Chapter 18

Mycroft had opted to stay behind in the house for the day and work from the study. Aoife's IT network was secure and he needed to stay in touch with London. Word had come to him earlier of a terror scare in Heathrow. It was quickly declared a false alarm but London's terror alert was high and the effectiveness of the airport reaction plan needed to be reviewed. From what he could ascertain, it was enacted perfectly, but he'd like to have another look. Anyway, he'd considered, Aoife may require information from London too, later on. He could hear her voice outside the door and then she came into the study, her mobile phone stuck to her ear. She smiled at him as she wound up her call. "That's grand," she said to him, "It's sorted. They're expecting Michael and I later on this morning." He smiled teasingly at her.

"'Grand' indeed," he responded. She narrowed her eyes and pretended to frown at him, smothering a grin.

"Mycroft Holmes, are you slagging my accent?" He looked guiltily at her, and then pushed back his chair from the desk and held his hand out for her, because he wanted her in his arms. She'd changed her clothes, opting for skinny black jeans and a black fitted polo neck sweater with high leather boots. He thoroughly approved.

"Aoife Quinn, I doubt even the Angel Choir sounds as wonderfully lyrical as your accent." She laughed as she reached his side and took his outstretched hand. He tugged her down to sit across his lap and she hugged his shoulders to hold him in a warm embrace.

"Good answer dearest, even if you did avoid the question."

She exuded good humour, he thought as he studied her face. She rolled her eyes tolerantly at him, knowing he was doing his 'scanning' thing again. Satisfied, he tucked her hair behind her ear and tenderly kissed her.

"You look very beautiful this morning," he told her softly. She smiled, pleased, and nestled into his neck as he pulled her tighter into him.

"Don't be cross, Aoife, but I've arranged for a security detail to support you. They'll split into two teams, one to cover Sherlock and Molly in the Shelbourne and one to remain with you and Michael. It's just a precaution and I'll ensure that they remain unobtrusive."

"I'm not cross Mycroft, not at all, but they'll have to wait outside the operations room. They can't come in."

"Of course. What time should I expect you back darling?" She frowned curiously at him. He was being unusually fussy.

"Why?" she teased him, "will you be all lonely today without all of us?" and he laughed and caressed her back as he answered.

"Well, I don't know about 'us' but I'll certainly miss you, my dear." She kissed him for a long moment before asking him about the earlier incident in Heathrow. He reassured her that it was a false alarm and he wasn't needed back in London.

"Good," she said, "I know with our jobs it's probably imminent, but I'm not ready to be separated from you just yet." Mycroft didn't respond to that, because, like she'd said, he knew future temporary separations would be inevitable, so he just kissed her and told her very softly, "you make me very happy Aoife," She palmed his face with her hand and whispered "ditto" to him. Mycroft twinkled at her.

"Actually, that reminds me, I've bought you something. I meant to give it to you this week in London but, well, now would seem an opportune time too." Her eyes widened and she smiled delightedly at him.

"You have?", she exclaimed in excitement. "What for? What is it?". Mycroft rolled his eyes and laughed at her. Keeping a firm grip around her waist with one hand, he reached down into his briefcase and pulled out a box wrapped in the iconic 'Tiffany's' paper. Her eyes lit up as he handed it to her. She looked shyly at him suddenly, much to his surprise. It occurred to him then, from her reaction, that although Aoife was a multi- millionaire, outside of her parents and a few of her close girlfriends, it was likely that people didn't buy her presents very often. "May I open it now?" she asked him.

But of course!" he told her. She used her nails to tease open the paper and reveal the box beneath. She handed him the paper and he took it from her, touched to see her hand shake just a little. "I love it!" she told him, her voice quivering a little and he shook his head in astonishment at her.

"But you haven't opened the box yet, my love!" Her big green eyes brimmed with emotion.

"I know," she whispered to him, "but I love it anyway," and his heart lurched in his chest at her words. He stared at her, incredibly touched, and then he ran his thumb tenderly along her cheekbone to capture an errand tear. She smiled at him and opened the box. Nestled on the mount was a diamond encrusted Tiffany key necklace, and she gasped in shock. Her eyes flew back up to him and he laughed at her, delighting in her reaction.

"Oh! I love these! How on earth did you know?" He raised a sardonic brow at her and she giggled and kissed him hard, murmuring "why do I even ask?" She took the necklace out of the box and ogled it in her palm. Then she handed it to him and lowered her head. "Will you put it on me please?"

He took it from her and placed it around her neck. It fit perfectly, sitting just above her breasts and she gazed at it as it glistened against the black of her jumper. Aoife leaned over and placed her forehead against his for a moment, arms hugging his neck. "Thank you," she said softly, and kissed him again.

They only broke apart when they heard Sherlock fussing with Michael outside in the hall. Mycroft gave her another quick kiss before nudging her off his knee and walked with her to the door. They grinned in amusement at each other as they observed an impatient Sherlock in the hall, glancing at his watch and then up at the staircase, obviously waiting for Molly to come down the stairs. He rolled his eyes and appealed to Aoife. "I don't understand. She was already dressed. Why on earth does she now need to change her clothes? Aoife giggled at him.

"Because you told her you were bringing her to the Shelbourne, Sherlock!" He looked at her in confusion.

"But she was perfectly presentable before!" Molly came flying down the stairs.

"Oh hush you, I'm here now." Sherlock's jaw dropped open in appreciation at the sight of her. Molly was wearing a figure hugging deep purple woollen dress, cut to just above her knees, with black high heeled boots, zipped tightly around her calves. Her silky caramel coloured hair swung loosely over her shoulders. Mycroft laughed at his brother's reaction and complimented her warmly.

"You look lovely, Molly." She smiled at him in response and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you Mycroft," she tittered, as Sherlock slipped a possessive arm around her waist.

"I find myself in complete agreement with my brother, Molly," and she threw him a chuffed smile. He took her pale cream, knee length, woollen coat from her hand and helped her into it, then gently turned her to button it up in the front, running a hand over the coat where it hugged her hip as Mycroft quipped drolly,

"What's rare is wonderful!" Sherlock threw him an eye roll. "Try not to start any wars while we're gone, brother mine..." Mycroft studied his brother coolly before he responded seriously, "and you make very sure not to reignite any, Sherlock." Sherlock glared indignantly at him, "for God's sake Mycroft, I wouldn't dream of it! You have my word." Mycroft's features relaxed into a smile, and he shook his brother's hand. He handed Aoife her briefcase, kissed her goodbye and returned to the study.

As they left the house, Sherlock clasped Molly's hand in his and whispered lustfully into her ear, "don't think for one second that your suspender belt got by me, Dr Hooper." Molly smothered a gasp and blushed to her roots as she slipped into the back seat of the car. Sherlock smirked gleefully as he sat in beside her, electing to let Aoife sit in front with Michael. He thought he'd enjoy making Molly blush during the trip to Dublin.

As the car moved down the drive and onto the local road towards the motorway, he shrugged off his coat and jacket and re-snapped his seatbelt, before turning towards her and running his eyes boldly up and down her torso. Molly tried desperately to ignore him, staring straight ahead, but the tell-tale blush crept back across her cheeks. Sherlock smirked and kept it up, folding his arms across his chest as he ran his toe up along her calf. Molly looked at him from the corner of her eye, seeing the boldness on his face and decided to turn the tables on him.

As she leaned forward in her seat to have a quick word with Aoife, she stretched her hand over surreptitiously to stroke Sherlock's knee. Then she slowly moved it up his thigh before brushing the back of her hand against his groin and he jumped and grabbed her hand.

She threw a triumphant glance his way as he sat back in his seat and he grinned at her and kissed the back of her hand, making her snigger. Erring on the side of caution, Sherlock made sure to keep a hold of her hand as she chatted with Aoife, who was recommending that they have lunch or drinks in 'The Horseshoe Bar' in the hotel, as it was always lively and a great place for 'people spotting'. Sherlock tutted in disgust at the notion but when Molly glanced disappointedly at him he immediately acquiesced. He kissed the back of her hand again and muttered, "all right Molly, I'll behave," eliciting a snort of amusement from the driver's seat.

Michael's mobile buzzed with an incoming text message and he gestured to Aoife to read it for him. "It just says 'call me'" she told him, noting that the number was American. Michael shrugged and Molly teased him then. "How many American women did you give your phone number to, Michael Reilly?" He laughingly protested, "none, honestly, I was very careful!"

He frowned thoughtfully. "Actually, I only gave that number to a few trusted contacts in the States. Their names should have come up if its' one of them. I used a burner phone over there." He turned his head swiftly to catch Sherlock's eye.

"Before you ask, no I didn't give your number to anybody either." Sherlock pondered for a second. "It may be a wrong number but call it when we get to Dublin, see what it's about? Michael nodded in agreement. The friends chatted amiably the rest of the way to Dublin. Sherlock was quiet though, mulling over the implications of the murder in Virginia. It was too much of a coincidence that Michael would get a call from the USA the next day, and anyway, the Holmes's had their own theory about 'coincidences'.

Squeezing Molly's hand in advance apology, he asked Aoife and Michael to join them in the hotel for coffee. "I think you should call that number Michael, and I'd like to eavesdrop." Molly was a trooper though, and just squeezed his hand back in return. Aoife made a quick call to Dublin Castle to tell them they'd be delayed, and before long, Michael pulled into the carpark at the back of the hotel. The valet recognised Molly and Aoife and greeted them warmly, then gave a startled grin when he recognised Sherlock.

"Welcome back Mr Holmes, you've had a haircut since you were last here Sir, I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you there for a minute." Sherlock raised a sardonic brow at him and muttered, "that was rather the point," but tempered his remark by shaking his hand in greeting. By the time they took seats in the bar, Aoife had been greeted by numerous Irish clientele. She was very well known as the CEO of Oisin Holdings, Ireland's largest indigenous company and its biggest employer.

Herself and Sherlock, however, had also garnered a huge amount of media and public attention during the hunt for 'Janine' and the shootings in her home. It didn't take the customers long to recognise Sherlock either, mainly because he was in her company. A journalist, having his lunch in the restaurant, spotted them and approached her, enquiring if there was 'another case'. She laughingly fobbed him off, telling him that they were all good friends and that Mr Holmes was back for a short holiday.

The two men stepped out to the front door of the hotel and Michael dialled the number on his phone. There was no answer but they both knew to wait for a few minutes and sure enough, his phone rang with the same number showing. He answered and recognising the caller, he immediately said "oh hi, its yourself. Why the cloak and dagger Conor?"

He covered the mouthpiece and whispered 'confidential informant, knew him from school, works in Molly Malone's in Brooklyn. Sherlock heard 'Conor' telling him that he'd decided to take precautions and use a burner phone to contact him. He went on to tell him that everyone was saying that James Moriarty Senior, "the real one" had killed his own brother in the nursing home in Virginia. He went on to tell him that he'd been visited in the bar the night before and informed that Moriarty Snr wanted to meet with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock mouthed 'where?' to Michael and he relayed the question. Conor replied that he'd said 'in New York' but exactly where, he didn't know, but that the messenger said he'd get back to him 'in a day or so' for an answer from Holmes.

Conor was nervous and Michael spent a few minutes mollifying him and told him that he'd 'check with Sherlock Holmes' and get back to him, and terminated the call. He frowned at Sherlock's delighted expression.

"It's a fucking trap Sherlock. You can't meet him!" Sherlock chuckled and clapped his hands in glee.

"Of course it's a trap, and of course I'm meeting him. Care to come along?" Michael grinned at him.

"Try and stop me!"

They re-joined the women and Michael filled them in over coffee. Molly said nothing as he relayed the news but her stone faced expression spoke volumes, Sherlock thought, and he sighed to himself. When Michael had finished speaking, Molly turned and smiled sweetly at Sherlock, and he winced.

"So, let me get this straight. A known murderer has summoned you to meet secretly with him. Said murderer knows that you are directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of all three of his children, and you are going, gung ho, back to America to comply with his request. Did I miss anything, Sherlock?" Aoife glanced at Michael and gestured towards the door.

"Right, well actually," she said, "we really should get going. We'll be a few hours' guys. I'll contact you when we're ready to leave. Em, have a nice afternoon." Sherlock stood, features set, and bid them goodbye. Then turning to Molly he asked her curtly, "are you quite finished?" and she knew he wasn't referring to her coffee. She nodded defiantly at him and he glared at her. She could see the anger burning in his eyes. "Good." he said coldly, "let's continue this conversation upstairs." He stood still to let her go ahead of him and they both walked silently to the lifts.