A Silent End To Belgravia
A Not So Silent End
It was a rainy, gloomy day over London as a man stood in front of a café under his umbrella.
Mycroft brought the white stick to his lips - a Mayfair menthol - taking a deep breath through the minty tobacco, wondering why on earth Rose would smoke the things.
"You don't smoke." He heard, John's voice pulling him out of his thoughts. Turning, he saw the good doctor rather drenched and a little bit tired.
"I also don't frequent cafes." He added, dropping the cigarette into the rain and stubbing it out. Picking up his case, he spoke as he collapsed his umbrella. "Shall we?"
John followed him in, going to the counter as Mycroft sat down, pulling out a plastic file as John ordered them a couple of drinks. Bringing them over, he sat down, waiting for Mycroft to start.
After a few seconds, John spoke up instead. "That's the file on Irene Adler?"
"Closed forever." The suited man confirmed, looking rather out of place in the greasy spoon. "I am about to go and inform my brother, or, if you prefer, you are, that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America; new name, new identity. She will survive, and thrive, but he will never see her again."
"Why would he care?" John questioned, putting down his mug. "He despised her in the end; wont even mention her by name, just The Woman."
"Is that loathing? Or a salute?" Mycroft retorted, seeing another side to his brothers mind. "One of a kind, the one woman who matters?" It was also becoming a far too frequent habit that he was pushing another woman out of his own mind. Such a distraction, he thought vaguely.
John frowned though, shaking his head. "He's not like that. He doesn't feel thing that way. I don't think…"
Mycroft took in a deep breath, thinking about the strangeness of the creature he called a sibling. "My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"
"I don't know." John answered, lost at the question.
"Neither do I." Mycroft admitted, remembering their childhood together. "But initially he wanted to be a pirate." God help us all if that had occurred, he thought.
John nodded slightly, imagining that the new information sounded actually completely normal; he could easily see a younger Sherlock, running around, creating different false beards and eye patches, threatening Mycroft with a sword. Seeing Mycroft had started to get lost in his thoughts though, he pulled the man back, used to the routine with the other Holmes. "He'll be okay with this - witness protection - never seeing her again. He'll be fine."
"I agree." Mycroft said, looking up to meet John's eye. "That's why I've decided to tell him that."
"Instead of what?" John asked suspiciously, wondering about the true situation.
"She's dead." He told the doctor, not bothering to skip around the facts. "She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded."
Shit, John thought. Clearing his throat, he asked a necessary question. "It was definitely her? She's done this before." Though I don't know how you can fake a beheading.
"I was thorough this time." Mycroft replied dryly, not liking to have been fooled the once; he certainly wasn't going to let it happen again. "It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don't think he was on hand, do you?" He pushed the plastic folder forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his interlocked fingers. "So…what shall we tell Sherlock?"
Hearing the approaching footsteps on the stairs Sherlock spoke up from his seat in the kitchen, not looking up from his microscope. "Clearly you've got news. If its about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Did no on notice the earring?"
"Hi, um, no, it's uhm…" John started, a little thrown at the sudden deduction, not really knowing where to start. "It's about Irene Adler."
Sherlock looked up at that. "Well?" Getting no response, he pushed further. "Has something happened? Has she come back?"
"No, no, she's…"John started, trying to sound as believable as he could to the human lie detector. "I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs, he had to take a call."
"Is she back in London?" Sherlock asked, trying to push through to what John actually had to say. He got up from his work station to stand in front of his friend, giving him his full attention.
"No. She's um…." John started, pausing slightly before carrying on. "She's in America."
"America?" Sherlock questioned, a frown on his features.
"Mh hmm." John hummed in agreement. "Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. I don't know how she sung it, but...uh... Well, you know…"
"I know what?" Sherlock frowned, trying to see what he should be getting here.
"Well, you wont be able to see her again." John explained.
Sherlock frowned at his friend. "Why would I want to see her again?"
"Didn't say you did." John replied, trying to hide a smile.
"Is that her file?" Sherlock asked, going back to the table and his microscope.
"Yes, I was just going to take it back to Mycroft." John said, turning to the doorway again, holding the file up. "Do you want to-"
"No." Sherlock said, cutting him off.
John hummed slightly, watching his friend. He didn't know whether he should say something or just go back down to Mycroft again. After a few seconds he thought he should say something. "Listen, umm-"
"No, but I will have the camera phone though." Sherlock said, cutting him off again and holding out his hand.
John frowned, looking to the folder, seeing the item tucked away inside. "There's nothing on it any more. It's been stripped."
"I know, but I…" Sherlock started, trying to explain without saying anything. He just held his hand out a bit further. "I'll still have it."
"I've got to give this back to Mycroft, you can't keep it." John said, shaking his head. The hand stayed steady though. "Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft, it's the government's now. I couldn't…"
"Please?" Sherlock asked, hand moving forward even more, reaching out.
John felt like he was fighting a loosing battle; he knew he couldn't say no to the man, not this time. He sighed in defeat, hanging his head slightly before reaching into the folder and pulling out the phone, proceeding to place it in his friend's outstretched hand.
Fingers closing around the requested camera phone, Sherlock pocketed the devise, all the while not taking his eyes off the microscope. "Thank you."
"I'd better take this back." John said, inching towards the door.
"Yes." Sherlock agreed.
However John turned, got to the hallway and paused for a few seconds before turning back to face his friend. "Did she ever text you again after all that?"
"Once." Sherlock answered. "A few months ago."
John nodded, curiosity getting the better of him. "What did she say?"
Sherlock didn't look up again, as he had - or rather hadn't - done the entire time. "Good bye, Mr Holmes."
"Oh…" John said softly, catching his thoughts before they escaped. Oh god... The time lines match up, he thought, realising that that text message was probably the last communication she ever had with anyone. After a few seconds he decided he'd better leave things alone now, turning to go and give Mycroft the folder back.
Sherlock however, not having actually paid any attention to what was at the end of his microscope, looked up to see his friend leave.
Getting up again, he left the kitchen, going to stand by the rainy window, looking through all the messages on the phone, scrolling to the very last one, remembering when he received it.
When I say run, run!
He felt a familiar smile tug at his lips, letting it slip onto his features, a low chuckle escaping from his throat as he span the phone in the air. "The Woman…The Woman."
Slipping the phone into a draw in the desk, he was pulled out of his thoughts by a single word.
"Sentiment." She said.
Whirling around, Sherlock saw none other than Rose Spencer on the sofa, feet pulled up as she leant on the arm rest, cigarette in one hand as she blew out a large puff of smoke up into the air. Of course she'd heard everything John had said as well as Sherlock's own mutterings to himself.
She gave him a knowing look. "Sentiment gets us all in the end."
He just brought down his familiar mask, hiding behind ice as he threw stolen words at her. "Caring is not an advantage."
She just smirked. "Yet we all care about something." She argued lightly, taking another puff on her cigarette.
Sherlock frowned in thought, realising she was right but not wanting to admit it. Settling for his usual response to the younger woman, he threw her an icy glare before heading back to his experiment. Both of them knew there was no anger or sadness behind the glare though.
Rose just smiled slightly at the man, even though he couldn't see it. Taking a final puff on her cigarette, she stubbed it out and folded her arms on the arm rest, laying her head down and closing her eyes; not sleeping, but simply letting her mind roam free for a while, getting all the thoughts she'd tucked away truly dealt with.
After all, with all she had seen and heard, experienced and learnt, there was always something to think about.