Hi all, welcome back! As promised, here is the second part of The Lying Detective. I hope you liked Harry's appearance in the last chapter. In this one, we have also a surprise guest!

As always, thank you so so much all of you who are still reading this story, and those of you who are new to it. Especial shutout to my wonderful beta nightgigjo who has been magnificent, as always.

Now, enjoy! And let me know your thoughts in the comments.

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, April 2021

The Lying Detective - Part 2

'Hermione, love, I know this is hard for everyone, but you need to come home,' begged Mrs Hudson. It was the fourth message her landlady left in her voice mail, and Hermione had to bite her lips to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. 'And Sherlock! He's trashed the place, and that weird boy with the crazy eyes has been here almost every day for the past week! Please, call me back when you hear this message.'

Hermione sniffled and deleted the message, just as she had done with Molly's, and slipped into bed. Her hand reached for the charger in the nightstand but found it empty. She sighed and got up again. After the funeral and crying herself to sleep in Harry's arms, she had not bothered to get back to the flat she was renting. Instead, she had Sirius coddle her, prompting her to stay in what he had always called her room for as long as she needed. Hermione opened the different drawers in the dressing table to search for a charger as she mulled Mrs Hudson words. The weird boy, the older woman, referred to could only be Wiggings, which wasn't a good sign. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if one day she woke up to the news that Sherlock had been found in some drug den, overdosed. It did not matter how much the thought was plaguing her nightmares. Sherlock had made abundantly clear it wasn't her fight, and she was done swimming against the current in Sherlock Holmes' life.

Hermione slammed the drawers shut and went to her bag on the armchair, making a noise of irritation. She rummaged through contents, and her fingers brushed something metallic and small. She took it out.

It was Mary's pen drive.

Hermione had all but forgotten about it. With everything that had happened, she had thrown it into her bag the night Mary had run away and had not spared a thought about it. Hermione looked at the clock. It was ten to three in the morning, and sleep was unlikely again tonight. She left her room, tiptoed across the corridor to the studio, and closed the door behind her. Sirius had stumbled through the main door close to an hour ago, sharply dressed and properly pissed from one of those fancy dinners Mycroft and him were invited to. She sat on the leather armchair, turned the table lamp on and plugged the pen drive.

Dozens of folders had been copied into the device, all ordered with strings of letters and numbers. She randomly opened one. On the first page of the scanned document were the date and the topic, and the person in charge — Arktos, Rudolf Holmes' codename. Hermione grabbed a pen from the drawer and tore a piece of paper from a notebook. She started from the beginning. Hermione opened a document, scanned it, and closed it again, and wrote the name down if she thought it could be important. She recognised some missions, if only because Mycroft had mentioned them briefly. There was a bit of everything: domestic uprisings, international coups, royal affairs.

She wrote the name of a mission in Northern Ireland and continued with the next folder.

'Sherrinford,' Hermione muttered under her breath. The name meant nothing to her. But on top of the page, a big red "Ultra" stamp marked those documents as highly classified. It gave Hermione pause. If Mycroft knew she had these documents, she could be accused of treason. She looked down at her wrist, where the innocuous feather tattoo laid. She caressed the underside of it and made a fist. Hermione clicked on the next page. The first set of pages dated back to the late seventies - when Mycroft had not started his training yet.

Proposal N23: By Arktos.[...] Name: Sherrinford. [...] Status: Proposed. [...] Subjects too dangerous for conventional prisons. [...] cannibals [...] serial killers. [...] extreme security [...] uncharted location [...] [...] clearance level: Ultra [...]

The next documents spanned several years, and were contra-proposals with status fleeting from "suspended" to "pending". Different people from the Government against such a prison and what it might suppose, the risk, the investment, what kind of personal it would need, where could it be. The last proposal dated from 1980.

Proposal N35: By Arktos.[...] Name: Sherrinford. [...] Status: Go.

Hermione reclined in the chair. If nothing had changed since Uncle Rudy had been in power — and it was very unlikely it had — there was a maximum-security prison for the insane somewhere in the middle of the North Sea, a ticking bomb. She didn't see the link between Mycroft and this prison, but so far, it was the most significant piece of information she had.

She logged into the MI6 database and searched for Sherrinford. There was a loud beep, and the search box turned read. She logged out and tried with Sirius' details. Again, access to the information was denied. She unplugged the pen drive and went back to her room, the piece of paper where she had underlined several times the name Sherrinford firmly clasped in her hand.

Hemione sat on the bed and retrieved Mycroft's file from under her mattress. The existence of a prison like the one the documents described was enough to be top secret. But no one would create such a prison if it weren't to hide something - or someone.

Forgotten on the dressing table, her phone rang. She did not care to look who it was. If it was Mycroft, he would make sure she knew it was him. Everyone else, Hermione thought, could wait. She smoothed the paper with her notes and started scouring the file for something she might have missed.

Hermione observed the woman sitting in the small interview room behind the one-way glass. Despite having been waiting for hours in that uncomfortable metal chair, she looked composed, with almost a smirk showing on her crimson lips. A lot of criminals had cracked in less than three hours and had started pacing the room, biting their nails, shouting at the glass. She hadn't. She had been sitting all the time, surveying the room or her hands, but mostly just staring ahead, unwavering.

'For someone who should have lost her head five years ago, Irene Adler looks rather healthy, don't you think?' Hermione said. Beside her, Mycroft hummed.

'I underestimated how gullible Sherlock could be to women's charms.' Whether that was a jab at her or at his brother, Hermione did not know and hunched over the folder Mycroft had given her. 'Anyway,' continued Mycroft. 'She has deeply disappointed me. She almost brought England to its knees once upon a time. Getting caught because of a pearl it's so mundane.'

'A big pearl,' said Hermione and took her file from the table. 'Why am I here?'

'We need to know where the pearl is, and I'm afraid no one is qualified to interrogate her. She was very open about how many of our people had her on retainer.'

'What about you?'

'I have other business to tend to,' he glanced at his phone and walked to the door. 'Come by my office when you are done.' Mycroft added before leaving.

Hermione let go a breath. She turned back to The Woman, who was now playing with one of the rings on her right hand. There was no denying that Irene Adler was attractive. The white high-neck dress she was wearing was demure and looked of the highest quality, and contrasted with her dyed dark blonde hair and her tanned skin. The only thing reminiscing of her true self were her nails, perfectly manicured and finished with blood-red nail varnish. Hermione had grown on her looks with the years, but it was impossible not to find herself lacking in front of her. From what she had read, she wielded her sexuality as Hermione brandished her wand. And Sherlock had clearly fallen for it. At least she and Hermione had something in common: they both had let Sherlock Holmes turn their lives upside down.

Hermione pulled the door open and entered the interrogation room.

'Good afternoon, Miss Adler. I'm agent Black.'

Irene gave her an appraising look from top to bottom, her gaze stopping at her hips and chest and finally focusing on her face. 'You must be mistaken, agent. My name is Laura Scott.'

'That's what your passport says, yes. We can add identity theft to your charges, or I can call you by your real name and just talk about the pearl.'

Adler relaxed back in her seat. The smirk Hermione had seen dancing on her lips blossomed on her mouth. 'Do you have any rank in particular, agent Black? I love a captain.'

Instead of answering, Hermione took a photo from the open folder and put it on the table in front of Irene. The surface of the black pearl of the Borgias shone, illuminated in the photo by the camera's flash. The stunning gemstone had been set on an otherwise simple platinum mount, the pearl providing all the drama necessary to the piece. Irene slid the photo closer to her with her fingers and glanced at it with disinterest.

'Lord Collingdon reported this piece missing from his personal collection a couple of months back.'

'It's a lovely piece. Am I accused of anything, agent?'

'Lord Collingdon's son, Albert, admitted he had taken it, but that he had gifted it to someone. To you.'

'If I were to have it, why would you arrest me? Can't a girl get a present?'

'Lord Collingdon says you tricked his son.'

Adler's smile grew wider. 'Despite having been told I can work magic with my fingers, I can't actually make someone do my bidding. Not without agreeing about it first, anyway. Shouldn't dear Albert be the one sitting here?'

'Albert Collingdon corroborates his father's story. And that you asked specifically for the pearl, even if he did not know of his real value.'

'Has he also explained what I did to earn that pearl? He might be a dimwit, but that boy has the kind of appetite that would make you blush.' Hermione tried not to react, and Irene cocked an eyebrow. 'Or maybe not.'

'Think about it, Miss Adler. It's your word against that of a peer of the realm. Tell us where the pearl is, and you can go your merry way.'

'The British Government, all bark but no bite. I'll take my chances. Last time I went for broke against you lot it didn't go so bad for me.' She smirked.

Hermione frowned. 'You were almost beheaded.'

'If that's what it takes for Sherlock Holmes to come to me, I'm game. How's my favourite detective? Still annoyingly handsome?'

Hermione tried very hard not to think in Sherlock, slouched on his armchair, with a neat set of lines of white powder on the table next to him, or with a tourniquet between his teeth, getting his arm ready for a hit. 'Mr Holmes has nothing to do with this case, nor he works for this agency.'

'I know, otherwise what happened in Karachi might have got him fired. Does The Iceman know everything that happened?'

Hermione's eyes shifted, and a crackling noise came from the lightbulbs.

'Oh I see,' said Irene. She leaned forward, and her right index travelled across Hermione's cheek, finishing in the corner of her lips. 'Pretty face. You seem to have a nice body under those clothes, and darling, I would love to tug those curls. But you are not what I would have imagined for Sherlock. He's always needed something extra.'

The lights above their heads flickered. Before Hermione could stop herself from getting in Irene's game, the words came tumbling out of her mouth.

'Let me guess, a riding crop?'

'I always fashioned him as a handcuffs man, but I'll ask next time.' Irene sat upright on the chair.

'Let's cut to the chase, shall we?' said Hermione, and that seemed to pike Irene's interest. 'What do you want in exchange?'

'I want my old life back. My name, my business, my freedom.'

It was a high price, Hermione thought. Irene had powerful friends, and the moment she was free, she was going to start wreaking havoc in the upper statements of British society. Hermione couldn't care less if she was honest. You couldn't get into bed with snakes and be surprised when one of them bite you. But not everyone shared her opinion. 'I'll have to talk to my superiors, but we need proof that the pearl is still in your power.'

Irene extended her hand silently, asking for a pen. She scribbled on her file the address and the combination of the safe with the pearl in Switzerland. She took the paper she had just written and pressed her lips to it, leaving a deep red mark. Hermione excused herself and took the file to the room next door. She lifted the phone, ready to make the call for someone to get Irene into custody, but stopped mid-motion and hung up the phone. She regarded Irene. Hermione pressed the button next to the intercom, and the screen on the side went black.

'Back so soon, agent?' asked Irene when Hermione entered the room again.

'What do you know about James Moriarty?'

'Jim? He's dead, isn't he? What would I know about him?'

'Let me be clear.' Hermione walked behind Irene's chair and slowly but firmly, with her hand on Irene's jaw, she directed her gaze to the CCTV camera in a corner. The light was off. 'We have what we need from you, and no one is going to care about what happens to you in here. No one will believe you.' A shiver betrayed Irene, and Hermione felt her quiver against her. 'I'll hold my part of the deal. You'll be free to go fuck Sherlock with a strap-on if that's your fancy. But Moriarty is planning something, and I want to know what it is.' Hermione let go of Irene and went around the table.

'Jim would have liked you, Mycroft's little pet.' Irene's pupils were dilated, and her breathing was shallow. 'I don't know exactly what's coming. But I can tell you something. Jim was never about money. Money was just a means to an end. What he wanted was chaos. He wanted to see the world burn in front of his eyes and let its fire warm him. He was already obsessed with Sherlock when we met. And who can blame him? Sherlock Holmes is a man worth obsessing over.'

'I need something more specific.'

'I discovered things here and there. You had to thread carefully with Jim, my usual tactics did not work on him. But he was a man, after all, and if there's something you can count on, it's them boasting after they've had their fill. For Jim was causing mayhem. Right after Christmas, in the short time when I was dead, we had a meeting to discuss some business. He had met someone. His muse, he called her.'

'Moriarty had a girlfriend? Partner?'

Irene shifted in her chair and shook her head. 'I don't think so. He said he was preparing his masterpiece, the ultimate game. I'm assuming it had to do with Sherlock. Everything in Jim's life revolved around him. I assumed this final game was everything that happened before he killed himself, until some weeks back, of course.'

'Did he say anything else? A name? A place?' urged Hermione.

Irene closed her eyes for a second, remembering. 'He just kept repeating something about an east wind, and about this muse who was the most deviant creature he had ever met. He was enraptured by her. I always wondered who could be more deranged than Jim Moriarty.'

Hermione got to her feet. 'Thank you, Miss Adler. We'll check the information you have provided.'

Irene smiled at her. 'Believe me, agent Black. The pleasure was all mine.'

Hermione turned the recording back on and watched as a couple of officers escorted Irene Adler out. She would have to explain to Mycroft and her superior about the missing time on the tape, but she was confident they would be appeased by recovering the black pearl enough not to pester her about it. Mycroft would be a different story. In fact, hiding from him she had questioned Irene about Moriarty had come as an instinct. The more she dug into Mycroft's past, the more she realised she did not know him. It was stupid if she thought about it. Mycroft had every right to hide things from her, especially things she had no clearance for.

As instructed, she went to see Mycroft next. She knocked on the door, and Mycroft's voice told her to come in. Inside, Alicia Smallwood was putting several folders inside a leather briefcase, ready to go.

'Agent Black, did everything go as planned?' asked Smallwood. Hermione saw Mycroft nod briefly and handed the woman the folder.

'It did, madam. Adler wrote the address and the combination of the safe where the pearl is stored.' Alicia took the piece of paper out and eyed the stain of lipstick on it.

'Very well. I'll get started with the paperwork.' She turned to Mycroft. 'Keep me posted. I'll let you know as soon as the pearl is back in England.'

Once they were alone, Hermione sat down in front of Mycroft.

'Is she still angry?'

'Very much so. She made it abundantly clear last night at the cabinet dinner party. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about.' He interlaced his hand in front of him. 'Where have you heard the name Sherrinford?'

'Are you surveilling me?' asked Hermione.

'Everything everyone searches for it's logged, and you tried to access level ultra information. Did you think I would not know?' I know everything, what's what Hermione heard in the irritated tone of his voice. 'Where did you learn about Sherrinford?'

'I must've overheard him,' dismissed Hermione.

Mycroft clenched his fists but did not bang the desk as he clearly wanted. He stood up and leaned over the desk. 'Listen to me very carefully. I don't know how you have this information, but I am commanding you to stop immediately. Do not dig into Sherrinford, that particular operation is not of your concern, and that's an order. If I ever see that name in relation to you, I'll make sure you never work for the MI6 ever again. You are dismissed.'

'You should get your own tablet, you know,' said Hermione when she saw Sirius coming into the dining room with her tablet under his arm.

'Or I can keep using yours until you cave and decide to give it to me,' Sirius popped a blueberry in his mouth as he sat down. Hermione shook her head and went back to her book. After she left Mycroft's office the week before, Hermione had gone back to Sirius' with anger and mistrust bubbling in her veins. Mycroft seemed to have forgotten the promise he had made to her all those months ago, the promise of telling her everything, and she had believed him. He had been a broken man that night, a shadow of the power he held, and it had lasted only until dawn came. Hermione did not know how the pieces of the puzzle fit together, but Moriarty and Sherrinford were linked, and the thought of it terrified Mycroft.

'Oh, for Merlin's sake,' exclaimed Sirius. Hermione lifted her head. Sirius pushed the tablet over the table and took his phone out of his suit jacket. On the screen, Hermione could see Sherlock's infamous picture wearing a deerstalker, next to the talent show presenter-slash-philanthropist Culverton Smith. Good Lord, if that man did not make her skin crawl. Under the two photos was a screen capture of one of Sherlock's tweets and a headline.

'"Culverton Smith is a serial killer, and I can prove it." Has Sherlock lost the plot entirely?' Sirius paused in his writing and placed a hand to his mouth. 'What? What is it?'

'You know him better than I do,' said Sirius. 'Is there a chance this is real?'

'I don't think I know him, really.' Hermione locked the screen. 'I'm done Sirius, I can't deal with this. He's probably got enough drugs in his system to kill a horse, and he's just trying to pick up a fight.'

'Hear me out,' he said as he kneeled on the floor next to her chair and took her hands between his. 'Yes, all of that is true. But how many times has Sherlock been wrong? How many times has he made a mistake at his job? Even drugged, Sherlock is still the best.'

His phone rang, and Sirius stood up. 'It's probably Mycroft. No matter if it's true or not, Sherlock going rogue is always a security concern.'

Hermione turned the table back on and scrolled down the article. Sirius might be right, but Hermione didn't even want to dwell on Sherlock. It was not her problem who Sherlock messed up with this time. She had learned her lesson with Magnussen. Then the impossible happened.

The notification of a new email appeared at the top of the screen. The subject line was empty, but the sender was already dead. With her heart beating in her throat, Hermione opened the email app and the email. There was no message, only a video attached. She clicked on it.

'I know you don't own a DVD player,' Mary's voice filled the room, and her face, tired but happy, took up the entire screen. She was in her living room, and a plush toy was resting against her hip. The video must have been done shortly after Rosie was born. 'So I figured this was the easiest way of sending you this. I never thought I would be making a video like this, it all sounds very cliche, but I need to get this off my chest. I never had a reason for wanting to make one, either. How things change.' Mary mused and dabbed one stray tear from her eye.

'You might never see this video. I have no reason to believe my life is in imminent danger… but Moriarty has made me think. Nothing lasts forever and we have dangerous pasts. And I can't count on Sherlock to save me a second time. I don't have enough lives to repay all the debts I've acquired.'

'You have been my saving grace, Herms. You saved my life when I had no one to turn to, and then everything that gives my life meaning has been because of you. I have no way of thanking you, and I am afraid, you might hate me a bit more after this video.'

'Some weeks ago, John and Sherlock received a video similar to this one. And forgive me, because even in death, I am selfish. And believe me, I would not have done it if I thought there was another way. But there isn't. John is too stubborn. And I need to make sure he lives on, for his sake and Rosie's sake.'

'When you realise what I've done, what I've pushed Sherlock to do, I might not be in a position of asking for anything. But please, be there for my little girl, would you? Don't let her know the kind of mother she had, let her know the good things, tell her everyday how much mummy loved her. Let her remember me as the person I strived to be and not the person I was. Help John heal. Please, keep our Baker Street family together, because there is no one else who would do it. I love you.'

Mary reached to stop the recording, and Hermione rushed out of the room. She snatched her coat from the rail and left the flat towards Baker Street without even taking her keys, ignoring Sirius's questions from the kitchen. In the video, Mary had pulled back, with a hand still close to whatever device she had been using, and talked to the camera.

'One last thing: Do not trust Mycroft Holmes.'