Mycroft's slow exhales kept rhythm with the ticking clock. It was the only sound in the office besides the faint hum of the computer screen which he was sure only he could hear. He leaned back in his chair causing the taught, stiff leather to squeak crudely, and slid open the bottom drawer of his desk. He took out a large magnolia envelope to reveal a collection of sweets and chocolate bars hidden underneath. Pursing his lips, he gazed at them longingly before glancing over to the treadmill in the corner of the room and letting out an audible sigh.
A knock at the door startled him. He threw the envelope back on top of his secret stash and shut the drawer quickly.
"Yes?"
The door opened, allowing a sliver of light into the dimly-lit office.
"Hi, sorry I was just… Mycroft would it kill you to open the blinds?"
He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, rubbing his chin with his finger. "Margaux, I fear you have met with my mother on one too many occasion. You're starting to sound like her."
Margaux rolled her eyes, purposefully ignoring his comment. She stepped into the office, keeping a hand on the doorframe. "You sent for me?"
"Ah yes. Paperwork." He gestured to a pile of folders on the edge of his desk. "I'd have mailed it to you so you could do it at home, but we can't risk it falling into the wrong hands."
"It's fine," she said, waving her hand as she walked over and picked it up. "I might actually stick around and do some here. You don't have a free desk I could park myself at, do you?"
He showed her to a small, unoccupied office near his own with a large sliding glass door separating it from the hallway. She walked in, placing the folders on the L-shaped desk and hanging her jacket over the back of the chair, her woollen collar still damp from the unrelenting September rain she had travelled through.
"Feel free to fire up the computer," said Mycroft. "Your own personal log-in should be up and running. Username is MCave. Password is 'password'."
"Oh, mhm. Maximum security, very impressive."
Mycroft gave a snarky laugh, causing Margaux to flash an exaggerated wide-toothed smile. He turned to leave.
"Oh, Mycroft."
"Yes?"
"Vaughan loves the train set you got him for his birthday. Hasn't stopped playing with it since. I think it's his favourite gift, to Sherlock's dismay," she said.
"Good. I'm… I'm glad he likes it," he turned to leave once again before stopping. "And I'm exceedingly pleased to hear of my brother's anguish."
Margaux laughed quietly as she watched him leave the room; hands clasped behind his back as he strode back to his dark, quiet office. She sank into the large button-back desk chair and slipped the first sheet of paper from the top folder.
III
Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, his back so perfectly straight it was as if there were a piece of wire holding his spine upright. He stared down the lens of his microscope, working calmly and quietly as he had done for most of the afternoon. A small hand reached up from underneath the table, placing a plastic cup and saucer next to him. Without taking his eye from the lens, Sherlock picked up the cup by the handle and pretended to take a sip.
"Mm, excellent cup of tea, thank you," he said, before placing it back down on the saucer.
Vaughan smiled proudly from the kitchen floor and returned to playing with his tea set.
Sherlock's phone buzzed aggressively against the table. He picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Is John with you?"
"No. I do believe he's at his proper job." He air-quoted 'proper', as if still offended by John's choice of words.
"Okay good, I'm coming up."
Within minutes, Mary had let herself into the flat. She turned the corner into the kitchen and stood in the archway, her hands resting nervously on her round stomach, as if she were waiting for permission to come and sit down.
"Mary!" Vaughan shouted as he ran to her.
Mary's serious expression brightened as she greeted him with a warm hug. "Hey Vee!"
"Don't let Margaux hear you calling him that," said Sherlock from behind the lens.
"Oh, she won't mind." She rubbed her hand through Vaughan's dark, wavy locks "Will she, ey?"
Sherlock pushed his microscope aside, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table in front of him. "You want to talk about John."
Mary stiffened before turning to Vaughan with a smile. "Hey, I'd love one of your famous cups of tea."
Vaughan grinned and ran back to his tea set. "I will make you seven-thousand," he said.
"Oh perfect!" she laughed kindly as she waddled to the table and lowered herself carefully into the chair facing Sherlock.
"He's still not talking to you then?" he asked.
"Sher–" she laughed in disbelief. "He hasn't spoken to me in months. Not properly anyway. You know, he'll… offer me a drink or some breakfast in the morning, say goodbye when he leaves for work, some days if he's feeling generous he'll say goodnight before retiring to the couch for the night."
"Hm, he's making progress."
"Progress? He's my husband, Sherlock. I'm pregnant with his child and he can barely look at me. I feel like I can't be excited about having a baby because he's missing out on so much." She looked up into Sherlock's glacial eyes. "Who knew out of the four of us that you and Margaux would be the stable couple."
"We're not a couple."
"Well neither are me and John at this point." She shook away the bitterness and sighed. "Has he looked at it yet? The USB, has he read it?"
"No."
She folded her arms and rested them on her bump. "Sherlock, you have to make him look at it. I need you to. I can't go on living in this limbo. You tell him to read it all and then make a decision; stay or go. Please, Sherlock." She held back a cry, yet tears still escaped quietly from her irritated eyes.
She wiped them away and sniffed sharply as Vaughan approached her with a plastic cup and saucer. She cleared her throat and forced a smile.
"Ah thank you so much!" She took a pretend sip. "Wow, Vaughan, you make the best tea in the whole world."
"In the whole universe?" he asked.
"In the whole entire universe."
Sherlock watched them talking. He couldn't help but think that in spite of all the violence and deception, all the hiding and looking over her shoulder, Mary would be the most gentle mother. The way she talked with Vaughan, understood him with ease, comforted and encouraged him; John was lucky his child would have a mother like Mary. Sherlock made a mental note – He must remember to tell Margaux that she is a good mother more often, that he is grateful for her. Vaughan crawled under the table to continue playing and Mary turned her attention back to Sherlock.
"My past, everything I've done, it's a lot. Even for me. It's stuff that sticks to you forever no matter how much you… change. I need him to know it all. I need him to make the conscious decision to let it all stick to him too."
III
Margaux threw down another completed folder and moved onto the last. She was starting to feel tired, perhaps it was time for a coffee break. She shifted in her seat, propping her elbow on the desk and resting her head against her closed fist, when she heard the beginnings of a heated conversation muffled through the glass of the office door. Immediately she knew, not even having to glance up to know that Mycroft was standing with Sherlock in the hallway. Even through glass she could feel the competition for power in their conversation.
She peaked around the computer screen, seeing the two of them as she expected. Sherlock stood taller and leaner than his brother, rainwater dripping from his tousled hair creating damp patches on his shoulders. She could see his arm wrapped around a bundle hidden under his long Belstaff coat. It was Vaughan, resting calmly against his father's chest, so snug to his body that the coat could have buttoned up around both of them. What was he here for? She wondered. Whatever it was, it was important enough to bring Vaughan out in the rain.
She dipped her head behind the computer screen, willing him not to turn around and see her. She hadn't told him about the job and she wanted to keep it that way, at least for now. She strained to listen.
"I thought you were the government." She heard Sherlock say. "Make it all disappear."
"Dear baby brother, if only it were that simple."
"It is," Sherlock replied as he readjusted his grip on Vaughan, hoisting him back up gently. "Do you believe she is a threat?"
"Of course not."
"Then why–"
"Because even if we did erase it all, it will never truly disappear."
"Why?"
"Because Charles Augustus Magnussen has it too."
Sherlock shifted his stance in frustration, turning away from Mycroft to face the office where she sat listening.
She ducked down further until her head lay almost flat against the desk. She didn't dare move until she heard Mycroft speak again.
"I will do my best, Sherlock. Though I must say, it won't be a case of a missing piece of paper or two. Mary Watson's past lives have totted up quite the file. So big it's earned its own codename. Thorn74."
She heard him chuckle quietly.
"Say goodbye to uncle Mycroft, Vaughan."
"Goodbye, little one."
Footsteps faded down the hall. Margaux waited a few minutes before checking they had gone. She leaned back in her chair and inhaled slowly, her eyes burning into the keyboard in front of her. She blew the air back out through her mouth before flicking on the computer screen, opening the search feature on the internal database and typing with trembling fingers.
Thorn74.
III
The rain had finally eased off, leaving behind its musky perfume that rose from the slick grey pavements of London. Margaux pulled her jacket tight across her chest as she walked down the street, her cheeks flushes and her damp hair hanging limp as it stuck to her face. She ran up the steps and rang the buzzer, waiting a few moments before Mrs Hudson opened the door and welcomed her inside.
"Oh dear, I'll bring you up some tea," she said kindly.
"Don't worry Mrs Hudson, I'm not staying long." Margaux smiled, removing her jacket and brushing her hair out of her face. She draped the jacket over her arm and climbed the stairs to 221B.
She tapped gently on the door before letting herself inside. "Hello?" she called out.
"You're wet." Sherlock appeared in the archway of the kitchen holding his violin in one hand.
"Yes. I think it might have been raining." she replied sarcastically. "Where's…"
Vaughan appeared behind his father holding his small blue violin.
"We're learning to play," said Sherlock.
"Oh lovely." She smiled.
She took a seat on the couch and watched as Sherlock played a lulling melody. Her heart swelled as Vaughan tried to copy his father, pulling the plastic bow back and forth against the strings. When they finished, she applauded enthusiastically.
"Well done!" She squealed, walking to Vaughan and squeezing him tightly.
She stood up straight and turned to Sherlock, leaning close to him. "That was beautiful," she whispered, placing a hand on his arm.
He looked down at her hand and raised an eyebrow. She removed it quickly before punching him playfully instead.
"Can I take you to dinner tonight?" She asked plainly, as if she were asking a friend to meet her for coffee.
"Sure," he replied. "I know this Italian place in Paddington; the owner gives me discounted food because I solved his–"
"How about somewhere I choose? Preferably a place where we don't know the owner's criminal history."
"Hm. Okay."
"Pick me up in a cab around Six Thirty?"
Sherlock nodded, clasping his hands together behind his back and walking to the window.
"Wear something nice," Margaux added as she picked up her jacket. "I think I'm going to book somewhere fancy."
He turned to her. "Why? This isn't… Is this… a date?"
"Nope. But I've walked around all day looking like a drowned rat. I just feel like dressing up a bit. Also, looking like we're on a date will raise less suspicion."
"Suspicion of what?"
She crouched down to Vaughan and kissed him on the head before making her way out of the flat towards the stairs. "See you at six thirty!"
III
He wouldn't tell Margaux that he tried on three shirts before settling on one. He also wouldn't mention that he showered, and combed his hair. She told him to look nice, he rationalised as he slipped on his blazer and fixed the cuffs of his shirt underneath it.
He took Vaughan down to Mrs Hudson who welcomed him inside excitedly. She loved babysitting; the warm flush in her cheeks whenever she greeted his son was almost enough to elicit a smile in Sherlock. Almost.
"Oh Sherlock, don't you look handsome," she remarked as her eyes skirted over the deep burgundy shirt that hugged his slender torso.
"Yes yes. Shouldn't be long. Please don't… lose him." He turned away and headed for the door, putting his coat on effortlessly in the process.
Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes and shut the door.
When the cab rolled to a stop, he saw her standing under the shelter of the building's porch. She gave a wave and hurried over, climbing in the back beside him. She gave the driver the name of the restaurant and relaxed back into her seat, looking out of the window at the already darkening sky.
"You look nice," she said with a smile.
"Yes, and you," he replied stiffly.
"Bloody 'ell, you can do better than that, mate," the driver joked.
Margaux let out a small laugh.
"Forgive me," Sherlock began sarcastically. "I'm not well-versed in niceties."
"I'm just saying, to be punching that far above your weight, you should have better compliments than 'and you'," the driver replied.
Margaux was trying so hard to hold in her laughter that it escaped in a quiet snort. Sherlock looked at her, thoroughly unamused.
As they stepped into the restaurant, the host offered to take their coats. Sherlock removed his own and handed it over, while the host helped Margaux by gently slipping her coat off her shoulders and hanging it on the rack. Sherlock didn't make a habit of gawping; it was never something he felt compelled to do. However, as his eyes trailed the delicate material that clung to her body, mapped the curves of her waist and hips, the thin straps that sat flush against her collarbones and skimmed her exposed décolletage, he couldn't help but admit to himself that he was staring. And he couldn't help but notice the slight smirk on her face that showed his staring hadn't gone unnoticed. His breath hitched and he gulped, attempting to compose himself.
She smoothed her hands over her dress and turned to follow a waiter to their table, feeling Sherlock's arm brush hers accidentally as they walked side by side. She leaned in towards him, talking quietly.
"Is the Sherlock Holmes getting a bit hot under the collar?"
He looked around the restaurant as he spoke, his voice deep and gravelly. "I just find it odd. How seeing you in a beautiful dress can make me want to… remove it."
She felt a jolt of electricity in the core of her stomach. Did he even realise what his words did to her? Or was he simply speaking his mind like he so often did?
"Peculiar, don't you think?" he added.
"Mhm." Was all she could muster as they were seated.
"Can I bring you anything to drink?" asked the waiter.
They looked across the table to each other.
"Are you a red or a white kind of guy?" she asked.
"Neither," he responded. "But on this occasion, white would be fine." He directed the waiter to a wine on the drinks menu.
The waiter nodded and walked away, leaving them sat across from each other in a bustling restaurant, yet somehow so completely alone.