22 May 2013

A ringing phone wasn't usually good news when it came in the early hour of the morning. Mycroft didn't like it, but rolled over in bed to grab the emergency-only device from his bedside table. He brushed sleep out of his eyes, cleared his throat, and answered, just as the sun was rising over London.

Global meteor shower. That's what they called it. The BBC News anchor didn't look convinced either, but there was no other logical explanation for it. At least in the minds of the ignorant public. Glowing lights falling from the sky and disappearing? Mycroft knew better. A text from Anthea informed him that four bodies without identification had been found in the greater London area alone, and over a dozen unknown individuals had been admitted into hospitals around the country. Again, no identification.

Putting the pieces together was rather simple from that point, especially for Mycroft Holmes. Something had happened in Heaven. Those lights were angels falling to Earth. Those bodies were dead angels who'd fallen from Heaven not of their own intentions.

He'd spent the first ten minutes of his day praying for Naomi, in between pacing as the coffee percolated, something he'd do throughout the day as well. He spent the next hour going over the data in his home office. And it wouldn't be until later after lunch that his personal assistant would meet him in his work office.

"Naomi's not answering." Mycroft said bluntly, forgoing a greeting and not looking up from the laptop when Anthea stepped into the room.

She was similarly engaged on her phone, her slim fingers tapping over the keys. "Perhaps she's busy with whatever happened to the angels?"

"Or she's dead. I want every record of every Jane Doe they've found as soon as possible."

"Already done sir, I've got Matthews working on it, she'll be sending them along."

"Internationally-"

"Done, I spoke with most of our contacts and ambassadors already, the rest will be contacted soon. Files on any expired Jane Doe found to have died after the lights first started will be sent immediately to you." Anthea put down her phone and closed the distance to sit in the chair across from his desk. "I promise. We'll find her."

Mycroft looked up from the email and leaned back in his seat. Only the twitch of his hands betrayed his current state. He clasped them over his abdomen to avoid the visible show of anxiety. "I want this search to continue until we've exhausted every possible avenue."

"I understand." Anthea said with just the smallest reassuring smile. "It is likely she survived, considering the statistics thus far."

Mycroft felt the need to speak his thoughts aloud. To speak them so he knew he wasn't losing his mind with sentiment. Anthea was his most trusted employee and he'd talked through many a problem with her. He cleared his throat. "It is more likely she was killed prior to the fall. She was concerned when last we spoke, thought something was coming. This must have been it, and if she was in the way of it happening…"

"I don't know her as well as you do…but I believe she's resourceful as you are. If there was a way out of this, she would have found it." Anthea said logically, but added, "I think you shouldn't give up hope."

Mycroft scoffed. "Hope?"

"Yes, hope. She may very well be alive. It is all right to hope that's the case."

"But it's better to be logical." Mycroft countered and continued on. "I'm giving this until the day we usually meet, the seventh of June. After that's done, we'll call off the search."

Anthea nodded and uncrossed her legs to stand up. One wasn't idle long when one worked for Mycroft Holmes. "Seems appropriate. It gives us little over two weeks. Let's find your angel."

Two weeks passed and there was nothing. No sign of Naomi. No news. No corpse to be identified. No flutter of feathers indicating her return. The two angels Mycroft managed to track down had no knowledge of her, let alone if she survived. There was only dead end after dead end.

The only thing he had learned is that the angels had been stripped of their wings, their natural ability to teleport. So it was possible she was stranded somewhere with no way to get to him. But surely she would have contacted him in some way?

His thoughts had been racing since that day, constantly trying to sort out the details. The what-ifs. The possibilities. Balance of probability suggested she was dead. Her position in Heaven coupled with her concern prior... she would have been eliminated for the angels to fall. Naomi, his angel, was most likely dead. Mycroft had accepted that as the most likely truth. At least the logical part of him did.

The sentimental part of him had hope. That part of him wanted to have her by his side again, to see her sitting in the chair across with an enigmatic smile on her face, to lose another game of chess. He wanted to hold her, to be held. But that hope was slipping away out of his grasp. Hope was foolish. Hope was illogical. The pain he was experiencing was not made better by that hope.

Two weeks. And Mycroft had gone through more heartbreaking emotions during that time than he ever would admit. More than he ever thought he'd experience.

Hearts always break. He just thought he had more time.