35.
It was pouring with rain. Hunched over, soaking wet and wishing he had an umbrella, John hurried down Baker Street as fast as he could. He stopped in surprise when he saw Mycroft standing outside Speedy's Café, an umbrella in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
"You don't smoke," John said, approaching him.
"I also don't frequent cafés," Mycroft replied. He dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out before closing his umbrella, picking up the briefcase that was by his feet. John followed him into Speedy's, the two of them taking a seat near the back, and ordered tea. Mycroft put a plastic wallet down on the table in front of him – it had the label RESTRICTED ACCESS – CONFIDENTIAL stuck to the front, Irene Adler's camera phone on top of several documents.
"This the file on Irene Adler?" John asked, looking down at it.
"Closed forever. I am about to go and inform my brother – or, if you prefer, you are – that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive – and thrive – but he will never see her again," Mycroft said. John frowned back at him.
"Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Won't even mention her by name – just The Woman."
"Is that loathing, or a salute? One of a kind, the one woman who matters."
"He's not like that. He doesn't feel things that way . . ." John's voice trailed off as he thought of Elspeth and the way Sherlock looked at her. "Apart from Ellie," he added quietly. Mycroft sighed.
"My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective," he said with a hint of a sneer in his voice, his nose screwing up. "What might we deduce about his heart?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I . . . but initially he wanted to be a pirate."
Mycroft smiled briefly at John, his gaze becoming somewhat distant as he reflected on his little brother, and John couldn't help but grin at the thought of Sherlock dressing up as a pirate.
"He'll be okay with this witness protection, never seeing her again," John said. "He'll be fine."
"I agree," Mycroft said, breathing in sharply. "That's why I decided to tell him that."
"Instead of what?"
"She's dead. She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded."
John looked at Mycroft silently for a few seconds. Irene was dead . . . he thought back to how Sherlock had acted when he though she was dead, remembering the days of brooding and not eating and standing at the window with his violin; how would he react to her actual death?
He quietly cleared his throat. "It's definitely her? She's done this before."
"I was thorough – this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don't think he was on hand, do you?"
John and Mycroft looked at each other across the table for a few seconds, neither one speaking.
"So –" Mycroft slid the wallet across the table to John, then put his elbows on the table, clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them. "What should we tell Sherlock?"
Looking down at the file, John sighed. "I'll tell him about the witness protection scheme," he said, thinking back to before Sherlock knew she was alive. He was only lying to protect him. Mycroft nodded, like he had made the right choice.
"I must add that I will require the file back," he told John. "Government business."
John nodded, picked up the file and prepare to leave. Before he did, however, he turned back to Mycroft.
"Sherlock – he doesn't feel that way about people," he said. "But he does love Ellie, doesn't he?"
Mycroft looked back at John. "One must only look at my brother and see how much he loves his daughter. I'm afraid she will be his downfall one day."
"What do you mean?"
"In Sherlock's profession, it is easy to make a lot of enemies of the wrong people," Mycroft explained quietly. "The easiest way to hurt a person is through their child, wouldn't you agree?"
John paused. He had never considered that.
"Sherlock will do anything to protect her," he said softly. Mycroft nodded.
"As I will to protect both of them." Slowly, Mycroft lowered his hands and gazed down at them for a few seconds. John, who had been hovering by his seat, sat back down, waiting for Mycroft to speak again. He had never seen the older Holmes brother look so . . . vulnerable. "Sherlock and Elspeth are not like other people," Mycroft continued, raising his head. "They need protecting."
John nodded, making a silent vow to look after Sherlock and Elspeth to the best of his ability. He could still remember the point he considered Sherlock more than just a flatmate.
He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that followed him when John trudged up the steps to 221B, carrying the file in one hand. How would Sherlock react to the lie? Would he know John was lying?
"Clearly you've got news," Sherlock called before John even walked into the living room, making him smile to himself. Striding in, John paused in the doorway and looked at Sherlock and Elspeth, both of whom were at the kitchen table. Sherlock was looking into his microscope and Elspeth sat across from him, playing with the petri dishes and slides. She grinned at John.
"It was the gardener." John looked baffled. "The Leeds triple murder," Elspeth explained.
"Nobody noticed the earring," Sherlock added, not looking up from the microscope.
"Hi. Er, no, it's, um . . ." John took a few steps into the kitchen. "It's about Irene Adler."
Sherlock looked up, his expression unreadable. "Oh? Something happened? Has she come back?"
"No, she's, er . . . I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call."
Getting up, Sherlock walked around the table to John, his expression still unfathomable. Elspeth lowered the petri dish she had been spinning on her finger.
"Is she back in London?" Sherlock asked.
"No, she's er . . ." John looked away for a long moment, taking in a deep breath as Sherlock stepped even closer to him, frowning. "She's in America."
"America?" Sherlock repeated.
John nodded. "Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Don't know how she swung it, but, er, well, you know."
"I know what?"
"Well, you won't be able to see her again."
"Why would I want to see her again?" Sherlock scoffed, turning away and walking back around the table. John smiled ruefully.
"Didn't say you did," he muttered.
"Is that her file?"
"Yes. I was just going to take it back to Mycroft." John offered the file to Sherlock. "Do you want to . . .?"
"No," Sherlock said, sitting down. He looked into his microscope again and John looked at his friend for a long time, silently considering his options; he could tell Sherlock the truth. He took a step forwards. "Listen, actually –"
"Oh, but I will have the camera phone, though," Sherlock interrupted. He held his hand out towards John, not lifting his gaze from his work. Elspeth fondly rolled her eyes at him.
"There's nothing on it any more. It's been stripped."
"I know, but I . . ." Sherlock paused for a minute. "I'll still have it."
"I've got to give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it," John protested meekly. Sherlock kept his hand extended and his eyes on the microscope. "Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's now. I couldn't even give –"
"Please," Sherlock pleaded softly. John looked at Elspeth and she shrugged, as if to say what the hell, let him have it. Sherlock extended his hand even further and John turned to him, wondering what to do, before finally reaching into the wallet, taking out the phone and gently placing it into Sherlock's palm. Sherlock closed his fingers around it, drew his hand back and put the phone into his trouser pocket.
"Thank you."
"Well, I'd better take this –" John lifted the wallet. "– back."
"Yes," Sherlock agreed. He didn't look up from his microscope still.
John turned and walked out onto the landing, then paused, wondering whether to ask the question that sprung to his mind. He looked at Elspeth, who had started to pile up slides on the table, and then at Sherlock before striding back into the kitchen.
"Did she ever text you again, after . . . all that?" he asked.
"Once, a few months ago," Sherlock replied.
"What did she say?"
"'Goodbye, Mr Holmes'."
John looked at Sherlock thoughtfully. "Huh," he said softly, pacing in front of the kitchen doors and wondering if there was anything else he could say. Eventually, he turned and headed down the stairs.
As soon as John was out of sight, Sherlock raised his head an gazed across the room for a moment, then reached down to his own phone on the table and picked it up, bringing up his saved messages. They were all from Irene:
I'm not hungry, let's have dinner.
Bored in a hotel. Join me. Let's have dinner.
John's blog is HILARIOUS. I think he likes you more than I do. Let's have dinner.
I can see Tower Bridge and the moon from my room. Work out where I am and join me.
I saw you in the street today. You didn't see me.
You do know that hat actually suits you, don't you?
Oh for God's sake. Let's have dinner.
I like your funny hat.
I'm in Egypt talking to an idiot. Get on a plane, let's have dinner.
You looked sexy on Crimewatch.
Even you have got to eat. Let's have dinner.
BBC1 right now. You'll laugh.
I'm thinking of sending you a Christmas present.
Mantelpiece.
I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.
At the bottom of the list was the last message Irene Adler ever sent him: Goodbye Mr Holmes.
Sherlock walked through the living room, pausing at the window, and then raised his head to gaze out at the pouring rain. Elspeth slid off her seat.
"America, huh?" she asked softly, crossing the room. She looked up at Sherlock.
Gazing back down at her, Sherlock's lips curled into a small smile and he laughed to himself at the memory – Irene Adler wasn't dead, nor was she in America. He didn't know where she was but he knew that she was alive because he had saved her.
He took her phone out of his pocket, tossing it into the air and catching it again before looking at it for a couple of seconds.
"The Woman," he said to himself. Elspeth smiled again and Sherlock opened a nearby cabinet drawer, slowly putting the phone down. He paused briefly, his fingers lingering on the phone, and looked down at it thoughtfully before sliding the drawer shut.
"Do you think she'll ever come back?" Elspeth asked, perching on the windowsill.
"I doubt it," Sherlock replied.
"Do you want her to come back?"
Sherlock gave Elspeth a look that clearly said don't be so stupid and walked away, making her laugh.
"You do, don't you?" she teased, sliding off the windowsill and following Sherlock into the kitchen. He sat back down in front of his microscope and continued to ignore her. "Did you fancy her, Dad? Did you love her?"
The expression on Sherlock's face made Elspeth laugh, biting down on her bottom lip as she grinned at him. For a brief moment, Sherlock couldn't help but grin back at her – Elspeth was back.
"She was very pretty," Elspeth said coyly. Sherlock's grin dropped. "Oh, no, wait –" she lowered her voice in an uncanny impression of Sherlock. "Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models."
"Exactly."
"So you won't want this?"
Elspeth held out a folded piece of paper and Sherlock took it from her, unfolding it. It was a drawing – a very good drawing – of Irene, her hair tumbling down her shoulders and her lips tilted into that knowing smirk of hers.
"Sentiment," Sherlock scoffed. He smiled at Elspeth, though, and folded the paper again so he could tuck it into his pocket. She smiled back.
"Alright," John said, shutting the front door behind him. "I told him."
"And how did he take it?" Mycroft asked. The rain had lessened to a light drizzle but he kept his umbrella up, taking the file from John.
"Not a lot. He took the camera phone, though."
"As I expected."
"I think he believed me," John said. He shifted uncomfortably. "Do you think he'll ever find out the truth?"
"Not if I have anything to do with it," Mycroft said shortly, opening the file and checking that everything but the camera phone was still inside. Satisfied it hadn't been tampered with, he looked at John. "This is only to protect Sherlock," he reminded him.
"I know."
"Just make certain that you remember that."
John bristled slightly at the underlying threat in Mycroft's voice. He knew why they were protecting Sherlock but he hated lying to his friend, blissfully unaware that Sherlock was lying to him as well. One day they would tell each other the truth, but that day wouldn't be for years.
"Ellie might not be, you know," he finally said, turning to face Mycroft again.
"Might not be what?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow and giving John a condescending look he usually reserved for Sherlock. Elspeth pulled the same face on occasion.
"Sherlock's downfall. She might make him a better man."
"Of course she has," Mycroft agreed. He thought of his brother before Elspeth became a permanent part of his life – reckless, dangerous, an addict. Sherlock was beyond help before Elspeth came along, and though he would never admit it, Mycroft was thankful for the one-night, experimental fling he'd had with Catherine Fisher during University. They said that for some people, a child was the making of them, the thing that made someone turn their life around. For Sherlock, it was an accurate description.
"Then why are you worried?" John asked, frowning at Mycroft.
Mycroft smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes as he looked back at John. "I am always worried about them, John."
John was Sherlock's friend, but Mycroft, Sherlock and Elspeth – they were family. A strange, little, incredibly dysfunctional family, but still a family. Mycroft had every right to be worried about his brother and niece.
Checking his phone, Mycroft sighed and tucked it back into his coat pocket as a black car pulled up to the pavement.
"I suggest you return before Sherlock gets suspicious," he advised John. "You know how much he dislikes me."
John couldn't help but grin at that remark.
As Mycroft turned away, John recalled their conversation in the café, a thought coming to his mind.
"Mycroft," he called. The older Holmes brother turned around. "What did Ellie want to be when she grows up?"
His lips twitching into a slight smile, Mycroft regarded John with an amused look.
"Elspeth Holmes always has, and probably always will, only wanted to be one thing," he called back. "Just like Sherlock."
Thank you iwanttobeaneverdeen, TheDoctor'sAmazingCompanion, xxxMadameMysteryxxx, labyrinthloverxx, Adrillian1497, ElizabethCullen08, tardislover1, Starcrier, Ms Moonshoes Potter, LoverofWords22, Tayla, stonecoldpuppy, SJBHasADayPass and nakariash for reviewing!
Oh dear, I still haven't decided on whether or not to put Ellie into the next episode with Sherlock and John . . . I have a vague idea as to what I want to do if she doesn't join them, including Moriarty, but I'm still not sure. Last minute thoughts and opinions would be exceedingly helpful if you don't mind? You will have my eternal gratitude!