"Why didn't you make a copy of the last file?"
"Leverage."
"Why won't you tell us where it is?"
"Your safety."
"How come you don't make a copy now and hand one over?"
"I'm dead the second I do. And I was rather enjoying not being dead."
Questions. The cab ride back to the flat had been nothing but questions spouting like a fountain out of the teenager's mouth. Sherlock had tuned it out after they'd rounded their first corner following their departure from the police station. Lorna had answers prepared for every one of her son's queries, but none satisfied. The frustration was not misplaced; the chess game they'd been forced into was not straightforward and the players were taking their time with each turn.
"So what," Basil huffed out, snatching his beanie off his head to run a hand through it. "Is the plan?"
Lorna shifted tiredly to cast an eye at Sherlock.
"Do you want to take that, or should I?" She asked him. You are the plan man, she'd once said to him, those words from the past rattled him. He couldn't even remember in what instance she'd uttered them. Sherlock looked up from his phone, his thumb poised delicately over the police database that updated every few seconds with every radio call made. The most recent one was a D&D in Camden, the only interesting aspect of that being that it was wildly early for a drunkard to be running amok. No sightings, no whispers of their suspect. It was as though she'd disappeared into thin air, and though Sherlock recognized that as a lazy conclusion, he was finding Basil's annoyance contagious.
"Plan, plan, yes, the plan," He muttered, straightening himself up. "You," he pointed to his son, "Will be driven back to my parents. John will take their car, with you and Rosie in it, and you will stay put until things cool down. Your things are already there, anyway. You," He directed his finger at Lorna. "Will tell me everything, and I mean everything that exists on that last file, and then I," He ruffled his hair slightly. "Will track Jenifer Taylor. Once she's captured, and Moran's murder charges are added, we can put this whole thing behind us. Lorna will turn in evidence to the police against Sebastian, the target erased from her head, and we can all…celebrate your birthday."
Basil looked livid. His eyes flicked between his mother and father, as though he were expecting Lorna to chime in on his behalf. She, however, looked at ease with the plan.
"You're not serious? I'm not getting separated from you again, Mom," Basil said defiantly.
"It won't be for long," Lorna said, suddenly pleading.
They had pulled up in front of 221B Baker Street, just in time for Basil to practically barrel out of the cab and slam the door with astounding force. He had enough decorum not to shout in the streets, but the moment they'd all marched up to the flat, he spun on his toes to face Sherlock and Lorna.
"What you did," He shot at his mother. "Was unbelievably fucked up. You leave me completely in the dark, and expect that will keep me safe? I'm not a doll, I won't just stay where you set me down and have nothing to say about it! How am I supposed to trust you? How am I supposed to just trust that everything will be okay?"
"You can't," Lorna admitted softly. "And I'm not asking you to."
"No, you're just asking me to do as I'm told," Basil retorted. "Blindly."
"I promise I will tell you everything—"
"Now. Tell me now. Why didn't you turn in those files the second you knew Sebastian Moran was being let go?" Basil took two steps back, offering his mother a wide berth as if inviting her to step into a fighting ring.
Lorna folded her arms and leaned against the door. Sherlock, meanwhile, sidestepped the showdown to see if there was anything appetizing in the kitchen. He already knew the answer, having worked it out the previous night.
"I only found out because we were threatened," She said simply. "Weeks ago, I get an ominous message from Jenifer Taylor with a picture of our house. She tells me she knows I have the files, she tells me her father is to be freed, and she tells me if I decide to leak any of the information to the police, she will kill both of us. I wondered if it was an empty threat, but when I confirmed with Mycroft about the date of Moran's release, I panicked. I did what she said at first, which was…do nothing. I still had them hidden, split up around London. I'd erased the original database after I downloaded what I wanted, because I didn't know who else had access," She took a breath, trying to remember all the details of her story. Or, at least the ones she wanted her son to have.
"The second threat came in a few days before your birthday," Lorna went on. "I was to meet her in person, bringing the files to ensure their destruction. She knew where we lived, witness protection be damned, so I wasn't taking any chances. I was afraid to move us—if she could find us once, she could find us again. I thought, cooperation was best. She was young, brash, and I was sure I'd be able to talk her down. I staged the kidnapping to occupy you and Sherlock. Somehow, though, she knew. Jenifer knew there was a piece missing. And my playing along fell to shit."
Basil took only a moment to process the tale presented to him.
"Who else knew about the sixth file?" He asked promptly. Lorna's mouth twitched.
"It hardly matters now. None of your concern."
Sherlock thought he felt the temperature of the room drop before Basil exploded.
"NONE OF MY CONCERN?" He shouted at his mother. "No, you're right. When you've been killed, then it'll be my concern, right? But until then, I've just got to shut the hell up and stay out of the way.
"Basil—"
The boy was already stalking off to the spare room, and the slam of this wooden door was loud enough to shake the entire flat. The silence that followed was reminiscent of the calm following the ignition of nuclear bomb. Lorna put her face in her hands and wandered over to the window. Sherlock realized he was still wearing his coat, and slid out of it, laying it gently across John's chair. He crept up slowly behind Lorna, the way she'd often done with him when he'd maintained vigil at the window.
"Your son is asking the right questions," Sherlock mused. "Even if he asks too many."
"You think it was her?" Lorna's bitterness did not escape the way she spat the word. "She'd have no reason to tell Jenifer anything."
"Was she the only one who knew how many?"
Lorna bit down on her lip, and Sherlock knew they were remembering the same day. The day he'd introduced them.
15 Years Ago
She was just passing through. At least, that was what The Woman had told him. Yet she had spent the night, and had not left in the morning, and Sherlock was unwittingly excited by her presence. There was a reason she was there, and sooner or later it would emerge. It had been years since he had seen her, face to face, and her arrival on his doorstep one evening was enough a mystery to keep his mind spinning and occupied on little else. In fact, that early afternoon, he'd completely forgotten about the important note on his calendar.
When Lorna came through the door with little Basil on her hip and a large bag of baby things slung around her arm, Sherlock was staring at the ceiling from his armchair and didn't look up until she called out to him.
"Holmes," Lorna looked a bit harried. "There are shards of glass on the floor, which may entertain your other guests but is frankly inappropriate for a baby."
"Lorna," He sat up abruptly, the blood rushing from his head. It was only his second weekend getting to see Basil since Moran had been put behind bars and the witness protection had been lifted. It made his chest squirm to lay eyes on the two of them, but not in an unpleasant way. "You're…here."
"And you forgot."
"I did not forget. I just…disoriented. I must have dozed off. Here, let me have him," Sherlock leapt up to relieve Lorna of the child, his arms outstretched, but she recoiled suddenly.
"Who's in the bathroom?" Her head cocked to one side, gesturing at the sound of running water. He hesitated, listening to the shower turning off and the rattle of the curtains. The answer soon made its way into the living room, confidently, beautifully, and, aside from an open black robe-stark naked. She lifted her chin, and though she did not blush at the sight of company, her eyes did widen.
"Ohhh," She purred. "Who do we have here?" The delight with which she studied Lorna and Basil did nothing to ease their comfort.
"Lorna, this is Irene Adler. An…old client." Is that what he would call her? "Irene, this is…"
"Thrilling. Jim Moriarty's little sister," Irene Adler cooed. "Here in your flat. I should visit more often."
"Sorry, how do you know…?" Lorna started, shifting Basil to her opposite hip.
"I make it a point to know a bit about everyone," Irene sat herself down in Sherlock's unoccupied chair. "Especially my employers. Jim and I did business years ago."
Lorna raised her eyebrows. Sherlock saw her fighting the urge to cover Basil's eyes, but sensed she did not want to come across as prudish.
"So I'm assuming you're not one of the good guys?" She quipped, and Sherlock almost smirked. Irene's face, however, remained intrigued.
"Apparently I'm someone worth keeping around." The Woman tossed a soft glance at Sherlock as she pulled her robe closed around her, but his eyes stayed on the floor.
He wandered to the linen closet in the hall, leaving the two to appraise each other in awkward silence, and pulled out the cleanest sheet he could find. He brought it to the rug between the chairs and laid it out.
"For him," He nodded at Basil. Lorna sighed and shoved the bag down by the makeshift playroom, and plopped the boy on the softest looking spot. While she scattered toys to keep him busy, Sherlock pulled up a chair. He knew Irene wouldn't leave his seat. She was territorial. And Lorna looked ready to collapse in John's chair. He didn't dare ask in present company, but he wondered if she hadn't been sleeping.
"I think it's time," Sherlock said, turning his gaze back to Irene. "For you to explain what you're really doing here." There could only be one reason she chose that time to appear out of thin air.
"You trust her?" There was only small surprise in her voice. Lorna had made her way to the armchair and did not try to hide her glare.
"I think she may be able to help," replied Sherlock. "She was a confidant of the League."
"Must be my lucky day," said Irene. "Is that why you're here? He called you?"
"I…I was just stopping by with my son," Lorna was clearly wrestling with whether or not to trust The Woman back.
"She's a friend," Sherlock said gently. "Go on, Miss Adler."
Irene patted her knees and sank deeper into the chair. Basil accidentally bit too hard on a block and sent it flying towards her feet. She kicked it back towards him with slight distaste, and the boy continued playing.
"Right," said Irene. "It was certainly…daring of you to take on all of Moriarty's remaining horsemen of the apocalypse. I rather enjoyed watching from afar. Now that they're gone, I need something."
"You had records with them, didn't you?" Lorna caught on at once. "This 'business' with my dear brother, it would have been archived within the League's database."
"Irene Adler, technically, is dead. Why would your past effect you?" Sherlock asked.
"It's got names of associates. Places I've been. Things I don't want...accessible."
"You're looking to protect people," murmured Sherlock. "Have you gone soft?"
"I still need allies," Irene smiled delicately. "If I want to stay alive, this time."
"You're looking to access the database?" scoffed Lorna, glancing in slight disbelief between Sherlock and Irene. "If I couldn't hack back in when I needed that information most, after years of being the bookkeeper, mind you, then I doubt anyone could."
Irene barely blinked as she twisted her gaze to Lorna.
"So you do know how to find it?" She asked, the excitement not escaping her tone.
"Find it, sure. Get in? Another problem."
"I just need it all erased."
"It can't be done externally. I tried."
While the women argued on the physics of cracking miles of encryption, Sherlock's attention suddenly turned to the small figure on the floor. Basil was stacking blocks, a remarkably ordinary activity, but the boy had paused before reaching the top. He looked up and met his father's gaze, the two pairs of grey irises locking as though they were trying to read one another's minds. There was thought, there, actual cognition. Sherlock was seeing it for the first time in the boy. His development had been at a meager level so recently…and now Sherlock was sure Basil was watching him with a furrowed brow and trying to establish theories about his capabilities. This was confirmed when Basil toddled slowly over to him with the final block, and held outstretched in his tiny hand.
The detective accepted the offer, and placed the cube atop the small tower. But the boy remained by his knees, staring up at him. Tenderly, he lifted Basil up onto his lap. He felt more comfortable with him so close. When he tuned back into the conversation, he realized Irene had fixated upon him and the child.
"Oh god," She said through a tight jaw. "He's yours."
The shock was short-lived, and Irene finished the deduction with a forced smile. "How touching. You accuse me of softness, family man? You've gone off and bred."
It was almost as though Basil knew he was the subject of discussion. He looked from Sherlock, then craned his neck to put his mother and the new woman into view.
"He was…unexpected," replied the detective shortly. He was uneasy with the way she was studying his son, but somewhat darkly content with her jealousy.
"What is the nature of your relationship, if I might ask?" Lorna asked, donning her professional voice.
"Friends," Irene said with a twinkle.
"For someone who doesn't play well with others, Holmes, you sure have a lot of friends," muttered Lorna. "Ms. Adler, I'm afraid those files are lost to me and—to the best of my knowledge—the world. You can rest assured no one will attempt to steal them."
"I never rest assured of anything."
"I wish I could help, but I can't." Lorna fidgeted with her hands ever so slightly.
"Maybe it's you who needs the help."
There was silence for a moment, wherein Irene only had eyes for Lorna as though trying to convey a message through unspoken language. Then, she promptly stood up, allowing her robe to fall ajar again.
"It was worth a try," shrugged Irene. "I underestimated you, as usual, Sherlock. I thought for certain you'd have used the evidence on that database to put all three of those men behind bars—but lo and behold, you got them on sheer skill."
"And luck," Sherlock added grimly as she cascaded over to him, running a polished nail against his cheek before kissing it. She tossed an interested look at the top of Basil's head, then retreated towards the door.
"Always worth the visit," She smiled. "'Til next time."
She plucked a random coat, not Sherlock's, from the rack and slid inside before disappearing behind the door. Lorna and Sherlock listened to her descent until they were sure she'd completely evacuated. Lorna's nose wrinkled at once.
"She didn't have any clothes?" asked Lorna, drumming her thumbs anxiously on the arms of the chair.
"She arrived with some, yes," Sherlock murmured as Basil leaned against his chest. The weight was peaceful.
"You fucked her." It was not an accusation, but a delicious realization that seemed to almost cause Lorna to laugh.
Sherlock instantly began clearing his throat.
"I don't…" He started. "…do that."
"She was special, though, wasn't she." Again, a statement.
"And what did you make of her?" Sherlock was far more interested in whether Lorna's curiosity had been peaked by the request made by The Woman. Lorna sniffed and looked back at the door through which the mystery had departed.
"She took my coat."
It was entirely possible Lorna had her coat returned to her. After all, as he'd later learned, the two had worked together behind his back to access the so-deemed impenetrable server. Lorna had downloaded what she needed for insurance, as had Irene, and the database was erased. All that remained of it was what hid on scattered, cheap USB drives.
Though Sherlock hadn't been able to surmise whether Irene and Lorna were friendly in the end, Lorna's tone reeked with a sense of betrayal.
"She wouldn't have done," Lorna was trying to convince herself of it, but Sherlock knew better.
"A large assumption," He scoffed.
"Do you still keep in touch?"
"On and off. I'm guessing that means you don't?"
Lorna shook her head.
Motivation. He quickly tried to work out in his head any reason that Adler would get remotely involved in the affairs of villains she owed nothing to. She was not impractical, nor outwardly malicious. However, there was no denying that she was the only other person who knew what she and Lorna had done. Unless, it simply came down to human error.
"There's someone we need to pay a visit," Sherlock said at once, pulling his scarf off the table and looping it elegantly around his neck. "We'll have John pick up Basil. Then you and I will go to Brixton Prison."
Lorna's noise of disgust was somewhat entertaining, and it masked true fear in her eyes.
"No."
"Yes," Sherlock hopped back into his coat and popped the collar. "I have a few questions for Mr. Moran."