They were guided to an elevator. Mary scanned her eye and middle finger, and the elevator headed down. "Don't scan your thumb," she warned them as they descended. "We use that as a silent alert. If someone scans their thumb, it indicates they're opening the door against their will."
"Good to know," she said, standing straight and (somewhat) tall, trying to portray a character more similar to Sebastian's than her own.
The door opened on a barracks floor, and they were lead down a neat hallway to a door marked [604- BOWEN, WINSLOW]. "This will be the two of you, then. Tight space so even officers share quarters, but you have your own rooms. Each of you has access on the pad. Try it now, make sure it works for you both. You can leave your bags here, and we'll escort you to the commander."
She nodded, scanning the door with her middle finger as previously instructed and stepping back as the door clicked open for John to try. She was pleased they were forced to share quarters; it would make keeping an eye on him much easier, and if anybody tried to take out one of them, the other was there to help put a stop to it.
John's scan cleared as well, and they entered, setting rucksacks and bags on the floor of the sparse-but-comfortable shared living area. Mary nodded. "Excellent. Follow me." She headed back for the hall and elevator.
They followed dutifully, Lorna scanning the hallway, taking note of some of the names on the walls, wondering who among them was a rat. It was certainly someone, and likely someone high up. She doubted someone like Mary would have direct access to all the information that Euros had gathered over the years. And it had been a lot of information.
It took them another five minutes to make their way to the commander's office- a centralized, glass-enclosed structure with a 360 view. Commander Malik- a man of middling height and middle-eastern descent met them at the door. "Officer Wilkins. Officer Bowen. Good to have you both."
"Thank you. Nice to meet you too. I'm sure you know why we're here; hell, you may have been the one who requested us. Should we get right down to business?"
He nodded. "I'm not the one who put in the request, that came from higher up, but we're at your disposal. You have full access. I only request you keep a guide with you until you understand our safety protocols."
"Of course, that sounds perfectly reasonable," she agreed easily. She was a master manipulator; a little tagalong for a while didn't bother her. "I have some immediate questions about the comings and goings of the island; I'd like to see reports of all planes entering and leaving, along with any watercraft, and a log of outside communications. We'll work from there. Outside-in, you might say," she smiled.
It wasn't until well past seven that night before they were allowed to return to their rooms for the night. Dinner had been simple, but decent, which John took as a good sign. Miserable food would have made this assignment considerably less bearable.
Lorna immediately stripped off her jacket, leaving her in the plain black, tight cotton shirt underneath, hanging up the jacket by the door and then walking over to sit on the couch. There a tv, at least. It remained to be seen whether or not they had cable. Somehow, she doubted it. Then she sighed, and stood. She'd realized she needed to start checking for bugs.
John picked up his rucksack, glancing over at Lorna's search, and nodded, indicating one of the bedrooms. He walked in, set his bag down, and started his own search.
The search took her about twenty minutes more than it would have taken Sebastian, but she was alright with that, as long as she was certain she was thorough. She found no bugs, which wasn't entirely surprising, considering Mycroft had set up this mission, and they were trying to stay under the radar from Euros. When she was done she let out a sigh of relief, and got a glass of water from the small kitchenette. "Alright, we're clear."
John nodded. "Good. That makes life less complicated. We could explain removing bugs as part of our security checks, but..." He shrugs. "Undo suspicion from whoever planted them."
"Certainly less annoying this way. Thanks, Mycroft, for once in your useless life," she muttered into her glass of water, downing it in a few gulps. "By the way, looks like we're sharing a bathroom. Try not to make it filthy. I mean, not that I expect you to, but I have been unpleasantly surprised in the past."
"I tend toward the neat side of things. Sherlock was always more of a mess than I really had a taste for."
"I guess you were in the army. I forget, sometimes. Been years since I last thought about you, really. You should be flattered, considering how often I think about your friends," she snorted, setting down her glass and putting her hands on the counter, just sort of leaning over the sink, closing her eyes. This was so strange. Working with these people, here and now, of all times. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be with Sebastian, wanted to take care of him, make sure he was taking care of himself, make sure Jim wasn't doing anything foolish to get in the way of that... She rubbed a hand over her face.
"Yes, I've always been the forgettable one. Comes in handy, really." He walked over to sit on the couch, flipping on the tele and starting to shift through channels. "Surprising amount of options. Guess there isn't much else to do out here."
"Good," she said, and pushed off the counter, moving to sit on the other side of the couch. She looked, and felt, exhausted. Had it really only been the day before that she'd come back from her honeymoon? It didn't seem real.
"Here." He handed her the remote. "I don't care what."
She switched it to a nature documentary, of course, with a grateful nod, and then put down the remote and tried to convince her body to relax.
"So..." he said eventually, during a commercial for toothpaste. "What have you been up to?"
She glanced at him, trying to figure out his game. "Do you want story time? Because this sounds like a perfect time to tell you all about what Mycroft has done to us since the last time we met."
"I mean, to be fair, you're not exactly law-abiding citizens," he retorted.
Her lips curled into something close to a sneer. "No, we're not. I've killed a damn lot of people, Watson. But, you know what? I think Mycroft has killed more." She stood, then, a sudden movement, pulling off her cotton shirt without hesitation, revealing the heart surgery scar that ran down half of her chest. "You know what this was? He bio-engineered a parasite to kill me and Jim after a certain amount of time without a signal from him. Oh, and I forgot," she laughed, eyes fierce. "He only got the access to put that damn capsule in me because he kept me and Jim in a godforsaken labyrinth for a YEAR. I fought oversized weasels, was forcibly hooked on heroin, went under the knife so many fucking times, for a YEAR, Watson. I didn't see the sky for a year, I didn't eat anything but MREs for a year, I didn't sleep in a bed, I didn't shower, I didn't watch the telly or have sex or pet a damn cat for a year." She shook her head, turning and pulling her shirt back on, back half to him. She knew that this next part may actually affect him, might really make him examine Mycroft's priorities, but it sucked to talk about.
"He had me raped, Watson. Multiple times. Used the worst person I'd ever met for it, and then I had to abort his fucking hellspawn." She looked back at him. Her voice was quieter now. "I'm a bad person, Watson. I enjoy death. But don't for a second think that you're with the good guys either."
John was quiet, staring at her, his face grey. He didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, he took a breath. "You're right. I apologize."
"Thanks, I guess," she muttered, then turned and walked into her room, only pausing to take her bag with her, and shut the door behind her.
He stood after a moment, picking up his own bag and heading into his room. "Really brilliant first day," he muttered.
She unpacked quickly and efficiently, mind blank, avoiding reliving her traumas as much as possible.
The next few days, John avoided speaking to Lorna whenever possible. She seemed to be fine with the arrangement. When they were working, it was different. They were different people, with different personalities and history. The apartment they shared was a silent warzone.
Lorna was honestly pleasantly surprised by Watson's lying capabilities. The shift he made in their quarters proved that he wasn't an absolute worthless imbecile like she was sure Sebastian suspected. It was on the fourth day that she went about making dinner, simple steak and potatoes, and when she was done she knocked on his door. "Hey. I made dinner."
He looked at the door uncertainly, and then stood, walking over and opening it. "I smelled it... it smells good."
She gave him a slight smile, heading back into the kitchen to plate the food. "Won't be as good as my husband's, but I'm not as bad of a cook as he makes me out to be."
He followed, uncertain, but hungry. "Moran cooks? That surprises me."
She chuckled. "He's an amazing cook. Learned it after... Well, troubles, I suppose."
He took the plate she offered him. "Thank you." He walked over to the small table, standing until she took her seat. "What about you, then? What are your hobbies?"
She smirked a little, eating a forkful of potatoes before answering. "I like birds, and drawing. I used to like parties. The rest of it would probably offend you."
"Probably," he agreed, taking a few bites. She was right. It was nothing special, but it was good. "Why did you used to like parties?"
She shrugged. "I changed, I guess. First time I got cut off from the alcohol, had a stroke. Changed me, I think. Plus the times I got kidnapped or attacked at parties."
"A stroke..." He murmured, shaking his head slightly, surprised. "Jesus. Glad you're alright." He was surprised to find that he meant it.
She was surprised. "Thanks," she said, after a second. It was another minute before she spoke again, eating in silence. "What about you? What do you do when you're not detecting or doctoring?"
"I look..." He hesitated. He had been about to say 'look after my daughter', but had remembered suddenly that this was the woman who had kidnapped and tortured him only a few years ago. He had no reason to trust her, especially with information about his family. "I don't have time for much else."
She sensed the change in tone, but simply smiled a little. "John, I know what's been happening in your life, vaguely. I have to keep up on our enemies, as much as you mind your own business. Congratulations on your child."
He stiffened, feeling distinctly like she'd read his mind, and uncomfortable with it. He knew to expect it from the readers, but this woman was different. Still, he should have expected that she would know. "No offense, but your congratulations come off as more threatening than I hope you intend."
She grimaced slightly. "I didn't mean it that way, but I can see why you would think that," she admitted.
He nodded just slightly. "Good. Because if any of you ever try to interfere with my daughter, there is not a place in this world or the next where you would be safe." He spoke factually, not trying to sound tough, his expression calm.
She wasn't at all scared, but nodded. "Understood, Watson."
He nodded, too, satisfied and returning to his food. He didn't intend for her to be scared. It wasn't a threat, it was a fact. He started eating quietly.
She ate for a while in silence. "You sound like me."
"Hm?" He glanced up from his food, expression curious as he chewed and swallowed. "How so?"
"I've threatened people like that, about Moran. Well. One person in particular."
He leaned back, his plate empty, not quite full but content enough. "Who?" He could guess.
"My ex," she smirked.
He raised an eyebrow. "That seems like a dangerous title to have when it comes to you."
"We parted fairly easily. He still loves me. I had to make it clear when we met again he would suffer if he harmed Sebastian."
"Ah," he said, nodding slightly and adjusting his jacket. "And did he listen?"
"It was... Hm. It worked for a bit, I suppose. Then he chopped off his finger," she snorted. "I'm relieved it healed well."
"I hadn't heard that," John said, surprised. "What happened?"
"I was sick, from Mycroft's pod, and I... Out. Coma, maybe, though that maybe came later. Can't remember, it was a confusing time for me," she shrugged, eating a bite more. "They fought over staying rights, pretty much. My ex got crippled."
"Jesus," he said again. "Has it ever occurred to you to retire? Buy a nice house in the country. Hide out with your husband and be happy."
"Yes," she laughed, leaning back in her chair a little and running a hand through her hair. "Yes it has. But he could never."
He studied her, and there was solidarity between them for a moment. "Yes... I suppose I understand that."
Her smile faded naturally, over time. She supposed that Sherlock was probably somewhat the same, as strange as that was.
John stood once she finished, taking both plates to the sink and starting to wash up. "It's odd," he said finally. "This. Working together."
"I know, believe me," she chuckled, giving him a nod of gratitude for taking the plates. "It was crazy, finding out about Euros in the first place. I got called back from my honeymoon and found out I was working with you. I..." She paused. "I know this won't mean much to you. But I'm sorry about the first time we met. I never thought you deserved it." In truth, she didn't care. But she needed John believing she did.
He shrugged, scrubbing the plates off a bit more vigorously, "Doesn't change the fact that you did it."
"You're right. And I can't undo it. But I'm sorry nonetheless. Though, after what's happened to me, I certainly wouldn't accept an apology from my enemy. So I won't expect you too, either," she shrugged.
He sighed, setting the dishes aside to dry and turning to face her. "Given that we have to work together... perhaps it's best to start fresh."
She appraised him for a second, and then nodded. "Alright, that sounds like a good idea to me. As long as I can still badmouth Mycroft."
"Please," he smirked. "I badmouth him constantly. It's one of my primary forms of entertainment."
She chuckled darkly. "Yeah, well, it's probably for different reasons. Still. Glad I can do it without anybody in earshot being sensitive to it."
He sighed, leaning back. "Speaking of which... perhaps I'm just oblivious, but no one is standing out to me as being particularly... shady."
She nodded, shrugging a little. "I doubt they would last here long if they were, as strict as security is here. I'm sure the loyal ones would weed them out quickly. That is, if anybody is actually loyal. Keep in mind we also have only met... mm, 25% of the staff? If that?"
He nodded. "But our focus has been on people with the most access. For someone to give Euros that sort of access, they would need to have good access to the system."
She sighed a little. "That's true. Although... If she had spread out and taken multiple people with different levels of access..."
He walked back over to the table, sitting down, considering that. "Seems unlikely. How would she convince that many people? And why bother, when she could target someone at a higher level and get all the access with so much less work?"
"She's had years, John. That's a long time for manipulation. She manipulated Ines into taking over the network in a way that Ines didn't even know what the driving source was. I'm not going to underestimate her." She said simply.
He nodded slowly. "Is it true," he asked after a moment. "About her ribs?"
"Elaborate," she asked.
"That there were things... carved into them?" he asks, quiet, trepidatious.
"Yes," she nodded. "'Did you miss me - E' specifically. I don't like that she was capable of that. I don't like that there were things aimed at me in the things leading up to it. I don't like that it's conceivable that Jim only started.. harassing Sherlock in the first place because of Euros' influence."
He sighed. "Bloody geniuses," he muttered, the word like a curse. "All playing their life-or-death games."
She chuckled. "I don't particularly care for it either. If I could live my life mostly simply, I would. Hell, at this point, if I could retire and live off what I've made, I would."
"Why don't you?" he asked seriously, gaze curious.
"Many reasons. One, I can't. Jim would kill me. I know too much. Two, Sebastian could never retire, also for many reasons, and I couldn't be without him. What would be the point? Three... In some ways, it's safer to be in the network. Enemies need to get through more people to get to me. Getting things done is easier. Other little things," she shrugged.
He nodded slightly. "Do you ever regret it? The life of crime?" His tone wasn't accusatory, just conversational, his stature relaxed.
"I've never known anything else. I don't know what it is to not live a life of crime," she replied simply, eyes on the table, staring into space somewhat. "My parents had me at home, no officials involved, to keep me out of the system. My biological father was a hitman, my stepfather was a small time drug lord. I started smuggling at sixteen. Before then, I still tried to protect my brother. He ended up working for Magnussen. And dead, once he tried to shoot Sebastian."
John's expression was surprisingly gentle. "I'm sorry. That had to be difficult." He felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for this woman. Would he have been any different under those circumstances? He wasn't certain.
She shrugged again, getting up from the table and walking over to the fridge to get out a beer for herself, then leaned against the counter with it. "Growing up wasn't as difficult as what came after, if I'm going to be honest with you. It was hard, sure, but nothing truly awful ever happened to me until... well, alright, I suppose I was... sixteen. Yeesh."
He smiled with a touch of irony. "Not the usual age most people find their lives entangled with drug runners." He rubbed his leg absently. "But given your circumstances, you've done well for yourself, it would seem."
"Better than most," she admitted, opening the top and taking a swig of beer. "I make more money than most of them ever will. Certainly have more respect than most of them ever will... Do you want a beer?"
"Yes," he sighed, levering himself up with a slight grunt and heading for the fridge to get his own. "So if you can't retire, and you seem to work constantly, what's the point of that salary?"
"Clothes?" she laughed, shaking her head a little. "But, more sincerely, we are planning on taking more vacations. Jim can survive without us for a few weeks, and eventually I need to get the scar on my chest taken care of. We'll go extravagant then."
He nodded slightly, returning to sit in his chair, his leg feeling a bit stiff. It had been a long time since that had happened. "How was your wedding? Mycroft said you had it in the Tower of London? That's a bold stroke."
She snorted into her beer and had to wipe a little off her face before she could talk, still chuckling. "I don't know how they pulled that off, don't ask me. It was fantastic. Just us, Jim, Sebastian's daughter. All we needed."
"His daughter," John said with a small smile. "You know, I think that caught even Mycroft off-guard? He claimed to have always known about her, but he's too defensive when she comes up."
"Oh, good, I'm glad the man has more than one flaw," she laughed, taking another swig of beer and finding it was almost empty already. Jeez. "That son of a bitch. I hope there's a lot he doesn't know."
John shook his head, matching her sip for sip. "Unfortunately there isn't much that escapes him. Trust me, I live for the days he falls off his high-bloody-horse."
She tossed back the rest of her drink and pushed off the counter and went into the fridge for another. "I think we have that one in common, John."
He laughed. "First time I met him was in a bloody car park. He'd lured me there to discuss Sherlock. Prick."
She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Sounds like some dramatics the fucking idiots would get up to. Don't tell Jim I said that, though."
"Secret's safe with me," he laughed, draining his own beer and standing for another. It was easing the pain in his leg. He pulled a can out of the fridge and leaned against the door. "What is it with all of them and their flairs for the spectacle?"
" God, who fucking knows," she scoffed. "Did you know Jim has a nickname for both me and Sebastian? He calls me kitten. Usually only adjacent to sex, but," she shrugged causally.
He almost snorted his beer, coughing roughly and managing to swallow it a moment later. " Kitten ..." he chuckled, then nodded. "No, that seems like him, from what I've seen. Very... showy."
She took another long pull of beer, still smirking, but wondering where this night was going to go. Would she be able to hook him, with him knowing she was married, and happily? "He calls Seb 'tiger' but that one he doesn't seem to feel the need to use post-coitus. Neither of us have any idea where he picked that one up. Mine? Obvious. Make me happy, I practically purr, plus it's a derivative of tiger, and... " She looked down at her beer. "How fucking strong is this stuff?"
He laughed, glancing at the can, and then made a chuffing sound. "Almost twelve percent. Christ. You wouldn't know it. I'm surprised they bother to get good beer out here. You'd think they'd be happy drinking just about anything."
"Maybe you have to keep the masses happy somehow. Bet they have a damn heaping supply of condoms, despite what might have been rules to the contrary," she snorted.
He nodded contemplatively. "Probably. Trapped on this damned island for as long as they are, I wouldn't be surprised. I'm starting to feel trapped and we've only been here a week."
She chuckled. "Takes longer than that to rile me up, or different circumstances at least. Anything I can do to make you feel less tense, soldier? I certainly don't want you wound up when I'm sharing tight quarters with you."
He blinked at the offer, surprised and more than certain he wasn't following her meaning correctly. He shook his head slightly and sipped his beer for a pause. "Ah, not that I can think of, no."
"Alright," she chuckled, mostly because he looked so uncomfortable, and put back another healthy swallow of booze. "Well, I'm right next door if you ever get lonely. Otherwise, well, I guess there's the TV."
He shifted uncertainly, going for another sip of his beer only to find it empty again. He turned the can in his hands. "I'm fairly certain I'm misinterpreting your meaning, Lorna."
She raised her eyebrows slightly, though in a friendly way. "And what are you taking my meaning to be?"
"Ah." He held her gaze for a moment, seeming to steel himself. "It seemed like you were coming on to me. But that's more than likely the beer talking."
She shrugged, relaxed. "I sleep with who I want, John. Sebastian does too. Hardly ever comes up, for either of us, but that's the way it is," she hummed, finishing off her second drink. It felt wrong to lie about that. She wanted to be honest; that now that she had Sebastian, touching anyone else seemed like a chore, besides Jim's occasional interludes; that she and Seb had decided not to sleep around a long time ago now. But this was a job. She needed John to think twice if he had to choose between her and his friends.
He looked surprised at that. "You were- of course you were, yes, right," he muttered. He turned his can in his hands again, then seemed to become conscious of it and set it aside. "I see."
"Feel free to pretend you never heard it if you like, but there it is," she said, and turned to take up her two cans and toss them in the recycling bin.
He watched her for a long moment, then walked forward as she turned around. Before he could think himself out of it, he kissed her.
She dropped the cans in the bin with a loud clatter and then was surprised to be suddenly snogging, though as usual she adapted quickly, hands coming up to fist in his shirt, keeping him from backing out.
He did try, a few seconds in, but her grip kept him close and he relaxed again. He kissed her with a sense of urgency, though his pace was oddly relaxed, touch firm but not harsh as his hands found her waist.
She kissed him harder after a few seconds, needing the pressure, trying to burn thoughts of Sebastian out of her mind, her hands letting go of his shirt to slide underneath it.
He let out a soft gasp at the feel of her hands against his skin, his tongue probing her lips, soft and cool.
She easily adjusted to Frenching, scraping her nails gently across his skin. It was strange, kissing someone so close to her height for once.
He pulled back for air a few moments later, his hands sliding under her shirt, up her back, along her spine.
She shivered, pushing up his shirt more, giving him a second to breathe before she dived back in and nipped his lip, and started walking him back towards the bedrooms a little.
He let her walk him, distracted by her lips and hands. He paused when they neared his bedroom, however, feet planting to still her advance. "You're sure..."
She laughed a little, nodding, still pressed against him. "Believe me, I need this."
That was the last protest he had. He kicked his door further open, letting her push him in and against the wall, his hands moving back down to the belt of her trousers, pulling her more firmly against him.
She moaned softly against his lips, then pulled away for a second to pull off his shirt and then her own before pressing back in, rolling her hips into his.
Her skin was warm against his, and he made a pleased sound, practiced hands tracing over her back, tracing the subtle music of her anatomy.
He wasn't nearly as well built as Moran, but that was no surprise, and he was by no means unattractive, and she could work with that. She could tell that he was by no means inexperienced either, and that she could definitely work with. She shivered again at his hands, and ran hers down his chest.
He slid his hand under the sports bra she was wearing, pushing it upward and sliding his hands forward and cupping her breasts, his hips rolling forward against hers slightly.
She stopped for a second to peel the troublesome thing off before returning to him, unbuckling his belt quickly and then sliding her hand into his trousers to cup him through his pants, squeezing gently.
He huffed through his nose, and bent to close his lips around one of her nipples, teeth grazing lightly.
She arched into him, stroking him through his pants a little harder, a soft moan leaving her lips, and with her free hand started pushing down his trousers so she had easier access.
He worshipped her breast, his free hand cupping around her hip, thumb tracing down under her trousers to trace the line of her thigh as it met her groin.
She twitched a little under his touch, breath coming a little harder, shifting impatiently. Some part of her felt guilty, enjoying any part of this when Sebastian was home, sick and maybe dying, but it was what he would want her to do, so she could return home to him.
He moved to undo her belt, pushing her trousers down around her thighs and sliding a hand between her legs.
She groaned, shifting only to kick out of her trousers so she wouldn't fall over and then pulling him towards the bed.
He followed her insistent tugging, toppling onto the bed and pulling her on top of him, kissing her skin wherever he could reach it.
She returned most of her attention to the bulge in his pants, unsurprised to find him about as hard as a rock (she had that effect on people, after all) and positioning her hips over his to grind down on him, sighing in relief at the friction it afforded her.
He ground up against her rhythmically, smiling at her breathlessly, his dirty-blond hair tousled. "Is that all you've got?"
"I assure you, all I've got is too much for you, Watson," she smirked, sinking her nails into his hips for a second, though after a moment she lifted her hips enough to reach down and pull him out of his pants, stroking him skin-on-skin.
He laughed, gasping at her touch. "I think you might be surprised at what I can take."
"Not everyone likes to bleed, I know," she snorted, shifting off of him and letting go of him for a moment to finish disrobing, her pants thrown towards the door, and then she straddled him again to roll her hips down on his, her head falling back a little as she let out a pleased sigh.
"Like, no. But I can handle it," he says, in a slightly shaky voice, smiling as she rolls against him. He lays still under her, content to enjoy her heat against him for a moment. His hands slide up her sides, tracing over her ribcage.
"I'm not going to leave scars on you this day, at the very least," she chuckled, hands flat on his abdomen, keeping up a good rhythm, her breath unsteady. But she was getting impatient. "Do you happen to have a condom in here? I'm clean, and not going to get pregnant, but..."
"Yes, in my bag," he said with a laugh. "You don't to defend a condom to a doctor." He pushed her off to the side, standing and heading for his bag, pushing off his trousers the rest of the way as he did so.
She laughed back. "You're right, I don't," she agreed, settling on her side, head supported by her hand, her other on her hip, curves on full display for him.
He returned a moment, settling the condom into place and pausing to admire her. "I can suddenly understand part of why you are so dangerous."
She grinned, a shark grin, sly and a little dangerous. "Nobody's ever risked calling me ugly, I'll tell you that."
"Has anyone ever had the need?" he asked genuinely, climbing onto the bed beside her and leaning down to kiss her again.
She didn't bother responding, a hand sliding into his hair as she kissed him back, her other hand going to his hip, tugging him down further.
He rolled onto his back, then, pulling her with him, his tongue chasing the curve of her breast as he pulled her far enough up his body that she was straddling his waist, his cock rubbing against her heat.
She wasted no more time, shifting on top of him and lining him up to sink down onto him, groaning as she did, her hips already rolling of their own accord in impatience.
He moved with her, his breath catching in his chest as she rode him. She was skilled, that he could tell already. She made sex an art.
She did herself a favor and ground on him on the downstrokes, her fingers flexing on his abdomen, biting her lip, breathing heavily.
He shifted to grab her ass, moving with her as best he could. He had a comfortable figure, but he had muscles, and he used them to match her pace, rocking up against her.
This was, without a doubt, the tamest, most vanilla sex she had had in probably three years, and it was a boring revelation. Still, she didn't falter or pause, abject want still on her face, and started moving quicker, seeing if maybe she could still get herself off, despite being half-there mind-wise.
He kept his eyes on her face, enjoying her expressions as they moved together. He sat up slightly, one hand moving back to brace himself, the other shifting between them to give her friction against her clit.
She jumped a little, moaning again and digging her nails into his skin a little.
She was beautiful, and it had been a long time since he'd been with anyone. He was a man who prided himself in his stamina, but he wasn't going to last long tonight.
She could tremble slightly, and she knew that if she didn't want to be terribly disappointed, she was going to need to double her efforts, so bore down and shifted her hand to touch herself, and came a few seconds later with a groan.
He fought to hold out, knowing she wasn't done, but when she came, he followed shortly after, arching slightly under her and muttering swears under his breath.
She took a second to catch her breath before pulling off him and flopping to the bed next to him, huffing once. "Well that was a worthy distraction. Thanks, John."
He glanced over at her blearily, and smiles. "Are you satisfied? If not I have other bits of me that can help to that end."
She waved him off, secretly not that into the idea of extending this particular encounter any further. It still stung. "I made it there without much trouble, I'm good for the night, though thank you."
He nodded slightly, resting back and sighing quietly. "Thank you."
She glanced at him a little, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Been running on dry for a while?"
He glanced at her and winced slightly. "That obvious? I do apologize."
She laughed. "No, it wasn't, just your reaction afterwards."
He smiled ruefully. "It's been a while, even before this rock."
She chuckled again. "We haven't really been here that long, so it must have been a while. Either way, it's over now. Congrats!" She patted his chest, winking once.
He laughed, putting a hand over hers briefly. "Much thanks to you for that. Let me know if you ever feel like a repeat."
She smirked. "Oh, I'm sure I will. For now, though, I think I'll shower and go to bed. I'm sure tomorrow will continue the pattern, and be a long day."
He nodded, sitting up as she climbed out of his bed and watching her, eyes contemplative. He wasn't sure how he felt about sleeping with her.
She turned away and stretched, arms over her head, back arched just slightly, giving him one last look before gathered up her clothes and she headed out the door, smiling a little over her shoulder and waving once before she closed the door behind her and sidled right into her own room, sagging a little as the door shut behind her. Jesus.
Over the next weeks, they fell into a pattern. During the day they performed interviews and poured over databases. And more and more frequently, one of them ended up in the other's bed.
John knew better. Of course he did. She's the enemy, working for James Moriarty- his bloody third in command. And married, by the way, to his second in command!
But he couldn't quite find the willpower to turn her down when she was at his door, or to stay away from hers.
Lorna knew, by the third week, that they were in deep shit. She was seeing the cracks in the system. Little things, like data that shouldn't have been there. Things about the outside world that had no place being tucked into the corners of the network that had been established on the base. Why did they need to know these things? Why did they need to know drug movements, or the PM's secretary, or the address of a forger? What else was the purpose if not to feed them directly down the funnel to Euros? She mulled through it in the earlier weeks, during breakfast and dinner and even through the aggressively fine sex with Watson. She could no longer find another explanation for it.
John was of much the same mind, his focus on the casual, solid camaraderie between the staff members. Over the weeks it felt less and less like good workmates, and more and more like a cultish barrier against outsiders, full of cold gazes and constant surveillance.
The second to last day of the third week, she put her fork down from eating dinner and looked up at Watson. "John, I think we need to bail. ASAP. If I can see what's happening in this place, so can you. I was right. There's more than one of them. It might even be everyone." She stopped for a second and rubbed her eyes. "If I dig deep enough in their system, will I find information blatantly about me? Will it have my name? My aliases, like when Ines took over the network? Fucking hell, how much control did she have over Ines, and HOW? Is Sebastian being alive instead of buried in a prison graveyard like we thought he was a blip? Did Euros plan that, or was that Ines? I don't-" She stood, ignoring his surprised face, and turned, raking her hand through her hair. "I don't know what's real anymore, Watson. I don't know how close death has been this whole time."
John stood, walking over to put his hands on her shoulders. "Lorna. Stop. Take a breath. I agree. We need to get out of here. But they don't know everything."
She looked over his face, pained. "You never saw it, John. Jim had four walls of papers with all the information on me anyone has ever needed. Things so far in my past that they shouldn't matter anymore. All code names, or mission titles, all from Ines' movements. They know. We're lucky they don't seem to know we're here."
He looked a bit queasy at that. "How... No. It doesn't matter." He shook his head. "We're getting out."
"Contact Mycroft. I want us out by tomorrow morning, if possible. If not, the next morning. I won't let them catch me." She rubbed her eyes again. "I can't let them."
"I will. You seem... have you slept?" He looked at her, concerned, trying to gauge her features.
She looked at him, eyes softening slightly. Good, he's worried about me. "I'm managing. I can sleep almost anywhere, any time. Wouldn't have gotten through all that captivity without it."
He flinched just slightly at the mention of the captivity, and nodded, dropping his hand. "Of course. I apologize."
She shook her head, frowning slightly, her hand catching his gently. "I didn't mean it in any way that would need you to apologize for, John, it's alright."
He sighed. "I... don't like the idea of what they did to you. But neither do you. So here we are."
She snorted softly, dropping his hand. "Here we are indeed. Shows us what working with geniuses earns us, right?"
He was quiet for a moment, and looked to be debating saying something. Then he looked up. "If you're worried about nightmares, and you think it might help, you're welcome to sleep with me."
She felt something twist in her stomach, and she felt her face grow hot. "How do you know about those?"
He laughed darkly. "You're asking an army doctor with PTSD how he guessed you might be having nightmares?"
She snorted, turning away a little and nodding, running a hand through her hair once again. "Yeah, just... Always found them embarrassing, I guess."
"Me too," he agreed, smiling slightly. "I hate them. So take it from someone who understands- I'm offering to be there and not judge, and not smother you."
She nodded, turning back a little. "... Thank you. If it happens, I... Might take you up on it. But nothing has happened yet. Not this time. Hopefully it will stay that way."
He nodded just a little. "If you'll excuse me, then, I'll go contact Mycroft."
She nodded. "Please, yes. Thank you."
He nodded again, turning away and walking toward his room, closing the door behind him and walking over to his bag to remove the transmitter.
Lorna retreated to her own room after cleaning up dinner, wondering about Sebastian. Three weeks, a little more, without having seen him now. How far had his illness progressed? Was Jim taking care of him? Someone needed to, and it couldn't be her, not at the moment.
John watched the transmission acknowledged light blink on. It was a simple system, just an array of corresponding lights. The thing transmitted nothing more than a string of code to turn a light on or off. The messages themselves were prearranged to correspond with various light patterns. It was a limited system, only a few phrases possible, but it has the advantage of being indecipherable to outsiders.
She turned off the lights in the communal living area in case John didn't come back out and retired to her room, a bone-deep weariness in her limbs and head. She brushed her teeth, undressed, and redressed in tomorrow's uniform before climbing into bed, on top of the sheets, and closed her eyes.
John was waiting with coffee the next morning, and handed it to Lorna as she came out. "1400 today, we need to be out on the helipad," he said quietly. He knew they weren't bugged, but still, it felt like too much to say it out loud.
She nodded thanks for the coffee and continued heading for the kitchenette to get herself breakfast. "Good. Has the transfer been announced to the higher-ups or are we sneaking out? I'd vastly prefer the first and I suspect Mycroft doesn't want us to blow our cover."
"They received notice this morning of an emergency transfer. We're to pack and prepare closing statements for our research."
She let out a huff of relief, nodding again and taking a sip of coffee as she perused the contents of the fridge. "Fucking fantastic. Christ but am I looking forward to getting out of here."
He nodded, sipping his own coffee, watching her carefully. "This means you get to go home, right?"
"Unless something very, very annoying comes up, yes, I get to go home," she sighed, and paused to rub the circles under her eyes. She hadn't slept very deeply last night. "I get to let the illness.. become reality again. I love Sebastian, I do, but this..." She shook her head, though it was hard to lie through her teeth this hard. "I don't know if I can watch this."
He frowned, leaning against the counter. "It's hard," he agreed. "I've watched so many people go through this, and I think it's as bad for the partner as it is for the person who's sick."
"Yeah, maybe," she said quietly, then bent down to pull a bag of bagels out of the fridge, finally. "I've got a hell of a taste in men, huh?" She added, and gave him a slight smirk.
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "I could say the same about my taste in women."
She laughed a little louder, grinning. "First Mary, then me? Some people would probably say first the military - I hear she's a proud mistress," she snorted, pulling a bagel out of the bag and beginning to eat it plain.
He laughed, though his heart twinges at the mention of Mary. "That she is. Brutal, but proud."
"No, wait, you're confused - that's me," she corrected teasingly, winking at him over her coffee before turning back towards her room. "I should pack while I stuff this down. I know we're not leaving for a while, but I want to be ready."
He nodded slightly in understanding. "I'll start working on our summary report."
"That's a good idea, thanks. Means I don't have to do it," she snorted, and took a huge bite out of her bagel. "Awight, packing now," she said around the mouthful, and headed into her room.
They packed and wrote most of the morning. Both of them were uneasy. John kept waiting for something to go wrong, for the jaws of the trap to shut.
She was also waiting for the flip of the switch, the crashing of the door being blown open, and the fact that they made it to the helipad at the designated time and climbed onto the helicopter without anybody trying to stop them felt like nothing short of a miracle. And then she saw who was in the back, waiting for them. "Holmes," she said through gritted teeth, her heart skipping in her chest.
"Ms. Harrison," he said, nodding congenially. "John. Good to see you both safe. Do have a seat and buckle in. There's terrible turbulence today." John did as he was told, pulling the heavy canvas five-point harness into place and clicking it shut.
If she didn't worry for her safety, she would have completely ignored him, but as it was she sat back with a stony expression on her face and strapped herself in. "Well, Holmes, I'm afraid your experiment to keep your crazed sister away from the world failed miserably. See, this is why you need to just kill people sometimes. Oh, wait, that's not a problem for you, sorry. Just not strong enough to put down your own rabid dog, I guess," she snorted, looking out the window as the helicopter started to lift off.
As she did, a woman with dark hair and a pale face walked out onto the helipad, unescorted, and blew her a kiss.
Holmes ignored Lorna's tirade. "You will of course provide a full summary once we reach London. For now..." He passed over a metal briefcase to each of them. "Please place all weapons and electronics in the container. They were inspected upon your entry and are the most likely to contain bugs.
She held out a hand, pushing away the briefcase, eyes glued to the woman outside. "Who is that. Mycroft, who is that."
Mycroft turned and looked, and sighed. "Oh, now she's just showing off," he muttered, sitting back.
John looked down as well, and then back at Mycroft. "That's her, is it? That's Euros. Mycroft! Is that Euros?"
"Of course it is, John. Do try not to be dull."
Lorna's hands went to her gun and her straps simultaneously. The gun went fine - she pulled it out - and lurched, finding that the latch for the straps would not come undone. "FUCK!" She snarled, trying again, and then pushing her gun towards John. "Take the shot, John. TAKE THE SHOT!"
"Don't, John," Mycroft sighed. "There are elements to this you don't understand. Please don't meddle with what you don't comprehend. People get hurt." John had been reaching for the gun, but the words made him falter, the image of Mary, pale, bleeding on the floor...
And then they were too high for any reliable handgun, and she rammed her head back into the seat, swearing up a storm, and then her furious glare fell on Mycroft. "What's wrong with the straps, Holmes? What are you about to say to me?"
I thought that love was in the drugs
But the more I took, the more it took away
And I could never get enough
I thought that love was on the stage, give yourself to strangers
You don't have to be afraid
Then it tries to find a home
With people or when I'm alone
Picking it apart
And staring at your phone
- Florence + The Machine - Hunger -
You remind me of a few of my famous friends
Well, that all depends what you qualify as friends
- Panic! At The Disco - I Have Friends In Holy Spaces -