Chapter Eight:
Mycroft Holmes spent the journey between the estate and Heathrow deep in his Mind Archive. There had to be a weakness in Moriarty's plans that he could exploit. He'd bought the time he needed by calling the right people and telling them that the flight was never going to take off, that it had been compromised and that he would provide the evidence at tomorrow's hastily called COBRA meeting. That much he could agree to do; in fact, even if he managed to salvage the situation somehow and wiggle out from under Moriarty's plans, he would still have to cancel the flight and attend the meeting to explain why. So, I can justify to myself that I haven't fallen…yet.
He called his PA, apologised for doing so despite his best wishes to leave her in peace, and then told her to ensure that Sherlock was collected and delivered to the plane as soon as possible. Moriarty might be sending someone there to talk terms, but Mycroft was going to talk to his brother first. And that meant ditching the idea of being driven. He was now in the back seat of a helicopter that would get him to Heathrow in under forty minutes.
Irene Adler. He had not counted on that name re-appearing, or the idea that the body on the slab wasn't hers, but had fooled Sherlock. Or had it? Would it suit his purposes to mislead me? He sighed, knowing that nothing would be heard over the roar of the rotors.
Although his initial reaction was one of utter rage at his brother's folly, he also knew that he was personally responsible for at least half of the mistake. It had been his idea to put Sherlock on the case. Worse still, Sherlock would never have attracted the attention of Moriarty in the first place, if it had not been the Irishman's desire to suborn Mycroft Holmes.
He needed to meet with Sherlock to find out the extent of his error. Had he been duped? Tricked into it? There was a piece of Mycroft, buried deep, that wanted to do something terrible to the Woman. This situation collided with every fear that he'd ever had for his little brother- his being taken advantage of by someone determined to hurt him, when Sherlock was not capable of understanding what was being done to him.
Or was the Woman's hold deeper; was Sherlock a willing partner? Not for the first time in his life, he found himself worrying about his brother's inexperience in sexual relationships- or, indeed, in relationships of any kind. Don't be alarmed. He'd been provoked into his waspish comments at the Palace because he was mortified by his brother's outrageous behaviour in front of the Equerry. Since before Sherlock reached puberty, Mycroft had been trying to find out his brother's views on such things. People on the Spectrum were individuals, as different as neurotypicals. Some did, some didn't seek intimacy. Some were capable of normal heterosexuality, homosexuality or bisexuality. Some were asexual. Some became obsessed with a person who did not reciprocate, calling it love, when it was more a symptom of their fixations and addictions. Which is it for you, brother?
Sex was something that Sherlock would not talk about to anyone. Now that Mycroft knew more about what had happened when Sherlock was fifteen, he had some sympathy with the idea that his brother just might not want to go there. But then again, when he was homeless on the streets for six months aged sixteen, it was likely that he'd had some experience- and none of it pleasant. He remembered the boy's defiant comment, "Cocaine is expensive". That was the transactional comment he expected from Sherlock, especially at that age. But, what the grown man felt now was a closely guarded secret.
It worried him. Mycroft had never known how to even broach the subject. Of course, Sherlock knew all the mechanics. The physiological processes of intimacy had been taught to him early. His mother knew this would be a challenge, and when she knew she was dying, she spent a good bit of the time she had left trying to put in place the building blocks. She'd taught him what was appropriate to do in public and what wasn't. At least that had not been an issue, if Sherlock's school reports were to be believed. It wasn't the science that Sherlock misunderstood; it was the understanding of it from a social relationship point-of-view. For someone who had never had a friend, it would be challenging to understand how a friend could become a lover. Even when he was on the streets, Sherlock would have thought of sex as simply a means to the end of getting and paying for drugs. Once in Rehab, the therapists had tried to deal with the fall-out, but Mycroft had never known how to talk about it. It was perhaps the hardest part of his brother being on the Spectrum, and Mycroft was just unable to figure out how best to help, especially when their relationship deteriorated when Sherlock was in his twenties. They'd scarcely exchanged a dozen civil words about any topic, so the idea of discussing sex was just ridiculous.
So, what had The Woman done to him? How had she twisted him around her finger until he willingly did her bidding, to the extent of solving the MOD code? Was it a form of sexual abuse? The thought brought a physical reaction of pain across his chest, and Mycroft had to take several deep breaths to calm himself.
With hindsight, he realised that it was the stupidest thing he'd ever done, putting Sherlock into the frame when the Royal Household needed his help. It was supposed to keep him miles away from Moriarty; instead, perversely, it had exactly the opposite effect. And now it would be his own undoing. Mycroft had always known his brother was his weakness; he could hear the echo of his father's comment: "Caring is not an advantage, Mycroft, he isn't worth it. You have more important things to do than look after someone who can't look after himself."
And yet he had. Cared, that is; tried to find ways to help Sherlock live the best life he could. There were years when he knew he was failing, but things seemed to have improved recently. He knew Moriarty was right. He would happily destroy his own reputation, if necessary. But, he could not do it to Sherlock. He remembered his defiant statement to Doctor Cohen, when he first met her decades ago, "I am not sure that he fully understands what love means, but that doesn't mean that I don't. He is my brother and I will always care about him."
He reminded himself of that commitment every once in a while, especially on nights like tonight when they would both have to pay the price of his caring. The helicopter started its descent to Heathrow.
oOo
Irene replaced the cap on her lipstick. She checked her eye makeup in the mirror, then put it back in her handbag. She was ready. The last dampness of her black brocade patterned sheath dress was now gone; the car's heater had been pushed up to keep her warm. She re-read the contents of the envelope that had been waiting for her in the car- the terms were more than generous, and would ensure that Kate and she would never have to work for a living again. More important, if Holmes signed it, she would be granted immunity from prosecution, and her need to rely on the contents of her phone to protect her from everyone but Moriarty would disappear. That made her happy. It was a promise of liberation. Moriarty would release Kate, and the pair of them would escape. They'd have to go deep into hiding; she would always be looking over her shoulder in fear. But once safe, she'd tell the Irishman about her files on him and his operation, and tell him that his secrets were safe as long as she was alive.
The one regret she had was that it was Moriarty's way of using Sherlock to hurt the older brother. By signing up to the terms she dictated, Mycroft Holmes would agree to a corrupt arrangement that would allow the Irishman to blackmail him into the role of fallen angel. Whilst she had no loyalties toward the older brother, she knew that it would come with the price tag of her friendship with Sherlock Holmes. The terms were spelled out- failure to comply would mean the public exposure and humiliation of Sherlock as the one who had single-handedly destroyed the largest joint UK-US intelligence operation of the past decade. That she had played an unwitting part in setting this up made her feel decidedly unhappy. I'm sorry Sherlock; it was this, or watch him kill Kate. A terrible choice; she had no idea when she started down the road of trying to break the code that it would end up this way. She thought it would gain her Mycroft's protection. She had not realised that it would be at the expense of Sherlock. While that had not bothered her at the start, it did now. She hoped for Sherlock's sake that his brother actually went through with it.
Her Vertu rang. She recognised the caller ID and made a face, but took the call.
"Mister Moriarty." She packed a little of the anger and distain she was feeling into her voice.
"Oh, Miss Whiplash, you sound a little annoyed. What's the problem, Irenee?" This was uttered in the Hollywood gangster voice of the synthesizer app used by Moriarty to fool GCHQ monitoring.
"I've read the letter you want me to hand over. While you know how to get a girl excited by all those zeros in the ransom demand, I don't like the idea that the little brother will get beat up if the big brother decides to fight back."
The Irishman sniffed. "Collateral damage, my little vixen. I get what I want. You get what you want, and your girlfriend gets to actually arrive in Nice alive. That's a win-win. Besides, you get to say to the Ice Man that you are the woman who beat the Holmes brothers. Do your reputation a world of good. Or are you going a little soft, my dear? Has playing with the Virgin turned your head? If so, hands off, darling. He's all mine."
Then he sniggered. "Of course, if you lose your nerve or fail, then I get to turn you into those shoes we discussed. And, I think there should be a matching pair made from the skin of that red-haired wench that shares your bed. Wonder whether Louboutin will accept a private commission- a one off that I could auction to the highest bidder from amongst your clients? Think about that and just do your signature piece- beat the hell out of the Holmes Brothers." He broke the connection, as the car swept onto the tarmac in front of the plane.
When she exited the car, she went to the bottom of the stairs that went up to the back of the plane. The CIA thug that Moriarty owned was standing at the bottom.
The American smirked under his buzz-cut hair. "Well, well, the gang's all here. Your boyfriend is already up there being told just what a fool you've made of him. Nice to know that even you had to bow to the man in charge- Moriarty added you to his little list, did he?"
She didn't even give the man a second glance. He wasn't worth it.
As she came into the back galley, she could see the plane was scarcely lit. She peeped through the curtain into the passenger area. The seats were …occupied, which surprised her until she realised they weren't moving. Dummies? Then she caught the whiff of embalming fluid, and realised that the plane was a flight of the dead. Sherlock had his back to her, and his brother was at the far end. She listened into what they were saying.
"…Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."
Sherlock's comment provoked a face from his brother. "It doesn't fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."
Sherlock looked around at the dead passengers. "Your MOD man."
Mycroft's reply was quiet. "That's all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special." Irene knew instantly what he meant.
Sherlock didn't. "Hmm. You should screen your defence people more carefully."
That provoked a furious response from Mycroft. "I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I'm talking about you!"
She couldn't see his face, but saw the startled reaction in Sherlock's body language.
"The damsel in distress." She watched as the man in the three piece suit moved forward now. "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle ..."His voice dropped to a whisper "... and watch him dance."
Sherlock snarled, "Don't be absurd."
"Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?"
Irene realised it was time for her to perform. She felt for Sherlock, but she needed to deflect Mycroft's anger onto the real target. She pushed the curtain aside and moved behind Sherlock, saying in a confident tone. "I think it was less than five seconds."
His brother saw her, heard her and gave a rueful smile. He sighed. "I drove you into her path." He paused for a moment, and then as if deciding that, irrespective of her presence, he would finish what he had to say. "I'm sorry," accepting responsibility. He looked away from the pair of them. "I didn't know."
But, Sherlock wasn't looking at Mycroft; he was giving Irene a stunned look as he realised the extent of her betrayal.
She walked forward, saying "Mister Holmes, I think we need to talk."
Sherlock misunderstood to whom she was speaking, and replied "So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on." Irene knew she had to lay it on thick now; better for Sherlock if his brother thinks she duped him, rather than reveal just how willingly he had supplied her with the information. So she walked right past him, with the cutting comment, "Not you, Junior. You're done now."
She carried on down the aisle, pulling out her phone and showing the screen to the minor official of the British Government who was going to be her ticket out of Moriarty's clutches.
She looked the taller man in the eye and laid it out for him. "There's more ... loads more. On this phone I've got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."
She knew she had won- and that Moriarty had succeeded- when Mycroft Holmes dropped his gaze from her and turned his head away.
She pressed home her advantage. "Now, shall we all go somewhere a little more comfortable? I have loads of things you need to do for me."
