Chapter Nine


Irene didn't have to wait long for Mycroft's reply. "This is best done away from prying eyes, so come with me."

Sherlock was still looking perplexed and a little dazed by the turn of events. As Irene watched Mycroft pass him in the aisle, the older man just said "You're coming with me, too. I'm not done with you yet." Sherlock did not protest but followed them down the stairs and into the waiting car. Mycroft was on the phone advising someone, "Three passengers to return to the house." He walked straight past Nielson, as if the man did not exist. She wondered if he knew that the CIA man was one of Moriarty's men. Obviously not senior enough to be trusted with the information about Bond Air until tonight, she'd always thought he was more brawn than brain. If he had known about the flight then she would have been spared this whole charade, and Moriarty would never have had to extract his price for her escape into anonymity. She gave him a sneering glance as she walked by.

The rotors of a helicopter were already turning lazily by the time they arrived at Heathrow's helipad. Sherlock hesitated for a moment but then opened the front door to sit alongside the pilot; Mycroft declined to offer a hand to help Irene into the back. She smirked as she clambered in and sat in a seat beside him. There would be no conversation on the flight; she knew that the minor official in the British Government would not want the pilot to overhear anything. So, she fitted the ear defenders carefully over her hair, buckled her shoulder seatbelt and relaxed. She would use the time to prepare.

When they left Heathrow, she tried to get her bearings, because she wondered where they would go. It would need to be safe and secure, of that she was positive. When the lights of central London passed to their left, she knew they were headed southeast, and guessed that it would be to Holmes' country estate. Across the darkness of the South Downs, the helicopter flew on before dipping lower. She spotted a circle of lights in the darkness and then they descended rapidly.

She started to unbuckle her seatbelt as Mycroft reached over to open the door. From the front of the helicopter, Sherlock had leapt out of his seat and was already outside. She saw a flash of the copter's landing lights on a pale face; his eyes seemed wild. Then he bolted for the surrounding trees without a backward glance.

Irene watched, and then looked over at Mycroft Holmes, whose face had held a permanent frown for the duration of the journey; he was watching his brother, too. "Is he alright?" she asked.

That made the frown deepen. "Why should that matter to you, Miss Adler?"

He led the way to the house. The path was lit by discrete solar lamps. When the two of them reached the trees, she heard the sound of someone retching to her left, and guessed it was Sherlock. "He gets airsick?" She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice, but failed.

"He doesn't like helicopters." Mycroft did not hesitate for a moment, but carried on down the path. A moment later, Irene decided she needed to follow him.

They were greeted at the door by a late middle-aged woman, whom Irene guessed was a housekeeper.

"Good evening, sir." Mycroft did not introduce her to the housekeeper, and Irene felt the woman's eyes on her. There was a hint of suspicion in her glance, which abruptly altered when the housekeeper spied another figure coming up the gravel path to the house. The sight of Sherlock brought a smile to the older woman's face. As he came in through the door, though, that look was replaced with one of concern. That made Irene turn to see what had changed the housekeeper's welcome. And she had to agree- Sherlock looked rough. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. He was shivering as he came into the hall.

The housekeeper was now talking to Mycroft. "Let me take your coats. As your text asked, I've lit the fire in the Dining Room. Can I bring you, Sherlock or your guest anything to drink or eat?"

"No, thank you, Mrs Walters. We just need privacy. And my apologies for keeping you up late this evening."

He led the way across the hall, and down the corridor of the Tudor house, then in through an oak door. Irene took in the wood panelled room, a dining table at the far end, flanked by a pair of armoured horses (How grandiose); pulled up to the fireplace were a pair of leather chairs. Mycroft took her to the table, she drew a chair out and sat; then he drew out a chair opposite her and sat. Sherlock collapsed into one of the leather chairs- the one half turned away from them, as if he could not bear to watch. She decided to get the negotiation underway by taking her phone out and laying it on the table between them.

Mycroft looked down at the phone and said, "We have people who can get into this."

Irene's response was dismissive. "I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months. Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera phone."

A monotone baritone replied. "There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive."

Irene smirked when Mycroft lowered his face into his hand.

Sherlock continued, because he was not looking at his brother's gesture of despair. "Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

She rubbed the salt into the wounds. "Explosive- it's more me."

Mycroft raised his head and pinned her with a look. "Some data is always recoverable."

She batted that comment away with the destain it deserved. "Take that risk?"

Mycroft resumed with a new certainty. "You have a password to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

Calmly, without taking her eyes off of Mycroft, she just said, "Sherlock?"

Again, a flat response. "There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress, you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt."

She smiled again. "He's good, isn't he? I should have him on a leash – in fact, I might." She turned to look at Sherlock affectionately.

That provoked Mycroft into an abrupt retort, "We destroy this, then. No-one has the information."

She nodded and returned fire, "Fine. Good idea ... unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

"Are there?" Mycroft was asking the obvious, certain she wouldn't reveal the truth.

She was enjoying this. "Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." It was time to lay the demands on the table, so she reached into her handbag, and took out the envelope. She pushed it across the table at the older man. "A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they're granted."

Mycroft withdrew the sheet and started to unfold it as she continued, "I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation – but then I'd be lying."

She looked at the man, really looked for the first time. There were some resemblances between the two brothers, but not much beyond their height. Mycroft Holmes was more conventional- (boring? )- in his looks and demeanour than his brother. She watched as he raised his eyebrows in some surprise as he read through the demands listed.

Irene could not resist pricking that self-important persona. "I imagine you'd like to sleep on it."

He didn't look up as he continued reading. "Thank you, yes."

"Too bad."

They both heard a snort of amusement from the direction of the fireplace. Irene decided to rub it in some more. "Off you pop and talk to people."

Mycroft's sigh of resignation was audible, and he sank back in the chair, his posture betraying his surrender. "You've been very…thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."

She knew that "our lot" could refer to his people, but he might well be including his brother in that dismissal of incompetence. She decided that she could try to shift the blame a bit.

"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help." She looked across to Sherlock and then said, "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love."

That made the younger brother sit up. Yes, Sherlock- I will tell him about this.

But it was Mycroft who spoke first, in a slightly diffident manner. "Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention." He then followed it with an admission "... which I'm sure can be arranged."

Irene decided to up the ante by getting up and walking around the edge of the dining table. She sat on the edge of it, now at a height advantage to Mycroft. She had a sense that Sherlock was now listening to the discussion intently. This was her chance to try to get Mycroft to understand that Sherlock was not really to blame. She would need to lay it on thickly; she'd rather make him look foolish than make him look culpable.

"I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you?" Once she knew that Mycroft was giving her his undivided attention, she said softly, "The Ice Man". She then looked across to Sherlock and said "... and the Virgin."

Now to try to explain something in sub-text to Sherlock, she followed this revelation with another bit of disinformation. No mention of Kate, or the times when she and Sherlock had met privately, no reference to her period of playing dead. Mycroft Holmes did not need to know the full extent of the problem. So she lied and said that Moriarty "didn't even ask for anything." She put up the smokescreen and hoped that Mycroft would buy it. "I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man."