The Six Thatchers, Part 7
Amelia had barely had enough time to even unpack her bags from their trip before she found herself being bundled up into the back seat of another cab, heading for the Diogenes Club, where Mycroft was due to start his integration of Lady Smallwood. John and Mary had left them at the airport and Amelia had been very slightly relieved to see them speaking to one another towards the end of their plane ride, John catching up Mary on what little she had missed out on with Rosie in the time that she had been gone. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it had made her slightly more hopeful for them, she just hoped that John would pluck up the courage to finally speak to Mary about his affair so that they could clear the air properly. Still, she had to admit, considering the fact that they had literally just landed back in London and Mary was still grieving, for a second time, no less, for her once most dearest friend's death, who also happened to just try to kill her, it was perhaps not the best time for John to tell her about his texting of another woman. Or maybe it was the perfect time and it would make Mary all the more prepared to forgive, due to her own actions and secrets.
Yeah…that might be a little bit of wishful thinking.
It was an odd thing, she thought, the fact that Mycroft had his own privet interrogation room built in the basement of his club, just down the hall from his office. The walls concrete grey and the air kept at an almost uncomfortable chill that caused Amelia to press deeper into her wool, tan mauve, belted coat that she wore, covering the sleeveless, pleated, button-up white stripped and navy blue dress, though it did little to stop the chill from sending goose bumps over her bare legs, dark navy stiletto loafer style shoes providing little in the way of warmth for her numbing toes, either. Beside her, Sherlock glanced at her and rolled his eyes with a hint of fondness crackling at the edges of his lips. She flicked her ponytail at him, gold, circular shaped earrings swinging at the move, turning her kohl lined eyes back onto the one-sided mirror that looked out into the small room on the other side.
Mycroft sat on one side of the metal table, gazing emotionlessly across the table to Lady Smallwood, his hands clasped before him and his ring finger rapidly tapping against his other fingers, perhaps his only sign of apprehension that he couldn't prevent from showing. Lady Smallwood, however, seemed far more annoyed, then anything else, sitting with her legs crossed and a deep, outraged scowl marring her features. Amelia considered the woman thoughtfully, she certainly didn't seem overly concerned about being accused of having betrayed a group of highly specialised agents, but then again, perhaps she was simply that good at keeping her cool.
"This is absolutely ridiculous and you know it," Smallwood said in a hard, exasperated tone, "How many more times?"
"Six years ago you held the brief for foreign operations," Mycroft said for what must have been the fourth time already, staring cold and unrelenting back at her, "Code name 'Love'".
"And you're basing all of this on a code name? On a whispered voice on the telephone? Come on, Mycroft".
Amelia frowned faintly, eyeing Lady Smallwood curiously…they had been going around this dance for a little while now, to the point that she was starting to wish that she could sit down as her arches began aching, and for someone who was so used to wearing heels that was something she hadn't experienced in a while. But still, question after question, all going around in the same circle, Lady Smallwood hadn't cracked once, not slipped up, not even once. She was starting to really worry that they truly had gotten this wrong, and judging by the brief flash of a frown that crossed Mycroft's features, he was thinking the same thing. Still, he wasn't ready to give up and his gaze hardened again.
"You were the conduit for AGRA," he tried again, slightly more forcefully, his eyes positively icy, "Every assignment, every detail, they got from you".
"It was my job," she replied simply, nodding pointedly.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Amelia murmured to Sherlock, shifting uneasily, and not just due to the ach in her feet that was starting to run up the back of her legs. She glanced sideways at him to find Sherlock frowning faintly, looking very slightly troubled, "But…if it wasn't her, then who?"
Sherlock didn't respond, though his lips did thin and his eyes narrowed, turning back to gaze out the glass. On the other side of the mirror, Mycroft calmly unclasped his hands and sat back into his chair, almost copying Lady Smallwood's posture.
"Then there was the Tbilisi incident," he continued, as though she hadn't spoken at all, "AGRA went in".
"Yes".
"And they were betrayed".
"Not by me," Lady Smallwood replied firmly, and for the first time she looked truly exhausted by this whole ordeal, tired and very frustrated. He simply stared back at her, still completely unforgiving and unrelenting, and she inhaled slowly and released it, attempting to keep her composure, no doubt. When she next spoke, her voice was low and steady, "Mycroft, we've known each other a long time," she said, and his eyebrows briefly lifted in acknowledgement, "I promise you, I haven't the foggiest idea what all this is about. You wound up AGRA and all other freelancers…" she paused, just for a fraction, and her voice grew very, very earnest, "I haven't done any of the things you're accusing me of. Not one," she leaned slightly closer towards him, firm and just as insistent as his gaze, "Not. One".
Amelia breathed out a long, slow breath through her red lips, feeling her heart sinking. She believed her, Lady Smallwood had nothing to do with any of it, she was completely innocent. On the other side of the glass Mycroft briefly glanced down at the table before looking up, turning his head to look at them, unseeing, through the mirrored glass. His expression was tight.
"We were wrong," Amelia said softly, looking to Sherlock, who was frowning thoughtfully at the glass, "Sherlock, we were wrong…who the hell knew that codename?"
"I don't know," Sherlock murmured, shaking his head lightly, bafflement filling his features.
….
The interrogation was brought to an end, though Amelia and Sherlock didn't hang around to apologise to Lady Smallwood, instead they swiftly left the club and made their way out into the streets, cool wind ruffling their clothing and hair. Amelia found herself only absently following Sherlock, lost in her own thoughts and feeling truly disheartened from their failure, having been so certain that it simply had to be Lady Smallwood, she was almost surprised when she looked up to find herself standing along the footpath, hallways across Vauxhall Bridge, cars and double-decker buses travelling along the road behind them. She breathed in deeply, smelling car exhaust fumes, and grimaced in distaste, leaning her crossed arms on top of the red, chipped railing that ran along the edge of the bridge, glancing down to see the murky water of the Thames below, gently rippling.
"Not Lady Smallwood, then," Sherlock remarked grimly, his eyes narrowed as he gazed off into the distance, over the water that stretched out ahead of them.
"Evidently not," Amelia sighed, closing her eyes briefly, feeling the bitter taste of failure on her tongue. She tapped her painted red nails against the fabric covering her forearm, thinking, "'The English woman'…hardly much to go off, I suppose, but given the situation one would have thought it made matters slightly easier. It narrows our list down to a gender, at least".
"Something that rarely happens," he agreed, still staring off into the distance, unseeing and his gaze blank, telling her that he truly was only half present with her right now. She supposed it was surprising that he was speaking to her right now and not simply locked away in his mind palace, she supposed she ought to feel honoured. He closed his eyes, then, and shook his head slowly, "Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock, Love…"
"The code names of Lady Smallwood and Mycroft, and their colleagues," Amelia nodded, thinking back to that day when Sherlock had been pardon, hearing Mycroft say those very names. Curious, how it seemed to come back to that day, so what more might they learn from that day? She thought back, recalling the room they had been taken to, Sherlock acting like his usual self, while Mycroft and his colleagues could only watch on with various degrees of resignation, confusion, and exasperation…well, almost all of them, apart from Amelia, only Lady Smallwood's security seemed to have found it a tiny bit funny, she vaguely recalled the fragile, elderly woman in the corner smiling very slightly from time to time…Her eyes widened and her head snapped around to Sherlock, "Oh!"
Sherlock eyes snapped open, almost at the exact same time, meeting her gaze with a suddenly bright, almost wild look in them, "Exactly," he said, almost as though he could read her mind, speaking in a rush, "Who else could have known? Who else would have access?"
"And who would be the least likely suspect?" Amelia breathed, her heart thudding in her ears and she felt suddenly breathless, as though the air had been knocked from her lungs just by the shear shock of the realisation hitting her so suddenly, "No one would have thought twice about her…most people wouldn't even notice her, sitting right there!"
Sherlock looked passed her, across to the other side of the bridge, where a large, modern building with a lots of windows stood on the river bank. It was the SIS building, headquarters for MI6. Without saying another word, he reached out and grasped her hand and they both took off as fast as Amelia's heels would allow towards the building. If they were right…they needed to act quickly, they had to end this.
….
When Amelia had considered how her day might go, she hadn't expected that she would be walking through the Count Hall, which also happened to house the Sea Life London Aquarium as part of its attractions. To be fair, though, she probably ought to have considered every single possibility, from suddenly jetting off to Egypt to having to wrangle a grumpy cat with a stolen ruby hanging off its collar, when you worked side-by-side with Sherlock Holmes, expecting everything and anything really should just become a part of your daily routine, really. Still, she had to admit, it was a curious location for them to find themselves walking through, just as the sun was starting to set outside and closing time was probably fast approaching, but on they walked, strolling down a long, wide corridor made up of a glass, curved tunnel, showing the fish swimming through the water along either side of them and above them, in the curved ceiling, casting a blue glow over them as they went. Sherlock paid the sea life little notice, but Amelia couldn't help glancing upwards as a large stingray went gliding through the water over their heads. Was it childish of her to wish they could have come for a different reason and enjoyed the fish more? To be honest, she really didn't care that much if it was.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a male voice spoke over the speakers, then, "The Aquarium will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the exit. Thank you".
On they walked, paying the announcement little mind…if all things went as planned, they truly would be leaving within the next five minutes, or so Amelia fully expected with perhaps far more optimism then she truly ought to have had. They rounded a small bend in the tunnel and found that it opened up to a large, open room beyond the tunnel, dimly lit and with a number of tanks dotted around the room in the walls, ready for visitors and tourists to enjoy viewing the fish swimming within the clear water. Each tank emitted a blue light, adding an almost spooky, dramatic air to the spacious room. At the far end of the room, however, the large tank faced them in the very back wall, while a low bench sat along before it for people to sit and watch the sharks through the floor to ceiling glass. A single woman sat upon the bench, her back turned to them, but her short grey hair and smart, though old fashioned clothing gave her way as they slowly approached her.
"Your office said we'd find you here," Sherlock remarked lightly as they neared the figure, though they stopped a good few feet away from her, acutely aware of the fact that she was far more tricky then her ordinary appearance would say.
Amelia even found herself eyeing the woman very carefully; the hair on the back of her neck standing on end…this was the woman who had managed to manipulate some very clever, highly trained people, that wasn't to be taken lightly. Still, they had her practically cornered now, with half of Scotland Yard and the British government on their way to join them in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. There was little that she could truly do now to escape them.
"You have quite interesting taste in locations," she said with only a flicker of a glance around the room, before her eyes fell back onto the tank in front of the woman. She could see the shadow of a large shark gliding through the water in the back of the tank, there was something truly unsettling about how they moved. She lightly shrugged her right shoulder, "But perhaps it's fitting".
"This was always my favourite spot for agents to meet," Vivian replied without turning around to look at them, her gaze still fixed on the tank, "We're like them: ghostly, living in the shadows," she finally did twist around on the end of her bench to look back to them, her features still somewhat obscured by the shadows of the room.
"Predatory," Sherlock added, his tone still light, but with a hint of chill.
"Well, it depends which side you're on," she turned her gaze back to the tank, before pausing, "Also, we have to keep moving or we die".
"You do enjoy the dramatics of it all, don't you?" Amelia lifted an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Sherlock, "Not that I'm judging, far from it, in fact. I do enjoy a touch of drama myself, Sherlock positively lives his life on being the most dramatic person in the room…" she smirked very faintly when Sherlock shot her a dark glare, merely shrugging it off and turning her gaze back onto Vivian, "As I said before, perhaps it truly is a very fitting location for this".
Vivian's shoulder's lifted very slightly in the shadows, "I just come to look at the fish," she said in response, neither denying or agreeing with Amelia's assessment. She slowly rose from the bench, her handbag hanging over the crook of her arm as she took a step closer to the tank, peering at the sharks gliding swiftly through the water, "I knew this would happen one day," she slowly turned around to face them, then, her expression perfectly calm, "It's like that old story".
There was something about Vivian that almost made Amelia think of Mrs Hudson, but yet something very different. Perhaps that was why Vivian had managed to get away with so much for so long, no one would ever expect that the little, fragile old lady could possibly be capable of such crimes, manipulating situations or using her own position to cause the deaths of others. But just because ones physical body might be weak, that didn't mean that your mind was, and that was something that they had all forgotten.
"I really am a very busy man," Sherlock said, slightly impatiently, frowning deeply at the elderly woman, perhaps sensing that she was going to drag this out…not so dissimilar to Mrs Hudson's ability to turn a simple story into a near essay, "Would you mind cutting to the chase?"
"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"It's practically his middle name," Amelia sighed, before fixing her gaze intently on Vivian, her expression hardening, "But if you know anything about either of our previous cases, then you ought to know that we know exactly what we're doing. Don't confuse arrogance with experience".
Vivian's lips lifted very slightly, almost with amusement, as though she found something that she had said to be funny…it made Amelia frown slightly, once again feeling that sense of dread tingle the back of her neck. But then she blinked and the curious smile was gone.
"There was once a merchant in a famous market in Baghdad…"
Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation and lightly lowered his head, as though physically pained. At any other time, Amelia might have smiled or even laughed, but not now, "I really have never liked this story," he muttered.
"I'm just like the merchant in the story," Vivian told them, ignoring his remark, "I thought I could outrun the inevitable. I've always been looking over my shoulder, always expecting to see the grim figure of…"
"…Death," a female voice spoke from behind the detectives, just as Mary walked swiftly into the room from the tunnel, looking very slightly out of breathe and casting Vivian a quick, curious look. She came to a stop just a few steps away off from Sherlock's right side.
"Hello, Mary," Sherlock greeted her casually, not taking his steady gaze from Vivian.
"Hey".
"Mary," Amelia spared her a brief, warm smile, "Thanks for joining us. I assume that John's on his way?"
"Yep".
Sherlock nodded very slightly, his gaze still on Vivian, "Mary," he began calmly, "Let me introduce Amo".
Immediately, Mary's expression tensed and her eyes fall on Vivian, her eyes widening in shock, before darkening, "You were Amo?" she stared at her, narrowing her eyes slowly, almost in disbelief, "You were the person on the phone that time?"
"Using AGRA as her private assassination unit," Sherlock confirmed, his gaze fixed steadily on Vivian.
"Why did you betray us?" Mary demanded, her voice shaking very slightly with barely concealed fury, her expression filled with anger.
Vivian shook her head, looking completely unaffected by the accusation and anger in Mary's glare, "Why does anyone do anything?" she shrugged, carelessly.
"That's hardly a answer," Amelia said sharply, crossing her arms across her chest, her expression filled with disgust and anger, anger that Vivian truly didn't seem to care, anger that she could stand before Mary, someone she had practically sentenced to death, and still act as though what she had done meant nothing, "Mary deserves to be told why you betrayed her and her teammates, surely you can understand that?" she frowned deeply at Vivian, who simply peered back at her, emotionless and unfeeling. She shook her head in disgust, scoffing, "No, I suppose you can't understand it, after all. I mean, what is human life and morality when it comes to money?" she looked her up and down in obvious disgust, "So you sold all the secrets you knew and be damned the people harmed in doing so".
"Well, it would be churlish to refuse," Vivian said with another carless shrug, looking completely calm and unconcerned. It wasn't so hard to imagine that she might admire the sharks that she came to visit here so often, she was almost more shark then human, "Worked very well for a few years. I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it…" Amelia shook her head slowly, unable to believe just how proud she actually seemed, "But the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I'd had it," she almost seemed to struggle to hold back a laugh, her lips trembling briefly with amusement as she turned her gaze onto Mary, who looked increasingly horrified, and then back to Sherlock and Amelia, neither bothering to conceal their own feelings, "Then she was taken hostage in that coup," she went on, a laugh finally slipping passed her lips, before she could stop it, "I couldn't believe my luck! That bought me a little time".
"But then you found out your boss sent AGRA in," Sherlock said quickly, watching her intently.
"Very handy. They were always such reliable killers".
Mary almost mockingly smiled back at Vivian, but her eyes were positively icy cold. Amelia grimaced slightly, she certainly wouldn't have been quite as calm under that glare as the elderly woman seemed.
"What you didn't know, Mary," he continued, as if Vivian hadn't spoken, "Was that this one also tipped off the hostage-takers".
Her eyes widened at that and she looked at him sharply, but Vivian still remained perfectly relaxed, "Lady Smallwood gave the order," she explained lightly, moving to sit delicately down on the bench once more, settling her handbag on her lap, "But I sent another one to the terrorists with a nice little clue about her code name should anyone have an enquiring mind," she smiled very faintly, "Seemed to do the trick".
"And you thought your troubles were over," Mary breathed, her voice hoarse and full of bitterness, her eyes fixed on the elderly woman before her with a haunted, dark look glittering in them.
"I was tired," she sighed, shaking her head lightly, "Tired of the mess of it all," she paused briefly, her calm facade finally slipping to show wiriness lining her features, but there was still no sympathy, no regret, not even guilt for her actions. It made Amelia feel ill, "I just wanted some peace, some clarity," she continued, almost sighing out each word with longing, before her tone grew quite matter-fact again, "The hostages were killed, AGRA too…" she glanced across to Mary, giving her a funny, humourless smile, "…or so I thought," she shrugged again, turning her gaze back to Sherlock and Amelia, watching her with deep frowns, "My secret was safe. But apparently not," she closed her eyes briefly, "Just a little peace. That's all you wanted too, wasn't it?" her gaze fall back on Mary, nodding knowingly, "A family, home. I understand…"
Mary shifted slightly uncomfortably, listening to Vivian, before glancing sideways at Sherlock and Amelia, almost as if she felt guilty for having desired the same thing that Vivian wanted. Amelia caught her eye and gave her a gentle, reassuring look, hoping, desperately, that Mary would understand that no one was judging her. Of course she would have wanted to get out, to be free and to have the chance to live a normal, happy life with a family of her own…why wouldn't she? But Mary hadn't gone about it by betraying people or killing people for the sake of a nice little cottage and retirement plan. Mary wasn't anything like Vivian, not in the slightest. Vivian shifted slightly, then, and Amelia immediately turned her attention back onto her, frowning uneasily as she noticed her lift her handbag slightly closer to her body, until it was sitting upright on her knees, her hands folded just over the open zipper. Something wasn't right about that movement, the change in position…it made a chill run down Amelia's spine and she felt herself tensing.
"So just let me get out of here, right?" Vivian peered up at them, looking like a perfectly innocent, elderly woman, "Let me just walk away. I'll vanish. I'll go forever. What d'you say?"
"After what you did…" Mary began furiously, moving to take a run at the woman.
"No!" Amelia cried, her eyes widening, moving to rush after her, though hindered by her heels.
"Mary, no!" Sherlock shouted at the same time, taking a hasty step forward to try and grab her arm.
Vivian, however, was faster, and she rose smoothly and withdrew a pistol from her handbag, aiming it directly at Mary's heart, stopping her short. She didn't look like an innocent, little old lady now, instead she looked like someone who knew exactly how to use that weapon and wasn't afraid to do it, her eyes sharp and steady on Mary, her hands unwavering on the gun, save for the faint tremble of a drinker. Amelia swallowed, hard, her eyes darting between Mary and the gun, her heart pounding sickeningly fast in her chest. Slowly, Mary stepped backwards.
"Okay," she said calmingly, falling back into line with Sherlock and Amelia, now between the two detectives, her gaze fixed warily on Vivian.
Vivian lowered the gun very slightly from her, glancing down, almost thoughtfully, at the pistol, "I was never a field agent," she commented, lifting her gaze to look back across them, "I always thought I'd be rather good".
Mary scoffed at that, but Amelia considered her closely, "Likely so," she said with a slight narrowing of her eyes, and Mary cast her a quick, surprised look. She ignored it, her eyes fixed on Vivian, who had switched her attention onto her now, "You do seem to have a certain flair for it, after all, it's just too bad that you had to turn it towards your own self-interest. After all, when you take away the fact that you were betraying your very own country and attempting to save your own life, you handled the Tbilisi incident rather impressively".
She smiled proudly, smugness and pride practically radiating off her, "Thanks".
"For a secretary, perhaps," Sherlock added, almost dismissively, though his eyes were firmly fixed on Vivian.
Instantly, her smile vanished and she blinked, "What?" she questioned, her tone flat and her expression freezing.
"Sherlock…" Amelia glanced at him, feeling dread pooling in her stomach and a flicker of warning in the back of her mind, telling her that of all the suspects that he could play the role of the Great Sherlock Holmes with and sprout his arrogant, knowing babble at and expect to get away with it…this woman was not it. She seemed even more arrogant then him, certainly far less morally inclined and evidently distorted in her own ability to feel like most humans would. She was a psychopath, with the hubris to match, plus she had a gun. Amelia knew psychopaths, she knew them very well, and she knew that Vivian was not one that should be pushed in the slightest, they should just simply keep her talking until the police arrived. That was all.
"Can't have been easy all those years," Sherlock continued, his eyes narrowing very slightly on Vivian with a dark, knowing look and his voice soft, though easily carrying through the tense silence of the room. Amelia closed her eyes in exasperation, so much for always listening to her, "Sitting in the back keeping your mouth shut when you knew you were cleverer than most of the people in the room".
"I didn't do this out of jealousy!" Vivian exclaimed, scoffing at the idea.
"No?" he lifted his eyebrows, his eyes growing icy cold, and Amelia clenched her fists so hard that she could feel her fingernails biting into her own flesh, eyes darting anxiously between him and Vivian. Push her too far and it would turn very quickly and likely very deadly, "Same old drudge," he went on softly, "Day in, day out, never getting out there where all the excitement was. Just back to your little flat on Wigmore Street," he smirked very slightly when Vivian gaped openly at him in shock.
Amelia cleared her throat, just to try and make sure that her voice remained steady and calm when she spoke, her eyes still darting worriedly between them, "It's the clay on your shoes," she explained, hoping that she might be able to change the direction of this conversation, perhaps keep her busy being shocked by how much they could pick up from her appearance, while buying them more time. The less she let Sherlock talk, too, the less chance he had to make a right mess of things, "I happen to go to a chemist on the same street and the last time I happened to be on the street I couldn't help noticing that the pavement outside the Post Office was being removed, I imagine that's how you came to get the clay on your shoes," she shrugged lightly, "I'm not an expert on clay, mind, but the grey colour is unusual".
Vivian blinked slowly and glanced down at her small, black heels, which were scrapped with grey clay along the edges on the pointed toe, looking quite dry, evidently having been on the shoes for most of the day, if not even longer.
"Yes," Sherlock said, then, his voice positively dripping with something close to mocking derision. Amelia silently cursed inside her head and rolled her eyes up towards the darkened ceiling, so much for attempting to stop Sherlock from talking, "Your little flat".
"How do you know?" she demanded, looking, for the first time, almost shaken.
"Oh, dear God…" Amelia breathed to herself, lowering her head in exasperation. Please, please, Lestrade, just get here already, she pleaded to herself, knowing that it would take her physically stuffing something in Sherlock's mouth to get him to stop talking now. She had to admit, given the situation; she wasn't that far off from doing just that…maybe she could even use his own scarf to do it, too.
"Well, on your salary it would have to be modest and you spent all the money on that cottage, didn't you?" Sherlock said very rapidly, narrowing his eyes very slightly and looking her up and down thoughtfully, "And what are you, widowed or divorced?" he didn't wait for her to respond, his eyes falling to her left hand, where a plain, gold wedding band sat on her index finger, "Wedding ring's at least thirty years old and you've moved it to another finger. That means you're sentimentally attached to it, but you're not still married," he shrugged lightly, while Amelia shook her head, her expression almost pained, "I favour widowed, given the number of cats you share your life with".
"Sherlock…" Mary tried warningly, her eyes wide as she stared at Vivian, who looked quite uncomfortable now, while her life was laid bare before them.
"Seriously, Sherlock," Amelia hissed to him, licking her lips nervously, her eyes darting between him and Vivian, "Shut up, now. You've proven your point…"
He was to far lost to his deductions, though, his words not even faltering for a second, "Two Burmese and a tortoiseshell," he said, oblivious to either woman's concern, nor the slight frown crossing Vivian's face, "Judging by the cat hairs on your cardigan. A divorcee's more likely to look for a new partner, a widower to fill the void left by her dead husband…"
"Sherlock, don't," Mary tried again, slightly more desperately.
"For God's sake, Sherlock!" Amelia exclaimed, not caring now if Vivian heard her, not caring about anything but the fact that she could see something dark brewing in Vivian's eyes as they stared at Sherlock and the gun in her hands, her fingers tightening around it. She usually wouldn't have spoken up, left him to his babbling and then pick up the pieces after he probably insulted the person, but this time was different. There was too much at stake right now, so she hastily moved around Mary's back to stand on Sherlock's other side, grabbing his arm, tugging on it almost desperately, "That's enough now, Sherlock!" she told him sternly, hoping, though she knew deep down that it was a fools errand, that it might break through to him, "Just stop this, you're only making it worse".
His voice only seemed to rise, though, almost as though he was droning them out, "Pets do that, or so I'm told," he continued rapidly, ignoring Amelia's desperately tugging on his arm, his entire attention fixed on Vivian and her cold, dark gaze, "And there's clearly no-one new in your life, otherwise you wouldn't be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium. That probably accounts for the drink problem too…" Amelia very nearly slapped her hand over his mouth just to try and get him to stop talking at that point, her eyes widening with horror, "…the slight tremor in your hand, the red wine stain ghosting your top lip. So yes," he paused, very slightly to drawer in a breath, while Amelia felt almost frozen with horror, staring at him with a flicker of fear, "I say jealousy was your motive after all, to prove how good you are…"
Vivian's eyes flickered away from them and Amelia quickly looked behind her to see Mycroft stroll slowly into the room, his eyes immediately falling on Vivian and her pistol, while Lestrade trailed a few steps behind him, looking far more concerned with three uniformed police officers on his heels. She felt a sigh of relief escape her, her eyes darting back to the elderly woman, watching the men's entrance with a slight tightening of her lips. That made Amelia pause, dread hitting her again…this wasn't over yet.
"…to make up for the inadequacies of your little life," Sherlock finished, practically spitting the words out, evidently simply to disgusted by what Vivian had done. He wasn't even attempting to conceal it.
"That's enough, Sherlock," Amelia breathed, tightening her grip on his arm, her fingers trembling very slightly. She just wanted to see the police arrest Vivian and disarm her and only then would she relax, until then she had to fear for Sherlock. He had said far too much, pushed and prodding at Vivian enough to cause even the most stable person to feel upset, let alone someone who was clearly already on an edge. She swallowed, hard, and turned her firm eyes onto the side of his face, "Please, Holmes, just let the police and Mycroft deal with this now".
"Well, Mrs Norbury," Mycroft greeted the woman, coming to a stop a few steps away from Amelia, considering the elderly woman closely, "I must admit this is unexpected".
"Vivian Norbury," Sherlock said slowly, his tone laced with sarcasm. Amelia closed her eyes tightly and hung her head in despair, could he seriously never just let the last word lie? "Who outsmarted them all," his expression grew almost smug, "All except Amelia Wilson and Sherlock Holmes…"
"Great," Amelia groaned, dropping her hand from his arm, conceding defeat. He might claim to listen to her, but when he got caught up in the thrill of the chase, he truly did seem to become very deaf to her, almost like when she asked him to clean the bathroom while she was out, "Go and throw my name in there, why don't you? Why not add even more salt to the wound, really grind it in with a dash of lemon, too…"
"Calm down, Amelia," he said lightly, not taking his gaze off Vivian, his tone sounding oddly calm and confident. It only made her all the more worried, "Everything is perfectly under control," he lifted his chin very slightly and held his gloved covered hand out towards Vivian, waiting for her to simply hand him her gun, his tone growing softer as he spoke directly to Vivian, "There's no way out".
Amelia wanted to grab him and pull him back behind her, it was such a sudden urge that she was almost startled, her breathe catching in her throat and her heart almost stuttering, before speeding up at twice the normal rate. She clenched her fists again, feeling her fingernails biting into her flesh once again, but with enough force that it truly did hurt this time, while her tongue went completely dry. She didn't know what it was, blind instinct, perhaps, to a threat or perhaps her subconscious mind picked up something about Vivian in that moment that she failed to realise until it was too late, but later, once she had calmed down and had the chance to go over everything that had gone wrong in that moment, she would think back on that moment. What might have been different had she followed that instinct? Would everything have changed for the better? She often wondered….it would be perhaps one of her greatest regrets, but she didn't act on it. She kept her arms by her side and watched on with a nauseating sense of doom and did nothing. Hindsight really is 20/20.
"So it would seem," Vivian nodded very slightly, her tone light and perfectly calm. She even smiled faintly, "You've seen right through me, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson…"
"It's what we do," Sherlock replied easily, almost sounding proud.
She tilted her head thoughtfully, considering him, "Maybe I can still surprise you," she swiftly lifted her gun up and aimed it directly at his chest, and Amelia's knees went weak, just for a second, while all the air seemed to escape from her lungs, like she had been punched.
"Come on," Lestrade tried hastily, pointing at her, while everyone else immediately froze and all the colour seemed to drain from Mycroft's face. Sherlock very calmly lifted his hands up on either side of himself, his gaze fixed steadily on her, "Be sensible".
"Please, don't do this," Amelia practically pleaded, her voice shaking very slightly as she could only seem to see the gun pointed at Sherlock, feeling her entire body go utterly numb, "Don't end it like this, be smarter than that," she swallowed thickly, her voice growing almost horse, "It's over now, why cause more needless deaths? Just…be better…"
Vivian seemed to consider it very briefly as the entire room held their breath, Amelia practically feeling as though she might pass out, when she shook her head, "No, I don't think so," she said, and pulled the trigger.
A deafening bang filled the air and there was a barely a second there when Amelia knew that Sherlock was gone, there was no way that he would survive being hit that close or from that position that the gun was aimed at his chest, she just knew that she was going to witness him die before her eyes and there was nothing anyone could do to save him. There was no escaping it this time, his number was finally up, but then time seem to go back into hype-speed. Reality seemed to spin out of control and something blonde and navy blue jumped forward, right where Sherlock had been, and Amelia suddenly felt herself being knocked backwards by Sherlock's shoulder as he was sent a few steps backwards to. And then a horrible cry filled the air.
Time seemed to snap back to normal, then, and Amelia gasped as she straightened, her body still utterly numbed from even the probably bruising force of being knocked backwards. How she managed to remain standing on her heels was a miracle, but all of it paled in comparison to the sight that greeted her when she finally seemed to be able to process what was happening. It was Mary, she had thrown herself in front of Sherlock, taking the bullet for him as blood began to blossom through the stomach and lower chest of her light grey top. She tumbled onto the ground to fall against one of the benches, gasping in agony.
"Surprise," Vivian said smugly, full of spite and scorn, but it was just a buzz to Amelia's ears.
Amelia found herself on the floor by Mary before she even remembered moving, already tearing her coat off herself to immediately press it against the bloody wound in her stomach, while she was absently aware of Sherlock dropping onto his knees on the other side of Mary's gasping, whimpering form, staring down at her in utter shock and horror. Mary seemed rather stunned herself by what had happened, her eyes wide as she gasped in great, deep breathes that shook her entire body, looking up at them as Amelia firmly pressed down against the wound, desperately praying it would actually work.
"Mary…" Amelia gasped out, her mind racing frantically. No, not Mary, no, this couldn't be happening right now, it simply couldn't be happening…, "Just…stay calm, yeah?" she licked her lips, feeling completely lost for what to even do, how to try and help her. Was she pressing down to hard? Not hard enough? Had the bullet gone through her back and she was bleeding out there, too? Or was it still inside her, causing untold damage with every shuddering gasp she took? "It's…it's going to be alright, you're going to be fine".
"Get an ambulance!" Sherlock called over his shoulder to Mycroft, who instantly turned and stepped away to make the call, passing John, just as he came running into the room. He turned back to Mary, "It's all right, it's all right…" he murmured to her, his voice shaking very slightly as Mary took another deep, shuddering gasp.
"Mary!" John's frantic cry was almost as terrible as Mary's breathing, and he immediately moved to his wife's side, dropping down in a crouch beside her, Sherlock edging out of his way and standing. Amelia bit her bottom lip and kept her hand pressing down her steadily blood soaked coat, wishing to give John a chance to process what was happening.
"John!" Mary managed to gasp out, before breaking off with a pained whimper, breathing heavily.
John silently placed his hands over Amelia's as they pressed down against the wound, and Amelia carefully slipped her own blood stained hands from out beneath his fingers, knowing that it could possibly cause even greater damage to the wound if they stopped applying pressure to it, even for a moment. She moved to stand, then, but she felt a warm, strong hand wrap around her upper right arm and help her to rise, Sherlock not dropping his hand from her, even as they stepped back a few feet from the Watsons. It comforted her, his presence and touch against her bare skin, but she still couldn't take her horrified gaze from Mary's gasping form.
"Mary?" he said quickly, moving his left hand up to cradle the back of her head, his other hand pressing down against the wound, "Mary?" slowly, she looked up into his face, "Stay with me. Stay with me…"
"Oh, come on…" Mary managed through gasps, her voice hitching with pain.
"No, don't worry. Don't worry…"
"Oh, come on, Doctor Watson," she whimpered, almost seeming to be trying to give him a weak, pained smile, "You can do better than that…" she broke off sharply, closing her eyes tightly.
Sherlock lowered his head briefly, shock written across his features, as though he was struggling to comprehend what he was witnessing. Amelia gently pulled her right arm from his grasp and instead wrapped her arm around his waist, silently trying to remind him that they were in this together.
"Come on, Mary…" John said desperately, grimacing as she sobbed painfully, "Mary, come on…"
"God, John, I think this is it".
"No, no, no, no, it's not," he shook his head firmly, and Amelia very nearly burst into tears right then and there, her heart breaking at the desperate, plead in his tone. He very slightly lifted the edge of the soaked coat to check her wound, only to hastily push it back down, his expression contorting with panic briefly. It wasn't good; none of this was going to end well.
"You made me so happy," she breathed, and he forced a pained smile, trying so hard to conceal just how panicked and afraid he was, because…he knew, he knew there was nothing they could do, Amelia could see it in his eyes. She covered her mouth with her left hand, just to try and hold back the sob threatening to escape her, "You gave me everything I could ever, ever…"
"Shh, shh…"
"…want…"
"Mary, Mary…" he gently tried to console her, hushing her soothingly as he lifted his hand from the back of her neck to push her hair back from off her forehead.
Mary's eyes filled with tears, "Look after Rosie," she said tearfully, and he hushed her again, "Promise me".
"I promise," he whispered.
"No," she sobbed, and Amelia looked down at the floor, feeling tears slip down her cheeks. It was simply too heartbreaking, how could this even be happening? It was just so unfair.
"Yes, I promise…"
"Promise me," she insisted, through sobs.
"I promise," he swore firmly, "I promise," he gently tried hushing her again, desperately trying to keep her calm, to comfort her in any way that he still could.
Mary weakly lifted her hand up to stroke his cheek, but the movement was clumsy and painful, and her hand soon slipped back onto her lap. She turned her head, then, her eyes falling on Sherlock and Amelia, "Hey, Sherlock…" she gasped shakily.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked hesitantly, staring down at her in shock, almost fearfully so. He didn't seem to know how to react.
"I…so like you. Did I ever say?"
Tears welled in his pale blue eyes and he smiled very faintly, but it looked pained, "Yes," he nodded, his voice choked with emotion, "Yes, y-you did," he stopped and pressed his lips together, and Amelia's lips trembled against her blood stained palm, knowing that he holding back a sob.
"And…Amelia," Mary whimpered out, turning her tearful gaze on Amelia, who barely held back from fully bursting into sobs as she met her eyes, "Thanks…for forgiving me…for shooting Sherlock that time," she released a shuddering breath, "I'm really sorry".
"Always, Mary," Amelia told her softly, lowering her hand from her mouth, her voice filled with tears and shaking. She tried so hard to keep it from completely overcoming her, but she felt as though she was failing miserably, "I never held it against you, never," she sniffed back tears, giving her a faint, watery smile, "We're family, Mary. It's just that simple".
She tried to give her a smile in return, but it caused her so much effort and pain, she could barely keep it up for less than a few seconds, but Amelia knew, "You'll look after them…for me," she struggled out, giving her a an almost pleading look that instantly shattered Amelia's heart, "John and Rosie…promise me, Amelia, promise…"
"You don't have to ask," she said hastily, her voice breaking briefly with a sob, her features twisted with pain, "I promise, Mary, I'll always look after them, on my life, I will".
She nodded clumsily, before stopping short with a pained groan. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to Sherlock, "I…I think we're even now, Sherlock, okay?" she asked him weakly.
Sherlock nodded slowly, "Okay," he agreed, his voice soft.
Suddenly, Mary cried out in pain, taking another great, shuddering gasp, her eyes briefly closing.
"Mary," John said urgently, stroking her hair desperately, "Mary…"
She turned her head slightly away from Sherlock, her eyes growing unfocused, "I think we're even," she gasped out, "Definitely ev…even…" she looked back up to John's face, while he desperately tried hushing her again, barely managing to drawer in air as another ripple of pain seemed to hit her withering body again, "You…" she broke off briefly with a sob, looking weakly into his eyes, "You were my whole world," her breathing began to hitch against the pain and John grimaced in anguish and screwed up his features in pain, lifting his face up towards the ceiling, as if he was trying to hold in the scream that he wanted to cry out. Mary's eyes slipped half-closed, "Being Mary Watson…" she struggled to get out through the pain, and John dropped his gaze back to her, "…was the only life worth living…"
"Mary," he breathed.
"Thank you," she murmured, before her eyes slipped closed completely and her head fall forward, her entire body going limp as she breathed her last.
Amelia pressed her palm against her mouth again, barely stifling the sob that tore from her throat. She watched, unable to look away, unable to do anything, as John slowly dragged in a shuddering breath.
"Mary," he whispered, and so very delicately lifted his blood stained fingers up to touch Mary's chin, before dropping his hand.
It was devastating to watch, the room utterly silent as no one moved or uttered a sound, while John simply crouched beside Mary's still form, as if waiting for her to move again, for one last miracle perhaps. There was no great miracle, however, and Mary remained still. Slowly, John lifted his hand again and lightly touched her cheek, before slipping it down to touch her pulse point on her neck, while his other hand cradled her head so very carefully. Amelia had never seen a more heartbreaking sight in her entire life, she could barely seemed to drawer in air as she watched John drop his hand from Mary's neck and instead gently drop his chin on top of her head, cradling her to him with a vacant look in his eyes. It was truly frightening to see. He pulled back from her, then, peering into her face, before his entire face contorted with simply pure agony, as though someone had just walked up and stabbed him in the heart. He dropped his head and dragged in a shuddering gasp, before releasing it with a near, animalistic howl of grief through his clenched teeth.
Amelia went to him, then, collapsing onto her knees beside him and wrapping her arms tightly around him, closing her eyes tightly against the harsh shudders shaking his body as he just seemed to fall against her, as if his entire body had just gone utterly boneless. She even found herself very gently rocking him, out of pure instinct alone, feeling his hot breathe ghosting against her neck and feeling his tears dropping onto her neck. He gave another mournful cry and she cringed, both from the loud noise right in her ear and the pure agony of it.
"Shh, John," she murmured, just wishing she could take all of his pain away with a few gentle words, but there was nothing she could say that would dull this pain. Nothing anyone could do, just time and acceptance, "Shh, you're not alone," she opened her eyes, filled with her own tears, "I've got you, I've got you…"
She felt Sherlock approach them, rather than saw him, so used to his presence that it was easy enough for her to just sense him nearing them, but just as a glove covered hand reached down to touch John's shoulder, John suddenly jolted upright. He practically pushed Amelia away from him to glare furiously up at Sherlock, halting his hand in an instant. There was something truly savage in his dark gaze as he looked up at him, something that chilled Amelia to her bones.
"Don't you dare," he hissed lowly, his voice laced with fury as he breathed heavily, and Sherlock's expression filled with shock and alarm, "You made a vow," he snarled, his voice barely above a whisper, but no less intense then a scream of rage, "You swore it".
Sherlock's eyes widened and he slowly stepped backwards from him, as though John had just taken a swing at him. Amelia slowly shifted away from John and rose carefully back up off the floor, moving back to stand next to Sherlock. He reached out to take her hand, squeezing it as John, tears slipping down his cheeks, looked back down at Mary's body and reached out to gently stroke her hair, before leaning closer to her, pressing his mouth lightly against her ear, cradling her delicately as he murmured something tenderly in her ear. But Mary was beyond them now, beyond all of them.
Amelia closed her eyes and turned herself into Sherlock, wrapping her arms around him as he immediately sunk into the embrace, seemingly caring little for Mycroft and Lestrade standing but a few feet away from them still. She pressed her face into his neck and allowed a single sob to be muffled into his neck, allowing herself that one tiny moment of morning, before she knew that she would have to be strong for Sherlock and John. Whatever happened next…she knew it was going to be one of the greatest challenges they had ever faced yet.
Oh, God, poor Mary. I really liked Mary as a character, I know that some people didn't, but I always enjoyed her. I loved how she just sort of accepted Sherlock right from the start and just went along with everything he did, for the most part, and just accepted it as it just being him. And now she's gone and we've got this massive mess to deal with. It's going to be a rocky ride. Now, technically, the next chapter is part of the Six Thatchers, but I decided to make it sort of its own chapter outside of the episodes, since it felt more fitting and it's all original, so enjoy!
As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr, Pinterest, and URSTYLE account. Next chapter, tiny bit of tender Sherlock/Amelia, Amelia finds herself in the middle of her two greatest friends, and we learn a touch more about her past that has only previously been touched upon before. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)
Guest Review:
Izzy: Yeah, I know what you mean about John's whole affair feeling off for him, I remember being so confused by it and still kind of am, honestly. I just feel kind of like they wrote it in order to bring the whole Eurus drama into it from the start of the season and add another layer of drama to Mary's death, by making John feel guilty for not having told her about the affair. I'm not a fan of it and honestly, I probably would have tried to cut it out of the story in favour of possibly something else, or nothing at all, but it worked so well with Amelia that I decided to keep it in there. Still not a fan of it, though, I think the writers made a very strange choice when they went down that path with John's character. Very strange, indeed. Thanks for the review :)