"Mycroft Holmes and Anastasia Harrison. Yes, we've got you right here, go on ahead," the man at the door said, waving them through the double doors jovially. Isla's mouth twitched at she heard the name, still foreign to her ears. Mycroft had thought he was being clever, picking that name. She who will rise again. And it was, but she missed her own, missed the ring of it. Sometimes she would lie awake at night, just repeating it over and over, as if she would forget it if she stopped.
The party already seemed to be in full swing by the time they arrived. Couples swirled around the floor like glittering insects, their crystal champagne flutes catching the light as a band played a brassy tune in the corner. Mycroft, however, seemed unimpressed. Isla recognized many of the faces around her, some from the papers and others from Mycroft's files. She split her time between watching Mycroft's face and those he was talking to, mentally cataloguing those to take an interest in. Mycroft worked his way around the room; he seemed to know everyone, though she wasn't surprised. She followed, half a step behind, respectively deferring all conversation back to him. At a look from him though, she excused herself and made her way back along the walls. She could hear bits of Serbian here, French there, a boisterous American by the bar. She paused, however, as she heard to men conversing quietly in Russian, their faces serious. One she recognized as Ambassador Krisdov, the other entirely unfamiliar.
"He assures me the message was received, though Tasha's people still see unwilling to see things our way."
"I thought he said he was the best. How can he be the best if he can't deal with a simple problem like Tasha? Three dead and still-"
He broke off as Isla moved closer. Her heart was pounding, his words playing back in her ears. Three dead. Message. She smiled, making a quick decision. She couldn't let them know she had been eavesdropping.
"Excuse me?" she said, flipping her accent as easily as if it were a coin. She could see them relax as she slipped into a thick, Gaelic accent. Stupid of them really, but it seemed human nature. "Are you Ambassador Krisdov? I've heard much about your success working with the Parliamentary Committee on Foreign Relations. It's an honor." She turned to the other man as she shook the Ambassador's hand. "I'm so sorry, I don't seem to recognize you."
"My name is Anton," he said with a coy smile. "I am here simply on business. And you are?"
"Aisling. Aisling Winters," she said, pulling the first two names that popped into her head. The second stung like a hot iron.
"It is truly a pleasure to meet you," Anton said, his eyes tracing over her figure. Her phone beeped, sending a rush of relief through her.
"Sorry, I've got to take this. It's a working party for me," she said, stepping back. They nodded, turning back to their conversation. She stopped a respectful distance away to dig into her purse, though still close enough to overhear.
"The police here have been poking around."
"Have they found anything?"
"Nothing they can identify without DNA."
"At least he is good at his job."
Isla pulled out her phone. Sherlock had texted her, something about windows, but she was already dialing. He picked up on the second ring.
"Can't you text?"
"Mé tar éis a fuair tú luaidhe eile," she said quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth. Sherlock sighed heavily.
"Why the hell are you speaking Gaelic?"
"I can't risk someone overhearing. I'm standing next to your murderers." The line was silent, then "Isla, get out of there, get Mycroft and go."
"What?"
"Just listen, this thing is bigger than you know."
"Sherlock-"
"I'm on my way, just go."
The line went dead.
She hung up, eying the pair once more, her trepidation growing. They were still deep in conversation, though she couldn't hear them over the whirring in her mind. She glanced down once more, flipping her phone to the record feature before deftly dropping it under one of the tables as she passed by the pair once more on her way back to Mycroft. She held her breath, hoping they didn't hear the thump as it landed on the carpet, but it seemed she had succeeded. She crossed the room, a foreboding feeling settling in her stomach.
She spotted Mycroft, holding court at one of the larger tables. She didn't bother with pleasantries, merely leaned down and whispered into his ear. "Mye, we've got a situation."
He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. One of the men at the table, portly, with white hair said, "Mycroft, where have you been hiding this creature all evening?" The others laughed. From their flushed faces she gathered they'd had a bit to drink.
"I'm sure it's nothing. Enjoy the party."
"Mycroft-" she hissed, but he turned back to the group, clearly unperturbed. "Then stay over here and keep your head down. And you are going to owe me so-" she broke off mid-whisper, her eyes fixing on a woman who'd just entered.
She was gorgeous and Russian, Isla guessed from her delicate features. She had long red hair left natural down her back and flashing blue eyes, eyes that found Anton and Krisdov straight away. Isla immediately guessed this was Tasha, the woman they had spoken off. Isla crossed without a second glance, her eyes fixed on the trios murderous glares.
She stayed out of sight, using the half-light to meld into the shadows along the windows. She could see Anton's hand twitch to his waistband, where she now noticed the tell-tale bulge at the back of a concealed handgun. She mentally kicked herself for not noticing it before. She was glad she had brought her own now and not let into her notions of its excessiveness.
She was close enough now, close enough to hear.
"-Foul, evil man!" Tasha spat, her eyes intent on the Ambassador. His own eyes remained cold and calculating.
But Isla was so focused on Anton, so focused on his hand as it went for his gun that she missed Tasha's move. She pulled her own and fired twice. The first shot went wide, shattering the window behind Isla, but the second buried itself in the Ambassador's chest.
Everything around Isla slipped into slow motion. She rose from a stoop she hadn't realized she'd been in, simultaneously pulling her own gun. She fired in one liquid movement, her shot hitting the woman in the center of the forehead. Anton turned, but she was read for him even as he pulled his gun, three shots buried themselves into his chest before he was able to pull the trigger.
The room was in pandemonium. Screams pounded against her ears, the sounding of running feet drums. She sunk to the ground, fitting her gun back in its holster with expert hands, eyes falling on Anton. His eyes were glossy, chest stained with red.
She glanced up as she felt eyes on her, that strange prickly sense of knowing. Dark, intelligent eyes stared back at her, a thin man in an expensive tuxedo, brown hair slicked back, his mouth twisted into a crooked grin. Her mouth fell open.
She would have recognized that face anywhere. She could never forget those eyes, sparkling in the worst of situations-
But then he was gone, disappeared into the crowd of black and white. She tried to follow, but was pushed back. The blow knocked her to her senses. She darted through the crowd, pushing her way to the nearest exit. She needed to get away, needed to scrub the powder burns from her hands and clothes, she needed to make sure there was no blood on her, she needed to make sure this couldn't be traced back to her, no matter what shields Mycroft could create.
She moved through the panicked crowd as fast as she dared. Nobody so much as looked at her, their eyes trained on the building as the police arrived and sirens wailed above. She slipped into a side alley, hoping to disappear in the shadows. Her heart hammered in her chest, so loud it seemed to drown everything else out. She concentrated on this, just on the pounding of her heart.
"Isla?"
The voice broke her concentration. Her head snapped up, finding her brother's face. His eyebrows were knitted together underneath his curls, his eyes wide. His voice sounded strange, it cracked halfway through the word. She stared back, trying to figure out why, but her thoughts seemed muddy. Sherlock crossed the distance between them, gripping her in both hands as his eyes took her in.
"Oh Isla, what have you done?"
Hey Everyone! Here's another chapter. More action, just like I promised! Please please please review!