Chapter 7: Sherlock and John

Going to let Sophie sleep for a bit while we check it up at the house.

Sherlock

I have not had any desire to strangle my brother so badly as I did today. I don't care what he does to me (haven't cared for years) but he is not going to involve our daughter into his barmy schemes. Ever. This foolish idea that John and I are overprotecting our twenty-year-old daughter to the point where she seems much younger...

Maybe he has a point. A little one.

A teeny tiny point like his teeny tiny head. Wish I could say the same thing about his waistline. I chuckle to myself.

That whole scene ought to never be repeated. Sophie should not have felt that she had to get between us like that. I sit back on the sofa and I kick my feet up on the coffee table. I can still see the anger on her face, but I've got to give credit where it's due. I think she is the only other person on this planet besides John and myself with enough guts to fight back at Mycroft. I have to admit to feeling a little bit proud and yes, even a bit mystified.

I let out a sigh. I try every single day to understand what is happening in her head, but I am only have the barest minimum of luck. As always, John seems so much better equipped to handle these emotional melt downs than I. Mycroft's and my arguments never seem to have bothered her this much before.

After Sophie vacated the room at top speed, Mycroft stood here and just looked at me. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of backing down. I meant what I said. These types of threats have been coming in since she was a baby, why burden her with them now? We have always attempted to keep her out of the public eye as much as possible, but in the same sense, we have to give her freedom to explore her own interests. Its hard for me to believe that any kidnapper worth his or her salt would not even try to nab someone so well known at a public venue. That would be incredibly stupid.

Besides, we have always had Mycroft's security here plus John is out at the moment checking into the disturbance from earlier. Some stupid git tried to get through the front gate. Fool. The call came in and we decided John could handle it while I stayed here and waited for Sophie to get back. Just like we have always done.

I think I am starting to see Mycroft's point. Damn.

Maybe it is high time that we sit down and explain the situation to her a little better. Problem number one, I have no desire to take away the things she enjoys. Problem number two; I guess problem number two is me. I know what it feels like to constantly have surveillance following you around. We agreed when Sophie was little that we would always attempt to keep her life as "normal" as possible.

Maybe we failed. Maybe she feels more controlled than she really is. I need to consider this for a while.

I sit quietly for a few moments until I hear the kitchen door slam. John is not in a good mood, so we will have this discussion later.

John

I am cursing under my breath as I turn away from the front gate and back towards the house. Miriam, the guard, told me that this idiot has been here before. He must be some sort of reporter, I don't know. She did the best she could under the circumstances, but when the stupid fool started to climb the fence, she had to use some kind of force. Glad we let Mycroft arm our guards with tasers, the idiot is better off in hospital than the morgue. Just because he's stupid doesn't mean it's worth dying over. Miriam was calm and collected by the time I arrived. She did well. I am going to suggest a commendation.

Walking up the front path, I can see the front door of the house, plus part of the back yard. I see my daughter barrel out towards the stables and I stand still for a moment and watch her. She's barefoot, which is a little odd, but not unheard of. Mycroft's car drove through the gate while I was finishing up with Miriam. I'm sure I can bet that for whatever reason Sophie just darted out the back door it involves him.

I stand there long enough to see Sophie and Amber leave the stables, almost at a canter already. I trust my daughter, she's an excellent horsewoman and probably just needs a breather. Sophie's long brown hair and Amber's thick black tail stream out behind the two of them like flags. I'll never tell my daughter how beautiful that sight is to me. I am pretty amazed with how quickly she picked up weaponry and I am always impressed with her skill. I understand why she took the Browning without even considering it, though it was a pretty dumb thing to do. The kicker, though, Michael. He was such a good kid...

Geez I must be getting old. Considering a twenty-one year old man to be a kid. Ah well. Back to problem at hand, I guess.

I open the kitchen door and just let it slam. Hopefully it will knock my husband out of whatever sulk I am sure I am walking into. I cross through the kitchen and into the sitting room, not even bothering to take my shoes off. It is my house, after all.

Sherlock is sitting cross-legged on the sofa and his stockinged feet are planted firmly on the coffee table. God he always looks fantastic.

I drop down beside him and he opens one eye. Damn git looks like an owl. He turns his head toward me and I reach out to touch his face. It's a movement I know I have done a million times, but as always the fire in his eyes pulls my entire world to one single point. After all these years it still amazes me. He turns his upper body towards me and wraps his arm around my back, pulling me towards him. His eyes closes and his lips brush my cheek and then my lips. For a few moments there is nothing but him. I am aware of my own self floating out there somewhere, but right now I am inconsequential, right now we are just one single being.

We pull apart gently and I am seriously considering dragging him upstairs for a quiet afternoon shag when there is a loud bang on the front door. I sit back into the cushions and readjust myself. Sherlock smirks at me and heads for the door. After a few seconds, I am composed enough to check it out.

As I cross through the kitchen, I can hear Darren's voice. He's a strapping young lad employed down the stables. I've run into him a few times and he seems to be an excellent employee, if a bit rough around the edges.

Darren has stepped into the foyer. Sherlock is standing with his back to me and his hands down at his sides. His hands are clenched into fists. I step up next to him and place my hand palm down on the small of his back. Darren has yet to say a word.

"Darren, you are welcome to speak." Sherlock's voice is still full of passion, and I hope I'm the only one that can hear it.

Darren closes his eyes for a moment as if to compose himself. When he does finally open his mouth, I am astounded at the tremor in his voice.

"Misters, it's about Sophie." He pauses for a second, perhaps checking to see which one of us is going to cold cock him in the jaw. "She, um. I saw him come into the barn. She pulled Amber out of her stall and hopped on bareback. I was, um, in the tack room."

He did not have to say that he's been watching our daughter for some time, waiting for the right moment to approach her. I know Sherlock could see what was so obvious to me. Sherlock's muscles were tense under my hand.

"Anyway, she." That annoying pause again. Out with it! He shook his head a little and spread his feet. My heart stopped. I knew what he was going to say before the words came out of his mouth. She was hurt. I started to turn around and fetch the first aid kit but Sherlock's hand on my shoulder rooted me to the spot. As always, he was ten steps ahead of the game.

"Where?" Spoken gently but urgently.

Darren had been employed here long, but at least he was smart enough to catch up with my husband. Sherlock bent down to pull on some boots and I grabbed my jacket off the hook. In a matter of seconds, he had his long coat on and we were out the door, Darren in the lead.

Sherlock

I know John felt me tense up as soon as the situation was clear to me. He turned and tried to go for the first aid kit, but I had already ascertained that it would be a useless waste of time. I only had the urge to get moving.

This young man led us out through the back pasture and through the trees, out into the larger field. I already had the majority of situation established by the time we reached Sophie's mare. Hoof prints showed me clearly that my daughter had pushed the little horse at breakneck speed through the trees, to crash out on this side. I quickly asked the stable hand if he had a mobile with him and when he answered in the affirmative, I requested that he call the veterinarian.

The little bay cob was standing in the center of the field, one hind leg resting on a cocked hoof. She had some blood running down the leg, but what draws my eye is her neck. There is a nasty wound high on her crest, but I can only see part of it. I approach the little mare quietly and reach out to her. John has taken her halter in hand and is murmuring little calming nothings to the horse. She is trembling and her coat is wet with sweat. Foam is dripping from her lips. I gently reach up and push her mane over to the other side of her neck. A bullet hole. It seems to have passed right through the thick muscle there under her hairline. The wound is clean but bloody. The most damage seems to be to the muscle, but as it seems to have missed any important blood vessels, I have confidence that she will pull through.

Our local veterinarian arrives within minutes and I leave him to deal with the horse. A lead rope has materialized and the stable hand gently takes the mare's head. I lock my gaze into John's and I do not have to say a word. As the vet and stable hand walk away with the horse, he stands still with his hands at his sides. I nod to him and point at the footprints all over the ground. The immediate emergency has been quarantined. Now we need to find our daughter.

John

I watch the vet and Darren walk the mare away from us and back toward the stables. I can't think. My mind is reeling. Sophie should have been here. She would have already called the vet, she would have notified us that something was wrong. Sherlock points at the ground and my mind clears for a moment. There are hoof prints, Amber's are pretty distinctive since her shoes have little caulks welded onto the heel bars for extra traction when Sophie is shooting targets from her back. They make little divots in the soft ground. My eyes follow the trail immediately. I can read where they came out of the trees on this side, and exactly where they were stopped. There is an imprint on the ground I am assuming is from where Sophie fell. Even the best rider is going to come off when their mount is stopped suddenly by a bullet.

I saw the damage to Amber's neck and it terrifies me, even though I am aware that it is not fatal. I do not have the luxury of reacting right now, however, I've got to concentrate. I watch as Sherlock follows the hoof prints and then leans down. He picks up something small and holds it out to me. The spent round. It's got blood drying on it. I can't help but suppress a shudder. I've got to keep my head clear.

There are two clear prints of bare feet and several others of heavy boots.

"There were two of them. The bare prints are Sophie's." Sherlock turns to me, sizing me up. I nod.

He turns to follow as much of the trail as he can see. I follow him and try not to mess up the prints too badly.

We get to the other side of the clearing and there are tire tracks now, where a vehicle was pulled off of the shoulder of the road. Sherlock easily hops over the fence while I struggle just a bit. We both stare down at the mud and then at the asphalt. I am starting to feel the situation. My hand is trembling, something it hasn't done in years.

The sound of Sherlock's voice forces me back into the moment. He is talking into his phone. Mycroft. He hangs up and reaches out to me. I step closer to his body and press my face against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and I can only consider that mine is racing. I take a moment and just breathe him in. Finally, the trembling in my hand stops and I step back away from him. The hand that is not resting on my back is busy pushing buttons on his phone. His eyes turn toward mine and he nods.

Lestrade is on his way then, assuredly with back up. Mycroft's security team will be here in minutes. All we have to do know is follow the trail and get our daughter back. We have always been aware that something like this could happen, there's always been a contingency plan. I had always hoped we wouldn't need it.

Now I am once again a soldier. We will find her. Part of me is still, cold, waiting. Once I get my hands on whomever has done this, there will be hell to pay.

The other part of me is broiling with fear. I just hope we aren't too late.

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