Soooo - I'm very sorry for the long wait, but this chapter is extra long :) Well, I hope you like this one, the next one is nearly completely written already!
I'm not quite sure what to expect when I slowly climb up the stairs to the second floor. As far as I can see, everything here is safe, and Margery wouldn't live somewhere where she couldn't defend herself. She has always been careful, always took more safety precautions than necessary, which probably saved her life a few times.
The door is in a dirty white, there are no decorations anywhere, and I frown. She never was a flowery person, but she lives her for quite some time now – and she used to be a very clean, tidy person. On the other hand, as a part-time assassin you probably had to be.
Just as I raise my hand to knock, the door opens and I'm pulled inside. Fighting my instincts to lash out, I let myself be slammed against the wall and don't flinch away from the gun pressed to my forehead, slightly above my nose.
Margery looks older, more tired, but there is still that familiar look of determination on her face. But other than that, I try to compare her to the image I have of her in my memories and find she hasn't changed much. Her slightly shorter than elbow length blonde hair is pulled back in a pony tail, some streaks are dyed in a light brown, but I can also see the grey hairs that come with age – she must be in her early to mid forties now.
Her stormy grey eyes are narrowed, her nose still thin but slightly crooked. It wasn't before, so it must have happened after she left.
It is strange to be nearly the same height as her. She is still taller, only minimally, but I always had to look up to her – on the other hand, the last time I saw her before today I was ten.
"Kiara?" She whispers after a minute, the tension leaving her slightly, and I nod, unsure what to say.
Her eyes scan my face for another few seconds, slowly taking the gun away from my forehead, then she touches my cheek just like Father used to do, and I have the urge to close my eyes. It feels safe, even though it's been so long, and for a short moment I long to be the little girl again.
"Really sorry to interrupt, but don't we have something to do?" Irene's voice cuts through the air and lifts the spell that wove around Margery and me.
She shakes her head as well, as if to shake away her thoughts like a fly, and moves backwards, letting me step away from the wall and Irene come in.
"What do you want?" The criminal questions, leaning out of the doorway and looking to both sides, and then pulling back and closing the door.
"We need your help."
Most of the next five days we spend wandering around in the little town, visiting the sea (which doesn't have beautiful simple sandy beaches and blue sea, but sea ooze and it stinks. It's still nice there though, and it feels like a real holiday.
We don't see Margery much, even though I visit her as much as I can, as we don't want to draw attention on us – despite me wanting to see her as much as possible. It's different now, though, it's more equal than eight years ago.
I visit the local market again on Saturday the thirteenth. Sherlock comes with me, gritting his teeth and growling the whole time, but Irene is looking for a place to stay. She decided to stay here in this town, so she's not here with me.
It's hard to convince him, but after some time, and a lot of just walking away, Sherlock agrees to go to the bookshop again, and after that to some other places – I offered to go to the police with him to stave off the boredom, but he turned around as soon as he saw the building. "The stupidity might be infectious."
It's late, nearly ten o'clock when we finally head back to the hotel we stay at. It's not that far away, even though we went to the end of the city, barely twenty minutes by foot, so we simply walk. It'd be hard to do anything else, anyway, as there are no cabs driving around here, and the bus won't come for more than half an hour.
We notice the three persons behind us two minutes after we started walking, they are good, nearly not noticeable, but both Sherlock and I have more practise in spotting shadows than most.
When I look at him, he nods at me to confirm the suspicion, which leaves both of us with not much more than before – we might know now we are being followed, but the city is so small, and we are in one of the richer parts, that there aren't really side-alleys to disappear in, only a more or less quiet corner ten metres ahead. It's in times like this when I love my habit to just walk though cities when I enter them. Just as it was with Lestrade, it's very useful to know them.
Without talking to each other at all, both of us turn when we've reached the little street and walk a few more metres, and stop, waiting for our shadows. For a few seconds we only hear their careful, quiet steps, then they turn the corner and chaos breaks loose.
There were three people following us, all of them middle height, two of them bulky with wide shoulders, the third more slender, more agile. I instantly know it's the third one who is dangerous – the other two might have powerful punches which can quickly knock you down, but he's the quick one, the one who'll get close to you and stab you before you can do anything, and somehow the name Rat pops up in my head.
It's very messy and very hard to not loose the orientation, and for a moment I feel sorry for Sherlock, who's taking on both of the big guys, until I realise I rather have to feel sorry for myself when the Rat lunges for me.
The guns are very quick to fall to the ground, hit out of the other's fist or dropped when not usable because of the constant movement.
Even though its life or death now, it's strangely exhilarating to fight. The amount of adrenaline currently racing through my body makes me nearly unable to feel pain and gives me the feeling of invincibility.
I loose track of the time, I have no idea how long we are already fighting, but sometime after my opponent slashes my cheek slightly Sherlock comes to help me. Without turning around, I know that the other two people are either dead or unconscious.
It quickly becomes visible though, that this guy is a master in many martial arts – ripping out another knife, he fights us both and has to walk backwards only slowly.
Maybe it's a sign of how well Sherlock and I know each other. Maybe it's because we're both in a particular mindset. Maybe it's just a coincidence.
Sherlock attacks, and when the Rat defends himself, lashing out himself, Sherlock leaves a hole in his defence. Somehow, we've come quite close to the wall of a house, and the Rat stabs his knife through Sherlock's right hand.
He shouts in pain, but at that exact moment I am able to use the pommel of my knife and break through our opponent's defence: It hits his temple and he stiffens, another hit makes him drop to the ground.
Sherlock pulls the knife out of his hand, which starts bleeding heavily, growling and gritting his teeth, and I reach into my pocket to luckily find a handkerchief there. It's a cheap one, not real fabric but paper, but Sherlock presses it against his hand anyway.
Only then I realise we are not alone. At the main street, where the little street we fought in connects to it, is a girl. She's younger than me, maybe fifteen, and looks at us, especially at Sherlock's bleeding right hand, with wide, horrified eyes.
For a moment, I am frozen. What should I do? She probably saw what happened, she'll go to the police, many people would know who we are – and we are so close to getting our information.
Our eyes lock for a moment and she keeps standing still, breathing fearfully, so I start walking towards her slowly. When I'm only about three metres away from her, her eyes flick down to the knife I still have in my hand and I realise how I must look – does she think I'm going to kill her as well?
"What's your name?" I ask in German, putting away my knife slowly, and wait for her to answer while I come even closer.
"Lena." She replies, her voice barely a whisper, and she is beginning to tremble.
"What are you doing here?" I question further, stalling, as well as trying to find a way to not get her involved.
"Friend. Was at my friend's." Nodding, I come to a stand, nearly invading her personal space.
She is smaller than me, I have to look down to look into her face, but not much, and I feel a pang of sympathy for her. Even at fifteen, the fight Sherlock and I just had with our attackers is nothing she should have seen.
"Dear Lena – I'm really sorry about this." She doesn't have time to react, I only watch her eyes widening in fear, until my fist connects with her temple.
She crumbles quicker than the Rat, and I catch her before she hits the ground.
"Margery, hurry up!" I growl into the intercom, and she sighs, sounding annoyed.
The door buzzes and I push against it, opening it wide so Sherlock can carry the girl inside. It's the quickest we've went upstairs the whole time we've been here, if anyone from the other flats stepped outside right now, we'd be in serious trouble.
Margery doesn't show any sign of surprise besides rising her eyebrows slightly and stepping aside to let us in, getting a glass with water from the kitchen while Sherlock puts Lena on the sofa.
"Margery, do you have the information?" I ask her as soon as she comes from the kitchen, and she frowns.
"Kiara, what is going on? First you bring this random girl here and now you pressure me?" I know I'm still quite affected by the adrenaline, so I take a few deep breaths to calm myself.
"Sherlock and I were attacked, she was there and saw us. We need to leave now, take care of the criminals who attacked us and then get back to England as soon as possible. And I think it'd be best if the girl didn't see us at all." Margery listens carefully, thinks for a minute and then nods.
"On my computer, the password is 26387019, there is a file called housework. Print it, put it on a USB-stick and then delete it, those are all the information you wanted. I'll take care of the girl and the criminals." Margery commands without drawing a breath, and I only have to ask her repeat the password once more.
Five minutes later, we've done everything. Sherlock and I are ready to leave, Margery has called people of her network to take care of Sherlock and my attackers, and Lena is just starting to stir.
The farewell with Margery is hurried and very unsatisfying – we only have time for a quick hug and then Sherlock and I are gone.
It's very late when Sherlock and I are sitting in the train towards Bremen, leaving the rented car with Irene, having quickly called Irene to say goodbye and Mycroft to ask him to organize a flight.
When we're sitting on the plane, the whole situation catches up with me and only then it's that I realise that we are currently going back to England – to find Moran with Margery's information.
I fall asleep on the airport in Frankfurt, stumble into the plane with Sherlock's help, and then everything is black.