Have your shock blankets at the ready. This one is full of twists and turns...
The next day, the Holmeses gathered for an impromptu birthday celebration for Mycroft.
"Happy 48th!" Emily exclaimed cheerfully, producing a red velvet cake from the refrigerator.
Mycroft sighed, with Benjamin patiently waiting in his uncle's lap.
"Uncle Mycroft?" Benjamin asked. "Do you remember when there were dinosaurs?"
Mycroft looked at Benjamin, then to Sherlock, then back to Benjamin. As sweetly as he could muster, he said, "You know better than that. How much did Daddy pay you to say that?"
"20 quid…" Benjamin answered meekly.
"And when did dinosaurs really exist?"
"65.5 million years ago," Benjamin replied, looking to his father for a look of approval, getting an encouraging smile in return.
"He's much smarter than you were at that age," Mycroft told Sherlock, pulling out his wallet, then addressing Benjamin again. "Here is 50 quid for your trouble."
"Benjamin, name all the United States presidents," Sherlock instructed. "If you get it right, there's another twenty in it for you."
"Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison," Benjamin recited. "Monroe, Adams, Jackson..."
"Let's stop before we're in the poorhouse, eh?" Emily cut in, handing Mycroft a cup of plain black tea.
"Fine," Sherlock agreed, "but I can't help how wonderfully smart our boy is," he complimented, patting Benjamin on the shoulder with a smile.
"That is true," Emily added. "He's going to knock them all out at kindergarten next year," she encouraged, getting another grin from both Benjamin and Sherlock.
"Oh, can we stop with the all the love? It burns," Mycroft complained, gulping his tea down quickly, then handing his cup back to Emily, silently asking for more.
"I'm only doing this because it's your birthday," she jokingly reminded him.
"I'm only here because there's cake," Mycroft retorted. "I need to get back to work. I'm very busy, really," he said, nodding to his laptop sitting in front of him on the table.
"But your mother does make a mean cake," he whispered to Benjamin, hoping no one else heard.
"Awww, he loves me," Emily said sarcastically, giving Mycroft another cup of tea.
"Whatever you want to think, little sister," Mycroft replied with the tiniest hint of affection in his voice. "You are less trouble than Sherlock. And you make fun of me for my age," he added, "but look at Sherlock. He's forty years old. He needs spectacles to read and he's gained nine pounds. Not to mention the wrinkles on the forehead," he reminded them with a click of his tongue.
Sherlock looked at Mycroft curiously. "I'm still younger than you," he replied.
"And I think the glasses make him look sexy," Emily threw in, walking over to her husband. "He's still quite fit, if you ask me," she said, her words starting to become superfluous as she kissed Sherlock almost ravenously in front of her son and her brother-in-law.
"Oh, God," Mycroft and Benjamin both said at the same time.
"Be quiet, especially you, Benjamin Arthur," Emily commanded pulling away from Sherlock. "You know better, young man." She gave her son a look only a mother could give, stern and reprimanding, then as soon as Mycroft had looked away, she gave Benjamin a slight wink, making the little boy smile in happiness.
Emily stepped away to slice the cake, knowing Mycroft wasn't the type for candles or singing or pageantry. Sherlock pinched her bum as she stepped away, making Mycroft sigh heavily.
"Sherlock Holmes, keep it in your trousers," he whispered lowly, covering Benjamin's ears.
Sherlock and Emily both looked at each other lovingly. "At least…" Emily began, "he's starting wearing trousers. It's quite an accomplishment, really. His 30's were quite rough."
Mycroft put his head in his hands, exhaling. "It's always you two."
"Just eat your cake," Emily instructed, putting a plate down in front of Mycroft with two slices of cake.
"Fine," Mycroft said, grabbing a fork. He started to speak, but began to feel lightheaded, eventually resting his head on the table, in a deep sleep.
"He didn't even get his cake," Sherlock commented, grabbing Benjamin.
"What's happening?" Benjamin asked.
"You are going to go stay with Mrs. Hudson for a bit while Mummy and Daddy do some things," Emily explained. "Uncle Mycroft is fine. He is just sleeping. You may take the cake with you," she added, so Benjamin wouldn't argue. She sighed. "Mummy loves you, never forget that," she reminded her son, giving him a hug while he was still in Sherlock's arms.
"Love you too, Mummy."
"And Daddy loves you as well," Sherlock added.
"I love you, too, Daddy," Benjamin answered.
With that, Sherlock sent Benjamin on his way while Emily grabbed her coat and Mycroft's laptop.
"You ready?" she asked, looking out the window to see a mysterious blue car waiting on them.
"As I'll ever be," Sherlock replied, leading her down the stairs.
When they arrived at Appledore, their driver directed them to the back entrance. As soon as he drove away, Sherlock and Emily stood there, her breathing nervously and rapidly and him busy in his mind palace.
"Sherlock, let's take a moment," Emily said, grabbing her husband's hand, then going for a deep hug.
"You know I love you, right?" she asked, her lips pursing at the thought of what she was about to do.
"Right," he said.
She sighed once more, reaching into her coat pocket, pulling out something. Before Sherlock could even react, she simply and coldly said, "Wrong," and proceeded to inject him with a syringe filled with sleeping medicine, effectively knocking him out.
"I am so sorry, my love," she said, gently easing him to the ground. "I truly am."
She then walked inside, ripping off her wedding ring and some other items of clothing, tossing them to the ground in the middle of the hallway, coolly ignoring the stares from the maid. "Lord, forgive me for what I am about to do," she whispered softly.
Five minutes later, a cheery Emily bounced into Magnussen's office, still wearing her coat. "Here I am," she announced.
Magnussen's eyes grew wide at the sight of her. "Good girl," he commended. "But what are we going to do when Junior wakes up?"
"Let him," she replied casually, sitting down in Magnussen's lap, a grin spreading over the man's face. She leaned in close to his ear, whispering roughly. "I want him to watch."
"I take it back," Magnussen said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "You're still a bad girl. A very bad girl," he emphasized, putting his arms around her waist.
"Oh, you haven't seen the half of it," she whispered slowly, staring him down.
"I have quite missed this," he told her genuinely.
"I have, too," she replied, suddenly springing from his lap to take her coat off, theatrically dropping it to the ground to reveal her complete lack of clothes, save for a pair of heels and some jewelry.
She knocked all the things off his desk, but Magnussen didn't seem to mind, too busy staring. She sat down ceremoniously on the desk, dragging him up out of his chair to meet her. She then wrapped her arms around his neck while her legs did the same to his waist.
She silently starting kissing him, Magnussen responding in kind with a low grunt in the back of his throat. Right when his mouth moved to her neck and his hands moved to her breasts, she looked at her watch. "And 5, 4, 3 – oh, please don't stop – 2, 1."
She heard a door open and sighed. She had already deduced Sherlock would have figured out her seeming betrayal, but she pretended not to notice Sherlock's presence in the room.
When Magnussen's hands were reaching the tops of her thighs, she moaned and threw her head back, simply saying, "Oh, God, I am so glad I got rid of my husband. That man is absolutely horrid."
Magnussen only looked up at her for a brief moment, commenting, "At least there no wives in the way this time. Once we get rid of Mr. Holmes the younger…"
"And now," she mouthed as soon as Magnussen got back to his preoccupation.
Sherlock simply took his handgun and fired a shot in the air, an act that surprised Emily, but nevertheless she tried to remain cool.
She simply jumped off the desk, turning around to face her husband. "Look who finally decided to wake up," she observed snottily.
"Shut up," he said. "And cover yourself up, for God's sakes," he commanded, walking closer towards her.
She looked blasé as she put her coat back on. "So, the cat's out of the bag and the bag's in the river," she commented. "Good, because it was so tiring pretending."
"Did I say you could talk?" Sherlock screamed.
"I didn't know I had to ask permission. See, exactly why I can't deal with him," she said to Magnussen, throwing her hands up in the air.
Sherlock kept walking, pushing past Emily. He addressed Magnussen instead. "Tell me why I shouldn't put a bullet in your brain right now."
Emily put herself between the two. "You're not going to do that."
"I'll shoot you if I have to," Sherlock said, cocking his gun.
"No, you won't," she replied, calling his bluff.
Sherlock uncocked the gun, placing it back in his coat pocket. "You're right, I won't. But it won't stop me from strangling him with my bare hands," he threatened.
"I'm sorry," Emily began, "but after I saw him in our flat, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I had to get back in touch with Charlie," she cooed, sitting in a proud Magnussen's lap with her legs in the air.
Sherlock closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "Excuse me." With that, he ran out of the room, and both Magnussen and Emily could both hear him loudly throwing up in the hallway.
"I hope your maid can get her uniform cleaned," Sherlock said, stepping back into the room and wiping his mouth with a rag.
"You threw up on my maid?" Magnussen exclaimed, disgusted.
"You fucked my wife," Sherlock retorted.
"Actually, I was about to, at least until you so rudely interrupted," Magnussen pointed out.
"Oh, I'm sorry, would you two like a minute?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.
"Oh, no, you can watch if you want," Magnussen smugly suggested. "You know, after having a baby, your wife is still in exceptional shape," he complimented. "Everything's still so…tight."
Sherlock tried to ignore Magnussen's indecent comments. "You and I are going to settle this right now," Sherlock told him. "Don't forget, I'm still younger than you."
"But I'm bigger," Magnussen replied, standing up. "According to your wife, in more ways than one. Besides, I don't think fighting each other would solve our issues, but it would be awfully funny. How about I pour both of us a drink and we sit here and talk about it, man to man?" he calmly suggested.
"Alright," Sherlock agreed cautiously, not quite sure what Magnussen's end-game was.
"Do you know," Magnussen began, pouring some fancy, foreign drink into two glasses, "how I met your wife? It was almost ten years ago," he recalled.
"No. And neither do I really care," Sherlock replied, sniffing his drink.
"Oh, Mr. Holmes, you saw me pour it myself. No tricks," Magnussen assured him. "Besides, if I wanted you dead, you would be by now." To make Sherlock feel better, the man took his glass and drank it all in one gulp.
"You know, the problem with you British….you're so…domesticated," Magnussen said, almost disgusted. "You sit there with your tea and you smile at everyone and you say please and thank you and you apologize for everything. You're like little lap dogs, your tail between your legs, eager to please. I'm in here, about to have sex with your wife, and you don't really have the backbone to do anything about it. You threatened me, but you and I both know nothing was going to come of it. You're spineless," he said, reaching to pour himself another drink. "You're all so damn polite. Where I come from, we just take what we want when we want it, no apologies." He looked over at Emily. "She was a friend of mine's personal assistant. I met her at his Christmas party that year. She caught me under the mistletoe. Five minutes later, we were in the upstairs bathroom, shagging each other's brains out. That's what I like about your wife. She's American and she's much more like me for it. She's fast, she's simple, she gets what she wants, and she never apologizes. She just simply takes it. My kind of woman. You see," he said, taking a sip of his drink, "there was a reason why I was doing this to your family. Everyone has their pressure point, Mr. Holmes, and what I do requires knowing the pressure points of many different people. I can read yours right now." He closed his eyes for a second. "Your wife and son, obviously. John Watson…drugs…Jim Moriarty…the Hounds of the Baskerville…your virginity?" Magnussen stopped to laugh, then quickly regained composure. "You have quite a few of those, Mr. Holmes, more than I've ever seen in any one person. Alas, I digress. The point is, your older brother has been grilling me for the past few months about certain political figures of interest. Mycroft's pressure point is his little brother. Your pressure point is your wife. I own your wife, I own Mycroft. But, now, your wife sweetened the pot. I get all of Mycroft's information contained in that laptop, all of your information contained in her head, and then, I get her. So, in short, I've won. I'm sure if you agree to divorce your wife peacefully and give us full custody of your son, then maybe, just maybe, she can keep her secrets about you to herself. And of course, her secrets are safe with me." He reached over and grabbed Emily's hand. "What do you say, Mr. Holmes?"
"I say, 'No,'" Sherlock replied, finally taking a small sip of his drink. "No chance."
"Then we're going to have to do this the hard way," Magnussen said, letting go of Emily's hand and standing up. "Emily, tell me every single secret you know about your husband."
Emily and Sherlock both closed their eyes, wracking their brains, both dreading what would come out of her mouth.
Finally, Emily stood up and began to speak, both she and Sherlock's eyes still closed. "We once had a threesome with John Watson."
Sherlock looked up, about to speak. What was she doing? He looked at her curiously, eager to hear what other ludicrous stories came out of her mouth.
"Right after we first got married, Sherlock took me to a drug den and made me pay his tab. €200,000."
"My husband once slept with our landlady to pay the rent."
"He sometimes sells body parts on the black market."
"Sherlock has a sex tape somewhere out there. Not with me, no." She leaned over to whisper in a grinning Magnussen's ear. "Moriarty." Emily tried to stifle a laugh.
"He once tried to make homemade crystal meth."
"Sherlock likes to flash women on the street at night."
Magnussen looked at Sherlock, who by then was almost in tears from laughing so hard, despite his situation. He at least had some loyalty – or perhaps it was more sympathy – left from his wife.
"This is funny?" Magnussen questioned.
"Yes, yes it is," Sherlock affirmed.
"Your life is over," Magnussen reminded him.
"Yes, I know."
"Your marriage is over."
Sherlock immediately stopped laughing, looking rueful.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Emily said, almost gently. "But these last few months of our marriage have been a sham. It was all a trick," she said slowly. "It was all just a magic trick."
She then proceeded to kiss Magnussen like she had kissed Sherlock that morning. She then turned back around to face Sherlock, but her words were off in another direction. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I was always your pressure point." Then, fast and without hesitation, she reached into her coat pocket and produced her own gun, holding it up to the back of Magnussen's head, shocking both men.
"One thing my husband has taught me over the years is that a good coat is quite invaluable," Emily commented, turning to face Magnussen. "Did you seriously think I was interested in you?" she questioned. "This was almost textbook."
Magnussen said nothing.
"Now," Emily said, "you're going to have to give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you and end this whole thing. And trust me," she whispered against Magnussen's ear, her voice sending shivers up his spine, "I'm not like my husband. I don't have the disadvantage of owning a heart."
"Oh, now I'm not so sure about that," Magnussen replied. "You see, before you called me and told me you were going to be on my side, I decided to use one of your pressure points against you. Your best friend, Mary Watson, terminally ill with cervical cancer. I had one of my people come in as a nurse. You wondered why she wasn't getting any better. I put a placebo in for her chemotherapy," he said simply. "Extra motivation for you to give me what I want."
Emily and Sherlock both looked at each other, horrified. Sherlock stood up and pointed his gun at Magnussen as well.
"What a shocking turn of events," Magnussen said sarcastically.
"Shut up," Emily commanded, hitting him hard with her gun.
"I was hoping it would be rough but not quite like this," Magnussen observed, spitting up some blood.
"Well, Mr. Magnussen, I just did what you do," Emily mocked. "I knew your pressure point."
I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I was always your pressure point.
"And I simply used that pressure point to my advantage. I saw the way you looked at me when you were in our flat, I saw your face when you remembered some of the details of our relationship. Easy," she noted. "Although I was hoping my husband would not be quite as involved. Jail sentences are hell for accomplices," she pointed out.
"What are you talking about?" Magnussen questioned.
"Ever read 1984?" she wondered. "You love literature so much. Thank you for that book of poems, by the way, very clever," she commented. "Anyway, 1984. Orwell. At the café, at the end. 'Under the spreading chestnut tree, I sold you and you sold me,'" she mockingly sang. "You tried to ruin my life and hurt my family, so I'm going to do the same to you. Well, not exactly," she conceded. "I'm going to put you out of your misery. To be frank, you're quite simply a miserable little man who preys on those who are different and uses their secrets to hurt them in order to meet his own pathetic needs. I'm doing the world a favor, really."
"I just use secrets to get what I want," Magnussen replied.
"Well, I used you to get what I want," Emily retorted, cocking her gun.
It was all a trick. It was all just a magic trick.
"And what's that?"
"Your head on a silver platter," she whisperingly replied, her finger ready to pull the trigger at a moment's notice.
Sherlock did the same, wanting to do it first and save her.
One shot rang out, and in a split-second, Magnussen fell to the ground, blood gushing out of his head, his cold, grey eyes forever shut. Sherlock and Emily met each other's gaze in horror.
Edit/Author's Note: I should really start doing these on time, huh? But that was pretty crazy, I gotta say. I played a lot off of "His Last Vow", but there are still some twists and some loose ends that need tying up. I did take a bit from Magnussen's speech in the real HLV, where he's peeing in the fireplace, just to give credit where credit is due. It was just too good not to use. We also get to see Sherlock kind of out of control with his emotions, going from angry to upset to laughing to upset all over again. It's an emotional rollercoaster for him, and Emily did intend to do that to him a bit but maybe not as much as she was forced to. Emily had all of this planned out, but it happened not quite the way she wanted it, which we'll address in the next chapter. Btw, Magnussen is dead. A lot of people come back to life in this fandom, but he is not one of them. He will stay dead. We're just not entirely sure who shot him...