CHAPTER TWELVE
And I Heard as it Were...
Mycroft Holmes was a man of brilliance, not just intellectually, socially. Masquerading through the sea of idiotic goldfish that seemed to bleed from every corner. He was the master of his own domain, the keeper of the keys, the guardian at the gates of heaven and hell.
And yet, even he answered to someone.
Cardinal Magnusson, the Reaper some called him behind his back. Mycroft simply called him Charles. The Cardinal liked being on a first name bases with all his subordinates and Mycroft was loath to call himself one.
But Mycroft considered himself half leader half follower. He only followed because that was the pecking order; a pecking order he had acclimated to long ago. And it was that pecking order that kept him and his brother alive.
If there was a devil, a true incarnation of such a being of lore, surely Cardinal Magnusson was such a spectre.
The man was aged, a burn from an assassination attempt seemed to grow out of his neck, reaching like flat, crushed fingers up to his chin.
The low hum of the Aquitaine was all around them, moving in orbit but unnoticed to those who lived there.
"And how is your brother?" Magnusson asked, in his soft voice that was a deception like everything else about him.
"As well as can be expected." Mycroft replied, sipping his tea.
"It reached my ears he disappeared for some time." Magnusson said knowingly.
Mycroft nodded and shrugged.
"Undercover work, spur of the moment I'm afraid. He's always been impulsive."
Magnusson nodded, his eyes dead, his cheeks hollow, his white robes shining immaculately. He reached into his pocket and removed a blue snuff box, playing with it for a moment before opening it.
"Are you unwell?" Mycroft asked, concerned. He had learned to fake many emotions over the years, he was quite good at it.
When John Watson had reported that he had rescued Sherlock, Mycroft had to keep himself from exclaiming his happiness. He refused to be seen as human. It was better if people saw as an android, better to be less human the longer he stayed in this life.
Magnusson returned the snuff box to his pocket.
"Just a cold. This damn machine can be be drafty."
"Perhaps you need a holiday?" Mycroft suggested with a smirk.
"Mars, Astrid 1, all very tempting. But I am not a man of leisure, Mycroft." Cardinal Magnusson said and they both knew that was a lie. He was a man of many delights.
Many delights that Mycroft had had other men executed for.
It would give Mycroft great pleasure to see a bullet put in the Cardinal's head.
In good time, he reminded himself.
"Tell your brother he needs to pay me a visit. It's been years." Magnusson said smiling.
"I shall."
"How's that little wife of his? He should bring her too."
Mycroft tried his best not to hesitate. He knew what that meant.
"Of course."
"Still no children?"
"No."
"Pity. She is a very... lush thing, isn't she?"
Mycroft shrugged.
"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen her since the ceremony."
"Oh, I see her a lot." Magnusson said with a smirk, and gestured with his eyes to the dozens of security camera screens behind him. Mycroft nodded.
"Of course, sir." Mycroft said, it sent a chill down his spine. He had been funneling in false security footage of his own office for years as well as Holmes Manor.
Sometimes he wondered if the Cardinal knew and was waiting to strike. Sometimes Mycroft believed the Cardinal only pretended to be intelligent.
"Well, you should away. I'm sure you're very busy." The old man said and he pressed a button and the door opened.
"Yes sir." Mycroft said rising.
"And Mycroft," Magnusson said. "I mean it, send your brother to me. I have a... surprise for him and I don't know how much longer it will be alive."
Mycroft bowed and took his leave.
The shuttle was waiting for him to take him back to earth. Mycroft despised space travel, even the simplest kind. But the Cardinal was a paranoid man, he saw himself safe in the most dangerous place of all; floating high above his little people like a god, cradled in the vacuum of space.
After the turbulence had faded Mycroft was able to get some work done. Anthea sat beside him, tapping away at her tablet.
"Did you really tell him to take a holiday?" She asked with a smile.
"I merely suggested."
"Your brother is do for another check-up." She reminded him and he sighed deeply and rubbed his face.
On earth it was only 7:30 AM, but in space, being shuttled back and forth like a fucking errand boy, he felt like he was in a whole other plain where time didn't matter.
"Yes, of course, send for him will you?" Mycroft asked tiredly, he turned off his tablet and decided to get some sleep.
In his dream Mycroft dreamt the shuttle crashed and Anthea was torn apart. He was pulled from the wreckage by his brother, only Sherlock was a little boy and not a man.
In his dream boy-Sherlock wore a necklace with an animal's teeth strung from the thick cord. And in this fantasy the little boy spoke with a mechanical voice but Mycroft couldn't hear what he was saying. The boy held his hand as they waded through water, boy-Sherlock half naked and covered in blood.
Magnusson was waiting on the other side of the water, his hands stretched out, his face kind and menacing all at once and he had no eyes. Mycroft tried to stop Sherlock from going to him, knowing what would happen. Trying to save his baby brother as he always had done.
"Not him, don't go to him, stay with me, I'll protect you," Mycroft tried to say, his voice muffled.
Little Sherlock held a finger to his own lips and ripped off the necklace and placed it in Mycroft's hand. When he looked down it had turned into the head of their Irish Setter and Mycroft simply held it, staring into the lifeless eyes of the family pet.
When he looked up again Sherlock was being carried away by Magnusson and Mycroft couldn't get his legs to work again.
Mycroft had failed his brother then and he failed him now. All was lost. He would become the next victim in the long line of the Cardinal's perversions.
But when Mycroft Holmes hurtled back towards earth it was safely and without incident. He was grateful to be awake and even more grateful to be back on solid ground. The imperial chamber that orbited this blue planet was like one giant watchful eye on the whole world.
Would be a mercy if the whole damn thing came crashing down on all of us, Mycroft thought gloomily.
X
Mr. Holmes did indeed make things up to Molly. There was no physical contact but she forgave him. The whole thing had been rather awkward. She didn't understand why first of all Captain Watson wanted to see her and why Mr. Holmes had said such terrible things about her to the Captain.
When Mr. Holmes explained it was to "put John off" Molly held her ground.
"That's no excuse." She had told him flat out and he agreed. Molly's voice was growing every day. She challenged him and forced him to apologize.
In short, she didn't take any of his shit.
It was quite refreshing, going from being the dominant male of the house full of submissive females to having an equally like minded mate.
Is she my mate? Sherlock thought to himself when it had first occurred to him. He rather liked the name and the idea.
More often than not he spent time in her bed, shut away from the world that seemed to be closing in on them every day.
Mornings and afternoons at the office trying to figure out the mystery of the murdered Watchers and evenings and early morning hours with Molly.
Occasionally he would see to Janine who, strangely enough, seemed to be in brighter spirits as of late. But she had done this before; pretended to be well and happy when behind it all was a woman waiting to snap.
Sherlock still had Mrs. Hudson keep a close eye on his wife.
Wife only in name, he vowed.
It was mid morning at the office when Sherlock's tablet chimed. A message from Anthea, Mycroft's... whatever she was.
"Christ." He groaned and John glanced up from his desk.
"Problem?" John inquired and Sherlock nodded.
"My brother. I forgot my check-up. I'll only be gone an hour."
"Check-up?"
"Yes, ever since... well, my habit he has me checked regularly by doctors. It's a terrible nuisance."
"He must care." John said smiling, knowing the truth that the elder Holmes cared more than he let on.
Sherlock shrugged.
"He just likes to annoy me. Be back in a bit. Don't let Irene talk you into one of her debates. Trust me, you'll lose."
John and Sherlock said their goodbyes.
Like clockwork Irene entered shortly after Sherlock left. John wasn't sure if she had been sent in or she just wanted to be of use.
She stood still by the door. It was haunting having something so lifelike so near when nothing about it truly had life.
Does she have a soul? John thought and decided to go against Sherlock's advisement.
"Irene?" John asked and she blinked her response. "Come sit with me." He said gesturing to Sherlock's chair. The android did not hesitate and with her awkward walk and the eerily strange movements of her arms she took a seat where the Watcher normally sat.
John was sure she had been tested before, but she hadn't been tested by him.
After all, Irene was all an old model and if the theory that machines could adapt to be more human, or to be human at all, then theoretically she was old enough to have learned to be more human.
However her body language said otherwise. But it wasn't her body John was interested in, it was her mind.
"How are you today, Irene?" John asked in a conversational tone, his own body language nonthreatening.
Irene thought for a moment, most likely processing what she had been asked.
"I am... fine." She replied.
"How do you feel?"
Irene blinked and didn't answer. Processing again?
"Irene?" John asked.
"Fine." Came a quick reply.
"Irene, describe how you feel." It wasn't a question.
And then Irene did something that was chillingly human... she licked her lips.
"I feel... worthy." She answered.
"Why worthy?" He asked, curiously.
"I am of use. I perform my duties as per my programming."
John sighed, he had almost gotten somewhere. Maybe the lip licking was just a mimic?
"Who makes you feel worthy?" He asked.
"Is this is a test?"
John held back a smile; she deflected. But Sherlock had warned John that she could omit, but deflecting wasn't the same.
"No. I'm simply trying to understand you."
"I am a 5th Generation Synthetic Humanoid, Irene Adler Model. Serial number-"
"No, no," John said shaking his head. "I meant... you as a being. I mean, do you like anything?"
"Like?"
John couldn't tell if she were teasing him or not. Was he getting ahead of himself trying to test her?
"If you saw a puppy in a window what would you do?" He asked simply.
Irene thought for a moment, processing...
"Why am I looking at a puppy?" She asked.
"Because it's cute."
"Why?"
"Animals can be cute."
"They're flesh and bone like you. Are you cute?"
Was that an insult?
"Irene, what do you think of the sunset?"
"Gases produced-"
"Okay, let's try something else."
John stood and approached Irene and held out his hand.
"Take my hand." He told her. Irene did, simply placing her hand in his, her grip light, her skin felt strangely real. There were no faint knuckle or hand hair, no wrinkles, no blemishes. Just soft, false skin over copper and wire.
"Do you feel anything?" He asked her.
"I feel your heartbeat in my hand."
"How does that make you feel?"
"I do not have one."
John knelt down to her eye level and placed a hand over breast bone, beneath where a heart should be, he only felt a faint ticking. Probably just some cog in this semi-realistic machine.
"How does it feel when I touch you?"
"Human. Humans touch, they show affection through touch. It feels human."
John removed his hand and returned to his chair.
"Irene, do you know anything about the murdered Watchers you're not telling us?"
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely."
Even her eyes didn't give her away. How could they when there was nothing behind them?
"How do you feel about love?"
"Another human emotion I am without."
"You don't love anyone?"
She looked to the left and then back at him. John held in another smile.
Gotcha, he thought proudly. Now he felt he was getting somewhere.
"I do not. I can not." She replied.
"No one has ever broken your heart?"
"I have no heart to break. A broken heart is a metaphor for internal pain caused by another or a situation. Loss of a child, emotional suffering, a dog run over by a car..."
John nodded.
"What do you think of... Mr. Holmes?"
"He is a Watcher and my boss."
"Would you ever hide anything from him?"
"No."
Irene deflected again, refraining from describing what she thought of Sherlock, instead describing what he did instead of who he was.
"Would it hurt you if you found out he wanted to transfer you?" John asked.
Irene didn't answer. Processing again? John waited and waited. Still no answer.
"Irene, would it cause you pain if he didn't want to work with you anymore?"
"I have been assigned here." She said obviously.
"Yes. But what if you weren't?"
Another long pause.
"I... I would... they would find me a new position." She answered, but she stumbled to find the words.
John wasn't quite sure what he watching but if he had to describe it in a word it would be... evolution.
"Would you be hurt?"
"I can not be hurt." She said a little aggressively. Her eyes darted around the room, either to find an escape or she was having a glitch.
"Irene, it's alright." John assured her. "No one is transferring you."
Irene's eyes seemed to settle back on him, but there was something behind them now that hadn't been there before. She almost looked afraid.
"I do not want to leave." She said to him. John nodded.
"Why?"
"I... I like it here. That is what I like. I like here, now, the room, the office, Mr. Holmes, you, the Watchers, the garage, the cases, the victims, the families, the murderers and the degenerates..."
John held up a hand and she stopped, if she were human she'd be out of breath.
"Irene, what do you think of the sunrise?"
"Beautiful." She answered.
"Do you watch the sunrise?"
"I have recorded every one since my creation."
"Why?"
"Because it is... a beginning."
John couldn't help but smile at her. Yes, she was more than she thought she was. More than what he thought she was. He felt himself trust her a little more.
"Back to work?"
"Are we done?" She almost sounded disappointed.
"For now."
"Will we talk like this again?"
"Yes."
X
"Traces of nicotine and allergy medication, like before." Anthea said handing Mycroft the tablet.
"Everything he'll be expecting. The drug has been out of system anyway since the antidote kicked in." Mycroft replied, only glancing at the tablet.
"It's not right, sir," Anthea said and Mycroft sighed.
"I know."
"He should be told."
"I know." Mycroft replied more sternly. Anthea nodded.
Mycroft sat with Sherlock and handed him a cigarette, the same deal as always.
"How is Janine?" Mycroft asked and Sherlock sighed out the cigarette smoke.
"Very well."
"I heard she had an accident."
Sherlock tapped the ash on the floor, avoiding the ashtray deliberately.
"She fell." Sherlock said simply.
"And cut her wrists open on the way down? She must have gone through a window."
Sherlock clenched his jaw, only unclenching to take another drag.
"Sherlock, Magnusson wants to see you."
"Out of the-fucking-question." Sherlock said broadly.
Mycroft rubbed his face, not caring if he showed his exhaustion to Sherlock. Let him use it against him, he was tired of fighting.
"Sherlock, you have been summoned by the greatest power in the world. You will go if I have to drag you kicking and screaming!"
"I would like to see you try." Sherlock said dangerously.
The arrogance of the younger Holmes infuriated Mycroft to no end. If only Sherlock knew the lengths he had gone to, to keep him safe. The sacrifices, the sleepless nights. The hours upon hours he had taken away from his own life to deal with Sherlock and his drug-induced antics.
The lives that had been lost in keeping his safe...
Perhaps it is time...
"Anything else?" Sherlock asked.
"No. Just don't go disappearing any time soon."
"Can't make any promises." Sherlock said rising.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted and rising from his seat, Sherlock obeyed, unused to seeing his brother unhinged.
It almost... concerned him. They had always pecked at each other, rammed horns like goats. But it was never completely serious, the jabs and the insults.
And now Mycroft was showing his emotions he was showing his rage, he looked so old all of the sudden.
"Don't make me get him involved." Mycroft threatened.
"Fuck you." Sherlock snapped.
"No, Sherlock, I'm serious. I know if there's anyone that can convince you it's him."
Sherlock tapped the ash into the ashtray this time and Mycroft knew he had him.
"When does Magnusson want to see me?"
"Soon. And you'll have to bring Janine."
"She's in no state to travel."
"Pregnant?"
"Unstable."
Mycroft returned to his seat.
"I'm afraid the Cardinal demands it." Mycroft said regrettably. "He... has something for you."
"That's not a good sign."
"No. But you'll have to go and get it over with. We all, even I, must pay homage to the king."
Sherlock laughed.
"He's not a king. He's an old man that needs to be put down."
"Careful, brother mine. It's thoughts like that that get one shot."
Sherlock finished his cigarette in two more drags before departing.
What could Magnusson possibly have for him? Perhaps he had discovered his affair with Molly and was ready to use it against him. Perhaps he had something else... it could be any number of things.
Five years ago, while undercover in the NLD on a completely different case, Sherlock had got wind of a human trafficking ring that was shuttling young boys off to Mars to be sold into sex slavery.
When Sherlock kept pulling on the thread it lead directly to Cardinal Charles-fucking-Magnusson.
As a young man, Sherlock saw this as his chance and he went directly above his partner, Anton Hooper, to his brother.
But Mycroft couldn't do anything about it. The Cardinal was the Supreme Law. He was the leader of their whole culture as his predecessor had been before him. Sherlock had been outraged and disgusted with Mycroft, calling him "no brother of mine".
It had nearly torn them apart. Until... Sherlock couldn't remember. He had gone on a Felicity binge and nearly died. When he woke up he was in a hospital and found out later that Anton Hooper had pulled him out, unbeknownst to him so had Mycroft personally.
After Sherlock was well he was ordered to forget about the whole thing. He refused to speak to Mycroft and even briefly thought about joining the rebels; but it was the damn rebels who were selling their children for drugs to the traffickers.
It was an endless cycle of murder and children's blood.
But Sherlock could never tell Janine that's why he hoped they never had children. What if that child ended up at the taloned feet of Cardinal Magnusson?
When Sherlock returned to the office John was alone, exactly where he left him. Sherlock's own chair had been moved slightly but he didn't say anything. When he sat down there was no warmth but the depth and imprint left was too light to be made by John.
"You talked to Irene?" Sherlock asked, John nearly asking him how he knew but remembered who he was talking to.
"Yeah. She's very interesting."
"I told you not to talk to her."
"I guess I couldn't help myself." John said shrugging.
"Anything interesting?"
"Yeah. She definitely knows something about the dead Watchers."
X
Sherlock went over John's theory as he made his way to the marital bedroom that night.
John hypothesized that Irene knew exactly what happened with the Watchers but was under orders not to reveal it.
"And you tried interrogating her?" Sherlock had asked, rather impressed at the balls his new friend had.
John explained to Sherlock what Irene had revealed and what was more what was unearthed was that Irene, despite being synthetic, had a pressure point. And that pressure point was not just her work but Sherlock.
"She's attached to her, you're her new normal." John had disclosed, rather excitedly.
Sherlock told his friend they needed to be careful. They would discuss more this weekend when John joined him again for dinner. Sherlock had some cameras in his house but not in every room, he had done away with most of them years ago before realizing their importance.
When Sherlock entered the bedroom, Janine was awake and in bed with a book.
However it was not the Joys of Motherhood... it was a book called "The Dutiful Wife". The change set Sherlock on edge. Janine was a creature of habit if he ever saw one.
Janine had fresh bandages on her pale wrists, but there were no red stains. They were healing nicely and she would obediently attend therapy, with Molly as company.
Sherlock was not an idiot; he had noticed his wife's increasing interest in Molly's welfare. But why all the sudden had she taken such an interest in a maid whose name she had barely known a month?
There were too many reasons for Sherlock to be such a paranoid man. Any time Janine was out of the bedroom he had ordered Mrs. Hudson do it a bed check to make sure his wife wasn't hiding any sharp objects under her pillow or in or under the mattress or bed.
Sherlock didn't enjoy living such a life. He wasn't afraid of his wife, he was afraid for her.
"Good day?" She asked him pleasantly, wifely.
"Yes." He answered.
I'd rather be with your maid than you, he wanted to say. But husbands didn't say that to their wives.
"Will you take me tonight?" She asked.
Sherlock paused in the doorway of the bathroom, his hand on the frame, his head and shoulders hung.
"Yes." He answered.
You did make a promise that you would try, he kept reminding himself.
He took an extra long shower, praying Janine would have already fallen asleep by the time he was finished. Alas, he had no such luck.
Once more the passionless mating left Sherlock feeling hollow and depressed. Once more Janine stood in front of the bathroom mirror, nude, sweaty in the aftermath of their intercourse, caressing her flat belly, mouthing the words "where are you?"
Sherlock lay next to his wife, only in name, wide awake. Tired not from the events of the day, kept awake by them instead.
He imagined himself jumping from a roof in a drug induced daze. He felt himself falling into murky waters. An angelic hand reaching down to grasping his own, pulling him to safety.
But this wasn't a dream, it was simply a manifestation of his own making.
The bedsheets were cool to the touch, Janine sleeping peacefully beside him. Or at least she looked peaceful. He wondered what she dreamt of. Babies, a family, a husband that showered her with affection.
It wasn't unheard of for Watchers and their wives to find common ground, to be tender to one another. It rarely happened though.
Sherlock remembers Anton Hooper speaking quite fondly of his late wife. How in the morning light she looked like some angelic being, glowing, a halo of gold around her head.
Sherlock did not think of such romantic sentiments when thinking of his wife; he thought only of Molly, in her bed, curled up and asleep; or perhaps awake, waiting for him. He died every time he could not go to her. When he had to fulfill his duty as a husband, Watcher and man, he felt worse than dead.
Heavy is the head that gets no sleep, he thought sadly.
Sherlock hoped Molly could feel his anguish, that he took no pleasure in being with Janine. That he only wanted her to be at his side. His little paramour, his alter-ego, his one true... love.
And yet Mrs. Hudson's words hung around his neck like a noose.
The time would come when he needed to break Molly. He had tried before and she had taken him back all the same. No, he had to hurt her, verbally, emotionally, mentally... even physically.
And then, to ease her pain, drive her into the arms of a man who would be better for her. Thankfully, fate had already made John Watson and Molly Hooper cross paths.
Horridly, he began devising a plan to sever his relationship with Molly once and for all.
How queer it is, that I should long for a woman that I certainly must burn the heart out of, he thought.
Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes as he finally felt the veil of sleeping approaching.
And as he always saw behind his eyelids before drifting off, but never remembering the next day, little blue words blinking at him: POWERING DOWN.
AN: DUN DUN DUN! Hey guys! So, I'll be out of town until the 13th on a mini vacation and I won't be bringing my laptop, sorry to end on an obvious cliffhanger. I will be bringing my tablet and using Tumblr if any of you wanted to communicate through that platform: my username is intheruinsofhislove
I really hope you're all still enjoying the story, I'm thoroughly enjoying writing it. I posted on Tumblr that I made a (terrible) trailer for this story, however I cannot post it yet due to spoilers. Thank you all again for your kind words and your endless amount of support, you're the real heroes! :) Until next time!