Chapter Seven
Mycroft's eyes narrowed dangerously at DI Lestrade. "I believe that MI-5 and 6 had made their positions rather clear on the subject of Sherlock Holmes' innocence. If and when it was proven, either way, we were to have been informed when a public announcement was to be made."
"We're not under your jurisdiction. We work for the people of London. I don't answer to Secret Services or you." Lestrade puffed out his chest and refused to cower under Mycroft's glare.
Mycroft could see the guilt that the man felt. Sherlock's "suicide" had affected more than just Joan. Lestrade had come under scrutiny and had been put on probation, Donovan as well but her protests had worked in her favor. The urge to prove Sherlock innocent had been a driving force for Lestrade to show that he knew the people he worked with, that Sherlock was someone to be trusted and, in turn, that he could be trusted.
It was frustrating how most people only saw the immediate impact of their actions and not the larger picture. NSY had no idea of the implications of their actions and how they would affect others. While it would improve the public's opinion of NSY in the fact that they hadn't inadvertently allowed a criminal to commit crimes under their noses, it would put Sherlock's assignment at risk. The whole point was low profile now that he had been declared dead but now all new attention was being focused on him again.
Another factor was Joan and the subtle threat at her work. Someone, possibly one of Moriarty's henchmen, had it in for the woman and this reveal may tip the scales against her. A lot had been riding on the criminals being able to breathe easy since Sherlock had been declared the scapegoat. Agencies had redirected their focus away from them and onto his brother and now the attention was drawn back to them.
This put both parties at risk. It had been the Holmes brothers' hope that complacency would make identifying and taking down Moriarty's web easier. That job was now about to get a lot harder now that their guard was going to be going back up. What had been estimated at about a year's worth of work was stretching to two, possibly three with this added complication.
"Do you realize what you have done? Dr. Watson has been threatened and this may incense them and has put her in harm's way."
Lestrade frowned, leaning forward on his desk. "What are you talking about? Joan hasn't said anything about being threatened." He threw up his hands. "In fact, she asked for us to release the statement as soon as possible!"
Mycroft's lips turned down as he frowned in displeasure. Joan didn't realize just how much danger she was in at all times since her association with his brother had begun. Now that Sherlock was no longer at her side, she was even more vulnerable. There were risks of revenge killings, torture for information related to past cases, and even taking her hostage to target Mycroft.
"Have you ever known her to ask for help or believe that she was truly in danger. Watson has always believed she could handle any challenge." Just then, he felt his phone vibrate. Holding up a finger to silence the detective inspector, Mycroft pulled out his phone. He sighed with relief at seeing the message from Joan.
"I will be a moment." He stared pointedly at Lestrade and the man finally got the hint and vacated his office. Once alone, he quickly dialed Watson's number, only getting voicemail after ringing. It showed that her mobile was on but she wasn't answering. Considering she had texted him moments ago, it was unlikely that she would ignore his attempts to contact her especially after initiating the contact herself.
Mycroft stepped out of the office, seeing his aid and Lestrade talking. She looked up and immediately understood. With a curt nod, Anthea left, fingers flying on her blackberry. Lestrade frowned and moved closer to Mycroft.
"I'm having a team sent to Dr. Watson's residence. She has been out of contact all day and, considering the events of today, I am concerned for her safety." It didn't follow her normal patterns of behavior and that had his heart speeding up as he was very worried. This going off the grid habit of hers needed to stop. She needed to allow him to keep his promise and keep her safe.
"I can send some officers as well but, if Joan is just washing her hair or sleeping, she's gonna kill you. Holmes or no, she will." Lestrade warned.
"I would rather know she is in a position to do so than run the risk of her being in danger." Mycroft voiced.
Lestrade nodded and waved to Sally Donovan at her desk. "Oi! We need to get a team out to Joan Watson's new flat on Euston. She's not responding and has been missing since earlier today." Sally nodded and set about calling in officers.
Mycroft rolled his eyes at the length of time it was taking for the Yard to get things moving. This is why he preferred dealing with his own people. Anthea returned, eyes never leaving her blackberry.
"MI-5 has a team in place. There are no signs of movement in the flat but infrared shows one person inside, likely unconscious on the floor in the living room." She looked up to Mycroft and Lestrade, eyes wide and afraid. "They're waiting, sir."
Mycroft's stomach tightened. "Tell them to proceed and get an ambulance with Dr. Thomlinson sent out."
Lestrade gasped in shock and shouted at Donovan to get moving. Mycroft left with Anthea for his car that was waiting. They arrived at the same time as Lestrade in his patrol car. Mycroft wasted no time, heading up the steps and into the building.
Mycroft didn't need his agents to tell him what had happened. It was obvious. The front room was in chaos. His eyes immediately were drawn to the figure on the floor and he could feel his blood boil at the sight. Blood matted her hair at the hairline, the entire left side of her face was swollen and discolored. There were bruises littering her arms and she wasn't moving.
A blonde agent looked horrified at the level of damage to the pregnant woman as she checked her over, bandaging her head with the small field kit. Mycroft recognized her as one of the team regularly assigned to Watson's safety.
"Status, Morstan!" He barked and the agent snapped to attention.
"She has multiple contusions, possible broken eye socket, concussion and loss of consciousness for unknown reasons. She has other injuries but will need to go to hospital, sir."
Mycroft wanted nothing more than to kneel by her side, assure himself that she was alive and confirm what he was being told but he couldn't risk showing weakness. A clattering on the stairs and Dr. Thomlinson entered, flush faced and focused, along with paramedics in bright green jumpsuits carrying a stretcher.
Thomlinson immediately went his patient, reaching out a hand impatiently for his equipment. Fingers flying, the doctor set to work stabilizing Joan. The paramedics carefully lifted her and Mycroft felt a sick swooping in his stomach at the frail sight.
"We'll be at University College Hospital." Paramedics reported and quickly left, Thomlinson directing them.
With the distraction of Joan Watson gone, Mycroft focused his attention to the flat. He could see where she had gone down, the slight rumple of the carpet, he could see flecks of blood all over the floor, on the doorframe to her bedroom where she had been knocked against. He moved forward and made it to her bedroom and couldn't stop his reaction.
The entire room was destroyed, blood painting the walls and coating destroyed clothing on the floor and a sick message with a lewd picture stabbed into the wall. He could smell sickly sweet scent slowly overcoming the iron tang of blood coming from the flowers on the destroyed bed. Poppies and black roses.
"My god!" Lestrade cursed and gaped at the scene while Mycroft viewed it with a critical eye. The height of the writing was too tall for a woman but the message was personal. Specific. This was no simple case of revenge for Sherlock taking down criminals or one of Moriarty's henchmen. It was revenge against Watson for being with Sherlock. It was very personal.
The picture showed the motive. Simple jealousy but extreme hatred. Clearly, this person had been watching for a while. The angle and quality of the picture showed that this person was a professional at what she did. Her presence had even gone unnoticed by both Holmes men. It was definitely a female. This level of hatred was too high for a man despite the evidence showing that it was a male who wrote the message.
He moved around the room, careful to not disturb the evidence. Spotting her phone on the floor, he picked it up using a pocket kerchief. This must have been where she first noticed the break-in. She had dropped her phone in shock. The screen had cracked but it was still functional. He handed the phone off to Anthea.
He could see by the disturbed pattern of the flowers that had been arranged on the bed that the first confrontation had been here, near the wall. She had surprised the intruder and ran before being caught and thrown into the wall where her head hit the doorframe. She got away again, judging by the blood spatter but she stopped.
A second intruder then. A small spray on the floor to his right showed that she had been hit while stationary. The indents on the rug showed she went down there but not how. With how deeply unconscious she was it was likely either a severe blow which had been delivered or she had been sedated. Both were equally dangerous.
A smudge in the blood spray showed a clear partial boot print. Military, size ten. This was no ordinary message being sent. Someone had outsourced professionals.
Mycroft clenched his fists and his lips pressed into a thin line. Enough was enough. It was time for Watson to accept his assistance to whatever level he decreed necessary.
"What the hell is all of this?" Donovan moved around while Anderson took pictures, Agents glaring at them at every turn. Most of the team that had arrived had, at one time or another, been assigned to Joan and they were very angry. They blamed NSY but they also blamed themselves for not being quick enough to prevent this occurance. Joan was very likable and most of the agents had a fair idea of how much the young woman meant to Mycroft.
"I should hope that even New Scotland Yard could figure out the implications of this scene." He snapped.
"What's with the flowers? I get that someone went spare about Joan and Sherlock but I don't get it." Anderson chimed in, camera hanging from a lanyard as he gaped around the scene.
Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was why he despised legwork. Having to deal with people like Anderson who fumbled along in life and slowed everything and everyone else down. No wonder his brother despised the weasel.
"I am quite sure that you should be able to infer the meaning behind them. After all, you are wearing a poppy on your shirt. The black roses signify extreme hatred and death and the poppy is..." He waited and Lestrade swallowed, looking sick.
"It's meant for the fallen soldier. We wear poppies to honor fallen British soldiers. This threat was catered to Joan meaning someone is planning to kill her." Donovan supplied.
"And I believe that this person feels Dr. Watson is responsible for not preventing Sherlock's death especially, now that Sherlock Holmes has been proven innocent on all counts. There is also extreme anger and jealousy that Joan got close to Sherlock and this person felt that they should have been in her place. Perhaps there is a delusion that they could have prevented the events had they been in her position." His eyes narrowed on Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson. "And since your announcement to the public without clearance, the suspect base is quite large. I have quite a task of cleaning this up." He turned to the nearest Agent.
"Mathers, I expect a full report and list within the hour." He snapped and left, Anthea following.
Once ensconced in the privacy of his car, Mycroft let loose a deep breath he had been holding in. The sight of Joan injured had reminded Mycroft of the dangers his family faced. "Anthea, I want Joan transferred to my private residence, full security and medical team. She is now being placed into full protective custody. I don't care what she says. If needs be I will lock her in a cell if that's what it takes to keep her safe."
Anthea raised an eyebrow in surprise at Mycroft's outburst but she agreed. He was her boss and what he said, goes.
"I want the people who did this found and I want the person behind this. There will not be a hole deep enough or a corner dark enough for them to hide in." He growled.
A surprised gasp from Anthea made Mycroft look up. She was looking at Joan's mobile, eyes wide. "I think Ms Watson may have made our task of identifying her attackers that much more simple." She flipped the phone screen towards him and the whole thing was recorded in bright color and sound.
Watching Joan fight back was impressive but it was also very painful to watch. "Where was this feed from?"
Anthea quickly sent a copy of both the video and audio to herself and him. "They're our equipment."
"What?"
Anthea smiled. "I have found out how Miss Watson has been able bypass all of our attempts to obtain surveillance in her home. It's actually quite ingenious. Her system has a motion sensor that activates the cameras and mics about a minute after anyone enters each room. That way, when we run a standard sweep of bugs, they're not active so they aren't detected but by the time we're placing our own, the system sees us. Any time an agent saw one, they assumed it was placed by us and they left it since it was our equipment in the first place. Someone set up a private secure account for Watson and she uses it to check her home. An alarm is sent to her when the system activates." She shook her head in appreciation and Mycroft had to grudgingly feel impressed. He refused to underestimate the good doctor again.
"And she, most likely, ignored the alarm because she had assumed it had been our team checking in on her rather than her attackers." Anthea finished and had placed Watson's phone in her pocket, fingers typing furiously as she worked to get the video sent to the correct places and find the identities of the hired men.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Joan felt dizzy and sick, almost like she had a hangover but a hundred times worse. She couldn't open her left eye and the entire side of her face hurt. Her left arm was in a sling strapped tight to her body. Her arms and shoulder were painful too but her face was the worst.
A steady beeping to her right made her take stock of her surroundings. She expected to see a hospital room but this definitely wasn't any hospital she was aware of. The equipment was of hospital grade. An IV pump, monitor for O2, heart rate and resps, and a black doctor's bag containing medications, syringes, a stethoscope, sphygmomanometer, reflex hammer, penlight, and various other things laid on a metal tray.
The room was spacious. Enough for an upscale hotel. She was in a large bed, propped up with pillows and covered with the softest sheets she had ever felt. The room had a calming feel to it, cream colored walls, pale tan carpeting, a fireplace directly across from her with a television set above it. The was a small settee and comfortable looking chair set up in front with a coffee table. The furniture was of high quality. There was another chair to her left, the mate to the set in front of the fireplace, and the furniture was a pale beechwood. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling and it was set to a low light.
Joan didn't know where she was, her last memory had been being attacked and drugged. Had they kidnapped her as well? Joan started to panic and the monitor next to her started to beep faster. She quickly pulled off the lines attached to her. It was then that she noticed two sets of elastic bands with sensors on her abdomen with another monitor, this one to her left. She was dressed in a loose pair of blue scrubs and grip socks.
Joan eyed the readings on the other monitor before detaching herself. The IV was trickier. Her left arm was securely attached to her and she didn't have the best coordination but she managed to pull the line, keeping a thumb pressed over the small injury.
She could hear several men's voices outside her room and Joan didn't recognize them in the haze of her mind. Her head pounded and it hurt. Grimacing, a fresh wave of pain surged through her face and it helped her to wake up more. She didn't know where she was but she had to try and get out.
Sitting up, her vision blackened at the edges and she had to close her eyes for a minute.
"What are you doing, Miss Watson!?" A set of hands started to steady her swaying and tried pushing her down but she didn't know who this was. She pushed and shoved back, hampered by one arm still in the sling that she hadn't been able to remove.
"I need help in here!" The man in front of her shouted and Joan heard an oomph as her foot connected with someone.
"It's alright. You're safe. I work for Mr. Holmes."
Joan went limp. "What?"
Opening her eyes, the man in front of her straightened his white coat and shirt. He was probably in his mid-fifties if the salt and pepper colored hair was anything to go by with kind but serious green eyes.
"Where am I?" She asked but the doctor was more preoccupied with reattaching her to the multitude of machines. As he lifted her top to attach the elastic bands, a young woman with jet black hair but built like a sumo wrestler came in.
"Ming Na, can you reattach Miss Watson and start another IV while I check her over?" The woman simply grunted her assent and went to work. Joan was too dazed and too uncomfortable to put up too much of a protest.
"Where am I? And who are you?" Joan grimaced as her shoulder was jostled by Ming Na as she put back on the fetal monitors. She'd probably torn the muscle.
"My name is Dr. John Thomlinson. We'll talk in just a minute after we've repaired what you've taken off." He replied, busy taking her blood pressure. He hmmed and frowned at the result then moved on to test her pupil responses, listened to her chest and asked standard neurological exam questions.
The two of them moved in tandem keeping Watson busy to where she had no choice but to let them do their work. "And how is your pain level?"
"I'm fine." She snapped. She wanted answers not to answer questions.
Thomlinson frowned, his wrinkles prominent and his mouth turned down. "Your blood pressure is dangerously high. There's two reasons for that. Either you're in significant pain, which considering your injuries, I wouldn't be surprised, or you're suffering from preeclampsia which is a possibility." He reached down and placed a hand on her arm to try and comfort her. "Right now, your body is extremely stressed and to minimize that stress for you and the baby, I need your help."
Joan sighed. "Yes. I'm in pain."
She had barely uttered the words before miss sumo wrestler handed a loaded syringe over which the doctor quickly administered into the new line. The relief was immediate. She felt lighter and more relaxed as she sagged against the pillows.
The doctor eyed the monitors and Ming Na checked her blood pressure again, giving a satisfied nod.
"Where am I?" Joan asked again.
Thomlinson turned to the nurse and told her something before focusing his attention on his patient.
"You are in Mr. Holmes' home. He felt that a more private environment would aid in your recovery and ease stress." He went to the metal table and picked up a chart, making a note and signing the paper.
She was in Mycroft's house? It was one thing to be getting along with the man but to be living with him? She'd always seen him as an abstract thought, not quite human despite seeing him struggle. Joan didn't know if she was comfortable with staying here.
"When can I go...?" She trailed off, not sure if she really wanted to return to her home. The break-in and subsequent attack had left her feeling violated.
"You suffered quite a trauma. You have a small fracture in your zygomatic arch and cheekbone, concussion, multiple contusions, a four centimeter cut that required sutures at the hairline, torn ligaments and strained muscles with your left shoulder and there was some minor spotting that was noted. The baby is fine but is reacting to the stresses your body is going through. I'm recommending complete bed rest for now." His tone brooked no argument.
"Here?" Joan asked, incredulous.
"Yes, here." A voice to her left replied. Joan turned to see a very serious Mycroft Holmes. His auburn hair was slightly disheveled and he wasn't wearing his suit jacket. It was a strange sight seeing the normally composed man looking more casual than he ever had in their association. He had his sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a smudge of ink on his nose. He'd clearly been working and it wasn't going well, whatever it was.
He eyed the doctor. "If you wouldn't mind, John, I'd like a word with your patient alone."
The way Mycroft phrased it made her feel like she was in trouble, like a parent fixing a child's mistakes. Joan watched as Thomlinson left, a feeling of foreboding invading her at being alone with the British government.
Mycroft looked tired. She wondered how long it had been since the man had slept. "Are you ok?" She asked.
Mycroft laughed humourlessly, shaking his head at her. "I do think that is what I'm supposed to ask." He sighed and his eyes flicked over her, assessing her and his lips thinned in concern.
"The people who did this haven't been found yet but they have been identified. This is due, in part, to your surveillance video that we acquired off your mobile. Calvin Phillips and Guillermo Gomez. Both mercenaries for hire. Low quality and cheap. They take small assignments mostly, usually just roughing up those that don't pay a gambling debt but sometimes they do more specific tasks. Once they're located, then we can find out who hired them. It is only a matter of time before they're found."
He ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath, waiting for her response. She nodded but stopped fast as it made her head hurt.
"I'm sorry I didn't take you seriously, Mycroft." She shifted on the mattress, uncomfortable at the situation.
"So...um, I'll be fine going back to my flat as soon as I can get someone to clean it and replace everything. Thank you for letting me stay here while that gets taken care of."
Mycroft's features darkened momentarily before he looked confused, then exasperated. "As of right now, you're being placed in protective custody. You're not to leave here until I have deemed that the threat has been neutralized and you are to follow Dr. Thomlinson's orders in regards to your health."
"What-?"
"No arguments, Joan. I made a promise and it is one I intend to keep. This threat was very specific."
"I can't stay here, Mycroft." Joan protested. "I have a job and rent. I have responsibilities. Once I've healed, I have to get back to my life. I won't have someone force me into hiding. I'll be more careful. I won't be caught out again."
Mycroft shook his head and frowned. "No. You could have been killed tonight. You could have lost the baby because of those men. Right now, you need to think about your safety and that of your child. There is more to think about than just your safety right now. Your decisions affect more than just yourself."
Joan's lips thinned and she turned away from the elder Holmes. She knew he was right but she didn't think she could stand staying still.
Mycroft sighed and she felt the bed dip as he sat next to her. "I think it's time you knew something. Do you know the full story of why my brother jumped off that roof?"
It was like he had twisted a knife in her heart, bringing that up. Joan shook her head.
"There were three snipers. One for Mrs. Hudson, one for Gregory Lestrade and one for-"
"Me." Joan finished.
"Their orders were to kill all of you if he didn't do as he was told. He gave everything to ensure your safety. Don't let his sacrifice have been in vain."