So now you know what is going on time for part 2.

Places are real.

I own nothing! Except the bike!

Jas xx

Lucy's POV 2

When I was seventeen I made the decision that would change my life, that would affect everything I do for the rest of my mortal days. I had been offered a place at the Royal Academy of Music; I was and am an accomplished pianist. At Cheltenham I was always top of every class, and with my pale skin and long thin fingers I was headed for a spectacular career. However challenge appeals to me, you only have to dare me and I will leap at the chance to prove you wrong. Jennifer Carmody challenged me, she was heading for Cambridge, and she was going to be Prime Minister. She told me that no matter how good my grades were, I'd never get in. She was wrong.

I should have studied Math's; I had an A at A-level and should have furthered my understanding. However my love of Mathematics came from my mother, she was brilliant, a woman without equal in her field. She had died a couple of years previously, and part of me hated the idea of trying to emulate her, she had worked for the government initially as a code breaker. Young and brilliant the security services had picked her up and her role became greater and greater, till eventually in terror and pain it killed her. While my classmates tried to decide which College or University was most likely to bag them a rich man, St Andrews mostly, I started studying the UCAS lists for a course that interested me. When I found History a lightbulb lit in my head, and from that moment on my fates were set.

Daddy offered me any number of cars, and vehicles for my new life in Cambridge. Offered me a Porsche if only I'd see sense and accept a place in a quiet shared house with some nice girls whose parents he knew. I however wanted a more normal anonymous experience for my undergraduate days. Without his knowledge and certainly without his blessing I had been taking motorcycle lessons, I passed my test before I passed my driving test. So while Daddy and I drove to Cambridge to install me in halls, Histon Road Motorcycles were delivering my new Yamaha SR125. I love my bike when Sherlock and I ran away, I paid Histon Road to keep it safe for me indefinitely. Every few months I go and visit it, ride it out into the fens, and have a day being a fool. The bike is underpowered and frighteningly rust prone, but for me it's always represented my freedom. When I started working for Mycroft on a regular basis, I had some work done to it. New wheels, new exhaust, new paint job and I 'sold' it to one of my aliases. Not completely foolproof but it would take some digging to trace that bike back to me. More importantly during my latest flight, it would be very difficult to trace me via my bike.

There isn't a lot about the art of disappearing the Holmes brothers don't teach you, however they themselves never give you details. I have watched them both change their look, their speech and even their height. For me this should be easier, a woman wearing a lot of makeup is easier than a man, dyeing my hair has never been a problem, and my accent well that is always up for grabs. So after Lestrade had left and I'd climbed out of the window, it was easy enough to walk to my office at UCL, change my appearance and get on a tube to Tottenham Hale, from there a train to Cambridge, and a bus to Histon Road. Once out on the Fens I was safe from whatever Lestrade wished to investigate, far away from my boys, and far enough away from my husband that I wouldn't be a distraction.

I had picked up a copy of the Cambridge Evening News at the station, but placed it in my rucksack for later perusal it wasn't until I'd sat in the bar of my chosen hotel, that I'd glanced at the headline. Safe in the cozy bar, my blood ran cold. I'd probably made a rather terrible mistake in coming into Cambridgeshire, I was signed in under a false name, my bike was registered in a false name, I was only carrying cash, and I looked nothing like Lucille Steadman. However the paper in front of me confirmed that if I wasn't already, I soon would be a very wanted woman.

Woodland body named as missing civil servant.

Hunt is on for victims missing son.

Ten years since that night, and the name of Sherlock's father still filled me with horror. His name invoked a revulsion in me normally kept for the most gruesome of sights. In that instance the smell of his cigarettes, his drunken breath, his sweaty meaty hands came back to me. The look of hate and the tremor of fear that had run through Sherlock when they met at the restaurant danced in front of my eyes. Worse his mocking voice ran through my head and my eyes prickled with hot tears. The woman behind who had been behind the bar had seen my moment of distress, and before I knew it she was hugging me in an over familiar way.

"Are you alright love?" she asked

" Yes, I just had a moment, sorry about that." I recovered quickly "Could I order food?"

She bustled away after that, and I was left at the table alone again. If Sherlock was missing as well, and the police were looking for him that suggested Mycroft knew his whereabouts and was happy to let the police look for him. That of course meant they wouldn't find him. I wondered if I wouldn't be better under Mycroft's protection myself. I hated Siger Holmes, but so did his sons, I wasn't sure how they wanted to proceed, but was fairly convinced they didn't want the scandal. Our return to England last time had resulted in nothing but some uncomfortable interviews about the disappearance this time it would be murder.

I went to Tesco's the next day and bought a pay as you go phone, registered it with my false name and waited for the phone call. I was convinced Sherlock would phone me at least to tell me how stupid I had just been. All day I waited considering phoning him myself, I rode out into the countryside, and when I passed a particularly nice looking church next to a country pub I stopped for lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I sat in the back garden pushing a Ploughman's Lunch around with my fork, and checking my phone regularly. When I saw the waitress wandering towards me, I gave her a smile and made an effort to eat a couple of mouthfuls.

"Miss Dillon?" she asked me, I gave her a harsh look, I didn't think I'd given her my false name.

"Yes?" I answered, carefully.

"Your brother is waiting for you in the churchyard, he's apologizes for being late, and said you should join him when you've finished your lunch." She then walked off.

My heart raced, I assumed Mycroft would be waiting for me, I'm a brave person but I quail at the idea of walking voluntarily to my probable death. I left my table and shakingly walked towards the churchyard. For a few moments, I walked the path looking at the pretty little gravestones, wondering if I would get one or if like Siger I would get dumped in a shallow grave in a woodland. My heart hammering in my chest, I stood reading one particular stone, when a leather gloved hand closed over my mouth. This was it I thought, but instead of the knife I was slowly turned around to face my 'brother', the cold grey eyes, bore into me and the cupids bow lips suddenly curled into a smile.

"Sherlock!" I cried

"I think we need to talk, Lucy. Will you come with me?" he gestured to the cream Reliant Scimitar (Princess Anne has one) parked in front of the pub. I followed in silence wondering briefly how he'd got hold of such a car.

The Scimitar (Princess Anne has one) belongs to my mate Ian, and as I was feeling a little bit girly towards the end of this chapter I thought I'd add it for good measure. If you are a Top Gear fan you'll understand the reference!

Anyway pls review.

TBC

Next chapt John POV 2.

Jas xx