Author's Note:
Hey, everybody. I am so sorry that it's taken me so long to update. I did not intend for it to take this long, but I've been pretty sick for over a month, and the last few weeks have been devoted to recuperating and getting back on my feet. Then there were the holidays and family visits, and now that the house is quiet and I have a chance, I'm writing. I hope you guys like this chapter; it took me a while to write. It's probably not my best stuff since I'm out of practice, but I hope you like it. Happy holidays to all. Take care.
Chapter 29
Mycroft must have been watching his blog, or at least having Anthea watch it. He showed up less than an hour after John's latest blog post of "The game is on." Really, John was expecting him to show up. Mycroft had eyes and ears everywhere and they were always, always watching.
It was enough to make you paranoid, sometimes.
John was sitting in his chair, just relaxing and keeping an eye on Sherlock. Sherlock's long form was still draped across the couch cushions and he was dead to the world. John had a good feeling that Sherlock was in for a good, long sleep. Briefly he contemplated waking Sherlock up and trying to get him to move to his bed, but he decided against it. If Sherlock had fallen asleep that easily, then he needed the rest. If John woke him, he might not go back to sleep.
He heard footsteps on the stairs and he wasn't fast enough to open the door before it opened on its own. "Where is he?" Mycroft demanded, striding into the room.
"Shh!" John hissed, ready to kill Mycroft if he woke Sherlock. "He's there on the couch."
Mycroft whipped around and headed right for the couch, his intent plain. Before he could reach Sherlock, John was out of his chair and had him in a headlock, pulling him away from the recumbent form of his brother.
"So help me, if you wake him up, I'll slaughter you, Mycroft!" John managed to shout in a whisper.
"Let go!" Mycroft shout-whispered back. "I'm going to kill him for putting me through that!"
"As his doctor, I can't allow you to do that," John argued.
"No one has to allow me to do anything," Mycroft snapped. "Let go, John."
"Look at him, Mycroft," John said, not letting go. "Look at him. When was the last time you saw him so relaxed?"
Mycroft, wonder of wonders, actually stopped and looked. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased and he seemed to relax a little. "Honestly, I can't remember."
"Exactly," John said, relieved that Mycroft was not about to murder his brother, or even worse, wake him up.
"Exactly what?" Sherlock muttered, opening one eye to stare at them.
Oh, the irony.
"Nothing, Sherlock, go back to sleep," John said quickly.
Sherlock blinked and opened both eyes. "Hello, Mycroft."
Mycroft glared at his brother, but John could tell that his heart wasn't in it. "Hello, Sherlock."
Sherlock gave them both a hopeful look. "Is there anything to eat? I'm hungry."
Still glaring at his brother and looking a trifle annoyed, Mycroft whipped out his phone, dialed, and sent a text. A minute later he received a text back. "Right. Something should be here within fifteen minutes. In the meantime…"
It was clear that Mycroft intended to launch into a lecture, but Sherlock cut it short by getting up and disappearing into the WC. Mycroft looked supremely annoyed and paced the whole time his brother was in the WC, and John was sure that if Mycroft paced anymore he would wear a hole in the carpet. When Sherlock reappeared, a mere five minutes remained. Before Mycroft could launch into the lecture that John could tell he so badly wanted to give, Sherlock forestalled it by peppering John with questions. Had any clients come by or emailed? Had Lestrade phoned? Where was Mrs. Hudson? Had John seen Sherlock's dressing gown?
"No clients, no emails, Mrs. Hudson is out shopping, and your dressing gown is in your room hanging on the back of your door where it always is," John answered.
"Wonderful," Sherlock said, pulling off his jacket and disappearing into his room. He emerged wrapped in his dressing gown and looking as if he had never been away from Baker Street at all.
"Sherlock, I have something to say to you," Mycroft started, but then there was a knock at the door.
"Come in!" Sherlock called.
Anthea appeared with two white bags, and from those bags came the most incredible smells. John felt his mouth water and he reflected that it was close enough to dinner time that he could eat. In short order Anthea had cleared the table in the living room, set it with dishes she found in the cupboards, and dished out the food. There was glazed ham, roast potatoes, peas, hot, crusty bread with butter, and what looked like a fruit cobbler for dessert, along with bottles of juice and sparkling water. Without a word, Anthea packed up the wrappings and bags and disappeared.
"Looks nice and hot," Sherlock sighed, taking a seat and choosing a bottle of juice for himself. "Is this what you told her to get, Mycroft?"
"I told her to get a substantial meal so I can be sure you ate," Mycroft said flatly. "Are you ready to listen to me?"
"As long as you don't start lecturing about why I shouldn't have done what I did and how I shouldn't have put you through all that and so on," Sherlock answered.
Mycroft looked ready to tear his brother's head from his shoulders and use it for a football. "You shouldn't have."
John took his seat just to be out of the line of fire. Both of them looked ready to go for each other with forks.
Mycroft took a deep breath and sat down. "I was worried, Sherlock. I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"I didn't know what happened to you," Mycroft said. "You'd already been kidnapped once! How was I supposed to know that you were safe?"
"Didn't John tell you who I was with?"
"He did, but when you first disappeared, how were we to know that was who you were really with? And if you were with her, how were we to know that she wasn't in Rowlesden's back pocket?"
"Mycroft!" Sherlock said, clearly stung on behalf of Irene.
"The question had to be asked, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "You remember who she was associated with before you met her?"
Sherlock started chuckling. "Oh, I saw no evidence of anything nefarious while I was with her. The only person she texted the whole time was John."
Mycroft's eyes fastened on John. "Did she?"
"Yep," John said, paying attention to his food.
"Why was she texting you?" Mycroft demanded.
"She said I needed a break and that did not include a phone," Sherlock said before John could say anything.
"So she took you from my house in the dead of night, took you to an undisclosed location, and kept you incommunicado for the whole time," Mycroft growled, his fingers clutching the edge of the table as he sat down at last. "I am going to hunt that woman down and charge her with kidnapping."
"I wanted to go with her, Mycroft," Sherlock reminded him.
Oh, the look on Mycroft's face. "What?"
"I wanted to go with her," Sherlock repeated. "I needed to...well, I guess I needed to do something where I could relax. It was...difficult...to really relax while I was staying with you. You know that you were worried about me and I knew that you were worried about me and I was worried about you worrying about me...I couldn't really relax, you know. So, when the chance to leave came, I took it. Besides, she's a fascinating woman."
Mycroft's jaw dropped open, closed, and dropped open again. For a second John felt that he resembled an overgrown codfish and he had to fight down the ridiculous-and dangerous!-urge to laugh. Finally, Mycroft managed to gather enough of his wits together to make a reply. "I may never speak to you again after this, you know."
Sherlock gave his brother his best not-quite-sure-but-game smile. "We both know how long that will last."
Mycroft glared at him. "Finish your meal, Sherlock."
Sherlock grinned, clearly amused at his brother's annoyance. "Ever the elder brother."
"Clean your plate, little brother."
Sherlock's clean plate a half-hour later seemed to mollify Mycroft somewhat because he relaxed and seemed to be ready to…well, not forgive, but at least forget for a while. While they had dessert and sipped at their drinks Mycroft made small talk about nothing in particular and at last he mentioned something that made both of them prick up their ears.
"While you were gone, Sherlock, your friend Mr. Wright left hospital."
It was clear he had Sherlock's attention. "Oh, really? That's good. How is he?"
"Physically recovered, and according to what his therapist has written, he is optimistic about the future. He and Lacey have located a flat here in London. Spacious place, there's a sunny room with good light that Mr. Wright uses for a studio, and they share a good-sized garden with their downstairs neighbors. Lacey has elected not to return to her school in France and she will be attending a gifted and talent program at a school a short commute from their home."
"That sounds wonderful for them," Sherlock said, clearly pleased.
"Yes. I also received a message from Lacey that you and John would be welcome to visit any time you wish. She needs to quit standing in front of security cameras with signs stating such, so make sure your visit is soon, all right?"
John glanced at Sherlock and a second later they were both cracking up.
"Okay, okay, we'll go visit them soon," Sherlock said after a full minute of laughing at Mycroft's annoyance. "I promise."
⃰
They didn't get the chance to go and visit Jamie and Lacey, however, since Lacey came to them. He and John had just come back from a walk the next day (John insisted on some exercise) and Mrs. Hudson met them in the hallway.
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, heading for the stairs.
"Hello, Sherlock. There's a young lady here to see you."
He stopped and looked down at her. "A young lady?"
"She's waiting in your lounge. She seemed quite agitated."
It was like watching a bloodhound on the trail, John reflected as he followed Sherlock upstairs. Sherlock barely had the door open before a miniature whirlwind in a pink coat came flying at them. She was crying up a storm and kept trying to talk to them in between sobs.
"Easy, Lacey," Sherlock said, leading her to a chair. "Deep breaths, now. Try to calm down."
"Why didn't you come?" Lacey sobbed after a minute or two. "I waited! I waited and waited! Didn't your stupid brother tell you I was waiting?"
"We just heard about your invitation yesterday," Sherlock protested. "What's the matter?"
"That idiot!" Lacey snarled, sounding ready to commit murder. "I knew he wasn't passing on the messages! What took him so long?"
"Ah, about that," Sherlock said quickly. "I've been out of town. I got back yesterday."
Lacey calmed and looked at them both. "Oh. That explains it."
"Yes, it does," Sherlock said. "Why don't you tell us what brought you here?"
"I don't know what to do!" Lacey cried, her momentary composure gone. "I'm sure that Jamie and I are being followed every time we leave the house, and I'm sure someone's watching the house, but he tells me not to be silly and why would anyone want to do that? But I'm SURE that there's someone with eyes on us and after everything that's happened…" She stopped then and took a deep breath. "I'm afraid of what may happen. Mr. Holmes, please help me."
"Well, I can't possibly say no to that," Sherlock said after a moment. "Can you tell me what you've seen that makes you feel you're being watched?"
She sniffled and then took the tissue that John handed her. "There are strange cars parked outside our flat whenever we're home. It's never the same car two days in a row, but I know all the cars the neighbors drive and these cars don't belong to any of them. Also, when we're out, I often feel that someone's following us. Sometimes I'll see a man stooping to tie his shoe, other times it's a woman stopping to check her cell, another time it's a delivery person checking the address on what he's carrying...I never see the people more than once, but it all happens too often to just be random."
Sherlock nodded. He was leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled. "What have you seen the delivery people carrying?"
"Takeaway, mostly, but one guy had an order of takeaway at eight in the morning. I don't think anyone eats curry for breakfast."
"Oh, that was a mistake," Sherlock said, fighting down a chuckle. "What an idiot."
He had surprised a smile out of Lacey. "I agree. Whoever hired him did not get his money's worth. That guy stood out like snow in August."
Sherlock nodded again and got to his feet, beginning to pace. "Theories?"
"Mycroft's people would be too good to be seen," Lacey said after a minute or so of thinking. "They would be there, I just would never notice them. Ten to one, they most likely already are there, now that I think about it, but I can't be sure."
"Most likely," Sherlock agreed.
Lacey sighed and swung her feet back and forth, leaning forward in her chair. "Rowlesden."
John had risen from his seat and was about to get them all tea, but he froze when he heard that name. "What?"
"I think it's Rowlesden," Lacey repeated.
"What makes you think so?" Sherlock asked.
Lacey gave him a look that clearly said, Are you stupid? "Who else would be that obsessed over tracking my brother? Rowlesden lost access to a lot of his usual resources when Mycroft stepped in, so it stands to reason that he's hiring other people to keep eyes on us."
Sherlock laughed, clapping his hands together. "Excellent! Well done, Lacey!"
John went back to getting the tea, reflecting that Sherlock sounded like a proud teacher with a prize pupil.
"Don't be too quick with your praise, you know," Lacey warned him. "I may have found the solution to who could be watching us, but that doesn't mean I've figured out what to do about it, or how to protect Jamie in the meantime."
"Having solved the mystery of who is watching you will enable you to devote all your attention to the solution of ensuring Jamie's safety," Sherlock reminded her. "Now, think about all the resources you have at your disposal. What do you think will help you make sure that Jamie is safe?"
John had heard enough. "Sherlock, stop."
Sherlock looked at John. "Stop what, John?"
"Lacey is not responsible for Jamie's safety," John stated. "She's still very young, and it's not her job to make sure that her brother is safe."
"Yes, it is," Lacey insisted, quickly gathering her wits. "He's taken care of me all these years in impossible circumstances, and now it's time for someone to take care of him for a change!"
"She's more than capable of doing so," Sherlock chipped in. "She's a remarkable young woman."
John nodded, setting his jaw and chewing on his lower lip in thought. "Uh-huh. So, how do you think Jamie will feel about the fact that his little sister feels she has to protect him?"
"Protecting those we love is what family does," Lacey countered.
John sighed. "Are you sure? What if you aren't really protecting him?"
Lacey's eyebrows came together in her perplexity. "What?"
"What if, by protecting him, you're just...shielding him too much? What if you're protecting him so much that he'll be crippled by the protection? What if, instead of helping him learn how to fly again, you're just clipping his wings?"
John saw Lacey swallow hard. "You...you mean...we could be forcing him to exchange the cage he was in with Rowlesden for another type of cage?"
"That's exactly what I mean," John said. "There's also this to think about: What message do you think it will send to Jamie that his little sister feels she has to protect him? Do you think that he'll think you feel he's capable of dealing with the world?"
John saw a tear fall, and in the next second, Lacey was sniffling.
"John, what did you do?" Sherlock asked, looking a trifle panicked.
"Just gave her some things to think about," John answered, searching out the Kleenex box and handing it to Lacey.
"Well, stop it! We were in the middle of finding a solution!"
"What about Mycroft's people? Aren't they watching Jamie as well? Wouldn't they be enough protection?"
"They're probably just eyes! Their job descriptions probably don't include protection! If Lacey feels her brother needs protection, then we should help her!"
"Oh, yes," John agreed, "We'll protect him so much that he'll be sure that we think he can't protect himself!"
Lacey slumped in her chair, still sniffling. "I don't want to shut him up like that! Not like that!"
"Who said anything about shutting anyone up?" Sherlock demanded.
"I meant that I don't want to shut him up in fear!" Lacey snapped. "That's exactly what I would be doing if I tried to protect him and he came to know about it!"
Sherlock opened his mouth to refute that statement and a minute later he and Lacey were arguing about it. John groaned, grabbed a large piece of paper and magic marker, and wrote something. He went to the window, held up his sign, and waited for a few minutes before going back to his chair. The argument continued to rage on and ten minutes later Lacey had just thrown the Kleenex box at Sherlock's head when someone knocked at the door of the flat.
John checked his watch. "Well, that didn't take long."
"What didn't?" Sherlock and Lacey both demanded as John answered the door.
"WHAT WAS THAT BLOODY SIGN ABOUT?" Mycroft demanded, storming into the flat at full speed. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'FALLEN OFF THE WAGON'?!"
"What?" Sherlock said. "John, if you...!"
"It was the best way I could think of to get your attention quickly," John said, holding up both hands in a conciliatory gesture.
Mycroft glared at him, clearly wishing he could fasten his hands around John's neck and squeeze. "Why couldn't you call me?"
John gave him an ironic smile. "Now you know how I feel," he said, thinking about all those times Mycroft had sent a car for him just because he wanted to talk to him about something. "Actually, we need to ask you a few questions regarding this young lady's brother."
Mycroft glanced at Lacey and sighed, still looking furious. "All right. What do you want to know?"
"The question we've been debating for the last little while is whether or not Lacey's brother Jamie needs a security detail arranged by Lacey. Tell us, is that necessary?"
Mycroft was still glaring at him. "You brought me here for this?"
"Is it necessary?" John repeated.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "If you like overkill," he said at last. "As you all know, Rowlesden is obsessed with this young man. I would be a fool to leave him vulnerable, and I would also be a fool if I kept no eyes on him. It is likely that Rowlesden will attempt to contact him, and that would be our best chance of capturing Rowlesden."
"Thank you," John said. "You've been a great help, Mycroft."
"Do that again and I'll make your life a living hell, John," Mycroft promised "I don't have time to go rushing about London when someone cries wolf."
"If you make his life a living hell, I'll open all of Dante's Inferno upon you," Sherlock answered. "Now quit pouting, Mycroft."
Mycroft glared at his brother and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
"Well done, John," Sherlock said after a minute.
"Glad I could help," John said. "Okay, Lacey. Protection on your part isn't necessary."
"All right, but I'm not going to get complacent," Lacey promised.
"We know you better than that," Sherlock said.
Mr. Holmes the Elder must surely think he was a fool. Did he really think that he, Rowlesden, could not spot his ridiculous little minions scattered about London? It was child's play! No matter what they tried, and no matter how hard they tried, he would elude them all for as long as it took.
What infuriated him was that Mycroft had assigned several people to watch over his Jamie. How dare he! It was as if he thought his Jamie needed to be protected him! From HIM! He adored Jamie! He would not hurt him! He had such plans for Jamie! Such, such plans! He was sure that when all of this was over, and he had his Jamie by his side once again, Jamie would forgive him and choose to stay.
He had to.
