A/N

I am really happy that so far the responses to this story are positive. I've received a lot of requests for a sequel, but at the closing chapter of Like Swans, I really thought that would be it and then this story popped in my head. I know there's now a heavy sci-fi theme involved (alternate realities) and I know it's a far cry from the original Sherlock stories, so I understand if this story is not for everyone.

Companion Teresa A valiant attempt! But no, it was not a Doctor Who reference but

Person of Interest (the intro). A brilliant show by the way! Thank you, as always, for your review! I'm afraid this chapter is still not a fluffy one :/

Elbafo You're really reading Like Swans again? Wow! I'm glad you can see the character growth. In Like Swans Kyrie was still finding her feet and figuring out her role in Sherlock's life. In The Scientist she's secure in that role though that doesn't mean she never experiences doubt. Gah! I can't wait for the off-world part!

RileyXP Thanks for your kind compliment and letting me know you enjoy this story. Uhm… I can't really say anything else… No spoilers!

Sasserus snape Lol! Nice to see you again! I'm really happy you're so excited about this story.

S S S

Kyrie's sleep was far from peaceful and when she woke up, she woke up to sensing the presence of someone else nearby.

She struggled herself upright. There was no need to fumble in the dark to turn on the ugly light. Even if the silvery beams of light, falling in through the window, had not been there to illuminate her friend's face, Kyrie knew exactly who she was dealing with. After all, she had expected this visit. There were no nerves when she looked at her friend, she didn't even flinch when she noticed the gun. She had expected that too. All she felt was an eerie calmness.

"Hello, Mary," she said softly.

Mary was sitting in the chair next to the bed, her lips drawn in a tight line and the gun steadily pointed at Kyrie's heart. "Looks like I have a disadvantage here. You seem to know an awful lot about me, but I have no idea who you are. I do know that somehow you have access to some pretty classified information."

Kyrie couldn't repress a little shiver, for she knew she was now facing Rosamund, the killer for hire slash mercenary, and not the woman she had gotten to know as her best friend.

"Are you sure, really sure, that you don't know me?" Kyrie asked carefully.

Mary snorted and held up the gun. "Would I be sitting here with this if I did?"

Kyrie gulped. This Mary was a hell of a lot scary to deal with. There wasn't a single trace of her best friend in this women and Kyrie couldn't help but wonder… how well did she really know her best friend?

"There is nothing familiar about me? Not even remotely?" Kyrie tried again. The look Mary gave her nearly made her wet the bed in fear.

"You are starting to bore me and I'm really tempted to just end this and put a bullet between your eyes."

Now Kyrie couldn't help a small smile tugging at her lips. That was such a Sherlock thing to say! "Now you sound like Sherlock," Kyrie said with a hesitant smile, "he gets bored easily."

Mary ignored her remark. "How do you know about AGRA? I suggest you start talking fast because my patience is wearing thin."

"I already told you, I told everyone but no-one believes me. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm married to Sherlock and you and I? We are best friends! We have been for several years, ever since Sherlock decided to stop playing dead. I even forgave you for shooting him!

"I always had your back and you had mine. Especially when Sherlock fucked off right before I went into labour of St John. A few week's ago we were both still waddling around for heaven's sakes and now I see you couldn't even be bothered to tell me you had the baby! I- I…"

Kyrie threw her hands up in despair at a complete loss of how to continue. "I know about AGRA because I was there when it all happened. Magnussen threatening you, you shooting Sherlock… that awful evening with Gerulf and Magnussen. I was there when the truth was revealed about AGRA, about Ajay! I was there, Mary! I was–"

"Ajay?" Mary gasped. Even in the dim light Kyrie could see that name had Mary stunned.

"Yes!" Kyrie exclaimed, a slow sliver of hope gaining root in her heart. "Look, Mary, I have no idea what is going on, or how it's even possible that no-one, not even my husband and best friends remember me… but it is the truth! I swear! How else can you explain I know all about you? How do you explain I know about AGRA, about Ajay and how he went after you and–"

"Ajay's alive?" Mary moaned and her Rosamund facade crumbled.

The expression on Mary's face shocked Kyrie into silence and the small sliver of hope got squashed. "No, not any more. Don't you remember? He was shot… in Morocco... when he caught up with us."

"But, he didn't die in Morocco, he died six years ago in–" Mary stopped abruptly.

"Tblisi was more than 10 years ago, you don't have to test my knowledge. Yes, I know about what happened there and when, Mary," Kyrie said, trying to make her voice sound calm even though she was getting more confused by the second. "Sherlock told me the night you drugged him... the night you ran off? We had to travel half across the world to find you!"

Mary gave her a bemused smile and she blinked her eyes a few times. "You over-egged the pudding, lady. I confess… I did shoot Sherlock and again, only a few people know about that. We were never friends though. I don't even know you! I never drugged Sherlock, and, more importantly, I would never, ever leave John and Rosie behind. What I can't figure out is how you know all of this. No one knows! Except–"

"I don't have a source, Mary! I just told you! You told Sherlock all about Tblisi when he found out that the burglar going after the Thatcher busts was Ajay and he told me when he finally came home after he was able to shrug off what ever you'd dosed him with. I was worried sick about him! And we are friends! You just don't… remember!"

"The Thatcher busts?" Mary started to laugh a bit hysterically. "Oh… if you are lying, you are so dead!" With those words Mary leaped to her feet and bolted from the room.

"Wait! Mary! What about me?" Kyrie yelled after her, but Mary was already gone. With a huff Kyrie let herself slump against the pillow, feeling quite a bit miffed. Then she suddenly bolted right up again remembering the words Mary said and what it signified.

"He didn't die in Morocco, he died six years ago in..."

Mary was clever, awfully clever. She was never mistaking in important dates.

"I would never, ever leave John and Rosie behind."

Mary only mentioned Rosie. She was no longer pregnant but she didn't mention the baby. Why did she not mention the baby?

"The Thatcher busts?"

Mary had seemed awfully, genuinely surprised at that. Kyrie thought back to that terrible time. She had almost died! But, come to think of it… when Sherlock was involved in the case of the Six Thatchers, as John had called it, what had happened in Tblisi… had been six years prior to that.

Oh God! If Mary was right then for her Tblisi was six years ago, because the Six Thatchers case? That was happening right now! It was the only explanation for the way Mary reacted. It wasn't possible. It shouldn't be possible, but yet, so far, it seemed to be the only explanation that made a bit of sense. "Eliminate all other factors, my dear, and the one which remains must be the truth."

Again, Kyrie slumped back into her pillows. Somehow she was now finding herself several years ago in time. But she had been there! Why did no one remember her? And where was her past self? Was she removed from that time altogether? But, that meant… Kyrie put a trembling hand to her mouth, her skin cold and clammy to the touch. That meant there no longer was a her and Sherlock. Their time together, gone. Meaning… meaning there also no longer was a St John. All she had left, was the life that was still growing inside of her.

S S S

Kyrie was about to get transferred to St Bernard's, but right before that was going to happen, Greg Lestrade finally decided to show his face again.

"I've went through all the missing person reports, but you do not fit any of those descriptions. We were able to determine where your ring is from, but there doesn't seem to be a registration of the purchase. So, that was a bit of a dead end."

Kyrie kept the look on her face bland and neutral, even though she felt like screaming. Of course he wouldn't find her. If her timeline was gone then she didn't even exist here.

"We found a record on Albert Ellison, but he was never married. Freak accident while transporting a newly acquired piano forte. There are no records for a Kyrie Ellison. Which brings us back to square one. Your identity. We will keep working on this. You try and, um, think of anything else that might help.

"The doctors at St Bernard's will take good care of you and I will do what I can on my end. I have to be honest though, with the search having come up empty as well, there is not a whole lot more I can do for you. Except maybe for a final thorough sweep of the entire area where you were found."

She clenched and unclenched her hands as she mulled over Greg's words. A wavy lock of hair fell into her face, so she casually brushed it aside to the rest of her golden tresses. She was not crazy. Her memories were real, she was certain of that.

She did not belong in a mental hospital, even though everyone else seemed to think so. It was no use trying to convince Greg or the doctors here of the fact that, somehow, she had woken up in an alternate timeline in which she was, apparently, never even born.

Maybe, she should not try to convince him then, but rather someone else... Someone with actual pull; someone who had the entire British Government in his back pocket. After all, Kyrie had a very deep understanding of Sherlock, his cases and the Holmes family. An understanding only a select few people were privy of.

"Greg, there is one thing you can do for me."

His bushy brows knit together. "And what would that be?"

"Arrange a meeting for me with Mycroft."

"Pardon? A meeting with Mycroft… Mycroft Holmes? I'd have better luck arranging a meeting for you with the Queen!"

The ghost of a smile flitted across her lips. "Tell him: Antarctica. That ought to draw his attention."

Greg raised a brow as he got to his feet. "Fine, I'll tell him. Not sure what good it'll do you, but I'll tell him."

As it turned out, 'Antarctica' managed to draw Mycroft's immediate attention. Only a few hours later one of the nurses informed her that a car was waiting outside for her, and judging the owlish look on her face, she wasn't talking about transportation to St Bernard's.

Kyrie blew out a steadying breath before she smoothed down her light grey woollen dress. Trying to maintain a confident step, Kyrie strode outside where indeed a black government issued car was waiting for her. The driver – Savant! – stepped outside and opened the door for her. Kyrie repressed a grin and quickly got inside. Seeing the young woman already inside, tapping away on her phone, most likely a message to Mycroft that they were on their way. Kyrie couldn't help herself: "Hello, Anthea," she said cheerily.

Anthea – her actual name of course wasn't Anthea – stopped tapping and slowly raised her head. Kyrie could see the confusion in her eyes, though she did an admirable job of trying to hide it.

"Hi," she said hesitantly. Anthea opened her mouth as though she wanted to add something, but then closed her mouth again and she resumed her message. The drive continued in silence.

Her hands trembled lightly in her lap, but Kyrie kept looking outside and watched the city flash by in a blur of sound and colours. Mycroft was, could be, ruthless. Like a shark was able to detect blood in the water, Mycroft had the ability to detect fear in his opponent. And the Mycroft she about to meet, was not the Mycroft she loved as a brother. This Mycroft had no knowledge of her whatsoever and would most likely view her as a threat. Fantastic... Kyrie clenched her hands together in an attempt to keep them still.

The small amount of trepidation she felt melted away when the car drove into the wide open space of an abandoned warehouse. The headlights shone brightly, revealing nothing but the vague outline of a man, calmly standing in the centre of the space, casually leaning on an umbrella.

Kyrie couldn't prevent a small laugh that sounded a bit like a sob, despite all of her nerves. She was this close from jumping out of the car and launching herself at him, something even her Mycroft would raise his eyebrows at. Pulling her face into an impassive look as she walked up to him, Mycroft kicked out his umbrella and pointed it at an empty chair.

"Have a seat, please."

Kyrie demurely sat down, crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. "Really, Mycroft? An abandoned warehouse?" She took in the familiar sight of him, standing tall and regal, leaning on his umbrella. He gazed imperiously down his slightly hooked nose at her, his lips drawn in the tiniest and iciest smile she'd ever seen on him. She realised that those cool manners he'd displayed upon first meeting her, had actually been his attempt at being nice! This Mycroft however… was trying his best to scare the living daylights out of her!

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet. Hence this place."

"You're not avoiding him, you simply don't want him to know about this meeting otherwise he might think you actually believe me and you don't want that." Kyrie said innocently, while also establishing the fact she was familiar with the nature of their relationship.

"You don't seem very afraid," Mycroft said, ignoring her and he gave her a smile that clearly illustrated why his codename 'Antarctica' was so apt.

"Should I be afraid?"

"When you go about, dropping top secret code names, then yes... You should be afraid. Very."

"Would you have agreed to meet me otherwise, if I hadn't?"

"Probably not."

"Hence the dropping of top secret code names."

At those words, he actually gave her a humoured smile. "So... the woman who claims to be married to my brother. Why did you want a meeting with me?"

"Because I need your help," Kyrie said bluntly and she found some satisfaction at the brief look of surprise that flitted across Mycroft's features.

He scoffed. "You need my help? And what pray, would you need my help for?"

Kyrie furrowed her brows… How to explain this in a way so Mycroft would not lock her up in a padded cell?

"Whatever you may think, Mycroft, I am not delusional. I am not crazy and I am not a stalker or a hacker... I know your code name because I was there when you spun the official story of what happened at Appledore. Just like I know you have an agreement with your brother, that wherever you find him, whatever back alley or doss house, there will always be a list. And don't you dare play coy with me, you know what list I'm talking about! And I also know you always straighten the knocker on the door of 221B Baker Street. And... and Sherlock always deliberately pushes it to one side again because he knows it annoys you."

Mycroft's face remained impassive, giving her no clue to whether all those little things she knew, were still true now.

She drew in a quivering breath because her voice started to tremble. "I know all of this... because I was there, right along with you. Until I woke up in the hospital ten days ago, my life was like that. Married to Sherlock, mother of a precocious little boy called St John Beauregard Mycroft Holmes. About to become mother for the second time..."

Kyrie pointed at her rounded belly. "Shouldn't be too long now in fact. Then along comes this case, a case I wish Sherlock had refused. Dead scientist, Hawthorne, no idea what he was involved with but it had to have been something really advanced. Because one moment I was there and the next moment I was here. Several years earlier than where I came from and… I no longer exist. I need your help, because," – she paused because her lips started to tremble again and she didn't want to cry – "I want to know if there is way to restore what happened. I want you to find Hawthorne. He should still be alive and hopefully… already working on whatever it is he was working on back home."

There was a long drawn out silence in which the darkness of that decaying place seemed to only get darker. Mycroft was staring at her with an unfathomable look on his face. Finally, his lip slightly curled upwards.

"An alternate timeline. Really? You are going with that? Do you really think I'm that gullible? Do you believe I'm an idiot? All this information at your fingertips and this is the best way you thought to use it? With some codswallop about an alternate timeline?"

A brief chuckle died on his lips before he nearly froze her twice over with his iciest glare. "Now, please, I would greatly appreciate it if you would quit insulting my intelligence with your nonsense. How did you manage to get so much classified information? Did you find the weak link in our family? Mummy does love to talk, doesn't she? Did you have the place bugged? Did Moriarty provide you with the technical gadgets? How long have you been… listening in?"

She merely stared at him open mouthed and found she lacked the capacity to form an intelligent sentence or even to force her lips to form a word period.

"Not so clever now, are you?"

It was hard not to notice the amount of disdain dripping from his voice.

Mycroft continued, "Not that there was a moment you had me impressed with your intellectual prowess. I find you to be quite… dim, to be honest. Alternate timeline indeed."

He chuckled in that overly condescending manner of his and then gestured at her. "The woman who managed to turn Sherlock's head," – his smile vanished – "I think not. Even if my brother had the emotional capacity to love anything other than all that is bizarre and outside the humdrum routine of ordinary life, you would not be his choice of partner.

"You are, how shall we say..." – Mycroft looked off into the distance while rubbing his thumb and index finger together, as if he were deep in thought and when he looked back at her, he gave her the kind of smile that warned her he was about to incinerate her with his words – "bland. Sherlock Holmes detests everything boring and bland. In other words... he would detest you."

Kyrie could slowly feel the blood drain from her face, to the point she actually felt light-headed. "You're wrong," she whispered.

"There is nothing remotely remarkable about you. Pleasing to the eye perhaps, but Sherlock has encountered far more beautiful women than you and he never spared them a second glance. The most you could have been to him is a client. A client he would have helped perhaps and then wiped from his thoughts… He'd have forgotten all about you."

He then raised a finger as if he just had a thought. "Ah, but you couldn't forget about him. Is that it? I acknowledge, it must be quite something to be so confronted with the limitations of your own mind while in the presence of such superior intellect. And he was always the slow one, if you can believe that.

"Is it the acknowledgement that you crave? Acknowledgement from a superior mind? It would give evidence, would it not, that you matter. Is that what led you down the criminal path? Knowing that would ultimately be the only way for Sherlock to develop something of an interest in you? How did you find Moriarty or did he perchance find you?"

Mycroft tutted in disapproval. "He would not have been very pleased with your lack of results. In fact, I'm sure he'd roll over in his grave could he hear you now. You really should not have gone for something so utterly preposterous."

"You're not going to help me, are you? You're not even going to look into the possibility that I might actually be speaking the truth." Kyrie breathed harshly. It was remarkable how close the sensation she was now feeling, resembled... hate.

"How astute," – he smiled at her – "but you shouldn't complain really. Even though you won't be getting any of the demands you might have, you will be well provided for."

Kyrie spoke through clenched teeth. "I have no demands. I only asked for your help!"

"Tomayto, tomahto. We know that Moriarty has some… posthumous plans installed. And you will tell us all about them. I do sincerely hope you are not it, Sherlock would be so disappointed.

"We will see how long you will maintain your alternate timeline story when my… people… start prodding you for the truth. Don't worry. I'm not inhumane. The babe you are carrying is an innocent in all this and won't be harmed. When you come to full term and give birth, he or she will receive the very best of care possible. At least that should give you solace throughout our… uncovering of the truth."

He paused for a moment, perhaps to make the words sink in, before he drove his meaning home, delivering the coup de grâce. "Just so you completely understand… Your child will receive the best of care… elsewhere. While you will remain our guest at an unspecified facility until we've learned everything we can from you."

Kyrie paled at his words. "No, you can't! Please, Mycroft!"

The sound of heavy footsteps behind her, startled her and she struggled herself upright. Two grim looking agents were approaching her.

Mycroft's people no doubt.

"Mycroft! Don't do this!" Kyrie called out. "You don't understand. The Six Thatchers, it's happening now!"

The man whom she loved as a brother but was now a complete stranger to her, turned out to be unmoved by her pleas. "Seize her," he ordered his agents. "Gently!"

The agents grabbed her by her arms and kind of gently started to pull her with them, showing enough force that told her it was useless to resist.

"If you don't want to look into Hawthorne, at least look into Vivian Norbury. She is the traitor you are looking for and she won't go down without a fight."

The agents kept dragging her along while she desperately tried to warn Mycroft about what was going to come. "Mycroft, she will shoot!" Her cries turned to screams as Mycroft merely stood there and watched as she was taken away. "She will shoot him, Mycroft! Listen to me, she will shoot!"