A/N Here's another chapter. I hope you enjoy. I certainly enjoyed writing this! Now, I've got some good news for those who were hoping to see Kyrie make an appearance in The Abominable Bride. You see, at first I planned to skip that episode because I felt Kyrie just didn't FIT in it. But... I found a way! Can't wait to bring that eppie about! But, first we have to get through the Fall safe and sound. Well... not safe... and certainly not sound... It will be a ride!
SSS
It was several weeks, two months, after Jim Moriarty had been released. At first the newspapers had a ball with the story. After all, how was it possible that a criminal walked free, after having put up no defence at all at the 'Trial of the Century? All the newspapers had an opinion, even the Prime Minister had an outspoken opinion that wasn't too kind on the British Parliament and judiciary system.
After a while the story lost its appeal and people began to wonder about other things, like what else was in store for Sherlock Holmes the Reichenbach hero, or whether Bachelor John Watson was in fact still a bachelor. There were even some sleazy tabloids suggesting that the entire dynamic between all three of them was 'more' then they 'let on'.
As if that wasn't bad enough, some journalist named Kitty Riley seemed to be on a personal vendetta against Sherlock. She was wetting the appetite of the public, announcing she had an upcoming exclusive story for The Sun... A juicy exposé in which she would denounce Sherlock as a fraud, based on the inside knowledge of Richard Brook, an out-of-work actor and 'close friend' who claimed to have been hired by Sherlock to fool the British public into believing he had above-average 'detective skills'. Kyrie decided it was a load of tosh, but the blatant lies made her angry anyway.
Kyrie walked down the streets of London in a fowl mood, carrying two grocery bags. She was going to prepare beef stifado a day ahead and a simple penne cacio e pepe for this evening. She didn't understand how Sherlock did it. He usually jumped right in front of a taxi, held up his hand, making the taxi come to a screeching halt. When she tried it, the taxi barely swerved out of her way, while the cabbie honked at her in anger as if she were some raving lunatic.
Sherlock and John would better not be making any comments about the beef stifado or penne, unless they were glowing compliments, or they could take turns in cooking themselves! Of course, her phone decided to ring at that exact moment. Kyrie rolled her eyes recognising the melody. She looked around her and noticed a building nearby with stone steps leading up to the entrance. She quickly walked over to it, put her bags down before she pulled out her phone.
"Hel..." She couldn't even finish her greeting as Mycroft was already complaining to her from his end of the line.
"How can you be friends with that country bumpkin doctor?" Mycroft blared in her ear. Kyrie held the phone away from her ear.
"Good day to you too, Mycroft," she drawled, imitating her brother-in-law the best she could. "Why do you have your knickers in a twist this time?"
"That little friend of yours," Mycroft bit out, "I simply asked him to look out for my dear brother... You know how I worry." Kyrie rolled her eyes at that.
"Why does he have to be so difficult about it?"
"And of course you asked him in the nicest way possible?"
"Of course!" Mycroft said, sounding appalled. Kyrie smiled. She had a pretty good idea what Mycroft considered to be 'the nicest way possible'.
"What's going on, My?" she asked him quietly. "Why did you feel it was necessary to ask John to keep an eye on Sherlock? Is it Gerulf? Or this... Moriarty fellow?"
"Moriarty... you know they have a history, don't you?" Mycroft asked her. "He made a promise he'd come back."
"Yes," Kyrie agreed. "I know. I overheard John say the same thing that first day I came to Baker Street. After that, all my information came from either you, John or the tidbits that Sherlock decided to share. What of it?"
"It seems that some highly trained killers have recently taken up residence in Baker Street. To be exact, four top international assassins just happen to relocate to within spitting distance of two hundred and twenty-one B."
"Four... international... assassins..." Kyrie repeated slowly, not sure if she'd heard her brother-in-law correctly. "You know, Mycroft, you do realise – I hope – information like that really does not help me sleep at night?"
"It's not hard to guess the common denominator," Mycroft said gravely.
"No, it really isn't..."
"I'm glad you agree," Mycroft said. "Your little friend John doesn't seem to think it's Moriarty. He says that if it were... you'd be dead already."
"I really don't know anyone else, except maybe Gerulf, with either enough power or financial means to persuade four assassins to get involved. It has to be him, this is not some weird coincidence."
"Moriarty is as obsessed with Sherlock as Gerulf is obsessed with you, though for different reasons, or so I hope... He's sworn to to destroy his only rival."
"And of course, Sherlock is not taking any of this seriously."
"Exactly."
Kyrie sighed for a moment, wondering how life had suddenly become so complicated. "What can I do?" she asked.
For a moment Mycroft didn't speak, he just sighed wistfully. "I don't know. I suppose you can't convince my little brother to leave Baker Street?"
"I don't think there's a force, natural or otherwise, strong enough to convince him to do that."
"Thought as much. Well then, at least keep me appraised, will you?"
"Of course, My," she said. "You're not the only one who worries, you know."
"I know," he said simply. "Thank you, for being there for him. He's... " Mycroft didn't seem to know how to finish that. Kyrie had a feeling there was a warning in Mycroft's words somewhere.
"The stage is set." Mycroft's words that kept haunting her and she was too afraid to ask what they meant.
"Yeah... Bye, My..." Kyrie said before she ended the call. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt queasy. She picked up the grocery bags and quickly tried to make her way back to Baker Street.
"The stage is set..." Jim Moriarty wearing a crown... Moriarty, walking out of Old Bailey, a free man... Richard Brook the out-of-work actor, telling lies about Sherlock... Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall...
Kyrie picked up the pace. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall... Her heart raced in her throat by the time she reached Baker Street. All the king's horses and all the king's men... She looked around her, carefully watching the people she saw walking around. Was that man a killer? That woman? Couldn't put Humpty together again...
Kyrie balanced one grocery bag against the door of their flat, fishing the keys from her pocket. The moment the door opened, she quickly grabbed the bag and practically ran inside, giving the door a violent shove with her foot. She climbed the steps as fast as her feet allowed her while carrying the bags. Once she made it through the kitchen door, Kyrie leaned against the door, her heart beating violently in her chest. And then she started laughing. She was such an idiot!
She put the grocery bags on the kitchen table and started to put the groceries away. Mycroft had just rattled her with his talk about assassins, that was all.
Suddenly the door behind her slammed open and Kyrie shrieked in fear. She dropped the carton of milk she was holding and swiftly whipped around, just in time to see Sherlock catch the milk carton before it could splash against the floor.
"What's gotten into you?" he asked her, looking at her as if she'd gone crazy.
Kyrie heaved a deep sigh of relief, her hand pressed to her chest to calm her heart.
"Shit, Sherlock! You scared the living daylights out of me."
"Been talking with my dear brother again?" he asked with a smirk as he placed the milk on the kitchen table.
"Yes," Kyrie admitted unwillingly as she grabbed the milk and placed it in the refrigerator with a pointed look.
"Don't worry," Sherlock said while patting her on the back. "Talking with him too often or for too long will do that to you. You start seeing or hearing things," he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"Where's John?" she asked in a clipped tone, wanting to change the subject. She already knew that the Holmes brother's did not get along well. She would not get roped into a conversation of one brother bad-mouthing the other. She loved them both.
"Oh," Sherlock said and he jumped a bit to look behind him. "Right, in the taxi, waiting outside. He figured you'd be back by now. There's been a kidnapping, I found clues. We're headed to Bart's now. Coming?"
Kyrie had to make a quick decision. Sherlock had already left the kitchen and would no doubt order the cabbie to go the moment he was inside the taxi, whether she was in it or not. So, join the boys in Bart's so she could watch Sherlock peer through a microscope for hours on end? Or wait inside the flat waiting for one of the four assassins to make a move? She quickly turned around and bounded down the stairs after Sherlock.
SSS
Sherlock walked ahead of them toward the building of St. Bartholomew's hospital.
"What happened again?" Kyrie asked curiously.
"The children of Rufus Bruhl," John explained. "Ambassador to the U.S. His son and daughter were kidnapped at St. Aldate's. Max and Claudette. Um, school broke up, all the boarders went home. Just a few children remained, including Max and Claudette. And, the ambassador asked for Sherlock personally."
"Well, to be honest," Kyrie said, deep in thought, "If someone close to me was taken, I'd ask for him as well. He can be an arrogant prick, but damn, he can solve cases like it's nobody else's business."
"Amen to that," John said with a smirk.
"If you are done being astounded by intellectual skills, can we please just get on with it?" Sherlock had held back and obviously heard enough of their conversation. Though his voice sounded bored and annoyed, his eyes glinted green and gold. He was secretly pleased with the flattery.
Sherlock led them towards an emergency exit of the hospital with an air and self-assurance that told Kyrie he knew exactly where he was going. They went inside and Sherlock pushed open the fire doors, just as a young woman was about to go through them.
"Molly!" Sherlock greeted her jovially.
Molly... the name rang a bell.
"Oh, hello. I'm just going out," Molly said, looking and sounding a bit perplexed. Ah... that look, the nerves... she'd been at the Christmas party. Oh Lord... She was the one who... Okay, this could get a bit awkward.
Sherlock placed his hands on Molly's shoulders and immediately turned her back in the direction she just came from.
"No, you're not," he simply said.
"I've got a lunch date," she tried to object feebly.
"Cancel it," Sherlock said, lightly pushing her in the back to get her to move again. "You're having lunch with me." With those words he suddenly procured a bag of Quavers crisps from each pocket of his coat and held them up briefly before putting them back again.
"Do you always walk around, carrying bags of crisps in your pockets?" Kyrie wanted to know.
"Only when I think I need a nibble during a case."
"Or a bribe?"
"Or a bribe," he conceded.
"What?" Molly asked, completely bewildered.
"Need your help," Sherlock explained. "It's one of your old boyfriends. We're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty."
"It's Moriarty?" John asked when they reached the fire doors at the end of the corridor.
"Course it's Moriarty," Sherlock said as he opened the doors.
"Er, Jim actually wasn't even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it," Molly said, putting a bit of emphasis on who had done the ending bit.
"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."
"Sherlock... rude!" Kyrie admonished him.
"Who is she?" Molly asked Sherlock, then seemed to re-think her question as she directed her gaze to Kyrie. "Who are you?"
"I think we've met before?" Kyrie offered Molly her hand. "At the Christmas party? I'm Kyrie." She didn't introduce herself as Holmes, sensing it could be a bit of a tender point for the young woman.
"Ah, yes," Sherlock said. "Introductions... Um, Kyrie this is Molly Hooper, my favourite pathologist. Molly, this is Kyrie, my wife. Coming?" Sherlock pulled out and brandished a bag of Quavers at her again before he and John vanished through the fire door.
Kyrie was left standing there with Molly. From the way Kyrie could see her eyes were glistening, Molly's world had just come falling down and she kind of wished that Sherlock hadn't become so comfortable in referring to her as his wife, when before it had just made him cringe.
"You're... his wife?" Molly asked her in a bit of a weird high-pitched voice.
Kyrie sighed. How was she to steer safely through these treacherous waters? "Yes," she stated rather simply and then cringed slightly when she noticed how Molly breathed out as if she'd just received a blow to her gut.
"Wow," Molly said. Kyrie noticed her lips were trembling a bit, trying to curve into a nervous smile, but not quite getting there. "Married to Sherlock... that's... quite something, isn't it?" Molly licked her lips and clutched at her side as if she was in pain.
Kyrie couldn't help but notice the drab clothes... the girlish white vest adorned with cherries and red buttons, clashing horribly with the busy floral print of her blouse with peter pan collar, the shapeless pants hanging around her like a bag and the equally unimpressive coat. It was like she was trying to hide herself.
"It was... unexpected," Kyrie decided to say. "He... we... wanted to keep it quiet, not make a fuss about it."
"Right," Molly said. "Right... because, with a big wedding and ceremony and party there would have been... invitations?"
"Of course. It was a private affair. Just family."
"How... how did you meet?" Molly asked her, but Kyrie could read the real question in her eyes. How had she managed to draw his attention, make him fall in love with her and propose to her? If only she knew.
"Through his brother," she explained. Well, it was sort of true. Molly nodded, pretending to understand though the glazed look in her eyes told Kyrie she was just trying to be brave.
"Molly, there were... certain circumstances, personal circumstances, that forced us in this arrangement" Kyrie suddenly blurted out. "It's, um... Neither he, or I, chose for this, the marriage I mean. We sort of, had to."
Probably not the wisest thing to do, but she felt terrible for this young woman who had obviously crushed hard on Sherlock.
"So, he doesn't really love you then?" Molly asked, sounding almost hopeful. Kyrie felt bad for her. Even though she now knew that Sherlock was married, Molly seemed to want to at least cling to the thought that Sherlock hadn't married out of love and in fact, still didn't love her.
"No, he doesn't," Kyrie said, even though the words cut through her own heart quite painfully. But, painful or not, Kyrie knew the words to be true. She did hope that somewhere in that heart of his, that was so wholly governed by his head, there at least was some form of affection for her. Other than that, she had no illusion those few stolen kisses meant anything for him.
"I'm so sorry, that sounds horrible... being forced to marry," Molly suddenly said, though she made it sound as if she would have loved nothing more than to trade places with Kyrie.
"It was difficult, yes, but... we get along and that's makes it easier. A bit. But, please, Molly. It's very important you tell no one." Kyrie could see the look on Molly's face fall a bit. No doubt Molly would have loved to spread the word that Sherlock had been forced to marry and didn't really love Kyrie. That way she could pretend she had not been slighted and maybe even cling to the fantasy that maybe Sherlock could still come to love her instead.
"If word got out and the wrong people would find out, it could make things very dangerous... for Sherlock."
Molly paled hearing those words. Kyrie knew she could at least rely on the fact that Molly's concern for Sherlock's well-being would outweigh her desire to tell people that Sherlock had not wed her for love.
"No, of course not..." Molly shook her head vehemently, "I won't tell a soul, I swear!"
"Thank you, Molly. Now, what do you say. Shall we find the boys?"
Molly showed her to the lab as Kyrie did not know her way around the vast place. They found the boys in what Molly called 'his favourite lab'. Sherlock was already sitting at the bench in front of a microscope and John was arranging a couple of crime scene stills.
Molly disappeared for a bit but came back shortly. She had dressed herself in her lab coat and was struggling, trying to push her way through the door while being weighed down by a huge pile of books and files. She walked in precariously, trying to balance it all without toppling over. Kyrie rolled her eyes at both Sherlock and John. Sherlock seemed entirely oblivious to whether Molly was coming or going and John was also too preoccupied to notice how she was struggling.
Kyrie quickly walked over and grabbed the top half of Molly's burden. Molly looked up at her in surprise and tried to smile, but the smile became not much more than an awkward grimace.
"Oil, John," Sherlock told his friend. Kyrie realised she had just walked in on the moment where Sherlock explained what he was doing, what he was looking for or how he had arrived at one of his conclusions.
"The oil in the kidnapper's footprint..." Sherlock opened a plastic Petry dish and took out a sample of... something... with a pair of tweezers. "It'll lead us to Moriarty."
Kyrie looked on as Sherlock dropped the sample into a test tube that held some solution or liquid at in the bottom. The fluid responded immediately, it began to fizz and bubble. Once the reaction had died down, Sherlock used a pipette to suction up some of the liquid and dropped in onto a slide.
"All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we're lucky we can see everything that he's been up to."
Kyrie looked at Sherlock and Molly with interest. It was clear that they worked really well together. No doubt that over time they had established some form of cadence in their actions, becoming attuned to each other in quite a professional manner, though Sherlock of course did retain that overbearing attitude.
Some time passed as Sherlock studied the slide under the microscope and Molly gave assistance wherever she could. She was putting on a pair of nitrile gloves when Sherlock gave her a quick order.
"I need that analysis," he told her.
Molly nodded and set to work. She squeezed some liquid into a glass dish and applied a Ph strip to it. The strip turned bright cobalt blue. "Alkaline," she told Sherlock.
"Thank you, John," Sherlock muttered. Kyrie rolled her eyes in exasperation. Not getting her name right was one thing, but mistaking her gender as well?
"Molly," the young woman replied a bit testily.
"Yes," Sherlock said as if he really couldn't care less. Molly turned around looking really unhappy about it. Kyrie walked over to her as Sherlock scribbled down a note.
"Hey, don't mind him," she told her softly, "It took him six months, if not longer, to even get my name right. And sometime I have a sneaking suspicion he just calls me 'wife' because it saves him the trouble of trying to remember my actual name."
Molly's lips quirked in a smile and she giggled a bit, making Sherlock look up at them, just briefly, before he took another sample and dissolved it. Kyrie went to stand next to him to see what he was doing and read his notes.
1. Chalk
2. Asphalt
3. Brick dust
4. Vegetation
He seemed to be stuck a bit on whatever he was looking at now. Deciding not to pester him by breathing or even thinking too loudly in his presence, Kyrie joined John as he was looking over the different police photographs taken at the school.
She noticed how Molly walked up to Sherlock and tried to engage him in conversation. Kyrie could hardly fault her from trying to get the few crumbs she could get. She turned her attention to John as a thought struck her.
"John?" she said trying to get his attention.
"Hmm?" he replied without taking his eyes off the photographs.
"Moriarty is behind the kidnapping, that's what Sherlock thinks, right?"
"Mm," he said.
"Don't you think it's... odd?"
Now John looked up at her.
"Odd? What is?"
"Who really left the clues, John? According to Sherlock that boy used linseed to write a message on the wall and smeared the wooden floor with it so the killer would leave a trail. That's clever. Don't you think that's awfully clever? Young boy, scared out of his wits, thinking of doing all that right before he and he's sister are taken? Did that boy really leave those clues? Or was it someone else? Someone who would want to make sure those clues were actually there for Sherlock to find, perhaps?"
"The clues were planted," John realised and he quickly scanned through the photographs as if something jogged his memory. Kyrie looked up briefly when Molly suddenly walked out of the lab. Looking at Sherlock, she saw he had a puzzled look on his face. She sighed, he probably just put his foot in his mouth again.
"Here," John said suddenly and he pointed at a picture. Kyrie looked at the picture but found nothing that seemed of interest. "You were right. Kyrie, you are brilliant!"
Kyrie blinked in surprise. "I'm pretty sure I'm not, but thank you for your sentiment," she muttered at empty air as John already called out to Sherlock.
"Hmm?" Sherlock said looking up briefly before looking into the microscope again.
"This envelope that was in her trunk. There's another one," he said, walking over to where he had placed his jacket.
"What?"
"On our doorstep. Found it today." John took the envelope from his pocket and compared the seals.
"Yes, and look at that," John quickly marched over to Sherlock, showing him the picture and the envelope. "Look at that. Exactly the same seal."
Sherlock reached into the envelop and took something from it. Kyrie walked up to them for a better look and saw Sherlock rub something between his thumb and fingers.
"Breadcrumbs," he explained.
"Uh-huh. It was there when I got back."
Sherlock looked up, pondering this new bit of information. "A little trace of breadcrumbs," he said softly, almost as if to himself. "Hardback copy of fairy tales." His eyes widened in sudden realisation. "Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs."
"That's 'Hansel and Gretel'. Kyrie was right... the clues were planted. But, what sort of kidnapper leaves clues?"
"The sort that likes to boast. The sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me... 'Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain'. Wait, Kyrie got this?"
"Yeah, she said the clues felt planted, and they were. She was right."
"Huh," Sherlock said in surprise. "She's usually not this bright. How surprising."
"Sherlock, don't be rude or I will shatter all the glass in this lab with my voice," Kyrie told him.
He looked up and arched a brow at her. "I'd certainly like to see you try," he said, a lightly mocking smile turning up the corners of his lips.
"Now who's being impertinent?" she huffed.
Sherlock merely smiled and put down the envelope to adjust the microscope.
"The fifth substance," he said, "It's part of the tale." He looked in he microscope again and almost immediately looked up again when an idea struck him. "The witch's house!" he exclaimed.
"What?" John and Kyrie asked simultaneously
"The glycerol molecule... PGPR! That's the fifth substance!"
"What's that?"
"It's used in making chocolate!" Sherlock said as he leaped to his feet and hurried out of the lab.
