Well, it's finally here! Due to popular demand I created a sequel to my Sherlock/Kyrie story 'Like Swans' (hint: read that one first). It's not entirely done, but very close. I won't be doing a daily update as before. Life got a lot more busy so I need more time between chapters. Hopefully that gives you, lovely readers, a bit of incentive as well to leave reviews. Don't forget… on FF those are the writer's sustenance!
Disclaimer. No money made, blah blah blah, characters you recognise are not my own, etc. etc. etc.
I also have a treat for all of you! Near the end of this story, there will be a chapter that's a collaboration between me and the extremely gifted author: elbafo. As soon as that particular idea sprung in my head, I knew she was the one I wanted to collaborate with. Do yourself a favour and read her stories, in particular the one called 15 minutes (pssst, it will be important, trust me!)
Also, small request of said gifted author… The plot of her story involves Sherlock visiting a prostitute and Elbafo would really appreciate it (we both would actually), if you, readers of my story, would give your thoughts on that premise. We don't get to hear from readers who read our summaries and think… this is not for us… We only hear from those who stick with the story. My honest opinion… The premise of 15 minutes was what drew me in, and the exquisite writing is what got me hooked.
Now, we could stick with only the scene we've come up with so far. But, there is quite some stuff we could still explore. Those scenes will only be added if there really is an interest for them. But… we are not there yet. And it will take some time before we get there. For now… Enjoy the first chapter of:
The Scientist
The day of the Bridge activating.
"Kyrie, watch out!"
A harsh shove sent her flying sideways and she fell through a beam of green light. There wasn't even time to give a startled cry because then her head seemed to explode with pain. She had a vague sensation of falling, landing in something soft, but then there was a burning sensation on her skin, as if she was taking a tumble through an endless field of shrubbery.
I was just supposed to pick him up. What the hell just happened? It was her last conscious thought before she blacked out.
Pain was the first thing that penetrated her addled brain. How long had she been out? Kyrie tried to blink her eyes and winced in pain. Wow, even blinking increased the painful throbbing in her head!
She took in her surroundings. To her surprise, she was lying in a bed, in a room that did not look at all familiar to her. There was a small night stand next to her bed and on it a table lamp that looked so out of date, even her grandmother would have scoffed at it. The walls were white and the smell...
Kyrie groaned when she realised... she was in a hospital room. Again. She frowned a bit at the empty chair near her bed though. Where was Sherlock? She had a lot of questions for him. Like what the hell had happened over there! Suddenly she could feel all blood drain from her face and her hands flew to her belly. She sighed in relief when it was as round and big as it had been that morning and a small kick assured her all was well. She allowed herself to sink further back as she tried to piece together what the hell had happened. Her brain felt so fuzzy!
Breakfast… did she remember breakfast? Images of St John quietly eating his toast and Sherlock accidentally dunking his toast in his coffee brought a smile to her lips, especially the looks on both of their faces when that happened, she loved them both so much! Sherlock, her genius husband who could be so thick as well at times. And St John, her precious boy… so much like his dad in so many ways.
They'd worried about him though, or she had actually, because St John waited a long, long time before he was willing to even try to speak. Sherlock claimed that the inability to use his mouth muscles correctly simply frustrated their son.
Until one day St John worked it out and started talking in complete, though simple, sentences. And he spoke clearly... Little to no gliding, no weak syllable deletion, no de-affrication, and he did not use or try to use words that were too difficult for him to pronounce, unlike Rosie who was a year older and still called her 'auntie Kiwi'... It was adorable though and Kyrie would not mind to forever remain 'auntie Kiwi'.
She smiled again and a warm feeling unfurled deep inside her chest. Yes, she absolutely remembered breakfast. That's when Sherlock received the call actually.
Kyrie tried to struggle up from the bed when she remembered… The call! Greg called Sherlock because… Oh, why wouldn't her brain cooperate? Bradbury Centre! Jason Hawthorne! That was it. Hawthorne had been found dead and Greg called Sherlock in because of course the Met police couldn't figure it out.
A very inconvenient moment because later that afternoon they had an appointment at the Ringrose Kindergarten. Oh God! The appointment! Kyrie groaned and fell back into the pillow again. For heaven's sake! She would not be able to make the appointment and she knew there was no hope for a reschedule, the few open spots would soon be filled. Kyrie sighed, knowing that this would mean they would have to go for their second choice. Although... Sherlock being Sherlock and Mycroft having his fingers in many pies – maybe there was still hope.
Things were coming back to her now… Sherlock had promised her he'd be well in time for the appointment. Not taking any chances, Kyrie had taken St John with her to the Bradbury Centre to pick up her husband. Kyrie had then texted him, informing him they were waiting in a taxi outside. To which she had gotten no reply whatsoever. And that had prompted her to go inside with St John to find him. Of course, Sherlock had managed to get into a heated discussion and that was how she found him.
"Wait here, St John," Kyrie said and she bent down to give her son a quick tickle and a cuddle. St John, not a boy prone to hysterical laughter, chuckled a little bit.
"Daddy is being a bit silly again and using not very nice words." She then settled St John in a lonely chair standing against a wall and made her way to her husband, who was arguing with someone who looked to be an employee at the Bradbury Centre. Though the argument looked quite heated, it did not look dangerous. And so, Kyrie put on a smile in the hopes of diffusing the situation so they could get to the appointment in time.
She greeted the employee as she walked past him. Sherlock's gaze instantly snapped to her and her smile broadened, only to fall from her face when she noticed the look of panic crossing his features.
"Kyrie, watch out!"
The door to her room opened, pulling her from her memory, and a doctor stepped inside."Hello love, I'm Doctor Rory McKenzie. How are you feeling?"
The doctor, a stout but attractive looking young man with sand coloured hair and who spoke with a lovely Scottish accent, gave her an easy smile. "From the looks of it, you took quite a tumble. Thank God for that huge pile of leaves, eh? Cushioned the fall nicely. Don't worry, love. The wee one should be just fine."
Pile of leaves? What and odd statement to make… He couldn't really mean leaves of course.
He came to stand next to her bed. "All the tests we've done so far show no broken bones, no initial signs of concussion. The wee one has been very quiet, but he or she might just be asleep. If it would make you feel better, we can schedule an ultrasound. Physically, I'd say you are in pretty good shape. I think we should run some more tests to make sure though."
The relief she then felt, pushed away any further thoughts about the mysterious leaves. Kyrie smiled up at him. "Thank you, doctor. I could feel the baby move earlier, but still, it's very reassuring." She paused and again her attention was drawn towards the empty chair. "Um, where is my husband? Did he leave a message for me? I know he doesn't like hospitals, but, I thought he would want to at least be around to make sure everything was fine."
Doctor McKenzie gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, love. There was no one else around when they found you in the field, covered in dirt and mud and leaves. I'm sure everything is fine though. I will have someone check the waiting room to make sure. If he's not there, then he's probably looking all over for you. If you could tell me your name and who to call, I could make it hurry along for you."
She stared at him but didn't really understand what he was saying. Field? What field? What the hell had happened? And where was her handbag? One look inside of it would have made it pretty clear who they had to call.
Kyrie took a peek at her hospital wristband and arched a brow at the name. She held up her arm. "Jane Doe? Really? Not very original is it?"
Doctor McKenzie gave her a mischievous grin. "Ah, well, I had to put something on there, didn't I? I'll make you a deal, you tell me your real name and I'll have this –" he gestured at the wristband, "rectified for you."
Kyrie smiled at him. "Fine. I'm Kyrie Holmes. And I would really appreciate it if someone could give my husband a call. If I was found alone, he'll be besides himself with worry. Don't mention that to anyone though, he likes to think he has a reputation to uphold."
"Oh, Holmes is it?" Doctor McKenzie asked smiling, while peering at the documents on his clipboard. "Any relation to the famous detective?"
She laughed at the silly question. "That would be my husband."
The smile on Doctor McKenzie's face slowly vanished. He blinked a few times before he looked up at her.
"Are we talking about the same detective here? Sherlock Holmes?" he asked hesitantly.
Kyrie furrowed her brows, not liking the sudden change in his demeanour. "Yes, Sherlock Holmes. The detective. I'm sorry... I wasn't aware there were more famous detectives named Holmes." She couldn't entirely keep the mocking tone from her voice.
Doctor McKenzie nervously licked his lips. "I am going to set up these tests, I will see you later, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared from her room.
When the door opened again, a young woman entered. "Hello, I'm your nurse, Cora Marlowe. Doctor McKenzie wants me to check your vital signs..."
Whatever else nurse Cora said, fell on deaf ears. Something is wrong, Kyrie thought to herself. She replayed the entire conversation in her head, for as far as she could remember anyway. Things just didn't add up. A pile of leaves had cushioned the fall? She was found in the field? Where? She had hoped that Sherlock could explain what exactly had happened at Bradbury's but... the way Doctor McKenzie had looked at her when she said she was married to Sherlock...
As more tests were done and the hours passed, Kyrie started to feel more and more frightened and frustrated. When yet another person she didn't know stepped inside her room, she was past bearing any more of their hush-hush secretive behaviour.
"Has my husband been called yet?" she asked, without waiting for the slick looking man in his impeccable black suit, with white shirt and red tie, to introduce himself.
"Yes. Your husband," the man said while settling himself down on the chair near her bed. He offered her his hand. "I'm Doctor Alan Frederick."
Kyrie folded her arms and gave him a look that should tell him she was done with the platitudes.
"Right," Doctor Frederick muttered and he withdrew his hand. He gave her a slightly pitying look before quickly putting on a formal face. "Do you have any means of identifying yourself? When you were found, you had nothing on you. No handbag, no personal effects whatsoever."
"Give my husband a call and he will sort this out," Kyrie said gritting her teeth.
"And with husband, you mean Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yes!" Kyrie breathed loudly. "Would you like his phone number? Or better yet, hand me a phone, I will call him myself if a simple call is to difficult for you to handle."
Doctor Frederick held up a hand in an attempt to calm her down.
"Miss..."
"Mrs," Kyrie corrected him sharply.
"Look, um, I need you to remain calm. This will be difficult for you to accept, but I need you to know that I am here for you, to help you get through this."
A cold feeling settled deep within her. She gripped the linen sheets with her hands, causing her knuckles to turn white. "Help me through what?" Kyrie asked, barely above a whisper.
"Sherlock Holmes is not married. He never has been. What you are experiencing, is what we call erotomania. It is a delusion that occurs when someone strongly believes – despite evidence of the contrary – that a person is in love with them. Often, this person is a celebrity, a figure in the public eye, a politician, or some other high-status person. In your case, you believe this person to be Sherlock Holmes."
As Doctor Frederick explained the symptoms, Kyrie kept shaking her head. No. Just... No. This was not happening.
"... may be diagnosed with a delusional disorder. We have to run some more tests though. Erotomania may be a symptom of other psychiatric conditions. In the meantime, the police will help to find out who you really are. A previous diagnosis could already exist. Finding out your identity will help with determining the best sort of treatment."
"The police..." Kyrie whispered. "Lestrade. Call for Lestrade, please. I'm... I'm not delusional. I'm not crazy. I am who I say I am. We have a son for crying out loud! And look at me! I'm about to pop out a second baby! Or is my big belly a figment of my imagination as well?"
Doctor Frederick shook his head. "Not your belly, no, just the identity of the father. If it will make you feel better, I will ask for this... Lestrade to help establish your identity. Now, everything will be okay, I promise. In the meantime, try to stay calm. Think of the baby."
When she was finally alone, Kyrie allowed herself to sink back in the pillows with a quivering sigh. How the hell had she ended up in this nightmare? They were wrong. They were all wrong. She was brought to some backwater hospital where they knew nothing about the current life of the Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. That had to be it. The sooner Greg could come to set them straight, the better. And afterwards, when she was released from this hell hole, she would sic Mycroft on this place.
He would make sure this place would be reduced to nothing more than a waste dump. Feeling marginally better, allowing those vengeful thoughts to run rampant in her mind, Kyrie closed her eyes and tried to get some rest.