Devonshire Squires Chapter Fifteen
Mary was taking Thursday afternoon off. The GP practice manager was relaxed about it. "You've been such a good influence on Doctor Watson's attendance over the past six months that I can't argue if you want to take some personal time."
Personal time. That's what she needed if they were ever going to get this wedding sorted. Monday was supposed to have been the day they both went to scout venues, but she'd been more than happy to sacrifice it to John's investigation down in Reigate. The whole episode with Colonel Hayter had opened her eyes to another side of the man she loved. The blogs about his past exploits were all well and good, but they didn't do justice to him, always putting Sherlock's skills on show, at the expense of his own. She could understand why Sherlock had told John that he must have missed the "thrill of the chase"- Lord knows, it was the same for her. She'd been willing to sacrifice the adrenaline kicks for the stability of a normal life, but it didn't stop her from missing it at times. So, she'd encouraged John to do his own investigations. To be honest, she enjoyed being a part of it. Nursing did not use enough of her brain.
They'd talked on their way back up to London from Reigate, putting Colonel Hayter's explanation through the wringer. Could he be trusted? John was certain he could. Her own experience made her a little more cautious about accepting people at face value. That said, the puzzle pieces fit together rather well. She wondered what Sherlock would make of it.
When they got back to Victoria Station, John sent her home. "No need for both of us to clog up Lestrade's office. You put your feet up and try to salvage what you can of the rest of the day. I'm sorry to take you so far out of London on this wild goose chase."
But he'd come home from his detour to New Scotland Yard in such a mood that it had taken her ages to get him talking again. He went all quiet for the rest of the evening, no matter what she tried to entice him out of his shell. The one time she'd asked him if he was going to pass on the news of their findings to Sherlock, he'd just snapped at her, "Don't you start. I don't want to talk about it."
He'd been so volatile since Sherlock's return. Once the extraordinary events of his first two weeks back receded, John had become more and more taciturn and withdrawn. At first a tease had been enough to get him talking about Sherlock. Now it was like pulling blood from a stone.
And yet she knew it was important to get him talking. She'd meant what she said to Sherlock. She was determined to bring John around not just to forgiving him, but to actually working with him again. Mary loved John. She knew what Sherlock meant to him. Now that she'd met Sherlock herself, and seen the two of them together, she could understand why he'd been so distressed by the loss.
But since the initial flurry of the reunion, something had gone wrong, and their inability to sort things out kept worrying her. Bloody men! Talking about emotions and dealing with them just didn't seem to come hard-wired in the gender. Still, she kept plugging away. If only Sherlock would co-operate by making an effort to involve John, she was sure that they could re-kindle the spark that had once driven their relationship. Without that life-line of challenge and danger, John would not be whole, nor would he really be content with a quiet life with her. It just wasn't in him. Recognising a kindred spirit, Mary worried at times that she too would find a normal life too restrictive. Still, it wasn't like she had a choice. For her, it was retire and hide, or die. She was determined to let John have what he needed. She could be happy if he was, and she knew that Sherlock was part of that happiness. Now that she knew Sherlock was no threat to her, she had relaxed.
She was lost in these thoughts as she headed out of the surgery on the fifteen minute walk to the tube station. Even so, instincts take a long time to disappear. Some reflex pulled her attention back to the here and now, so she stopped at a shop window, pretending to look at something in the display. In fact, she was using the reflection to scan the street and pavement behind her.
Yes! A black car was following her. She'd seen it twice since leaving the surgery. In fact, it was no longer making an effort to disguise its presence. She turned to face the car as the driver pulled into the parking space beside where she was standing. The front passenger door opened and a dark-haired young woman, a little bit younger than she was, got out and smiled. "Miss Morstan. Would you would be so kind as to get into the car?"
Every instinct in Mary screamed FLEE! Whoever was demanding her presence knew her name. The skip code, John in the bonfire- all of the fears that she'd quietly parked over the past few weeks, thinking that it was something to do with Sherlock- all of that came screaming back into mind. Was her cover blown? Had some former enemy found her? Struck dumb, she froze.
The woman gave her a reassuring smile, and said, "We can drop you back at your flat. It really won't take long."
Mary managed to find her tongue. "Who are you?" She tried to keep her tone of voice calm. For the first time since she'd abandoned her profession, she keenly felt the absence of her weapon.
"I'm not important. The man I work for is. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother."
Oh! John had not explained much about Sherlock's brother. There was no mention of him on the blog; he'd just said the elder Holmes described himself as a 'minor civil servant'. By the way he carefully stepped around any detail, Mary figured that he might be something in intelligence- but exactly what was not clear.
On the one hand, this wasn't someone likely to shoot first and not bother to ask questions. On the other hand, from what little John had said about the elder Holmes, attracting his attention was probably not a good idea. She prayed that it might be something as innocent as wanting to know what was going on between John and Sherlock. Perhaps it would be safest just to go along for the ride. Or could she manufacture an excuse to get out of it, buying herself time to find out more.
As if reading her mind, the woman said. "I can assure you that any attempt to avoid this conversation will provoke an even greater interest in you than he is already showing. And if you were to try to ignore this request, the next time it won't be phrased as a request."
Mary knew she was caught. If she ran now, she'd have to explain why. While her cover was meticulously well built, it was a fabrication. The identity, the life she was building away from what she had once been- all of it was on the line. And she had fought too long to lose it all, just because Sherlock's older brother was getting nosey.
Her decision made, she gave the woman a smile she didn't actually feel and walked to the back door, opened it and got in.
As she pulled it shut, the door gave a very solid clunk shut. She recognised the sound of armour-plating, and her estimation of Mycroft Holmes' importance went up several notches. Not a minor civil servant then- someone rating a driver in a secure car was not some backroom analyst.
"Miss Morstan."
She looked at him and saw little physical resemblance between the two brothers other than their height and perhaps a certain keenness of eye. She kept silent, waiting for him to make the first move.
As the silence lengthened, his left eyebrow raised a bit. "Of course, we both know that isn't actually your name, but it will do for the moment."
Oh, shit. Yet, even as she thought that, she was also controlling her breathing, so that none of her shock or fear would be evident. She'd lived for years in dangerous situations by appearing to be something she wasn't. Time to exercise those skills again.
Calmly, even with an air of casual nonchalance, she asked, "so what can I do for you, Mister Holmes?" The fact that she wasn't being handcuffed, arrested and frog-marched into a detention cell said that even if her cover had been blown wide open, the man sitting next to her on the leather back seat of the government car was prepared to treat her differently. And that meant negotiation. What did she have that he wanted?
"Yes. As you have just realised, if I did know the whole truth and nothing but the truth about you already, then we probably wouldn't be having this conversation."
Again, she waited. Make him show his hand.
He glanced at her with a slightly bored air. "Until Sherlock returned, your business was yours, and that of your fiancé, John Watson. Neither of you were a matter of national or personal interest to me, I can assure you." He sounded like the very idea was repugnant.
She found her tongue. "But now that he's back from the dead, things are different. Well, resurrections have that effect."
"Yes. I currently have a dearth of information about you that might prove important to my brother. But for me to be motivated to look more deeply into your past, and to reveal that to either or both John and my brother, well- that depends on you, Miss Morstan. You could make yourself…useful."
She kept her eyes forward, watching the traffic. On the other side of the soundproofed privacy screen, she could see the woman working on a blackberry.
"And what would I have to do to keep you unmotivated to dig too deeply or reveal to either of those two what you might find, if you could be bothered to?" She kept her tone light, almost playful.
"Find Sherlock."
That surprised her. "Why me?" She gestured to the car and the people in the front seat. "He's your brother, after all. You have plenty of resources, by the look of things."
"Alas, none of them have John Watson's ear. And I do believe that the good doctor is key to getting my brother out of mission mode and back into civilian life. He seems to be having some trouble settling back into a normal routine."
She gave the elder Holmes a wry smile. "I've actually had the same thought about John- he's unsettled at the moment. He's…sulking a bit, kind of pissed off and angry at Sherlock on the surface. Deeper down, what really makes him angry is that he'd not asked him to work on any cases since the Tube bomb. He thinks Sherlock doesn't need him anymore."
"I can assure you that he does, even though my brother's current behaviour is attempting to suggest the opposite. The more Sherlock needs help, the less likely he is to seek it. It's the story of his life. Before you arrived on the scene, my brother was better for having John Watson around. That might be true again. Of course, some might think of you as an obstacle to the two re-establishing their connection."
"But you don't belong in that camp, do you, Mister Holmes?"
"No, I know my brother too well."
"And I know John. Whatever others might think, the truth is simpler, if rarer: a friendship that is not definable. I'm not jealous, for a very good reason. Over the past month, I have caught glimpses of the person that John must have been when he was working with Sherlock- and I found that I love that man even more than the one I first fell for. Sherlock brings out the best in John. On the first night I met him, I promised Sherlock I would try to get John to realise that fact, and that I would bring him round to a reconciliation."
"Then consider this conversation as a meeting of minds, Miss Morstan. I am prepared to make an arrangement with you. Make progress on delivering your promise. Find Sherlock. By all means, get Doctor Watson to help you- that makes it far more likely that Sherlock will come out of hiding. And while you are doing that, I will restrain my curiosity."
The car had turned onto the street where the flat was. Mary smirked. "How convenient. You must have timed this discussion to get to the punch line so perfectly."
When the car pulled up, she got out. Once on the pavement, she looked back in. "Provided you keep your end of the bargain, Mister Holmes, we have a deal."
Mary shut the car door and went up the stairs to the flat's entrance. Only once she was in the hall and the door was safely closed behind her, she leaned up against the wall, closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. She now had even more incentive. John's well-being was not the only thing on the line now; so was her own, and their future together. Sherlock, where are you?