I still held them in high enough regard not to want to do that to them.
It wasn't the best of plans, perhaps. But I wanted to believe that Ella's suggestions might work, at least enough to allow me to endure life, somewhat. It was safer than looking up Alec and hoping he would be willing to give me something to do, off the books; and that James, or worse, Eve, wouldn't find out and make a huge mess out of everything. While there was quite a high chance of the first, the chances of the second were next to impossible, so… I decided to give civilian life a try, an actual try.
I moved to a new place (a tiny little one-room flat, barely bigger than the old bedsit where I spent my first six months after being discharged), began working in a different practice, on the other side of London from Baker Street. Where hopefully no one would know the names of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. It was there that I met Mary Morstan. The nurse working the same shift as me, so kind, and with a great sense of humour. She was modern, and independent, but at the same time she enjoyed old films, and gentlemanly gestures and the man insisting on paying the check. She only insisted that we move into her place because it was much bigger than mine. A beautiful house in the suburbs.
Truth is, I chose Mary because she seemed to me like the classic suburban woman. She was modern enough to have a career and a job, but old-fashioned enough to love cooking and being home. She was supposed to be my shot at a civilian life…
So, bottom line, I didn't choose Mary Morstan because she was dangerous, but because she was supposed to be the whole opposite of that. She was supposed to be good, and safe and… normal. Then again, Sherlock was also wrong when he said I loved her. I didn't blame him for that one, though, I'd spent so long doing my best to convince everyone of that fact, sometimes I almost believed it myself.
I should have never married her. Whatever else might have happened before. Whatever misgivings I might have regarding Sherlock's return… but that was precisely the point. I knew many were expecting me to 'drop' Mary and go back to Sherlock, and while a part of me really wanted to do exactly that. My heart still remembered that last call, watching Sherlock step off the edge of that rooftop. The pain I felt that day, the way my heart broke, my soul shattered… I wouldn't survive it a second time. And, much as I might hate to admit it, I couldn't trust Sherlock not to do it again.
So I proposed to Mary, I married her, and told myself I could do it. That I could have a civilian life and not go absolutely crazy. It was all of course over even before the reception ended. The moment when Sherlock deduced Mary's pregnancy… I knew right then and there that whatever stupid dream I might have once had about a 'normal life' was beyond my reach. It probably always had been.
It was stupid, really. When I proposed, Mary and I talked about what we could expect of each other. I told her kids weren't in my plans. She agreed. Never explained how her sudden pregnancy fit with that, exactly. Then again, I never told her why children weren't in my plans. Perhaps then she'd have been more careful. Her pregnancy gave her away, before anything else did. After all, I cannot have kids.
It was no accident but a conscious decision. One I made when my… line of work got tricky enough I decided it was a good precaution. I also knew I had no interest in being a father, and not just because I had a shit one and couldn't begin to imagine trying my hand at being one. I just wasn't interested.
I kept waiting for Mary to say something about it. To walk away, go to the father of her baby. Anything at all. But she never did. And I just wasn't sure about my place in Sherlock's life, so I wasn't willing to give up my 'civilian life' when I wasn't confident there was even anything for me to go back to. Cowardly of me, perhaps. I've wondered time and again if it would have changed anything. If leaving Mary might have made things better. Maybe she wouldn't have shot Sherlock then… on the other hand, she probably would have done it sooner, and in such circumstances where he might not have survived.
That was what 'woke me up'. I'll never forget it: the unending beep as he flat-lined. The moment all doctors stepped away, having given up on him already… I probably shouldn't have been close enough to notice that much, but no one stopped me, and I just couldn't go away, I needed him. I need him, more than he'll ever understand… And when his heart began beating again, beat by beat… it was a miracle. I'm not a great believer, in God, or anything really. But what happened that day… it was a miracle, without a doubt. And if miracles exist, I suppose God must as well.
From the moment I saw Sherlock laying on that rug, bleeding, half-unconscious, I knew I'd never forgive the person who shot him. More than that, I would utterly destroy them. Whatever might happen to me afterwards, I couldn't allow such a person to live. Finding out it was Mary… it didn't change that decision, not really. Still, there's rule number two: We don't kill pregnant women and children… being pregnant is protecting her for the time being, but she won't be pregnant forever.
Mrs. Holmes's next words pull me forcefully back to the present:
"Somebody's put a bullet in my boy…" Her voice is cold enough to freeze blood. "And if I ever find out who, I will turn absolutely monstrous."
There's no scoffing, not really, but I know neither of her children take her seriously. Then again, unbelievable as it might sound, I know their mother in a way neither of them do. They know her as Marge Holmes, a somewhat quirky, extremely maternal, genius mathematician who seemingly gave up the limelight to marry a plain man and have two children with him. It doesn't matter if those two are the two most intelligent men in the country (possibly the world), you cannot find what you don't know is there in the first place. As for me… I know her for who she was, many years ago, before Mycroft and Sherlock were ever born, before she ever met Siger Holmes. Back when she was Margot Vernet, known as one of the 'Crown Jewels', a pair of MI6 Agents, the very best in the history of the Agency. Her counterpart being none other than Olivia Mansfield, better known in certain circles as 'M'. Almost everyone in the business believe Margot to have died over twenty years, and to suddenly find her there, in a cottage in Gloucester, living in retirement with her husband, a former Earl, and mother to my very best friend…
It's not that I knew the woman in person before, of course not, much as Sherlock might enjoy poking fun at my age, I'm not that old! No, but I did know her old partner. Technically I still do (though not many know that fact… then again, not many know I was ever involved with MI6 in any way; or that I still am, in some ways). While the two don't look much alike, physically, they have the same aura. The aura of a woman who knows what it's like to have a gun in her hand, to kill with it, to serve in ways that even the Army could not possibly comprehend… Not many understand that, like all the people who see me and just see a plain old doctor… or those who only see a retired army-man. I'm both of those, yes, but I'm also more, and that's something very few will ever understand.
As for Mrs. Holmes… (nee Vernet, one half of the Crown Jewels) I knew exactly who she was the moment I met her, two weeks ago:
It was a hell of a mess. Sherlock simply did not seem to be able to understand just how bad things had been. The fact that he didn't just die on the table the night he was first shot, but he flat-lined twice more after he escaped from the hospital to do his 'great reveal' of the truth about Mary Watson (bloody cunt of a wife… though, can she even be considered that when her name isn't Mary Morstan? I married a woman who doesn't exist, which would technically mean that our marriage is invalid… I decide to go back to that once I'm sure she will no longer be a danger to those dear to me, a list she's definitely not in); and there were other complications in the following days due to his traipsing around London with a still healing bullet wound in his chest!
The doctors wanted to keep him at least two weeks in the hospital, we managed one before he began driving everyone insane. So I signed him out, making myself his caretaker (Mycroft helped arrange that). I already hadn't returned to Mary's place since the 'revelation'; so it was easy enough to go back to Baker Street with him. Where I then made sure to look after him as best as I could over the following weeks. We were practically driving each other nuts, but I refused to back down, knowing that if I did… if I did he could die.
I don't know how long Sherlock's parents insisted on the visit to their cottage before Mrs. Hudson pretty much strong-armed Sherlock into accepting. I never expected being invited, couldn't imagine going into the Holmes home knowing that it was, in some ways, my fault Sherlock was in such a state. And yet, I'd promised myself to look after him until he was alright again, so I tagged along without complaint in the end.
The moment I laid eyes on her… it was like a deja vu. I could remember, crystal clear, the last time I'd seen eyes like those. There was Sherlock of course. It was one of the first things I noticed about him, how much his eyes looked like… hers. But it was until I saw those eyes looking out from Mrs. Holmes's face that I understood exactly why that was…
"Oh Sherlock..." The old woman called softly, extending her arms, not quite touching her son.
"I'm fine Mummy, no need to be overly dramatic." He half-scoffed, pretty much walking past her and into the cottage.
I wasn't really surprised that he didn't so much as consider introducing me. Even then, it took me a few seconds to react, and by then she'd noticed me looking at her, obviously she did. I could have expected nothing less from her.
"You must be Dr. Watson..." She stated, offering her hand.
"Yes, Ma'am, that's me… but please call me John." I said immediately, shaking her hand once, unable to keep myself from straightening up. "And thank you for inviting me to your home. It's a lovely place."
"It is." She agreed, then cocked her head to a side, and I knew she wouldn't let it go. "Is everything alright John? Anything with my boy? Tell me, how bad is he, really?"
"Sherlock is alright, as good as he can be after leaving the hospital when he shouldn't have, the moron..." I muttered the last word under my breath, still remembering when we finally were back in the hospital, the fever that got so high some doctors began fearing for what the temperature might do to his brain. "My apologies ma'am. I promise it's nothing bad. It's just, you remind me of someone I knew some time ago."
"Is that a good thing?" She asked, curious.
I knew it was insane, but then again, I've never claimed to be sane anyway.
"One of the best women I've known all my life." I admitted with a small smile. "Emma..."
"Emma…?" I could see her eyes narrowing.
Not her real name, of course. But I was quite sure the number of people who knew her real name could be counted with the fingers of one hand. Still, the name Emma was telling enough for someone who, like her, had been part of that 'world'. And the next part would probably clarify it:
"Yes, it was some time ago, before I was medically discharged, spent a few summers in Skyfall..."
I could tell the exact moment she understood what I meant with those words. While not a code-phrase strictly speaking, those words were enough to tell her, in general terms, who I was, and what I'd been before meeting her sons.
Skyfall… while the books and films portray some things, reality isn't quite like that. I've no idea who thought of it, exactly. If it was Flemming or someone else entirely. The books, and later on the films have made it so the world believes specific things about the world of spies, especially MI6… reality is very different. While there are, indeed, agents that do the kind of missions that the famed 00s of Fleming's works do, and I'm friends with a man whose name is, actually, James Bond (I'm half-sure he gave the people behind those films some ideas, even if he isn't quite as bad as his fictional counterpart). Things aren't quite like that. I would know, after all, I used to be one of them.
I didn't choose that life, not exactly. It'd be fair to say that it chose me, but I never regretted it. I made great friends, some which I still meet for a pint whenever they happen not be somewhere else doing one top-secret assignment or another. Five years, that's how long I spent as part of that world, as one of them, after spending six months stationed in an RAMC base in Northern Ireland, and close to a year in Afghanistan. The latest mission which had me end up prisoner of the Talibans for several weeks, until I escaped; it so happened that the man I escaped with was MI6, it was he who recommended me, and I was given an offer I'd never even think of refusing.
It all ended with a bullet, in the middle of a mission that went FUBAR so fast we were left reeling (or we probably would have, if we hadn't been so busy doing everything we could to stay alive). It wasn't so bad at first, even with the bullet that hit me on the shoulder, low enough some might say it hit my chest instead, it actually nicked my lung somewhat. It was a through and through, managed to not hit a single bone. That was all good. The real problem was the fact that we were stranded in the middle of the bloody desert for days until an extraction team could reach us! By then the wound had become infected, despite all my partner's efforts, and the fever had gotten so bad I wasn't even aware of our getting out, not until I woke up back in London, to none other than M standing vigil by my bedside.
I spent six months in recovery, trying to accept the fact that life as I knew it was over, then I met Sherlock, and life became so much better!
As for Skyfall… while there is a James Bond in reality, Skyfall isn't his childhood home. It does exist though. It was the code-name of the property in Scotland where some of us would go for R&R every year. That's what that particular phrase is all about.
I wasn't that surprised when Mrs. Holmes went looking for me that same night. After Sherlock had fallen asleep, finally; Mycroft had yet to arrive, so it was probably the best moment.
"You know who shot my boy." While I was expecting that to come up eventually, her starting with those very words did surprise me.
"Yes." I didn't see the point in lying to her.
"Is the bastard dead?" She wanted to know.
I had no idea how to even begin to answer that question. So much needed to be explained and I didn't know where to start. So I said the first thing I thought of:
"Rule number 2: We don't kill pregnant women and children."
I could see her connecting the dots: there was no reason for a child to have shot Sherlock; which meant that it was a pregnant woman. While there were probably many pregnant women in London, there was one close enough for us to know she was responsible and not have done anything about it:
"Your wife..." She began, an undercurrent of steel in her voice.
"She's not my wife." I stated, pretty much in the same tone. "Mary Elizabeth Morstan died many years ago. Whoever that woman might be… she's not my wife. She married me under false pretences, therefore our marriage isn't really legal. She's nothing to me, nothing but a murderer, and a cheat as well. The only reason I haven't put a bullet in her head yet is that she is, indeed, pregnant, even if the child isn't mine. I may have no problem staining my hands with a murderer's blood, I will never stain it with an innocent's, though. So I'll wait."
"My son doesn't know, does he?"
"No." I couldn't help but chuckle. "For a genius he can be pretty oblivious at times."
"My youngest son is very knowledgeable in some areas, almost terribly so… he's also incredibly innocent in others."
Don't I know that!
She never asked me if I loved her son, and I never said it either. It's obvious enough on both our sides, I'm sure.
xXx
I have some experience with ops going FUBAR. The most memorable being one in Budapest. Where our supposed asset on the ground turned out to be a mole, who killed the contact we were there to meet, making it seem like we had done it, and causing his security and the authorities of the city we were in to hunt us down. With no extraction and no safe-houses we could actually trust, it was a disaster of epic proportions. What happened in Appledore was so far beyond even that, I couldn't even quantify it!
The only reason I went back to the Holmes cottage after security released me (without Sherlock) was because I was still in such shock I didn't fully realize what I was doing exactly. Mrs. Holmes went after me immediately (which was easy, as Mycroft had gone straight to London, to try and deal with the fallout of what Sherlock had just done).
She didn't even need to ask me what happened, the moment we were inside I began ranting:
"What the hell was Sherlock thinking?! He shot Magnussen! On the face! Before Mycroft and MI6! With my bloody gun!"
"Are you angry that he killed? You must know..."
"I know he's done it before. Much as I might wish he hadn't, that it hadn't been necessary. I know and I understand. But not in this instance. The bastard deserved to die, of course he did. But he should have let me do it! That git..."
"I'm sure he did it to protect you John..."
"I know he did! It's all he ever does! Nevermind that the consequences of him doing exactly that end up hurting me worse!"
Like his Fall hurt him more than anything Moriarty could have ever concocted.
"Where is he now?" She asked, quietly.
"I've no freaking idea! MI6 took him, which cannot be good." I took a deep breath. "I guess there's only one thing I can do."
"Can you do it?"
"I still have contacts. Field-Agents and even in Q-Branch. I can get in touch with them, one of them will be able to give me an in."
Most likely James, he was just the kind to do that and damn the consequences. Seeing how I'd been discharge and all my involvement with MI6 deemed completely classified; nevermind that M had called on me, twice since my 'retirement' to treat agents of hers working on ops that made it so they couldn't go to a hospital, or even to MI6 in that moment; and that James still went to me (wherever I might be living at the time) for treatment rather than the MI6 infirmary! It drove Q-branch nuts, until one of them managed to discover what was going on exactly, and that I could be trusted; since then they'd sent me other operatives and assets for treatment in the down-low a few times.
"And then what?" Mrs. Holmes's question focused me again.
"Then I negotiate." I stated simply.
"John..."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about. Years ago… there were too many people being hurt, with the war, and all the missions, I got the short straw or something, the people they assigned to me couldn't help me. But Sherlock did. In a single day he managed to do what doctors and therapists had failed to do in six months."
"You could have gone back then."
"I could have but… Sherlock… even before I really knew him, before I called him friend. He fascinated me, incredibly so. Even without knowing what he'd become for me, I wanted to stay. So no, I didn't go back. After the Fall… I couldn't even think about going back."
"But you would do it now."
"For him? I'd do anything."
Even taking the MI6 mission Mycroft really didn't want his brother to 'accept'. I knew what that meant, of course I did, and I was willing to do it. Anything to keep Sherlock from being sent himself. Whatever might have happened before, I know now that a world with no Sherlock Holmes is not a world where I can truly live.
"So would I…"
It's how I find myself where I am in this moment, walking halls I long left behind. For we're at the MI6 HQs. I'm not quite sure which of us those around are shocked more by: me, or the woman walking two steps ahead of me, in a dark-blue pant-suit. Even if most of them probably don't know her name, I'm sure at least some must be able to see the likeness to M. And no one gossips as much as the minions do in a Secret Agency, I've no doubt that before we make it to M's office people will have at least a theory as to who she is exactly.
I'm right, of course. Though I underestimate the minions. We're still a couple of yards or so away from the office door when the whispers of 'Crown Jewels' begin. Mrs. Holmes (Ms. Vernet, as none of them can possibly know about her current life) lips shift into the slightest of smiles. I say not a word.
Eve Moneypenny is waiting for us at the door. Her eyes are very wide as she looks at each of us in turn. Still, she says not a word, simply opens the door and steps aside to let us in.
We do, with Ms. Vernet walking until she's standing before M's desk straight away, while I choose to stand back, beside Eve. We're not alone though, there's another man there. Eve whispers to me that his name is Mallory, and he's part of the Intelligence and Security Committee. Apparently he's been sent to 'supervise' some things, since a number of missions went very badly in the last years and people are starting rumours about MI6 no longer working (which is absolutely idiotic, but still). In any case, Mallory is irrelevant to me. I've made my offer, and if whatever Mrs. Holmes is planning, fails, I'll do so again, to the right people. I don't think it'll fail though, the Crown Jewels weren't known for their failures, after all.
"You know exactly why I'm here." Is all Ms. Vernet says, voice even, almost emotionless.
"This is out of my hands..." M begins.
"Nothing is out of your hands Olivia." Ms. Vernet cuts her off. "We both know that. We both know how far your power does, how far it did even before you got this office and the fine new title. I've never asked for anything, but asking, now, for this. You know it isn't fair, the hand Sherlock's being dealt. You have people willing enough to go on suicide runs, so why do you people want so much to send my boy on one?!"
"Boy…?" Mallory interferes. "Who are you, exactly, ma'am."
We all turn to look at him, he cannot possibly be that ignorant…
"I am Margaret Laurelle Holmes, nee Vernet." The mother of my best friend (my love) states, dead-serious. "Until a little over forty years ago, I was MI6."
"She was my partner." M finishes for her, looking straight at Mallory.
We can all see the moment when it all dawns on Mallory.
"The Crown Jewels..." He breathes out.
The spell is broken all too soon though, when his mind seems to catch up on something else:
"You said Holmes." He states. "Sherlock Holmes is your son. So, what? You come to demand leniency for your son, he's a murderer!"
Eve and I cringe (not outwardly, of course not, we're professionals, but still) at the same time. That's not going to go down well, on either of those two women.
"Because he killed a bloody bastard someone in this organization should have crossed off a long time ago!" Mrs. Holmes does not raise her voice, she doesn't need to, it's still as if she's just slapped Mallory and Mansfield both. "Unless, of course, you were one of those benefiting from Magnussen's very illegal deals…"
"Ma'am!" Mallory exclaims, he seems to be getting hot under the collar.
"Don't ma'am me." Mrs. Holmes cuts him off. "He's been selling and stealing information left and right for years, has been blackmailing powerful people for god knows how long! And you let him get away with it! You did nothing about him. My family was forced to get involved. Magnussen almost killed off one of your own former Agents, and you still did nothing about it!"
"What…?!" Eve's eyes turn to me instantly.
"He paid someone, or most likely more than one someone to put me inside the bonfire, on Guy Fawkes night." I explain quietly. "If Sherlock hadn't worked out the code and gotten to me in time, I'd be dead now. He literally pulled me out of the flames."
Got the burns to prove it too! Of course, Mary was there too, but I'd rather not think about that part, about her, at all.
That seems to blow all the wind out of Mallory's sails. M, who'd been standing all along, drops onto her chair with an exhalation.
"We did not know it was that bad." He admits. "Not until Lord Smallwood's suicide. I must admit we've been forced to stretch thin, ever since the Committee began their interference."
"M..." Mallory begins, though he sounds hesitant.
"You know that's exactly what it is Mallory." M retorted. "Some people in power don't believe we should have as much as we do. They want to believe that we're… obsolete. That they can get rid of us. Like anyone can do what we do…"
I cannot help myself, I scoff. That's stupid. Even some of those who try it sometimes don't make the cut, or they do it once and refuse to do it again; the life of a spy is not easy, at all, and not everyone is cut out for it. The mere suggestion that anyone could do it is so outrageous as to almost be funny!
All eyes turn to me then… there's really only one thing I can think of saying:
"If Sherlock hadn't done it… if he'd just waited a few seconds longer for me to process everything that was going on, and what needed to be done… I'd have pulled the trigger myself."
They all know I mean it, and that I wouldn't have regretted it. I look straight at M, making sure she realizes what I'm thinking. That if she'd done what they were planning on doing to Sherlock, I would have still done it, and would have gone on that mission with my head held high… and she, MI6 as a whole would have probably had a riot in their hands. I'm not one to brag, but people like me, and it's not just James and Alec, but between the two of them, Q, and his minions… well.
M lays against the back of her chair, letting out a breath, and even though she's not saying anything, I can almost deduce what she's thinking. She knows there's no way they're winning this, her and Mallory. And deep down, I don't think they want to. Not really. They both have to know Magnussen was evil, he deserved to die. Sending Sherlock to his death (a delayed execution which is likely to be long and very painful) is not justice, it's heaping one injustice upon another.
I don't realize what I'm about to say until I say it:
"We can give you someone else."
All attention is then on me, again. I don't need to explain much, apparently the initials A.G.R.A. are a dead giveaway. They weren't to me, not really; but then again, I've been out of the business for more than five years now, so that's probably to be expected.
When it's all said and done all M does is nod at us, and that's enough.
xXx
Saying goodbye to Sherlock wasn't easy. In fact, it was probably the hardest thing I've ever done, even knowing it wasn't true. That he would be alright… I still wasn't expecting it when bloody Moriarty of all people appeared on all the screens in the UK. Of course there was only one person who could have done it, one of the kids working at Q-branch, Alec had told me he did magic with computers, and had been a hell of a hacker before being recruited. It was also a perfect excuse to have Sherlock stay without tipping off our hand.
I wasn't sure why Mrs. Holmes was so adamant that her children not learn the truth of her past. She'd rather they continue believing that she was nothing more than a somewhat quirky old woman and former genius mathematician. Granted, she was that; but she was also one of the best spies in history, who met a man and fell in love with him during a mission, and the moment it was over she chose to give it all up, the life she'd known until then, out of love for him. She made her cover into her reality, then left that behind too, marrying him, having children with him. It was also why Mr. Holmes stepped down from his position as an Earl, so they could leave London, lessen the chances of someone seeing his wife and recognizing her.
Mycroft and Sherlock would never understand what truly amazing people their parents actually were, and that was their choice. A choice I'd respect, even if I didn't fully understand it. Then again, I hadn't told either of them about my own past with MI6 (though I had to admit to be a tad surprised Mycroft hadn't found out already, considering all the connections he had, to both MI5 and 6). It would be coming out though, and sooner rather than later.
I hated leaving Sherlock alone in Baker Street. Well… he has Mrs. Hudson, of course, but still. I knew I had to go back to Mary, at least until the baby was born and MI6 could take over. Thankfully Mary was still in a state of mind where she believed that being permissive and understanding, 'allowing' me to tag along on all sorts of cases with Sherlock made me happier and would keep me with her. So I had a good excuse not to actually spend a lot of time at her place (the one that wasn't and would never be home, Baker Street was home).
Sherlock happened to be with us when the time finally came, though that part wasn't planned at all. We barely made it to the hospital in time, and I slipped away for a few minutes to send out a message. The time has come.
Mary manages to convince the nurse on duty she has no need for a wheelchair. I still convince her to let me hold the baby. She has a tuft of very thin blonde hair on her head, lighter than mine has ever been (and I know for a fact Mary is definitely not a natural blonde); her eyes are green, very much like Mary's, which doesn't surprise me at all. Still, the hair gives it away, the baby is mine; then again, I knew that already.
Somehow Mary (or Agatha, Rosamund… whatever her real name might be) doesn't realize anything is wrong until we're at the car park and she becomes aware of the people around us. People that, while they may be mostly wearing casual clothes, their stances are anything but…
Sherlock gives a step forward, either to intercede, or believe it's about him; he probably can tell that at least some of those present are MI6. I let go of the baby with one of my hands to stop him.
"John..." There's a hint of something in his voice, like he's at a loss for the first time ever. "I… I can call Mycroft. Or…"
"Not this time Sherlock." I shook my head.
Mary doesn't even get the chance to fight back. She's still somewhat tired after giving birth and she clearly wasn't expecting Agents to be after her.
"You betrayed me John!" She cries out as soon as she realizes she has no way or place to run. "I'm your wife and you betrayed me!"
"You're nothing to me." I tell her, so coldly I can see Sherlock flinch by my side. "Mary Watson does not exist; just like Mary Morstan didn't exist. I don't really know, or care, what your name might be, like I said before, you're nothing to me."
"You lied to me." She murmurs, like she cannot believe it. "That day, in the Holmes cottage. You told me you forgave me!"
"Did I?" I cannot help the half-smirk on my face. "If I remember correctly what I said was: 'The problems of your past are your business, the problems of your future are my privilege'. I didn't lie, I don't care about your past, whoever or whatever you might have been and done…" I glance at the agents waiting around us. "They might care though. As for the future, it was always going to be privilege to make sure you got into exactly the kind of trouble you deserved." My tone turns cold and hard as I add. "I never forgave you, and I never will…"
"You told me you hadn't read the memory stick!" She roars.
"I didn't." I shrug. "This was never about that."
"It's about him!" She spits, eyes going to Sherlock, who almost visibly flinches at that. "It's always been about Sherlock-bloody-Holmes."
"And it always will be." I didn't bother hiding it.
"Ok, that's about enough." Another voice interrupts.
Alec is there then, and on the move before Mary can get some insane idea into her head about fighting back. He's cuffed her in seconds and leading leads her to one of the cars.
"I want my daughter!" She demands even as she's manhandled inside.
"I doubt you're going to be able to take her with you where you're going." I point out, evenly.
"She's not yours." She hisses with a satisfied smirk.
Beside me, Sherlock blanches, and I can tell he missed that; just like he missed the signs of her pregnancy for the first two or three months. That's okay.
"I know." I say simply. "Really Mary, when I told you I wasn't expecting children… you should have considered the possibility that becoming pregnant would give away your affair."
"What…?" She's not the only surprised one then, Sherlock too is looking at me in shock.
"I cannot have children." I explain the obvious. "That's been a fact since long before we even met. So really, you gave yourself away, all on your own."
"Yet you still married me." She hisses.
"Yeah." I admit. "That was my mistake. But that's okay, we all make mistakes."
"What will happen to me now?" She wants to know.
"No idea, that's not up to me." I shrug.
"Okay, that's enough." Alec announces, slamming the door closed on her face. "Time to go." He turned to me even as he heads for the driver's side. "See ya next week Jack! You're buying the first round!"
He's the first to leave, but in a matter of minutes almost all of them are gone. It looks like Sherlock is about to say something, when the clicking of heels announces one more presence.
"I presume arranges have been made?" I don't even bother saying hello, there's no need really; and she probably prefers I not say her name before Sherlock.
"The results just came in." Eve informs me, paper in hand.
"She's David's, isn't she?" I have guessed as much.
"You were right, of course." She nods. "We've talked with Mr. Campbell, he understands the situation is rather delicate, has agreed to move to America. His new daughter will of course be going with him. New identities have been arranged, it's all completely safe, R made sure of that." She smiles as she takes the baby from me. "It's all right John. They'll be alright."
"I know they will." I trust her.
Really, it's rule number 2 all over again. And what can be more innocent than a newborn baby girl? So yes, I trust they'll be alright, that Eve and R will have made sure of it. Mary will never bother them again. Or us… if she comes after us again I'm liable to put a bullet in her, I'm sure they all know that. And as long as MI6 finds her useful (and most likely, once they don't, they'll dispose of her themselves so there's no reason for our paths to cross ever again).
"John…" Sherlock waits to speak until Eve has placed the baby in a car-seat and climbed into the last car. "What is going on?"
"What do you think is going on?" I ask in return.
"I don't…" He begins, then cuts himself off.
He's hesitating so much, not being himself, it's almost painful to watch. So I give a couple of steps back, open my arms and look straight at me.
"Look at me." I order him. "Deduce it. Deduce me."
I force myself not to be on guard, at all. I should be terrified, about to flee; instead I'm completely calm. Then again, I'm always calm just before a mission, so many it's not that surprising. Also, I love Sherlock completely, and I trust him so…
"You have connections to MI6." It's the first thing he says.
"I was part of MI6 until about six months before we met." I remember our first meeting and have to add. "I did serve in Afghanistan, as part of the RAMC, for close to a year, before joining MI6." The details can come later, if he wants to hear the full story. "I also happened to be in the Afghan desert, with my partner when a mission went completely FUBAR, I got shot by a sniper and we both almost died. Got medically discharged then, spent six months in therapy, mental and physical, and then we met…"
"You cannot have children."
"Got a vasectomy a few months into joining MI6. Didn't want to risk making a woman pregnant when I was doing that kind of job. Also, I never wanted children, that hasn't changed."
"You still married Mary."
"That was a mistake of epic proportions that I hope you'll allow to explain, calmly, later."
"You didn't forgive her."
"I could never forgive her."
"She lied to you…"
"It's not about me, it never was. It's about you Sherlock. I could never have forgiven her for what she did to you. When she shot you that night…"
"I told you, she saved me…"
"We both know that's a lie. I'm a doctor Sherlock, a retired army man, as well as a former Agent, do not insult my intelligence."
For several seconds he says nothing at all. I'm beginning to believe that's that, he will say nothing. The conversation is over, and then…
"I didn't want you to go back to her, you know?" He admits eventually. "I just…"
"You were trying to keep me safe." I nod. "I know."
He was as afraid of her killing me as I was of her finishing the job with him. It's almost funny, to realize we're both exactly the same: fools in love…
I can tell Sherlock is still fighting to make sense of everything that's going on. All he knew, all he didn't, all that might or might not have changed with the new revelations (both Mary's and mine). For a moment I actually consider leaving things as they are, letting him think things over and draw his own conclusions, in his own time. That perhaps when he's ready I might be able to ask him to let me go back (home). But then I remember that it's that kind of thinking that has brought us to where we are right now. That made me marry a woman I never loved, that kept me from him for more than a year longer than absolutely necessary. I cannot stand to allow something like that to go on any more. I didn't allow myself to stop, to hesitate, to so much as think about it. Instead I throw myself straight into the deep end, and onto him, pulling him by the collar of his crisp white shirt until our lips are connecting. It might not be the best of kisses, but it doesn't have to be. Because it's us, and in the end that's enough.
"John…" He gasps, breathless.
I cannot help the cocky grin that takes over my face. Really, I can hardly believe I had never done that before, to think all that would have been different… then again, there's no point on losing myself, ourselves in 'could have's and 'might have been's. Reality is what it is, and while some of our past might not be that great, the future will be amazing. I will make sure of that myself.
Sherlock seems to take my grin as a challenge, for a second later he's taking my breath away with a kiss. I've never been happier.
I know in that moment that there's no reason to fear any more. Mary is gone, David and the baby will be safe. I will probably continue helping my friends from MI6 whenever they need me, and going on cases with Sherlock the rest of the time. Life will be what it was always supposed to be for us.
And maybe, in a little less than a year, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes might invite us to their cottage for Christmas again. And we'll be there, together, like we should have the first time. Maybe I will have even managed to convince Sherlock to agree to marry me. And Mrs. Holmes will coo over us (and probably stay very close to him for a while as the two of us grumble about whatever Sherlock has done to get himself in danger lately), and Sherlock will call me overprotective and her overbearing, Mr. Holmes will shake his head and smile, and Mycroft will roll his eyes and complain about whatever is going wrong with the world at the time. And maybe, just maybe, Mrs. Holmes and I will be able to look at each other for a moment and smile, for the things we know that their children never will. It will be our little secret…
Full sized cover/poster, as always, can be found in my DeviantArt account, I can be found as Princess-Lalaith there.
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