Alice moved into Moran's house the next day, arriving with all of her things during the lunch rush hour, when everyone was on the road and no one notice who was going by. Moran showed her to an upstairs bedroom, saying that he was sorry for all of the extra furniture crammed in there, but it would be good enough for now while he was having renovations done. She thanked him graciously, unpacking everything and joining Moran downstairs for some tea and a snack. "I'm sure I'll sleep much better here. The trains kept me up half of the night."
"It's not a problem," Moran assured her, leaning on the island in the center of his kitchen. It had just been remodeled, Alice observed. He'd come into a lot of money lately. That's why he wasn't asking for rent, even when he thought she would be staying there long-term. "The shower's just been redone, so the water pressure should be much better than it was when you stayed here a few years ago. I had to shove all of the furniture from the study into your bedroom, but we can move it back in a few days. The contractors are almost finished."
"That's fine," Alice smiled. "I'll be okay even with all of it there. Besides, you've got boxes of books in there. I'll probably get through a decent amount of them before you move them back."
It had been almost two weeks since she left Baker Street when Alice came downstairs to find people cleaning and readying the main rooms of the house for a party. Moran was walking around with a glass of whiskey, making sure everyone was doing their jobs. "Ah, there you are. We're having a meeting here tonight with some interesting personalities. We'll be having dinner, and you're welcome to join us." Moran poured himself more tea, adding, "It'll all be cooked for us. I'm bringing in a chef, so you'll have to stay out of the kitchen, but there's nothing to worry about."
"How formal of a dinner?" Alice asked, wondering who could be there. She would see soon enough.
"Fairly formal. Wear something nice," he suggested. "We don't have to impress these people too much, but I do have a reputation to maintain. They've heard all about you, of course. You're our famous assassin. They know some of the stories, or at least what's been leaked out into the criminal classes. I'm sure they would be delighted to meet you."
"Criminal dinner, then? I haven't been to one of those in forever. I remember when we used to have them every Friday night, back when I was in school and Jim was running things all over town, when we were just branching out," she smiled, trying to remember the last time they had all dined together. "Are any of the old ones still around?"
"A few of them, but most of our old friends haven't made it this far. Not everyone in our line of work reaches retirement age," Moran told her, trying to think of their old friends. "Not many of them made it out of the ruins of Jim's network and into mine, but I used them to build it up again. We're going to take England back again, and there's no way Sherlock Holmes is going to ruin it, eh?"
"Of course not," Alice nodded. She set her teacup in the sink, adding, "I've got to be off and unpack, then I'm going to run to the store before I have to get ready for the dinner. Our guests will be here around six, like always, right?"
"They will. Wear something nice."
All of the furniture had been moved out of her room, since the remodeling had been finished. She'd been left with a bed, a dresser, and a desk, and it was nice to have the extra space. But there had been so many people going in and out of the room in the past couple of days that she didn't trust it any more. So as soon as they had moved the last of the storage bins out, Alice had holed herself up in her room, reorganizing her things and checking for bugs. There were no hidden cameras or microphones that she could find, but that didn't mean Moran wasn't monitoring her. She made a quick trip down to the supermarket to pick up a few essentials, but was soon back in Moran's house. Humming along with the radio, she noticed that there were more people arriving downstairs. Peeking out of the window, Alice was surprised to see the chefs arriving so early, but she thought nothing of it. Not until she saw someone very familiar carrying boxes of food in through the kitchen door.
Billy was more dressed up than she had seen him in a while, but she could still recognize him, no matter the disguise. "Chemist, leader of the network, and a chef? Impressive." She had seemed to materialize in the alleyway, leaning against the van that he had arrived in.
"Mrs. Holmes? Alice! You're alive!" He set down the box he had been carrying to give her a hug. "How?"
"Faked my death. I took a leaf out of your own book. But I'm back now. I'm probably why Sherlock sent you here," she reasoned, following him inside as they finished unloading the van. "That is why you're here, right? To spy on the dinner?"
"Someone has to do it," Bill nodded as he and the other chef began preparing for dinner. Alice made herself a cup of coffee, perching on a stool in the corner, out of their way. "Our friend wanted eyes and ears on the inside. This thing has been in the works for months, starting way back before you disappeared."
"I know. He'll have both of us reporting in tonight," Alice said, watching as they chopped up vegetables with incredible speed.
"I'm sorry, this is Rob. He's also with the network," Billy told her, the other chef nodding as he grabbed another onion from a pile beside him. "Rob, this is Mrs. Holmes."
"The Mrs. Holmes?" He stopped, setting the knife down and staring at her in amazement. "You were dead."
"The operative word there was 'were'," Alice laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "I've been doing some work that required me to disappear. For a bit, but I'm back in London now, even if it is here instead of back at Baker Street. It's a long story, one Sherlock can tell you instead of me. But basically, I'm masquerading here as an agent of Moran's new network, the one he took over from Moriarty."
"Well it's good to have you back. It'll certainly cheer Sherlock up," Rob thought aloud. "Bill, pass me the peppers, will you?"
"Ah, Alice, there you are." Moran greeted them all, walking into the kitchen to see how things were going. "We're all set for dinner at seven, aren't we? Running on schedule?"
"Yes, Sir," Billy nodded confidently. "We'll have dinner ready to serve by then, and dessert will be ready soon after. There's no one been added to the guest list, correct?"
"No, no other guests. We're still running on the same numbers as I told you in my last email." As he strode over to the countertop to see what they were working on, Moran reminded them that, "Discretion is key, gentlemen. None of the names you hear tonight are to be mentioned to anyone, alright? That's where your bonuses will come in."
"They seem like fine young men. I don't think you'll have to worry much about that, Seb," Alice told him. "And you know I've always been able to spot liars."
"Very good. Now, as for you, you're going to have to start getting ready soon, aren't you? The first few guests will be arriving in," he paused, checking his watch, "a little over half an hour. I guess I should run upstairs and change into something more formal too, huh?"
"Really?" Alice stood, taking her coffee cup with her. "I forgot to check the time. Well, it's been nice to talk to you, gentlemen. I trust you'll have something delicious for us."
"Not to worry, ma'am," Rob assured her, "you and your guests will be impressed."
Upstairs, Alice texted Sherlock, getting ready for the party as she talked to him. They used to have criminal dinners all of the time, where the top people in Moriarty's network would get together to eat, drink, and discuss business. Their dinners used to be the highlight of the month, and once or twice a year, they would host galas like the Mafia would throw. Moriarty would rent a mansion and invite anyone and everyone. Invariably, one or two people would die. Bringing together that many criminals was always a risk, but it was worth it. She'd let Sherlock know that if there was any information he needed from anyone, now was the time to get it, when they could be easily persuaded to drink more and talk all they wanted. He'd wished her good luck, and Alice was headed down the stairs as the first couple of guests showed up.
By the time dinner was served, Alice was surrounded by the biggest names in the London underworld. She was sitting next to the man who controlled 87% of the heroin trade. There were mob bosses from every Mafia she could think of, arms dealers she'd worked with before, and the leaders of the art forgery and money laundering world. It was amazing, seeing them all coming together like they had for years. Several of them were people she had known for over a decade, but as always, there were one or two new faces. In their line of work, new people always popped up, whether they be the mentees of the others or their replacements after sudden arrests, deaths, or mysterious accidents. Moran floated above them all, making introductions, asking about people's kids, checking in on projects, and altogether being the dutiful host.
As their "chefs" brought out salads and soup, Moran made the first of many toasts that nights, to "Our old friend, come back to us from the other side. To Alice, to her work, and to what she means for us!"
"Congratulations on your spectacular return," smiled one of the women who sat across from her - an art forgery master who had sold paintings across the world for millions, all while creating the fakes in a one-bedroom flat in the middle of London.
"Thank you," Alice smiled graciously, nodding to Billy as he came back into the room to see if anyone wanted more wine. He nodded back, turning to speak to Moran about what they wanted brought up from the cellar next.
"You know," the woman continued, "I'm going to need help bringing my next shipment of fake marble in from Italy. I need someone to ensure there's a bad inspector there at the port when it gets in."
"I think I could pull a few strings," Alice nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "Yes, that could definitely be arranged."
By the time everyone had left, it was well into the night. Moran paid their "chefs" and bade Alice goodnight, shedding his dinner jacket as he made his way to his room, half-drunk and half-awake. She made a motion to follow him upstairs, but nodded goodnight, saying she was going to make a cup of tea before bed. She perched on a stool in the kitchen as Rob and Billy packed up their instruments and the leftovers, which would be distributed to the Homeless Network. "I'm going to be stopping at Baker Street tomorrow," Billy told her. "Want me to get you anything?"
"That's okay. I'm going to head over and tell Sherlock everything, warn him to have someone waiting in the port Ms. D'Angelo is bringing a shipment of marble in, all of that," she said, helping to wrap up paper plates filled with food.
"Be careful."
"Moran's probably already crashed out onto his bed. He'll get up late tomorrow, wonder why he went to bed in the clothes he wore to dinner, jump into the shower, shave, and be up and about around lunchtime. Don't worry, I know how he lives."
"Want us to give you a ride, then?"
Alice smiled, thanking them. "That would be great. I'll be back down in a few." She ran upstairs, changing out of her formal wear and grabbing a few things, meeting Rob and Billy just as they finished packing up the truck. They were on the road soon, driving right up to the Baker Street flat. As Alice hopped out, she thanked them both again, saying that, "I owe you two. Thank you so much."
As they drove away, she crept into the building, up the stairs, and over to 221B. Light spilled out from underneath the door. Someone was still awake. In one bedroom, she knew, Rosie was already asleep. She'd grown a lot, from what John had posted on social media. Alice would always like the posts, but she usually felt that pang of regret, of longing for the loss of something she had never really had. Sherlock was up, playing a song on his violin. It was an old one, one she had heard for years. Chopin, maybe. John might be up reading, like he usually did nowadays. He would stay up late into the night, reading something from the Baker Street shelves or from the closest library. He'd wanted to write a book about their adventures. Maybe he was finally getting around to it.
She tapped on the door, and the music stopped abruptly. "Client?" John asked. "It's nearly 2 AM. It must be serious."
"No," Sherlock told him simply, crossing the room in a couple of strides. "Alice. That's how she's always knocked." She could hear him at the door, unlocking the deadbolt. The door swung open, bathing the hall in firelight. Wordlessly, he pulled her into his arms with gusto, Alice wrapping her arms around him. He kissed the top of her head, smiling. "I've missed you."
"I've missed you too."
As she stepped into the room to greet John, she saw that Rosie was sleeping in a playpen that had been filled with stuffed animals. That's odd. Why didn't one of them carry her to her room? John gave her a strong hug, saying, "There's so much we have to tell you."
A.N.: So I have a ton of chapters written up, and I hate to say it, but I've written all the way to the end. So I'm going to try to edit and post one a day until I'm done. A bit ambitious, maybe, but I'll try my best.
