Not a Threat…A Promise
James sat in the armchair, facing the door to the small living room, his gun cradled in his hand. Watching. Waiting. He had of course already given himself the grand tour of the small house. Checking cupboards and drawers with a practised ease. Pausing to glance over the pictures of the happy couple on their wedding day, proudly displayed throughout the house. His eyes automatically settling on the pale faced, dark haired young woman who stood cuddled between them in one of the framed pictures. His anger had flared anew. Hot and all consuming.
A cold smile curled his lips as he heard the tell-tale jingle of keys and the rattle of the doorknob.
The woman entered first. Not noticing him until she turned from saying something to her companion. She froze in the door. He watched with deep satisfaction as her eyes widened. Panic froze her features for a split second and then her eyes flickered to the side.
He had already moved the small table that stood against the wall out of reach. There was nothing within grasp for her to use. He watched her weight shift ever so slightly, preparing to flee the way she had came.
He shook his head, clicked his tongue condescendly and made sure her eyes followed his to his own gun. His grey eyes were cool, calculating…deadly.
"I really would not do that if I were you,"
He heard the front door finally click shut and the rustle of shopping bags accompanied a man's heavy tread through the short hallway.
It seemed that the good doctor was also here. How wonderful.
"Mary, love, pop the ket-" John Watson's voice died in his throat as he came up behind his wife and his eyes widened comically as he took in the situation.
James felt a thrill of victory as he watched the colour fade from the man's face, not unlike how it had done his wife's.
"Please," James gestured to the sofa with his free hand, never taking the gun from where he had it pointed at the woman. If she blinked wrong she would be dead. And he knew that she knew it.
"Take a seat,"
Shopping bags dropped to the ground and his instructions were followed.
The good doctor's hand going to the base of his wife's back as he shepherded her to the sofa, placing himself between them as they crossed the small room in front of him.
How…domestic.
"Who are you?"
Aww, the doctor was going for the brave man of the house act as he took Mary's hand in his own and squeezed.
James would have laughed at the hopeful gesture. If he was here to kill them they would both have been dead before climbing the stairs. Hell, probably before even reaching the house. It would have been easy enough for him to commandeer a window on their route and pick them off one at time from a distance. Clean and practical.
But he didn't want them dead. Not yet. He wanted them to be aware of a thing or two.
Sherlock cared for these people. Why was beyond him. But he knew that she would never forgive him if he did something to harm John Watson. She might forgive him for Mary, but Mary meant everything (the word made him grind his teeth) to the doctor and by killing her he would destroy Watson. It was a vicious conundrum.
He wasn't going to kill them – although he would have no problem living with himself if it came down to it - but he was going to make sure some things were crystal clear before he left. Like if anything ever happened to Sherlock again and there was the slightest whiff of Mary being suspected of it she had better have one hell of a good hiding place because he would be coming after her and it would not be a pleasant death he would serve up to her. He was experienced enough in methods of torture to make something last a very long time and he would enjoy every minute of it.
"I am a…" he paused, dragging out the moment and enjoying leaving them not knowing what he was thinking, what he was going to do or say.
There was not getting away from him.
He had disconnected the phone line upon his arrival and the small device in his pocket was jamming their phones. It was him and them until he decided to leave.
"Friend of Sherlock's" he finished.
'Friend' didn't go anywhere near deep enough to describe what Sherlock was to him. What they had done and been through together during their hunt for Moriarty's network… And as he looked at John Watson he wondered if there was a time when the doctor had ever thought as strongly about Sherlock. He had killed for her after all?
He decided no. If he felt as strongly he wouldn't be sitting there holding the hand of the woman who-
"A friend of Sherlock's," John scoffed, and James tightened his grip on his gun.
Why was that always the reaction?
"And how do you know Sherlock?"
To say that he was sitting on his couch and having a gun pointed at him the doctor was acting terribly cavalier about the whole thing. James wondered if he should shoot him after all just to teach him a lesson about the protocol in a situation like this. Like not back chatting the man holding the thing that could kill you.
"Who do you think was with her for the two years she was away?"
Oh he loved the look of shock on the doctor's face but he didn't allow himself to bask in the confusion for long and launched into his reasons for being in the doctor's house at the very moment.
"But that is off the point,"
"I am here to talk to your wife, Dr Watson,"
"My wife?" John's grip tightened and he watched Mary's face turn even paler.
She was assessing the situation and changing her plans to accommodate - just as they were trained but he wasn't allowing her to fix onto one specific point.
Maybe at first she had thought he was there to get to Sherlock through them. To kill them as some kind of message. And then maybe she thought by 'friend' he meant someone connected to Mycroft – the man had his fingers in enough pies it was possible. But now she was trying to think, trying to decide if she should know him. If they had crossed skills, if he had ever shot at her through a view finder or she at him.
"I am here to make something clear,"
He stood slowly, still keeping the barrel of the gun pointed firmly at Mary's head. John would have to be willing to risk her life if he was to try and pull the gun from him and James was a quick enough shot to plant a bullet between the woman's eyes before the doctor could even stand from his chair.
"Sherlock Holmes is special,"
He spoke softly, and he could hear Mary swallow loudly. She was scared alright, and he wondered how many years it had been since she had last found herself in a situation like this one. Too long, he judged by the sweat beading above her top lip. The last time she had been near a gun he knew it was when she was pointing it at Sherlock. How ironic that she was the one looking down the barrel this time.
"If I ever hear of her being put in danger again I will hunt you down and you will wish you had never been born. Am I understood?"
"Now see here," John started, dropping his wife's hand and standing.
"Sit. Down," James growled at the shorter man. All attempts of politeness gone. He was here to make a point and he would make it before he left and the man was going to be a little clearer on his wife too if he wasn't stupid enough not to listen to when he was being told things for his own good.
"Your wife in a murderer, Dr Watson," he told the man.
"She didn't kill anyone," he denied vehemently.
"She didn't kill Sherlock," he spat, almost as an afterthought.
"Oh but she did," James answered smoothly.
Watson's face turned almost green and he looked in shock between James and his wife.
"What do you mean? Mary, what is he talking about?"
"Do you know what happened when Sherlock was taken into the operating theatre?" James asked casually, spotting the panic in the woman's eyes.
"Do you know that she flat lined?"
"What?"
"Oh, yes, Sherlock Holmes was dead. They were ready to call it."
There was a moment of silence and the doctor took a deep breath.
"But Mary-"
"I don't care," James interrupted sharply, "What you have to say in you wife's defence Doctor Watson," he stood now, towering over them. The gun never wavering.
"Just know this, if there is ever a repeat of what happened, there will never be a place safe from me," he growled, "I promise you that,"
Tada!
So yeah. The numbering thing has gone completely out the window. And I know this isn't a Yard fic but it is a 'meeting Bond' fic. So it kinda fits.
I LOVED Mary when we first met her and then she broke my heart when she shot Sherlock.
I hope you enjoyed this instalment.
x