Hi! So I decided to give this chapter now, as your reviews always make me smile so much and right now I'm royally pissed off - so yeah, hopefully you like this chapter anyway, it was written when I was in a better mood...
Thank you for the reviews, I really had to smile about them. So. Yeah. Enjoy the chapter, I'll see when Ill have time to write the next one.
The next three days are tense. We don't talk about it at all, but I notice that there's always at least two of them in a room with me – and there's always a syringe nearby. I pretend not to notice, and they pretend not to notice that I notice, so we're mostly fine.
I still sleep in Mycroft's room. He as well has a syringe ready, as well as a button he can push if something happens, which alerts Irene and Sherlock.
It hurts to have them all so wary of me, to see them all going alert and tense when I move too quickly, but I understand why they behave this way. And I'm grateful they are as nice with it as they are.
We decide to visit Margery. She lives in Germany, quite far in the north near the sea and with the flight we're planning to take it takes roughly a day to get there. It's Irene, Sherlock and me who are going, even though I don't like Mycroft staying at home, I can understand. Irene wants to stay in Germany when we're finished and none of us want me to flash-back when I'm alone, and Maycroft says he wants to do some work.
We leave on the thirty-first of March. The sun is shining brightly and the flights are okay. That changes when we arrive in Germany though. In Munich the sky is just grey and it's cold, but at the second airport, Bremen, it's raining and uncomfortable.
Sherlock leads us confidentially through the airport to a rented car Mycroft organized. I watch the landscape as we drive north. I have been in Germany before, and speak German fluently, but I've never been this far north. It's flatter than the south and I find it strange every time to get used to driving on the right side of the road.
When we enter the little town Margery lives in for the first time, the first thing that greets me is a big McDonald's. I shake my head in annoyance, how could such a nice little city destroy the view of their entrance like that?
Five minutes later we're driving past a nice little church and then a school, where most of the students are just leaving. None of them wear uniforms though, and it takes a second for me to remember that in Germany nobody wears uniforms.
We're all tired when we reach the little hotel we are staying in, it's not particularly big or luxurious, but at least it's a place to stay. The rooms we took are separate, but directly next to each other, in case something happens. Neither of us is happy to be so vulnerable though.
It's late, even later than it feels like because of the extra hour, as we're in a different time zone, so we just stay in the hotel. After a few minutes alone in my room I get bored and go to Sherlock's, while he quietly plays the violin.
We spend the first six days securing and exploring the city. Sherlock wants to memorise that streets, in case something happens, and none of us want higher up criminals here, we can't risk them interrupting us with Margery.
Irene and I are less interested in the layout of the city, we enjoy seeing everything. I quite like the local market they have on Wednesdays and Saturdays, both times stealing money from Sherlock and buying more than we really need.
But not everything is pleasant. As in London, I like walking through the streets, especially at night. This city isn't as complex, there aren't that many side-alleys or paths, and it's less chaotic, but the moon and stars are more visible than ever in London, maybe because there are less lights and less pollution. The little forest which is at the edge of the city is beautiful, it's small, but alive, fresh.
I don't notice the men behind me until it's nearly too late. Turning around, I see the three men, roughly in their late thirties, and I can smell the alcohol in their breaths.
"Hey honey," the tallest one of them says in a rather smooth northern German dialect, trying to grab my hand and laughing when I flinch back.
"Come on – we just want to have some fun," I look to both sides where the other two men are trying to get behind me.
"I don't. Leave me alone." I reply calmly in German, glad that they don't trigger a flash-back. On the other hand, they are not that threatening.
"Oh, how sweet. Where are you from, little bird?" He says, grinning to himself as he hears my accent. They are all coming closer, and then I feel a hand on my bum. I have to smile when I think of a similar but still so different situation, Sherlock and me kissing in Russia.
When the first man decides to reach for my breast, I decide it's enough. Grabbing his hand, I twist quickly and he cries out, nearly flipping when I twist even further. The hand which now nearly is in between my legs hesitates a bit, when he finally drops his hand his nose is bleeding profusely and he is coughing, a well-placed hit to the throat makes him fall backwards. The third man is backing away just as my foot connects with the first man's temple, knocking him out, but I don't let him. He doubles over after a kick to the stomach.
All three are on the ground, two of them groaning, the other one unconscious, and I call the police – I don't want them to get hurt even more and besides, even though they won't believe my claim of nearly getting raped, when these men are at court for something else, it'll come up.
The lady on the phone tells me to go to the nearest open local place, which is a restaurant three-hundred metres away, and wait there for them. As soon as she hangs up, I crouch down and look the third man in the eye.
"I'm from England, by the way. And this happens, when you attack girls." He nods, trying to move away from me, but I simply smile.
I walk past the restaurant to our hotel, fixing my clothes so the attempted assault is not directly visible, and hide me smile inside. I didn't flash-back. And even though it seems a small accomplishment, it shows that I am capable of fighting again.
"Are you sure this is the right house?" I ask, looking up and down the dirty yellow façade. The house is big, containing four flats, the tiny garden in front of it and the letterboxes old and unkempt. It doesn't look like a place the Margery I knew would have lived in. She had insisted on tidiness and
cleanliness, making me tidy my room and brush my hair at least twice a day. I smile fondly when I remember that particular mannerism – on the other hand, my hair had been a lot messier then, curling and flying everywhere and being a mess at the end of a day. It is one of the things I she taught me which I still do – my hair isn't that wild any more, but it isn't straight either.
Sherlock rolls his eyes for the third time, and sighs.
"Are you sure she'll be able to help us?" Now it's my turn to sigh.
"Yes." He just nods and smirks, and we wait for her to answer the ring. I know I should trust Sherlock when he says this is where she lives, but she has taken a different name; Laura Smith is written in a messy scrawl beneath the doorbell, so there is a tiny seed of doubt.
"Hello?" The speaker is bad, there is a loud rushing sound as well as her voice, but it's her. She sounds more tired than before, and definitely older. On the other hand, it's been more than eight years since I last saw her.
"Margery Grey?" I answer, hoping she might recognize my voice. Behind me Sherlock is giving Irene a syringe with my paralyser, and I can hear them talking quietly. Sherlock is not coming in with us, even though we're hoping Margery can help us, we don't want to risk her telling anyone about him.
"Who's there?" She asks in German, sounding angry, but I know this is the key to getting her to talk to us.
"Are you Margery Grey?" I keep talking in English, it's no use to talk in German, especially if any and everybody casually walking by could understand me.
"Who are you?" She growls, now also in English, and I smile. This is really her. The excitement is bubbling in my chest and I force myself not to laugh.
"Moriarty." I say it quietly, hoping not everyone will hear, but still confidentially. Whether she believes me or will just want to kill me is not something I'm sure about, but it's a risk I'm willing to take, especially if she knows where Moran is.
There is silence for a moment, then there is a buzzing sound and I push at the door, opening it. Irene stops talking with Sherlock, coming to enter as well, and Sherlock nods, tight-lipped.
"We'll call you when there's trouble, okay?" My voice is softer than planned, and his eyes narrow. He doesn't want any pity, even though it wasn't meant that way.
I look at him for another second, then turn around and walk into the house, Irene directly behind me.