I'm sorry for how long this is, I really just wanted to be done with episode two and there were some scenes here I really got into and expanded. And now I can't wait until I get to the new season of Sherlock, I have so many ideas.
"And you're sure you'd know it when you saw it?" Sherlock asked Alice disbelievingly as he watched her, a finger trailing delicately down the spines of the books – much too quick for an average person's mind to catch a familiarity – but he had ceased questioning her intelligence.
"Yes," she answered simply, an irritated edge cut into her voice at him having already asked her that.
He held his tongue a few moments before he couldn't resist asking; "how?"
She sighed grievously and turned to him. "Do you want my help or not?" she demanded.
He contemplated it, having never been one for sharing, before he finally nodded and moved aside so she could continue. A few books she picked up and found the coded words, though each time she returned the book displeased and he knew they weren't any closer.
"It's not here," she said when she'd gone through all of the books both dead men had that were the same – her eyes having roamed over the book she knew would be the most likely, though she'd neither touched it or said anything. She was already on thin ice with Mycroft, which was her own doing for being so short with him, but she couldn't give anything away – she couldn't actually help. So she did what little she could, waiting for Sherlock to realize it because he always realized it in the end. But the more the day dragged on, and the more books he added to the piles, she saw he wasn't going to get it easily. And so she'd taken to sneaking the A-Z guide for London up the pile, hoping he would take notice eventually – which he never did.
John found Sherlock still looking at the bins of books and Alice sitting on the couch half awake with her phone tracking him in her lap.
"I need to get some air we're going out tonight," Sherlock said when he noticed John had returned from work, too frustrated with having the answer so close and yet completely not knowing where it was.
"Actually I have a date," John told him, still unable to wipe the smile from his mouth.
Sherlock processed that a moment. "What?"
"It's when two people who like each other go out and have fun," he answered, wondering if Sherlock didn't already know that.
Alice sat only half listened to them bantering as she returned the phone to her pocket, incredibly bored and still very tired – having only managed to catch an hour nap before Sherlock asked if she was sure none of them could be it. She stood and took the ripped paper from John to see Sherlock finally had some sort of a lead.
He stared at her face, glancing over every feature and seeing absolutely nothing – her blinking nor her breathing gave her away. He hated her sometimes, she was a blank page and he could read nothing from her. "I'm right aren't I?" he asked keeping his face smooth as he waited for her to look at him. She did nothing more than raise a brow before handing the paper back to John and turning away; and Sherlock nearly stamped his foot in frustration at how little she gave him. "Where are you going?" he asked when he saw she was moving toward the stairs.
"To shower, and change. We have a date," she said turning to him with a smirk to see both John and Sherlock's confused faced before she tramped down the stairs.
"You're not coming on my date," John called as he rushed to the stairs, looking down to see her at the bottom staring up at him amused.
"You wouldn't even know I was there," she assured him, though in truth she had no plans of following John, rather she was following Sherlock. But she didn't tell him that, instead she stood watching his mouth open in close in startled surprise, seeing him looking around as though the answer to his problem could be found in the air. It was too much fun flustering and irritating him, unlike Sherlock who normally was very boring.
"No," he told her firmly, "you are not coming. And don't look into her," he added when the thought crossed his mind.
She shrugged and shook her head. "Alright then."
He stared hard at her, seeing her innocent face. "You already looked into her," he said unhappily, watching her smile as she left. "She already," he exclaimed turning to Sherlock to see his unconcerned face.
"Of course," he answered with a flippant shrug before grabbing his phone. "Do you want me to get you ticket?" he texted Alice, moving to the window to see her closed blinds.
"He told me not to come," she texted back less than a minute later.
He stared at his phone with his brows furrowed in nonunderstanding before she texted again. "I'll go through the back."
She set down her phone, ignoring Sherlock's next text asking whether she thought anything would happen – searching for her confirmation that this circus was who he was after, though he'd already decided it was. Instead she took a shower, nearly scalding her skin in the hot water for several long minutes as she cleaned herself before getting out. Sherlock had hardly slept in three days, which meant she hadn't slept in three days – and she greatly wished for just one more night of sleep. But she dressed quickly and found Sherlock sitting on her sofa staring at his empty flat on the television. "John's gone to pick up his date," he said when he felt her behind him. "Can I have a ride?"
"Yeah," she answered, her brows drawn together at his having asked for a ride when he usually took a cab.
He was quiet as she drove, staring out of the window lost in thought. "You're not an acrobat," he said suddenly as he recalled the words she'd given him when she'd broken into the second man's flat. He looked at her almost fondly when she turned to him briefly, doing nothing to answer his question. "You've been trying to give me the answers all along," he mused, watching her eyes roll almost imperceptibly.
"You'll figure out more I'm sure," she said, watching his arrogance leave him at that, staring forward unhappily as he thought over everything she'd done or said recently that was a clue.
He got out of the car when they arrived, bending down to give her a long searching look before leaving her when she offered nothing. She shook her head smirking as she pulled around the back of the building, stopping in an alley and turning the car off. Her heart thudded to a stop as the red dot of a sniper's laser appeared in the center of her chest, holding still as she sat with her hand on the door handle.
Thomas had told her there was occasionally a person watching her, something that had been troubling him before they together realized Moriarty was keeping an eye on her when she was too close – she knew then if she did anything the trigger would be pulled, and Moriarty didn't want that. As much of a hindrance as she was he saw her as a weapon, one he wanted in his hands to use whenever he pleased – the problem now was that she was sided against him.
There had been no indication of Moriarty using these smugglers for his own gain, at least until now – and now she realized the leader had been recruited to get to Sherlock and it infuriated her that she hadn't figured it out sooner. She didn't like not knowing things. And she didn't like it even more when someone had a weapon on her and she had no means of defense. She couldn't even reach for her phone, because the person she'd call or text was Thomas and Moriarty knew there someone after him – just not who. So she sat for several long minutes breathing evenly before the dot disappeared; and not wishing to try her luck she simply turned the car on and pulled around to the front and waited for Sherlock and John to come out.
"Why didn't you come in?" John demanded as he and Sarah slid into the backseat, a bruised Sherlock sitting beside her.
Instead of answering she pulled into a lane and drove. "Take us to the police station," Sherlock told her, seeing from the rigid way she sat and clenched the wheel in her hands something had happened – and he knew her well enough not to ask. The longer she staid quiet, not even bothering to look at him though he'd been attacked, the more he realized whatever had happened had frightened her – that thought unsettled him, if an assassin was afraid then it couldn't be good. And knowing she didn't want either him or John out of her sight worried him that they were the ones in danger – and of course she would be caught in the crossfire. If only she'd tell him anything. And so he wasn't at all surprised when they left the station to find her still sitting in her car waiting for them – when on any other day she would have left them to find a cab – and once again the ride was silent as they went home.
Sherlock walked around the car to stand by her window, leaving John and Sarah to go up before him. "I assume we won't be discussing what happened tonight?" he asked letting her know he was aware something was bothering her. He stood staring at her waiting for her to say something whether it was an answer or a refusal.
"You know nothing yet," she told him, her tone not condescending in the way of arrogance so he did not take it as a slight; instead he waited for more. "I can only hope it never comes that, but you'll get your answers if it does."
And yet again her answer was useless because he had no idea what she was telling him, and it frustrated him to no end that every answer he wanted was inside her strange and clever mind. "Does Mycroft know?" he asked her impatiently. "Whatever secret you're keeping from me, have you let him in on it?"
Her face was smooth but her eyes were quickly growing irritated. "He is the cause," she told him honestly, thinking he had a right to know whatever happened was at the fault of his brother.
Sherlock's brows rose at that now nearly shaking with the need to know and furious that he wouldn't be told, at least not by her. "It dangerous I suppose," he said calmly, wishing very greatly to take the cigarette from her and breathe in the wonderful fumes. "If it would make you feel better I do believe in a choice between us Mycroft would chose you."
Her brows were drawn together as she stared at him as though he really were an idiot. "You are my job Sherlock," she told him blandly. "It is my duty to take whatever bullet is shot at you. There was never a choice, you always come first."
He did not like her answer, or at least the way she said it so unconcerned that she'd die for him because it was expected of her. And it certainly did not put him at ease for it meant there was a very real threat she was protecting him from. "What about you?" he asked quickly before she could drive off, earning himself a hard look as she turned to him waiting. "If it were a choice between Mycroft and I."
"I'm not answering that," she told him, making to pull away from the curb again but his hand grabbed the wheel keeping her from leaving without dragging him behind her. "I don't think either of you would like what I would say."
It was what he'd thought, a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that as much as she'd come to be apart of his life she was not truly with him. "You must think little of me if you honestly believe I care for sentiment," he said earning a roll of her eyes.
She didn't want to answer because she knew it would change something; maybe not much, maybe not very noticeable, but he wouldn't think of her the same. "I truly do hope it never comes to that."
"Why?" he asked, infuriated that she refused to give him a straight answer, or at least enough of an answer that he could figure out the rest. But she put the car into gear hoping to get away. "Alice Carroll," he cried loudly as though she were young, though in that moment it was him who sounded like a child.
"Because you'd lose," she said finally, admitting to him that her choice was Mycroft. "You want to know the unbearably ugly truth of it all?" she asked leaning toward the window so they were nearly face to face. "I would kill you if it kept him alive," she said shocking him. "That does not mean I like you less and it does not mean I don't take my job seriously, but the fact of the matter is that you may have my affection but my loyalty is with Mycroft," she told him, seeing for the first time he was completely speechless. "Now, why are you down here talking to me when you have a case to work on?" she asked before rolling up the window and leaving him on the curb stupefied.
She was entirely right, he shouldn't have been thinking of her at all; he should be upstairs with John trying to figure out the cipher now that he knew who the smugglers were – but he instead was standing watching her car as she drove away. He'd let her distract him, to get inside his head; and he angrily shook himself before stalking inside.
Alice put on her Bluetooth hoping to hear them should they leave, and took out her phone to text Sherlock specifically telling him not to go anywhere until she returned.
"Who is she?" she heard Sarah through John's tracker. "The woman in the car?"
"Alice," John answered. "She's a friend of ours, we've known her for I'd say," he trailed off as he thought, "about six months. She's known Sherlock longer. I'd say she's about as close to a girlfriend as he'll ever be able to have."
If he could have seen Alice's face in that moment he would have shut his mouth and looked away meekly, her face bland and her eyes irritated before a smirk curled on her lips.
"I can see that," Sarah told him. "I thought there was something from the way he was looking at her, it's very sweet."
John's brows furrowed at that, having never noticed Sherlock looking at Alice in any particular way, and he took out his phone when it buzzed. "Don't be silly Dr Watson, you're as close to a girlfriend as he's capable" is what the text read. "I am not," he said aloud before he realized Sarah had no idea what he was talking about, nor did he want to have to assure her he wasn't gay. He smiled uncomfortably as he put his phone away, able to picture the way Alice was smiling amusedly at that very moment.
And she was, because she was picturing his embarrassed face as he looked at Sarah. "Try not to go anywhere tonight, I won't have your trackers up so I won't be able to find you," she texted Sherlock, waiting several minutes and realizing she'd upset him by admitting his brother was higher than him on her scale. All she could do was sigh and pull up the tracker she'd placed in Mycroft's watch years ago, one he'd almost seemed touched at discovering.
"Hello Alice," Mycroft greeted when she walked into his study, having had her own key to his house since Thomas had first brought her to him.
"We have a problem," she told him softly as she sat across from him, watching him sigh and fold his newspaper.
He should have known there was one, she rarely visited him unannounced otherwise. "Don't tell me it's Moriarty again," he said not wishing to bring that argument back up when they had both finally settled it – and she was incredibly stubborn in her beliefs and he'd never been able to sway her.
She wished it wasn't, she wished it someone entirely new because they wouldn't be half as dangerous. "It is, and I'm afraid I've kept information from you," she said earning herself a hard look at that admittance; though he could see from the way her head was bowed and her eyes were downcast that she had not admitted it easily to him. It was another reason he liked her so greatly, she hated to disappoint him. "I realize now you should have been made aware of it immediately."
"How bad is it?" he asked calmly, setting aside the paper and giving her his undivided attention. As well as his patience because it took her a minute to finally speak again; she so hated to admit when she was wrong.
She cleared her throat preparing herself for his anger, and looked up at him to find him with a half smile curled on his mouth. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked warily, wondering what he was thinking.
"I've forgotten how sweet you are," he answered watching her brows raise in surprise. She was known to be many things but sweet was not one of them. "And Thomas told me Moriarty has men watching you," he informed her surprising her further. "Though he said he did not tell you that you're being watched constantly, as is Sherlock. So I don't believe I need to stress the need for you to stay out of Sherlock's investigations, unless it is putting him in danger."
She nodded understandingly, the reason she had yet to actually help Sherlock with this particular one. "Then I suppose that is all," she said unsure whether or not to stand to leave, whether she actually wanted to leave. There had been a time when she had not felt safer than in this house with Mycroft, and having a sniper aimed at her had taken every ounce of the false security she thought she'd had.
Mycroft watched her closely, seeing from her knitted brows that something was troubling her. "How close did one of them get to you?" he asked gently, seeing in her eyes the familiar look of her being hunted.
"Close enough," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He released a breath at how invested in his brother and John Watson she'd become, had done so because he'd asked her too. "Perhaps you should take a break from Sherlock, I'm sure Thomas is well enough equipped to keep him safe," he offered, finding that he greatly did not want to see her hurt.
She smiled bitterly though she shook her head. "I'm sure he is, but I've come this far. I may as well see it through," she told him, admitting that she no longer counted on her being alive by the end of it all.
With a grievous sigh he nodded. "I suppose there is no stopping you," he said and she shook her head. "Then I suppose that is all," he said standing as she did. "I do hope to see you soon, Alice." With a kiss to her cheek he watched her leave, pulling out the cell phone she used to track them all; and hearing from the screech of her tires his brother was not where he should be. Sherlock would be the death of her, but it would be himself who had allowed it.
…
Sherlock watched Shan running without a way to stop here. His brows furrowed when Shan nearly ran into someone before side stepping them and continuing on her way. "Why didn't you stop her?" he demanded furiously when Alice came closer. "That was the killer, she was the leader behind all of this, and don't even think of telling me it's because she wasn't your job."
"Are you finished?" Alice asked watching Sherlock's face morph into one of shock at her complete lack of understanding for what she'd just let slip through her fingers. "Her job was to get to you and she failed, she'll be dead before morning," she told him shortly, looking around him to see John was alright. "After you've given your statements to the police go home. And if you know what's good for you maybe this time you'll actually listen to me," she said placing the blame on tonight's activities solely on him.
"Where were you?" he asked following her as she made to leave, still unhappy from their previous conversation – one he would not be too quick to get over. "You were with Mycroft I can tell."
"Oh please tell me how," she said sarcastically as she stopped so they could get this spat over with.
He gave her a sharp look before glancing her over. "You're not as tense as you were before you left, and you were tense before whatever happened tonight which means that something has been troubling you and if I had to guess it's been months. The night Thomas took you to dinner with Mycroft you returned completely relaxed and by the state of your hair and your askew dress it was clear you had slept with Thomas. I think by now I know you well enough to say you're not the kind of person to care for sex which means you partake in it because he wants to, and adding that you left him at ease that means you trust him; he gives you a sense of security which makes sense because you've known him ten years and that would mean he was there from the moment the government first found you and if I had to guess he's the one that took you out of it. Which brings us to now, something happened tonight and when something happens you go to Mycroft – makes sense he is technically your employer – but it's more than that there's a fondness between the two of you which leads me to believe Thomas brought you to Mycroft where you stayed until you could function in a society that does not permit killing. It also brings me to your unquestionable loyalty for my brother which I have no doubt at all you would do whatever it took to ensure his safety even if it meant jeopardizing mine, as well as that Mycroft genuinely seems interested in your well being which is almost entirely unheard of for either of us but especially him. Which means at some point from the time you were first brought to him to now you have developed some strange sense of safety simply by visiting him for a short while." Sherlock nearly had to take a step back as he was thrown out of his mind which he'd saved a space specifically for her and everything he'd come to know about her. "I did it," he said breathing heavily, "I finally deduced something about you."
She stared at him blankly though he could tell from the look in her eye she was not at all happy he'd figured all of that – though in truth it was only a small portion, it was enough for him to hold over her. "There's one thing you didn't factor in," she said softly, his brows raising wonderingly. "You."
"What about me?" he questioned almost warily. Normal people either were astounded by his deductions or completely angry he had spoken the things they wouldn't, yet she was doing neither.
"You have maybe months before the proverbial crap hits the fan, and when that happens I will most likely die and that is going to be your fault. As I said before, I am loyal Mycroft but my affection is to you. Now do as I say and go home," she told him firmly before leaving him there entirely confused. He'd been so pleased to have figured that little part of her out and now he was left not understanding her again. Only that hearing her say she was fond of him put him at ease.