AN: The text in bold are indicating Facebook posts. Normal text is Percy's thoughts and dialogue.
I have decided I need a slightly more regular updating schedule. I will update every Sunday until a special post on the 10th October, the update schedule will then stretch to every two weeks. This way I have to time to get everything written up to right standard and you all get regular updates.
I have upped the rating of this story to M, it doesn't necessarily mean there will be adult scenes, but there is a chance. It's more to cover the use of some more adult language and some of the violence. If anyone has any issues with anything they read, please PM me and I will happily talk about it, or send you a more censored version.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fan fiction. Any copyright infringement is unintended. All familiar characters belong to their respective owners. Angie belongs to naturerocs and I own Percy.
I hope you enjoy the next installment of Percy's story…
Chapter 1 - Heartbreak and Heartache
I'd made it through the afternoon; I'd got everything moved out of the house. I hadn't looked back. I couldn't look back, it was too tempting to stay and face the consequences. The clock had just struck 3pm as I'd got back to Mycroft's. I let out a sigh of relief. Coming back to Mycroft's town house had felt somewhat normal, like coming home. I unpacked the essentials in my room and sunk onto my bed, at first I just felt numb, but soon I was sobbing my heart out. The crying stopped after two hours. As soon I stopped crying I just stood up, washed may face and went downstairs. I then cooked us dinner and went to bed. I got up the next day, went to work and everything was normal, it all seemed easier than before. I thought I'd be distraught, barley functioning, perhaps I'd known this was going to happen for longer than I'd realised. Normality had set in, and I wasn't as bad as I feared.
In fact I made it through two weeks then three weeks, even four. I survived the monotony of it all. I kept going; apathy and numbness fuelled me to keep busy and not dwell on the whole situation.
Back to work this morning...it's only lunchtime...can I go home yet?!
I posted on Facebook. I know, get me in this modern age. More surprising was Mycroft's response.
You've had more than enough time off. Get back to work.
Wow, someone's grumpy, I thought. I closed down Facebook and got on with some reports that needed finishing. Whoever had been my replacement for the last month had been completely useless. I seemed to be spending all my time fixing their mistakes. As an extra punishment I was on late nights for the next two weeks, Mycroft's little punishment for the time off I'd taken, it was boring and I was out the way.
The late shift was 5pm to 8am. By 7pm the office was nearly empty, just a few hangers on. By 9pm it was dead. I was going insane sat in the dimly lit room trying to find things to do. I'd re-written the three reports already, not exactly taxing, just slightly more time consuming than usual, my fingers in my right hand were stiff and sore. In fact my entire right arm ached. It was healing slowly, but after the incident, it just didn't feel right. I opened my desk draw and pulled out some painkillers and looked for something to drink. Typical, the water machine was empty. I slipped into Mycroft's office to see of there was any tea, no tea, but some lovely malt whiskey. I may have poured myself a rather liberal glass and padded back to my desk. I popped the pills into my mouth and took a large gulp of the whiskey. I burnt, but it was welcomed. I could already feel its numbing effects. Facebook pinged at me.
It hasn't been four weeks already, has it?
John asked. I grimaced, it had, and a long four weeks they had been.
It has. I better not complain, I'll get yelled at again!
I replied sarcastically. It wouldn't surprise me if Mycroft had my page hacked.
Well, is your arm better? No bruising, no swelling, no purple, no pain?
John enquired. He was so sweet and caring, I always marveled at how he was single. I looked down at my right arm. Should I lie or be honest? I went with sardonic honesty. The whiskey was helping with my inhibitions and glass number two was slipping down nicely.
Um...no it's painful, bruised and an odd colour, but I have whiskey and strong pain killers so it's not all bad.
I could imagine John's face. He would think I was joking for five seconds and then realise I wasn't.
No, no, whiskey and painkillers don't mix you should know that. Get over to Bart's now, I need to take a look at it.
John ordered. I snorted and spun round on my chair thinking of a reply. Wow, I was quite buzzed. Facebook pinged again, John adding a bit of a rant.
And Mycroft, I don't give a damn, I'm her doctor, and she is not going to work with her arm like that. If she just left it alone, it could get so bad that it never properly heals and she might even lose it. Either way, right now, she can't possibly be much use to you, so just shove off.
I giggled at John's candidness. I'd love to see him stand up to Mycroft.
Well that's all that's in the office, and I'll be fine. I posted. It sounded like an excuse and sort of was if I'd walked down the corridor to the kitchenette I'm sure I could have found something non-alcoholic…Oh well!
No, Percy, seriously, that is not a good mix. We don't need you going into another coma. If you won't come down to Bart's, I'll come down there.
John chided. I rolled my eyes at the computer screen.
I'm on night duty. I'll be fine, seriously. I'll try and come by the hospital in the morning.
I offered, hoping it would plicate his mothering, I was wrong.
Doctor's orders. Now Percy. Don't make me come down there and get you. John threatened, and I could almost hear his frustration.
Please, do take on the government to get me to have a check-up. John, I'm glad you care, but just leave it. I'll come and see you when I get a chance to go home, but until then, I have to deal with it.
I sighed as I typed. John's righteous anger wouldn't change anything; it would probably just make it worse.
It's not just a check-up. Percy, Mycroft already got your brother killed, I'm not letting him do this to you. If you won't come down, fine, I'm on my way down there.
His mention of Sherlock irked me and he was treating me like a child. I poured myself another drink and downed it quickly.
John just back off! I am an adult and I can deal with this. Thank you for patching me up and your concern, but it's no longer needed.
I sniped. Not caring if it hurt his feelings.
Damn stubborn Holmes.
He replied quickly
I'm a Moriarty.
I retorted. Then I remembered I wasn't anymore, legally I was, but not for much longer, but I knew it would annoy John so I left it as it was.
That just makes it worse. Either way...
John seemed set on coming down and rescuing me.
Fine do what you want. Good luck trying to get in.
I replied childishly. He could get in somehow, but it would be fairly hard.
I sat and spun round in my chair and waited for John. He'd make it here. Sherlock often overshadowed his talents, which was a shame, as John could be quite brilliant. I didn't have to wait long, perhaps an hour before I could hear footsteps coming down the corridor and random door being opened.
"Percy, you in here?" Called John. I rolled my eyes.
"Where else would I be?!" I bit back.
"Alright, calm down. First of all, how many painkillers have you taken, and how much alcohol have you had?" He asked, all business.
"Umm...I've had four aspirin and four paracetamol and something else since lunchtime. I've had three whiskeys with ice." I slurred slightly.
"Oh god...Don't ever do that again. Alright, let me see your arm." He said calmly. His voice sounded so loud in my head.
"Not so loud, please..." I muttered as I swiveled round to present my broken appendage.
"Sorry." He smiled. He looked at my arm and frowned. "Percy, you really shouldn't be working. I don't think it set properly. You haven't been resting it like I told you have you? Did you even wear the cast for longer than a day?" He asked sternly.
"I rested, I relaxed, I only went out for a day trip at the weekend, and I wore the cast for two weeks. I didn't take it off, I was told to take it off when I got to work this morning. Apparently it doesn't meet the dress code." I recited and lied. I had been very good; I'd done everything I was supposed to. The fight with Jim hadn't helped, I think that's when it re-broke, but no one had noticed so I kept quiet.
"Alright, well it's not properly healed. I think I'm going to have to x-ray it to see if it's set properly, but either way, you're gonna have to wear the cast for a couple more weeks. And Mycroft can just deal with it. These are doctor's orders, he has a problem with it, and he can take it up with me." John ordered firmly. I sighed.
"Okay fine. You can talk to him. I'm apparently too irritating to acknowledge at the moment. I can't leave the office tonight." I said glumly.
"Overstuffed git." Muttered John rudely. I tried not to smirk. "Well, I'm not leaving you in this state. It's slow at Bart's right now anyway, and I'm with a patient." He grinned at me.
"Okay, this is going to be very boring, I have to sit here and be alert in case the phone rings. If it does ring, I have to call Mycroft and then do as I'm told." I said to John, explaining how boring my job was for the next two weeks.
"Well, hopefully it won't ring, since it's...4am." John chuckled.
"Is it?! I hadn't noticed." I said honestly. What had I been doing all night?
"Yeah." He nodded. I glanced at John.
Thanks for coming to see me, the company's nice." I smiled.
"Don't mention it. Can't Mycroft hire some lackey to do this instead of making you do this?" John asked. He sounded baffled by the whole situation.
"I think its punishment for being stupid enough to get a broken arm. Depending on his mood depends whether or not I am the lackey or not." I said dryly. Oh how I loved to be a lackey.
"He shouldn't be treating you like that. It's not your fault you got a broken arm, he's the one who put you into that situation!" John said indignantly.
"I don't know; I'm in a bit over my head." I admitted quietly.
"Well, just be careful. I meant what I said about him getting Sherlock killed." John said darkly. I looked at him again and could see the grief hidden behind the anger. I remembered the papers printing all sorts, but I didn't really take it in. Sherlock had never told me what happened, neither had Jim. I was as much in the dark as everyone else, well I was aware that both men survived. Poor John, he knew his enemy survived but not his best friend.
"I know. I will be careful." I nodded, patting John's hand. I lent back in my chair and sighed. "Although only you and Angie seem to care what happens to me. I feel a bit disposable at the moment." I uttered sadly.
"Well, Mycroft's an idiot, and..." John obviously stopped himself before slighting Jim, so I did it for him.
"...And Jim is a cheating bastard." I spat.
"What?" Asked John. He looked taken aback by my sudden angry words.
"Apparently he's having an affair. Go figure." I muttered sarcastically.
"Uh...are you, uh...you sure?" John asked he still looked worried.
"Yeah, he told me himself." I confirmed. Fighting the memories of that horrendous night.
"Oh. Uh...sorry." John offered lamely.
"I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner, then again it probably has. Oh well." I shrugged.
"Oh well? That's all you're going to say about it, is oh well? You're not even going to do anything about it? And don't say that, Percy, no one deserves to be cheated on." John's breathing quickened after his tirade.
"What else is there to say, it's not going to change anything? Being angry isn't going to stop it from happening. Maybe it's a blessing in disguise, who knows?!" I said nonchalantly. I'd been angry, I been so upset and I'd been sick, nothing had changed, none of those emotions brought the man I loved back. I'd even been high, none of it helped. So apathy was my next best choice.
"And he told you this? He actually told you he was having an affair? Percy, not even he's crazy enough to actually tell you he's cheating on you." John was defending Jim? Had the world turned upside down? Or was I that temperamental?
"The argument started because he saw me with a friend, who happened to be an ex-boyfriend I dated before I even met him. We were messing around, and I suppose to an outside point of view it looked like flirting, it really wasn't. He really is mad enough to tell me and flaunt it." I spat bitterly.
"If he was really having an affair, do you really think he'd get mad over it seeming like you were doing the same thing he'd been doing?" John asked. I looked at him like he'd grown an extra head, and then shrugged.
"I have no idea. People can be hypocritical." I replied. I had to ask.
"Why are you so interested, I thought you'd be pleased Jim had made such a big mistake?!"
"Yeah, well...did...I don't suppose he said who with?" John stuttered.
"Nope, also I don't stick around long enough to ask." That wasn't entirely true, I just couldn't remember half of it clearly, plus the mixture of alcohol and rage and lots of crying blurred the night into mass of pain.
"Oh." He said looking a bit deflated. He shook his head as though he was trying to push thought away.
"Why, do you know who it is?!" I asked sharply.
"No...I mean...Alright, don't over react, but...at the hospital, I guess he still poses as Jim from IT sometimes, and...I've heard some rumours, that he's been...that he's been dating Angie...but, I mean, obviously it wouldn't be true, Angie would never do that!" John stammered. I took a moment to let that sink in. Angie? Angie!
"I'm sorry did you say Angie, as in our Angie, your sister, my best friend?!" I spat coolly. I couldn't believe it; of all the people…I poured myself another large glass of whiskey and downed it. It didn't help. John reached across and moved the bottle out of my reach. I nearly yelled at him, but bit my tongue, they say don't shoot the messenger.
"Alright, none of that. Yes, they kept saying the detective's girlfriend...but I mean, come on, we both know Angie would never do that! It's just a stupid and very wrong rumour." John declared.
"Hmm." I answered. It was starting to make sense; he'd always had this slight obsession with her. I should've seen it from the start.
"Come on, you know Angie wouldn't do that, not with anyone, let alone Moriarty, let alone your husband!" He defended Angie. He wanted me to not to believe it so badly. John knew. He knew Jim was perfectly capable of doing anything terrible as easily as breathing. Why should this be any different?
"I don't know anything." I said stonily.
"Well, I know my sister well enough to know that she would never hurt you like that." John retorted.
"Okay." I dismissed. I closed my eyes and slowly let my mind go blank. I needed to sort all of this out. The quarter bottle of whiskey I'd drunk was starting to really take effect, that and the pain killers, it was almost like being high, just less fun. A close second a mildly more legal.
John looked at Percy concerned, not only was her arm re-broken, but also she was in denial. As much as he hated to admit it, seeing Percy with Moriarty, you could see their connection, how they adored each other. They defended each other and balanced each other. Angie had yelled long and hard about it, even telling him things she'd observed when she'd stayed at Percy's. He'd not wanted to believe it, but they were perfect for each other. Moriarty was a monster, but would he truly betray Percy? John just didn't know. She was halting her emotions, pretending they didn't exist; this couldn't be healthy for her. For all her similarities to Sherlock, her current position with her hands steepled under chin and eyes closed accepted, her emotions set her apart, they made her alive and vivacious. If she stopped feeling she'd stop living. John looked at the woman he'd known for over half his life and sighed. He knew he's get nothing out of her for a while so stood up and left, taking Mycroft's whiskey with him.
After John had come to visit me at work, after we'd ranted on Facebook at each other something changed. Some of the things he'd revealed had stuck in my mind and were driving me insane. That week the dreams had started the constant onslaught of memories, nightmares and flashbacks haunting me whenever I closed my eyes. I felt detached, like I was living someone else's life. Every morning I woke with a tear stained pillow and an aching in my chest. I felt nervous around people. I kept pushing on through; I had to get on with my life.
Friday rolled round and I started to panic. I would have time, the weekend meant time. I needed to be busy and active, not alone in my head. Work that day was hell. Some major international incident had tempers running high and stress levels rocketing. I got yelled at by some junior for making a cup of tea, instead of telling them they'd lose their job if they ever spoke to me like that again, I just looked at the scared and scurried away. Even Mycroft noticed. It was his voice, he was Irish, he sounded so similar…That afternoon I'd had to meet a grieving family who's son had died on active service for MI6. I had to tell a mother she'd lost her son. She was broken, so broken at the news. As I made my way back to the office the tears silently fell, a wall of gut wrenching sadness smacked me in the chest. It had to stop. I had to stop. I text Mycroft to say I was heading home early and that I'd see him at home. I turned off from Whitehall towards Soho and to a discreet dealer I knew.
I didn't remember making it home. I didn't remember crumpling the floor at the foot of the bed. I just felt pain, gut wrenching pain. There was a gentle knock on the door and Mycroft came in.
"Persephone? You've been a bit quiet for a while..." I looked up at him through watery eyes and sniffed, tears never ceasing their hot trail down my face. I could feel myself shaking; I was trying not to throw up. Mycroft glanced at my clenched left hand and saw the syringe. It was full; my hands had been shaking too much to use it. Mycroft looked more carefully and noticed it was a huge dose; it probably would've killed her.
"Percy, you promised me you wouldn't do this again." Mycroft sighed.
"I..it...it hurts so much..." I stammered through the sobs.
"Please, Percy, it will hurt worse if you do this. It might feel good at first, but in the end it's just going to hurt more." He tried to reason with me.
"M-m-my heart is brea...breaking." I cried.
"Please, Percy, it will be alright. This is only going to make it worse. Please, give it to me." He pushed and I dropped the syringe. I pulled my knees up to my chest and stated sobbing again. Everything hurt. I felt Mycroft sit next to me and wrap an arm around my shoulders. I cuddled into my brother.
"It will be alright, Percy. I'll look after you." Mycroft comforted.
"How could he do this, I gave him everything I am." I sobbed.
"I don't know. I'm sorry." He said sincerely. I knew Mycroft couldn't fix it, nothing could.
"I feel so lost...empty." I said shakily, through hiccupping breaths.
"I'm sorry. But drugs won't help that; it will only make it worse. You have to fight it, Percy." He said persuasively. I knew he wanted me safe, but didn't he understand, I was half dead already?
"I'm not strong enough..." I whispered.
"Yes you are, I know you are." Mycroft urged.
"He's won, he took..." My cries cut off my words. Every memory was like a white-hot poker to my heart.
"He hasn't won anything. He's lost you, that's enough." Mycroft attempted. He looked down at his sister, so broken and lost; he didn't know what to do. He felt Percy shift in his arms.
"I feel sick..." I hiccupped and ran to the bathroom. I just made and violently vomited.
Mycroft was worried and mildly disgusted at hearing Percy vomit. He didn't know people could be sad enough to be sick. He pulled out his blackberry with a sigh and dialed Angie's number; she'd know what to do.
"Miss Watson, I'm afraid I need your assistance with an...issue." Mycroft said carefully and quietly. Twenty minutes later, Angie arrived and she didn't look pleased.
"Alright, I'm here. What is it?" She asked tersely.
"It's Percy, I found her in her room crying with this in her hand." He explained and showed Angie the syringe.
"She didn't take any, did she?" Asked Angie worried, her ire dissipating for a moment.
"No, I managed to persuade her no to, she was just staring at it. She's not doing well." Mycroft said tiredly, he felt tired. This was beyond him.
"So why am I here?" Angie shrugged, her annoyance falling back into place.
"Persephone needs your help. She's broken hearted." Mycroft explained. He tried not sneer at the words 'broken hearted'.
"Needs my help? I'm the last person she wants to talk to. Well, second to last." Angie laughed wryly. Mycroft coked an eyebrow at her inquisitively. Angie sighed in aggravation.
"She believes those half-witted rumours Moriarty started that I was having an affair with him." Angie spouted quickly.
"And are you?" Mycroft asked coolly. If it was true, Mycroft knew he would crush those individuals involved, he would not watch both his younger siblings succumb to broken hearts, Sherlock was closed off enough as it was.
"No! Why does everyone keep asking that?!" She half shouted. Good, though Mycroft.
"I meant no offence, but I have my siblings to think of. I only wanted conformation from you. Try and talk to her." Mycroft declared regally.
"I would never betray Sherlock." Angie said resolutely and then sighed. "Yes, I'll try to talk to her, but I doubt she'll want to." Angie muttered.
"Just try. Please." Mycroft beseeched, letting a minute amount of emotion show. Angie sighed again, but relented.
"Alright." She huffed.
"Thank you." He nodded and stepped out of the way. Angie knocked on the bathroom door.
"Percy? Do you want to talk?" Angie asked. I lifted my head up from the cool porcelain of the bath and glared at the now opening door.
"Urgh. Why are you here?" I barked angrily. Was she here to rub it in?
"I was worried about you." Angie answered, trying to hide her hurt feelings.
"Why would I believe that?" I snapped.
"Because you're my best friend. I care about you." Angie tried.
"I-i-is that why you stole my h-h-husband?" I cried out, the sob causing me to wretch again. Angie came towards me and moved to put an arm around me, but I flinched away.
"I didn't steal your husband. I haven't even spoken to him that much lately. If I have, I've been trying to get him to realise how much he's hurting you." She said emphatically.
"He doesn't care...Just go...I can'...can't do this." I said tearily and hoarse.
"I'm not gonna leave you to deal with this by yourself." Angie said firmly, but I couldn't be around her.
"J-Just go..." I yelled, pushing her away from me. Angie was hurt, I'd never done this before but I just couldn't deal with all of it at once, it was so painful, I didn't know who to trust or what to believe.
"Fine." She spat and swiftly left.
"I told you. Good luck." She sneered at Mycroft angrily.
"Miss Watson, perhaps it is for the best. When she's calmed down she'll be more rational." Mycroft tried to plicate, but realised his words were falling on deaf ears.
"I doubt it." Muttered Angie doubtfully and shaking her head. She left quickly and walked back to Baker Street enraged and hurt by the whole situation.
Mycroft knocked one more on Percy's bedroom door, to find her passed out on the floor. He picked her up carefully and laid her on the bed. He pulled the comforter over her and turned out the light. That night he didn't sleep; he kept a constant ear out for his sister. He'd seen her angry and upset and gleeful, even at her worst when she relapsed, but he'd never seen her broken. Mycroft toyed with the idea of summoning Sherlock to help him, he knew his younger siblings shared some bond perhaps he could help? He did know he was going to hunt down Moriarty and teach him a lesson, personally. Diplomatic immunity had many more perks in his position than the wider world knew.
Percy thought he hadn't noticed, that her arm had been re-broken, why she tried to hide he'd never knew. The only person that could've done that to her was Moriarty, emotionally hurting her was one thing, but physically laying a finger on her and physically hurting her, he'd more or less signed his death wish.