Disclaimer – I don't own the characters. They belong to ACD, MG and SM and the BBC. No one pays me to do this, I do it for love.
Chapter Two
Sherlock looked at 'Louisa', over the screen of his laptop.
'Is that everything?' he asked.
'Yes, I think so. It will tide me over for a day or two, at least.'
'Good,' he said, pressed 'Send' and snapped the lap top closed. 'They will deliver it all tomorrow. In the meantime, there's milk and bread in the fridge. You can order a take away for tonight.'
'Will you be dining with me?' she asked, tilting her head to one side and pouting a little.
'No, I will not. I will be at home with my family. Now, remember what I said. Don't go out. Don't even stand in the window, in case you're seen. I have arranged for someone to watch the house, round the clock. They will see if anyone is hanging around – or if anyone leaves.' He gave her a hard look, as he said that.
'Why would I want to leave, when you're being so welcoming?' she muttered, rolling her eyes and pouting still more.
He stood up and walked over to the sitting room door, to get his coat and scarf. Putting them on, he picked up his laptop and turned to look at her again.
'I'm assuming those places where you spotted your stalker have CCTV? I'll access their records tonight and see if I can spot him. Once I have his image, it shouldn't be too hard to find out who he is and to track him down.' He didn't wait for a response or say goodbye, just turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs.
Once in the hallway, he tapped on Mrs Hudson's door. There was no reply, so he took out his notebook and scribbled a message which he then folded and stuck in the metal frame that might once have held a name card but was currently empty, but for his note. He walked to the front door and exited onto the pavement. Once outside, he took out his mobile and speed-dialled John's number. He picked up after three rings.
'Sherlock, what's occurring?' John opened the conversation, employing the idiom of a popular TV sit com – well, popular with him, at least.
'I need your help on a case, John. Can we meet?'
'Well, I'm at work right now. I finish in half an hour but then I have to collect Lily Rose from the child minder.'
'I can meet you at the hospital and we could talk on the way over, couldn't we?'
'Yes, I suppose we could. OK, meet me by the Main Entrance, in half an hour.' Without further preamble, they both hung up.
Sherlock looked at his watch. It was five o'clock. Molly would be finishing work now, collecting Freddie from the crèche and walking home. He wrote a text:
'Meeting J to discuss a case. Will be home for supper. SH x'
He pressed 'send' and put the phone back in his pocket. He would walk to St Mary's. It wouldn't take half an hour but it would give him time to think. He looked across the road and spotted a young man, wearing a hoody, under a puffer jacket, and a woollen hat. He sucked on a hand-rolled cigarette, as he leaned against the wall of the building opposite. Sherlock crossed the road and, as he passed the man, casually dropped a piece of screwed up paper into the gutter. The man waited until Sherlock had passed, then knelt and picked up the twenty pound note, stuffing it into his pocket.
Upstairs, in 221B, 'Louisa' stood by the window and peeped round the curtain. She watched Sherlock stride off down the street, then took out her mobile phone.
The person on the other end picked up at the first ring.
'Well?' they asked.
'I'm in,' she replied.
'God, that was easy.'
'I told you it would be. He thinks he's my Knight in Shining Armour. He would never refuse me. But there is a complication.'
'Which is?'
'He's attached.'
'To what?'
'To a woman, apparently. Not only that, they have children.'
'That could work to our advantage.'
'Oh, no. We can't use his family for leverage.'
'Why not? Are you going soft on me?'
'Don't be ridiculous! No, you don't know him. If we threatened his family, he would probably kill us. We mustn't make him angry'
'OK, I suppose I'll have to take your word for that. Anyway, hopefully, he will do what you ask and we can get the hell out of here, as soon as possible.'
'Ok. Now, whatever you do, don't let him catch you. Don't come here – he's having the place watched. And try to avoid CCTV. He has access to the database, through his brother. If he spots you, the game is up.'
'Don't worry, I'm invisible.'
'Good. Make sure you stay that way.' She shut off the call and stood, for a moment, tapping the phone against her jaw, then turned away from the window, sat down in Sherlock's chair and switched on the TV.
ooOoo
Sherlock was sitting on a bench, outside St Mary's, when John emerged from the building and looked around. The two men spotted one another at the same time and John walked over as Sherlock stood up.
'What's it all about then, Alfie?' John asked.
'What…? John, do you think you could try not quoting popular culture at me? You know I don't understand any of the references.'
'Really? Not important enough to save on your hard drive? What on earth do you and Molly talk about, in the evening, after the kids are put to bed?'
'Stuff.'
'What kind of stuff?'
'Stuff stuff. And none of your business stuff. Where is this child minder?'
'St John's Wood.' John began to walk towards the Underground.
'Where are you going?' Sherlock asked and put out his arm to hail a cab.
'Oh, yeah, I forgot, Mr Moneybags.'
Sherlock chose to ignore that remark, opening the door, as the cab pulled over and climbing in. John gave the child minder's address and followed suit.
Settling back in the seat of the cab, John looked at his friend enquiringly. Sherlock just launched straight in.
'John, she's back.'
'Who's back?'
'The Woman'
'What woman?'
'Don't be obtuse, John, THE Woman. Irene Adler.'
John looked puzzled and also shocked.
'What do you mean, she's back? Back where?'
'Here, in London, in Baker Street, in fact, in my flat.'
'That's not possible. She can't be.' John shook his head and looked at Sherlock in alarm, as though he were concerned for the other man's sanity.
'It is, indeed, possible, John, however improbable, because she is, in fact, there.'
John looked at his friend and was clearly struggling with some inner demon but, at last, he spoke.
'Sherlock, she's dead. She died, months ago, - years ago. She can't be back. Have you taken something?'
Sherlock stared at John, with an expression of both hurt and exasperation.
'I didn't mean that in a bad way,' John said, apologetically.
'Oh, I see. You accused me of relapsing in a good way. Sorry, I should have known.'
'No, I didn't mean to infer that you had relapsed. Oh, shit, I don't know what I meant. But one thing is for absolute certain. That woman is dead.'
Sherlock gave his friend a quizzical look.
'She was in a Witness Protection programme, in America, John. That's what you told me, wasn't it?'
John turned and looked out of the window, momentarily, then down at his hands and, eventually, back at Sherlock.
'Yes, that's what I told you but I lied. She was killed, Sherlock – beheaded by a terrorist group, in Karachi.'
'That's what Mycroft told you, yes?'
John looked very chagrined, now.
'Yes, it is. He said only you could have fooled him and you weren't there.'
He opened his hands, in a gesture of apology.
'But I was,' Sherlock declared, fixing John with an almost triumphant glare. John looked at him in disbelief.
'How could you have been? That's not possible,' he spluttered.
'I think we've already had this part of the conversation but, for the sake of continuity, I will repeat myself. It is, indeed, possible, John, however improbable. I was there and I did rescue her from the terrorists. She was, indeed, in a Witness Protection programme, in America, which I negotiated for her with the American diplomatic service. And they convinced Mycroft that she was dead. I believe they even provided a video of the execution – I don't know how they managed that, but they did.'
John was quite flabbergasted. Would Sherlock ever cease to surprise him?
'So, when Mycroft decided to tell you that she was in a Witness Protection programme, she actually was?'
Sherlock nodded, with a self-satisfied smile.
'But now you say she's back?'
The smile disappeared, immediately.
'Yes, unfortunately, she is and she has asked for my help.'
'Well, you can't help her, can you,' John stated, bluntly.
'I have said I will, that's why I need your help.'
John looked at Sherlock, askance.
'That woman is nothing but trouble, Sherlock. She should have stayed put in the programme. You don't owe her anything.'
'She's being stalked. She needed somewhere to hide. I've told her she can stay at 221B.'
'Are you nuts? What do you think Molly's going to say?'
'She won't have any reason to say anything. Irene is still using her new identity. I'll tell Molly that I have a client, called Louisa Bennett, staying at the flat. She never met Irene – not the real one, anyway – so, even if she should see her, she won't know who she is.'
'You are making a huge mistake, Sherlock. Don't lie to Molly. You will live to regret it, trust me. I know from personal experience. Just do not go there.'
'I can't tell her who Irene is. It would upset her.'
'Why would it? It's not as if you had a relationship with her, or anything?'
Sherlock turned away, gazing out of the window, pursing his lips.
'Sherlock? You didn't, did you? Don't tell me you did?'
'Oh, alright, John, for God's sake! Is it that hard to believe?'
John was utterly gob-smacked. When he eventually regained the power of speech, he blurted out.
'When? Where? How?'
'Good God, John, did I ever ask you for the intimate details of your assignations?'
'No, of course not. You weren't interested. And that, not wishing to appear indelicate, is my point. You weren't interested in…..that sort of thing. Transport, you said, everything else is just transport.'
'Yes….well….I was a long way from home; we'd just pulled off a daring and dramatic rescue. I was pumped. And I never thought I would ever see her again. No one needed to be any the wiser.'
'But now she's back and you are lying to your long-term partner, the mother of your children about who she is and what she once meant to you…..'
'She never meant anything to me, John. I wasn't in love with her. It was lust, pure and simple.'
'Oh, right, that's why you travelled, in secret, all the way to Karachi and risked your life to rescue her, and called in countless favours with the Yanks, to secure her future. Doesn't sound like lust to me.'
'Perhaps not, John, but you are not me. I felt I owed her, that's all. And I was attracted to her, but there was never any emotional engagement. We spent one night together. It was my reward, my payment – one night of rampant sex, on the house.'
'Sherlock, I really do not want to hear the gory details.'
'Make up your mind. You were asking me when, where, how a minute ago.'
The cab drew to a halt and the cabbie turned around and said,
'This has been a very entertaining journey, gents, but we are here and I am afraid this is NOT on the house. That will be ten quid, please.'
The two men alighted from the cab and Sherlock paid the grinning cabbie, feeling a little exposed. As they walked towards the child minder's door, John said,
'Well, after what I just learned, I'm going to have to completely revise everything I thought I knew about you, mate!'
Sherlock rolled his eyes to heaven and then looked down, expectantly, at his diminutive friend.
'Look, I will help you with the case but, take my advice. Whatever history you have with Irene, come clean to Molly. If you don't and she finds out, it could be disastrous for your relationship. If you don't tell her, she will assume you have something to hide. Guilty as charged. Tell her the truth.'
John knocked at the door of the child-minder and the conversation was over.
ooOoo
Sherlock pushed open the door to the flat he shared with Molly and their children, stepped into the hall and closed the door. He was just unfastening his coat when William came barrelling through from the sitting room and threw himself at his father. Sherlock caught him and swung him up into his arms.
'Daddy! Guess what?' William shrieked, in great excitement.
'You know I never guess, William,' Sherlock laughed.
'Alright, Daddy, deduce what,' William grinned back. Sherlock drew his head back a little, pressed his lips into a thin line and narrowed his eyes, looking intently at his son.
'OK, let me see. Hmm.' He took hold of the little boy's hand and inspected his fingers, closely, then scanned up and down his body.
'Right, I deduce that you had spaghetti bolognaise for lunch, followed by rice pudding. You also had a rich tea biscuit, probably at Afternoon Playtime.'
William giggled but didn't give any indication as to the veracity of these statements.
'You had a violin lesson, today, and you were practicing pizzicato. You played on the rope swing, at lunchtime, and you had another fight with Alya.'
He looked William in the eye and said,
'How did I do?'
'It wasn't really a fight, Daddy. She pushed me so I pushed her back, that's all.'
Sherlock feigned disappointment, shaking his head, in mock frustration.
'You only pushed her? Oh, there's always something.'
Sherlock carried William into the sitting room. Molly was in the kitchen, mashing potatoes for supper. Nine months old, Freddie was sitting on his play mat, in front of the sofa, surrounded by an eclectic mix of toys. He looked up, as Sherlock came in through the door, gave a toothy grin and, rolling onto his hands and feet, bear-walked toward his father. Sherlock knelt down on the floor and Freddie put his hands on his father's thigh to push himself to standing.
'You still haven't deduced what, though, Daddy,' William reminded.
'Haven't I? Hello, Freddie! Daddy's home!'
Freddie looked up, still grinning, and very slowly, took his hands off Sherlock's thigh and stood up straight. Sherlock opened his mouth, in surprise, as his youngest son stood unsupported for at least three seconds before his knees gave way and he plopped down on his well-padded bottom.
'Oh, Baby Bin, you gave it away!' William groaned.
Molly had come round the kitchen table and was standing, watching Freddie demonstrate his newest accomplishment. Sherlock looked at her, still smiling, incredulously.
'He's been doing that all day, apparently. His record, so far, is about ten seconds. Make the most of it. He'll be racing round the place, before we know it.'
Meanwhile, the littlest Hooper-Holmes was pulling himself back up onto his feet and climbing into Sherlock's lap, clutching at his jacket lapels, to pull himself upright, again, balancing precariously on his father's thigh. Sherlock put his free arm round the baby and hugged him and William to his chest.
'Well, how clever is that, William? Freddie can stand up on his own!'
'Yes, he's very clever but he did give it away.'
Sherlock kissed William on his forehead.
'He was too excited to wait for me to deduce it. He'll learn.'
'Come on, boys, supper's ready. William, go and wash your hands, please, babe.'
Sherlock let go of William, who raced off to the bathroom to wash his hands. Holding Freddie in his arms, he stood up and walked into the kitchen, to put the baby in his high chair and fasten a clean bib round his neck before wiping his little hands with a baby wipe.
'Busy day?' Molly asked, as she served out the supper.
'Yes, I have a new case. I'll tell you all about it when the boys are in bed,' Sherlock replied, giving her a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, before sitting down next to Freddie, since he was on feeding duty tonight.
ooOoo
