So here's chapter 31! Gosh, there are many already - and there are many more to come! This is happening on the 19.08.2012, just to inform you, and the story ends some time in June 2013... Probably, so still a lot more to write. *Sigh
And once more more than a thousand words - 1579 I think - yay!
I have started a new story (I'm sorry, it just was in my head and screamed "write me!") and it's called If you'd wanted to escape. Check it out?
Enjoy!
"Kiara, who was that? Why did you shout at him?" I fight against the fog in my head, trying to find a good excuse for my behaviour. She might have recognized him already, but as I don't know, I can't risk her finding out.
"I – That's my-" I break off when I realise that I don't know what to say. My friend? Then I'd introduce them and she'd see him. Somebody who I dislike? Why would he come into my room then, and I can't risk Mel getting angry and trying to talk to him either.
"You can't tell anyone that you have ever seen him, do you understand? You mustn't!" It's the only thing I can come up with, I hate to do the guilt trip, but it might keep her quiet.
"Please, you said we are friends, so don't tell anyone. Forget you have ever seen him." I am breathing way too quickly, and heart-rate is going crazy, but I am not able to calm down right now.
"Kiara, what is going on?" Mel sounds confused and suspicious, but then again, who wouldn't?
"Just promise you won't say anything about him." Mel frowns at me, and I bite my lip in anticipation. She'd say no. It's not the fact that I'm worried about her telling the public, I'm worried about the threads finding out.
Before she can say anything, there's a light knock on the door and Mycroft comes in. Judging by his face he knows what happened, and he walks towards my bed hurriedly, ignoring Mel completely.
I reach up and pull him down, hug him, and bring my lips very close to his ears.
"What are we going to tell her?" I whisper as he pulls me closer, as if he'd be relieved to see me awake. I know it's just an act for Mel, but it still feels nice.
"I'll remove her for the time you'll need to destroy the rest of the network. She will be free to go afterwards." he answers, but as soon as he's finished, I shake my head.
"You can't, she is my friend." Suddenly Mel gasps and Mycroft and I break apart. Following her gaze I see she is looking at My's hands and neck, where the scars and here and there some plasters are still visible. She looks horrified, and Mycroft stiffens.
"Mr Holmes, is that why-?" This somehow sparks an idea, and I interrupt her. I don't want her to cause a flashback or a bout of paranoia, even though they are quite rare now.
"Mel, you finish studying in december, don't you?" She looks surprised, but I don't wait for her to say anything.
"Mycroft is in need of a PA, and you've studied almost exactly what he does – I mean, he's only a minor in the British Government, but it might be a start?" She looks astonished now, but when I see Mycroft's face I fear that I made a mistake.
"Miss Baudelaire, would you excuse us for a moment?" His voice is frosty, and Mel looks slightly worried, but when I nod she leaves the room.
"What are you doing, Kiara?" He sounds angry and I've lived long enough with them to recognize the masterfully hidden fear.
"My, she is perfect as a PA! She studies Management and Politics, what else do you want?" I try to convince him that this is a good idea, because it does make sense.
"I don't need a PA." He is speaking with a barely controlled calm voice now, and I know that I have to convince him quickly before he completely shuts me out.
"Yes you do. You are exhausted, and this helps us twice! Firstly, you don't have to tell her everything, even minors in the Government have PAs, right? And besides, it would keep her quiet. Right now, she knows about you, she knows about me, and she knows about Sherlock, even if she hasn't recognized him so far, she knows we are hiding something and she is clever. You could let her believe you are just an unimportant politician." Mycroft is still breathing heavily, but I can see he understands ad begrudgingly accepts the logic.
"You'll be the one to introduce her to Sherlock, though."
Mel reacts quite well to the threats she receives from us. To the warning that Sherlock could kill her and "make sure the crime was never discovered" if she ever told anyone, she had only rolled her eyes.
"Who do I have to tell it to?" She is right. She doesn't really have friends and who would believe her anyway?
We don't mention that we have looked through her whole back story. We know almost as much about her now as she does. It would probably creep her out and it would blow Mycroft's Minor-Position-In-The-Government-Persona.
Sherlock isn't happy about our decision to tell her he's alive, but he behaves. Maybe it's because of the necessity to not scare her off after she has seen him. Maybe, even though that is just wishful thinking from me, he has actually listened to me for once.
Mel had heard of Sherlock before, and even though she hadn't been sure what to believe about him, she had not thought the newspapers were telling the real story.
A few minutes later Sherlock and I are sitting next to each other, or rather, I am lying in my bed, and he is sitting in the chair, when Mel and Mycroft walk out of the room, talking about politics and the government. I had tuned out seconds after they started and Sherlock just laughed at me.
When our laughter has calmed down, I finally say what I wanted to say for some time.
"Thank you, Sherlock." He looks at me and raises his brow, for once he doesn't understand what I mean.
"For what?" He says quietly, as if he's not used to people telling him that in an honest voice.
"For Russia." Mycroft told me when it was just in my room about the time I was out. Apparently Sherlock had carried me to a bigger, safer street after I had been stabbed, something I couldn't remember. He had also managed to get me to a hospital and then, with Mycroft's help, to London in less than a day.
My wound was not very dangerous. The only thing which made the doctors keep me sedated was the blood-loss. I have a few stitches now, but everything should be healed within a few weeks.
Sherlock's lips twitch, as if he wants to smile, but he suppresses it and nods.
"Can you give me my phone?" He picks up my iPhone from the nightstand, and I turn it on. It needs to be charged soon, but I still have one bar left.
I flick through the apps till I reach the surveillance of 221B. Watson is not there, but it looks a lot better than four months ago when Sherlock and I had used the surveillance the last time.
It's cleaner and more organised, most of Sherlock's stuff is put away, but his chair still stands, and the skull on the mantelpiece and the pocketknife are still there.
Sherlock's room his dark. There is a bit of dust, but it's obvious that someone cleans it every month or so. Boxes with the stuff which used to be in the living-room are in here, they are in the corner of the room.
The bed is made, but it is the one thing that looks like it has been untouched for more than a year.
More than a year. Father has been dead for more than a year. Sherlock has been "dead" for more than a year. So much has changed in that time, and I somehow can't help but feel grateful for it. Yes, I wish Father would be alive, but I am also happy that I have met Sherlock and Mycroft.
The thoughts are painful so I concentrate once more on the picture of Sherlock's room. It doesn't look like it Sherlock was in there only seconds ago anymore. The jacket from the chair is gone, and the wardrobe is closed. The book from his nightstand is gone and the little pictureframe turned over.
I smile sadly and wish suddenly that it's all over, that all the threads are gone and Moran is dead, even though Sherlock will be with John then. And that hurts, but seeing this does as well.
Sherlock seems to be in his mind-palace, but when I nudge him and hold out the iPhone he takes it. A smile flits over his face when he sees the improvement of the flat.
How much he longs to go home and to John is very visible on his face and I turn away from him.
He doesn't notice the tear that runs across my face and onto the pillow.
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