Peace offering x
(For the millionth time if anything is confusing after this tell me and I'll correct it.)
"Chemist? That's the best you could do? Chemist? At least John got physician."
"I won't apologize for refusing to stroke your pride while covering your ass."
Your voices guffawed with each other, gruff and bitter, thrown high above my head. But someone quieted you, moving around chairs and furniture. It took me a second to realize where I was. One moment your voice sounded close enough to touch, the next it was miles away, floating on the edge of my awareness. It was dark, but a false dark. There was light, but it was hidden by thick curtains and tall dresser frames. Streams of sun wavered through clouds of dust. The smell of you hung heavily, almost oppressively. I felt the fabric of your shirt on my fingertips. But you weren't there. I was wearing your clothes.
Another figure was seated a few paces away. The sitting room, then? No, your voice was far away now. But your smell was still strong. Which smell? Your shampoo. The air felt a bit humid, and my hair was wet. The bathroom door was open. There was no more dirt under my fingernails, no more vomit sticking my hair to my forehead. But the figure beside me was not you.
I lifted my neck. As I did I felt its tense muscles start to whine. I just had to see past the shadow. But his hand rested against my shoulder and eased me back down. He wasn't quite as far away as I'd thought. "Careful, John. You'll make yourself sick if you move too fast."
James. Of course it would be James. Why should I expect otherwise. I squinted my eyes, still struggling to see. "Wh...?"
"Are you awake?" He asked. "You've been drifting in-and-out for a while."
"Damn sedatives," I murmured.
"Yeah, Sherlock thinks it interacted with the stuff Cemal's guys gave you." He tilted his head. "Do you know where you are?"
"Flat?"
"Yes."
"Room?"
"Good. You are waking up."
I turned onto my back, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. My lips were cracked. A sliver of a scab ran across them. I touched my finger to them. The sleeve of your sweatshirt was monstrous on my arm, but it was warm and soft on the inside, even with my bruises and crusted wounds. I was woozy, but I was aware, and that was enough for right now.
"Am I alright?" I asked, softly. "Am I... will I be fine? Why am I here?"
"You should be fine, it doesn't look like there are any serious injuries." He answered. "Sherlock thought that you would be most comfortable if you were treated here rather than in a hospital. Even though there weren't physical problems, he wasn't sure if there would be any mental damage. A comfortable environment was the safe way to go."
"Mm. I think I'll be fine."
Sholto nodded and sat back. "He's hardly let you out of his sight."
I glanced at him, but he looked solemn enough to be serious.
"He didn't give Franklin's guys two seconds with you. Macie's upstairs, even she wasn't allowed to help with you. He cleaned you up, got your wounds dressed, all himself. He's been worried about you."
"Where is he now, then?" I questioned.
"Talking with the colonel, just got back in. He left me to keep an eye on you." He lifted a book. "He wasn't expecting you to."
I shifted. "Why did he leave you?"
"It was me or Macie."
"What's wrong with Macie?"
He paused. "You don't want me here?"
"No, that's not what I mean." I put my hand on my forehead. "I just figured..."
"I know. So did I. But if I didn't know better, I'd say he's been thinking."
"Thinking?" I twisted my neck. "Thinking about what?"
His eyes flickered, and he moved his book off his knee and onto the bedtable. He had butterfly bandages on his forehead, and the scarred part of his face looked a bit glossier than normal, as if he had recently applied a cream to it. His clothes were clean and loose over his chest, the neck undone just one extra button than usual. He looked still, but relaxed. Relaxed? I couldn't remember the last time I had seen Sholto relaxed. But as soon as he saw the look of suspicion on my face, he straightened himself.
Footsteps came toward us, through the kitchen, down the hall. "Dammit, major, I asked you to tell me when John was awake, not sit here chatting with him." You came around the bend and I felt myself shrinking back into the blankets. You sat beside my thigh. "Is he fully awake?"
"Getting there." He motioned.
You set your hand gently against my side, and I glanced up at you, turning over onto my back again. You moved to rest your palm on my stomach. "How are you feeling?"
"Bit shitty," I murmured. I felt your fingertips hovering over my chin, turning my head to the side, checking my neck and temple and their respective wounds. Your touch made me feel cold, but I didn't complain.
"Thank-you, major, you can leave now."
Sholto pursed his lips, standing carefully, stretching out his strained muscles until they permitted motion. His walk was slow, with favor to his bad side. I watched him go and quietly close the door behind him, leaving both of us alone in the shadowy room.
Your cupped my cheek, brushing along my brow with your thumb. "You're going to be alright, John."
"Did you...?" I hesitated. "Did you talk to Franklin?"
"I did. I also had a conversation with Mycroft."
"Mycroft?"
"The colonel had no interest in getting rid of either you or I, but he still had an interest in his payment." You tsked. "I had a suspicion of his obstinance when we met him in Parliament, but I hadn't anticipated its depth."
"Why would he want payment?" I whispered.
"Cemal wants proof that he actually got us off," You said, "The sum isn't too hideously great, but it was more than you or I could get our hands on in the timeframe he wanted it. If-"
"No, I mean, why," I repeated.
You paused, then closed your mouth. "Mm. Well, John, he's a criminal."
"He is, then."
"Yes. He is." You brushed my ear. "He has been, for a while, I think."
I breathed in through my nose, again confronted with the smell of your shampoo and now your cologne. From the other room, I could hear a soft exchange going on between Franklin and Sholto. Of what, I couldn't even imagine. But you turned my head back toward you, drawing my eyes up to yours, your lips just barely parted, just enough.
"I shouldn't have let the major separate us," You said. "I should've made sure we were together."
"It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault." I sighed. "We're back now. That's all that matt-"
You kissed me, tenderly, the warmth of your mouth radiating onto my face. At first I flinched, my eyes flashing wide, but you held me gently against yourself. Your lips were smoother than your hands, and I could feel the sadness in your breath seeping into me. I tilted my chin up against yours. Your hand settled at my collar, caressing my neck with your fingers.
Then you pulled back, your nose barely brushing the tip of mine. Your face was filled with overwhelming grief, sadness that seeped into me as your brow twisted and pulled, heart aching toward mine. I touched your face, your hair. But still you said nothing, taking quick, shallow breaths through your nose.
"Sherlock," I whispered.
You closed your eyes and pressed your lips firmly against my forehead. You weren't shaking, I was shaking for you. But pain still twisted your throat.
"Tell me," I pressed, stroking your hair. "What's happened."
With a breath, you came back and laid your head on my chest, gripping both my shoulders in your hands. "They hurt you," You seethed, your hands getting tighter. I smoothed along your back, feeling the tension of your muscles and the ridges of your ribs through your shirt. I didn't understand at first, but as you labored breathed through the fabric of your sweatshirt, I started to. I kept massaging, leaning my head against yours, until you pushed yourself back onto your elbows and kissed me again.
You readjusted yourself, shifting your weight onto the heels of your hands to move your legs, but as your hips grazed across me I contracted, digging my nails into your arms.
"No, no, John," You whispered, trying to peel away from me. "I'm not, John. It's okay."
I gritted my teeth, covering my face with my hands, feeling my skin go clammy. You settled down beside me, running your fingers through my hair.
"I'm sorry, John." You laid your head down next to mine, pecking my temple. "Please, look at me."
You pulled my hands away, placing them on your chest. I twisted myself toward you, nestling my nose against yours, your long legs tangling with my bandaged ones. You nipped at my cheeks, my lips, until you placed your hand firmly at my neck.
"I love you." You said. "I love you, John, and I want you to stay. With me. I want you. To stay. Here. With me."
I looked at you.
"I promise, I'll get better at this," You continued, your voice weak. "I'll make things easier for you. Dammit, I'll stop working if I have to."
"What are you talking about?" I touched your stomach.
"Just, promise me." Your eyes went out of focus. "Promise me you'll try, too. Keep trying. I know you're trying. But keep trying. I'll catch up eventually."
I softened my eyes, grazing your brow. "Of course,"
You leaned our foreheads together, your arms snaking around my back while mine found your shoulders. The feeling of you melted the stone in my chest; and although it didn't help the trembling of my fingers, as you laced them with yours, your held them steady, kissing each of my knuckles with the breadth of your thumb. I closed my eyes. You opened yours.
You let me relax until you heard Macie's footsteps come from upstairs. I pulled on some decent trousers, fixed my hair, and somehow managed to get myself past the bedroom doorway. As soon as I did, I realized how severely underdressed I was.
Guendolyn stood looking through our bookshelves in a deep blue Italian suit. Sholto had buttoned that last button again; obviously he had gotten the same message after Franklin had arrived. The colonel did not give the slightest impression of being friendly, or even approachable. As I came into the room, he gave me a narrow-eyed once-over, most likely judging me for the oversized jumper.
"I see my sedative had a stronger affect on you than I'd thought." He noted. "Maybe you were given the wrong one."
"Wouldn't that be just lovely," I mumbled, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa and curling my legs underneath me.
He watched me walk, then turned back to you. "Now, Mr. Holmes, where were we?"
"Discussing our current conditions," You replied. You offered him my chair and took your own. Sholto and Macie were seated beside the window with two cups of tea, she glancing every so-often toward the street.
"Of course." He shot me a fake smile. "We wanted Mr. Watson to be present."
"What exactly were your dealings with Cemal?" You asked.
"Don't you wish I could tell you. But I've had quite enough of your meddling in my business. Your portion of the story ends with your release from him and your release from me. And you will not try to interfere again. The first time I'm willing to justify as a mistake. The second time I will not be so understanding."
"We understand."
"So you were in on it, with Miranda, from the very beginning." I said. "You were just bluffing when you acted surprised."
"False." He answered. "I was looking for Miranda too, which is why it surprised me that she would turn up in response to such a reasonably small problem."
"But Miranda is under your command, isn't she?" You asked. "That's why Cemal considered you responsible."
"Yes. Technically. But she's an odd sort." He rolled his wrist. "The sort that likes to make her own decisions. She's valuable to me as an asset and as a leader, but when she has her eyes set on something, she's nearly impossible to deter. She disappeared from her post in Hong Kong after racking some pretty significant offenses against herself. The warrant I showed you in Parliament was legitimate. But at the time, I knew nothing of her connection to Ms. Lowdry. You lot let me know about that."
"What was her connection to Macie, then?"
"Why don't you ask her yourself." He glanced at his watch. "She should be getting in, right about..."
The door to the foyer downstairs opened with a loud creak. Mrs. Hudson had been instructed (firmly) to stay in her section of the flat with Gladstone, and so there was no greeting or barking, but our guests' footsteps trodded up the staircase without much time wasted. As she passed the doorframe, Miranda's shoes still squeaked with freshly fallen rain. Her fitted leather coat brushed her ankles, and her hair was pulled back into a tight braid looped around the crown of her head. Her skin was a bit discolored around her left eye, and a bruise trailed along her jaw, but nothing more significant. Her nose and cheeks were blushed from the chilly wind, and she was in no more a happy mood than Franklin.
But Macie flew to her feet as Jandi came behind Miranda, wearing a similar black coat, looking more than a bit frightened. He crumbled with relief as Macie grabbed him and hugged him, pressing his head into her hair. They stood like that for a long while, Miranda beside, not very amused with it.
"I've brought the kid, I've done my part." She tsked.
"Join us, then, we were just talking about you." Franklin said, motioning toward the sofa.
I curled up tighter, and she sat down on the opposite end, one leg bent over the other. "Only good things, I hope."
You studied her. Your trust in her had dissipated after the scene with Cemal, and its vacuum had made you irritable. "The colonel explained what your relation and status was to him. But what is Macie to you?"
"I told you, unless you've already forgotten." She quipped. "We met in Afghanistan. She knew people, I wanted to know those people."
"And you felt the need to rescue her from Cemal because she was your secret weapon."
"Yes."
"No, that's a lie." I interjected. "You wanted to rescue her because you were the one who exposed her."
The whole room turned to look at me. Miranda was giving me a look that could have possibly served as a death sentence. I glanced toward Macie for reassurance, then toward Sholto.
"He's right," James said, shifting. "Miranda was the one to reveal who Macie was. Jandi told Tamim where Macie's address was in Wales. And Tamim was the one to take Macie and bring her to Cemal. That's what Macie told us."
"You told them that?" Miranda snapped.
"Now, wait a second," Macie stammered.
"Well, look how this is turning out." Guendolyn leaned back farther in my chair. "Please, major, continue. Since our other friends aren't quite truthful."
"That's the most of what I know." He said.
"Why was Jandi the one to give Tamim the address for Macie?" You asked, still a step behind.
"He was pissed at me, for 'exposing them'," Miranda said. "Of course, his bullshit logic decided that the best way to get his revenge on me would be to hand over Macie to Cemal and co."
"That's not true, and you fucking know it." Jandi hissed, then turned to you. "Tamim is Miranda's enemy. She was trying to learn information about him, his father, and his father's authority. When he discovered that it was Macie giving her this information, he was livid. He knew that if he seized Macie, Miranda would come for her, and he would be able to pin her down. Macie was his bait."
"And so you completely disregarded Macie's own safety."
He rolled his jaw. "I had warned her plenty of times."
"But why would you then come to us?" I asked.
"Because Tamim broke the deal. He tried to kill me, too. I managed to escape."
"Why did you try to find me?" Sholto asked.
"Working in Afghanistan, we always had a plan for emergencies," Macie put in. "I told him that if anything were to ever happen to me, that you should be the first person for him to find. You know him, you know our situation, and you're smart enough to keep him safe and secure."
"And Ovleen?" You said.
"She was another friend." Macie got quieter. "We write."
"You write code." Miranda added. "The two of them developed this lengthly code that each could decipher if needed. Jandi had Macie's main journal, the one that contained the key. Ovleen knew how to read it. Thus, she could unlock the information hidden within Macie's journals; the physical counterpart of her criminal knowledge. Jandi came to London looking for Ovleen, but couldn't get to her. I helped him deliver it."
"How did you know he'd be in London?"
"I'd met Ovleen before, I knew she was close to Macie, I knew where she was. It wasn't a huge leap."
"Who were the men who killed Ovleen, then?" Sholto asked.
"Tamim's boys." Miranda put both feet on the floor. "Are we done here? I have better things to do than sit and play telephone."
"One last question." You said. "What did you do to expose yourself, and Lowdry?"
She looked at you. Then, slowly, she stood to her feet, adjusting the sleeves of her coat. "It was investigative work." She said. "Foreign. A bit of hacking. A bit of blackmailing."
"For what purpose?"
"Whatever you'd prefer." Miranda pulled a pair of black gloves from her pockets and pulled them on. "The problem was that I let myself slip. It won't happen again. Believe me. And also, you fuckers stay out of my line of fire, you hear? I'm not usually this kind."
She turned to the door, and Franklin resumed talking, but my gaze was drawn back to her for an extra moment. She was nothing more than a glossy shadow, really. But as she neared the door I felt a sensation somewhere between closure and relief settling in my stomach. The extra space between us served as a barrier, a fortified wall keeping her far away from me. But as she stood halfway through the door, her hands kept close to her hips, she stopped to shoot me a gold glance. I wasn't sure what it meant. It looked angry, but it also looked sad. And she was gone.
Hours later, you were still griping over your lack of knowledge about Miranda. "There are still too many questions." You stated. "What exactly did Miranda reveal? What kind of information would Macie have to know to attract the attention of Great Britain itself? Where does Ovleen fit into all this, and why did Miranda know her? And also, how did Colonel Guendolyn, friend of your father, get into this sort of business? Was he always a part of it? Or had he only recently bought into it?"
"That's the kind of stuff we probably won't ever know." I said. "It doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, either. If it's a choice, I'd rather not know."
"But it doesn't make sense." You frowned. "There are too many things in common."
"Sherlock." I touched your arm. "Everyone's alive. Everyone's safe. Let this one go."
You tsked. "Lestrade isn't going to be happy when I'm not able to help him with the Maratina case."
"Lestrade can fend on his own. I don't want you anywhere near this, not for a good long while."
You rolled your eyes, but didn't argue.
I pulled you forward, crossing over the mostly-empty tube station to Macie and Jandi. They stood close to the edge of the platform, their only luggage being Jandi's back-pack and Macie's messenger bag. They hadn't talked much since Guendolyn had left, and had shared an almost identical gloom in their shoulders that worried me. It might've been grief over their friend Ovleen, like you deduced. But something about the deadness of Macie's pupils still made me think twice.
As the beat of the tracks echoed up toward us, Macie turned to me and gave me a tight hug. I returned it, holding her close to me for a few extra seconds. "You take care of yourself over in Wales, alright?" I said. "Keep yourself safe. Watch out for each other."
"We will, John." She pulled back, giving me a frail smile that threatened to snap her in two. "You be good to yourself, alright?"
"I will."
"I can't say thank-you enough," She said.
"Once is too much." I rubbed her shoulders. "Go home and burn those damn books. They're not worth it."
I think I broke her heart. "But, the memories, John."
"Make new memories. The old ones were too complicated, anyway." I smiled and left a kiss on her cheek.
"John?" She asked, quietly.
"Yes?" I replied.
"Can I ask you for a favor? Just one. One last favor."
"Of course. Anything."
"Write this. Write me. Write Ovleen and Jandi and Tamim and Cemal and Miranda. Write all of them. If it's in your blog or just to yourself, do it. Write it. For me."
I furrowed my brow. "Why?"
"Because after all the work I put into those books, this whole mess deserves one last 'fuck you'."
I laughed, more at the fact that Macie had cursed than her actual message. She hugged me again. I hugged her back.
The tube pulled into the station, and the two of them turned toward it. Macie took a breath, waiting for the few remaining passengers to get off. This was one of the last trains, so the carriage was empty as they stepped toward it. Jandi hesitated mid-step, gripping the straps of his backpack until his knuckles went white. Macie wedged her fingers into his fists and squeezed, leading him into the opening. As soon as their feet crossed the edge of the platform, I caught a whiff of something strange, similar to brick and gunpowder, just a hint of spice.
Rather than turning to sit, Macie and Jandi stood beside each other in the opening. They turned to face us. It was then that we realized just how pale the two of them were. Macie smiled. Jandi closed his eyes. The doors closed.
An explosion burst all the windows of the carriage, blowing glass and tongues of fire throughout the station. We were thrown several feet by the blast, but you quickly covered me, using yourself as a human shield as fire alarms shrieked above us. The sprinklers filled your coat with water, hissing at the nearby flames.
"Macie!" I cried, trying to get up, but you held me down.
A second explosion drove more fire into the ceiling, scorching everything within radius. You forced me to get up, forced me to run as tiles began crumbling from the ceiling. We should have known. We should have known. But we hadn't. We didn't. And now, it was too late.
(Pitbull's "Fireball" plays from somewhere far in the distance)
Final chapter up this week.
