Dearest Chapter 13, a sherlock fanfic

DEAREST – Chapter 13

Story by Hrlyqin, based on works owned by Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the estate of Arthur Conan Doyle

"Just dropped Dr. Watson off at the Baker Street residence, sir."

"Excellent. How did he seem?"

"A bit pissed off. Kept hitting on me." she laughed.

"Oh my. I supposed I'll have to have him killed after all."

"I really, really don't think you need to worry."

"Mmmm, why is that? Do you find yourself otherwise occupied?"

"I might be busy having an affair with my boss."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Miss Shropshire, you're enchanting. Can I buy you dinner?"

"How about you buy me breakfast instead, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'll see you soon."

Mycroft was pulled out of his reminiscing by the irritating buzz of his cell phone. He reached into his pocket, retrieved the device and looked at the screen.

John is 'hanging out' with Molly again tonight. Just as friends, naturally.

Mycroft frowned and then frowned even more deeply when he tried to call Sherlock and got no answer. Apparently they weren't communicating verbally tonight.

I've told you before: I don't care.

They are both ignoring the mutual attraction out of consideration for you. Doesn't that make you feel better?

It would if I cared.

Can you imagine them being intimate? 'Pardon me, I'd just like to put my hand there'. 'Oh, of course, that's fine. May I just put my leg over here first?'

It sounds like you've given the matter considerable thought. Is it still as much fun imagining John with someone else?

Touche.

After that, the phone fell graciously silent. John and Molly were spending a lot of time together lately, and Sherlock was annoying persistent in keeping him updated on it. He had tried to insist he did not care. It was not as if he actually slept with the woman. If he was fond of her, or admired her, that was because she handled such a complicated situation with grace and ease. Nothing more. But Sherlock would not relent.

If his brother were a kinder man, he might think he was trying to distract him. After all, the wedding was only a few weeks away now and he was trying to keep a brave face.

Good thing his brother was not a kinder man.

At least she had kept the money. There had been a phone call, an awkward one, where she had tried to get him to take it back. He let it go longer than it needed it, just enjoying the dulcet tones of her voice, but he wouldn't let her return it. If she had, she might have come in person, and he didn't think he could bear it. It was the last time they had spoken.

He felt like such a child, such a teenager, being lovesick like this. If he could just get himself back in his right mind, surely he would remember her many flaws, all of the things that kept him from making an honest woman out of her, all of her annoying habits or unflattering features. He hadn't even been faithful to her when they were what he would call 'together'. There were issues, problems, disagreements. But at the moment, he couldn't name a one.

Draining his drink, he decided it was time for bed.

Sleep came easily, undoubtedly aided by the good scotch. He had settled into a deep rest when he heard the buzzing of his phone again, like it was underwater or he was. Grimacing, he forced himself back up to the surface from the sweet tide of rest and grabbed it off the nightstand. If it was Sherlock, he would drive down to Baker Street and throttle him.

Number Blocked

Tag. You're It.

Shaking his head to get his brain working, he read it again. Sherlock, joking? No. There wasn't any context. So if it was not Sherlock... .. .

Suddenly feeling very awake, Mycroft pressed a code into his phone and jumped from his bed, ripping off his nightshirt and throwing on the first clothes he touched. He was lacing up his shoes when the first message came in, playing on the speakerphone function.

"Baker Street reporting, all clear."

He was out the door to his car with his umbrella in one hand and his gun in his waistband (shooing Lindley and his questions away by saying he just couldn't sleep) when the second message came in.

"Church Street reporting, all clear."

On the road he did not hesitate, knowing that not everyone had yet reported back but letting his instinct guide him.

"Cardiff watch reporting, all clear."

Edinburgh watch reporting, all clear."

There was only one group of agents, monitoring his friends and family, that did not call in. Maybe there was a communication error, but, more likely, they were dead. He was already headed in that direction, a 27 minute drive if you obeyed all the traffic laws and were lucky with the signals.

Mycroft made it in 14.

He stopped the car about a block away and parked along the curb, killing the lights and shutting the door quietly. He did not draw his gun out as he approached Callie and Phillip's house and tried to creep along as carefully as possible, hoping to know more of the situation before he went into it.

The gate, swung closed but not latched. It could have been his agents, it could have been someone else. He looked down to note a flurry of footprints, but was unable to distinguish how many people made them. If he had more time, perhaps.

The security light did not come on as he crossed into the yard.

Less likely his agents.

The front door was closed tightly but the side door was open, a bit of glass crunching under his feet as he crossed the threshold. He edged it back shut with his foot and decided that now was an excellent time to draw his gun out. He also took a moment as he walked to wonder why on earth he was still carrying his umbrella, but he supposed it was habit.

He did not go far in the dark and unfamiliar house before his nostrils filled with a coppery scent. He inhaled deeply and turned towards the smell, heading into the hallway. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting, he made out a shape crumpled on the floor, unmoving. Woman. 25-30 years of age. Black coat, black pants and dress shoes. Her hand was reaching out into nothingness and his eyes followed her fingers to the next body, hidden in the doorway of the Dining Room. These were his agents.

In an instant and a glance, he put it together in his mind. One of them came in the side door as he had, that was Agent Tussler in the Dining Room. She had a face-to-face confrontation with an attacker and although she was armed was overpowered physically. They stripped her of weapons and then shot her in the forehead.

While that was happening. Agent Culp had examined the rest of the property and then planned on coming in the front door, but was brought in sooner by the light pop of gunfire (a silencer was undoubtedly used, making this attack premeditated). The attacker was making a token effort to conceal the dead woman when Culp came in. Focused on one criminal, she was ambushed by another and brought down where she lay. Now the killers were wary and snapped her neck quietly instead of risking the gun again.

So two men (or two women). They had already been inside the house when the Agents arrived, and judging from how easily they abandoned their prey, Callie and Phillip were either already dead or incapacitated in some other way.

After pausing for that brief flash to analyze, he rose again and headed towards the stairs.

He suddenly found his feet flying as he broke out into a run and took the steps three at a time, pitching his body to the left at the top of the stairs and heading towards the only open door he could see. He knew there was no logical reason to rush, that by all statistical likelihood she was already dead. But he had to.

He burst into the bedroom and was slammed into from the side by someone in dark clothing. Mycroft used his attacker's momentum and threw them into the wall, his elbow coming back sharply into their face. There was a thick crunch as the nose broke and the unknown assailant slid down the wall. Unconscious.

Now he could take in his surroundings. Bed central in the room, nightstands on either side. A lamp turned over on the floor, mirror over the dresser tilted in it's place on the wall. A body on the floor at the foot of the bed, dressed only in boxers. The fiance. Not moving. Not breathing. No urgent need then. Bed empty, covers turned back. Another shadow moving in the room, moving towards him. He ducked as he saw a glint of steel flashing towards him and a knife went over his head, sticking into the wall. Mycroft moved to the side and came up behind the second attacker, getting his arm securely around the throat and yanking upward, pulling him off his feet.

"Callie?" he called out, keeping the man in a headlock. "Callie where are you?"

His fist came up and met the man's face as he continued to cut off his oxygen supply. Mycroft was about to punch him again when he stopped struggling and passed out. He dropped him to the floor instead and started inching around the room, trying to find her. Where was the blasted light switch?

"Mycroft."

The closet, of course. He pulled open the sliding door and found her huddled in the corner, her nightgown ripped open, her skin slick with blood, her blood, his blood too. It occurred to him that he didn't even have a jacket to offer her. His hands reached out and bundled her up against him, smoothing her hair out. "Calm down. I'm here. It will be okay, it's going to be okay."

He led her step by step out of the closet and to the bed, where he set her down only momentarily. Opening a random drawer, he pulled out a ratty sweater and handed it to her so she could cover herself. She took it with fingers that seemed too warm and tried to pull it over her head but couldn't, so he helped her, taking in her injuries and he put the garment on

(Stab wounds, one high on the throat, one on the left breast, one on the knee that was probably a miss, another on the back that was bleeding more severely than the others)

and shushed her. "Listen to me. We're going to go downstairs now. We're going to go out of the front door and to the neighbors. You're going to wait there for an ambulance and the police. You won't be alone."

"NoNoNononono." she clutched both of her hands in his to keep him still. "No they'll come after me. They... they killed him first and they made me watch and then they held the pillow over my head and I woke up and I thought they were gone but they weren't. I thought I was safe but they came back. We won't be safe, you have to listen to me."

"It's alright. I got both of them. They won't be awake for awhile." he assured her.

"Both? No." she lifted her head up and then shook it. "No there were three. Three men."

"Three..." he began, and then his vision blurred as he felt an incredibly sharp crack at the back of his skull and he slid sideways. Distantly, he heard Callie screaming.