A/N: So here is Episode 1 of Series 3...SPOILERS! I hope you enjoy it and how Percy fits into it. I'll be writing all three episodes of Series 3 as they're going to weave into the story quite significantly. So this chapter is over 11,000 words long thats 22 and bit pages in a word document, I've now caught up on all my edited chapters, so please bear with me whilst I sort work, life and Percy out all at the same time! It's a full time occupation. My updates are a tad sporadic at the moment due to time constraints. Fingers crossed this all makes sense?!
The dialogue for this episode was gratefully obtained from Ariane DeVere via her livejournal page. She has tirelessly written transcripts for every series and episode as well as specials and commentary. Go send her some love!
Chapter 23 – The Empty Hearse
After the Forde affair, Sherlock vanished again. He left without a word, no note, and no goodbye just a gaping emptiness in my life. I missed my brother, I'd gotten used to his hectic presence.
One Month Later…
Since the Forde case things had been tense at home. Jim had appeared to forgive me for my 'little stunt', as he referred to hit, but he kept bringing it up. We were bickering and sniping at each other more than normal, it was never over anything serious, but the constant irritation with one and other was getting tiresome.
The news was rife with rumours and stories about Sherlock, apparently he'd been exonerated in the courts, and Jim had been proven guilty in his absence. I tried contacting him and even asking Mycroft for help, but I got nothing from either brother. Mycroft too was absent. That's when I really started to worry. Jim didn't seem bothered by his guilty status; he brushed it off with a wry smile. The day the news stories broke Jim retreated into his office, three days later he went on an extended business trip. I was left alone with no answers. I suddenly understood how John must have felt for the last two years. I owed him another huge apology.
For two weeks I heard nothing from anyone, until one day I got an encrypted phone message.
"Now listen to me. There's an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear. Back to Baker Street Sherlock Holmes."
The message ended with a familiar baritone groan and cut off. I recognised both voices instantly. Mycroft had gone to find Sherlock and they were both safe. It was just my erroneous husband to locate. Time to get to work, for once I was going to enjoy my job, keeping people safe is why I agreed to work for Mycroft, and risking my life to do that was always worth it.
Fifteen hours after I received that phone message I was sent a text on the encrypted phone.
My Office. Diogenes Club, 3pm.
I made myself presentable and rushed towards the Diogenes Club. I was so glad I knew the protocol of that weird club, I flashed my ID at one of the ushers and whispered Mycroft's name. I was shown towards his 'corridor', yes, Mycroft had a corridor and walked down it, knocking on his office door when I arrived. He opened it personally and gave me nod. I smiled at him and was met with the sight of a very disheveled Sherlock. I couldn't stop myself, I lunged at my favourite brother engulfing him a hug. He stank to high heaven, but it was so good to see him again.
"I am going to hug you then kill you. I've been so worried." I sighed.
"Not too tight Percy, bit bruised." Sherlock replied.
"What the hell happened to you?" I asked letting go.
"Just got into a tough spot, I'm fine." He brushed off. I turned to my other brother giving him an inquisitive look, which he avoided.
Another knock on the door drew our attention, a bath had been drawn for Sherlock and we were informed that a barber was ready when Sherlock was. As Sherlock hobbled out after the usher, I turned to look at Mycroft.
"Mycroft, dearest. What the hell did you do to Sherlock?" I enquired sharply.
"Nothing to worry yourself over Persephone." He replied curtly.
"If you're responsible for the state he's in, you're going to answer to me and you know how unpleasant that can be." I threatened honestly. I had reached a point where my qualms about hurting Mycroft were crumbling.
"Noted sister." He nodded, but didn't deny his involvement in Sherlock's ill health.
"So you have been busy since we last me, haven't you?" Mycroft quipped from behind his desk. I shot him a dirty look. Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "Quite the busy little bee."
"Moriarty's network, took me two years to dismantle it." Sherlock replied lazily.
"An you're confident you have?" Mycroft queried, looking for absolute clarification.
"The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle." Sherlock confirmed lowly.
"Yes, you got yourself in deep there with Baron Morpercious. Quite the scheme." Mycroft said to Sherlock disparagingly.
"Colossal." Sherlock acknowledged.
"You're husband must be appalled sister." Mycroft quipped.
"He isn't." I snapped defensively. "You could have both told me what was going on, I do keep secrets for a living." I retorted.
"Anyway, you're safe now." Mycroft quipped expectantly. He obviously wanted praise and unrelenting gratitude, god he could be such a sycophant when he wanted to be.
"Thank God." I muttered grumpily.
"Hmm." Sherlock mused.
"A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss." Mycroft added pointedly,
"What for?" Sherlock asked bewildered.
"For wading in!" Mycroft said in a raised voice. Sherlock simply rolled his eyes again. "In case you've forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu?" Mycroft added smugly. It was my turn for the family eye roll.
"Since when did you do field work Mycroft?" I asked amazed.
"Since I had to track our brother to Siberia." He replied.
"Wading in?" Sherlock interrupted angrily, groaning a little as he forced himself to sit up, his injuries obviously causing him pain. "You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp." Sherlock argued angrily.
"You're such a bastard Myc." I sniped and deliberately used his loathed nickname.
"Don't call me that." Mycroft sighed.
"I got you out." He replied to Sherlock's anger.
"No, I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?" Sherlock asked, still angry. I wanted to know that answer too.
"Well I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I, it would have ruined everything?" Mycroft replied nonchalantly.
"You were enjoying it." Sherlock argued.
"Nonsense." Mycroft dismissed. I didn't believe him. From my own experiences Mycroft could be a sadistic shit when he wanted.
"Definitely enjoying it." Sherlock added, digging the knife in further.
"Listen: Do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going undercover, smuggling my way into their ranks like that. The noise…the people." Mycroft groaned changing the subject. Sherlock sighed and slowly lowered himself back for the barber to finish his work.
"I didn't know you spoke Serbian." Sherlock mused. Nor did I for that matter, but then again who knew anything about Mycroft, I was starting believe there was a lot about Mycroft I didn't know and perhaps I didn't want to know.
"I didn't, but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words." Mycroft shrugged. "It took me a couple hours. He quipped as though it only a few hours was nothing to learn a language. I usually took me about a week, maybe a little longer. Maybe I wasn't that clever after all?
"Hmm, you're slipping." Sherlock replied bluntly.
"Middle age, brother mine." Mycroft smiled. "Comes to us all." He added.
"Not at the rate I'm going." I whispered. Luckily my brother ignored me or didn't hear.
The barber was nearly done bringing Sherlock back to his normal clean-shaven appearance when Anthea arrived with one of his trademark dark suits and crisp white shirt. Sherlock excused himself to get dressed. He arrived back in Mycroft's office looking like his familiar dapper self. I gave him a warm smile, which in return received a little wink, his way of acknowledging it without expressing too much in front of Mycroft.
Sherlock looked at me and at his jacket, I nodded, held it for him as he inspected himself in the mirror. I could see the faint colour of bruises through his white shirt. I ground my teeth to stop myself launching into a tirade at Mycroft, as it wouldn't help matters.
"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?" Mycroft asked whilst Sherlock had a small moment of preening.
"What do you think of this shirt?" He asked as he twisted before the mirror. I laughed.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft exclaimed irritated, Sherlock and I both ignored him.
"Very handsome, if I wasn't married and we weren't related, I might just be tempted." I joked. Mycroft's look of disgust made laugh more.
"You are only human sister dear." Sherlock smiled and chuckled.
"Children!" Mycroft exclaimed exasperatedly.
"I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft." Sherlock replied. "Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart." Sherlock added dramatically.
"One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic concurs, there is going to be a terror strike on London, a big one." Anthea added harshly and handed a file to her boss. I resisted the urge to push her out of Mycroft's office. She'd really been making me nervous ever since the day of Jim's attempted assassination.
"And what about John Watson?" Sherlock enquired as I helped him on with his suit jacket.
"John?" Mycroft asked surprised. Typical, Mycroft is surprised by any form of sentiment. He may be very clever, but his lack of willing to express and accept human emotions made him such an idiot.
"Hmm, Have you seen him?" Sherlock enquired. I think his question was directed at us both, but he kept looking at our brother.
"Oh yes, we meet up every Friday for fish and chips." Mycroft interjected sarcastically. "Perhaps you should ask Percy about John, they seemed to enjoy each other's…company." He added coolly. "I've kept a weather eye on him of course." Mycroft finished, handing a file to Sherlock.
"I really hate you at times Mycroft." I sneered.
"That's not necessary." Sherlock said quietly as he perused the file on John.
"You've haven't been in touch at all, to prepare him?" Mycroft asked.
"No." Sherlock muttered as he continued to read. "Oh, well. We'll have to get rid of that." Sherlock hissed and showed me the photo of John and his new facial appendage.
"We?" Mycroft inquired surprised and a little horrified.
"No wonder you broke up with him Percy." Sherlock said throwing me a small knowing smirk. I rolled my eyes; great that little nugget was also in that file. Not the full details though, a cursory summary, typical Mycroft. "He looks ancient. I can't be seen wondering round with and old man." Sherlock reeled off, apparently fixated with John's moustache. I'll admit it was a bit aging. How Mary dealt with it I'd never know. Sherlock closed the file, tossing it onto Mycroft's desk. "I think I'll surprise John, he'll be delighted." Sherlock announced after a few seconds of thought.
"You think so?" Mycroft smiled cynically.
"Hmm, I'll pop by Baker Street. Who knows? Jump out of a cake?" Sherlock quipped.
"Baker Street? He isn't there anymore." Mycroft said with a frown. Sherlock mimicked our brother's expression. "Why would he be? It's been two years. He's gotten on with his life." Mycroft added tactlessly.
"What life? I've been away." Sherlock questioned just as arrogantly. Mycroft now rolled his eyes at Sherlock and sighed. "Where is he tonight?" Sherlock asked.
"How would I know?" Mycroft asked slyly.
"You always know, seeing as you're the most controlling pain in the arse alive." I said contemptuously. Mycroft shot me a withering glare that I batted away with a smirk.
"He has a dinner reservation on the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001…" Mycroft explained.
"Thank Myc, for the wine list, was that really necessary." I quipped sarcastically. I was being very bitchy today.
"I said don't call me that Persephone." I huffed.
"I think, maybe, I'll just drop by." Sherlock said, a plan obviously forming in his mind.
"You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome." Mycroft inserted. Not the most helpful piece of information, but none the less true. Sherlock ignored Mycroft and caught my eye. I helped him on with his suit jacket, brushing nay dust off his shoulders.
"No it isn't. Now, where is it?" He asked. Where was what I wondered.
"Where's what?" Mycroft asked, obviously as baffled as me.
"You know what." Sherlock sighed. Suddenly Anthea appeared, I hadn't noticed her leave, oops. She had Sherlock's Belstaff coat in hand and he looked delighted. He slipped it on and smiled, popping his collar.
"Welcome back Mr. Holmes." Smiled Anthea, a little flirtatiously. I scowled at her. Sherlock kissed my cheek and uttered something unintelligible to Mycroft as he left in a swish of coat tails. I smiled after my brother, he was back, hopefully for good and hopefully John would forgive him and all would be right in the world.
I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket, hoping for a message from Jim, but still nothing.
"Something bothering you sister?" Mycroft asked imperiously.
"Nothing for you worry about brother. I have it all under control." I quipped and left. I got home to an empty house. It was horrid; it was too big and too quiet. There was an air of change about and I only hoped it was something inane like the weather, but that was naïve, something big was coming, an eastern wind was blowing.
Sherlock now back in his own right, set about revealing himself to his friends. Apparently Mrs. Hudson screamed, Greg hugged him and Molly was stunned to a jittery silence. He didn't tell me what happened with John, just subconsciously rubbed his cheek and nose in memory. I took that to mean that John punched Sherlock, possibly more than once. He also used his phone hacking trick to let London know he was back. This made me laugh when my phone went off. My brother, ever the drama queen.
Sherlock invited me round for tea; it was a nice surprise until Mycroft turned up. Sherlock was busy staring at a collage on the wall behind me, I was sat curled up on his sofa, drinking out a now clean mug. Don't ask what resided in it before, he'd only been home a week and there were already body parts floating about.
"London. It's a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminal, agents and drifters are irresistibly drained." He said. I nodded. He was lost in his head, so I wasn't about to interrupt. "Sometimes, its not a question of who? It's a question of who knows?" Sherlock added. "If this man cancels his papers..." He indicated at a picture of some bloke, "I need to know." He finished and looked down at me.
"Of course you do." I nodded. "If this woman leaves London without putting her dog into kennel, I need to know." Sherlock continued. I nodded again. "There are certain people – they are markers. If they start to move, I'll know something's up – like rats deserting a sinking ship." He finished, quite dramatically, Mycroft choosing that moment to chime in.
"All very interesting Sherlock, but the terror alert has already been raised to critical." Mycroft was sat in John's armchair like he owned it. I wasn't far from punching my eldest brother, but I controlled myself…barely. I wasn't in a good mood. My cravings were raging, Jim was God knows where and not getting in contact and Mycroft was being deliberately difficult about everything.
"Boring, you're move." Quipped Sherlock petulantly. He'd somehow coerced Mycroft into playing Operation, which was after he lost a game of chess to me.
"We have solid information. An attack is coming." Mycroft reiterated.
"Solid information!" Sherlock scoffed. "A secret terrorist organisation's planning an attack – that's what secret terrorist organisations do. It's their version of golf." Sherlock quipped sarcastically. This made me giggle. Sherlock shot me a quick wink.
"An agent gave his life to tell us that." Mycroft replied curtly.
"Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn't have done. He was obviously just trying to show off." Sherlock retorted.
"Sherlock is right, that agent was stupid. Never give your life for information, you taught me that when, I was, what, twelve?" I asked rhetorically at Mycroft. He shot me a very dark look in return, which made me laugh again. Sherlock looked between us curiously. I shook my head, telling him not now.
"None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?" Mycroft asked skeptically. "Your move." He said a few seconds later.
"No, Mycroft, but you have to trust in me. I'll find the answer." Sherlock replied confidently. With dexterous fingers and steady hand he removed the liver. "Your move." He directed at our brother. "It'll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside or a misplaced lonely hearts ad." Sherlock added.
"I've given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you are on the case." Mycroft added irritably.
"I am on the case. We're all three of us on the case. Look at us right now." Sherlock countered with a smirk.
"Persephone has nothing to do with this case." Mycroft barked. "Oh bugger!" exclaimed Mycroft as he failed to remove the heart form the body, therefore forfeiting the game.
"Oopsie. Can't handle a broken heart, how very telling." Sherlock teased smugly. He sat back and crossed his long legs. He shot me a quick smile. I move to perch on the arm of his chair, also stating whose side I was on.
"Don't be smart." Mycroft countered disgruntled.
"That takes me back." Sherlock remarked looking at me. "Don't be smart Sherlock, I'm the smart one." He mimicked a childish Mycroft. I glared at Mycroft; he of all people should know what Sherlock went through as a child.
"I am the smart one." Mycroft added imperiously. I raised an eyebrow at him.
"I used to think I was an idiot." Sherlock remarked a little sadly.
"Both us thought you were an idiot Sherlock. We had nothing else to go until we met other children." Mycroft groaned.
"Oh yes, that was a mistake." Sherlock agreed.
"Ghastly, what were they thinking?" Mycroft asked.
"Probably something about trying to make friends?" Sherlock stated rhetorically.
"Before you both decide who's cleverest, that would be me. I'm cleverer than both of you. You like to forget I exist at times don't you Mycroft? Don't answer, there's no need, I know you don't like me. Also friends, they're good for you, us, they help to keep us human." I griped. I felt Sherlock pat my hand comfortingly.
"How can you be the cleverest, you're the youngest?" Mycroft argued childishly.
"Probably something I inherited." I sniped.
"Friends, of course, you go in for that sort of thing now, don't you Sherlock?" Mycroft said ignoring me.
"And don't you? Ever?" Sherlock asked.
"If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish." Mycroft replied casually.
"Yes, but I've been away for two years and Percy is married." Sherlock rebutted.
"So?" Mycroft shrugged. Watching them bicker, I could almost picture them as children.
"I don't know, I thought perhaps you might have found yourself…a goldfish?" Sherlock enquired.
"Selina…" I coughed obviously.
"Can we change the subject…now!" Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his chair, rising agitatedly to stand by the fireplace.
"Rest assured Mycroft, whatever this underground network of your is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre." Sherlock said, but the triumphant glint in his eyes had yet to leave.
"Yoo-hoo." Mrs. Hudson chirped as she entered the living room of 221b with a tea tray.
"Speaking of insignificant or bizarre…" Mycroft chuckled; I shot him another dirty look.
"Oh, finally got a girlfriend Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked. All three of us had the same horrified expression.
"No, this is my younger sister Percy." Sherlock said quickly. I smiled at her.
"Hello Mrs. Hudson, we've met before." I smiled, greeting her.
"Of course, sorry dear, old age. Yes, I see it now, you look just like Sherlock." She smiled and continued her gushing. "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it. Him, sitting in his chair again!" She continued excitedly. "Oh, isn't it wonderful Mr. Holmes?" She asked Mycroft fondly.
"I can barely contain myself." Mycroft replied stoically.
"Oh, he really can you know." Sherlock added sarcastically.
"He's secretly please to see you underneath all that…" Mrs. Hudson pulled a face, mimicking Mycroft's pinched expression, and smiled again.
"Sorry, which of us." Mycroft asked, unsure who was emotion publically.
"Both of you, its obvious your sister is happy." Mrs. Hudson said knowingly. She shot me a cheeky wink. I beamed back at her.
"Let's play something different." Sherlock announced.
"Why are we playing games?" Mycroft asked tired of Sherlock's behaviour.
"It's fun?" I suggested, again my eldest brother ignored me.
"That and London's terror alert has been raised to critical. I'm just passing the time. Let's do deductions." Sherlock said with a grin. This should be fun. Sherlock stood and picked up a woolen bobble hat from his desk. I scrunched my nose looking at it, it was vile, and someone liked to chew that hat. I could smell it from Sherlock's chair. "Client left this while I was out. What do you reckon?" Sherlock proposed, Mrs. Hudson left with a wry smile and left us to our mischief.
"I'm busy." Mycroft sighed.
"Oh, go on. It's been an age." Sherlock pleaded.
"I always win." Mycroft warned, he caught the hat thrown to him and tentatively smelt the offending article in his hand.
"You're an awful loser Mycroft, this is why we don't play chess anymore." I quipped and gave him a falsely cute smile.
"I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis…" Mycroft reeled off and then caught the smug expressions that Sherlock and I shared. "Damn." He swore, realising he'd fallen into our trap.
"Isolated too, don't you think?" Sherlock asked he looked at me I nodded.
"He would be isolated?" I asked. It was quite obvious that the hat belonged to a man, a man who wasn't afraid to be different.
"He?" Sherlock asked.
"Obviously." Mycroft interrupted.
"Why, the size of the hat?" Sherlock enquired.
"No." I said, but was again cut of by Mycroft.
"Don't be silly. Some women have large heads too. Nope, he's recently had a hair cut. Tiny little hairs on the front of the hat." Mycroft added.
"Some women have short hair too." Sherlock quipped, looking a little despondent.
"Balance of probability." Mycroft smiled smugly.
"Not that you would know Mycroft. Not that you've spoken to a woman with short hair, or still know any women. Percy being the obvious exception." Sherlock retorted callously.
"Stains show he's out of condition, and he's sentimental because the hat had been repaired three, four…" Mycroft started; again he was missing the obvious.
"Five times." I corrected whilst scrolling through Facebook. I was bored. When were they going to figure it out?
"Very neatly." Sherlock interjected. "The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he'd mawkishly attached to it. It's more than that. One, perhaps two, patches, would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five is excessive behaviour. Obsessive compulsive." Sherlock deduced quickly.
"Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sore of obsessive compulsive would do that?" Mycroft fired back tossing the hat back to a slightly crestfallen Sherlock.
"The earlier patches are extensively sun bleached, so he's worn it abroad, in Peru." Mycroft said smugly.
"Wrong." I sighed. Mycroft shot me a dirty look.
"This is a chullo, the classic headgear of the Andes. It's made of Alpaca…" Mycroft began defending his deduction.
"Wrong again. Sherlock, please correct our brother." I said coolly.
"Icelandic sheep wool." Sherlock replied. "Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you're looking for. I've written a blog on the varying tensile strength of different natural fibres." Sherlock smirked.
""I'm sure there is a crying need for that." Mrs. Hudson quipped as she brought in the newly warmed teapot. I smiled at her.
"I consulted on that blog, do give it a read, you might learn something." I interjected. Mycroft was really irritating me today.
"You said he was anxious." Sherlock offered, actively avoiding an argument.
"The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he's a man of a nervous disposition…" Mycroft started.
"But also a creature of habit because, he hasn't chewed the bobble on the right." Sherlock interrupted.
"Precisely." Nodded Mycroft.
"Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath…" Sherlock said with a grimace, I suppressed gagging. "Brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed sarcastically.
"Elementary." Mycroft surmised.
"You two are so slow." I moaned and received death glares from the pair of them.
"But you've missed the isolation." Sherlock added hastily.
"I don't see it." Mycroft queried.
"Plain as day." Sherlock teased, this caused me to roll my eyes.
"Where?" Mycroft asked again.
"It's blindingly obvious Mycroft, so use your brain."
"Tell me." Mycroft demanded grumpily.
"Plain as the nose on your…" Sherlock ribbed, enjoying Mycroft struggling.
"Tell me!" Mycroft exclaimed.
"Well, anybody who wear a hat this as stupid as this is in the habit of hanging around of other people, is he?" Sherlock asked.
"Not at all. Maybe, he just doesn't mind being different. He doesn't necessarily have to be isolated." I agreed. These subtexts making me think of Jim. I missed him; I was worried about him too. Why wasn't he answering his phone?
"Exactly." Sherlock nodded.
"Sorry?" Mycroft asked still confused.
"He's different, so what? Why would he mind? You're quite right." I smiled.
"Why would anyone mind?" Sherlock asked playfully adorning his head with the silly bobble hat, he looked quite ridiculous.
"I'm not lonely Sherlock." Mycroft stated firmly.
"How would you know?" I asked. Mycroft gave me an odd look, cleared his throat and stood up. He straightened his suit. "Yes, back to work if you don't mind. Good morning." Mycroft said offering us a small nod and leaving the flat.
"I better follow the boss. See you soon Sherlock. Stay out of trouble." I grinned and kissed my brother's cheek.
"Stop worrying Percy, he'll call you." He said as I reached the door. I turned to look at Sherlock, he gave me a small smile and shooed me away. I met Mycroft on the pavement outside.
"Did you really work that out before us or had you seen the hat before?" Mycroft asked as his jaguar pulled into the traffic towards the office.
"I told you I was cleverer than you both, you don't believe me because I emote and use my feelings to help me. Don't worry I won't upstage you publically." I replied caustically. I was still annoyed.
"You're always full of surprises aren't you?" Mycroft quipped rhetorically.
"You and I haven't played that game since I was a child, you could still beat me then." I retorted. When had things changed between Mycroft and I, when did he stop being someone who looked after me?
"Perhaps it was a blessing you and Sherlock didn't grow up together." He mused.
"No it isn't. I would've given anything to be part of my real family." I said quietly.
"Hmm." Mycroft replied non-commitally as he pulled his blackberry out and started replying to e-mails. I kept watching the city blur past the window.
About a week or so later, still with no word from my husband. He'd been gone for nearly three weeks with no word. The day he left, he'd briefly kissed me and sauntered away with Sebastian. No note, no words of comfort or any indication where he was going. He even used two fake passports so I couldn't track him properly. The last time he'd left for long periods of time and not told me anything he'd been planning on killing Sherlock. I'd managed to stop one attempt, just in time. The second time Jim came home covered in blood and Sherlock had apparently committed suicide. That had broken us apart for months. We'd just really began to recover from our last big break up, the biggest we'd ever faced. I knew I wouldn't survive it again.
Sherlock sent me a text telling me had a surprise for me and to come to 221b at once, whether it was convenient or not. Luckily he caught me on a day when work was quiet and Mycroft was indisposed to use me for anything than glorified filing and internal meetings.
I got to 221b, Mrs. Hudson let me in with a cheery smile and I made my way up the creaky stairs to Sherlock's flat.
"Sherlock?" I called as I entered the flat.
"Ah, Percy, good you're here." Sherlock said.
"Yes, you asked me to come." I added confused by his behaviour, he seemed a bit nervous?
"I did." He nodded and sat down in his leather armchair. I perched on the edge on John's chair, staring at my brother bewildered. "I have a thank you present for you." Sherlock added.
"A thank you present? For what?" I asked.
"For helping me over the last two years, despite everything." He replied softly. Before I could reply, the doorbell rang. Sherlock looked up a little expectantly. Mrs. Hudson again answered the door and warmly greeted the newcomers. Two sets of footsteps made their way up the stairs. Sherlock had opened the door to the living room, inviting whoever was coming to enter.
An older couple appeared in the doorway. A medium height plump lady with warm clever blue eyes and a tall thin gentle man entered the living room.
"Sherlock, finally." The woman gushed and pulled my brother into a hug, which he sort of returned, he blushed a little.
"Hello son." The man smiled, looking exactly like Sherlock, only older. I suddenly realised who these people were, they were Sherlock's parents…my parents. I couldn't stop myself staring at them. These people in front of me were my biological parents. I was rooted to the spot.
Sherlock's mother noticed my startled expression and looked between Sherlock and I, she turned to her husband and he shared the same stunned expression.
"Mother, Father, I'd like to introduce you to Persephone Elizabeth Holmes, you're lost daughter and my younger sister." Sherlock announced kindly, although I did notice he negated to use my married name, perhaps it was for the best? "Percy, I'd like to introduce you to your father, Bartholomew Holmes and your mother Martha Holmes."
"Oh, Sherlock." His mother sighed emotionally.
"H-Hello." I stuttered, standing up. I looked at the people who were my real parents, the people who gave me life. "Sherlock, how?" I asked completely baffled. I thought I'd met my mother.
"The woman you were introduced to previously was an actress. I'll explain later." He replied somewhat cryptically, but placed a calming hand on my shoulder.
"You look so much like Sherlock." Martha sighed. I beamed at her.
"We get told that a lot." I nodded. "I-I'm sorry, I'm usually much more coherent, I don't really know what to say." I added quietly. I suddenly felt very shy. All the social anxiety I had as a child resurfaced. I could fake my confidence well enough, but this broke through all my defenses like a bomb. How do you react to the surprise of your biological parents?
"It's quite alright, it is a bit of a shock for us too, but a good one." Bartholomew smiled kindly.
"Why don't we all sit, I'll make some tea." Sherlock announced uncharacteristically. We all sat in the nearest free seats.
"So, you're my parents…" I started.
"We are." Martha confirmed. "Are we what you expected?" She asked.
"Not sure." I admitted honestly.
"I suppose that was an unfair question." Martha surmised wisely. "How long have you known your brothers? I take it you've met Mycroft?" She asked.
"I've known Mycroft for a very long time, he seemed was well acquainted with my adoptive parents. I've known Sherlock for about two years." I explained.
"How did you meet Sherlock?" Bartholomew enquired.
"I asked him to solve a mystery for me, quite fitting really. We became friends, I suppose, through misadventure and life throwing us together." I explained.
"A mystery we both got wrong in the end, I've only just truly solved it, but we won't tell anyone. " Sherlock added with a smirk, setting down the tea tray.
"I hadn't thought of that, you're right." I agreed.
"If you don't mind, what was the mystery?" Sherlock's Dad asked.
"I asked Sherlock to help me find my biological parents." I replied.
"How did you get that wrong Sherlock?" His, our, mother asked disparagingly, I suddenly saw where we all got that sharp look.
"Uh, some misleading evidence." Sherlock muttered.
"It's not his fault, things got in the way." I smiled, defending my brother, as it wasn't his fault. Between Jim and Mycroft my life was filled with an awful lost of lies.
"I suppose they did a bit." Nodded our mother slightly appeased. She busied herself pouring us all tea; she smiled brightly when I took my tea the same as her and Sherlock.
"Can I ask…" I started but faltered; I was going to ask the life-changing question. Why?
"What is it?" Bartholomew prompted.
"It's okay Percy, just ask." Sherlock urged he knew what I needed to ask.
"Can I ask why you gave me up?" I practically whispered. The room was filled with a thick silence. I noticed Bartholomew take Martha's hand into his own, gently giving his wife strength.
"We didn't give you up, you were…" Martha paused. She took a deep breath fortifying herself before continuing. "You were taken. You were stolen from the hospital. We kept looking for you. We eventually found you, but your little family seemed so happy." She finished quietly. I felt my heart break for my parents. They had to live with the knowledge I'd been taken. "We couldn't cause that sort of hurt to anyone." Martha finished quietly.
"I was always told you didn't want a girl, so that's why I was given up." I uttered.
"No, that was never the case. We adored you the moment we knew we were having you." Bartholomew stated emotionally.
"I'm so sorry for the pain I caused you." I said reverently, a stray tear falling. I felt such wretched guilt, I didn't really know why. Logically, I knew it wasn't my fault, nor was it my parent's fault, sadly logic rarely assuaged guilt. Martha stood and stopped before me. I stood up and she pulled into a tight hug. A hug only a mother could give, an embrace I hadn't felt in years. Not since before I'd met Sherlock.
"You have nothing to apologise for. We have you back now and that's all that matters. We'll make up for lost time." She breathed.
"Hello Mum." I beamed tearily as we parted from our hug. "Hello Dad." I greeted my father, who in turn also hugged me; I fitted right under his chin. "Sherlock you're getting hug and don't argue." I laughed as my father released me. I launched myself at my brother and held him tight. "Thank you so much." I whispered to him.
We sat talking happily for the afternoon. It was like all my childhood wishes magically came true. I had parents, real parents who seemed happy to see me; they even appeared to like me. I was in such a bubble of happiness that I was simply happy to listen to whatever they had to say. We talked a little about my childhood and where I grew up, soon moving onto stories of Sherlock's misadventures as a pirate. I threw him a few cheeky grins, one of which was returned. I hadn't felt such a warmth and comfort in years, I felt like a whole person at last, a normal person with a normal family. It was perfect.
"…Which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?'" Martha continued. I was still enraptured, but Sherlock was obviously beginning to get bored. Sherlock screwed up his face tilting his head forward a little, almost as though he was nodding off to sleep until his head jerked back up again, waking him from his reverie. How could he be bored?
"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?" Martha admonished sweetly looking at her husband. I found myself wishing my marriage were like theirs, simple and perfect. We'd never make it to old age together.
"Afraid so." Dad agreed. Dad! Every time I referred to them as 'mum' and 'dad' in my head my heart beat a little faster and I felt warm inside. Sherlock had given me the best present in the world, my family. Sherlock simply glared at the kitchen. I shot him a look before beaming at my parents.
"Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses." Mum reeled off.
"Glasses." Dad agreed again.
"At least I know where I get my propensity for losing things and my need for glass from! Mycroft has always teased me for both." I interjected.
"I'll be having words with my son, he has no right being so unkind." Martha intoned sternly. I did a mental happy dance at her words.
"You wear glasses?" Dad enquired.
"I've worn them forever, since I was eleven." I nodded.
"Just like me. Definitely ours isn't she." Dad smiled proudly, I shared his happiness.
"She is." Martha nodded happily. "Blooming things, his glasses, I said, 'Why don't you get a chain – wear 'em round your neck?' And he says, 'What – like Larry Grayson?'" She finished. I had no idea who Larry Grayson was, but I still smiled.
"Larry Grayson." Bartholomew said simultaneously. Sherlock unexpectedly rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket as he walked towards our parents.
"So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?" Sherlock asked bored. Oh, that's what they'd lost. I'll admit I was lost in the emotion of the situation; I may not have been paying proper attention. Sherlock stepped onto and over the coffee table and then onto the sofa between Mum and Dad. Martha leaned to the side, getting out of his way, and the Dad stared up at his son as he starts idly flicking through the paperwork stuck to the wall
"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone in to Parliament." Mum added. Sherlock looked down at her with a frown. Why was that important to him? "Some big debate going on." She added. Oh, of course the anti-terrorism bill vote was tonight. I probably should be in the office.
The living room door opened and John walked in. Sherlock looked round in surprise. He seemed a tad uncomfortable. I smiled and gave him a small wave.
"John!" Sherlock exclaimed.
"Sorry – you're busy." John apologised, making to leave. Sherlock stepped of the sofa, reaching down to chivvy our parents out of the flat.
"Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving." Sherlock announced.
"Oh, were we?" Martha asked surprised. She shot me a look I shrugged in reply.
"Yes." Sherlock confirmed for her.
"Sherlock, really?" I exclaimed.
"Yes really." He said firmly. I rolled my eyes.
"No, no, if you've got a case..." John interrupted.
"No, not a case, no-no-no." Sherlock replied hurriedly, shoving our parents out the door. "Go. 'Bye." He said swiftly to Mum.
"Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember?" Mum reminded him.
"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out." He dismissed herding our parents closer and closer to the door.
"Well, give us a ring." Mum pleaded.
"Very nice, yes, good. Get out." Sherlock firmly dismissed again. Bundling them onto the landing, he tried to close the door but Martha turned and stuck her boot into the doorway to stop the door from shutting. I joined Sherlock at the door; surprised he hadn't herded me out to. I grinned in reply to John's politely enquiring look. Sherlock pulled the door open a little, staring down at her foot.
"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you." She said to her son. "Meeting you to dear, it's been wonderful. Get our number from your brother."
"I will Mum." I beamed. Sherlock rolled his eyes and surreptitiously glanced round at John, who has walked over to the window and is deliberately keeping his back to us, trying to give us privacy.
"We're just so pleased it's all over." Martha continued.
"Ring up more often, won't you?" Dad instructed and Sherlock grimaced again.
"Mm-hmm." He replied.
"She worries." Dad emphasised.
"Promise?" Mum asked looking hopeful. Again Sherlock glanced round towards John as if to ascertain whether or not his friend can overhear him. Then looked back towards our mother with a softer look.
"Promise." He quipped quietly. Mum smiled and gently laid a soft hand on both our cheeks.
"Oh, for God..." Sherlock groaned.
"Bye." I waved. Sherlock quickly shoves the door closed and lets out a deep sigh before turning to John.
"That was so rude Sherlock." I sighed going to sit on the sofa; I wouldn't deny John his armchair.
"You are so much like them." Sherlock retorted.
"Thank you." I grinned.
"It wasn't a compliment." Sherlock groaned. "Sorry about that." Sherlock said more calmly to his best friend.
"No, it's fine. Clients?" John enquired.
"...Just my, our, parents." Sherlock answered hesitating slightly.
"Your parents?" John asked amazed.
"Yep, isn't it brilliant?!" I added fervently. Okay, yes, I was still a little overexcited.
"In town for a few days." Sherlock replied absently.
"Your parents?" John asked again, still shocked by the revelation.
"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of 'Les Mis'. Tried to talk me into doing it." Sherlock scoffed. Oh, that sounded fun, I loved musicals, but I decided to stay quiet.
"Those were your parents?" John asked again, still accepting what he'd seen. He went to the window to catch another glimpse of them as they left.
"Yes." Sherlock replied flatly.
"Well..." He chuckled. "That is not what I..." John turned to look at Sherlock, and then looked out of the window again. He tuned back and gave me a surprised look.
"What?" Sherlock asked slightly irritably.
"I-I mean they're just...so..." John floundered. He looked at Sherlock who directed a hard gaze at him, narrowing his eyes.
"…Ordinary." John added tentatively with a smile. Sherlock just tutted disparagingly.
"It's a cross I have to bear." Sherlock griped dramatically.
"You are such a drama queen Sherlock, they are lovely John." I interjected.
"You just met your real parents, how do you feel?" John asked warmly.
"Amazing. It's a dream come true all organised by Mr. high-functioning sociopath over there." I explained indicating my brother.
"Really?" John asked amused, but didn't comment further. He chuckled again, then slowly took a few steps across the room before turning back to look at Sherlock.
"Did they know, too?" He asked sternly. Sherlock avoided John's gaze.
"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed expectantly.
"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek." John added unamused. Sherlock picked an imaginary piece of fluff off the keyboard of his laptop, which is open on his desk.
"Maybe." Sherlock mumbled.
"Ah! So that's why they weren't at the funeral." John griped. I suddenly clocked onto the issue, Sherlock's magical return from the dead.
"Sorry. Sorry again." Sherlock added defensively.
"Mm." John replied cynically. John turned away and made his way back towards the living room door, pausing lowering his head sadly.
"Sorry." Sherlock said again sincerely and quietly. John drew a deep breath. He met Sherlock's sad gaze for a second before breathing out slowly, letting go of the anger.
"Did you know too?" John asked rounding on me.
"Know what?" I asked feigning innocence.
"Where in on the plan to fool the world?" John asked harshly.
"No, not to begin with. I didn't even know what Jim was planning, I promise. I did know Sherlock was alive, but only because I met him and Angie when they were on holiday in Wales." I explained.
"You could have told me!" John shouted.
"I did, twice. You just thought I was high and rambling." I shouted back.
"Oh." John said sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Its okay." I said.
"You told John?" Sherlock asked annoyed.
"I was off my face Sherlock, I said a lot of things to John." I retorted defensively. "John saved my life on both occasions, so just be quiet Sherlock." I added.
"Hmph. Fine." Sherlock griped. "See you've shaved it off, then." Sherlock quipped changing the subject.
"Yeah. Wasn't working for me." John added. I stifled a laugh. His moustache had been an interesting addition.
"Mm, I'm glad." Sherlock remarked.
"What, you didn't like it?" John asked sarcastically.
"No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven." Sherlock replied casually with a small smile.
"That's not a sentence you hear every day!" John replied.
"I'm getting that on a t-shirt." I added with a laugh. John had been slowly inching his way towards his old chair, eventually coming close enough to sit down with a slight pain filled grunt.
"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked. I looked between the two friends curiously. What had happened to John?
"Yeah, not bad. Bit...smoked." John replied.
"Right." Sherlock nodded. John looked at him seriously.
"Last night, who did that? And why did they target me?" John asked.
"I don't know." Sherlock answered pensively.
"What happened?" I asked distressed. What had happened to John?
"Someone attempted to burn John alive." Sherlock replied.
"Christ." I swore. "Are you alright John?"
"I'll survive, Sherlock and Mary came to my rescue." John replied. I nodded, not satisfied. Someone was going to pay for this.
"Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?" John asked worried and perplexed.
"I don't know. I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous." Sherlock sighed; he stood and walked back toward the wall behind me. He stood examining all his gather intelligence. "Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange." Sherlock mused.
"That's what Agents do. Acts of ridiculous heroism, its not strange just idiotic." I said irritably.
"Give his life"? John asked confused.
"According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London – that's all we know." Sherlock replied. "Percy, do calm down, you look awfully murderous." Sherlock snapped as he walked towards his wall of stuff.
"I feel murderous. I'm sick of people interfering with my family and friends." I spat.
"I'm fine Percy, please don't worry about it." John added trying to soothe my nerves. I nodded stiffly. Sherlock looked down and frowned as an apparently random memory appeared at the fore his mind. A random hand gesture seems to make everything make sense to him. He turned and gestured to the paperwork adorning the wall.
"These are my rats, John." Sherlock added.
"Rats?" John queried.
"My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth..." Sherlock explained indicating towards the pertinent photo. A picture of a man I knew.
"I know him, don't I?" John asked. I hoped John didn't know him like I did.
"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development, pillar of the establishment." Sherlock added flippantly.
"A real pillar." I added sarcastically.
"Yes!" John agreed, recognising the man.
"He's been working for North Korea since 1996." Sherlock added nonchalantly.
"Ish. Double agent since 2006, you're welcome by the way." I smirked. Sherlock and John shot me vexed expressions. "oops, I've said far too much." I grinned wickedly.
"What?" John spluttered.
"Nothing." I sang.
"He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed." Sherlock smiled smugly.
"I best be off Sherlock, I feel the office calling through the ether." I sighed, standing up.
"Stay out of trouble Percy." John smiled and I gathered my coat and scarf.
"Of course, don't I always?" I smiled.
"See you later Sherlock. Call me if you need anything." I said.
"Hm." Sherlock replied too lost in his thought to acknowledge me.
I hopped on the tube from Baker Street to Embankment and walked the short distance to my Whitehall office. It would be a long night if Parliament were voting on anti-terrorism changes. Security was already high with the immanent terrorist attack; the vote just added more pressure.
"Remember, remember the fifth of November. Gunpowder Treason and Plot. We see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot."
The rhyme I'd learnt at school as a child echoed through my mind as I made my way into the defensive hub of Britain.
I'd been in the office for a couple of hours, the news playing in the background.
"With many commentators saying the vote on the Terrorism Bill will be too close to call, MPs are now making their way into the Chamber for what the government is calling the most important vote of this parliament. Over now to our ..."
The BBC newsreader spoke solemnly. I missed the end of the introduction as a text distracted me. Sherlock needed some help. His instructions were simple. A team to apprehend Lord Moran and Bomb Disposal to reach him and John at Sumatra Road tube station.
Mycroft had left me in charge, any situation that arose I was to deal with it; an unusual show of faith from my eldest sibling, but I was determined to do the best I could. I organised a team of agents to apprehend Lord Moran, I wondered idly if he were a relation of Sebastian's, it would explain an awful lot about him. Not many people knew Seb had attended Eton and gone on to do his degree at Oxford before joining the Army. There is a reason he's the second most dangerous man in London. I called in Bomb Disposal, whose team I'd lead, I wasn't leaving John and Sherlock's life in the hands of anyone but me. I got my comm. unit to be set up with both frequencies of both teams in the field. I got some labeled body armour and made my way to the rendezvous point at the tunnel network. The police had been informed of the situation too. Greg Lestrade was our liaison, which made everything infinitely easier.
The hot dusty smell of the aged tube network filled my senses. The thick heavy air absorbing each body of the team I walked with but exasperating every sound to loud languid echoes. The darkness of the tunnels comforting my sense of unease, it hid the worry I wore.
I signaled for the team to halt, Sherlock's instructions had been to stay far enough away to be out of sight and so we could escape the worst of the blast radius. The long tube cart sat illuminated five hundred metres away. All that we could do now was wait. I had the comm. feed from the Bravo team, they were moving into position. The tension grew palpable as time ticked on. The firm voice of Bravo team leader made me jump slightly, again I was thankful for the dark.
"We have him ma'am. Moran is in custody." Bravo leader informed me.
"Good work Bravo leader. Prep him for interrogation." I instructed. I was going to have fun making Lord Moran sweat.
A change in lighting caught my attention, I saw Sherlock standing up and laughing…I was going to slap him when I saw him. We advanced forward, the bomb disposal team falling into practiced formation they knew what to do. Sherlock and John were escorted out by two officers I followed them once the scene was secured. I traipsed back through the tunnels and up to Charing Cross Station, John and Sherlock stood with hot drinks, looking slightly worse for wear.
"Sherlock Holmes, I am going to push you off Bart's roof myself if you ever do that again." I griped, giving my brother a swift hug. "Dr. Watson, you're as much of an idiot as he is, stop trying to get yourself killed." I said with mock sternness hugging my friend.
"Do calm down Percy, we're fine." Sherlock dismissed. "Anyway, rooftops are so two years ago." He joked.
"I hate you." I grumbled.
"So do I." Chimed in John. This seemed to make us all laugh; we stood in the cold February air and laughed raucously. The danger was gone for now.
Mycroft wouldn't allow me to interrogate Lord Moran. When I asked why he informed me he had personal business with his Lordship. I nodded and decided not to argue or question further, sometimes we all need to get our hands dirty for specific reasons.
I went home, tired and emotionally exhausted from the last couple of days, meeting my parents and aiding my brother's harebrained scheme to stop terrorists, well it was quite a lot to process. Another detail sprang to mind as I washed my hair, I'd lied about being married and I'd only felt a small pang of guilt. I know lying is practically the main part of my job, but denying being in love, and I did and do love Jim, had always been something I'd found hard. We'd both changed since the events of Bart's roof, nothing had ever fit quite right since that day, and life had been harder and more awkward. I still had no idea where Jim was; he hadn't been in contact and was ignoring my calls, texts and e-mails. I couldn't even get hold of Seb.
Once again I found myself in the cosy living room of 221b Baker Street. I was beginning to spend more time there than in my own home. Sherlock was in his bedroom getting ready, he was officially reappearing to the world today and the press was eagerly gathered outside the front door. Fighting through them had been awkward. Again, I was asked if I was Sherlock's girlfriend. I gave them the signature family eye roll and look of disgust at the reporter's idiocy and let myself into the building. Why did everyone assume that were romantically involved, it so obvious we're related.
Mycroft had tried to persuade me to go to Les Mis in his place, but I declined after a lovely lunch with our parents, we decided Mycroft should honour his commitments. There was a conspiracy against him. We all knew Sherlock would be harder to handle than Mycroft.
"Oh, I'm sorry, brother dear, but you made a promise. There's nothing I can do to help." Sherlock quipped into his phone throwing me a cheeky grin, which I returned. Whatever Mycroft was begging for made Sherlock grin all the more as he refused.
"Come on. You'll have to go down. They want the story." John said to his friend. It was heartwarming seeing their friendship rekindled. I wish I'd known them both earlier, been there to have adventures with them.
"In a minute." Sherlock dismissed. "Percy, can you come here a minute." Sherlock requested.
"Sure. What's up?" I asked.
"You're being awfully quiet."
"Lots of people in there, it making it noisy up here." I said tapping my temple. Sherlock nodded understanding.
"You're worried about your husband." He stated bluntly.
"Of course I am, but worrying won't bring him home sooner. If I had any idea what he was up to I'd tell you." I replied quietly.
"I know. Come on, according to everyone else, social interaction is good for us." He joked and I followed my brother back into the living room.
The living room was full of John and Sherlock's friends, and by proxy some of my friends. Greg was here sans Adelaide, but she text me earlier informing me of a gruesome triple homicide she had to work under Detective Sergeant Dimmock. Mary was sitting on the sofa holding a glass of champagne. Mrs. Hudson sat in the nearby chair and Greg was sitting in John's chair, also holding a champagne glass. Sherlock swung into the kitchen and grabbed another bottle of champagne. John and Mary had finally gotten engaged and with the terror alert back to normal and London safe it was time to celebrate. Sherlock popped the cork on the new bottle and walked across the room, he knelt down beside the coffee table to pour more drinks for everyone, he held out a crystal flute to me and took it with a smile.
"Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?" Mrs. Hudson gushed.
"Er, well we thought May." Mary replied, looking up at John.
"Oh! Spring wedding!" Mrs. Hudson sighed romantically.
"Yeah. Well, once we've actually got engaged." Mary retorted half annoyed.
"Yeah." John agreed.
"We were interrupted last time." Mary said shooting a pointed look at my brother.
"Yeah. We were." John agreed again. Sherlock just smiled Mary.
"Well, I can't wait." Greg smiled. He and John had a strong friendship and we all knew Greg had a soft spot for Sherlock, however infuriating he could be. He raised his glass in a toast. John, who had just put his jacket on smiled at Greg.
"Me neither. I'm really happy for you both." I smiled.
"Thanks Percy. You'll have to help me with my dress, John mentioned you made your own wedding dress?" Mary asked.
"I did. We'll have to have a girls only afternoon and I'll bring it over." I suggested.
"Sounds like a plan." She smiled. Sherlock stood up suddenly and walked across towards the far window, having put down the glass he just poured himself.
"You will be there, Sherlock?" Mary stated more than asked.
"Weddings – not really my thing." He replied deadpanned, then sneakily looked across to her and winked. Mary returned a sweet smile. I stood next to my brother watching the people out of the window; I felt the most comfortable with Sherlock, even though I knew everyone here.
Everyone looked up as the door to the living room opened revealing Molly.
"Hello, everyone." She greeted warmly until she noticed me, she gave me a strange look.
"Hey, Molly." John greeted.
"This is Tom." Molly introduced the man she was holding hands with. I glanced at 'Tom'. He is tall and slender, has dark curly hair, a little shorter than Sherlock's and less well kept. He also has large pale blue eyes and prominent cheekbones. His features were mildly attractive, but didn't quite carry that same enigmatic nature that Sherlock exuded. Tom is wearing a dark coat with the collar turned up and the scarf around his neck is tied the same way that Sherlock ties his scarf. Oh Molly, I thought, why are you taking a second rate version of Sherlock? It's a shame 'Tom' isn't even half as clever. That's obvious by his nervous disposition and vacant expression.
"Tom, this is everyone." Molly continued the introductions, ignoring everyone's shocked expressions.
"Hi." Tom replied sheepishly.
"Hi." Greg smiles, offering him a handshake.
"It's really nice to meet you all." Tom replies eagerly. "Hi." He says to John looking a little awed. Oh God, Tom is a fan boy! John is trying to suppress his amused reaction, which is hilarious to watch.
"Wow. Yeah, hi. I'm John." John introduces himself. "Good to meet you." He adds shaking Tom's hand. John turns to look at Sherlock, who is still engrossed with the busy street below him.
"Ready?" Sherlock enquires, steeling himself for the onslaught of press.
"Ready." John confirms. Sherlock turns ready to leave and Tom turns to meet Sherlock, who smiles down at Greg as he walks past him, then catches sight of Tom for the first time. Sherlock's stunned look of shock should've been caught on camera. Tom stared at Sherlock equally wide-eyed as Sherlock gave him the once-over from his feet upwards. I could practically see Sherlock coming to the same conclusions as I did, he shot me a quick glance and I gave him a tiny nod.
"Champagne?" Greg offered to break to sudden awkward tension.
"Yes." Molly smiles happily. Sherlock's jaw dropped open a little and he turned his eyes towards John, who grinned back at him expectantly. He shot me another look and I just shrugged, it was odd, there was nothing else to say, well we'd dissect how creepy it was later. Finally Sherlock held out his hand to Tom, and they shook hands. Sherlock glanced at his pathologist he was obviously trying to work something out, apparently being faced with a bad doppelganger of himself made Molly's crush a little more obviously overt to him. He didn't say anything to her and walked in between the couple and out of the door. Tom turned to watch him go with a curious and an almost delighted expression on his face.
"Thanks." Replied Molly as Greg handed her, her champagne. Watching everyone react to Tom was hilarious. John was sort of mesmerized. Sherlock shocked and perturbed, which mirrored my feelings. Greg was blatantly staring; Mary and Mrs. Hudson kept quiet but both hared shocked and amused expressions dancing across their features. John started to follow Sherlock, but he paused briefly to take another look at Tom, who took a glass from Greg.
"Thank you." Tom smiled.
"Sit down, love." Mrs. Hudson instructs kindly, gesturing towards the sofa.
"Oh, thanks." He smiled and took a seat.
"So are you Sherlock's girlfriend?" Tom asked me pointedly.
"No, I'm not. I'm his sister and I'm married." I replied curtly, not caring if I was perceived as rude. My phone vibrated in my pocket saving me from more mind numbing conversation. "Excuse me." I walked into the kitchen and answered my phone.
"Hello?"
"Percy, we're on our way back." Seb's voice said.
"Really? Great." I replied with false enthusiasm. Why was Seb telling me? Where and what was my husband doing?
"Just thought you'd like to know." He added.
"Thank you. Can you pass a message along for me?" I asked sweetly.
"I can." Seb replied, I could practically hear his grin.
"Tell him," I paused, deciding against the long tirade of insults I had running through my head. "Tell him, I love him." I sighed.
"Of course Princess, anything to help." Seb replied and abruptly hung up. I stared at my phone; at least Jim would be home soon. As I returned to the living room, I heard Molly announce:
"...I've moved on!" I stifled a laugh and realised I wasn't going to cope with this many people without Sherlock. They were all lovely, but it was too noisy and I was far too sober to deal with his many people.
"Lovely to see everyone, but I need to be heading home. Congratulations again Mary, John has my number, call me anytime you want to meet up." I waved as I turned to leave, just as I was closing the door I heard something that made me think my decision was the right one.
"Is that really Sherlock's sister? She's a bit of an oddball." He remarked casually.
"Tom!" Molly chastised.
"Easy mate." Greg added. I didn't linger long enough to hear if Greg or anyone said anything else. As I descended the stairs I caught the tail end of John and Sherlock talking. I stopped in my tracks. I wasn't going to interrupt the dynamic duo finally mending all the broken bridges. I paused and sat on the painted wooden stairs, at least it was quiet here.
"…When you were dead, I went to your grave." John said quietly.
"I should hope so." Sherlock quipped.
"I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you." John said, still quiet, but his voice thick with emotion.
"I know. I was there." Sherlock acknowledged.
"I asked you for one more miracle. I asked you to stop being dead."
"I heard you." Sherlock admitted softly. There was a long pause before Sherlock took a sharp breath. "Anyway, time to go and be Sherlock Holmes." He announced. Moments later the door opened to shouts form the press and Sherlock, accompanied by his trusty blogger went to face the world and set the story straight.
I decided to wait for Sherlock and John to come back inside before going home. I didn't want to be hounded by the press for any piece of idle gossip about my brother or John. I let my head lean against the wallpaper, trying to block out all the noise and information that had been building up inside my head, that's something Jim had always been able to do, he helped quiet my mind and bring me some peace. I finally realised how worried I was about him, about our relationship. Everything was irreparably changing. My phone buzzed again, this time a text message:
Want to play? C.A.M
I stared at the text and forwarded it to Mycroft, he'd know how to deal with this. The text changed my mind about waiting for Sherlock and John, I needed to deal with this and deal with it soon. I pulled my pick form my handbag and quietly broke into 221c, the damp and mildew thick in the air. I opened the small window on the far wall of the flat, I threw my bag and jacket through it first and them pulled myself through the small opening. I didn't land very gracefully, but I would be able to get out of the street unseen by anyone in 221b or by the press. I hailed a taxi and ordered it to go to my office.
I spent a lot of time researching and gathering evidence; I couldn't crack this case without vast amounts of data to back me up. I finally made my way back to the townhouse after being dismissed by Mycroft. This was a week after Sebastian had rung me. In that week I'd had no other sign he and Jim were coming home or when they'd be home, but that night when I got home there was Jim. He was a mess he was quiet and withdrawn. Something had happened to him on this trip, something he wouldn't tell me about. Even Seb wouldn't open up. Another strange by-product of that extended trip was Sebastian calming his stalkerish tendencies and becoming my friend again.
I'll admit I was more than a little annoyed with the month long communication hiatus, but I couldn't stay mad for long when the night my husband came home, once clean and looking like himself again he crawled into our bed wept, he cried and clung to me like a life raft. The anger I was holding onto melted away and all I could do was love the broken man in my arms.