She steps down the cab and walks along the empty road of Leinster Gardens. Where would Sherlock be? Of course, she's not going to stop. Sherlock will reveal himself, eventually, or he might let her search for him and make her look like an idiot - which she won't let him.
"Spare any change, love?" a homeless teen asks.
"No," she answers, not even stopping.
"Oh, come on, love. Don't be like all the rest."
She finally stops and searches for a change and bends down to drop the coins. Before she can stand straight back up, the homeless teen grabs her wrists and looks up. She's seen him before, talking to Sherlock.
"Rule One of looking for Sherlock 'Olmes: 'e finds you." he says, placing a phone and headset into her hand and standing up.
"You're working for Sherlock, aren't you?"
"Keeps me off the streets, dunnit?"
"Well... no..." she shrugs and he walks away.
The phone starts to ring and so she places the headset into her hear. Mary then starts walking along the streets once more.
"Where are you?" she asks.
"Can't you see me?" Sherlock replies hoarsely.
As Mary, she would have asked if he is alright. If he is okay and why he sounds like that and he might need to call a doctor. But now, she is AGRA once more, and he is talking to one of the dangerous people who can bring her down.
"Well, what am I looking for?" she asks.
"The lie - the lie of Leinster Gardens - hidden in plain sight."
"So dramatic," she mutters to herself and she hears Sherlock chuckle.
"People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I know you are, it'll take you less than a minute. The houses, Mary. Look at the houses."
"So, I'm Mary again, am I?"
"You're Mary to me."
She ignores the comment. "Ohh," she exclaims when she looks at the houses.
"Thirty seconds."
"What am I looking at?"
"No door knobs, no letter box... painted windows. 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens. The empty houses. They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains. It's just a façade. Remind you of anyone, Mary? A façade."
Suddenly, her photograph is projected on the houses.
"Sorry I never could resist a touch of drama," Sherlock comments.
"You don't say," she replies.
"Do come in. It's a little cramped."
"Do you own this place?" she asks, walking towards the door.
He hums in reply. "I won it in a card game in my time away with the Clarence House Cannibal. Nearly cost me my kidneys but fortunately, I had a straight flush."
"And they let you in? A teenager?"
"They don't have limits." Sherlock chuckles. "Quite a gambler that woman."
She walks in. At the end of the corridor, he sees a figure sitting on a bench. She stares at the figure and draws in a breath.
"What do you want, Sherlock?"
"Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where, two years ago, you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity... It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who have remarkable reflexes... extraordinarily retentive memories..."
"You were very slow."
"How good a shot are you?"
This is it. This is her opportunity. "How badly do you want to find out?" she asks, cocking her gun and points it towards the figure.
"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that. "
"I can easily find the source of the projector and remove it," she says, steadying her grip on the gun.
"People have seen the projector. They will report it."
"Not unless I do something about it."
"Mary..."
"I thought Mary Morstan was dead?"
"You're Mary Morstan now."
"And I am and will be unless I remove you from the picture."
"Mary, whatever they've got on you. Let me help."
The figure starts to stand up and she moves closer and pauses, the gun pointing threateningly.
"Oh Sherlock, if you take one more step I swear I will kill you."
"No, Mary. You won't."
Before she manages it, the figure moves to the side, missing the bullet's target.
"MARY!" someone yells from behind her, at the same time as the light open up in the empty house.
She turns around to see Sherlock quickly limping as an attempt to run and moves pass her to the figure who jumped to the side.
"JOHN!" Sherlock yells and she blanches.
John?
Shaking and looking at the damned gun in her hand, she throws it on the floor. She hears some murmuring and a snap before two figures move from the hidden corridor and faces her. Sherlock stands behind a fuming John who is looking at her both with pain and anger before cleaning himself up and fixes his clothes.
"John."
"Sherlock? What is it? Where are yo- oh wait, you said you were in a conference."
"I lied," he hears Sherlock breathe heavily.
"Sherlock, are you alright? Where are you?" he asks, more determinedly, standing up from his armchair and already grabbing his coat, not even caring that Sherlock lied. He never admits that.
"I'm fine."
"And we both know you'll say that on your deathbed."
Sherlock chuckles. "Take a cab and ask to go to 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens. There's something you need to know."
"Why can't you just say it?"
"It's easier to believe if you see it with your own eyes."
"Can't you just tell me without all this dramatics?"
"John, please. Trust me."
He pauses. Please. Another please. He knows Sherlock is desperate. A cab finally goes towards him and he enters and tells the address to the driver before going.
"I hear you're on the way."
"Can't you tell me what's going on?"
"Not yet. This is not something you want to hear over the phone."
"That bad, huh?"
"Even I can't comprehend it."
"You? It's going to be horrible, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Sherlock, if this is some damned joke-"
"I wouldn't joke about something like this."
He thinks and tries to remember anything and his eyes widen. "Did Moriarty send another letter?"
"No. He sent the Woman, remember? She told me."
"Told you what?"
"Something important. Probably worth two letter-less weeks."
"A distraction? He didn't send anything when Irene Adler came."
"A distraction? Maybe. Are you near?"
He asks the driver the same question. "Yes, actually, just a few more seconds aaaaand, I'm here." He pays the cabbie. "Now, should I just come in?"
"A bit cramped, but yes just come in." and he does. His eyebrows shut up at the emptiness of the place.
At the end of the corridor sits Sherlock, leaning on the wall with his phone in his hand. He sees immediately the bleeding cuts on his face. He runs.
"What happened?!" he asks, kneeling down and checking on the cuts and bruises on his skin.
"It's nothing," Sherlock replies, wincing as he sits up and looks at John in the eye. "I have something to tell you."
"That can wait! You need to go to the hospital!" he tells Sherlock. 'God, Sherlock.'
"This is more important."
"What can possibly be more important than your health?"
"It's about Mary."
He pales at first. If this is important and it's about Mary, then... no.
"Sherlock, I called Mary a few minutes ago and she's fine. You, on the other hand, are not. You two are the most important people in my life at the moment and you're just leaning a tad bit higher on the important scale since you need me more than she does right now.."
"Mary... is not who she seems."
"What?"
"Remember what Moriarty told you? Loyal to the wrong person?"
"Mary? Sweet innocent Mary? Well, innocent is a good word for sarcastically smug." he smiles.
Sherlock's face crunches as if in pain. Or maybe he is in pain? But now, he sighs and shakes his head before looking at him in the eye and handing him a file. He looks at the folder in question and looks at Sherlock who gives him an encouraging look and so he opens it.
It's Mary. A brunette Mary who is at least two years younger.
"Amanda Granuaile Róisín Abbington. Irish. James Moriarty's partner in a secret organisation that even Mycroft can't handle. She's James Moriarty's Sebastian Moran before she changed her identity two years ago. Pretty brave for a seventeen year old to run away from a life like that."
He can't comprehend half of what Sherlock said. He sits on the ground, shocked, to say the least. He sighs.
"No, I can't believe this." He places his hands on his head. "My life's turning to shit if this is true, which it can't be. Sorry, Sherlock. I trust you but this is a tad bit too hard to believe."
"I know. Which is why we're here."
"Why?"
"We're meeting Amanda."
"No, there's no Amanda. We're meeting Mary."
"Yes, yes, we're meeting with Mary. I just need a decoy, hence the dummy," he points at a dummy in the corner.
"What's the dummy for?"
"Just in case she tries to shoot me."
"Why would she shoot you?"
"Because I know her identity. She would want to kill me if someone is a threat to her new life."
"No. She wouldn't do that. Move. I'll be the dummy."
"What?! You can't do that!"
"Look. I know her, and she's fond of you. She won't shoot you and she won't even have a gun. She's not going to hurt anyone. She's not some undercover spy agent or whatever. She's Mary. My Mary."
"I can't let you do this."
"You don't have a choice. Move."
He makes Sherlock move on the side so he can sit on the bench, facing the corridor.
"You have to look a bit like me," Sherlock says, popping his collar and ruffles his hair.
He doesn't even care that he hates it when people ruffle his hair. He is too focused on believing that everything Sherlock said is a lie. For the first time in his life, he hopes Sherlock is lying.
"Just be careful," Sherlock sighs, looking at his phone then handing him a headset. "Bill just texted me. She's coming. Listen and don't talk. Not a word. She can't know you're here. Not yet."
"You're going to be wrong."
"I wish I was," and Sherlock calls her as he moves to the other end of the corridor, near the door, and closes enough lights.
"Where are you?" Mary asks and he prays Sherlock is wrong.
"Can't you see me?" Sherlock replies hoarsely.
"Well, what am I looking for?" she asks.
"The lie - the lie of Leinster Gardens - hidden in plain sight."
"So dramatic," she mutters to herself and he chuckles and places his hand on his mouth to shut himself up at the conflicted emotions he has. She is right about that.
"People live here for years and never see it, but if you are what I know you are, it'll take you less than a minute. The houses, Mary. Look at the houses."
"So, I'm Mary again, am I?" No no no no no no no no no. Please let this be a nightmare.
"You're Mary to me."
"Ohh."
"Thirty seconds."
"What am I looking at?"
"No door knobs, no letter box... painted windows. 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens. The empty houses. They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for the old steam trains. Only the very front section of the house remains. It's just a façade. Remind you of anyone, Mary? A façade. Sorry I never could resist a touch of drama."
"You don't say."
"Do come in. It's a little cramped."
"Do you own this place?" she asks.
"I won it in a card game in my time away with the Clarence House Cannibal. Nearly cost me my kidneys but fortunately, I had a straight flush."
What the fuck Sherlock. Gambling with a Cannibal. Suddenly he doesn't want to know what Sherlock has been up to when he ran away from... his parents. God, why is everything so fucked up. What is wrong with the universe to let them have this kind of lives?
"And they let you in? A teenager?"
"They don't have limits." Sherlock chuckles. "Quite a gambler that woman."
He finally sees her enter the door and his breath stops at the sight of her. Mary looks at him, thinking he is Sherlock and he just wants to stand up and let the lie of Mary Morstan continue.
"What do you want, Sherlock?"
"Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where, two years ago, you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity... It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who have remarkable reflexes... extraordinarily retentive memories..."
"You were very slow."
"How good a shot are you?"
"How badly do you want to find out?" she asks, cocking her gun and points it towards him. HIM!
His girlfriend has her gun pointed at HIM!? He probably stopped breathing altogether.
"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that." he hears Sherlock panic.
"I can easily find the source of the projector and remove it," she says, steadying her grip on the gun still pointed at him.
"People have seen the projector. They will report it."
"Not unless I do something about it."
"Mary..."
"I thought Mary Morstan was dead?"
"You're Mary Morstan now."
"And I am and will be unless I remove you from the picture."
Oh my god. She does want Sherlock dead. Why would she do that? She is friends with him! She knows how devastated he felt when Sherlock left and now she is the one who will reopen the wound of Sherlock leaving? And killing?! Why would she kill an unarmed person? A friend!? Why? Who is this woman!?
"Mary, whatever they've got on you. Let me help."
He starts to stand up, not even wanting to hide anymore. But Mary just moves closer and threatens him with the gun. She looks more serious and determined than ever before, and he actually finds himself in a panic whether if she will be killed or not.
"Oh Sherlock, if you take one more step I swear I will kill you."
"No, Mary. You won't."
Being with Sherlock, he knows it was coming and so he jumped to the side before the bullet hit.
"MARY!" Sherlock yells as the light opens. He hears him running and he stands up on shaky legs. "JOHN!"
Sherlock yells and he smiles smugly and angrily at the thought of Mary's expression when she heard his name. Oh she would be guilty alright. She brought this upon herself. This is her fault. He doesn't care that the gun was pointed at him - though that is a terrible memory for him. Mary pointing a gun at him. No. What he can't believe is she intently tried to shoot Sherlock. His best friend.
"John? John. Are you alright?" Sherlock whispers, probably to soothe him.
"What do you think?" he asks lowly.
"I meant, were you hit?" Sherlock murmurs.
"A bullet? No. Reality? Like a bullet," he tells him.
"It's okay," Sherlock says quietly.
"No, it's not." he snaps and Sherlock sighs defeatedly.
"No, it's not," he agrees.
They both then move when they hear a clanking on the ground. They see Mary still standing in the middle of the corridor with her eyes wide and the gun on the floor, forgotten.
Mary looks at him in the eye. How can she even look at him in the eye? After all this? He fixes himself to forget the rage in his soul and to be the perfect civilised teenager he is.
First his best friend just vanished in thin air. Then things went to shit. He finds out said best friend is child abused from his mother. Then his mother is murdered. Now this. Isn't it a treat?!
"Talk. Sort it out, let's do this quickly... Baker Street, now." Sherlock whispers and moves to walk past both of them.
His teeth grinds together in anger when Sherlock and Mary make eye contact. How dare she even look at him after her attempted murder? God, Mary attempted murder. He follows Sherlock, looking at Mary.
Her breath hitches but she can't seem to say a word, and he doesn't want to. God knows what he might say or do because of his anger.
AN: Yes, it's been a year since I last posted. I missed writing this story. I can't believe I almost abandoned it. Almost. Honestly, I forgot the long plot I devised since I lost my notes on this fic (yes, I write notes on my fic because there are always too much information and I need to keep up with the continuity). Hope you guys forgive me for the hiatus.