A/N These scenes, for me, were a particular treat to write. I hope they are a treat to read as well! Please R&R

Companion Teresa

I know what you mean, really I do! I too wanted to push, push and push with the writing until they were back together. It's the reason why the ending scene is one of the very first scenes I wrote so I could read that after each scene I wrote where they are still apart! And there are still quite a few things that will happen first :D

Kuppcake

High praise indeed! Thank you so much! Oh, if only they would turn this into a tv show. One can always dream right? I can just imagine the scene where she tells Mycroft she got his number from Sherlock and he's just like, 'Don't look at me, I don't know that woman!' I invite other writers to explore all the possible alternate story lines.

Elbafo

I was worried about you! Glad you are back! Hehe if only we could be a fly on the wall to witness Mycroft's response when Lestrade says, 'Antarctica' to him. Oh, I can just envision the look on his face right now…

Also, you are spot on with your observation. Sherlock knew he had to become the Consulting Detective to be able to do the search for his wife. Or at least, that's what he thinks and believes. I'd like to think that the husband persona will always try and find a way to bring a Kyrie and a Sherlock together, if that's at all possible. But it's the Consulting Detective who is able to walk away when necessary.

* S *

How long had she been confined to this prison? Kyrie wasn't entirely sure any more. Quite a few days, but she couldn't remember how many. At least long enough to know that it wouldn't take much longer before she'd give birth. There were signs...

Kyrie was sitting at the small desk in her prison, her head resting on her arms. Tired. She was so tired!

Fucking prick kept the lights on in her cell all the time. She'd long lost any sense of day and night. She slept when she was tired and woke in between sleeps. The food that was presented to her was always healthy, a lot of vegetables, but with no indication whether she was receiving breakfast, lunch or dinner.

And the time! Time crept by so slowly! There was nothing in her room to occupy her mind with and she came to realise that this was what Sherlock was experiencing when he had no case to challenge his intellect. He was right, it did feel like her mind was slowly rotting away. She was simply cut off from everything.

No one spoke to her and the only breaks she received in her daily routine of absolutely nothing, were short trips to the showers where she was allowed no more than 15 minutes of refreshing herself. She had never fully appreciated the luxury of long hot showers, not enough anyway.

The walls in her room were of a light greyish colour – it reminded her of drying cement – that only seemed to enhance the sombreness of the situation she was in. There was no colour to be found anywhere in her room, except for the white and light grey tones.

She was slowly going mad and so Kyrie did the only thing she could do... She told her story. The story of her and Sherlock. Of her, Sherlock and John. Their time together: the madness, the adventures, unrequited love that slowly changed to mutual love, the despair she felt when she thought Sherlock was dead, the feeling of anger and bitterness and betrayal when she found out he was alive and had deceived her. How sorry she was how selfish she'd been at times. About the feelings of joy and love rediscovered. She told how it had been Mycroft she'd called when Gerulf Schricken had trapped her in a freezer where he had left her to freeze to death and how it had been Mycroft who'd deployed all but an army to find and rescue her.

She told everything until there was nothing left to tell, save a few secrets here and there. And then she started all over again. He was risking the life of his brother by not listening to her. She told him that as well.

"I know you can hear me, Mycroft. Stop ignoring me," she said to no-one in particular. Knowing Mycroft though, there was bound to be a camera or two, or three, spying on her. Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft never felt the need to go past three. Her voice had lost its strength of the constant reasoning, telling, yelling, pleading, but she kept doing it anyway. Kyrie knew there had to be something somewhere in her brain that she could use to convince Mycroft. Several times she'd contemplated to sing the Les Misérables song he'd come to hate so much… but the evil git would simply mute all sound.

"You will know I'm right when Sherlock comes to you about AGRA. He will tell you that Ajay is after Mary. Maybe then you will want to look into Mrs Norbury, the secretary. She betrayed AGRA. I don't remember the specifics but it had something to do with a hostage situation in Tblisi.

"Mrs Norbury was afraid her secret would come to light so when Lady Smallwood called in AGRA, Mrs Norbury contacted the enemy. She used a code word that would lead back to Lady Smallwood and not her. I- I don't remember it, but, the enemy was prepared and AGRA walked right into a trap..." Kyrie sighed tiredly. She had told this story so many times – time and time and time again – she'd long since lost count. Maybe she should stop talking about Mrs Norbury. Apparently that wasn't convincing enough.

"Don't make me start talking about the family dynamics, Mycroft," Kyrie said listlessly. "Not sure how many people are seeing this. I really don't want to divulge secrets you'd rather keep secret, but you are not giving me much choice."

With a brief surge of anger, Kyrie glared around the room in an attempt to find at least one camera to glare at so she could at least be sure that Mycroft could see how displeased she was with him.

"You are ignoring me! Don't make me talk about the East Wind, Mycroft!" Her voice was rising and swelling with anger. "Do you really want me to say her name out loud? Do you really want me to..."

She stopped talking as quick footsteps caught her attention. Finally! A sigh of relief slid between her cracked lips.

There was the sound of jingling keys, then of keys harshly getting shoved in the lock of the door. Before she had time to blink Mycroft stormed into her cell and dragged her from the chair. She yelped as the chair toppled over and Mycroft then bundled her against the wall, his fingers closing around her throat in a most alarming way. Okay, the feeling of relief was now most definitely gone!

Mycroft brought his face close to hers. "At long last, now we are getting somewhere. The proof you've been working with or a least for Moriarty. Do you still want to maintain that ludicrous story of an alternate timeline?" He pulled back a bit and glared at her so intensely that he might as well be trying to incinerate her with his disdain.

With his face so close, Kyrie could see that her Mycroft was nowhere to be found in this man's eyes. And she realised she had made a mistake. She should not have brought up Eurus, it only seemed to fuel his thoughts that she was a danger to Mycroft's family. And Mycroft did not deal kindly with threats to his family...

"What exactly did Moriarty tell you about Sherrinford? Because, I don't have to tell you there's where she's kept, do I? No, you already know all about the other Holmes. Not many people do, not even my own blood," Mycroft spoke softly, barely above a whisper, but Kyrie had never before heard a voice that instilled so much fear inside of her. She'd never heard her Mycroft like this and if she ever had… She probably would have been a bit more wary of him.

"What did Eurus tell him in the five minutes they got to speak privately, at her request? Why did she want to see him? What did Moriarty tell you? What were his orders? Tell me now or you will rue the day you ever crossed my path!" He suddenly bellowed in her ear.

Kyrie cringed and gasped for as much air as she could muster with Mycroft's fingers clamping down on her throat.

"She's in control," – Kyrie tried to breathe – "that's all I know. Sherlock never divulged what happened at Sherrinford. At least not all of it. But I know she got to Moriarty, she played him. She played everyone. And she will play you."

Mycroft squeezed even harder and Kyrie's vision became blurry. It somehow seemed funny that again she was nearly choking and that her rescuer of before, now had become her tormentor. What seemed less funny was the knowledge that deep within Mycroft appeared to possess a heartlessness that bypassed any sense of propriety, kindness and mercy. What monster would try and choke an expecting mother?

"Stop at once with the nonsense. No more alternate timeline stories. Moriarty planned a new game and I want to know in how much of it Eurus was involved. I need to know what his game will be, before there will be more victims. Now stop playing around and tell me what I want to know. Or else, so help me God, the fact that you are about to pop out a baby won't mean a thing to me!"

To give emphasise his words, Mycroft squeezed hard enough for Kyrie to nearly pass out. She was terrified.

"Please," she whispered and closed her eyes. A slight pinch in her abdomen and suddenly she could feel warm fluids rush down the side of her leg.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Mycroft yelled at her. "You pissed all over my shoes!"

His voice was filled with disgust as he released his death grip on her throat. How Kyrie managed to keep herself upright was beyond her. She gasped for breath, sagged against the wall and cradled her lower abdomen.

"I didn't," she said, her voice as rough as sand paper. "My water just broke, you idiot!" No sooner had she uttered those words when she doubled over in pain. She couldn't prevent a small cry and she clenched her abdomen. She breathed out in relief when the searing pain of the contraction finally subsided.

Mycroft stared at her, his mouth gaping open. He was rooted to the spot and, damn him to hell, he was as useless as John and Sherlock had been when Mary was in labour in the back of a car!

"Don't just stand there! Or do you want me to deliver the baby right here?" Kyrie shrieked at him. When the next contraction hit her, it caused her to earnestly cry out in pain this time. She sank down to the floor and cradled her abdomen again, all she could do was wait for the contraction to pass again.

"I'll call an ambulance… you, you get to the bed," Mycroft stammered. Now there was the Mycroft she remembered.

"Oh, it's too fucking late for an ambulance now, you twat!" Kyrie swore at him. In the light of her mounting fury, her fear of him vanished like a shadow. "You scared me straight into the serious part of labour. Happy now?"

When she felt it was safe, Kyrie slowly stood and teetered to the bed. She climbed in and propped her pillow behind her back.

Mycroft gaped at her and seemed to have found some much needed respect for her status. "Oh, the ambulance will be here in time all right. I will make the call myself."

A surge of pain tightened her abdomen once again and she screamed, her fingers twisting the bedsheets as she tried to ride out the wave.

Her 'brother-in-law' hurried from the room, leaving Kyrie alone to pray that he would be true to his words. Maybe he had a magic wand shoved up his ass which he could use to summon an ambulance with. Now that would explain why he was always walking around as though he had a stick up his butt.

Kyrie chortled, briefly, because another contraction tore right through her. She gasped for breath, pleading for her body to give her a moment to catch her breath.

As if by a miracle, the ambulance indeed came in time and Kyrie was rushed to a hospital where she was installed in a crisp clean bed, her legs raised and covered with a sheet. Time and time again the contractions hit her with force. The three minutes in between dwindled to two until at some point only seconds seemed to rush by too quickly between contractions.

"Damn it, Sherlock," – Kyrie cursed weakly – "why are you leaving me on my own again? I need you here!" She gasped, desperately trying to catch her breath, knowing a new contraction would strike soon enough. Too soon.

There was no answer, there was only nurse Marlowe who tried to sooth her through the worst of the pain. Because of her Kyrie knew exactly where she was. In a way, she was grateful to have at least a somewhat familiar face around during this ordeal.

A moan slid past her lips and she arched up again. Though nurse Marlowe was friendly enough, Kyrie kind of needed words of comfort or encouragement from her husband. She bit back a cry. Harsh, shallow breaths drew past her lips.

She cried out that one name in despair, even though she knew it was futile. He wasn't here and he wouldn't come. He was gone.

Kyrie sobbed as the pain twisted through her again, obscene in its intensity. Her chest felt tight, she could barely breathe.

"It's time," the nurse said to another one. "Get Doctor Faraway!"

If she wasn't in so much pain, Kyrie would have laughed out loud at the irony of the name.

"Don't push," nurse Marlowe told her. "The doctor is on her way."

Before she could even blink, let alone muster an answer, another flash of pain shot through her and this time Kyrie wailed in anguish, unable to keep it back any longer. No more, she thought deliriously. No more. I can't do this alone.

A woman in a white coat suddenly appeared in the room. "Oh yes, it definitely sounds like it's time. How exciting! Hello Kyrie, I'm doctor Faraway and I will help you deliver your bundle of joy."

Kyrie felt like hurling the pot filled with vomit to her head. Not that she could reach it, or even had the strength to throw it.

Doctor Faraway settled between her upraised legs. "Don't push, Kyrie, not yet," she said, her voice soothing, calming and annoying as hell.

As the pain eased, she waited, helplessly, for the doctor to order her, yet again, not to push. Only she didn't. This time, as the pain flooded through her again, doctor Faraway finally gave the order Kyrie'd been waiting for. "Okay, Kyrie. Bear down… Now!"

Kyrie clenched her teeth and bore down with all of her might. The pain built until she thought it would rip her in two. Sherlock, where are you? I need you!

Suddenly she could hear him whisper in her ear. "I'm here, Kyrie. I'm right here with you. You are not alone. Never."

Kyrie gasped and she could cry with relief. He wasn't really there, but she'd never been so happy to have her 'phantom' Sherlock beside her.

"I love you, Kyrie," phantom Sherlock whispered to her. "And I'm so sorry. I swear I will make it up to you and you know I always do. But first… you have to give birth to our daughter."

"Daughter?" she whispered weakly.

"Breathe again, Kyrie," doctor Farway told her. "Don't push any more until I tell you to."

When another contraction hit, that hellion again told her not to push.

"It burns!" Kyrie shrieked.

"I know, sweetie," doctor Faraway said sympathetically. "Almost there now. It's almost over."

With the next contraction she finally ordered Kyrie to bear down again. "Now, Kyrie. One more time!"

Kyrie rose to her elbows, pushing down, as phantom Sherlock proudly looked down at her, his eyes glistening. And then it was over. Kyrie could feel her baby leaving her body, followed by a last rush of fluids.

Doctor Faraway stood, cradling a tiny baby in her arms.

"Is she okay?" Kyrie asked weakly and at that moment her daughter squeaked. It was the loveliest sound Kyrie had ever heard. Her daughter sounded like tingling silver bells.

"I think she's going to be just fine," doctor Faraway said, a broad smile on her round face when her daughter gave another squeaky little cry. "Absolutely fine."

* S *

Mycroft was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on his desk. He gave his younger brother an amiable smile.

"Agra?" How curious that his brother was bringing that up, now.

"You will know I'm right when Sherlock comes to you about AGRA."

He shook his head to get rid of the memory. He then drawled, "A city on the banks of the river Yamuna in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India. It is three hundred and seventy-eight kilometres west of the state capital, Lucknow..."

Sherlock gave him an annoyed look. "What are you, Wikipedia?"

Mycroft smiled pleasantly at him. "Yes."

"AGRA is an acronym."

"Oh, good. I love an acronym. All the best secret societies have them."

"Team of agents," Sherlock said, ignoring his remark, "the best, but you know all that."

"Of course I do. Go on." Mycroft had a feeling about what Sherlock would say next. Even so, he couldn't quite believe his ears when Sherlock said exactly what that woman had predicted he would say.

"One of them, Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team."

"He will tell you that Ajay is after Mary. Maybe then you will want to look into Mrs Norbury, the secretary."

It was ridiculous beyond expression of course, but he couldn't deny the fact that somehow that woman had known this moment would happen. Question remained, was there truth to her words or had she orchestrated this. If it was the latter… should he ignore her warnings upon the risk of his brother getting hurt?

"She will shoot him, Mycroft!"

"Sherlock," Mycroft said softly, "was there perchance, a code word?"

If this situation wasn't so dire, Mycroft might have laughed at the stunned look on his brother's face.

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked him. His eyes were annoyed but the tone of his voice incredulous. With a frustrated sigh Sherlock leaned forward and pulled a notepad on the desk towards himself. "Here, the code word." He scribbled something on the notepad before he turned it round and shoved it over towards Mycroft.

A tight smile tugged at his lips when he saw the word AMMO.

"Amo, amas, amat," Mycroft said softly. Sherlock dropped the pen he was still holding in his hand when realisation dawned on him.

"I have reason to believe the code word was not ammo as in ammunition, but amo, meaning..."

"How the hell..."

"There's a woman I have in incarceration. I believe you at least know of her. She claims to be your wife."

Sherlock shook his head and he looked frustrated. "What does she have to do with this?"

"Well, for one it appears she is not the raving lunatic I was taking her for. Not only did she know about AGRA. She knew about Ajay going after Mary..."

"Ah, she talked to Mary as well, didn't she? That's how Mary knew!" Sherlock balled his fists as he jumped up from his chair.

"She also told me the identity of AGRA's betrayer."

"Lady Smallwood," Sherlock averred.

Mycroft chuckled humourlessly. "No."

The stunned look Sherlock gave him was priceless. "But, the code word?"

"Yes, Love… Lady Smallwood's code name. A red herring. The true betrayer did not want her identity to be found out so she left a little clue in case people started sniffing around."

Sherlock laughed out loud when he caught up with his brother. "Mrs Norbury… Really? Are we giving any credence to this?"

"Let's see how things unfold first. But, according to that woman, Mrs Norbury will not go down without trying to get a last little victory. According to her, she will try to shoot you. Just to be on the safe side, let's take that into account of things, shall we?"

Sherlock gave him a quick nod before he turned around, ready to leave.

"Oh, brother dear?" Mycroft gave Sherlock a mocking smile when the latter looked at him over his shoulder. "That woman has gone into labour a few hours ago. Still waiting on news about that. Anyway, according to her the child she is about to give birth to is… yours. How much credence will we give to that if she turns out to be right about Mrs Norbury?"

His brother didn't reply. He merely glowered at him and left the room.