A/N
Okay guys, I have to admit… Just these few reviews? Surely we can do better! I'm kindly throwing another chapter your way now that the girls are away today with friends. Please think of thanking me with a nice review! :D
Also, Elbafo kindly alerted me to the fact that Una Stubbs, who so brilliantly portrays Mrs Hudson, has passed away. Though we're not there by a long shot, I did write a scene with Mrs Hudson, in her memoriam. It will show up near the end of this story.
CeriseUnderwood1996 I like writing St John. For story reasons he's not a lot in this story, but there will be scenes with him later on. It was also fun to explore the arseholery side of Sherlock pre-Kyrie. This entire story was actually fun to write. There's plenty more good stuff in store for you!
Companion Teresa Sorry! I know the story is mostly sad at the moment. So many feelings I have to try and get across! And the sadness and horror doesn't end here. There's more! I don't want to give too many spoilers though. There's also fluff ahead, I promise. It might take some time to get to the fluff though :D
Kuppcake Yay you are here as well! This story is fraught with twists and turns so I hope I'll manage to keep your interest throughout.
Okay, let's get on with it. Oh, there's also another tv reference in this story! I wonder if anyone is able to spot it! I will try to find a way to incorporate the name of the first reviewer into the story (if it's not too hard!) who can point out the reference. The reviewer can also name the date of the next update. Not the time though (different time zones and all that). Let me know how hard or easy it was to spot!
S S S
Even though Doctor McKenzie said he'd been trying to call John and even Mary, they didn't show up. No one did. No one seemed to know her and no one even seemed to have any knowledge of her. And Greg had not come back either with any news of his investigation.
Though the doctors were kind enough to her, Kyrie felt as if she was left there to rot. Each night she went to bed with the hope this would all prove to be nothing more but a horrible dream. Each morning she woke up and that hope got crushed by this unforgiving new reality. Each hour, the tendrils of depression got a stronger hold on her and she didn't know where to find the strength to fight it off.
Only one person seemed to really care about her and that was Doctor McKenzie. To the nurses and other doctors she was just another patient.
About a week after she first woke up in the hospital, Doctor McKenzie stepped inside her room carrying his clipboard in one hand and a foam cup in his other. "I saw you standing there earlier, you looked sad. This can't be easy for you. Here," he said, offering her the foam cup.
Kyrie gave him a bleak smile when she accepted it – tea, from the looks of it. "I keep thinking about my family, my friends and how they suddenly have no idea who I am. I am here, alone, and... they don't care."
"Look, I don't know about your family, and I don't know about out there, but in here you've definitely got friends."
"Thanks Doctor McKenzie, I appreciate the sentiment."
"Rory," he said. "I think you could use someone here you can call something other than doctor or nurse." He then nodded to the cup she held idle in her hands. "I know it's not great, but, won't you at least have a taste?"
To her horror, Kyrie could feel a tear slinking down her cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's just that, even something as simple and mundane like drinking tea… it reminds me so much of them."
Rory gave her a pitying look. "You mean your family." He was very tactic in saying family. Kyrie knew that from his perspective, she had a very confused mind that should be pitied.
"Yes… drinking tea with… with my son and husband… it has become a bit of an evening routine. I really miss it." For Rory's sake she talked about her husband and son, instead of Sherlock and St John.
"Tell me about it," Rory urged her. His eyes showed nothing but kindness and empathy, but Kyrie did wonder why he wanted her to talk about drinking tea. Was he hoping that talking about it would spark memories of her 'real' family? Whatever his reasons, she did feel a desire to talk.
"I guess I've always liked tea. The loose leaf kind and I started like a lot of people… swayed By the sweet smelling blends with all the artificially scented bits and pieces."
"Aha, yes, I know what you are talking about." Rory grinned at her, "Not my cup of tea though. I'm strictly a tea bag man."
The pun made Kyrie smile a little. "I was always partial to Chai, still am by the way, but I had a really messed up idea about what a good sencha was all about. Sherl- My husband took a fancy to Lapsang Souchon. Then one day I was introduced to Gong Fu Cha."
Rory casually leaned against the window sill. "I feel the makings of a good story. You'll have to help me though… Gong Fu Cha?"
There was a teeny tiny little stirring deep inside of her. A faint little spark of joy at being able to talk about something she was passionate about. Tea, her family. Rory would be in a world of trouble if she managed to get drag opera into the conversation as well. She smiled a little at the foolish thought as she gazed into the murky content of her foam cup.
"It basically means tea with effort, the principle being that making and drinking tea can be elevated to a form of art and be enjoyed as such. I was attracted to the idea from the start, and even though Sher– my husband, really did not like the idea of drinking from those tiny little cups at first…" She had to stop for a moment because the memory of finding that ridiculously expensive vintage Yixing Zisha tea set, right in the middle of the kitchen table, when Sherlock had already left for Baker Street… It brought fresh tears to her eyes.
"He fully embraces it now. His favourite is now a good quality Da Hong Pao. I'm not as picky. I love Chai and a good Jasmin oolong. And St– my son, is quite partial to Tie Guan Yin. My little Yixing teapot is only used for my husband's Da Hong Pao. I use a regular gaiwan for…" Kyrie stopped talking when she noticed the smile on Rory's face growing wider and wider.
"I'm sorry…" she said, feeling her cheeks flush with heat, "I didn't mean to bore you with details."
"You are not boring me. It's really nice to see you talk so animated for once…"
He paused and the smile on his face slowly faded. He then gave her such an utterly uncomfortable look, it made Kyrie clench her teeth. Whatever was coming... it wasn't good.
"Look, there is something I have to tell you... With your identity still unknown, there is no point in applying to search the Office of the Public Guardian registers to see if you have someone acting on your behalf. And with the claims you've been making... Doctor Frederick wants to monitor you for another 14 days."
Kyrie shook her head. "No," she said. "I can't stay another day in this place. There is nothing wrong with me, either physically or mentally. I am not crazy! I am just confused about why things are so... so... different! And don't give me that erotomania crap!"
"I understand, but the things you are saying... the things you believe… I love hearing your stories and your memories, but, you're right, your mind is confused and we are o trying to help you."
Kyrie shook her head. "They will try and drug me, placate me, fill my head with lies until I'm no longer able to think for myself..."
The door to her room opened again. Kyrie abruptly stopped talking and looked up to see who was there. It was a good thing that Rory steadied her hand, otherwise she would have dropped the tea.
"Mary! John!" She breathed, half elated, half in fear.
"We kept getting calls from a... Doctor McKenzie, asking us to come and see you," Mary said. The blank look in her eyes crushed Kyrie's last sliver of hope. But, that was not all… Kyrie placed a comforting hand on her protruding belly when she noticed Mary's awfully slim figure. Their due dates were only weeks apart! Did she have the baby already? But, that was not possible! The house warming party at Weston Street had only been – what – a few weeks ago? Neither of them were due yet! Unless… the baby had come early?
John turned his attention to Rory. "Doctor McKenzie I presume?"
Rory lifted his hand in greeting and smiled apologetically. The knowledge that Rory had kept trying to get her friends to come on her behalf, did nothing to lessen the pain of this newest blow. She clutched her hand at her stomach in an attempt to quell the queasiness there.
"I am sorry for your patient..."
The pressure in her tear ducts started to build yet again. It seemed all she could do lately was cry. John couldn't even bring himself to speak directly to her.
"… but we don't know this woman and we would appreciate it if you would stop calling us. It's tragic, but she is in a hospital, getting all the care she needs. We can't show up every time some poor delusional soul thinks they are our best friend or are married to Sherlock Holmes."
John finally turned his attention to her. At least his frustration dissipated when he saw the tears pouring from her eyes. "I am sorry for you, truly," he said in a gentler tone of voice. "I do hope you get well."
"Did you have the baby already?" Kyrie ignored his question. She needed to understand.
Mary gave her such a look of condescension that Kyrie actually had to look away.
"I really don't see how that is any of your business. You can fantasise about being married to Sherlock all you want for my part, but that's where it ends. You don't get to involve me or my family into your delusions!"
"Mary," John tried to quiet her. He gave Kyrie a sympathetic look. "Yes, we had the baby. Now, please, let go of your obsession. It's unhealthy. You have a baby to look after yourself when it comes. And it's really not Sherlock's. Give it up. Move on."
John then turned to Rory "Just a thought," he spoke very softly, as if he thought her brain would be too addled to understand what he was saying. "… maybe the baby's, uhm, real daddy ran out on her, leaving her alone to fend with…" he gave Rory a meaningful look as he nodded in her general direction. "Maybe the Sherlock fantasy is easier for her to cope with than what really happened. To make it worse, Rory gave a slight nod in agreement.
Kyrie chortled mirthlessly. That was it. Her life – whoosh – gone. There was only one thing left she could try. It was a calculated risk; a risk, she realised, that could backfire horribly.
"AGRA," she whispered. That one word had meant something to her friends. Something only a select amount of people knew. She hoped that word still held the same meaning as it once had because that, at the very least, should lend some credence to her words.
At first they didn't respond, making Kyrie think they hadn't heard her, but when she looked up, she noticed the unfathomable look in their eyes.
"AGRA," Kyrie repeated again. The look Mary gave her chilled her to the core and Kyrie knew that word definitely still meant something to her. She also knew she probably shouldn't go to sleep that night. Mary then abruptly turned around, ordered John to come and didn't even look back once.
"Don't call us again," John said, his voice cutting like sharp steel.
"What was that all about?" Rory wondered.
Kyrie shook her head, indicating she did not want to discuss this. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and get some sleep, because that night, she was fairly certain, she wouldn't get any. She quietly made her way back to the bed and crawled upon it. Hot tears welled in her eyes, but she hid her head under the covers. Right now she didn't want Rory to try and make her feel better, she only wanted him to leave her alone.
She felt exhausted and wished there was a way she could turn off her thoughts and feelings. What would happen to her? To them? Everyone here thought she was delusional and she was about to get locked up in a psych ward. And with no one believing her... once she'd have the baby... Oh, dear God! They would take her baby from her!
Kyrie pressed a trembling hand against her lips, to keep her from crying out in despair. She could not let that happen, but what could she do? Escape? And then what? She was all alone, somehow removed from her husband, her son, her family and friends and with no idea how that all went about. What was this? The key, she felt, had to be what happened in the Bradbury Centre, because that was the last moment her life had been 'normal'. Something had happened to her that morning and it was somehow connected to the dead scientist and his assistant.
She refused to believe that her 'normal' life was merely a fantasy conjured up by her weak mind to cope with a harsher reality. The proof was there, even though no one listened to her. She had her ring and her baby, Sherlock's baby, growing inside of her. She had her necklace and her earrings and the newest addition… the charm bracelet that he had picked out for her himself. The charm bracelet with a charm representing himself, one representing her and one representing St John. They were real, they were not a figment of her imagination and neither was the story behind them.
Kyrie absolutely rejected the possibility that her ring was put on her finger by someone else, that someone else had given her the necklace, earrings and the bracelet... that someone else had put his baby inside of her. Her memories of Sherlock, her friends, her family and St John burned too bright and vivid in her mind. There was no way they were mere fantasies. The fact, however, remained that she had lost them and she had no idea if she would ever see them again. Kyrie buried her face in her pillow and she cried herself to sleep.
S S S
Now that the hunt for Raymond Cassidy was over, Sherlock allowed himself to relax for just a little. After all, his target could walk into this very room any minute now.
Even with the lights out, the room shrouded in darkness, Sherlock knew exactly what it looked like.
It was a room that was left in such a way that made it clear its occupier hadn't even tried to hide the fact he was hoping to leave the place as soon as possible.
All the trash was cleared out, bags were packed and placed on the bed and a passport lay waiting on the small coffee table.
Sherlock had seated himself in a comfy armchair which he had pushed right next to the entrance of the motel room. As soon as that door would open, as soon as Cassidy would walk into the room, Sherlock could easily slam the door shut behind him, trapping him. He had already made sure the windows were locked as well.
After weeks of laying his ears to the ground, after weeks of countless useless reports supplied by his homeless network, one of them had finally gotten lucky. He'd recognised Cassidy outside an optician's practice and sent Sherlock a picture. It was probably a bit not good that Sherlock had just been in the process of scaring the living daylights out of some poor sod.
He had been convinced that Ben Miller was connected to Cassidy as his associate, but the man turned out to be an innocent. Not something Kyrie would ever need to know.
That stray thought made Sherlock pull his lips into a tight line. Oh, he would find her back alright. And Cassidy would be left with very little choice but to help him. Even if he would have to force that man to build his 'machine' from scratch.
If alternate universes really did exist, he would drag Cassidy to each and every one of them until he had his wife back.
The sound of keys jingling in the lock made him smile in anticipation. Adrenaline was building up in his body again and he could use the release.
Soon, the door opened and Sherlock could hear the muffled movements of someone trying to find the lights. When the room was suddenly illuminated by the pendant lamp on the ceiling, he only needed a few moments for his eyes to adjust. Unsuspecting, Cassidy scurried into the room, pulled open the zipper of a dark brown canvas bag on the bed and dumped something inside.
Sherlock smirked as he slammed the door closed, making Cassidy nearly jump right out of his skin. When Cassidy turned around, Sherlock feared for a moment that the man would perish out of sheer fright, he looked that scared.
"You!" Cassidy stammered in shock.
"Hello, Raymond Cassidy." Keeping his voice cool and measured, Sherlock found pleasure in watching the blood drain from the Cassidy's face. "Did you really think I wouldn't find you? Or that I wouldn't come for you?"
Cassidy gulped audibly and visibly. "I- was hoping you'd be – uhm – distracted long enough for me to… disappear."
"That hope was terribly misguided. The moment I saw my wife disappear, you made yourself my number one target. Like strapping a big bold bulls-eye to your back. The thing you should know about me, Cassidy, is that I'm a creature of habit. No man alive can accuse me of mawkishness, but my wife managed to inspire deep rooted … feelings. I've grown accustomed to her love and care for me, even more so, I've grown to appreciate it. You took that away from me and you are going to give that back to me."
"No." Cassidy gave Sherlock a defiant look. "I'm not going to help you. Not unless you can give me a guarantee I will walk away as a free man."
Sherlock slowly rose to his feet and gave Cassidy one of his most ominous looks. "I don't care about you, you little piss ant. All I want is for you to help me get my wife back. After that you can make yourself scarce in any universe of your choosing, just not this one. If you still feel inclined to say no, let me warn you against that. It's either dealing with me, or dealing with my brother. And trust me when I say that right now you don't want to deal with my brother..."
He advanced on Cassidy. Sherlock's face was set in grim lines, their eyes locked and Sherlock could almost feel the heat of his intense gaze radiating back into his own skull.
"My brother is even less of a sentimental man than me, but somehow my wife managed to thaw even his deep-frozen shrivelled prune that has to go for a heart. If you think my disposition is extreme, wait till you meet him. I promise you, my brother is vastly more interested in the ends rather than the means. Meaning, he won't hesitate to make you disappear in some hell hole that will make actual hell look like a spa. Now, who would you rather deal with? Me? Or my brother?"
Cassidy looked like he was ready to piss himself. Finally, he nodded his head. "Fine," he acquiesced, "I'd rather deal with you, if you can give me your word I can escape to a different universe once you have your wife back."
"You have my word," Sherlock said. "Contrary to popular beliefs, I am a man of my word. And, for all my vanity, I'd like to think I'm also a man of honour. Help me find my wife, help return her to me and my son, where she belongs and I won't stand in your way. You just can't stay… here."
"Then we have a deal, Mr Holmes," Cassidy said, reaching out his hand to shake on it.
Sherlock stared him down instead. "I advise you to not even entertain the thought of performing a vanishing act because you are being watched. I have a system in place, a well-oiled machine if you will, that spies on you every hour of every day.
Every move you make, will be relayed to me. You won't even be able to take a piss without me knowing about it. Keep that in mind and you will be just fine."