EPISODE 9:
THEIR LAST DERP
Thankfully nothing did happen (as far as they knew) during the Watsons' honeymoon. In their absence Sherlock started dating Janine, which was weird for everyone involved, but Scottie and Emily got along with her well enough when they were all in the same room. But much to Scottie's disappointment, he ended up spending most of his time either alone or online with friends, as Emily started going off with Stephen more and more frequently.
On one such day the girl came running into 221B after having spent yet another night at Stephen's. "Scottie Scottie Scottie!" she was shouting. "I found a kink in the system!"
"A what in the what?" he asked, looking up from his computer with only the slightest of interests.
Emily shoved something flat and rectangular at Scottie just before swooping onto the couch next to him. He relocated his laptop to the coffee table and held the thing a bit further from his face with one hand, putting on his glasses with the other.
"This is a DVD of the fourth Harry Potter," the boy finally deduced.
"So you know how I was with Stephen Bainbridge last night, right?"
"Now that you mention it, I do vaguely recall you dating a minor fictional character..."
Emily rolled her eyes. "Okay, well, you also know how he's played by Alfred Enoch in the real world, right?"
"Sure."
"And that fellow also played Dean Thomas in Harry Potter."
"Your point...?"
"Well, we were having a Harry Potter movie marathon at his place and get this: Dean Thomas wasn't played by Alfred Enoch anymore. Instead it was some other mildly attractive black dude I've never heard of before! Oh hi Mycroft," the girl sang just as she spotted Sherlock's older brother coming into the room from the kitchen. "I didn't know you were visiting."
"And I wasn't aware that you were familiar with my person," the man grunted on his way out. Emily merely gave an indifferent shrug.
Scottie set down the DVD and continued their previous train of thought. "I suppose that makes sense in the same way that the real Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch don't exist in this universe.." He paused to give Emily an accusatory look. "Wait. Are you implying that you knowingly watched Harry Potter with the Bloody Guardsman with the sole intention of pointing out what he'd assume was his doppelgänger?"
"I can neither confirm nor deny this," Emily said guiltily.
"For fuck's sake, Em! I thought we decided it was best to go back to trying not to break the fourth wall?"
"Oh, don't act all high and mighty," the girl huffed. "I've actually lost track of how many times I covered for your ass after you accidentally made a reference to one of their actors."
"Mr. Holmes?" a familiar voice called out from the kitchen. There was then some slamming of drawers followed by a muffled shout from downstairs.
Emily raised an eyebrow and whipped her head around at Scottie. "Was that... Anderson?"
Ignoring her question, Scottie stood up and handed the movie back to Emily. "Even so, they had no idea who I was referring to out of context. Now, were I to go up to Sherlock like 'Hey, remember your dog Redbeard? Yeah, that was pretty heartbreaking, wasn't it? And by the way, you were such an adorable kid...' That would be a big mistake."
"Uh, Scottie..."
Emily tugged at Scottie's pants pocket and nodded her head to the side. The boy shifted his eyes up to see Sherlock now hovering in the doorway with furrowed brows.
"...AND THAT'S WHY I DIDN'T LIKE THE ENDING TO THE FAULT IN OUR STARS," he said quickly and at twice the volume as before.
Emily smiled and gave Sherlock a little wave, to which the detective narrowed his eyes even more and avoided passing her and Scottie by entering the flat through the side door to the kitchen. Emily then noticed that he had John and Mycroft in tow.
"Oh!" Emily gasped. She jumped to her feet and tossed the DVD behind her. "Welcome back!"
"Not now," John said sternly, holding up a hand. Emily frowned at this.
"Anderson," Sherlock barked angrily from the other room.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock," the second voice responded. "It's for your own good."
Emily's jaw dropped and she shoved Scottie's arm. "Oh my God, His Last Vow is starting and you never said anything! I was almost not even here!"
"You distracted me with all this my-boyfriend-the-Bloody-fucking-Guardsman drama!" Scottie shot back. "Not to mention you were kind of MIA that whole time."
"You should have called as soon as you realized!" The girl let out an exasperated sigh and stormed towards the kitchen. She stopped halfway there, only just spotting an unfamiliar face seated in Sherlock's armchair.
"You see but you do not observe," Scottie cooed, suddenly right behind her again.
"Fuck you."
Sherlock suddenly pushed between the two of them. The stranger slammed his book shut and scurried away. His spot was immediately taken by Sherlock, who flipped his hood up like a rebellious teen being pissy around his parents.
"You said he'd be taller," someone else said from the kitchen.
"Some members of your little fanclub," Mycroft informed him. "Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat."
As stubborn as ever, Sherlock curled up sideways in his chair. Scottie and Emily exchanged glances as Mycroft continued.
"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can't afford a drug habit."
Sherlock snapped his eyes open indignantly. "I do not have a drug habit."
"Hey, what's happened to my chair?" John asked distractedly.
"It was blocking my view to the kitchen."
John turned to the kids. "I don't suppose you helped him move it out, did you?"
"It… fit nicely in our significantly less cluttered flat for the time being?" offered Scottie.
John shot Mycroft and incredulous look. "Well. It's good to be missed!"
"Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity."
"To put us to work," Emily grumbled half to herself.
"No. You saw the kitchen."
Mycroft turned to Anderson now. "What have you found so far? Clearly nothing."
"There's nothing to find," growled Sherlock.
"Your bedroom door is shut," his brother went on, crossing from the kitchen into the hallway behind it. "You haven't been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?"
Mycroft reached for the doorknob to Sherlock's room just as Sherlock jolted upright. "Okay, stop! Just stop. Point made."
"Jesus, Sherlock," John exhaled.
"Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing. Although I ought to say, I didn't take you for the kind of man to get back into such things now with kids around. I worry that they ought to be spending their days in the company of someone more... responsible."
Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and stood up, coming closer to his brother. "This is not what you think," he hissed. "This is for a case!"
"What case could possibly justify this?"
"Magnussen." Mycroft's slight smile dropped upon hearing this name and he seemed to tense up. "Charles Augustus Magnussen," Sherlock told him, his face dead serious.
"Oh god not Magnussen," Scottie whined. "What a fucking creep!"
"Honestly, I'd take Moriarty over him any day," agreed Emily. "He's like the Dolores Umbridge of BBC London. Voldemort just seems like such a chill dude in comparison."
Mycroft's nostrils flared. "What did you tell them?" he hissed.
"What did I tell them?" Sherlock repeated.
Mycroft turned to the guests in the room now. "That name you think you may have just heard - you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you, on behalf of the British security services, that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don't reply; just look frightened and scuttle." Anderson and the other men did look frightened at this and scuttle out. "I hope I don't have to threaten you as well," Mycroft added to Scottie and Emily as he gestured to the door with one hand.
Scottie wrinkled his nose. "I think we'd both find that embarrassing."
Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "I really don't."
Sherlock looked a little annoyed at his brother but told Scottie and Emily to go to their room regardless.
"Hey now, if you have something to say to Sherlock then you can say it in front of us," Emily argued.
"Also we probably know more about Magnussen than Sherlock does at this point anyway," shrugged Scottie. "Just saying."
Emily nodded. "This is true."
"Do you think that this is a game?" Mycroft seethed, now reaching forward and pulling Scottie by his shirt collar so that the boy was just nearly lifted off of the ground. Scottie's eyes widened in surprise at the assault and he tensed up.
"H-Hey! Put him down, you bully! Only I get to yank Scottie around like that!" Emily came forward and started to pull at the arm that Mycroft was using to carry his umbrella and not Scottie. The elder Holmes brother released the boy. Jerking away first, Mycroft swung his umbrella out to the side and smacked Emily across the head with the object. With a cry of pain the girl stumbled towards the wall, which she grabbed onto with both arms to keep from falling over.
"OI!" barked John.
A flash of anger came into Sherlock's eyes and suddenly the detective was upon his brother. He wound Mycroft's arm up behind his back and slammed him face-first against the wall just as Emily ducked out of the way. Mycroft winced and let his umbrella drop.
"Brother mine, don't appal me when I'm high," Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth.
John took a deep breath and came up to the display, saying softly yet firmly, "Mycroft, don't say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and after that little display I am slightly worried that he might." Looking ten different kinds of disgruntled, Mycroft pushed himself free and Sherlock left the room. "Don't speak; just leave," John pressed.
Mycroft hesitated for a moment before pointing behind John. The doctor turned to see Scottie had picked up the umbrella and was wielding it like a sword. John yanked the thing away and handed it back to Mycroft, who snatched it and left through the door between the flat's kitchen and landing. John went into the living room.
"Are you… okay?" Scottie asked his friend cautiously.
"I don't…" Emily came closer and pointed to where the umbrella had struck her cheek. It didn't look bruised or anything, but it was still blotchy and pink. "Is it bad?" she asked, sounding worried.
"You're fine," Scottie assured her. "I'll get you an ice pack if you think that'll help."
He proceeded to fill a ziplock with a few pieces of ice from the freezer and wrapped it with a cloth napkin before handing it to Emily. She paused to pull out one ice cube and popped it into her mouth before putting the ice pack against her face. Scottie rolled his eyes.
"Ugh, who does Mycroft think he is anyway?" the boy grumbled. "I hate that guy."
"Remember when you used to be attracted to him?"
"Well, yeah, but that was before I realized what a colossal douchecanoe he was!"
Sherlock and John had re-entered the kitchen now and passed the two of them. "What sort of case?" John was asking.
"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in," replied Sherlock.
"You trying to put me off?"
"God, no." Sherlock touched his hand to the bathroom doorknob, looking back with a sly smile. "Trying to recruit you. And stay out of my bedroom," the detective added as he disappeared into his bathroom and shut the door. John didn't even wait a courtesy .5 seconds before immediately going to Sherlock's bedroom to investigate. But he hadn't even the chance to intrude when the door opened and Janine was standing there.
"Oh, John. Hi." Laughing, the woman pulled the shirt she was wearing as a dress a bit lower and came forward. "How are you?"
"Janine?" John asked in disbelief.
"Sorry. Not dressed. Has everybody gone? I heard shouting."
"Yes, they're gone." John stepped aside to let her into the kitchen.
Scottie waved at the guest. "Morning, Janine."
"Good morning to you, too. Well… afternoon. And you didn't come home again last night," Janine said to Emily.
"Well. Neither did you. Technically."
"Oh, Emmy dear, what's happened to your face?" Janine asked, suddenly looking worried. She came over to Emily and moved the ice pack away to get a better look at the girl's cheek.
"I'm fine," Emily promised and pressed the ice pack closer.
"Did that Stephen boy do this to you?"
"What? No! No, it was… another boy. Sherlock's brother, to be exact."
"Mike?" Janine frowned. "Is that what the argument was about?"
"Mike?" echoed John.
"Mike, yeah. They're always fighting. Didn't realize he was one for hitting children, however…"
"...Mycroft."
"Do people actually call him that?" Janine looked surprised.
"Yeah?"
"Huh. Oh, could you be a love and put some coffee on?"
John blinked. "Sure. Right. Yeah."
"Thanks," Janine smiled and started back the way she'd come. The woman paused to put a hand on John's shoulder. "Ooh, how's Mary? How's married life?"
"She's fine," John told her. "We're both fine. Yeah." The doctor went towards the cupboard to get to work on that coffee request.
"Oh, it's over there now," Janine said with a point. "Where's Sherl?"
"Sherl!" John practically choked. He cracked a smile and turned back towards her. "He's just having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in a minute."
"Oh, like he ever is!"
"Yeah."
Janine rapped on the bathroom door. "Morning! Room for a little one?" She let herself in and a series of muffled giggling followed. John sort of froze where he stood with a blank face.
"You're not the only one who thinks it's weird," Scottie promised him.
Emily set the ice pack down on the countertop. "Oh! John, you never told us about your honeymoon!"
The three of them then moved into the living room, where they piled onto the couch together and John began recounting the time he'd spent over the last month with his wife. Not all that long later Sherlock came in, having changed into his usual wardrobe and in the middle of slipping on his jacket.
"So, it's just a guess but you've probably got some questions," the consulting detective started.
"Yeah," John looked up. "One or two, pretty much."
"Naturally." Sherlock smiled and had a seat.
"You have a girlfriend?"
"Yes, I have. Now, Magnussen: Magnussen is like a shark - it's the only way I can describe him. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium, John? Stood up close to the glass? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes… That's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen."
"Yes, you have," John said slowly.
"Sorry. What?"
"You have a girlfriend."
Sherlock blinked. "What? Yes! Yes, I'm going out with Janine. I thought that was fairly obvious."
"Yes. Well… yes." John cleared his throat loudly. "But I mean you, you, you… are in a relationship?"
"Yes. I am."
"You and Janine?"
"Mm, yes. Me and Janine."
"Sherlock and Janine, Sherline, if you will," Emily shrugged. "It's a thing."
John tilted his head. "Care to elaborate?"
Sherlock inhaled dramatically as he glanced up at the ceiling. He puffed out his cheeks and then released the breath. "Well, we're in a good place. It's um… very affirming." He smiled at John in a way that almost didn't look real and John pointed back at him.
"You got that from a book," the other man accused.
"Everyone got that from a book."
Janine came into the room then. She, too, had changed by this point. "Okay, you two bad boys, behave yourselves," she sang on her way over to the arm of Sherlock's chair. Sherlock reached over and wrapped an arm around the woman, who leaned into him. "And you, Sherl - you're gonna have to tell me where you were last night."
"Man, it's like no one but me was in their own bed last night," mumbled Scottie as he sunk lower into the couch.
"Working," Sherlock answered.
"Working. Of course. I'm the only one who really knows what you're like, remember?"
"Don't you go letting on," Sherlock told her softly. The man ran a playful finger down the woman's nose and then let his hand settle over her arm as they stared deeply into one another's eyes. John grinned an altogether too-tense grin.
"I just might, actually," Janine teased. Suddenly she pulled her gaze up towards John. "I haven't told Mary about this. I kind of wanted to surprise her. But we should have you two over for dinner really soon!"
"Yeah!" Sherlock agreed.
"My place, though - not the scuzz-dump!" She punched Sherlock's arm affectionately and they both laughed. "Oh, and of course you two will be there," she added towards Scottie and Emily. "Stephen can come too. It can be a couples' night!"
Scottie made a bit of a growling noise in the back of his throat at this but withheld comment.
"Great, yeah!" John exhaled. "Dinner! Yeah."
Janine got up again. "Oh, I'd better dash. It was brilliant to see you!"
"You too," John answered, also standing as if it were instinctual.
Sherlock proceeded to escort Janine out and held the door open for her. "Have a lovely day. Call me later."
Janine pursed her lips into a smirk. "I might do. I might call you. Unless I meet someone prettier." The two of them kissed as John stared on in what could really only be described as slight horror. Even Scottie and Emily had difficulty watching without making a face. "Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes," Janine pulled away but lingered with her face close enough so that their noses were still touching. She came out of the embrace ever so slowly and disappeared out the door, which Sherlock shut. Almost immediately after having done so the detective snapped back into his old self.
"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's so much more than that," the man said, striding into the center of the room. "He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power." Sherlock came over to his laptop, which was sitting on the table, and opened it up as he sat down. "I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail, and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name" - Sherlock spun the computer around so that it faced in the direction of the others - "is Appledore."
But not one of them had moved from the couch or made any attempt to get a closer look at what he was attempting to show them on the screen.
"Dinner," John let out.
Sherlock didn't seem to follow this comment. "Sorry, what, dinner?"
"Me and Mary. Coming for dinner, with… wine and… sitting."
The detective was quiet for several seconds before: "Seriously? I've just told you that the Western world is run from this house, and you want to talk about dinner?"
Emily's eyes lit up eagerly. "Oh oh! Can I help cook?"
"Absolutely not," all other voices in the room answered.
John leaned forward in his seat. "Fine. Talk about the house."
Sherlock sighed and turned his laptop back. "It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world. The Alexandrian Library of secrets and scandals, and none of it is on a computer. He's smart: computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house." John had come over now and leaned over Sherlock's shoulder to see. Sherlock pointed at a rotating blueprint on the screen. "And as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy."
There was a knock and an "ooh-ooh!" and suddenly Mrs. Hudson was in the flat. "Oh, that was the doorbell," the landlady told them. "Couldn't you hear it?"
"It's in the fridge," Sherlock shrugged. "It kept ringing."
"Oh, that's not a fault, Sherlock!"
"Who is it?" asked John.
Without answering Mrs. Hudson went back downstairs. "That'll be him," Sherlock muttered. The man shut his computer and went closer to the fireplace at the end of the room, followed closely by John.
"Please don't do anything particularly stupid," Emily suddenly requested of Scottie, her voice dangerously low.
"W-What's that supposed to mean?" the boy scoffed.
"I don't know. Just… I have the feeling there's a very good chance of Magnussen doing something that pisses you off and I don't want anyone to get killed because of it."
In almost no time at all three strangers had barged into the room. They were clad in suits and wearing earpieces, giving the kids an uneasy feeling of déjà vu. Sherlock uncrossed his arms and held them out to the side. "Oh, go ahead."
The first man came forward and began frisking him. A second approached John. "Sir?"
John looked from Sherlock to this other man. "Can I have a moment?"
"Oh, he's fine," Sherlock assured them.
The third and final man in Magnussen's entourage went to the couch and politely asked the kids to stand up. Emily raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? What makes you think Sherlock would trust either of us to carry a concealed weapon?"
But he asked again and they cooperated - not, however, without an exasperated sigh first.
"Okay, I…" John pointed towards a knife that he'd been keeping in his jacket pocket. "That. And…" The man frisking him straightened, now holding a tire lever that he had retrieved from John's jeans. "Doesn't mean I'm not pleased to see you," John said weakly.
"I can vouch for this man," Sherlock said. "He's a doctor. If you know who I am, then you know who he is… don't you, Mr. Magnussen?"
As the detective said this Magnussen himself stepped into the flat and stopped just past the door frame. Each of the other three men backed up so that they were positioned at the sides of the people they'd just been searching.
"I understood we were meeting at your office," proceeded Sherlock.
Magnussen surveyed the room for a moment. "This is my office," he finally spoke, his voice light and confident. He took several more steps inside and then stopped again, letting his eyes fall on Scottie. A file seemed to have opened next to the boy's face then that only Magnussen could see:
SCOTTIE LEWIS
AMATEUR DETECTIVE
FORMER STUDENT
ACCESS TO CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION
PORN PREFERENCE: OLDER MEN
FINANCES: NONE
STATUS: UNCERTAIN
PRESSURE POINT: ANXIETY DISORDER
GENDER DYSPHORIA (SEE FILE)
FAMILY (NO FILE FOUND)
MISTREATMENT OF ANIMALS
Magnussen shifted his gaze a little to the left.
EMILY MARIE CLAUS
FORMER STUDENT
ACCESS TO CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION
FINANCES: NONE
STATUS: UNCERTAIN
PRESSURE POINT: SISTER (NO FILE FOUND)
SCOTTIE LEWIS (SEE FILE)
With a satisfied nod he took another step and turned to face Sherlock and John, whose read:
JOHN HAMISH WATSON
AFGHANISTAN VETERAN (SEE FILE)
G.P. (SEE FILE)
PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL
FINANCES: 10% DEBT (SEE FILE)
STATUS: UNIMPORTANT
PRESSURE POINT: HARRY WATSON (SISTER) ALCOHOLIC
MARY MORSTAN (WIFE)
"Well, it is now," Magnussen shrugged. He went up to the dining table and picked up a newspaper off of it, which he took back to the couch, where Scottie and Emily had shuffled a good couple of feet away from now.
"Mr. Magnussen," Sherlock began again, "I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters. Some time ago you… put pressure on her concerning those letters." Magnussen shifted his gaze up from the paper. "She would like those letters back."
SHERLOCK HOLMES
CONSULTING DETECTIVE
PORN PREFERENCE: NORMAL
FINANCES: UNKNOWN
BROTHER: MYCROFT HOLMES
M.I.6 (SEE FILE)
OFFICIALLY DECEASED 2011-2013
PRESSURE POINT: IRENE ADLER (SEE FILE)
JIM MORIARTY (SEE FILE)
REDBEARD (SEE FILE)
HOUNDS OF THE BASKERVILLE
OPIUM
JOHN WATSON
"Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind…" Sherlock trailed off, seeming to notice that Magnussen wasn't really listening. The other man snorted. Sherlock exhaled. "Something I said?"
"No, no. I-I was reading." Magnussen adjusted his glasses. "There's rather a lot. Redbeard…"
Sherlock opened his mouth, shut it again and then glanced over to Scottie, who had pursed his lips and was staring determinedly down at the floor.
Magnussen shook his head. "Sorry. S-Sorry. You were probably talking?"
"I…" Sherlock was quiet for a bit and then cleared his throat. "I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of…"
"Bathroom?" Magnussen asked, addressing the man beside John.
"Along from the kitchen, sir," he was told with a nod to the man's right.
"Okay."
"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters," Sherlock tried again firmly. Magnussen removed his glasses and looked distractedly towards the window. "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents…"
"Is it like the rest of the flat?" Magnussen went right on ignoring Sherlock.
"Sir?"
"The bathroom?"
"Er, yes, sir."
"Maybe not, then."
Sherlock furrowed his brows. "Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"
Magnussen met his eyes only temporarily and then went right back to looking out the window. "Lady Elizabeth Smallwood," he mused. "I like her." Magnussen looked back again and popped his lips several times.
"Mr. Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"
"She's English, with a spine." Magnussen stuck out his leg and used it to push the coffee table out of his way. He then stood and came towards the fireplace. Scottie moved slightly, his hands balled in tight fists. Noticing, Emily grabbed at his wrist and their eyes met. "Best thing about the English…" Magnussen cooed, "you're so domesticated. All standing around, apologizing." He nodded to Sherlock and then came between him and John, stopping in front of the fireplace now. "Keeping your little heads down…" Magnussen hummed. "You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you." The man started to unzip his pants and then went right on ahead urinating into the fireplace.
Scottie and Emily both shuddered. John half turned to see for himself, as if having to confirm that this was actually what was happening. Sherlock, on the other hand, kept his head straight forward with such intensity that it was almost a surprise he wasn't burning a hole through the wallpaper. Suddenly Scottie tore out of Emily's grasp and came towards Magnussen, but he stopped in the center of the room when all three bodyguards took a step closer to him with their hands out as if preparing to grab him.
"A nation of herbivores. I've interests all over the world but, er, everything starts in England. If it works here… I'll try it in a real country." Having finished his business, Magnussen looked in the mirror for a couple seconds and then turned to see Scottie standing in front of him with both middle fingers held up and an expression that was so sour it couldn't even be taken seriously.
Magnussen was blank-faced for just a moment and then cracked a smile. The guard beside John held out a pack of wet wipes, and Magnussen took one. "American," he mused and started to wipe at his fingers. "See what I mean? More often mistake stupidity for bravery, but… Well, look where it's gotten them in comparison."
Magnussen took several steps forward, causing Scottie to back up a bit more, but he kept his fingers up defiantly all the while, even bouncing them one after the other as he backtracked.
"Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them," Magnussen said, turning back to face Sherlock. He let go of his wipe, letting it flutter to the floor. "Goodbye." The man started to leave, but he stopped to slip his hand into a pocket and reveal the edge of a packet. "Anyway… they're funny." With a smirk Magnussen exited the room and the security guards followed him out.
"Jesus!" John finally exploded. Emily widened her eyes, took in a deep breath and threw herself back down on the couch as she exhaled.
"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock asked, disturbingly calm after the fact.
"Wh… There was a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah." John gestured toward the fireplace, but Sherlock had started to smile and seemed to not realize what he was referring to.
"Exactly," Sherlock nodded distractedly. "When he showed us the letters."
John made a face. "Okay?"
"So he's brought the letters to London - so no matter what he says, he's ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weaknesses. The pressure point, he calls it." Sherlock retrieved his coat from where he'd hung it over the dining room chair and pulled an arm through. "So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat." Coat on all the way now, the detective glanced at the window and then spun around with a thrilled gesture towards it. "And, of course, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten."
"How… How do you know his schedule?" John questioned.
"Because he's the creepy stalker type?" offered Scottie, coming up to Sherlock's side.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and placed an entire hand over Scottie's face as a means of shushing him. "Because I do. Right. I'll... Did you just lick me?!" the detective gasped, jerking away. Sherlock frowned and took a step away as he wiped the palm of his hand off on the front of his jacket. "Why would…? No. Never mind. It doesn't matter. John, would you mind looking after the kids until tonight?" he asked, looking towards the other man again.
"I'm sorry?"
"I've got some shopping to do."
"That's nice. Don't see what it has to do with me sticking around here."
"Well you won't have to stay here. Take them for a walk or something. Get ice cream. I don't know." Sherlock passed John and started towards the stairs.
John pursed his lips. "Dare I ask what's tonight?" he called after Sherlock.
"I'll text instructions," Sherlock said, already starting downstairs.
"Yeah, I'll text you if I'm available."
"You are! I checked!"
John took a deep breath and turned towards Scottie and Emily. "Well we don't actually need a babysitter and haven't for quite a few years, actually," the girl started, "but I wouldn't necessarily say no to an ice cream party. Your treat?"
John shot her a look and then followed after Sherlock downstairs.
That evening Sherlock and John had taken off, leaving Scottie and Emily home alone once again. John had inevitably caved earlier that day and took them to an ice cream parlor, but that didn't stop Emily from helping herself to an unguarded carton of Ben and Jerry's now.
Sitting sideways so that her legs stuck up and hung over the top of Sherlock's armchair, Emily licked at her spoon distractedly. "You know what's depressing?"
"Sherlock could be getting shot at by Mary in this very moment and there's literally nothing we can do about it?" Scottie asked. He was currently lying sprawled out face-down in the middle of the floor.
"Well that too. But I was gonna suggest knowing that Gladstone's now dead again, what with the balance of the world resetting and everything."
Scottie lifted himself to his hands and knees at this and glared at Emily upside-down. "In what sick universe did you think that comment was okay?"
"I did say that it was depressing," the girl shrugged.
Scottie sat up the rest of the way and spun around to face her properly. "Has anyone ever told you you have a terrible tactic for dealing with other people's pain? I.e. when someone stubs their toe, stomping on their other foot doesn't, in fact, take away from the pain of the first injury. Now they just have two feet that are hurting."
"Okay but I did that one time-"
"False! You do that all the time!"
"Should I have called a tow truck instead?"
The flat went quiet for a moment and then Emily chuckled at her own bad pun.
"I will punch you in the boob," threatened Scottie.
"See? I have effectively redirected your depressing worrying into general annoyance towards me. Mission accomplished." Emily stuck the spoon back in her mouth in order to close the now empty ice cream carton and then set both down on the floor past her head.
"You're a shit."
"I'm your favorite shit."
Scottie let out a low moan and flopped backwards, now staring up at the ceiling. "Fine. Your way. Keep distracting me."
"With what…?"
"I don't know, anything. How we first met."
Emily rolled around in Sherlock's armchair so that she was now sideways in it rather than upside-down. "Online or in person?" she asked.
"Do you even remember us meeting online?"
"Vaguely," Emily shrugged. "Not specifics, I mean. It was summer. I was going into my sophomore year. We were playing that Death Note themed version of Mafia on Neopets. I'd say we've come a long way, if you ask me."
Scottie snorted. "Yeah. We went from nerds dreaming about fictional worlds to nerds living in one."
"I'm glad And Another Note has stayed together this long. Even though we're… hardly online with them while here."
"Remember when you hit me in the face with a pillow?" Scottie smiled, closing his eyes.
Emily tilted her head. "Which time?"
"All those years ago, in that shitty hotel. We never did figure out how we ended up there in the first place, did we?"
"I… No, I guess not. I don't think Blaise had anything to do with that one, so… the case remains unsolved. Unfortunately. Didn't your laptop used to have that weird Supernatural-looking thing carved into it?"
Scottie nodded. "Used to. It disappeared when we went back."
"Hm." Emily clicked her tongue in her mouth and then the room went quiet. The girl glanced over towards Scottie and then turned away again. "I'm glad things turned out the way they did," she finally muttered. "We've been through so much together and… Well, if someone approached me just a few years before and said I was about to embark on this crazy action-packed adventure with my future platonic soul mate I probably would've called them crazy. But… here we are."
"Mm. We were just kids back then, weren't we?"
"Mm-hm. We were fifteen when we first met. And then sixteen when we came here."
"And now we're both nineteen! And on the verge on twenty, too! Oh my God, we were such babies! And we thought we were all grown up and mature at the time!"
Emily straightened and spun into the chair the normal way now. "H-Hang on!" she exclaimed. "We were sixteen when we first appeared in London, right?"
"Yes?"
"But then we realized that we'd skipped from the summer to like January or something, which was why when it was September we said we were actually turning eighteen."
"Okay…?"
"But then when Blaise and the Doctor took us back home it was just where we left off and we were suddenly sixteen again. Theoretically. I mean, we don't look any different, so who can say?"
Scottie sighed. "Is there a point to this train of thought or…"
"Shush. I'm getting there. So we've been acting like we were sixteen and then turned seventeen and eighteen normally, then we once again skipped over a couple of months and hopped into London again in November, so we just started saying we were nineteen, but… Suppose we didn't actually relive any of those years and so technically we're actually both closer to twenty-one by this point! Give or take a year! OR" - Emily gasped - "maybe we were wrong about jumping ahead and skipping birthdays and we had actually gone back in time and-"
"In conclusion: time travel's fucking weird. Can't we just leave it at that?"
"Well you're no fun," pouted Emily.
"And you don't look in your mid-twenties. And you're definitely not still sixteen or whatever."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"How could that be interpreted as…? God you're weird. Okay new topic: where do you see yourself in, say, five years?"
"Is this in five years supposing we look twenty-five or thirty?"
"...Emily."
"It's a legit question okay! It makes a difference!"
"Emily."
"Geez. Okay. Um. Here, I guess?" Emily shrugged, sinking back into the chair. "It's a lot better knowing that the 'real world' is still on the back burner somewhere and I could, theoretically, get back there eventually and know nothing will have changed since I left. In five years though…" The girl sucked in a breath of air and exhaled slowly. "Yeah, here," she shrugged again. I used to be set on art school - even got accepted to a couple back home - but… I suppose being an assistant consulting detective as just as good. I'm not making anything, obviously, but I suppose in the long run I wouldn't have students loans and between Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson I almost never have to worry about doing my own grocery shopping or laundry."
"Fuck college!" Scottie exclaimed so loudly and so suddenly that Emily jerked upright in her seat. "You can have the best of both worlds. Like, John's an employed doctor and still spent all of his time dicking around with Sherlock on cases. You should apply for an internship at an animation studio around here. I've seen your work; it's quite good, if my opinion counts for anything."
Emily blushed a little at this. "Damn straight."
"Gotta work on your humility though, hun. It's unbecoming."
"Okay, what about you, then? Where do you see yourself in five years? Still in the cupboard under Sherlock's stairs?"
Scottie frowned. "Okay, first off: hardy-har-har I saw where you were trying to go with that and it wasn't even close to funny you prick. Secondly, I don't think that-"
"Oh hang on, I'm buzzing!" Emily interrupted and pulled her iPhone out from a back pocket. "Something happened. Sherlock's in the the hospital. Will keep you posted, JW" she read.
"Ask him the address!" Scottie let out as he scrambled to his feet.
Emily glanced up at him. "If he's going into surgery now they're not gonna let us see him. He doesn't wake up until tomorrow morning, remember?"
"I don't care. We're going to be there for him. Hurry up and ask the address," urged Scottie. "Letting out a sigh, Emily starting tapping away at the phone's keypad. "Are you doing it?" the boy pressed."
"Yes." Emily sounded vaguely annoyed.
"Have you done it?"
The girl paused to squint up at her friend.
"I spew references when I'm stressed," huffed Scottie, "sue me."
Emily finished typing out the message and sent it. It buzzed again a couple moments later, but this time Emily answered without notifying Scottie first. The phone then buzzed once more and she said "It's by Cardiff University. John doesn't know how long until they'll let us see him but we're welcome to join him overnight in the waiting room, which is kind of not something I'm down for-"
"We're doing it."
"-okay so I guess that's happening. Oh, and apparently John wants us to pick up take-out on our way."
Scottie folded his arms. "Doesn't he have a wife or some shit for that stuff?"
"Yeah, but considering she's the one who shot Sherlock in the first place…"
"He doesn't know that."
Emily shook her head and stood up. "Whatever. I'm feeling Speedy's tonight. Do you happen to remember where I set my card down last?"
It was a long night that involved very little sleep, if any at all. John and the kids weren't allowed into Sherlock's room until it was well into the wee hours of the morning, and even then Sherlock showed very few signs of consciousness.
"This is all eerily familiar," Scottie whispered to Emily as he looked on at Sherlock lying in a hospital bed across the room, shirtless and hooked up to a machine. "When it was you lying in that bed, and Sherlock, John, and I were up all night panicking."
"Oh yeah. I guess last night you'll be the only one who hasn't gotten shot yet." Emily lifted a leg up and pulled the bottom of her jeans as much as they would go up her calf, so that the edge of her scar could be seen. Holding onto the end of the bed for support, she felt an index finger over the scar and then brought her jeans down again.
Scottie had a seat in a nearby chair. "Let's try and keep it that way, shall we?"
"Aw come on, all the cool kids are doing it! Hey John, could Scottie and I borrow your gun eventually?"
John shot the girl a puzzled and vaguely concerned look.
"She's kidding," Scottie assured the older man.
"Only a little bit."
John sat down next to Scottie and patted the third and as of yet unoccupied chair next to his. "Sit down and try to keep quiet," he instructed, his voice low. Emily exhaled and did as she was told.
After silently twiddling her thumbs for a couple moments Emily leaned forward and looked over at Scottie on John's other side. "We need matching scars to complete the blood ritual," she said grimly.
Scottie tensed up at this. "Get your devil magic away from me," he hissed back.
Emily began chanting: "One of us. One of us. One of us."
"Emily, stop harassing your not-brother," John sighed wearily. "She's not going to shoot you, okay?"
"THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK."
Time passed. Scottie and Emily had just started to doze off again on John's shoulders, respectively, when Sherlock's breathing increased and he softly whispered "Mary."
John popped up out of the chair, knocking Scottie and Emily off-balance and causing them to bump heads in the process. They each jerked upright at this, now completely awake again. "Oh thank God," John exhaled as he came to Sherlock's side. The detective blinked ever so slowly and then seemed to drift back to into unconsciousness.
Emily scrubbed her hands over her face, shook her head, and came up behind John, who had just checked his phone. "That's Mary," he mumbled. Putting the device back into his back pocket, John spun Emily around by her shoulders and gave her a little push towards her seat. "Wait here. Keep the noise level down. Don't bother Sherlock; I'll be back."
With that the doctor disappeared outside of the room, leaving the both of them alone with Sherlock. It was only a matter of minutes before the door creaked open, and they expected to be Mary, but as it would turn out it was just a nurse stepping in to check up on Sherlock's vitals. She smiled and nodded at Scottie and Emily, who awkwardly waved back, and then she left the room again with a satisfied hum. Shortly after the door swung open yet again, and this time it was Mary, who stopped as soon as she noticed that Sherlock wasn't alone.
"Don't bother," Scottie told the woman bitterly. "He knows."
"I'm… sorry?"
"Look, we're not going to tell John either, okay? But you should probably go. After what you've put him through, the last thing Sherlock needs is you threatening him."
Mary's mouth hung slightly ajar for a moment and then she swallowed. "Whatever you think you know…" she started stiffly.
"I'm serious. Go."
"Scottie!" Emily hissed and smacked the boy's side with the back of her hand.
Mary hesitated in the doorway for a moment before taking another couple steps towards Sherlock. Scottie sprung to his feet and came forward, making her stop again and turn. "This doesn't have anything to do with you," Mary said sternly.
"Like hell it doesn't."
"Scottie, please," Emily begged. She hovered a foot or so behind the boy, looking like she wanted to pull him back but hadn't quite decided if she was going to be that bold yet. Nearby Sherlock opened his eyes painfully and watched what was going on, but his vision was still blurred and he seemed to be looking past them.
"Not a word, you hear?" Mary whispered. She looked like she was trying to loom over the boy, but it wasn't working so well because for once he was actually taller than one of the main characters, even if not by much.
Scottie narrowed his eyes. "That's what I said."
Although reluctant, Mary did leave the room. As soon as the door had clicked shut Scottie exhaled dramatically and threw his head back.
"The hell was that about?" Emily demanded, folding her arms. "I happen to like Mary, and I know that you do, too."
"Doesn't change the fact that she shot Sherlock last night," Scottie pointed out. "In any case, as long as I'm here I intend on sheltering Sherlock from anyone who's just come to harass him."
"Why? Because that's your job?"
"Funny."
"That's what they tell me."
Scottie folded his arms and looked away for a moment. "Magnussen may or may not stop by at some point today," Scottie met her eyes again. He had dropped his voice to a near whisper on the off chance that Sherlock was listening in and capable of comprehending the conversation. "It was in an outtake so I'm not sure, but I'm not going to leave Sherlock's side and let that happen. It was… incredibly unnerving in a very rapist sort of way."
Emily let her gaze fall on Sherlock. "Fine. That's… fair enough, I suppose." Suddenly there was a buzzing from the girl's pocket accompanied by the muffled theme to Gravity Falls. "Oh shit," he breathed, "I forgot to check in with Stephen. He wanted to take me to… some event thing today, I don't know. I have to take this. Hey!" Emily smiled and held the phone up to her ear as she left the room.
As soon as she was gone the ceiling fan suddenly seemed much louder in the otherwise quiet room. Scottie took a deep breath and made his way back to his chair, which he first pulled a little closer to Sherlock's bedside and then had a seat in. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine," he promised the consulting detective.
In the days to come Emily and John were in and out of the hospital, but Scottie remained adamantly by Sherlock's side through his recovery. Emily continued to prod and tease Scottie about the prospect of shooting him as soon as the current ordeal was over with, which he mostly responded to with panicked squeaks and more than once she had caught him looking up information regarding bullet wounds in various areas. He figured she wasn't actually serious about the whole thing, but on the off chance…
Meanwhile Sherlock spent a lot of his time sleeping and had apparently gotten used to the idea of Scottie sticking around. It was difficult to tell whether or not he appreciated their company, but that was hardly ever not the case with Sherlock.
"I'm Sherlock bleeding Holmes!" Scottie exclaimed the thickest British accent he could manage. "Just look at my magnifying glass - it's enormous!"
"My magnifying glass isn't enormous," Sherlock frowned.
Emily smiled sympathetically and put a hand on the man's forearm. "Oh, I know, hun. But there's a time and place for modesty."
Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it a couple times before finally sighing defeatedly. "Should've figured that was an innuendo," the detective mumbled.
The door clicked open and in came Janine, her hands full with a stack of folded newspapers. "Oh, um, should we… give you two a minute?" Emily asked awkwardly.
"You're fine, sweetie," the woman purred. She pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down in it, holding the stack of papers out for Sherlock to see. Sherlock read each of the headlines silently as she flipped through them, for a couple moments dropping each as she finished with it. Janine smiled and slapped down the last newspaper. "I'm buying a cottage," she announced. "I made a lot of money out of you, mister." Sherlock reached out and took one of the papers. "Nothing hits the spot like revenge for profits," she went on.
"You didn't give these stories to Magnussen, did you?" Sherlock asked.
"God, no! One of his rivals. He was spittin'!"
Sherlock grunted and smiled a little.
Janine met the man's eyes. Her voice was much harsher now as she said "Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard."
"Um. Really, we can go." Emily gestured to the door.
"Shhh no we can't, we're physically glued to this spot," Scottie countered.
Sherlock pressed a button on the remote to his bed, making it come forward so that he was sitting more upright than before. "And you, as it turns out, are a grasping, opportunistic, public-hungry tabloid whore."
"So we're good, then!" Janine let out cheerily.
"Yeah, of course. Where's the cottage?"
"Sussex Downs."
"Hm, nice."
"It's gorgeous," sighed Janine. "There's beehives, but I'm getting rid of those."
"Aw wait, this means you won't be around anymore," Emily realized.
Janine shrugged. "Well. No, I don't think that would be quite appropriate."
"Man. I was looking forward to helping cook for that couples dinner…"
"There's no way in hell they were going to let you help anyway," Scottie rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come on! My cooking isn't terrible!"
"No, but you're accident-prone. Last time you tried to bake Mrs. Hudson was scraping egg yolk off the ceiling. And then there was the time you burnt a pot of water…"
Emily fold her arms. "Okay, first off, that could've happened to anyone."
"You temporarily broke physics. I didn't know it was physically possible to fuck up that badly."
Sherlock, who had been apparently trying to prop himself up further, winced in pain. "Aw, hurts, doesn't it?" commented Janine. "Probably wanna restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps."
"How much more revenge are you gonna need?"
"Just the occasional top-up."
"I thought you were guarding that?" questioned Emily.
Scottie shrugged. "So did I. She's good."
"Dream come true for you, this place," Janine went on. "They actually attach the drugs to you!"
"Not good for working," Sherlock mumbled.
"You won't be working for a while, Sherl. You lied to me. You lied and lied."
Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. "I exploited the fact of our connection."
"When!"
"Hm?"
"Just once would have been nice."
"Oh." Sherlock hesitated. "I was waiting until we got married."
"That was never gonna happen!" Janine huffed. She stood up then and muttered "Got to go." Coming closer, the woman bent forward and planted a kiss on Sherlock's forehead and wiped away the lipstick mark resulting from it with a thumb. Janine retrieved her handbag then. "I'm not supposed to keep you talking. And also I have an interview with The One Show and I haven't made it up yet. You two stay out of trouble now, you hear?" she added to Scottie and Emily as if an after thought on her way to the door.
"I swear to God, why does everyone feel the need to tell us that?" Scottie huffed.
"Just one thing," Janine said as she stopped at the end of the room. Sherlock glanced up at her. "You shouldn't have lied to me. I know what kind of man you are… but we could have been friends. I'll give your love to John and Mary." Smiling, Janine left the room and let the door shut behind herself.
Sherlock sank back in his bed and let his eyes flutter shut again. "I imagine you two are starting to feel cooped up in here," he said softly.
"Nonsense," insisted Scottie. "It's a privilege to enjoy your company 24/7."
"You mean finally you have me as your captive audience?"
"I think you meant to say captiVATED."
Sherlock snorted a little at this but didn't respond.
Emily was leaning against the wall and frowning down at her phone. "Speaking of, Stephen wants to cook me dinner tonight."
"Congratulations?" Scottie said, making a face and bringing his shoulders up. "Hey, why hasn't he come in at all to visit Sherlock? Or, more specifically, you."
"Oh, he definitely offered after his shift. More than once. But I thought it might be weird so I told him not to bother."
"Weird for us or weird for you?" Scottie asked.
Emily shrugged and looked down at the floor. "Both, I guess. Solving cases, getting into tight binds and near-death scenarios… That isn't his scene. But he respects it. I think."
The day went on and eventually evening came. The door swung open and John and Lestrade came into the room and then stopped again, glancing from the empty hospital bed to the opened window and realizing that a certain someone had apparently fled the scene.
"Oh, Jesus," John exhaled. "Where did he go?" the man asked Scottie and Emily accusingly, who exchanged panicked looks and then turned back to John with a shrug. "You don't… Well, what were you thinking, letting him leave!"
"Uhhh we weren't here when it happened?" Scottie tried with a desperate smile.
"We went to the bathroom," Emily agreed quickly.
Lestrade made a face. "Both of you?"
"Buddy system...?"
"I'm going to have to cancel on Stephen," Emily realized.
Scottie looked over at her accusingly. "You mean you haven't already? Isn't that kind of pushing it?"
"He knew who shot him," John was saying as he paced across the living room. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were in the kitchen and Emily and Scottie had taken up Sherlock and John's armchairs. John stopped and looked towards the others, jabbing a finger at his own chest. "The bullet wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was."
"So why not tell us?" Lestrade asked, coming into the room. John exhaled and looked out the window. "Because he's tracking them down himself," the DI realized.
"Or protecting them," John said, turning back.
"Protecting the shooter? Why?"
"Well, protecting someone, then. But why would he care? He's Sherlock. Who would he bother protecting?"
Scottie strummed his fingers along the arm of Sherlock's chair thoughtfully. "The plot thickens."
John came up to his armchair, saw that Emily was already in it, and muttered "move". Emily glanced up at the man and then got out of the way, expressionless. John took up the seat she had vacated only to realize too late that she had planned on relocating to his lap all along. John made a sort of confused face then, but it was unclear as to whether this was in response to Emily sitting on him or that he had only just realized his chair had made it back into the flat somehow, perhaps of its own accord?
"Call me if you hear anything," Lestrade sighed. "Don't hold out on me, John. Call me, okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, alright."
"Good night then," the detective inspector said, looking at Mrs. Hudson. With that Lestrade took his leave. The landlady followed after him.
"Bye then," the woman said softly.
The phone in Emily's back pocket had started vibrating and John stiffed. "Please answer that or get off," he said flatly.
"They're texts," the girl corrected, glancing over at him as much as she could from over her shoulder.
"Who's texting you so much?"
"That would be the bae," Scottie yawned. "Probably pissed after he made her a romantic candlelit dinner and she just bailed on him."
"I didn't say it would be candlelit," Emily tried to defend herself.
Scottie leaned forward in his seat, propping his elbows up over his knees. "Last time you went over there he put out fucking rose petals. Rose petals, Emily. The poor bastard's in love with you."
Emily looked both surprised and alarmed by this. "He is not!" she insisted. And then, a little more hopeful than anything else: "Do you really think?"
"John? Need a cuppa?" Mrs. Hudson offered, going back to the kitchen.
"Mrs. Hudson…" John cleared his throat and lifted his head somewhat. "Wh-Why does Sherlock think that I'll be moving back in here?"
So he had noticed. "Oh, yes, he's put your chair back again, hasn't he?" the landlady commented.
"Huh."
"That's nice! Looks much better." Mrs. Hudson came in with the kettle. She noticed that he was now frowning at the perfume bottle sitting on the end table next to him. "John, what's wrong? Tell me. John?"
John looked away and a phone started to buzz again. "Emily-" John started.
"That one wasn't me!"
"That's your phone, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Hudson. She hurried across the living room to retrieve the phone from the dining table. "It's Sherlock, John. It's Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson held the phone out to him but John looked away. "John! You have to answer it!"
When John refused to do so and instead kept his gaze fixed on the perfume bottle. Sighing, Emily took the phone and answered it. "Papa John's, may I take your order?"
John snapped his neck around at this and Scottie snickered.
TO BE CONTINUED...
