Hey, this is my very first Sherlock fan fiction.
I hope you like and enjoy it a bit. It's AU and I'm going to try to keep Sherlock as far as possible in character.
Thanks to the lovely daisherz365 who was my Beta and had a look on this :)
Can't wait for all your reviews
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, but Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss do :)
1.
The night was falling upon London. It wrapped up London in her black coat.
Exactly at this moment a young woman ran through the streets and was pursued by several black dressed men. She ran fast and tried to shake off her pursuers. The noise of her feet hammered on the hard subsoil of the street down.
In her head was pure fear.
What she had done had not been clever and, on the other hand, it was her only chance of a new life.
Behind her she could hear the men that her followed always getting closer.
„Give it up, young lady!", one of them shouted.
No! She was not able, not here, not now, not again!
„If you stay where you are, there will be nothing to fear!", screamed another male voice. They would do anything, just to catch her.
Her name was Isabel and she was in up to her neck in trouble.
She hurried around a corner and into a lane. While she ran Isabel desperately tried to calm her breathing. Everything the men cat-called was only for one reason: to arrest her. Even if it was a lie.
She could hear her pursuers from afar meaning that she had to cook up something fast.
Luckily a fire escape caught her eye after a few seconds. Indeed, it wasn't let down yet. Isabel had to contrive something. Once more she looked around and discovered a dumpster which stood directly under the fire escape. Quickly Isabel approached to it, climbed on it and lowered the ladders. She just wanted to breathe deeply and climb up when she heard voices behind herself. Quickly Isabel turned her head and saw that the chasing pack were with her in the lane.
Shit, Isabel thought and hurried up ladders . Even as she went to put her foot on the third rung, somebody grabbed her ankle and pulled her down. Only scarcely did Isabel get to hold onto the railing of the ladder.
„Gotcha!" the guy hissed.
„No chance!" Isabel snarled back and attempted to kick at the guy's face and was even successful.
He expelled a ringing shout and pressed his hands on his face. At this moment Isabel escaped. Like a cat she climbed up the fire escape to the next rooftop.
Up here Isabel took her time to breathe deeply, then she had one more look down and had to realize that another pursuer was close at her heels and climbed up to the flat roof.
This time Isabel was really in the trap, unless she would find a way from the roof, to rescue herself. Her feet carried her to the edge where she looked in the depth. Under her yawned the abyss whose ground was the street.
„Damn, why does it always rain on me?" murmured Isabel.
However then even as she wanted to turn away, she saw something that calmed her: under her there was a small balcony.
Isabel thought: with a specific jump she could escape. She felt that beside the rain now also several drops of sweat ran down her face. If she jumped, she had only one chance, only one and if Isabel messed it up, she had to suffer the consequences . Her breath went faster.
„Now pretty one, I guess you are trapped! " Isabel heard a voice behind her.
„Don't think so..." she grinned and then jumped in the depth.
And she fell and fell, and believed that she just missed her aim.
Then, however, her feet touched the floor of the balcony.
„Okay." , Isabel gasped and eyed briefly up to the roof. The type looked down the edge and seemed to curse. Isabel lifted her hand to a mocking farewell and then ran down the stairs to the street.
Isabel wiped her free hand over her wet face.
Then she slowly went down the street with the look to the ground she inhaled deeply and without paying attention if she barged against someone. She reached in her trouser pocket.
Her small burglary in the government headquarters had not been as successful as she had hoped for.
Walking in had not been the problem for her: slipping through a security sluice here because there was no burglar alarm and she had been in the heart of security of London.
Nevertheless: it had been difficult to have a look in her files. For quite some time she was kept under surveillance. A majority of the London underworld was on her tail.
Since the coup d'état she was on the run.
Isabel never asked for this mess but after the landslide victory the entire country had changed within a few moments. For five years Isabel had to look over her shoulder when she was on the street, in constant fear to get caught.
Active surveillance everywhere. People who suddenly disappeared without leaving a trace.
mysterious deaths among the opponents members of the new government and many people who had been moved into resistance.
Slowly she pulled a flash device from her pocket and turned it in her fingers to and fro.
Maybe this was her ticket out of this chaos.
Maybe she could be able to buy herself free, finally.
Stolen security data which the owner absolutely would want to have back.
If necessary she negotiated.
The new system had taken away nearly everything from her: her physical intactness, her pride, a part of her soul, the trust in other people and her family.
From one day to the next they had been torn apart.
Her parents had been already arrested as members of the opposition. They had been murdered as far as Isabel knew.
At the age of seventeen Isabel had been imprisoned in an education programme for juveniles.
The memories of this time were always with her, they never left her and they refused her a quiet sleep.
Isabel still wandered through the empty streets of London.
A curfew had been arranged for the nights.
She trembled a little: the cold crept in her bones and the warmth dwindled from her muscles.
Isabel was sure that she had to find a hiding place for the night.
From her pocket she pulled her mobile phone out. Reckless of course but she had no better plan.
Isabel rapidly dialed a number and soon she could hear the dialling tone.
„Hello?", asked a male voice at the other end of the line.
„Eric? This is Izzie, I need your help.", she said fast.
„Let me guess, you need a place for the night.", noted Eric and sighed lightly.
„To tell you the truth I really thought your cellar was very comfortable last time.", Isabel laughed in her cellphone.
„They already have a down on me because we were friends in school and so the police has already paid me a visit this afternoon! I do not believe that my flat is the safest place for you to stay at the moment.", he objected.
„If you do not want to help me just say it, but I should submit that my butt is the most wanted in town since the last thirty minutes.", Isabel answerded.
„What have you done?", Eric grunted at the other end of the phone.
„I have broken into Mycroft Holmes' security control center and I am sure that he has already put all his security guards on me, which is why I think that in this case sleeping under a bridge is even more dangerous than another night in a cellar where they have already looked.", Isabel explained and tried give her voice an innocent sound.
„Are you out of your mind?!", he nearly screamed.
„Just calm down, everything is fine.", Isabel wanted to soothe him.
„Excuse me, but you just told me you stole from one of the mightiest men in the country. I guess it's normal that I'm freaking out!", Eric yelled at her.
„I got what I needed and escaped. Well maybe I punched one of them... ", she answered him.
„You're screwed. If they find you and whatever you've stolen the least of your problems will be that you have no place to sleep for the night.", he growled.
„Come on! Don't make it so easy for them to catch me!", Isabel snapped.
„You messed with the iceman, Izzie! We're talking about a man who knows no mercy when someone tries to screw him over! No one is cheating him, not even you.", he sounded desperate and also worried.
„Don't worry. I don't think they know where to look for me, but being out here puts me in terrible danger! You know there's no other way out for me! ", she was as desperate as Eric was.
Her voice faltered a little because she was afraid Eric would not want to help her.
„Sorry Izzie, I know that the last years were really hard for you and maybe you are right but who tells me that the police does not turn up here again to arrest us both?", he seemed to be nervous.
„Nobody, but sleeping on the street is even more dangerous for me at the moment. Then they'll arrest me within the next hour. Please, Eric, it will be the last time.", she begged him, trying to speak steadily, there was a little tremble in her voice.
„I am always too soft with you but you're my friend. However hurry up because a police car is patrolling every ten minutes. I do not want to know what you have pinched...", he sighed.
„The less you know the better...", Isabel shrugged,
„See you later.", then her friend hung up and she put her phone back in her pocket.
The way to Eric's apartment would take her at least half an hour, especially when she had to poke along dark lanes.
Mycroft Holmes stood at the scene of the crime: an actually well secure server room in which many important data were stored.
As usual, he wore a sophisticated tailor-made suit and held an umbrella in his right hand.
His face showed none of his emotions, which was why people called him 'the iceman'.
„Would you like to comment?", he asked the responsible watchman.
„Sir, she was really skillful! My men lost her outside on the street.", the man admitted and shook his head.
„So? Really skillful... I must not explain to you what will happen if this theft becomes public? The national security is in danger and I must not remind you of what will happen if he comes to this knowledge...", Mycrofts voice sounded irritated however, quietly.
„Please, sir, can we not sort this incident differently? The cameras took several pictures of her, I've got the pictures here!", the scared guard thrusted some black-and-white photos into Mycroft Holmes' hand.
Eagerly interested the iceman examined them.
„Are you in earnest?", he perked up his eyebrows.
„I swear to you, Mr. Holmes that this is the young woman we have pursued! The pictures show her during the burglary!", assured the man.
Mycroft shook his head because what he saw and what had happened mismatched: on the one hand there was the crime which had run off nearly smoothly for the thief. But the photo also showed an attractive, young woman. Her hair was short and dark and with the look in the camera a pair of dark eyes glared at him. She was too pretty to be so clever, he decided fast. Moreover, he recognised her immediately. Really he had seen her face already in his data bank.
An extremely rebellious young woman that no one had been able to tame.
„Which data did she get possesion of?", he asked.
„Those of the education programmes and the re-education measures, sir.", the man looked contritely at him.
„That will not go any further! I will take care of this unpleasant affair. No word to anybody and tell DI Lestrade he should not look for her. Hand the video recordings over to me and advise all involved people to be quiet about the incident! Are we clear?", growled Mycroft and turned round and he put the photos of the young woman in the inside pocket of his jacket.
„Of course, sir. But what will you do now?", the security man asked his boss scaredly while he turned around and walked down the hall.
„This is none of your concern. Removing the hole in the system would be a good start/ Nevertheless, we do not want something like this to happen again, do we?.", his voice sounded dangerously quiet.
„Of course not, sir.", then the distraught man went to the work.
On his way out Mycroft Holmes organized his thoughts. The girl got him in hot water and she would absolutely not want to get caught. She would hide herself during the next days or she would use a disguise.
He sighed.
Heads would literally roll if his boss found out about this. His head.
Now Mycroft's the biggest interest was getting the data back and to his displeasure there was only one person all over London who worked more efficient than the police.
By now he could imagine the face of mummy's boy: the blue eyes gleaming, a venomous smile on the lips. The case in itself would presumably bore him, but it would be a welcome variety for him.
Thanks to the new system he had to keep himself hidden, even if London's complete population knew that Sherlock Holmes' had never left 221 B Baker Street or disappeared in the underground. Instead, he was leading the New Scotland Yard in a merry dance and he enjoyed it.
Yes, Mycroft Holmes needed the help of his younger brother whether he liked it or not.