A.N.- New one! Ta-daa! Pretty straightforward. I just kind of BS-ed a large amount of this chapter, so you have my deepest apologies. (Well I didn't try to BS it and it's not really BS… just lots and lots of description while I have no idea what to write.) Ehehe...heh. That's me being an artful procrastinator.
RLMW- Yeahhhh, she gets the shit beaten out of her quite often. But isn't that what you're supposed to do with your OC? She'll get better, I swear…..
Guest and Your Roommate- I swear to God… just go ahead and kill all of my characters, I'm waiting for you to send me those other lovely death scenes as well as that lemon we discussed.
BYTHEWAY: My lovely… friend from down the hall (RomeoBlack123) wrote an… interesting lemon. I might just post it as an extra bonus feature chapter at the end of the story. Is anyone cool with that or would like to see it? No? Great! (Please do let me know though. That will determine whether or not it's featured.)
Enjoy.
The Dame of Baker Street: Mind Games, Ch. 9
"I'm not going back to America."
"Of course you are."
"No!"
"You will. And that's final."
"Hell no."
They'd been going at it for almost an hour, and John was at his wits end worrying about Mary and what was going to happen. Madeline had her shoes clutched in her hand by the heels as they tramped along the road and looked like she wanted to beat Sherlock up the head with them. They hadn't gotten very far, but John could see the lights of the next big town only about three-fourths of a mile away. He hoped they'd be able to hail a cab and rush back to Mary and Baker Street as soon as possible. Madeline made sure to walk on the cold pavement of the road as she argued with Sherlock. The icy cold pavement burned the soles of her bare feet, but she kept her shoes firmly held in her hand and used the pain in her feet, arms, hands, and face to try and reign in her anger; but even that wasn't enough.
"I'm not going back." She snapped.
"You are," Sherlock returned hotly. "You can go back to your labs and collaborations with Johns Hopkins and Harvard, go live a happy life." Madeline ignored the barbed comment and scowled in the darkness. The only reason they could still see the road was because of the moonlight reflecting off of the ice sparsely dotting the road like patches of silver.
"And running back to the States is going to solve these cases how?" She snapped finally. "It's not going to stop Magnussen."
"You're still being thick," Sherlock growled at her. "It's not about bringing him down, that's not your concern. You are going back to America."
"And what makes you think I'll do that?" Madeline argued. "You can't forcibly deport me from England."
"I think Mycroft would agree with me." Sherlock retorted over his shoulder, "He could definitely pull a few strings to get you back into your native country and keep you there."
"After four years of living here? I've almost got my visa! And I swear to God if you say one more word about sending me home again-"She growled at him. Sherlock stopped flat and spun to face her angrily.
"It's not my first choice nor my favorite, but it's definitely not yours. All you'd be doing is being a hindrance to me by serving as a chink for Magnussen to expose, so you're leaving." He snarled.
"No!" Madeline shouted, brandishing her shoes in his face. "That's running away!"
"Courage and bravado don't matter! He's already tried to burn down the flats and you and Mrs. Hudson with them, burned your hands, and threatened John's family!" Sherlock shouted back. The doctor's head snapped up at the mention of his wife and child, then he went back to focusing on walking, too tired and occupied by his own thoughts to break up the argument.
When they finally reached the town it was almost too easy to hail a cab back to London, but the entire ride was tense and charged with anger and malcontent. The cab dropped John off at his house first, and he all but sprinted inside the building to get to Mary. Without John, the awkward silence grew even worse. Madeline was jittery with anger and fear, but also felt extremely drained. She hadn't ridden out a depression swing by using anger in a while, and it was seriously taxing. Sherlock didn't look at her, he glared straight ahead until the cab stopped at Baker Street, then paid the cabbie and stalked inside without waiting for Madeline. As soon as she'd made it into 221 B Madeline collapsed on the couch. She didn't see Sherlock in the living room and assumed he'd uncharacteristically opted to use his own bedroom for the night. As soon as her head made contact with the couch she was asleep, ready to trade the harrowing events of the evening for her dreams.
. . .
Mary sat on the couch nervously, her hands splayed over her large belly protectively. John sat beside her comfortingly and Madeline sat in her chair. Sherlock paced on the floor between them furiously.
"I should have known you'd been involved with him." He said to Mary, but it wasn't in too harsh of a tone. Mary didn't answer him, she just rubbed her stomach and took John's hand.
"We're still not any closer to figuring out who kidnapped Prince George." Madeline interjected.
"That's not the most pressing matter on the table." Sherlock told her, dropping the tone he'd held with Mary and opting for an angrier one. Madeline pressed her lips together and frowned, too tired and stressed to start another argument with him again. She leaned to the side to brace her cheek on her hand but winced and had to forego the action. She'd woken up that morning with a large purple and yellow bruise that stretched from the skin between her hairline and her cheekbone down to her jawbone. It looked bad, but after a few tries Madeline was able to cover the majority of the mark with heavy concealer and arranged her hair to hide as much of it as she could. Unfortunately, makeup and a new hairstyle didn't deter the looks Sherlock gave her. They were angry, and Madeline couldn't tell whether they were for himself or her. A few of the looks she caught seemed self-loathing, so Madeline made sure to keep the right side of her face turned away from him.
"Can you get them witness protection or something?" John asked, raising an eyebrow nervously. Sherlock snorted and threw a disdainful glance at a passing Sherry.
"That's ridiculous, it wouldn't even apply to them." Sherlock said. "And we can't ask Scotland Yard or Mycroft for favors anymore, they're under Magnussen's control."
"One, we're right here and can hear you." Madeline said, "Two, I still don't understand how your brother- almost the face of MI6 and Scotland Yard can't do anything. They're huge." She murmured, knitting her brows and shaking her head. She was careful not to move her head enough to expose the bruise underneath her hair, and she could feel Sherlock watching her with a scrutinizing look.
"Because," He said, "Magnussen has a strong hold over them."
"With information. Can't they find something to exploit him and get rid of what he has over them?"
"No. The problem is that Magnussen had established sway over them before they could even rally to gather information on him. They've been on the bottom and struggling to hide it ever since." Sherlock snapped.
"So Magnussen made the British government his bitch and there's nothing we or even MI6 can do about it." Madeline said flatly, bouncing the flat of her palm rhythmically on her thigh and ignoring the sharp look John gave her. Sherlock stood quickly and began rummaging through things on the desk. Madeline did her best to give Mary and John a smile and start a conversation that wouldn't revolve around their deaths or the impressive blackmail imposed on the country by one man.
"How's the nursery coming along?" She asked. Mary gave her a terse smile and didn't remove her hands from her stomach and John's grasp.
"It's coming along just fine. I've got all the walls painted and now we're just trying to get the furniture." She said.
"Do you know what it's going to be?" Madeline asked. Mary's smile grew genuine, and a hint of a grin appeared on John's face as well.
"It's 'Baby It' right now. We're going to wait to find out a few days before delivery and then let everyone know once the baby is born." He said. Madeline nodded and opened her mouth to ask another polite question but was interrupted by an envelope thrust into her face by Sherlock.
"Mycroft may be lacking in power at present- what with us stirring up trouble with Magnussen- but he was able to procure a one-way ticket into the D.C. airport. His last miracle, if you will." He said coldly. Madeline took the envelope to get it out of her face and quickly turned to keep the right side of her face angled away from the detective, but he scowled.
"And you can take your cat with you." He added. Madeline thought about throwing the envelope on the floor but instead laid it on the arm of her chair and smiled pleasantly at him.
"No way in hell." She said cordially. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her but she had already turned back to John and Mary. They kept talking about the baby, how John's clinic-hopping was going, anything to make the small moment seem normal amid all the chaos going on. Sherlock kept pacing on the ground and tried to map out ways to get to Antonio or Magnussen in his mind palace. Truth be told, he wasn't even half listening to the conversation in the living room, there were more pressing matters than the size booties Mary was crocheting for the baby. His thoughts were interrupted when John tapped him on the shoulder and reiterated that he and Mary were leaving.
"We're heading out." He said. Sherlock turned and shook John's hand firmly.
"Be careful." The detective cautioned. Mary stepped up and wrapped her arms around the detective warmly, smiling a little when Sherlock tensed. Mary took John's hand and led him gently to the door.
"We'll call you if we hear anything or think of a lead." John said, waving his hand slightly at Madeline. She nodded and gave him a small smile, but Sherlock had already gone back to pacing. John and Mary left quietly, but they didn't take the shroud of sobriety out of 221 B with them. Madeline pulled her legs up into the chair with her and curled up. Sherlock kept pacing, and after Madeline turned her head to follow his trail around the living room twice she sighed and selected Peter Pan from the bookshelf, the same book she'd read when Sherlock was in the hospital. The bookshelf had almost become overridden with Madeline's books instead of Sherlock's. She read for most of the afternoon, not really paying attention to Sherlock or Sherry. When she finally looked up the afternoon sun was hidden behind clouds that promised rain.
"You've been reading all afternoon. Did it take you that long to finish such a simplistic book?" Sherlock asked condescendingly as he took a seat in his chair across from her. Madeline uncurled from her chair and stretched.
"No, I reread my favorite scenes a couple of times." She said, dog-earing the page she was on and closing her book. "It's a great stress reliever, maybe you should try it." The detective gave her a sharp look and rose from his chair to stalk into the kitchen. He returned with a cup of tea for himself and a mug of coffee for Madeline. She raised her eyebrows and accepted the drink, always wary of Sherlock's atrocious coffee-making skills.
"We need to talk." He said monotonously. Madeline regarded the coffee cautiously and sipped it, then tried not to gag. It tasted like Sherlock's normal attempt at making coffee, but she was determined to drink it.
"About?" She said, warily ready to dig her feet in about being deported from England and having to go back to America. Sherlock scowled into his cup of tea before continuing.
"Magnussen. He's dangerous."
"Yes, that's been established." Madeline returned quietly. The detective frowned as Sherry stalked by him and hopped into Madeline's lap.
"So you understand why I had to comply with him." He said lowly. Madeline felt herself relax. So he was just going to talk about the night before, she could deal with that. If he got too self-guilty she could assuage him and keep him from beating himself up over the event. Sherlock cleared his throat and Madeline jerked back to reality and realized that she'd been silent while thinking.
"Yeah, I do." She said to him, resisting the urge to fight back a yawn. It definitely wasn't the proper time or situation to yawn. Sherlock cleared his throat and set his tea aside. Madeline felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her, apparently she was finally coming off of her adrenaline from the night before and it was finally taking its toll.
"I tried to hit you more by your ear than straight across your face, I hope it's not as bad as it looks." Sherlock said. Madeline took another desperate sip of her coffee to stave off the increasing weight of her eyelids, but that just seemed to make it worse.
"Wow, thanks." She said sarcastically, subconsciously reaching a hand up to cover the bruise. "It'll fade after a little while." She added to deter the loathing she noticed on Sherlock's face, it seemed a little too excessive for just an open-handed slap, even if he did care.
"It won't happen again." He said solemnly. "I won't let it." Madeline smiled and rubbed at her eyes.
"Don't get me wrong, protecting me is really great, almost every girl dreams of having a great guy to back her up and look out for her; but you trying to protect me so much is kind of just making yourself vulnerable" She said sleepily. "I can take care of myself in most situations." She added, ignoring the way Sherlock's eyes gravitated towards the ceiling disbelievingly. He seemed to reign in his irritation when it was quickly usurped by a brooding expression.
"I think I'm going to go to bed." Madeline said as she stood from her chair and yawned. Sherlock's eyes followed her to the kitchen as she washed her coffee mug out and ignored the dregs in the bottom. "Night," She said, wobbling back into the living room out of exhaustion and making her way to Sherlock's chair. She pressed her lips to his temple and he tensed, not unlike he did on some occasions when she kissed him.
"Love you." She mumbled before clicking her tongue to call Sherry and plodding down the hallway to her room, still in her day clothes. Sherlock watched her go, allowing a pained expression to take residence on his face.
"I do too." He said, "So forgive me."
. . .
Madeline woke up when the ground started moving. She bolted upright and reached for Sherry, but the cat was gone. When her eyes adjusted to the blackness around her she could feel something leathery underneath and behind her. She instinctively kicked out and heard an irritated grunt when her leg struck something solid. Something clicked and a light turned on, illuminating the interior of a very nice looking car and an indignant and inconvenienced looking Mycroft Holmes sitting in the far corner of the row of seats.
"What's going on?" Madeline demanded. "Where am I?"
"Don't panic, Miss Carver. You're on your way to Heathrow Airport." Mycroft said.
"What? Why?" She shrieked. The older Holmes cut her a sharp look.
"Calm yourself down, it'd be a pain to drug you again." He snapped. Madeline stopped short.
"When? You didn't drug me-"She gasped. "The coffee! What the hell…."
"To be fair, I didn't put anything in your drink. That was actually my dearest brother." Mycroft said. Madeline could feel her eyes widen as the car bumped over pavement.
"W- so how- why did he do that?" She whispered, pressing herself against the seat frantically.
"I told you to calm down. I thought he'd told you about the plan. Weren't you informed that you'd be going back to America?" Mycroft said.
"No, we argued about it; I never said I'd go back there." Madeline snapped, growing angrier by the minute.
"Well long story short you are." He responded as the car slowed to a stop. Madeline whirled and stared out the window at the tarmac beyond the carparks and the fence separating them from the runway.
"No, no, no, no I'm not." She said, laughing nervously to keep the quiver out of her voice. The door nearest to her opened, and a large-looking man held out his hand to her like an escort.
"I'm not going." Madeline repeated frantically, "You can't forcibly deport me." Mycroft sighed.
"Yes I can. While MI6 may be- impaired at present I still have the authority to boot you out of my country at any moment." He said tersely.
"For what?" Madeline asked, her voice jumping to a high pitch as the escort forcibly pulled her out of the car. She pulled away from the man at first but when he tightened his grip on her arm she began to panic.
"No! You can't send me back! I have to stay here!" She shouted as the man dragged her through the airport and Mycroft followed behind with an exasperated expression and another man who carried Madeline's suitcase. They were able to skip security and bag check when Mycroft flashed an ID to the TSA agent. Madeline was escorted through Heathrow roughly, and luckily the people loitering by the terminals were very few and in between, probably the people who were waiting for their overnight flight connections.
"Your flight boards in fifteen minutes." Mycroft said to a struggling Madeline. "But you're getting on now."
"No, I'm not." She protested, leaning away from the escort and digging her heels into the carpet. "Sherlock!" She shouted. Mycroft made an aggravated noise and leaned down to her ear.
"You're hurting him." He whispered coldly. "Get on the plane." Madeline felt her anger dwindle, then snuff itself out completely. She quieted down and solemnly allowed a perky flight attendant to escort her and the elder Holmes onto the plane.
Mycroft made sure her bag was stowed in the overhead compartment and that Madeline was going to stay in her "lovely" window seat and not try to bolt from the plane.
"Wait! What about Sherry?" She asked in a panic, Mycroft gave her an odd look.
"He's going to remain in London."
"No, my cat." Mycroft's face relaxed.
"Your animal will be flown overseas, including all of your other items besides what was packed beforehand. Don't fret about it excessively." He said, sounding like his brother as he pulled a book from his coat and handed it to Madeline. She gingerly took it and turned it over to inspect the cover, it was her copy of Peter Pan that she'd been reading only a few hours earlier. She flipped the book open to the page she had stopped at when she noticed that its dog-eared corner was bent even farther than before. The pages bore the same normal scene she loved to read- all of the Darling children being led to Neverland by a rambunctious and adventurous Peter Pan. The only thing different was the scrawl across the text in black ink.
It looked hasty and messy, but Madeline could recognize it as Sherlock's handwriting. He had circled a bit of text on the page and written a note to it that would take some time to decipher because of the messy writing.
"He wanted me to give that to you to tide you over on the flight. Do not leave this plane until it docks in Atlanta Airport." Mycroft said in a clipped tone before he turned promptly on his heel and left as other passengers began to board the plane. Madeline sat in her seat and didn't make eye contact with anyone. Instead she stared blankly at the note Sherlock had left her until she decided to actually read it.
He had circled the paragraph that read: "I'm Wendy," she said agitatedly.
He was very sorry. "I say, Wendy," he whispered to her, "always if you see me forgetting you, just keep on saying 'I'm Wendy,' and then I'll remember."
Of course this was rather unsatisfactory. However, to make amends he showed them how to lie out flat on a strong wind, and they could sleep thus with security. Beside the words Sherlock had written: I am very sorry. Don't forget the knight in rusty armor. –Regards, SH
Madeline could feel tears streaming down her face and could feel her chest being torn to shreds, but at the same time felt empty beyond comparison. Someone took their seat beside her on the plane and Madeline quietly wiped at her eyes and resigned herself to staring out the window at the tarmac until the plane had taken off. She could see Heathrow Airport disappear underneath a thick sea of clouds in the night as the plane took off for its overnight trip. Madeline bolted upright quickly and pulled her phone out of her pocket. The reminder to power off cell phones hadn't blazed over the loudspeaker yet, so she still had time. Madeline quickly dialed Sherlock's phone number into the device and held it to her ear. She knew he hated speaking on the phone, but she wanted to hear his voice. The phone rang for a few minutes before a polite but electronically automated voice came through the loudspeaker instead of Sherlock's.
"We're sorry, you are no longer allowed to contact this number. Have a pleasant day." The voice said. "If you would like to repeat this message, please press three. If not, have a pleasant day." Madeline almost burst into tears again. He couldn't be sending her away. It had to be Mycroft acting on his own accord.
But the note…
She leaned against the window and shut her eyes tightly as the airplane's PA system politely asked for everyone to turn off their phones. She clutched the book tightly in her hands and tried to resign herself to curling up uncomfortably in the airplane chair on the long and arduous flight back to "home".
. . .
"No, you can't send me back! I have to stay here!"
"No I'm not!"
"Sherlock!"
The detective sat emotionless in front of the laptop, watching the security tapes over and over. Mycroft had granted him privacy to Heathrow's cameras for one hour so he could see that Madeline got safely onto the plane. He had been worried that he had underestimated how strong the Rohypnol dose he'd added to her coffee would be and whether or not she would wake up before her plane left or not.
Sherlock frowned and watched Mycroft usher Madeline into the plane emotionlessly. That was why Sherlock hadn't been allowed to take Madeline to the airport himself; Mycroft didn't trust him enough to actually continue through with the plan. So when his brother and some crony had come to pick up an unconscious Madeline up and stuff her into a black tinted car Sherlock had passed Mycroft the book Madeline had been reading that he'd scribbled a small but heartfelt note into.
The detective did his best to glower at Sherry when the cat stalked by him indignantly in search of Madeline. She was obviously looking for food or a petting session, but Sherlock was unsure of how to give them to her. The cat paced circles around Madeline's chair expectantly and then stalked into the kitchen when she couldn't find her owner in her usual seat. Sherry then turned to Sherlock and seemed to give him an accusing stare. Sherlock frowned and returned to watching the tapes. He could see Mycroft lean down and say something in Madeline's ear before she boarded the plane but couldn't discern what it was. Even when he looked at the body language and the cameras showing different angles it was still unclear, even though whatever Mycroft muttered to Madeline scared her or calmed her into compliance. He pressed his lips together and tried not to regret what he'd done to protect the people close to him. His phone buzzed on the table next to him and Sherlock frowned. He wondered briefly if Madeline would be able to call him or if his brother would have already thought of that and taken his idea of "appropriate action". Sherlock scowled and looked at the message.
Rly? U booted her out of the country that fast?
Who is this? –SH
Antonio m8. Sherlock could feel himself grow angry.
On behalf of Charles, I presume? –SH It took a few minutes to get a response.
Yep. He wants to talk to u.
Where? –SH
Idk. Sherlock waited three-and-a-half-minutes for an elaboration. He said he'll come to u. L8r. Antonio texted back. Sherlock waited for another response but didn't receive one. He scowled and closed out the camera footage of Madeline from the computer.
Feelings didn't matter, it was time to work.
A.N.- Yeahhhh, pretty filler-ish. Tons of descriptive BS n' shit. Sorry about that.
Ah yes, fanart is welcome! I haven't said that yet.
