Soooo - I seem to be addicted to posting. I don't think you mind, do you? And ReaderMagnifique, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to write the chapter this way. It just sort of - happened.
TRIGGER WARNING: Flashback

Enjoy!

Mycroft wakes soon after, but luckily doesn't comment on it. For some reason we just stay like that, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, his arm around my shoulders, and I relish in the safety it provides – this would have been unthinkable a bit more than two months ago. Against all reasoning, defying the probabilities of this happening, Mycroft and I fixed the friendship we had before I shot Sherlock, and this time I know exactly how much it's worth.

Irene is sleeping in my room when I go there to get changed, but wakes as soon as I'm in the room. Mycroft begrudgingly agreed to let her stay here, mostly because I said she'd probably be able to help, but I know that he doesn't want her here. I offered her my bed, since I don't really sleep there any more, and ignored her curious raised eyebrow when I said I sleep in Mycroft's room.

The atmosphere is slightly strange when we're sitting at the table at breakfast, Irene looking around seductively and eating just the same way. Sherlock and Mycroft both do their best to ignore her, but I can sense she makes them uncomfortable and have to suppress a giggle every few minutes.

But later, we're sitting in Mycroft's study, Irene sitting on the armrest of my chair, leaning over me, she is serious. It is amazing to see her like this as well, when she lets her intelligence shine through. She is not just some woman who sells her body. She is Irene Adler, The Woman, whose life is in danger if she can't help us – and help us she does. Now and then she leaves the room and calls some of her clients, stealing my laptop as soon as she comes back inside and checks and rechecks the informations she gathers.

Mycroft and Sherlock don't exactly warm up to her. But they seem to accept her, at least as my friend, and notice how much she is helping us – they talk to her and comment on things she finds out, without any hint of sarcasm in their voices.

But one time, when Irene comes back in, she doesn't take my laptop which I hold towards her. Her grey eyes linger on my face, obviously deep in thought, and she stays on her spot, only a few steps inside the room, for more than a minute. She doesn't look at me the whole time, also turning around twice and looking at Sherlock and Mycroft thoughtfully.

I know she has an idea, so I put the laptop on the table and get up, walking towards her, but waiting until she stands still and her gaze focuses on me, really seeing me and not so far away any more.

"Do you remember Margery Grey?" She asks, her voice still soft, still lost in her realisation.

I remember Margery. She had been one of Father's friends, if you could call them that. She was rather one he trusted, more than most, and one he had known for quite some time. Margery Grey was a name that floated in most of my childhood memories; Father didn't like me not being with him when I was younger, but when she was there, looking after me, it was acceptable.

I don't know what happened, but at some point Margery just disappeared. Suddenly I remember something else and start shivering, trying to keep the memories in check – she had left not long after my encounter with Maynard. She had been with me when Maynard took me, beating her unconscious, and even though Father didn't blame her for it, she left.

"Kiara? Kiara?" It takes a few seconds to realise I'm shaking, sitting on the floor, my back to the wall, two metres away from where I previously stood. My hands are in front of my face and I am biting my lip, avoiding the eyes of Mycroft, who is crouching down in front of me, having called my name.

"I remember her." I whisper, trying to think about something else but Maynard, Maynard, Maynard.

"You see, little one, I beat the woman unconscious, but I took your friend. Do you think I can make him scream?" The words float through my head and I press my hands against my eyes, hard, hoping to get away from those words, those memories.

Sherlock and Irene are standing behind Mycroft and somehow, maybe because of the lightening, they seem looming. The memory they trigger is different, very different, but still haunts me. I can see Maynard in front of me, much taller than me, looming over me.

Mycroft touches my hand and the images blur, reminding me that Maynard is dead but not at all calming me down. I can't hear their voices any more, I just see them coming closer and I feel trapped, feel caged, feel small.

The next bit is instinct. Lashing out, I scramble away from them, seeing them stumble or fall or clutch their stomachs almost in slow-motion, me trying to stand. I stumble as well, the memories all flying at me, banging against the insides of my head, trying to crush me with their weights.

Someone is coming closer to me again, and I don't see faces, I just see Maynard, Maynard, Maynard and kick his head, feeling the resistance breaking, the body going slack. I watch Maynard falling to the floor, his head with strangely ginger hair hitting the ground, sense the other two persons in the room and assume fighting stance, but neither of them seem threatening – one of them is crouching down next to the unconscious Maynard, the other one is raising his hands, his body-language peaceful.

The room is blurring, my gaze flitting across the walls to find the door that's on my right. The door is close, I know where I can escape, but there are still two people in this room who are dangerous to me, so I check them once again – they are still where they were only seconds before, still far enough away, so I turn to get outside.

The memories, screams, crying, Maynard's voice still echo through my head so I can't hear what's happening behind me. Suddenly, two strong arms grip my hands, their right hand my left and their left my right, holding me tight to his chest, trapping me between his body and my arms and I struggle to get free.

The voice of my attacker is not audible because of Maynard's voice, but I feel his chest rumbling and know he is speaking. I also know I am screaming at him to let me go, threatening him with the most painful death I can imagine, but he doesn't relent, just shifts to hold me tighter.

This gives me an opening. Flipping my foot up, I kick him between his legs and he lets me go instantly, doubling over, but I'm not sure how fast he'll recover, so I grip his shirt-collar similar to the way Daunt killed me and twist my wrists to interrupt the blood-flow to his brain.

There is something holding me back, keeping me from holding my attacker like this for more than half a minute, keeping me from risking serious brain damage or death, so I loosen my grip a few seconds after his fingers stop scratching at my hands. I let him drop to the ground and whirl around to the third person in the room. She is still kneeling on the floor, but holds a gun in her hands, pointed directly at my head. The distance to her is too far to just jump at her and wrestle it from her grasp, but I still have a bargaining chip – I step to the side and rest my left foot on the neck of the person I just choked, pressing down slightly when I feel him stirring.

The woman says something which I can't hear, but motions with the gun towards the door. Is she telling me to leave? Allowing me to go?

The man beneath my foot is moving again, waking up, and I press down more forcefully while I consider my chances. We're at a stale-mate right now, and there is the door.

I look down at the man who is reaching with his hands towards my foot, trying to unbalance me, and I make my decision.

This time, I use my toes to kick someone unconscious and I decide to not do that again without wearing boots, as it hurts like hell, but the man isn't moving any more and the woman is pointing at the door.

Walking backwards, I navigate through the familiar room towards the door, looking at the gun the whole time, until finally I'm out. I have no idea where I'm going, I'm just running, trying to flee the room and the memories and Maynard and even though I know not to run up when you're trying to flee I storm up stairs now and then. At some point I just fall down and can't get up again, the voices in my head screaming.