Chapter 24
Sherlock and Michael finished reviewing the Irish Central Intelligence file on Moriarty Snr, and Sherlock hissed in frustration. "I should have looked at this whole family a long time ago, Michael; we could have initiated tighter surveillance on him; we'd have had much more to go on now." He sighed philosophically, "I always miss something." Michael looked sympathetically at him.
"We weren't to know, Sherlock," he reasoned.
He was about to close the file when he noticed something in the list of properties and he pulled it back for another look. He flicked the page towards Sherlock. "Look here Sherlock, he's named on a lease on a small warehouse in Dingle. You'll pass through the town on your way to his house. It might be worth taking a look. Tell the pilot to land at the Scellig Hotel on the outskirts of Dingle town. They've a helicopter pad there, and, more importantly, Aoife's company own it."
He paused thoughtfully. "Actually, I'll get her to book a room online, ok, and she'll send you the details later; you cannot check in as 'Sherlock Holmes' obviously, you're too well known here now and the word will spread like wildfire. Aoife will sort out a pseudonym for you; she can sort out a car from the hotel for you too."
Sherlock threw him an impressed glance. "That's very good work, Michael." He raised a cocky brow at him, "if you ever get tired of working for the Gardaí, do give me a call." Michael laughed and checked his watch as Mycroft joined them in the kitchen. Sherlock raised an enquiring brow at him and he nodded and said, "we're on it Sherlock."
"You have an evacuation plan?"
"Of course." Sherlock hesitated and his brother's features softened. "I'll take care of her, Sherlock." Sherlock smiled and gently warned, "make sure you do; she's very precious." Mycroft gave an amused laugh.
"That indisputable fact hadn't escaped my notice. Now, brother mine, you're all set. The 'double agent' will meet you in arrivals. Then you make your way to the internal flights. Aoife has sorted out the rest. They'll be waiting for you. Expect the unexpected." Sherlock raised his eyes ruefully.
"I always do. I'm just popping up to say goodbye to Molly. I shan't be a minute, then we'll be off."
He raced up the stairs two at a time and entered their room quietly. The TV was on with a low volume and he smiled at the serene picture Molly presented. She was lying on her side on the bed, fully dressed and fast asleep. He was loath to disturb her but he knew she'd be disappointed if he didn't say goodbye, so he knelt down at the side of the bed and stroked her face gently with his fingertips. Her eyelids flickered open and she smiled when she saw him. She stretched in and gave a contented sigh.
"Are you off then? I fell asleep." He took her hand in his.
"You did, you looked so peaceful that I was reluctant to wake you."
"Oh no, I'm glad you did. I'd hate if you hadn't said goodbye."
He smirked boldly and then stood up and released her hand, saying, "goodbye then," and turned to go.
"Sherlock Holmes! Come back here and kiss me goodbye this instant!" She exclaimed indignantly. He chuckled and swung back around, scooping her up off the bed high in his arms. He sat down and brought her with him, deftly maneuvering her onto his knee. She laughed at his antics and wrapped her arms around his neck. He nuzzled into her cheek and then ran his lips along it, pausing momentarily when he got to her lips.
"If you insist, Molly," he drawled, and then captured her mouth with his in a searing kiss. She reciprocated with all her heart and he hummed appreciatively as they prolonged their kiss. She leaned her forehead against his and smiled as she played with his hair.
"Better?" he enquired mischeviously, and she giggled and nodded in agreement.
"Mm, much better. Now you can go…" He chuckled and moved her off his lap and back on the bed. She curled back up on it langoriously and he feasted his eyes on hers.
"You're a very hard woman to leave, Molly," he told her softly and she beamed at him.
"Then hurry home."
He smiled and kissed her forehead, and then left the room. As he went back down the stairs he mused on her words. She'd said 'hurry home' and it touched his heart because at the moment, technically, she didn't actually have a 'home', and hadn't had for months. Since Sinéad Moriarty had firebombed her flat, she'd been moved to Ireland, then the States and now back to Ireland but she still had no actual home as she had yet to move into 221B. He took out his phone and texted her.
'You'll have a home very soon Molly'
She frowned when she read it, and shook her head in bemusement, and then she replied,
'I already do, silly. It's wherever you are. You know what they say…'
His heart swelled and he sent her one more text as he joined Michael in the car.
'Then I'll be home soon, my darling.'
He shut his phone and focussed his mind completely on the case. They got to the airport and met the British agent without incident. He said his goodbyes to Michael, who agreed to ring him as soon as he got to New York. Within the hour, Sherlock was in the air and on the way to South West Ireland. He reviewed the particulars of his destination as they hurtled through the sky.
Dingle, he mused, is a picturesque fishing town on the same named peninsula. The town is highly popular with Irish and international tourists alike. Heaving with traditional pubs that showcased Irish music, the town was also a haven of craft shops, cafés and galleries, and it attracted people from all over the world. It was, at it's core, a cultural pulse of Ireland, set in a staggeringly wild and beautiful backdrop of lushly green mountains, white windswept beaches, and steep rocky cliffs; lashed by the Atlantic Ocean. He considered the popularity of the town, and its level of year round nightime festivities, and decided to go to 'visit' the house first, which was on a romote road at the tip of the peninsula. By the time he'd done that, the pubs in the town would be closed and things will have quietened down.
Aoife, meanwhile, was making slow but steady progress with her investigation of the house. She discovered that it was purchased five years earlier, by a company registered in Britain, who also put their name to the demolition and rebuild, so she sent that to Mycroft to investigate. The internet and power connections were more interesting because they were opened by a Mr James Moriarty. He hadn't bothered to change his name because there were so many men with that name in Ireland, she thought, and thousands more in America. She could estimate when the house was occupied since it's rebuild from the internet usage, and it seemed to be only occupied for a few weeks each summer, until this year.
As the Intelligence Unit in Dublin continued to send streams of data of the internet usage from the house, she tensed and her hand froze over the mouse. She paled, and despite herself, she was unable to disguise her shock, because she was looking at a forensic investigation of herself. Every news story, every press release, every single time she was mentioned, he'd viewed it. He'd investigated her homes, her company, her parents, her friends, and more recently, even Sherlock, but not, curiously, her lover. She looked at him, trying to manage her distress, and and his face was set and forbidding. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"If anybody puts my name in a search engine, it triggers an alert with MI5. I guarentee you that he has investigated me too, just not from this internet address."
She covered his hand with her own and gripped it tightly for a moment, until he pulled over his chair and sat beside her, bringing his laptop with him. Her hand trembled as she came upon news reports of her brother's 'accidental death,' and then on to the reports of the raids on the Moriarty empire in Britain and Ireland, culminating in the deaths of two of his adult offspring. On and on it went, and it was thorough; it even listed where she liked to eat and where she shopped. Then it came to her parents and she fought back fear.
"They're safe Aoife, I took care of it earlier." She choked back a sob and held out her arms, grappling for him. He pulled her into him and gave her a hug, but he released her promptly, because his own unease was increasing and they needed to crack on.
"Oh Mycroft, thank you. I never imagined I'd need to."
"It's just a precaution, Aoife. They're not the target here."
"No," she stated, "I am." He nodded but didn't comment any further. He asked her to forward the emails and text messages to him while she continue to scan the internet usage.
"I wish to send them on to MI5, Aoife. Are you giving me clearance to do so?" She barely hesitated.
"Of course I am. Time is of the essence. We'd appreciate your help Mycroft; and that's official."
That was exactly what he wanted to hear and his fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop. It was a couple of hours later when something caught Mycroft's attention. He tilted his head curiously, sat forward, and opened one of the emails. He'd recognised the email address. He pressed a button on his phone immediately and checked his watch. He'd just summonsed his evacuation team. Then he calmly read the email out to Aoife, as he forewarded it on to London, and to Sherlock.
'Your payment has been received. Expect delivery via 'Irish Mariner 3'. May your purchase have the impact you expect.'
Aoife stared at him in genuine astonishment.
"They'd hardly be that blatent Mycroft, surely to God?"
Mycroft had already got to his feet. His phone rang and he answered without looking at the number. He knew it was Sherlock. He took a firm hold of Aoife's arm, levering her up and out of her chair, as he answered her question loudly enough for Sherlock to hear too.
"It's very clever actually. How many emails are sent with 'your payment has been received…, it would never arouse suspicion." He spoke into his phone. "Hang on Sherlock!" he ordered. "Aoife," he continued calmly, "we have to leave the house now. Get the Navy to board that ship immediately. Tell them there may be missiles on board. Yes, we're moving now, Sherlock, I'm a bit busy. I'll call you when we're out."
Aoife hit a panic button on her desk as Mycroft raced upstairs, crashed through Molly's bedroom door, and called her name urgently. Molly shot upright on the bed, took one look at him and jumped out. She was still dressed. He handed her boots to her and she dragged them on rapidly. She grabbed her phone and her precious photo album from her bedside locker, and moved rapidly to Mycroft. He grabbed her free hand and raced back out of the bedroom door and down the stairs. He was only half way down when he yelled for Aoife. She should have been at the front door by now.
She appeared out of the study with their two laptops under her arm, her phone clasped in her fist, speaking rapidly and urgently into it as the three of them sprinted to the front door. Mycroft dragged it open and a dark coloured, unlit van with blacked out windows, screeched up the drive. Braking sharply at the front door, it spun around to face back out the drive; the side door flying open before it even stopped. Mycroft's men had arrived.
Mycroft held onto Molly's hand, checking that she was safely seated in the van and then pulled Aoife in behind them. The van had already begun to move away from the house. Only when they'd cleared the front of the house and passed through the open gates, did Mycroft release Molly's hand. Aoife's security men came flying behind them in a convoy of three Range Rovers, again unlit, and one car passed them by, swiftly and smoothly, and took the lead.
Aoife was back on her phone before she'd even fastened her seatbelt, and was immediately patched through to the LE Samual Beckett. She was determined to speak to the captain herself. He identified himself and she launched into a rapid rundown of their suspicions. Mycroft checked his watch and smiled in satisfaction; four minutes in total.
He lifted his own phone, then paused and smiled calmly at Molly. Molly burst out laughing. "Never a dull moment with you lot, is there?" and he chuckled back at her.
"Ring Sherlock, Molly. He'll be going out of his mind."
Molly's expression immediately sobered and she dialled Sherlock's number. He answered on the first ring. Mycroft smiled as he heard her calmly reassuring him, and then raised his eyebrows at Aoife as she began to whisper 'sweet nothings' down the phone to him. Aoife spluttered a laugh, and then patted her hip, raising an enquiring eyebrow to him. He nodded at her, silently confirming that they were both armed. He got on his phone, called London, and ordered them to provide satillite back-up to the LE Beckett, should the need arise, and then appraised them of their current situation.
"Where are we headed now Sir?" the MI6 Agent asked him as they cruised towards the motorway. Mycroft glanced at Aoife and she looked determinedly back at him. He sighed and replied,
"Kerry. The Dingle Peninsula, to be precise."