Author's Note: Hey, guys! I'm finally back!
Sorry I've taken so long to update, but life's been getting in the way and I have been a little busy, although I'll admit I kind of procrastinated on this.
As excited as I am to be one step closer to all the fun stuff in series 2, I've realized that this episode might actually be harder for me than Blind Banker was, which I was kind of afraid of.
So I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit uneventful, but we do see some important revelations, as we do get a glimpse of Rose's past in just a second.
I'm also sorry for my obvious lack of knowledge when it comes to technology and the geography of London. O_o
Still, I really hope you enjoy this chapter! It starts around the beginning of The Great Game.
Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, and the rest of BBC.
Chapter 6: The Hive
He was so beautiful it nearly hurt to look at him.
His eyes were the first thing to captivate her. They were so blue, so clear, and yet bottomless. They always shone with the promise of new adventures; the promise of freedom.
Yes, it was those eyes that had first made her run away with him.
But there was more: it was like he was golden. His tanned skin practically shone from beneath, and his blonde curls were, as usual, tousled and parted to the side, brushing against his brow that always arched just a little whenever he flashed that crooked, cunning grin.
He's the opposite of him, Rose thought.
It was true; this golden man and Sherlock almost perfectly personified day and night.
Sherlock, a voice in Rose's head suddenly screamed.
It still hurt to think about him; that was why she generally tried not to.
The night's over, she reminded herself. This is the day. This is my life.
And yet, although this man possessed such angelic beauty, she knew he was, by no means, of heavenly origin.
Cyril Sinclair was one of the most dangerous men in the world.
And there was no place Rose would rather be than by his side.
But she had to focus on the task at hand, and returned her attention to the laptop sitting in front of her. "I'm nearly there," she called to him.
He didn't look up from where he was sitting, but grinned to himself: a sign that he heard her.
Her fingers moved across the keyboard so quickly they nearly blurred, and she could feel herself beginning to sweat purely out of concentration.
Just a little further and-
"I'm in," she announced.
"Wonderful," he answered, springing from the armchair he had been seated in. He walked over and looked over her shoulder, gazing at her work.
"We now have access to every government official in the country," she said, flashing him a grin. "What shall we do, now?"
Cyril closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. "I say," he drawled, his faint accent hinting his Louisiana roots. "We bring in the merchandise—tomorrow. Tonight, we celebrate."
And with that, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the hotel room, dropping her on the bed. As he crawled on top of her, he kissed her passionately on the mouth.
As he left a trail of hungry kisses from the corner of her mouth to her neck, she remembered that there was one place she liked more than being by his side…
Rose woke with a start.
She had fallen asleep, after all and, checking her phone, realized that she had slept nearly a day and a half.
She climbed out of bed, still trembling from the dream.
And here I've been trying to put it behind me, she thought, and I'm still having nightmares like a child.
For although there was nothing obviously threatening about it, that was precisely what it was: a nightmare. Even worse, it was something that had actually happened—it was a memory her mind was unconsciously resurfacing.
It was an image of someone she once was, and someone she once loved, and something she once believed in.
Now it chilled her to the core.
It's been five years, she reminded herself. It's all in the past.
Shaking off the memories, Rose suddenly realized it'd been two days since she had eaten anything, and was now ravenous.
As she passed through her dining room, she opened her laptop, which had been sitting on the glass table. As it booted up, she went into the kitchen find something to eat.
Once she returned to the dining room with the leftovers she'd just heated up, she sat down and searched "The Science of Deduction" on her internet browser. Although he was likely exhausted, Rose knew that Sherlock slept as rarely as she did.
She was perplexed, however, to see that Sherlock had not logged the new case onto his website. Instead, he added a link titled "The Blind Banker" and under it said, "See my colleague, John Watson's summary of the case."
Her brow furrowed. She remembered John once mentioning he kept a blog, but she didn't think it had much to do with Sherlock. Rose clicked on the link, which led her to John's site. From there, she read a full narration of the case, and, to her gratitude, found that John had refrained from mentioning her.
Intrigued, she looked at the rest of John's entries, and found that John had basically begun dedicating this blog to the adventures he was having with Sherlock (always excluding Rose), in addition to the occasional rant; the type one usually saw on a typical blog (such as how chip-and-pin machines are inconvenient convenience). One entry that particularly caught her attention was called "A Study in Pink," which narrated the first case John had embarked upon with the consulting detective. As she scanned the article, Rose's eyes fell on John's description of Sherlock: "It's no use trying to hide what you are because Sherlock sees right through everyone and everything in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."
Rose chuckled to herself, both at John's evident disbelief and, admittedly the truth in his words. She read on:
"In so many ways, he's the cleverest person I've ever met but there are these blank spots that are almost terrifying."
Rose wasn't too surprised by the fact that Sherlock neither knew who the Prime Minister was nor the basics of the solar system's functioning; she understood (essentially) how Sherlock's brilliant mind worked, and she knew he only stored the useful things.
Once she finished eating, Rose closed her laptop and decided to go get some work done—one of the perks of being a professional freelancer was that you got to pop in to work whenever you wanted, as long as you did it well.
And no one did Rose's work better than her.
After Rose rinsed her plate, she took a shower, dressed in a crème-colored white ruffled blouse, black slacks and red pumps. She then curled her hair and pinned it up, and applied her makeup as usual: with black cat-eye liner and red lipstick. Though she knew she didn't really have to, Rose took a strange amount of pride in dressing nicely. Besides, she found it all rather centering, as she still felt a little shaken from the replay of recent events, particularly the dream.
As Rose was about to walk out the door, she looked back at her flat, thinking to herself, not for the first time, that it was far too big for one person. She'd never move into a smaller place, though, since she spent so little time at home, anyway, and a move felt like too much of a hassle.
I could get a flat-mate of my own, Rose pondered as she walked out, locking the door behind her.
Or maybe a cat…
After stopping to grab a coffee, Rose reached the Westminster building where Mycroft stationed most of his operatives.
Mycroft's "freelance business" expanded more widely than anyone would guess, and more so than he would ever let on.
She entered the lobby, which looked like that of any typical office building: it was quite spacious and relatively clear of people, save the man at the front desk and the security guards standing at the doors on either side.
"Hello, Roger," Rose casually greeted the man at the desk as she flashed him her badge.
Roger looked up in surprise. "Mrs. Holmes. It's been a while since you've popped in around here," he said as he waved her through, motioning for the two security guards to let her pass. Rose simply nodded, and continued through the hall until she reached the elevator, which opened to release a group of black and gray-clad men, nodding respectfully in her direction as they exited. They knew who she was.
Rose stepped in, grateful to be the only one entering. She then turned to the wide array of buttons, her index finger running down them until it reached the one at the very bottom, the one labeled restricted. This button was the only one that had a fingerprint scanner next to it.
Rose pushed the button and then pressed her thumb against the scanner. Once the scanner flashed green, the elevator proceeded to make its descent until it reached its destination: the Hive.
During World War II, the Hive was originally one of Churchill's few remaining secret bunkers. A few years back, however, Mycroft had turned the wide subterranean hall into the working quarters for the operatives of his artificial intelligence division.
Basically, this was a cave for Britain's best computer nerds.
And boy, was it Candy Land.
Either side of the hall was lined with rows of tables, where the operatives worked on their state-of-the art equipment, as busy as a buzzing colony of worker bees (hence the place being called "the Hive"). At the very end of the hall was one desk, which was significantly bigger than the others, and on the wall in front of it several large touch-screen computer monitors were mounted, the biggest placed in the center.
Those toys were just for Rose.
"Hello, bees," Rose dryly greeted as she walked to her station.
Though most remained with their eyes trained on their screens, two or three did look up, startled by her appearance.
Despite being the queen bee, Rose really didn't come in very often.
Once she reached her desk, she set down her cardboard coffee cup, removed her messenger bag, and pulled out her laptop. She then hooked it up to the main monitors, and began updating and reprogramming their security systems.
After about an hour of working, however, the Hive received an unexpected (and frankly undesired) visitor.
Mycroft Holmes stood at the entry, his umbrella in his hand, as he waved to Rose.
Though Mycroft understood that computers were highly practical and completely necessary for the sake of moving forward, he wasn't personally fond of them, and looked rather uncomfortable surrounded by so many.
"Ah, Rosamond," he called, motioning her toward him.
Rose marched over. "This must be good, Mycroft, to make you show up here."
"Oh, it is," her brother-in-law assured, offhandedly inspecting the tip of his umbrella before looking back at her. "It's concerning your husband."
Rose sighed in frustration. "Mycroft, for the millionth time I'm not your surveillance-"
"There was an explosion."
Rose immediately stopped mid-sentence and stared dumbly at the elder Holmes.
This couldn't…he…there's no way…
Rose's thoughts seemed to lose function as a lump rose in her throat.
"Oh, he's alright," he said, noticing her alarm.
Upon those words Rose, realizing she had stopped breathing, sucked in a gasp of air.
Thank God.
"I'm going to his flat to check on him, now, if you'd like to come."
Nodding, Rose hastened to her desk and gathered her things. She then re-joined Mycroft and they began to head out.
"Carry on," she called over her shoulder to the operatives. She knew it was needless, though, because even when the queen was gone, the worker bees always worked, always buzzing.
Author's Note: If anyone's wondering, I got a lot of inspiration for the Hive from Skyfall (which I loved). I also looked a lot to the Blog of Dr. John H. Watson and The Science of Deduction; both of which helped me a lot in this chapter. So, again, I've been a little stuck lately, and I still kind of am. I'm not too worried, though, because this was how I felt until I got past chapter 2; I think it's those transitional chapters that really road-block my brain, and this is one of them (I'm starting to see a pattern that I always use Mycroft when I have writer's block :P)
Anyway, I'm going to get back in the swing of this, and I'm sure the next chapter will come sooner than this one did—sorry, again, about that, guys!
But if you liked it, let me know, and if you didn't, still let me know!