Hello all! Here is the second chapter of His Last Vow. A couple of considerations:

The first is that a great deal of how amazing this chapter turned out is thanks to my new beta nightgigjo. She has been wonderful and I am so excited to share our work with all of you. Also, and after some discussion, we have decided that it made more sense to split the remaining of HLV into 3 smaller chapters instead of two. That's right! After this one, we have two more chapters. Then, this story will go on hiatus until I am a bit more advanced with Season 4.

As always, thank you to those of you that read, favourited, followed or reviewed the last chapter.

Disclaimer: All the characters displayed in this fic belong to their respective creators, JK Rowling (Harry Potter), Moffat and Gatiss (BBC Sherlock), and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes).

Note: Edited 24/02/2021

Chapter 16: His Last Vow Act II, Conflict.

The Diogenes Club was a place of worship among those privileged enough to know of its existence. A place to which, unlike other gentlemen's clubs, it was power and not money that granted admission. It had endured wars, internal conflicts, economic crises. It had witnessed the rise and fall of kings and prime ministers and had adapted to new technologies, changing none of the rules that had governed the club since the eighteenth century.

Among them was the ban on women joining as members.

This outdated policy enjoyed good health amongst the most senior members—and had been fervently challenged by some in response to the changing political landscape. Power was power; after all, no matter who held it. However, like many others, the club had included loopholes within its own rules, and while women were not allowed to join, that did not mean they could not be invited. In the old days, women had been brought into the club for various reasons. It was not through the main entrance but through a door maintained throughout the years, which was now sparsely used but heavily monitored. A camera broadcast everything that was going on in the small alley to the reception. At that particular moment, the screen was flickering in time with the street lamps, and Wilder lightly knocked the monitor a couple of times. A woman appeared at the edge of the image and went straight for the door. Wilder switched cameras and focused on her face. She was wet and dirty, and he wasn't sure if the smudges under her eyes were makeup or fatigue. The woman looked down and then held her wrist up to the camera, showing a tattoo in the shape of a feather. Wilder gestured to the butler, who immediately hurried off to the side. Her aspect mattered little. The Lord knew he'd seen it all. And Wilder had not got where he was by questioning orders, least of all those of Mr Holmes. And Mycroft Holmes was expecting a visitor.

The butler walked briskly down a long corridor until he reached the back door and let the young woman in. He immediately escorted her through the complicated maze of corridors to the Stranger's Room. Neither spoke, as was customary within the walls of the club. But Hermione's military boots, filled with water, made a squelching wet sound with every step and were leaving a trail of mud on the Persian carpet. They reached an inconspicuous wooden door, and the butler opened it for her. The room was in darkness but for the reddish glow coming from the lamps and the fire. The only occupant sat in a big armchair facing the opposite wall, with his head barely visible over the backrest. On his right hand, a ring gleamed and clinked against the glass of the whiskey tumbler. The figure pointed to the table on which sat another solitary glass, a half-empty bottle of Ogden's, and a plush white towel. Hermione took the towel and ran it through her hair, trying to dry it.

'The surgeon has sent me the latest update. Little brother has been tremendously lucky.' Mycroft's unmistakable voice filled the room. Hermione dropped the towel on the table and walked over to him with the bottle and the glass. She uncapped the bottle and refilled the man's drink and then pour herself one. She plopped down in the chair across from Mycroft. He too looked tired.

'Why didn't you contact me as soon as you knew?' Hermione asked before raising her drink to her lips. Mycroft sighed and contemplated the ring on his hand.

'There was nothing you could do. Sherlock was already in the best of hands.'

'I could have done something.'

'You and I both know the Ministry could be coming after you. I have it on good authority that they are watching us as closely as we are watching them.'

The two continued to drink in silence. Mycroft's gaze was lost in the fire, and Hermione let the alcohol warm her body. The buzz calmed her racing thoughts, and weirdly, it cleared her head. But the vision of Sherlock, pale and motionless in a hospital bed, was imprinted in her memories, and she felt the anger and disappointment seep into her bones. The fire crackled, and she clasped the tumbler between her hands tightly, trying to contain herself. 'How long have you known?'

'That Magnussen had targeted Mary? A while,' he answered and turned his head to look at Hermione directly. 'That Mary has been the one who has shot my brother? I've only guessed.'

'The code after Sherlock came back. John inside of that pyre. That was already him, wasn't it?'

'It was the first of many,' Mycroft replied. 'Mary has been receiving little messages here and there. Patients at the clinic who weren't coming in with names of people she had killed. Letters from people with some of her undercover names. The telegram at the wedding.'

'Cam,' Hermione muttered, and Mycroft nodded.

'Mary came to see me one day, and I told her exactly what I told Sherlock: Charles Augustus Magnussen is too important to jeopardise. I suppose impending motherhood made Mary decide to take matters into her own hands. And Sherlock had awful timing, as always.'

'You should know what's going on inside your own house,' snapped Hermione. She finished the glass and set it down on the carpet at her feet.

'I have to admit, Alicia hiring Sherlock is something I hadn't foreseen.'

Hermione couldn't blame Mycroft for doing his job. It had been Mary who had decided not to tell Hermione anything and to go to the person with the most power for help. Hermione's rational side understood this, and in fact, she would have possibly urged Mary to do what she did. But Mary hadn't trusted her with that information. And Mycroft had put the nation's interests ahead of Mary's safety because, in the bigger scheme of things, a mercenary being blackmailed was not important—unless Magnussen used her as such. And that had not been the case. Lady Smallwood had most likely come to the same conclusion and decided that of the two Holmes, only Sherlock had enough disdain for politics to get what she wanted.

No, Mycroft had done what everyone expected of him. But there was something else for which he was responsible.

'You could have told me,' said Hermione.

'Mary warned me in no uncertain terms that I couldn't tell you anything.'

'Since when do you take orders from anyone?'

'Since that anyone is a well-trained assassin.'

'I never took you for a coward, Mycroft,' spat Hermione. She got up and paced the room. Behind the windows, the rain was still pouring. From his seat, Mycroft spoke.

'The less Magnussen knows about you, the better. I was trying to keep you far away from him, as was Mary. I promised you I would protect you. And Mary and I can disagree on a lot of things, but not on this.'

'You helped me hide her. I thought that meant she was also under your protection.'

'Mary has always been a liability.' Hermione turned around. 'I told you so many years ago. Mercenaries don't retire, and those who do still have enemies everywhere. I don't have to remind you that despite whatever facade she has now, Mary has more bodies on her account than you and I combined.'

'What's going to happen now?' Hermione didn't specify what she was referring to because she didn't know herself. She didn't know what the order of priorities was anymore. Was it the man holding the information, or the one lying in a hospital bed with a bullet that had pierced his liver? The woman who had hired him, or the one who had shot him?

'Well,' said Mycroft, 'Magnussen will not press charges. He has much better leverage now. Imagine, darling consultant detective, the prodigal son who came back from the dead, turns out to be a junkie who breaks into the office of a media owner. Not to mention what the papers are going to be saying about him in a couple of days.' He tapped on his phone but did not specify what he meant.

'What about Lady Smallwood? And Mary?'

'I've warned Alicia to brace herself for the worst. And whatever Magnussen wanted from Mary, I don't see why he would stop now.'

Hermione nodded but still had many questions. Why would Magnussen want to have Mary on retainer? Hermione understood Magnussen had plenty of friends in all sorts of places, with information coming from everywhere. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if he had informants inside the Ministry of Magic itself. But Magnussen hadn't just let Mary know he had information in his possession that could destroy her life. He had taunted her for months. He had either been a fool or pushed Mary to act, and it had backfired. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. 'Why do you think Magnussen targeted her?'

'One can only speculate. Mary was very good at her job. For someone like Magnussen, having a hitwoman at his beck and call is always a good idea. Although he clearly underestimated her. And Alicia, well, what better way of showing power than being able to blackmail someone of Alicia's position?'

Hermione frowned. He could be right, on both accounts, and Magnussen was buying pawns he could use later on. Mycroft had stood up, and she followed him with her eyes as he moved about the room, picking up his discarded items, ready to leave. Hermione approached him, and he slung his woollen coat over her shoulders. 'Because Mrs Watson did not finish her job, I think I'm going to be very busy in the next few days.' He put a hand on her shoulder. 'I think it's best if you take some days off. Mary won't be able to keep this quiet for long, and I guess hiding the fact that you're a hired killer is one of those things people call "irreconcilable differences".'

Hermione stared into Mycroft's eyes, so similar and yet so different from his brother's. Sherlock's voice echoed in her head, whispering in her ear in short, quick sentences all the deductions Hermione needed. One word wasn't finished when the next begun. Mycroft turned to leave, saying something about Wilder and that he would call a taxi to take her home.

'I don't think Magnussen is playing collector,' Hermione said, and Mycroft froze with his hand over the doorknob. 'I think he only wants you.'

Mycroft looked at her. 'What do you mean?'

'You only have one weakness. Magnussen doesn't have to have too much information to know that Sherlock is your pressure point. He tried with Mary, but Mary came to you. He tried with Lady Smallwood, and he succeeded. Mary going rogue was a miscalculation, but everything else happened as he wanted it to happen. So you are either stupid, and someone has beaten you in your own game,' she paused. 'Or you have let this play out.'

'I resent that insinuation. If you think I would have let my brother in danger—'

'You weren't counting on Alicia's involvement; you've said so. Sherlock shouldn't have been anywhere near when Mary—'Hermione stopped. If Alicia wouldn't have hired Sherlock, if Lady Smallwood would have never been targeted, Magnussen would be dead. And Mycroft would have one less problem. Hermione ripped Mycroft's coat from around her and threw it on the floor. The fire, which was little more than embers, raged on, illuminating the entire room. Some coals jumped from the hearth and landed on the carpet, lightly burning the edges. 'Let me know if this rings a bell. Magnussen had grown too powerful, and he's becoming more of a nuisance rather than a lever to pull. Thus, Magnussen has to die. The Government can't be tied to it in any way, shape or form; they can't hire anyone. But there are a lot of ways to force someone's hand. And the Government has a person who happens to know a mercenary who is compromised, with a lot to lose if the information got out. Someone who could be groomed to do the dirty work.' Sherlock's voice came back. Eliminate the impossible, and whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. There was only one person she knew who had the means, the ability, and the influence to execute this kind of plan. 'All this time, you haven't been protecting Magnussen. You were setting the stage for his execution.'

Mycroft did not say anything at first. He merely bent down to pick up his coat and shook it a couple of times before hanging it on his arm. 'Answer me, Mycroft!' The glass on the table cracked. Mycroft didn't even flinch, nor did she.

'It's not what you think.'

'You haven't used Mary to protect yourself?'

'It's not me who I'm protecting, Hermione.' said Mycroft. 'The information Magnussen has won't happen to me. It would happen to everyone else.'

'What does he have?'

'Enough to topple life as you know it. Magnussen got greedy and has information he doesn't understand. He had to be stopped.'

'At the expense of everyone else? Mary is pregnant, and Sherlock has died twice in the operating theatre! What's so important as to justify all that?'

He went quiet, but his eyes transformed into something different, feral and intimidating. "You don't know the lengths I have gone to ensure Sherlock's safety, or yours, and protect this country." Mycroft came closer to Hermione, his towering height barely a few inches from her. "If Mary Morstan is the price I have to pay for it, that is a cross I am willing to bear."

Hermione took a step back as if hit physically. A deep pain exploded from in between in her ribs, a hole expanding across her chest, suffocating her. She had always known about Mycroft's calculating personality, that he would manipulate and use anyone to achieve what he needed. Until that moment, their needs had aligned, or rather, Mycroft's needs had never conflicted with Hermione. But maybe Mary had been right. Perhaps she had trusted him too much. And now that Mary had shot Sherlock, and Mycroft had been the one orchestrating the heist that had caused it, she did not know in whom she could put her trust anymore.

'I'm surprised you are still defending Mary, even after she shot Sherlock. Maybe my brother did not rise to the task that night after the wedding?' Hermione felt sick with Mycroft words. But he wasn't done. 'Did you really think you had fooled me, even for a second? That I didn't know you had fled Baker Street? I thought you were smarter than having feelings for a drug addict who so obviously is not cut for it.'

Hermione tried to open the door to leave, but Mycroft pushed it closed with force. 'You can try to help Mary. I won't stop you. But if it comes to it, if Magnussen finds about you and decides that you are more important than the information he has, I won't be able to protect you. There are limits of what I can do.'

Hermione pushed Mycroft, and he took a couple of steps back. She opened the door.

'Fuck you, Mycroft Holmes.'

By the time Hermione made it back to St Bart's, after catching a quick shower and a change of clothes, she had been awake for almost 40 hours. As she headed down the corridor, she saw John and Mary sitting in the lounge. When Hermione got close, John gave her a tired smile. Mary looked away.

'Any news?' asked Hermione.

'He's getting moved from intensive care to a room,' said John. 'Has Mycroft said anything?'

'Magnussen's not going to do anything for the moment,' said Hermione, looking at Mary for a few seconds. 'But he reckons this is not the last we've heard from Magnussen.'

'Right,' said John. He glanced at his watch and stood up. 'I'm going to talk to the doctors. Sherlock should have been brought in by now. I'll be back in a second.'

Hermione waited until John was out of sight before she spoke.

'I should tell him everything right now,' Hermione snapped. Mary raised her head. 'I should go to John and tell him it was you who shot Sherlock.'

'You promised to keep the secret.'

'As long as it did not interfere with our lives. But it has. It not your fault only, though. We've been played. Mycroft counted on you doing exactly what you did, but he did not count with Sherlock being in the middle.'

'That… rat.' Mary rested her head in her hands. 'What do you really think it's going to happen with Magnussen?'

'He still wants Mycroft. That hasn't changed.' Hermione took a deep breath. 'But we have more pressing problems. Sherlock will wake up, and you will have exactly the same problem again because I won't let you alone with him, not after this. If he thinks John is in danger, no matter how hard you try, he will tell John. Or I will.'

'I can't let John know. He would hate me.'

'Too late,' hissed Hermione. 'Because you have no choice. Do you think that asking Sherlock nicely would solve anything?'

Unconsciously, Mary's hand covered her growing stomach. Hermione sighed, a headache starting to let her know she needed some rest. 'Give my regards to John and tell him I'll come tomorrow first thing. I can't deal with this right now. But I mean, Mary. If something happens to Sherlock—'

'Nothing will happen to him,' Mary rushed to say. 'I'm sorry.'

'That doesn't cut it, Mary. It doesn't even begin to cover it.'

'I didn't know what to do!'

'You could have told me,' replied Hermione. John had stopped to check something on his phone, but he was too close. 'This doesn't end here. We need to tread carefully.'

Without saying goodbye, Hermione walked to the exit and took the first cab she saw. Inside her arm, her wand brushed against her skin. It was the first time in years she had carried it more than a few hours at a time outside a mission. She probably would have to get used to it again because she could not afford casualties on this mission.