His Last Vow: The English
Leena huffed as she made her way through the halls of St. Bart's, heading for the lab, having gotten numerous calls not just from John, but from Mary, Molly, Lestrade, even MYCROFT! All of them calling her to alert her to the fact that Sherlock had apparently relapsed and ended up in a drug den of sorts, that John had found him when he'd been there to pull another young man, the friend of a neighbor, out of there. All of them were frantic and apologetic and begging her to get there as quickly as possible...
As though she weren't already in the hospital the moment Sherlock texted her that his cover had been blown...by John. It had taken Sherlock ages of convincing her before she'd allowed him to go to the drug den. Not that she had and doubts about his strength and resistance, that wasn't it at all, no...it was the fear that one of the other addicts would stick him while he was unaware or hurt him while he was playing the part. He'd just sworn to her he'd be alright, and she'd let him go.
Of course she had! He had promised her YEARS ago that he'd keep clean and he had. Years before America, he struggled yes, but he kept firm. Four years of her being in America, he'd held strong. He'd nearly lost it when the old woman (who reminded him too much of Mrs. Hudson) had been blown up, but she'd been there and she'd given him a better substitute for the drug, one she was more than happy to be the dealer of. Even 2 years god knew where and he was STILL clean! And yet one of them finds him in a drug den and they assumed the worst!
She was FUMING!
And not about the fact that they were forcing him into a drug test...well, she WAS rather cross about that, no...she was bloody furious about it really. It wasn't because she feared the results, she KNEW what the results would be, of course she knew, SHE was the one who had obtained the sample they were using. She knew exactly what the results would say, because they HAD to come out positive. But Sherlock would never ever touch a drug like that again.
And THAT was what infuriated her. For more than 10 years Sherlock Holmes had been completely clean, and everyone STILL treated him like he was an addict! It was ridiculous! And now, for them to force this on him, to actually believe he'd relapsed after 10 years, just 1 month after their wedding...it was really getting to her. She felt more betrayed than she was sure Sherlock did to find that NONE of their so-called friends had any sort of faith in him whatsoever when it came to something like this.
As though she'd let him out of 221B Baker Street and into a drug den. As though she'd NOT know where he was going?! No...she felt betrayed that they had such little faith in her as well. They were at team, they'd always been a team, and for them to suspect even for a moment that Sherlock had gone to the drugs behind her back...KNOWING that he'd promised her to stay clean...it hurt. It was like they were saying they doubted his love for her, the lengths he'd go to see her happy when they knew that she could get him to give up a case just by saying please!
It was just...the most ridiculous thing she'd ever experienced.
...no, that would probably be walking into the lab to see Molly smacking Sherlock and ranting at him about how dare he betray his friends and Leena and throw away his mind and say he was sorry, etc.
Yes, THAT definitely took the cake.
"Have you LOST your mind Molly?" Leena strode in.
"Jacks!" John nearly jumped, not having expected her to get there so quickly, Molly had JUST finished the test and Leena was already there...they'd wanted to wait a bit and come up with a way to break the news to her that Sherlock was most certainly...
"He's not clean," Molly told her, tears in her eyes, being blunt as ever.
"Well of course he's not!" Leena rolled her eyes, startling everyone but Sherlock, "The urine of a meth addict WOULDN'T be," she held up a small jar of...urine.
"...what?" John shook his head, completely startled.
"Sherwood contacted me that you'd blown his cover," she turned to John, making him blink as he realized...Sherlock really might have actually been undercover if Leena knew about it, "So I had to procure something to make the tests positive for something drug related," she slipped the jar to Molly, "I met him in the loo and slipped him that instead."
"Jackie..." Molly began softly, "I know you want to believe that, but..."
"He's got sickle-cell anemia," Leena cut in, "The meth user," she nodded at the jars, "Go and check if you don't believe me, it's the same urine, both likely have a trace of blood in them. So instead of slapping my husband, why don't you check the blood type first?"
Molly hesitated, she HAD seen a trace of blood in the urine but...she'd just thought it was because of the drugs. She glanced at the jar Leena had slipped her but looked back at the microscope, honing in on the blood...before she closed her eyes, not only was it sickle-cell, which Sherlock did NOT have, but it wasn't even his blood type.
"Now...say YOU'RE sorry," Leena crossed her arms, trying not to look at how Sherlock was smirking at the situation.
She could understand why they were all acting like Sherlock truly WAS drugged, he was wearing awful clothes, smelled as though he hadn't showered in days (which he hadn't, being undercover), and he looked far paler and more sweaty than normal...but it was amazing what makeup could do. As though actors and actresses really sweat in movies, especially when half the 'summer' movies were filmed in the winter months and so on. It was a trick, a magic trick, one meant to fool a particular individual and it had nearly been ruined because people didn't trust Sherlock.
"Um..." Molly looked down, clearing her throat, embarrassed for having gotten so...overwrought about something she'd completely misunderstood, "I'm sorry, Sherlock."
"As am I sorry that your engagement's over," Sherlock countered, "Though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."
"And you!" Leena rounded on John, "Shame on you for thinking that he would go anywhere near this kind of thing again without me knowing! Without him coming to one of us for help! Honestly, it's a miracle he hasn't gone to the drugs for all your faith in him! Would it kill any of you to just trust him a bit more? It's like you didn't work out how insulted and upset he was when Anderson used to volunteer for those stupid drugs busts..." she trailed off, seeing John shift, "Do NOT tell me that there is a drug bust going on in 221B right now John Watson!"
"Relax, Leena," Sherlock reached out, putting his hands on her shoulders, seeing her getting far too worked up over it all, but he knew his past drug use was a very touchy subject for her, he loathed thinking of himself during that time as well, "They didn't know this is all for a case."
He didn't know what it was but...ever since they'd gotten married it was like...Leena was even more important to him than before. Not that she hadn't always been the most important woman in his life...his own mother came second to her...but...it was like she was just...more now. Seeing her even the slightest bit unhappy had always made him want to see her smile, driven him to do things to see it happen, but now it was more an almost desperate need to see it, to see her happy...to see her happy with him. Marriage, for them, was forever and he'd been very truthful in what he'd said to John about himself during his speech, he was the worst sort of man and Leena had willingly tied herself to him for the rest of her life. He just...wanted to know SHE was happy despite that, that she was happy with HIM. Seeing her worked up or angry or tense...all he wanted to do was help her calm down and breathe and relax now. Though he could be happy she was cross with John and not him.
He was remarkably touched though, that she was getting so worked up over HIM. It...meant a lot to him, to know she cared so much. He wouldn't ever admit it out loud but...every time something like this happened, and John or Lestrade or Mycroft assumed the worst in him...for one brief second, he would wonder what the point was in NOT going to the drugs if everyone seemed so keen to believe he would go there, their lack of faith in him disturbed him greatly. But then...he'd remember Leena punching him in the nose and realize...there was at least ONE person, really the only one that mattered, that DID believe in him. And that was all he needed.
John shook his head, frowning, "What kind of case would need him doing this?"
"I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work," Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"No," John shook his head, "We're not playing this game."
"Quite recently, I'd say. You're very determined about it."
"Not interested."
"I am," someone from behind them called.
"Oh, hello William," Leena greeted, seeing a young man 'Billy' there, he'd been someone she'd contacted from Sherlock's homeless network to help keep him protected while in the drug den.
"Hell...ow!" he winced, sitting on a counter as Mary wrapped his arm, clearly in pain.
Oh, sorry," Mary winced, "You moved. But it is just a sprain."
"What happened to him?" Leena turned to Sherlock.
"Somebody 'it me," Billy called, making Leena look at him, "Eh, just some guy."
"Yeah," John stiffened, "Probably just an addict in need of a fix."
"Yes..." Sherlock began slowly, eyeing John critically, "I think, in a way, it was."
"More than you realized," Leena murmured.
"Is it his shirt?" Billy asked.
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock looked at him.
"Well, it's the creases, innit?" he nodded at John's shirt, "The two creases down the front. It's been recently folded but it's not new. Must have dressed in a hurry this morning so all your shirts must be kept like that. But why? Maybe 'cos you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an' then dress in the clothes you brought with you. You keep your shirts folded ready to pack."
"Not bad," Sherlock smirked at the man's deducting.
"Told you you'd like him," Leena nudged him.
"And I further deduce," Billy continued, "You've only started recently, because you've got a bit of chafing."
"No," Sherlock laughed, "He's always walked like that. Remind me, what's your name again? William was it?"
"Nah, they call me The Wig."
"No they don't."
"Well, they...they call me Wiggy."
"Nope."
"William?" Leena gave him a pointed look.
He sighed, "Bill. Bill Wiggins."
"Nice observational skills, Billy," Sherlock nodded, looking at Leena, "You were right."
"I always am," she winked at him, "And I was right about this as well," she pulled out her phone to show him the text alert she'd gotten that had led her to seek him out in the lab ahead of schedule.
"Ah!" he cheered, seeing it was a news alert, "Finally."
"'Finally' what?" Molly frowned, feeling completely lost.
"Good news?" Billy glanced over.
"Oh, excellent news," Sherlock grinned, "The best. My wife..." he smiled at Leena, he'd learned he said that quite a lot now, "Is utterly brilliant."
"I learned from the best," she nudged him before he took her hand and headed for the doors.
"There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers!" he called to the others, "The game is on!"
~8~
Leena sat between Sherlock and John in the back of the cab heading for 221B, Mary returning the two boys to their respective homes…or at least one to a home and another to a shelter. They'd left rather quickly after they'd answered the text alert Leena had gotten. She had her arm tucked through Sherlock's, leaning against him slightly as they sat in comfortable silence…well, THEY were sitting like that, John, however, was shifting in his seat, whether from the 'chafing' or from his own discomfort with the verbal thrashing Leena had given him not even they were sure.
Sherlock looked down at Leena as she glanced up at him, offering her a small smile as he gave her a look, 'Should we tell him?' his gaze flickered to John.
She let out a soft breath and shook her head, 'WE shouldn't…'
"Don't do that," John cut in, having seen them speaking silently to each other, "You've got something to say, you say it in front of me," he glanced at them, "I don't…want to make any more assumptions about things."
Leena smiled at him, patting his knee in thanks, realizing he was admitting that he'd been wrong about the drug den reaction. She knew he was concerned about her and Sherlock and that was why he'd reacted so strongly. He was fearful of losing his best friend to drugs like he'd 'lost' his sister to the drink…Sherlock really was as good as a brother to him. And she knew he was afraid for her to have to deal with Sherlock like that, but at least he could admit it now, that he SHOULD have had more faith in Sherlock.
"You've heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen, of course," Sherlock began.
"Yeah," John shrugged, "Owns some newspapers, ones I don't read. Why?"
Leena let out a breath, picking her words very carefully, "He's…not a nice man John. He's like…the king of blackmail. I doubt there's anyone," she gave him a slightly pointed look, "In England and a few other countries he doesn't have some sort of dirt on."
Before she could say more the cab pulled up to 221B and Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh, "What is my brother doing here?" he grumbled, getting out of the car to head to the door.
"So I'll just pay, then, shall I?" John rolled his eyes.
"You were the one who insisted he go to Bart's," Leena called back in reminder as she followed Sherlock, they had only really expected Lestrade on the 'drug bust' this time, not Mycroft as well.
"He's straightened the knocker!" Sherlock complained as he reached the door, seeing the knocker, that was always slightly askew, had been fixed, "He always corrects it."
"I know," Leena patted his arm with an amused smile, "OCD he is, it's an unconscious action Sherwood."
Sherlock just sighed…and turned the knocker back to the side, grinning at it before heading into the flat.
"Why'd you do that?" John frowned as he reached them.
"Do what?" Sherlock blinked at him.
Leena laughed and patted John's arm this time, "It's an unconscious action John."
John shook his head at that before he and Leena followed Sherlock in, only to stop short when they spotted Mycroft sitting on the stairs, smirking at them, "Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?"
"Well, then, Mycroft," Leena countered, "Back on the crisps?" she eyed his stomach pointedly, making him glare at her.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.
John sighed, "I phoned him," he told Sherlock, quickly adding, "Before I realized it was a case!" when Sherlock rounded on him.
"The siren call of old habits," Mycroft shook his head, "How very like Uncle Rudy, though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you. Now," he stood, "Save me a little time. Where should we be looking?"
"We?" Sherlock blinked.
Leena sighed and rubbed her forehead, "How many are up there Mycroft?" she asked, not even bothering to try and defend Sherlock to him. The others…she could convince them that Sherlock was completely clean, she'd even be able to convince Lestrade and Anderson…but Mycroft always thought the worst of Sherlock, that he'd slip too easily and 'big brother Mycroft' would have to swoop in and save the day. What he failed to realize…was that goldfish looked out for each other, especially the married ones
Mycroft didn't even get a chance to speak before Anderson's voice called down from the flat, "Mr. Holmes?"
Leena snorted just a tiny bit at that, making them look at her, "Sorry," she shrugged, "It's just…never thought I'd hear the day Anderson, of all people, called you Mr. Holmes with respect."
Sherlock smirked at that, "He's said it with fear though in the past."
"Yes, because Jacks threatened to murder him and Sally," John rolled his eyes, "And he only called you that when she was around."
"Wait a minute…" Leena blinked, before she looked at Mycroft, "Are they searching the WHOLE flat?" Mycroft just gave her a look at that, "Oh my god!" she bolted up the stairs, Sherlock and John exchanging a look before following her quickly up.
They ran into the flat to see that Anderson and another woman, the young woman who had taken Donovan's place when she'd been fired, standing beside him in the kitchen.
"Philip!" Leena huffed, crossing her arm.
"Sorry Jackie," Anderson winced, holding up his gloved hands in surrender, "It's for his own good."
"Oh for the love of god…" Sherlock grumbled, half throwing his keys onto the table and storming over to his armchair in the sitting room.
John frowned as he watched him go…how hadn't he seen it before? How hadn't he seen it all the other times a 'drugs bust' was done? It was…clear, really, the look on Sherlock's face, even the tone of his voice…his irritation, or what he'd thought was irritation with the situation, or even fear at having been discovered…wasn't that at all. It was…very well-hidden hurt. Sherlock Holmes…was actually hurt that they kept assuming he had drugs hidden about, that he was considering using again…he could understand it though. He'd…he'd gone to see Harry with Mary on the way back from France, just to…pop in, make sure she was ok.
She was doing just…wonderful, she really and truly was. He was honestly shocked by it. He admitted he'd been so consumed in dealing with what he thought was Sherlock's death and trying to help Leena through it that he hadn't thought much about his sister in the 2 years Sherlock had been gone. To see her again…he could tell there was a change in her. Her flat was neater, more sparse, more…welcoming. He'd done a bit of snooping and hadn't seen anything even remotely alcoholic. He'd actually…he'd actually found a token that he recognized from a friend or two to be one given in AA meetings from a sponsor. She'd been happier, attentive, she looked better and…he'd been so hopeful, actually letting himself feel that this was a new start for her because…she'd held a job down for a year with no instances of slipping up in it due to the drink. He'd taken her out to dinner with him and Mary and…he'd foolishly ordered a beer. He'd stuttered and tried to send it back the moment he realized what he'd done, fearing for Harry…until she'd told him to drink it, and to stop.
He'd been a bit confused what she meant, but she just shook her head at him and told him to stop assuming she'd go back to the drink just because it was in front of her. That was no way to be supportive and THAT was what an addict, what any addict, recovering, or recovered (though there was no such thing, addiction was a life-long struggle) needed to keep going strong. They needed people around them to believe in them when times got tough for them to believe in themselves. And him freaking out and thinking she'd just grab his beer and chug it…that wasn't any sort of way to help her resist. Treating the beer like it was just any other drink would help her more. To not have him make a big deal of it and assume the worst…to have faith in her, that was all she needed.
And he'd done the same to Sherlock, they ALL had, they'd assumed the very worst whenever a drug was even mentioned in relation to him. Leena had been right, with all the pressure from them, all the negative thought about what he'd do…it was a wonder her own faith in him alone had been able to sustain him so long.
"Oh, that's him, isn't it?" the young woman assisting Anderson asked, glancing at Sherlock as he curled up on his armchair, "You said he'd be taller."
"Some members of your little fanclub," Mycroft called to Sherlock as he stepped in, "Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat."
"Shut up Mycroft," Leena mumbled, glancing over to see that the door to the bedroom was still closed and let out a breath of relief, before she made her way to the armchair and sat on the arm of it, smiling when Sherlock shifted so he was sitting up a bit more, putting his head on her lap, similar to how they always sat on the sofa, but on the armchair instead.
"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock," the man just continued, "You can't afford a drug habit."
"I do not have a drug habit!" Sherlock snapped, glaring at him past where John's chair was sitting.
"What have you found so far?" Mycroft turned to Anderson, "Clearly nothing."
"Because there is absolutely NOTHING to find Mycroft," Leena rolled her eyes, "Honestly, how many times has this flat been searched on a drugs bust, hmmm? And how many times has anything at all been found that belonged to SHERLOCK."
There had been one time that they'd found Mrs. Hudson's 'herbal soothers' though.
"Your bedroom door is shut," Mycroft noted as Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, closing his eyes, "You haven't been home all night, Leena's been chasing after you through St. Bart's…so, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct order of his mother or his wife bother to do so on this occasion?"
"Go ahead Mycroft," Leena called, leaning back against the chair, "Go and search the bedroom, but I swear to god if you disturb my surprise for Sherwood I will utilize one of his favored methods for killing you."
Mycroft glanced at her over his shoulder, before he made his way into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him…
"Surprise?" Sherlock blinked his eyes open to look up at her, but she just held a finger to her lips that it was meant to be a true surprise…
When Mycroft stepped back out of the bedroom, rather quickly, only a moment later.
"Happy now?" Leena smirked at him, seeing the man was just a shade paler than when he'd gone in.
SHE had been the one in the flat last, SHE had been the one to shut the door. Because she knew, though she had hoped against it, that there was a chance that, with how much everyone was calling her, that there would eventually be yet another pointless drugs bust on the flat and she hadn't wanted her surprise to be so obvious for everyone, especially Sherlock to see.
Mycroft's lips pursed, "Yes," he nearly hissed the word out.
"Good…now all of you get the hell out of our flat!" she huffed, Sherlock chuckling with his eyes closed once more.
"One day Jacqueline," Mycroft warned, "Your faith in my brother will prove your undoing. One should never have too much faith in anything."
"Which is why I never bet on your diets working," she shot back to him.
"This was not what you think," Sherlock sighed, cracking an eye open to look at his brother, though his expression was serious at how his brother had had the nerve to tell his WIFE to not trust him in that endeavor…when it really was her belief in him alone that kept him going when he wanted to give in, "This is for a case."
"What case could possibly justify this?" Mycroft scoffed.
"Magnussen," was all Leena had to say, "Old Charlie boy."
Mycroft's expression hardened, "That name you think you may have just heard," he spun to face Anderson and the woman, "You were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you, on behalf of the British security services, that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply…just look frightened and scuttle!"
Anderson quickly grabbed the woman's hand and pulled her out of the room.
Mycroft sighed and turned back to Sherlock and Leena, "You ought to have more respect for that name," he warned her.
"Well he ought to have more respect for people in general," Leena shrugged, "He's not Sherlock, he doesn't have the charm to get away with it."
Sherlock smirked at that, stretching just a bit in place before he sat up as his brother spoke once more, but to John this time, "I hope I won't have to threaten you as well."
"Well, I think we'd both find that embarrassing," John smirked when he heard Sherlock snort in laughter.
"Magnussen is not your business," Mycroft rounded on him.
"Oh, you mean he's yours," Sherlock stood.
"You may consider him under my protection."
"I consider you under his thumb."
"If you go against Magnussen…" he warned them, "Then you will find yourself going against me."
"When have we ever NOT gone against you Mycroft," Leena stood as well, "We've been a pain in your side since the moment we met…much like you've always been the bane of Sherwood's existence."
"Tea?" Sherlock spun to Leena, who nodded, and he turned to head to the kitchen, "Oh…er, what was I going to say?" he mock-thought, "Oh, yeah," and opened the door as he passed it, "Bye bye."
Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he walked up to him, "Unwise, brother mine," he eyed Sherlock intently, "We both know how Magnussen operates Shirley," he dropped his voice, "You ought to take more care with your blushing bride or…"
He didn't even get a chance to finish before Sherlock grabbed his left arm and twisted it up behind his back, slamming his brother into the wall next to the door, making Mycroft shout in pain.
"Brother mine," Sherlock nearly hissed in his throat, "Don't you ever dare use Leena against me again."
Leena frowned and sighed, looking at John, "Would it be terrible to admit I'd not stop him if he wished to snap Mycroft in two?"
John offered her the smallest of smiles, "Not really, I feel that way most of the time Mycroft talks…"
"In the subtext?" Leena guessed, recalling what Sherlock had once told her about John hearing 'punch me in the face' whenever Sherlock spoke, in subtext of course.
"Yeah," he chuckled before hearing Mycroft groan in pain. He sighed and made his way over to the two men, "You should have known not to cross that line Mycroft," John warned him, "So don't say another word and just go. 'Cos Jackie's right…he really could snap you in two and, right now, I am slightly worried that he might. And I'm even more concerned that neither of us would stop him."
Mycroft pushed himself free and pulled his arm back, rubbing it in obvious pain, his eyes narrowed at his brother who glared right back.
"Sherlock," Leena called softly, holding out a hand and Sherlock walked right back to her, sitting down on the armchair, winding his arm around her waist absently, "You should go Mycroft," she told him, "Now."
John picked up Mycroft's umbrella that he'd dropped when Sherlock attacked and offered it to him, the man snatching it up as he stormed off. John shook his head, closing the door before he looked at Sherlock and Leena, "Er, Magnussen?" he offered, if just for something to say.
"What time is it?" Sherlock tried to search his pocket for his phone.
"Time for a bath," Leena quipped, leaning over to sniff Sherlock's hair, grimacing, "A week without a bath…you're lucky I love you Sherwood or I'd be on the other side of the room from the stench."
Sherlock though, just nodded and stood, "And we've a meeting with him in three hours," he headed for the halls.
"It's for a case, you said?" John asked, still trying to work out what could be so big a case that LEENA would consider letting Sherlock into an environment like that.
"Yep."
"What sort of case?"
"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in."
"Jackie's involved," John pointed out.
"And she's married to a sociopath," Sherlock remarked, "Hardly a testament to her mental health."
Leena had to shrug at that, what person in their right mind, with a memory like hers, would get involved in solving murders? Or marry a sociopath as he loved to call himself.
"You trying to put me off?" John frowned.
"Sherwood?" Leena scoffed, "He's trying to reel you in."
Sherlock spun around and pointed at her, his other hand on the bathroom door…before he grinned and crooked his finger, disappearing inside.
Leena laughed and shook her head, standing, "I believe that's my cue," she remarked, heading to the bathroom after him, "Keep out of the bedroom John," she called over her shoulder, before she disappeared inside the small room.
John waited a moment longer, before heading down the hall…and peeking into the bedroom, only to shut the door quickly behind him a moment later his back pressed against it…for a moment, before he opened it again to make sure he really was seeing what he thought he was…
"Yep," he nodded to himself, closing the door and heading into the sitting room to wait.
~8~
John shook his head as he watched Sherlock and Leena after their shower…he'd almost forgotten what they were like when they were together like that, granted he'd only had to experience them openly declaring they'd showered together a handful of times, like when Sherlock had harpooned a dead pig…but it was…still really weird to see how human Sherlock acted around Leena behind closed doors. He liked to think it was a sign that Sherlock felt that comfortable around him that he was willing to express himself more with Leena, allow him to witness it, when he knew the man stiffened up around others in the same situation.
He knew most would probably find it odd, the amount of time that the two spent together, especially since Sherlock had 'come back from the dead' but...he understood, he really did. Leena had seen Sherlock die, there had been a grave, she'd had to spend two complete years without any contact at all from him, and he knew that hurt her more than it had ever hurt him. He could recognize the signs as well, PTSD, he expected that would happen after witnessing what Leena had, after doing what Sherlock had upon the threat against those he held most dear. He knew Leena had had recurring nightmares about it, difficulty sleeping, she hadn't acted like herself afterwards and he was sure that Sherlock had done the same those 2 years out. If it hadn't been for the fact that Leena had surrounded herself in all things Sherlock, he would have identified it as PTSD completely. Both of them seemed to have displayed symptoms of it from time to time, even if it was a minor case he was almost sure they had it. The constant need for reaffirmation that the other was still there...it was why he'd hardly seen them out of each other's sight since Sherlock returned. To be without the other would only cause them to fear that they'd been dreaming the entire event. They were holding so tightly to each other, spending every waking and sleeping moment they could together, so that when they looked over or woke up, they'd see the other person still there. They were getting better about it, the stag night proved it, and he knew the wedding would just reaffirm to them that they were alive and together once more...but...they were in the 'honeymoon' stage of the marriage now and he expected them to be even closer.
...though he really had no idea how Leena did it. HE had missed Sherlock plenty, yes, his best friend had 'died.' But he doubted he'd be able to spend so much time with Sherlock Holmes and NOT try to murder him...he'd barely been around the man a few minutes before he HAD tried to strangle him...
Sherlock was currently dressed in black pants and a white shirt, putting on his jacket as he walked across the sitting room towards Leena as she sat on the armchair, her pants a dark gray with a hint of pinstripe to them, her shirt a light purple, a fitted buttoned up one, with her hair down and clipped to one side, on Sherlock's laptop.
"Now," Sherlock began, glancing at John, "Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark, it's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John? Stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes? That's what he is."
"We both dealt with the worst sort," Leena murmured, "From psychopaths to murderers, terrorists to serial killers, angels of mercy and assassins…none of them hold a handle to Magnussen."
"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's so much more than that," Sherlock added, "He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power. I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond."
"He's like the evil genius of blackmail," Leena muttered, before getting up to place the laptop on the nearest desk, turning it so they could see the files she'd hacked into, a blueprint of a building, "And this is his main home."
"Inside it he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name…is Appledore."
"It's like the Library of Alexandria, FULL of secrets, scandals, shame…" she shook her head, "Or at least that's what they say, no one's ever been inside it, it's that secure. I can't even hack into it since it's all on paper, nothing digital at all, all hard copies."
"It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world, and all of it lies underneath that house. And as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy."
They looked over at the door when they heard a knock on it to see Mrs. Hudson standing there, "Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"
"Did you put it in the freezer again?" Leena looked at Sherlock, getting up to go check.
"Hmmm…no," he glanced at her, "It's in the fridge. It kept ringing."
"That's the purpose of the doorbell Sherwood!" she called over to him.
"Who is it?" John glanced at Mrs. Hudson, noting that the woman seemed tense and very anxious.
"Who else do you think it would be John?" Leena asked as she walked back over with the doorbell ringer.
"Magnussen?" he frowned, glancing between them.
"Indeed," Sherlock stood, moving to the fireplace and gesturing them to join him, "Let them up, Mrs. Hudson."
Mrs. Hudson swallowed hard and nodded, heading down the stairs to do just that as they waited, standing stiffly, for Magnussen to arrive. They were unsurprised for the most part when three rather large and burly bodyguards entered first, scoping out the room, the halls, opening a few doors here and there before converging back into the sitting room and looking at the three of them intently.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh, go ahead," he held out his arms for the guards to pat him down.
Leena sighed, "If you must," she grumbled, doing the same, though that particular guard did take care not to pat too incriminatingly, what with Sherlock's hawk-like gaze on him.
The third moved over to John though, "Sir?"
John glanced over at the other two, "Can I have a moment?"
Sherlock lowered his arms as the 'frisking' finished, and looked at the man about to search John, "Oh, he's fine."
"Er," John shifted as he was being patted down anyway, "I...right. I should probably tell you..." he winced as the man pulled out a knife he'd taken off of Billy when he'd attacked him in the drug den, "Ok, I...that and..." and then the man pulled out a tire lever he'd taken incase he was attacked in the drug den, "Doesn't mean I'm not pleased to see you," he quipped, but the man was far from amused.
"I can vouch for this man," Sherlock stepped up as the man searching Leena stepped away, "He's a doctor. If you know who Leena and I are, then you know who he is..." he trailed off a moment, glancing at the door as Magnussen himself stepped in, "Don't you, Mr. Magnussen?"
He wasn't all that impressive really, Magnussen, nor was he very intimidating to look at. He was a small man in a suit, with short hair and glasses, a hint of a beard to him. He was pale and sketchy though, that could be said for certain, and he did give off a rather 'creepy' aura, but that was probably due to his dead-eyed gaze.
"It's quite rude to show up like this," Leena remarked, "We were scheduled to gather in YOUR office."
"This is my office," Magnussen moved to the sofa and sat down.
"This is OUR flat," Leena corrected, "Put that note in your records."
Magnussen's eyes narrowed as he looked at her, reading information that appeared before his eyes:
Jacqueline Angelique Holmes nee Jerrard
Scotland Yard, Profiling Unit
Former BAU Agent
Finances: 2% Debt (see file)
Status...Top Priority
Pressure Point: Sherlock Holmes (Husband)
He smirked, his gaze flickering to John as well:
John Hamish Watson
Afghanistan Veteran (see file)
G.P. (see file)
Porn Preference: Normal
Finances: 10% Debt (see file)
Status...Unimportant
Pressure Point: Harry Watson (Sister, Recovering Alcoholic), Mary Morstan (Wife)
"I'll see to it," he gave Leena a brief nod.
"Mr. Magnussen," Sherlock stiffened, having caught the man's gaze on Leena, guessing what he'd done as he stared at her, searched his records of her in Appledore, probably had some sort of software in his glasses that told him about a subject, "I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood only a week ago on the matter of her husband's letters," he frowned as Magnussen merely shifted on the sofa and picked up the paper to read, "Some time ago you put pressure on her concerning those letters. She would like those letters back."
Magnussen tilted his head, eyeing Sherlock this time:
Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective
Porn Preference: Minimal (see JAH's file)
Finances: Unknown
Brother: Mycroft Holmes
MI6 (see file)
Officially Deceased 2011-2013
Pressure Point: Jacqueline Holmes (wife, see file), Redbeard (see file), Jim Moriarty (see file), Hounds of Baskerville, Opium, John Watson...
He squinted at Sherlock, watching as the list scrolled on and on and on, a number of drugs repeating though, quite a few of the ones that had shown up in a drug report taken just earlier.
"You don't really have any need for the letters," Leena added, "So why not return them?"
Sherlock frowned when Magnussen snorted at the sheer list of things that could be used against Sherlock Holmes, it was rather impressive. For a man who never left himself open except to a select few, there were more ways to harm him than many other's he'd come across. This would be fun.
"Something we said?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.
"No, no," Magnussen waved him off, adjusting his glasses, "I...I was reading. There's rather a lot," he looked at Sherlock, "Redbeard..." he nearly grinned as Sherlock stiffened, "Sorry," he shook his head, "Sorry. You were probably talking?"
"I..." Sherlock began, clearing his throat when Leena subtly took his hand, knowing the mention of Redbeard still got to him at times, "I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of..."
"Bathroom?" Magnussen cut in, looking at the guard by John.
"Along from the kitchen, sir," the man replied.
"Ok."
"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters," Sherlock continued, "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents..."
But Magnussen ignored him again, gesturing around at the flat, "Is it like the rest of the flat?"
"Sir?" the guard frowned.
"The bathroom?"
"Er, yes, sir."
"Maybe not, then."
"Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?!" Sherlock nearly snapped, irritated with the man's attitude. He knew he gave off the same sort of feeling, but at least he was able to appear to pay more attention than that.
"Lady Elizabeth Smallwood," Magnussen nodded, "I like her."
"Will you please just answer the question?" Leena gave the man a look, "Is Sherlock acceptable to you as an intermediary?"
"She's English, with a spine," he continued, as though he hadn't heard a word either Sherlock or Leena had said. He merely pushed the coffee table away with his foot and stood, gesturing for a guard to move, the man removing the fire guard from the front of the fireplace, "Best thing about the English, you're so domesticated. All standing around, apologizing," he sighed, making his way to the fireplace, "Keeping your little heads down. You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you," he chuckled, unzipping his fly and proceeding to use the fireplace as a facility while Sherlock, Leena, and John remained resolutely facing forward, disgusted and appalled, "A nation of herbivores. I've interests all over the world but, er, everything starts in England. If it works here I'll try it in a real country," he smirked, zipping himself back up before making his way before the men again and taking a hand sanitizer napkin from a guard, "The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Western world," he glanced at Sherlock, "Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them. Goodbye," he dropped the napkin to the floor and moved to leave, only to pause and turn to them again, tugging a packet of white documents to peek out from his inner pocket, "Anyway," he chuckled, "They're funny."
The trio watched as the man smirked, tucked the letters back, and left the room with his guards after him.
"Jesus!" John hissed as he half jumped away from the fireplace the moment the footsteps on the stairs faded.
"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock grinned, glancing at them.
"Wh..." John rolled his eyes, "There was a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah," he pointed at the fireplace.
"He showed us the letters," Leena reasoned. Given how secure Appledore was…it was hard to imagine he'd EVER take something that should be stored there out of it with him.
John just blinked, "Ok?"
"So he's brought the letters to London," Sherlock explained, "So no matter what he says, he's ready to make a deal."
"We need to be careful," Leena shook her head "He only makes deals after he's found someone's weakness, their 'pressure point.'"
"So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat," Sherlock grabbed his coat, glancing at Leena with a proud smile, "That was brilliant."
She smiled at that but John shook his head, "THAT was the reason?" he gaped at them, "You were in a drug den to make Magnussen think you were an addict?"
"It's really simple John," Leena moved to grab her own coat, "If you don't want someone to use a weakness against you...give them a false one, one that wouldn't actually hurt you. They think that's the way to get to you, and you have the upper hand."
John blinked...that was actually rather brilliant, it was true. Someone would use that weakness against you, thinking it would harm you, thinking it would give them the upper hand...only for it to have no affect at all, allowing you to continue fighting back while also unnerving your opponent. He...should probably try to think of a false weakness now that he thought about it. He'd nearly had one with his psychosomatic limp, people would have thought he needed the cane and taken it from him to hinder him...only for him to fight back without needing it at all.
"Now, I HAVE managed to hack his schedule," Leena pulled out her phone, the program Penny had made her running, showing Sherlock the man's plans, "He's only here for the night."
Which means the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the..." Sherlock squinted at the plans, "Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten. Right," he nodded, glancing at John, "We'll see you tonight," he took Leena's hand as they headed out.
"What's tonight?" John called after them.
"I'll text instructions!"
"Yeah, I'll text you if I'm available!"
"You are!" Leena shouted up to him, "I checked!"
"What?" he headed after them, "Did you hack my planner too?"
"I asked your wife," she glanced back at him as they stepped outside.
"Don't bring a gun," Sherlock added.
"Why would I bring a gun?" John frowned at that.
"Or the knife," Leena joked, "Or the tire lever..."
"Probably best not to do any arm-spraining," Sherlock nodded, "But we'll see how the night goes," he held up a hand to hail a cab.
"You're just assuming I'm coming along?" John scoffed.
"Time you got out of the house, John," Sherlock glanced at him, "You've put on seven pounds since you got married, and the cycling isn't doing it," he turned, opening the door for Leena as a cab pulled up.
"It's actually four pounds," he leaned down to look at them through the window.
"Mary and Leena think seven. See you later," they waved to John as the car took off, Sherlock leaning forward to give the driver the address, a rather quaint jewelry story...they DID still have to get their wedding rings, handcuffs could only be worn in public so often before others started to worry about you.
~8~
That night John entered the CAM Global News tower, stepping through the revolving doors and stopping before the security barriers, needing a card to open them. He glanced around, looking at his watch as Sherlock and Leena appeared behind him, both with a cuppa in hand, though Leena had two.
"Magnussen's office is on the top floor," Sherlock spoke, startling John, though his gaze was on the lift doors, "Just below his private flat but there are fourteen levels of security between us and him."
"Here," Leena handed John the beverage, his gaze flickering to her hand, seeing a second ring on it and looked at Sherlock to see he too was actually wearing a wedding band now, very slim, very simple, but that was just like them too, wasn't it? Simple and yet he knew both cherished the small bands, "You'll need it," she sighed, knowing that there was every chance they were about to be arrested or murdered or something before she turned and headed to the security barriers, swiping a card through them and getting the three of them in.
"Two levels aren't even legal in this country," Sherlock added as they stepped onto an escalator, taking it up a floor or two, "Want to know how we're going to break in?"
"Is that what we're doing?" John glanced at him.
"What else would we be doing on a night like this?" Leena scoffed, "Dinner and a movie?" she nudged Sherlock playfully, "I prefer teaing and entering."
Sherlock looked at her, "Teaing and Entering?"
She shrugged, sipping her tea as she winked at him, "Better than plain old dinner and movie any day."
He smiled at that as they came to the landing, heading down the hall to a lift with a rather advanced security panel beside it, "Magnussen's private lift," he nodded at it, "It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it and only his key card calls the lift."
"According to the security records, anyone else tries it and security is called in seconds."
"Ok," John frowned, eyeing the lift panel, "So how do we get in then?"
"There's a secondary keycard," Sherlock stated, "One that's used only by his personal assistant, she'd need to be able to get to the office and prepare it for him without him buzzing her in constantly..."
"So we're stealing her keycard then?" John guessed, it would probably be easier to do that than try and lift Magnussen's, the girl probably didn't have security with her.
"Already did," Leena smiled, holding up the keycard she'd used to get in, "Took me a few goes, been trying ALL month to lift it..."
John blinked and frowned, "I thought you said Lady Smallwood only asked you last week..." before he realized what she'd said, "Hold on, you know Magnussen's PA?"
"You do too," she nodded, "It's Janine," he gave her a look, not sure who that was, "Mary's friend Janine, was nearly Maid of Honor..."
"Oh," he nodded, "Really?"
Leena laughed, "Took me a month of lunch dates with her and Mary and girl's night in at her flat to get it," she turned to the panel and ran the card through the side strip before John could realize what he'd first been thinking, that they'd been working on getting Magnussen for weeks before Smallwood had come to them...they couldn't let him wonder why. She smiled as the light on the reader turned from red to blue and the lift doors opened.
"But hold on..." John shook his head as they got in the lift, "Wouldn't Janine realize...is she there...what..."
"Today's her day off," Leena calmed him, "And without her keycard she wouldn't be there anyway. According to the security," she looked at her phone, "The guards'll have finished their rounds a minute or two ago, it'll be empty."
They stood in silence as they rode up to the 32nd floor and stepped into the darkened office...only to see a guard lying on the ground, face down. John rushed over, kneeling down to examine the man, seeing a bit of blood on his fingers from touching his head, "It's a blow to the head. He's breathing."
Security," Sherlock eyed him, seeing a small tattoo of '14' behind the man's left ear, "Ex-con..." he squinted, seeing five dots on the man's right hand, tattoos, for of them were in a square shape with the fifth in the middle of it, "White supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares?"
"He might be able to tell us who attacked him," Leena pointed out, before trying to rouse the man, knowing he'd be in no fit state to try and attack or call for backup with his disorientation at waking, he would probably answer questions, assume they were police at first...
Sherlock straightened and looked around, before making his way through the room, eyeing everything carefully as he went. He knelt by a chair, placing his hand on it, it was warm, someone had just sat in it...and it couldn't be the guard, no sitting down on the job for this profession and employer.
"They're still here, aren't they?" he heard a whisper behind him and turned to see Leena watching him, still crouched by the man as John tried to help him.
Sherlock nodded, putting a finger to his lips before whispering, "So's Magnussen. His seat's still warm. He should be at dinner but he's still in the building."
Leena sighed and looked around, "I'll take down here, you above?"
Sherlock nodded, "John keep working on him," he ordered the man before heading to the stairs as Leena moved around the bottom floor of the penthouse.
"We should call the police!" John hissed loudly to them both.
"During our own burglary?!" Sherlock scoffed in a whisper, "You're really not a natural at this, are you?" he stiffened though, catching a whiff of something on the stairs and closed his eyes, what was that smell? Versace? No, "Perfume," he murmured.
Leena frowned and sniffed as well, vaguely catching a trace of it, "It's not Janine's, I can tell you that."
Sherlock's face scrunched, trying to place it. Not Prada, not Dior...Claire de la lune! His eyes opened, "Claire de la lune..." he blinked, grimacing at the thought that he could identify it, "Why do I know it?" he looked at Leena, "You don't wear perfume," she didn't wear much of anything really, perfume, makeup, she couldn't be bothered with it she'd say, running around and working up a sweat and crawling through sewers left little need to worry about makeup.
"Mary wears it," John shrugged, still focused on the guard.
Sherlock stiffened, looking over at Leena as they caught each other's gaze. Sherlock nodded, before he turned and ran up the stairs, Leena turning to the other doors, both of them needing to find Magnussen and fast!
~8~
Sherlock ran through the halls of the upper floor, knowing he was on the right path as the scent of the perfume grew stronger. He had to be quick, not just to get to Magnussen but because it would only take Leena a matter of time to realize that the perfume scent was weaker downstairs and work out what was happening above her.
He ran around a corner, slowing to be quieter as he heard Magnussen talking to someone, sounding almost afraid, "What...what...what would your husband think, eh?" he made his way to the door and peered in, "He...your lovely husband, upright, honourable..." he could see Magnussen on his knees, his hands behind his head, covering, "So English. What...what would he say to you now?"
"Aim for the heart," Sherlock answered as he stepped in, to see someone all in black, from head to toe, including hat and gloves, with what looked like a small vest or armor on over it, aiming a gun at Magnussen, "That is what I think John Watson would say, don't you Mary?"
He watched the figure stiffen and slowly turn around to reveal Mary Watson standing before him, her expression hard and cold.
"Though, if you're going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume," Sherlock continued, not at all perturbed it was HER, not even stopping in his quest to stand before her as he entered the room even as she turned her gun on HIM instead.
"You knew?" Mary breathed.
Sherlock gave her a curt nod, "John is...important to both Leena and I, you couldn't have expected us NOT to dig into your past to protect our...friend."
Is John with you?" Mary breathed, "Is John here?"
"Downstairs," he nodded.
"So, what do you do now?" Magnussen asked, glancing between them, "Kill us both?"
"Mary..." Sherlock began, "Whatever he's got on you, let Leena and I help," he took a step towards her, but she cocked her gun, stopping him.
"Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step I swear I will kill you," she warned.
"No, Mrs Watson," he shook his head, firm in that belief, his eyes scanning her and Magnussen and the scene, working out what was about to happen, "You won't."
He took a single step...and Mary fired at his lower chest...
He looked down at his abdomen, at the blood seeping through his shirt.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Mary murmured, tearful, "Truly am."
Sherlock looked up at her...the room darkening before he blinked...and suddenly Molly Hooper, of all people, was standing in front of him in her white lab coat, "It's not like it is in the movies," she warned, "There's not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards. The impact isn't spread over a wide area. It's tightly focused, so there's little or no energy transfer…"
~8~
Sherlock let out a breath, looking around to see he was now in his Mind Palace, that he'd escaped there because…had had mere seconds, he had seconds to work out what to do to survive this. So he'd gone to those who had the most experience helping him, Molly…
He blinked, now in the morgue of St. Bart's in his Mind Palace, lying on a slab with a sheet over him…his eyes were closed…he could hear her still though.
"You stay still and the bullet pushes through. You're almost certainly going to die, so we need to focus…"
He gasped when she slapped him across the face…
~8~
He was back in the room, Molly before him again, "I said focus!" and slapped him once more.
~8~
Sherlock looked down, in his Mind Palace once more, staring down at his own body on the slab, looking at the bullet hole in his abdomen.
"It's all well and clever having a Mind Palace," Molly continued, "But you've only three seconds of consciousness left to use it. So, come on," she looked at him, "What's going to kill you?"
"Blood loss."
"Exactly. So, it's all about one thing now…" she watched sadly as he started to sway, "Forwards, or backwards?"
~8~
Sherlock blinked, standing before Mary and the kneeling Magnussen, feeling himself grow unbalanced as he heard Molly's voice whisper, "We need to decide which way you're going to fall."
"One hole, or two?" another voice asked.
He managed to glance over his shoulder to see Anderson standing there, "Sorry?"
"Is the bullet still inside you or is there an exit wound?" Molly stepped beside the man, "It'll depend on the gun."
He closed his eyes, trying to think of the gun, bringing up all the information he could, "That one, I think," he winced, thinking of one gun in particular, before another appeared, nudging the other away, "Or that one…"
"Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock," he could hear his brother scoff and spun around…
~8~
…to see he was in the Mind Palace version of his brother's office, "It doesn't matter about the gun. Don't be stupid. You always were so stupid. No idea what Jackie saw in you. Such a disappointment."
"I'm not stupid!" he insisted, suddenly feeling and seeing things as though he were a child once more, looking up at his big brother.
"You're a very stupid little boy. Mummy and daddy are very cross because it doesn't matter about the gun."
"Why not?"
"You saw the whole room when you entered it. What was directly behind you when you were murdered?"
"I've not been murdered yet!" he reminded his brother.
Mycroft just leaned down to face him, "Balance of probability, little brother."
~8~
Sherlock swallowed and turned around in Magnussen's room to see a large mirror behind him, Mycroft staring back at him in the reflection, "If the bullet had passed through you, what would you have heard?"
"The mirror shattering," he answered, now older once more.
"You didn't. Therefore…"
"The bullet's still inside me," he breathed.
"So, we need to take him down backwards," Anderson nodded, appearing again.
Molly stepped before him, "I agree. Sherlock, you need to fall on your back."
"Right now, the bullet is the cork in the bottle."
"The bullet itself is blocking most of the blood flow."
"But any pressure or impact on the entrance wound could dislodge it."
"Plus, on your back, gravity's working for us. Fall, now."
Sherlock took a breath, not even commenting on how ridiculous Molly and Anderson sounded speaking like that as he started to fall backwards…
~8~
Sherlock gasped in pain as he heard a blaring alarm sounding, now in the morgue once more, pressing his hands to his ears to try and block it out, "What the hell is that? What's happening?"
One of the slabs began to slide out from the storage chamber off to the side, revealing his own dead body as Molly walked up to it, examining it, "You're going into shock. It's the next thing that's going to kill you."
"What do I do?" he demanded.
"Don't go into shock, obviously," Mycroft took Molly's place, rolling his eyes, "Must be something in this ridiculous memory palace of yours that can calm you down," he glanced at Sherlock as he stared at him, "FIND it," he watched as Sherlock took off, rushing out of the room, "The East Wind is coming, Sherlock!" he called after his brother, "It's coming to get you."
Sherlock ran as fast as he could into the halls, turning to rush down a set of stairs, hearing echoes of his brother's voice mixing with his own as he ran. He moved to a door, pulling it open…only to see Mary in her wedding dress, aiming a gun at him…before she fired, striking him once more.
"Find it!" Mycroft shouted at him as he fell.
Sherlock stumbled into the wall as he fell backwards, before pushing himself on. He ran through another door, into a corridor…stopping short when he saw a dog with reddish-brown fur on the other end, "Hello, Redbeard," he breathed, starting to smile, "Here, boy. Come on!" he leaned down, clapping his hands to his knees and the dog ran over for him, "Come to me. It's ok. It's alright," he smiled as the dog reached him, feeling himself calming as he played with the old boy, feeling almost like a happy child once more.
Leena had helped him pick out the dog, had even helped him name it. He'd gone through a phase, had wanted to be a pirate. They would often play that as well, when his tutors grew so boring in how wrong they were, he'd long for adventures like in the books Leena would read to him to better her English. They'd play pirates, he'd be a pirate and she'd be the princess he captured to hold for ransom…only to turn her into a pirate as well.
It was…very telling really, more symbolic of their current relationship than he realized.
"Come on!" he began to pet the dog happily, "It's me! It's me, come on! Come on! Good boy! Clever boy!" he started to scratch its head as Readbeard licked at his face, "Hello, Redbeard. They're putting me down too, now. It's no fun, is it?"
He let out a groan, staggering backwards as his breath left him…his body growing tingling instead of calm as it had been moments ago, "Redbeard…" he reached out for the dog…but fell backwards onto the floor…
~8~
He gasped, hitting the ground of Magnussen's room, Molly standing over him, "Without the shock, you're going to feel the pain," she warned.
~8~
Sherlock's jaw clenched as he began to convulse in the hall of his Mind Palace, Molly watching him sadly, "There's a hole ripped through you. Massive internal bleeding. You have to control the pain."
Sherlock let out a strangled scream, pushing himself to his feet and running down the halls, staggering into the walls, clutching at his chest…he had to get somewhere soothing…he had to get somewhere where he wouldn't feel pain…
He turned a corner and grabbed a door handle, shoving it open and dashing into the room…stopping and staring at the sight before him.
"Hello Locksley," Leena smiled as she looked at him from where she was sitting at the windowsill of his family's library. It was one of the windows that jutted out just so, giving enough room to put a small cushioned bench along the inside of it to make a reading nook.
She was sitting there, her back to the wall, her legs up before her, knees only slightly bent to her chest as she rested her book against them, she was barefoot, in simple jeans and a white shirt, her hair up in a messy ponytail. He could see green outside the window, trees, with sunlight streaming in, illuminating her.
He let out a breath and slowly made his way towards her, it wasn't the room itself that calmed him, it was Leena, it was the memory of her, his most calm and soothing memory…her just…reading, enjoying a book, smiling at him. When she smiled at him with THAT grin…it was like there was nothing in the world that could hurt him. When she looked at him with that expression, that look in her eyes…it was like everything that pained him just…faded away.
And he needed that now, more than ever.
"Control…" he breathed as he approached her.
She laughed, swinging her legs off the small cushion to sit up as he crouched before her, taking one of her hands, his gaze locked on her, as she reached out with her free hand, having set her Robin Hood book beside her, to touch his cheek, "We both know you have almost none of that when it comes to me Locksley."
"You always help me control it," he murmured, his eyes searching hers, "Control the pain, control…everything. How?" he shook his head, "How do you always make the pain go away?"
Her smile became even more gentle as she stroked his cheek, "I give you something else to feel instead."
"Like what?"
"Comfort, warmth, reassurance," she shrugged, "Love, peace, hope…"
"Hope," he nodded, "I could do with that right now," he swallowed hard, trying to smile though he was sure the tears in his eyes were betraying him.
He was…scared.
He could admit it in the sanctuary of his own mind…he was scared, he had such little time left and had to do so much to ensure he'd survive, to give himself the best chance…because he'd heard and glimpsed Leena breaking down once when he had 'died' and he swore to himself he wouldn't EVER do that to her again.
"Well then," she scooted off the window ledge to stand, tugging him up with her, "Hope it is," she stepped closer to him, taking both his hands in hers…before she placed them to her stomach, "One day…one day Sherlock."
He looked down at her stomach, which was now quite a bit bigger than it had been only moments ago, and blinked when he felt a soft, yet strong, kick against his hand, "What…"
He looked up at her and blinked once more…she was standing a foot away from him, her stomach flat…but this time…she was holding something in her arms, a small bundle in a light pink blanket. He stepped closer his gaze fixed on it…and spotted a little baby girl sleeping in her arms as she gently rocked it.
"I don't understand…" he whispered.
"You ought to," she laughed, "This is YOUR mind Locksley," she looked down at the little girl as she started to blink her eyes open, revealing them to be gray like her mothers, with tufts of his black curly hair peeking out from the top of the blanket, "YOU were the one who imagined Liberty first."
"Liberty…" he breathed, staring at the little girl, recalling the Hound of Baskerville, how he'd been trying to work out Liberty Indiana…and accidently imagined a baby girl named Liberty. He swallowed hard…he'd imagined his OWN daughter it appeared.
"She is all the hope you need though," Leena continued, looking up at him, gently swaying their daughter as she started fussing, her little hands peeking out of the blanket and swinging around, "Just look at her Sherlock…" she murmured.
Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off her, "She's…" he shook his head, there were too many words to describe it, small, beautiful, imaginary…ooh, that last one broke his heart for a moment. He hesitated only a moment before he reached out, seeming like he were about to poke her…when Liberty grabbed his finger with one of hers and tugged on it, pulling it closer to her…almost, for a second or two, looking as though she were examining it, in the way only a baby could, though…
"Just like you," Leena laughed, "Already learning."
"Sherlock?!"
Sherlock looked up, swearing he'd heard Leena screaming, but that was impossible…she was right there before her, most certainly NOT screaming at him.
"Sherlock?"
He glanced over his shoulder, and there was John's voice as well, but John wasn't there...
"What happened?"
Sherlock shook his head, looking at HIS Leena once more, only to see the room had changed, to a child's room, him and Leena standing in the doorway, watching as a little girl, with his hair and her eyes, sat on the floor, barely 10 years old, playing with a shaggy black dog.
"Blackbeard sit!" the girl giggled, cheering as the dog sat before her, holding out a paw automatically for her to shake, "Daddy look I taught him a trick!" the girl looked back over her shoulder at him, beaming
Sherlock frowned though, looking around, confused, "I don't understand, what's happening?"
"He was SHOT John!" Leena cried at the obvious answer.
"Jesus…"
HIS Leena's smiled turned sad, "You're dying Locksley remember?" she shook her head, "And you CAN'T. Not now…" she looked at Liberty, "You've got to fight it…you've got to hold on, otherwise…" she let out a breath and looked at him once more, "Otherwise she won't exist."
"Who shot him?!" John's voice yelled.
"Does that REALLY matter right now John!?" Leena shot back.
~8~
A team of medical responders rushed Sherlock out of the building, the man fixed to a stretcher as John and Leena ran after it, both trying their level best to keep the tears IN their eyes.
One of the responders turned as they got it into the ambulance, turning to hold out a hand to help them in, "Come on!"
~8~
"Come on dad," a voice said behind Sherlock.
Sherlock spun around, his eyes wide as he saw a young girl, no…a young woman, with his curly black hair, long and pulled back with a gray headband, Leena's gray eyes sparkling at him as they stood in the sitting room of 221B, the girl in a very modest silver, strapless dress with a black, long sleeved shrug over it, "Liberty?"
"You're going to be late," she laughed, walking over to him and linking her arm with his as he blinked at her.
"Late for what?"
~8~
"Sherlock please…" Leena gasped, grabbing his hand as the ambulance raced on.
John turned grim as he saw the readings on the monitors, "We're losing him!"
~8~
"You're losing your mind, aren't you?" Liberty rolled her eyes, "You'd best delete some things from that Mind Palace of yours if you've forgotten. That or upgrade to a Mind Library like me."
"Forgotten what?" he shook his head.
~8~
Leena and John stood in a medical observation theater, watching as the emergency staff went to work on Sherlock, trying to get the bullet out, repair the damage, and get more blood into him before the damage set in…but…it seemed like it was too late.
"No…" Leena breathed as she watched the surgeons rush about…only for Sherlock's heart monitor…to flat line.
John swallowed hard, reaching out to pull Leena to him as he saw the surgeons bow their heads, "Oh my God."
~8~
"Oh my god dad," Liberty shook her head at how odd her father was being, more so than usual, "You're the one who insists on deducing any boy I so much as TALK to…"
"Boy?!" he stopped walking, staring at the girl…the 16 year old girl, "What boy!?"
~8~
Leena gasped, looking over as they heard a faint beep on the heart monitor…it had been one, just for a moment…but it had BEEN there. There had been a beat!"
"Please," she begged, her gaze fixed on the monitor.
~8~
Sherlock blinked rapidly as he looked at the girl…if he hadn't been dying right at that very moment, he was quite sure he would have had a heart attack. What was his daughter doing with a boy!? She was a little girl!? She wasn't old enough to be seeing or even talking to those of the opposite gender especially now with the intentions he kept seeing in them when he deduced them.
"Hamish father," Liberty giggled, "It's just Hamish, we're going to see a movie later…remember?" she glanced at him, "You DO remember Hamish, don't you?"
"Hamish as in…"
"Hamish Watson," she gave him a look like he should know that, "The only boy you and mum trust around me," her expression softened though as the light around them dimmed, "And too right you should. 'Cos he's John's son, isn't he? And he'll need John to be there, just like I need you to be there..."
"You...do?" he blinked at her.
"Course I do," she laughed Leena's laugh, "I'll always need my father. But first though...you need to come back, you HAVE to...'cos mum'll be a wreck without you. And she and John will be in danger. They NEED you dad," she let out a little whistle, "You're quite the busy bee, aren't you? So much to do, so little time...you need to get out of here, get better, get them all safe from Charlie...and then you and mum really DO need to get on with creating me," she smirked, "I want to get to know you properly instead of just being here," she gestured around, "I'd rather be the bundle in your arms than the twinkle in your eyes. So go on," she nodded her head to the door, "They're waiting for you."
Sherlock glanced at the door, and then at the girl as she gave him an all-too-familiar wink. He grinned at that before he turned and ran out the door, into the bright hallway beyond...
~8~
"Yes!" John shouted, seeing Sherlock's finger twitch as another beat hit the monitor, "Come on Sherlock!"
The surgeons and other medical staff ran back to Sherlock, starting to frantically get to work on him as the heart monitor picked up once more, his heart beating again.
"You stubborn ass!" Leena laughed to herself, shaking her head at Sherlock as she nearly sobbed with relief, never had she ever been more thankful he was just that.
A/N: I'm really hating this website right now :( This is like the third time this week that it's kept me from logging on :( I thought it was all fixed up yesterday, I could get on, I posted...it was fine...and then today, back to the glitches again :'( Sorry the chapter was late :( But I hope you liked it even though I tweaked the part with Moriarty in the Mind Palace ;)
I'm really glad you all enjoyed the wedding ;)
Lol, I hope you liked 'Liberty' popping up, I did hint she'd be back ;)
...I wonder what was in the bedroom though }:)
Some notes on reviews...
I think it's more the fact that Leena saw him jump and attended a funeral and had to pretend for 2 years he was dead (and Sherlock being cut off from her for 2 years) that's making them not want to be apart if they can help it :) They've both had nightmares and fears for the other in the 2 years, it'll take more than a few months for them to get over that separation and get back to being as independent as the were. They still are seeking reassurance that Sherlock's not actually dead and that Leena is with him once more ;)
Lol, I think Lestrade had a hand in the handcuffs, so hopefully he'd have given them the key ;)
I've found google translator is pretty fair, you just have to be prepared for what's been posted possibly being something you weren't expecting ;)