Chapter 9
"So... Let me get this straight- you didn't originally kidnap me?" Lestrade asked in confusion, blowing on his heavily sweetened coffee as Chris's father cleaned the wounds on his back.
"No. Dan managed to find where they were holding you and extract you- he was an ex-mercenary. Rhodesian- the most deadly kind."
"I thought that was Mossad." Lestrade said dryly.
"Actually, Mossad doesn't really produce a lot of mercenaries. Rhodesia, South Africa and America are the ones that generally produce mercenaries."
"Wouldn't the Americans be the ones you should be worried about?"
"Have you ever met a Rhodesian? Not a Zimbabwean- though they're pretty tough as well- a proper, old school Rhodesian? They're the guys that joke about the smell as maggots eat through their gangreen infested limbs."
"... That doesn't sound healthy, to be honest."
"I never said it was. But they're good."
"And... Uhm..."
"You need to understand, Detective Inspector, I am not an innocent man. But... I'm afraid that my daughter's paying for my sins."
"That's why you want to know about her."
"Yes. I need to know... I need to know that she's alright. That I'm mistaken. Just being a dad, overprotective of my princess..."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, to be honest. She seems fine... handles herself surprisingly well in a fight. Gets on Sherlock's nerves. Quiet, earnest, hard working. Enjoys a bit of hacking."
"That's why she's working for you now."
"Well, yeah. But if you went to prison it's not uncommon for kids to kind of... lash out."
"She should be past that."
"I'd hardly say you could put a time frame on this sort of thing, really."
"Maybe."
"You know, I wouldn't beat myself up too much. She seems fine, really."
"Do you know why I went to prison?"
"Uhm, can't say I do really..."
"Because I hacked into some files I wasn't supposed to. I didn't mean to- but it still ended up destroying my life."
"So you're afraid the apple doesn't fall far from the tree?"
"The people who I accidentally hacked, they're powerful. And not the type to let grudges go."
"You make it seem like some sort of huge conspiracy theory."
"Have you ever heard of the House of Silk?"
"Can't say I have..."
"It is a conspiracy theory. The biggest conspiracy theory in the world."
"... Alright."
"Still. I only need you to tell me a few things, and then you can go."
"What- just like that?"
"It was never supposed to go beyond that."
"Oh, well then... what do you want to know."
"This Sherlock fellow- is he related to Mycroft Holmes?"
"Yeah. How did you-?"
"And does he try to protect his little brother?"
"Of course. He keeps trying to put tails on him, but they always fail."
"I see." The man walked in front of Lestrade, bowing his head over the first aid kit he had been using. "Did you know that Chris wanted to be an actuary?"
Thrown by the non sequiteur Lestrade shook his head. "It wasn't in her file."
The man gave him a thin smile. "No, I don't suppose they put things like that in files."
A snap as the kit was closed and then he turned once more to Lestrade, but a sudden beeping noise caught his attention.
He took his mobile out of his pocket and paled as he read whatever was written on it.
"Oh no..." He choked, and Lestrade put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
"What is it?"
"It's my baby... she's in hospital... it looks really bad."
"Wha-? Chris? This has Sherlock written all over it. That boy..."
"This changes things. We need to go."
"Is this that House of Silk thing? Is it because of you?" Lestrade asked as he followed the man onto the deck, mindful of his injuries.
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out." The man said as he started to boat.
"Right. Well. I'm sure she'll be fine..."
"She'd better be, Detective Inspector. Or there'll be hell to pay."
NX-SH-NX
"Mister Holmes? Mister Holmes!"
Sherlock snapped back from his mind palace lighting fast and proceeded to glare at the scrubs-clad doctor.
"What?" He snapped.
"It's about your... Miss Taylor?"
"Mrs, actually, she kept her maiden name."
"Ah. Right. Well, it was touch and go most of the time, and we lost her a few times. But she's stable now. If you would like to see her now..."
"Perhaps. But first: the bullet."
"The bullet?" The surgeon looked shocked. "That's for the police..."
"I am the police." Sherlock snapped again, briefly flashing his badge at the surgeon, before gesturing to Anderson, who had just emerged from the recovery ward where he had been visiting Donovan.
"And that is my forensics expert. Now- the bullet, Doctor, before I call your wife and tell her that you've been having an affair with six of the nurses. At a time."
"Why you-!"
"Bullet!"
"Fine. Have it!" The surgeon turned to snap at one of the nurses and finally the bullet was handed over to Sherlock.
"Good. Anderson!"
"What Sherlock? I'm tired..."
"Yes, yes. I am fully aware that your depressingly normal mind is about to shut off, but we need to find a boy."
"And?" Anderson snapped at him.
"Come now Anderson, surely you see the importance! No. Perhaps you don't..."
And then it was as though someone had pulled a rug from under him- all dizziness and vertigo and the feeling of floating. Voices suddenly surrounded him and he tried vainly to get a hold of his body, but it seemed quite determined to resist him.
Damn it. He thought vaguely. Betrayed by my own body!
"Sir, sir, sir! Can you hear me?" Silly nurse- of course he could hear her.
"I think it may be because he hasn't slept in... I actually don't know how long. Week, maybe more. And he hasn't eaten either..." Anderson's voice floated from somewhere, causing Sherlock to grit his teeth in annoyance.
The idiot- he knew what medical professionals would say to something to like that! His dislike of the man went up another few notches.
"And the shock of his wife..." The nurse said.
"Of course..." Anderson replied, hesitantly.
"Let's get him to a bed." She said, decisively.
"Noooo..." Sherlock managed to whine out, finally.
"Now sir, I promise I'll let you see your wife. But first you need to sleep for me, and we're going to get you on and IV for some fluids and vitamin B. You're far too thin..."
The feeling of being lifted and Sherlock mentally tried to calculate when last he had stopped to fuel his transport... three weeks and four days ago. That was when he'd stopped sleeping.
Food had last been ingested two weeks and one day ago.
Damn it all. He should have seen this coming.
A needle into his vein, and a soft pillow under his head. The feeling of liquids being pumped through his body, and a mild sedative joining the race for his mind.
And then the world went blissfully black.
NX-SH-NX
Irene Adler arched her back as she slipped her husband's aching cock into her thorougly wet entrance, raking her perfectly manicured nails down his chest.
"Ohhhhhhhhh..." She moaned in ecstasy, feeling him fill her to the very brim. "You're so big and gorgeous..."
The minister of defence gave a muffled exclamation of pride and pleasure from beneath his gag, lying spread eagled as he was tied to the bed with furry pink handcuffs.
Irene gave him a wicked smile as she gave lifted herself up until only the very tip of his penis was still inside of her, before she promptly rammed back onto his hips, causing the both of them to moan obscenely.
From there she set a tortuously slow rhythm of up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down. Careful to constrict her walls as she moved, causing the man beneath her to squirm and moan and struggle to release himself from the handcuffs that were keeping him from touching her and taking control of the situation.
Feeling that they were both on the very edge, she promptly changed her pace to a more blazing one, her breasts moving up and down with the rest of her body and becoming smeared with the sweat of her efforts.
"Oh God!" She screamed, her entire body shaking with the force of her orgasm. She rode it out and mere moments later the gagged man screamed out in ecstasy.
Finally, Irene collapsed against his chest, breathing heavily.
Smiling like the cat who had caught the canary (and every other bird within a hundred sea mile distance as well) she finally removed the gag from the man.
"Ah, my dear Irene..." Her husband panted. "How is it that you're always hungry for another round? You make it hard to keep up..."
"Well, this was the eighth time tonight," She said as she drew nonsensical patterns on his chest, "that's why I did all the work- again."
Her husband made to go in for a kiss, but she put a hand between them. "Honestly dear. Go to sleep. I'll be hungry again tomorrow morning. I swear."
"I'm sure you will." Her husband smiled at her, before she released his handcuffs and he promptly spooned her.
It wasn't long before his snores filled the room, and she carefully released herself from his grip.
She padded over to her phone, smiling when she read the message on it.
"Good work boys. He's definitely isolated now..." She turned on her heels, moving from the room in the nude, and all the way to the guard room.
Stepping inside, she leaned seductively against the door frame, smiling at the three guards stationed there.
"Enjoy the show, did you?" She asked.
"Hm, maybe." The man John had recognised from the tapes smiled, taking her possessively around the waist.
Irene swatted him playfully, before stationing herself on the table the monitors were on.
"Then maybe we should have our own little performance..."
The three guards grinned at her.
NX-SH-NX
John Watson glared determinedly at the wall across from his bed.
He didn't know how long he had been locked in this damned room, all that he knew was that he had woken up in the bed. In pyjamas.
He hadn't fallen asleep in the bed. And he definitely hadn't been in nightclothes.
This was ridiculous.
He needed to get out of here- this woman was intent on hurting Sherlock, and he couldn't just sit around and let it happen.
He needed to get out of here.
But he'd also gone over the room with a fine tooth comb, spending his waking hours going over every bit of it, checking for cracks in the security and a way out.
There were no windows.
The door was (again) solid steel, and even if he could find something to pick the lock with he just wouldn't know how.
That was Sherlock's area.
And then he was right back to Sherlock. The man had probably already passed out from his sheer stubborn bloody mindedness in ignoring his body's most basic needs.
How long had it been since they'd last seen each other?
Would anyone bother telling the great big idiot that he needed to eat? And force him to sleep? Without Lestrade and himself there, nobody knew the trick to get Sherlock to eat enough to keep him going (it was to put yourself next to him with a plate and start eating, and if you were careful enough in avoiding looking at the plate and keeping the conversation up you could generally feed him most of the plate, since he'd nibble on the food without noticing.).
And what would this damned woman want with him? People never really wanted to meet Sherlock for any nice reason- and this woman had all his instincts screaming that she was pure danger.
He needed to get out of here.
Nevermind if his own stomach was growling its hunger at him, or that his leg seemed on fire every time it was moved.
As though summoned, the door grated open and Adelle stepped inside with a plate of cheese and bread on a trolley.
John glared at her- and more importantly- the giant form hulking behind her.
It seemed that they were far too smart to let her in without some form of guard.
She glanced at John, a shy glance that belied the fact that she had tortured him with a cheese grater a few... well. At the beginning of his time here.
She set the plate in front of him, glancing furtively at the hulk silhouetted in the doorway, and taking a bottle of water from her jacket.
She gave him a small smile before she exited.
John looked suspiciously at the water, but finally decided that it was probably in his best interests to drink it. Dehydration was not a pretty thing- and he still needed to get out of here.
He needed to get to Sherlock.
NX-SH-NX
Sherlock startled awake- very much aware that someone was watching him.
The woman, dressed in a nurse's uniform, was in her forties, married to a government official, and definitely not a nurse.
Grabbing her hand, he promptly shoved her away from him and gained his feet.
"What do you want!" He snapped, taking her wrist once more into his hand and twisting it so that she felt the pain. "Are you from him?"
"No!" She gasped, tearing up at the pain. "I came to warn you... you're in terrible danger Mister Holmes... there are people, powerful people, to whose attention you have come.
They will do anything, anything, to see you destroyed."
"And your interest in this matter would be? Being a good samaritan?"
"No. But, Mister Holmes... my husband would kill me if he knew I were here..."
"Indeed. And yet it is not your husband that is out to get me."
"No. No, he isn't. But Mister Holmes- Moriarty's not the only one who wants to play. What ever you do- do not get involved."
"And your reason for this?" He asked again, applying more pressure to her wrist. Feeling the pulse.
"Can't you tell, Sherlock? Surely your deductive skills haven't left you now?" She said, breathily.
The sound of three sets of dress shoes clattering down the hallway caused his attention to be divided and she took the opportunity to hit his own wrist on a nerve and duck out of the room's window.
The door swung open to reveal a nurse who was still trying to stop the three men from entering the room.
"... resting! You cannot simply..."
"Yes." Sherlock said, drawing himself up to his proper height and clutching the sheet protectively. "I am supposed to be resting. Look at me- I'm in a sheet."
The nurse tutted protectively at him.
"Mister Holmes, your services are needed." The one man said, holding out a set of his clothes. "You will come with us immediately."
"Really now?"
"Yes. Your destination is need to know."
Sherlock snorted at them. "I know exactly where we're going."
"Then you will get dressed."
"No."
"Then you do not know..."
"Of course I do. Buckingham Palace- how stupid do you think I am?"
There was shocked silence all around, before the leader once more cleared his throat.
"Then you will get dressed."
"No."
"Then we have no choice..." The man said, gesturing to the other two, who stepped forward. "Either you leave on your own feet, or we drag you."
Sherlock gave a haughty sniff before he swept out of the door, his sheet swirling around him dramatically.
The three men and the nurse shared a look.
NX-SH-NX
Mycroft sighed as he entered a sitting room only to find his little brother in nothing more than a sheet and glaring murderously at the upholstery.
His little brother was sitting in the middle of Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet.
Closing his eyes and trying to find his centre before dealing with this… mess, he resented it when Sherlock snapped a curt "I was busy!" at him.
"For once in your life can you just act like a responsible adult?"
"I. Was. Busy."
"Yes. That hacker- don't tell me you're growing attached."
Sherlock shot him a look that set Mycroft on edge, if only because he couldn't decipher it in the sharp nanosecond that it lasted.
"Of course not." Sherlock sniffed.
Mycroft narrowed his eyes at him, wondering for a second whether his agent had been made before reminding himself that if that had been the case Sherlock would most certainly have lost her and stunk up the place with his superiority complex.
But if he had gotten attached…
It would get messy.
But that was a thought- a worry- for another time.
"Time to move on then…" An appraising glance at the nudeness and then, "We are in Buckingham Palace, for god's sake, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes- put your trousers on!"
"What for?" Sherlock doesn't quite pull off the unconcerned air, and Mycroft worries at this, the fact that slowly what little support structure his brother had managed to build up for himself has been ripped away despite their best efforts.
And now his agent is out of action, and to send a new one would be folly.
A fear grips Mycroft, a fear that he will once again fail his little brother and deserve all of the scorn the man- no, that little boy that he failed so many times- heaps upon him.
He turns it into exasperation as he answers: "Your client."
"And my client is?"
"Illustrious, in the extreme." A new voice says, "And remaining entirely anonymous. Mycroft!"
"Harry." Mycroft shakes hands with his 'friend'. "I must apologise for the state of my little brother."
Harry looks at Sherlock, who gazes at him with open assessment. "A full time occupation, I'd imagine."
A frisson of anger goes through Mycroft at that, but it doesn't, it cannot, show.
"Mycroft, I do not take anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Two sides is too much work." Sherlock starts walking for the door- still in that ridiculous sheet.
"This is a matter of national security." Mycroft says, foot trapping the sheet beneath it. "Grow up!"
"Let go of my sheet."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll keep walking."
"I'll let you."
And then Sherlock did the one thing Mycroft had hoped that he wouldn't: he let go of the bloody sheet.
"Sherlock!"
"Mycroft- do not test me. Who. Is. My. Client?"
Harry sniffed disdainfully at the entire affair, and Mycroft was immensely glad that he had been trained to never blush.
Sherlock was having a harder time at concealing his flush- though it would undoubtedly be ascribed to anger by other parties. A blessing and a curse.
"No, Sherlock, do not test me!"
"Goodbye Mycroft. Harry." Sneers all around it seemed, as Sherlock left.
Mycroft followed.
"For God's sakes!"
"No Mycroft! A most dangerous man is out there and he is carefully and efficiently taking out most of Scotland Yard. Or at least the most competent officers it has! This is not the time to be pandering…!"
"Sherlock! This is a matter of national security!"
"So is this! What do you think will happen if Moriarty is left loose much longer?" Sherlock snapped at him, once more letting Mycroft see a little of how scared he was of all of this.
Too many flashbacks.
Too many… feelings.
They stared at each other, before Mycroft handed Sherlock his clothes which he had grabbed on his way out.
"Sherlock- I need you on this. I'm not asking you to give up on all your current activities. Just look at the files. You needn't even leave the Yard or your apartment or wherever you'll be holing up. But this is important."
Sherlock must have seen something in his face, because he snatched both the file and the clothes from Mycroft's arms and proceeded to walk starkers from Buckingham Palace.
Mycroft closed his eyes, allowed himself a sigh, and turned to do damage control with Harry.
NX-SH-NX
Anderson groaned as he pulled himself from the cot that Molly had set up for him in her office, sleepily shutting off the alarm on his phone.
As if on cue, the door opened to reveal two cups of coffee and Molly Hooper.
"Oh, you're awake! I brought you some coffee." She gave him a shy smile.
"Thanks." He grunted, grabbing the cup and taking a gulp that burned all the way down and settled warmly in the pit of his stomach. "Got to get to the lab… ballistics."
"So you said." Molly nodded at him.
"Hm. Sherlock'll have a fit if he knows I passed out first…"
"Oh, well, we don't have to tell him."
"Be best if we didn't really. How are they?"
"Still unconscious when I made the coffee. But stable. Even that hacker- Miss Taylor. Did Sherlock really say he was her husband?" There was a tinge of jealousy there, and Anderson grimaced at how she let Sherlock treat her.
She deserved better than to fall for sickos and psychopaths.
"Just for the bullet." He said.
"Oh! Well, I mean, if he was married we'd know right?" She sounded so hopeful.
"They hate each other. Really. Got into that fight, didn't they?"
"Yes. I don't like her much."
"… I supposed you wouldn't."
A fierce blush from her at that.
"She seems rude, that's all."
Anderson smiled at her. "She's a total geek. Sherlock can't have a conversation with her without being confused. Even I don't get some of the references."
Molly gave him a small giggle. "So it's true he doesn't know about the solar system?"
"Definitely. We tested it."
"Doctor Hooper!" A young man came rushing in. "Someone's hung a body from the roof!"
"What?" Molly cried in shock.
"Shit! The six hours…" Anderson fisted his hands, and then he and Molly were both running after the man.
They managed to make it outside in time to see the body come down from where it had hung and Anderson had a moment of incredible relief when he realized that it wasn't Lestrade.
The relief evaporated when he saw what was left of the man's hands.
And the note that cheerfully read: "I'm done playing now. This time, it's your heart or bust darling!"
"Oh no… is this…" Molly turned her eyes on him.
"Yes." Anderson nodded grimly. "It is."
The look on her face was suddenly determined. "Right. I'll take the body. You take the bullet."
NX-SH-NX
A/N: I can't honestly say much about this chapter, since it has me green around the gills... sex scenes (and sex in general) creep me out. But Irene was very insistent... Also, I don't mean to degrade her or make her a slut. But I wanted her to be a nymphomaniac- because I think that Sherlock is asexual (we have enough proof from Conan Doyle and Gatiss and Moffat) and I wanted to see how these two extremes reacted to each other. Again- AU.
Thank DeadTeenWalking for the update- she's been bribing me with banners for this story. I'm South African, so I bribe really well and really easily. ;P But her banners are awesome. Now if only I could figure out how the bloody things work…
Thank you: for your alerts/reviews/C2 additions!
I'd ask you to review, but I need to go bleach my brain. Ew.