Thea was turning over the wrist watch Mycroft had handed her with fierce concentration. An urgent call he absolutely had to take had bought her some time;
however, this was likely to heighten his expectations.
It was a watch meant for a child, cheap, with a picture of Buzz Lightyear and rockets for dials. It was scratched and had stopped, presumably quite some time
ago. The band had been replaced – usually these things had short plastic straps to fit a kid's wrist, but this one had long, light blue leather straps. The outside
of the straps was pretty grimy, but the inside was immaculate apart from some slight sweat stains.
"Put him through to me the instance he gets in touch," she heard her uncle's voice drifting in from the hallway. A moment later he was back, taking the seat
opposite her.
"Begin."
"May I ask just one question?" Thea asked.
Mycroft sighed but nodded his head ever so slightly.
"Why do you have Helen Gregorson's watch?"
Oh, the satisfaction. Mycroft Holmes was not in the habit of looking surprised but when he did, and he certainly did now, it was very hard to supress the urge
to scream 'Boom! In your face!' and refrain from collapsing in hysterics. Her uncle regained his composure as quickly as he'd let it slip.
"Explain," he said.
"You see," Thea began, keeping her tone even, attempting not to let her elation show, "this is obviously a child's watch and it's about five years old, that's
when the last Toy Story came out, so I assume it was bought around that time. But it hasn't been worn by a child in years, the strap is for an adult and it's dirty
on the outside but pretty clean on the inside, so the adult who's been wearing it rarely took it off if ever. It's not working and the batteries have never been
replaced, because there's no marks on the twisty bit you need to open with a screwdriver to get off the back. Now. If an adult has been wearing this watch but
not used it to actually tell the time, this suggests it is a keep sake – but not just any keep sake, otherwise it might have been kept somewhere like the
jewellery box or something rather than being on someone's person the whole time. The wrist band is blue, so balance of probability suggests the child it
commemorates is a boy, as does the space man; but it also means it's more likely that the mother wore the watch rather than the father, because men,
usually, have black or brown bands on their watches."
She looked at her uncle expectantly.
"And?" he prompted.
"William Gregorson," Thea announced. "He disappeared during lunch break at school about three years ago and everyone went mad with stranger danger
talks, we had three sets of officers come and talk to us in class that year. And his mother jumped off a bridge last week. It was on the news. So actually my
question should have been, why you have William Gregorson's watch."
She could no longer hide her triumphant grin, even though it seemed a little macabre considering the whole tragedy and so on.
Mycroft nodded appreciatively.
"Very nicely done," he said.
"Thank you," Thea said modestly.
"Well," her uncle clapped his hands together and leaned forward in his chair. "Credit where credit is due. Two straight answers for you."
"Who went to Agnes Tremaine's funeral?" Thea asked.
"What could it possibly matter?" Mycroft asked sharply. "This is a wasteful inquiry and the answer will gain you nothing. Would you like a chance to
reconsider?"
"No."
It was, in fact, a question Thea had crafted carefully over the last two weeks and it was sure to provide her with a plethora of new information. Did Agnes have
many friends? A large family? Were they perhaps estranged? Had her father attended? All these questions wrapped into one neat package. Judging from her
uncle's reaction he was well aware of this.
He closed his eyes for a moment, looking to all the world like a man praying for strength.
"Your father and myself," he said, as though every word was causing him agony. "Her supervising professor, a Dr Smythe I believe, and her partner. Philippa
Greene."
Thea sat perfectly still, attempting to digest this information. The rules of engagement dictated that Mycroft was not permitted to lie or even omit pertinent
information. There was no question whether or not he was telling the truth, but it was not at all what Thea had expected. She didn't know what she had
expected exactly, but this was definitely not it.
Philippa. Of course – why not? There she'd been driving herself insane scouring Agnes' emails for correspondence from a Philip, going through student
enrolment lists and all – when she should have been looking for Philippa all along.
"When you say partner," Thea said slowly, "do you mean girlfriend?"
"Yes, Alethea," her uncle said with a distinct edge. "That is what I mean. Her lover."
"Holy fuck," Thea blurted.
"Language."
"Where does she live now?" Thea asked, ignoring his interjection. "Philippa Greene, I mean."
"None of your business," Mycroft said firmly.
"Be that as it may," she shot back, "you have to tell me because I get two straight answers, you said so."
"And you did." He smirked in a self-satisfied way that made her want to kick his shins. "The funeral attendees and the clarification as to Miss Greene's
relationship with Miss Tremaine."
"Oh, you utter-" Thea stopped herself when he gave her a rather warning stare.
"This is why one should think before one speaks," her uncle said smugly.
"You could always just tell me anyway," Thea said in her most dulcet tones.
"And then what?" Mycroft looked no longer smug. "You would seek her out and then what? What would you tell her? More importantly, what would you expect
her to tell you? What is the point of this sudden obsession, Alethea?"
"I'm curious," she said.
"That is the cause, not the point," her uncle said tersely.
"The point," Thea made herself meet his piercing eyes, "is to know what she was like."
Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.
"And you did give me access to her email, in a way," Thea reminded him. "So you have to see the point, even if you think it's somehow prudent to pretend you
don't."
Her uncle pursed his lips ever so slightly.
"I was unaware I was opening Pandora's box," he said. "And no matter how much information you compile, the state of affairs will remain fundamentally
unaltered. My intention was to affirm what information you already possess, not to send you off on an idiotic quest for more."
"How is wanting to know more about my mother idiotic?" Thea asked hotly.
"Your mother."
"Yes, my mother!" Thea was contemplating hurling her shoe at her uncle's head. "That's what she is. My mother. And don't you start with that appropriate
terminology lecture now, because the person whose body you have grown in is per definition your mother. Or birth-mother, if you want to be completely anal,
though that term suggests that a different mother figure is actually present, which is not the case here. Therefore," she eyeballed Mycroft furiously, "she is my
mother."
"Have you spoken to your father about this?" her uncle asked quietly.
"He's been distracted."
"That's never stopped you before."
"Exceedingly distracted."
"You know he won't approve, so you have not brought it up," Mycroft stated.
"He's in no position to approve or disapprove. I can investigate if I want." Thea crossed her arms over her chest. "If you feel the need to inform him, knock
yourself out. It's not changing a thing."
"I presume advising you to drop the subject would be futile?"
"You presume correctly."
"Ignorance can be bliss."
Thea glared at her uncle with lethal venom.
"You didn't just say that," she spat. "You of all people? And anyway, considering I was conceived as a science project, how many shocking revelations are left,
realistically?"
"Does it bother you?"
Mycroft's sudden change of tone threw her.
"What?"
"The circumstance of your conception."
Thea thought about this for a moment.
"Not particularly," she admitted.
"Why not?"
"Because it's…I don't know…" The bastard, she'd been so firmly on her feet and now she was fumbling. "It doesn't bother me any more than the fact that the
earth is round."
"Interesting analogy."
"It's an accepted fact," Thea attempted to clarify. "I have always known. It might bother me if I found out now, maybe. But it's just the story of the 'Jar-Baby'."
Mycroft eyed her curiously.
"The Jar-Baby?"
To her immense irritation, Thea could feel herself blushing.
"You've peaked my interest," her uncle said. "Don't deprive me."
Thea set her jaw.
"I propose an exchange," she said.
"Yes?"
"I'll tell you the story of the jar-baby, if you give me Philippa Greene's phone number."
"I shouldn't think so."
"Fine." Thea leaned back into the sofa. "I'll find out anyway, you know. Either I call all P. Greenes in the phone book or I'll make you tell me next time I win a
straight answer."
Being check-mated was not a sensation Mycroft Holmes was accustomed to and he did not bother to hide his distaste.
"Very well," he said.
"Do you need to make a phone call?"
"No."
"You've got her current contact details on file?" Thea asked incredulously.
"One keeps tabs," Mycroft dead-panned. "Now, I believe you have a story to tell?"
Thea took a deep breath and began:
()
"Once upon a time there were a lot of questions, who lived and grazed on the wide open field of genetics. Some were big and some were small and no two of
them were really alike, but all of them held grand promise. The thing with questions, of course, is that a question can never be truly happy unless it is matched
with an answer; and while the questions were content enough frolicking about the field, playing cards and eating sweet flowers, they all felt a little sad
whenever they greeted another night in unanswered solitude…"
()
"You simply cannot be serious," Mycroft interrupted. "Is this my brother's idea of a bedtime story?"
"I used to beg him for it," Thea admitted. "I always felt really bad for the questions. Do you want me to go on or not?"
"By all means."
()
"It happened that the field of genetics was part of a kingdom presided over by more kings and queens than you could care to count. Each of them had a castle
and a throne and big, sprawling dungeons filled with laboratories overflowing with experiments attempting to find answers for all the lonely questions. Every
time the kings and queens found a new answer, they would parade it proudly to the pasture, with brass bands and confetti, and to be presented to the
question in front of a raucous audience of subjects. Sometimes the question would be pleased and go off with the answer to live in the mountains of accepted
facts surrounding the field. But other times, the question would take one look at the answer, unhinge its jaws and swallow it in one gulp. Every time that
happened, the question would become a little bigger and a little more unruly; so the kings and queens would take great care not to present incorrect answers.
It was considered a shameful thing to have your answer become part of the question.
It just so happened, that the kingdom was by the sea and in the sea there was anchored a small man-made island. It was patched together from left over
experimental materials that had been thrown out of the dungeons and glowed in the dark. All day and all night one could hear small explosions coming from
the little island, for on the island lived a mad scientist, who wanted to answer some of the big questions, too. He tried and tried but mostly he just blew things
up.
The thing was, of course, that the answering of questions was the sport of kings and queens, so the mad scientist had no hope of ever even crossing path
with one of the really big juicy questions. He knew this, of course, and it was driving him madder still.
However, one day the mad scientist had an unexpected visitor. A princess from the mainland came rowing to his island in a small folded paper boat, waving a
white flag so he wouldn't fire one of his crazy creations at her. The princess, who was working in one of the biggest laboratory dungeons in the kingdom, was
in desperate need of help. She had worked out how to answer many small and some big questions – but to really do so she needed something, one magical
thing, that no one on the mainland wanted to help her create. In order to match the sad questions with their answers, the princess needed a jar-baby.
Jar-babies were rare, gem-like creatures, small and orange and perfectly curled like shrimp. The wonderful thing about jar-babies was that they could answer
questions without even trying to. Just by observing a jar-baby, one could read answers, just by watching it live. Jar-babies glowed and sparkled with purpose
and in time would grow into fantastical, incandescent entities because they never had to wonder why they were in the world. They were in the world to
answer questions and their purpose was fulfilled by merely being.
To obtain a jar-baby, two people with a lot of nerve had to face a great many monsters and devote a great deal of time and energy to care for it. The princess
wanted a jar-baby very badly, but all of the princes and kings and shepherds on the mainland were too dull and frightened to even consider helping her make
one. So she sought out the mad scientist instead, hoping that his deep need to answer questions would match hers.
As it happened, the mad scientist was entranced by the idea.
So together they set off to the other end of the ocean, harpooning and shanking sea monsters all along the way, to obtain the large jar made of magic glass in
which to mix together their jar-baby. They towed it back towards the island, taking turns rowing and sleeping, although the princess needed rather more sleep
than the mad scientist.
When they returned to the island they filled the jar with hope, dreams, fears and the best and worst of each of them – before they called onto the east wind to
whirl the jar in a mighty tornado to make sure the ingredients were perfectly mixed."
()
"They called onto the east wind?" Mycroft asked. "Are you certain?"
"Yes…" Thea looked at him with a surprised smirk. "Though obviously no one called on anything, it's just a story. Are you enthralled, uncle?"
"Don't be preposterous," he scoffed. "I was merely curious as to the reliability of your narration."
"It's word perfect," Thea said haughtily. "Now, where was I?"
"The east wind, I believe." Mycroft settled back into his chair.
()
"Right.
The east wind whipped up and almighty twister and spun their jar of ingredients wildly across the face of the ocean. The jar was soon filled with shining purple
liquid, which would soon solidify into the beginnings of the baby – and the princess whooped and jumped and raised her fists in triumph.
Alas, they had not reckoned on the east wind's evil streak.
You see, the east wind could simply not bear it to see anyone happier than itself. So when it saw just how delighted the princess was, it decided to teach her a
lesson. With all its might, the east wind brought the jar plummeting towards the little island and the princess, terrified that the glass might smash on the shore,
spilling her jar-baby into the ocean, jumped forward with a tremendous leap to save it. She caught the jar in her open arms but the velocity was simply too
great.
The princess, her body wrapped around the jar-baby, hit the rocks with such force it broke her insides wide open. As the life bled out of her, she beckoned the
mad scientist to come closer and with the last of her strength handed him the jar-baby.
For many days following the princess' death, the mad scientist stood on the shore, the jar in his hands, gazing towards the mainland. Without the princess he
had no way of gaining access to the kingdom and all of the answers the jar-baby would provide were fated to go to waste.
On the tenth day of his vigil, the jar-baby stirred in its liquid home and opened its eyes. When it looked at him, the mad scientist saw in its deep dark irises a
stream of questions, fluttering and twisting like butterflies, waiting to be released and answered. It was then that the mad scientist knew that the questions
over in the pastures of the kingdom were of no consequence – they were old questions and would soon be dead or answered by the kings and queens. What
he had on his little island was infinitely more interesting. New questions and no one to seek the answers but himself and the jar-baby."
()
"That's the end?" Mycroft asked a while after Thea had fallen silent.
"It is," she said. "Are you smiling?"
"I fear I might be," her uncle admitted. "It's abominably…sweet."
"I know," Thea grinned. "Now cough up."
"Excuse me?"
"Phone number," Thea said and at her uncle's hesitation added, "We were agreed."
Heaving the sigh of the world-weary, Mycroft produced a pen and notepad from the inside of his suit jacket and wrote down a mobile number. He tore the page
from the notepad and held it out to Thea. She reached for it almost greedily and for a moment her uncle seemed reluctant to let the paper go.
"Will you do me one favour?" he asked.
"Possibly…" she kept her eyes on the paper, forcing herself not to actually snatch it.
"Try not to get lost on the mainland," said Mycroft.