Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, he owns me. This chapter has violence. Enjoy, and don't worry, the boys will be back!

Chapter Seventeen

"Hell Hath No Fury"

Mary walked down the dark, poorly lit street, confidence in every stride. Most women would hesitate to be out alone this late at night, especially in this part of town. Mary wasn't concerned, the weight of the gun on her hip a familiar presence. She had traded in her brilliant red coat for her dark leathers from her distant life, form-fitting and warm enough to cut back the worst of the wind. Rain fell sporadically, landing on her hair and face. She didn't mind, each cold drop was like a punishment she felt she deserved. She had fooled herself into thinking she could be someone new, someone worthy of obtaining happiness.

Mary knew she was being watched. The eyes she had felt tracing her movements had stayed back far enough for her to know that whoever they were, they were her tail, and not tasked with attacking at the moment. They made no overt moves, merely maintaining the same distance for the last few hours as she went around town, looking for a flat. She had seen the observers switch with new partners several times, attempting to keep her from becoming aware of her tail. She hadn't felt up to playing games though, and had made deliberate eye contact with the newest tail before heading out to the next flat for rent. He had looked surprised, eyes showing clearly that he hadn't thought her skilled enough to realize they were there. As initially scintillating as it may have been, to mess with the people who thought her an easy target, she was growing weary of the game. That's why she had chosen this long street; few residences, mostly closed businesses, and a small park. She knew every inch of it. If they were to come for her here, she would have an advantage. Mary would not die without a fight, and she intended put down as many of them as she could manage. Which would be a lot.

She didn't need her gun to kill. It may have been years since she had taken a life, but she had kept her skills sharp. No matter how careful she had been in establishing this identity, she knew that nothing was perfect, and that her enemies would one day come for her. Mary pretended to have a destination in mind; how she moved, where she looked, how long she paused before moving on would all telegraph her intentions to her followers unless she was careful. They had underestimated her earlier, she would not make the same mistake.

The metal pipe sticking out of that waste barrel, the sharp edges of that picket fence, the uneven pavement on the sidewalk just ahead; all are tools to be used in a fight to the death. Full awareness of your environment will save you every time. Mary could almost hear the long ago voices of her instructors, back when she had first been recruited. The CIA had a sense of humor, and for a long time went out looking for the prettiest, daintiest blondes they could find to make into killers. Very few of those pretty blondes were still alive. She was alive because she was something they couldn't teach: she was a natural-born killer. It wasn't hard for her to take a life, it was hard for her not too. Control was what she prized most. It kept her free. And helped her choose how she was to die.

Mary heard it coming from behind. They were closing fast, two from behind her on the sidewalk, the third ahead and to her left from the recessed doorway of a shop. Their paces were syncing with hers, and Mary struggled not to let on that she knew they were making their move. She could hear the low growl of a high-powered car approaching from behind up the street on her right, and it would come along side her at the same time her three pursuers converged. Unless she moved- NOW!

Mary dug deep, and sprinted out from the safety of the sidewalk into the street. She heard curses behind her, and saw a shadow detach itself from the front of the building just ahead to her left. She dodged under the outstretched hand that reached for her, never losing speed. She ran straight for the vehicle, and slid smoothly across the hood as it squealed to a sharp stop. She flew off it in a dead run, heading back at a diagonal towards the far side of the street, going opposite of the way they'd expect her to go. When people run from something, they instinctively run forward, and even the person doing the chasing will subconsciously be expecting that behavior. She capitalized on it, and ran the small park between two large buildings. The trees and unlit spaces would let her whittle down her pursuers and potentially make her escape.

She disappeared in to the black shadows under a large pine tree mere feet ahead of her closest pursuer. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and she ran full-out for the tree trunk ahead of her. He was steps behind, and she had an image of his hand reaching out to grab her shoulder, her closeness distracting him from where she was leading him. Mary leapt at the tree trunk, and ran rapidly up the hard surface, pushing off and flipping in the air over his head. She kicked out as she flipped, her foot connecting solidly between his shoulder blades. His head hit the tree with a sickening crunch as Mary landed on her feet in a crouch. She didn't pause, two more pursuers were just about to enter the shadows under the tree. She took off again, not even bothering to spare the corpse at the base of the tree a glance. Deeper she ran into the small park, lightly jumping over rocks and fallen branches. She could smell water just ahead, and could feel a change in air pressure signaling a break in the trees. She knew this park well, having walked here many times before. Up ahead was a small stream, with a minor waterfall under a stone bridge in the center of the clearing. The drop from the bridge to the water below was about ten feet, and the stream meandered back into the trees another fifteen feet beyond that. The area around that drop off was well manicured and relatively flat, no obstacles.

They were so close, too close to pull their weapons and fire without giving her a chance to change direction and gain more ground. They would try to tackle her in the open space, counting on the fact that they could probably outrun her in a foot race. She dug deeper, pulled more air into her lungs, dropped her center of gravity and ran hard for the stone bridge the second she broke cover.

They were hard on her heels, and she kept her angle unchanged until she was a foot from the stone bridge. She let them assume she was trying to go over the bridge, not off the side. Mary leapt up on to the wall and threw herself into the darkness below, trusting that some gardener hadn't redecorated the landscape since the last time she'd been there. The air felt cool as she seemed to be hanging in suspended time, the place she leapt so dark she couldn't even see the ground. She knew how fast she was going, and how high she had leapt from the bridge; instinct took over, and she made a hard landing on the grass beside the stream, rolling to soften her impact. She didn't stop, running along the stream to the border of the trees.

Mary heard cursing above her as the two men chasing her came up hard against the stone wall of the bridge, and they didn't follow. Mary ran that last distance to the tree cover just as she felt more than heard the bullets race by her head. They were firing blind, the darkness too absolute from their position to see her. They knew what direction she had gone, and seemed determined to empty their guns. Just as she passed into the trees, Mary fell to her knees in the loose gravel of the stream bed, sliding forward like she used to playing softball as a child. She spun around, using her momentum to end up facing back toward her pursuers. Mary pulled her gun, her arm rising up in one smooth motion. She could clearly see where they were on the bridge, the muzzles flashes as they continued to fire over her head was enough to illuminate them in the darkness.

Two shots. That's all she took. All she needed. Empty, harsh silence greeted Mary's ears as she knelt in the wet gravel, her lungs sucking in air, her arm steady and sure as she held the gun up and ready. There was no one else crashing through the trees, no one else charging into the clearing. Nothing. The men were dead, dropped to the stone surface of the bridge, blood and brain running from their ruined skulls. Mary lowered her gun, and exhaled that last breath she'd held as she pulled the trigger.

She sensed it, the presence just out of arm's reach to her side. There was no warning, no hint that she wasn't alone. That she had failed. Mary closed her eyes, and smiled. The click of a hammer being cocked cracked loud in the overwhelming silence, and a soundless roar built up in her ears. Three put down, better than most could do. End me then. Let it be by a worthy opponent. Mary's killer leveled the barrel of the gun at her temple, and spoke.

"Hello, Mary. Let's talk."

Mary's eyes flew open, for she heard the voice of Death.