Here we have the conclusion (mostly) to the drama from the previous chapter. Those of you who are enjoying the Mythea part of this fic...well, you've been waiting for this chapter. :) There will also be a little Molly and Sherlock in this though, so no worries if you're wanting to get back to some of that. This is a long one, but there was little I could do. I couldn't chop it up any more! See you in 6k more words! ;)
Sherlock approached one of the stable hands who was trying to calm Anthea's spooked mare. Her eyes looked wild and Sherlock slowed as he got closer, holding a hand out behind him to indicate that John should stay put.
"Are our horses ready to ride out?" Sherlock asked as he proceeded very slowly forward.
"They are, sir. Sorry, we still haven't calmed her much. Poor thing is awfully frightened," the man said as he smoothed his hand down the side of her neck. The horse was barely tolerating his touches though.
"I understand. But I am going to need to see her hoof. Could you try to lift it for me so I can take a look?"
The man nodded and another one of the stable hands continued to speak soothingly to the animal as the first man very gently reached down and lifted the horse's leg. Sherlock came around behind the man and looked in the hoof. He reached in to pick out some of the dirt that was packed tightly in. Sherlock felt the compact dirt between his fingers and then brushed it off onto the ground.
"Thank you, nicely done," he said to the stable hand. "Bring our horses out now, please. Quickly!"
John followed after Sherlock as he walked out of the stable. "What did you find?"
"Moist dark dirt. She was over a mile out at least. That sort of dirt is not from the fields that are close by. My best guess would be straight out that way." He pointed an arm directly out toward the front of the estate.
"How do you know she's still there?"
"I don't. But she was there, and that's enough to go on for now. Go and speak to the rest of the men, Watson. Tell them to spread out in every direction and to cover at least two miles' distance before coming back. Check ditches, brush, and any water."
"What about the ocean?" John asked.
Sherlock's expression turned grim. "It is only worth their time to search the beach. Beyond that is pointless. There are some places even we cannot find a person."
John nodded with a fearful expression and ran over to the group that was ready to ride out. As he did, the two men's horses were brought over. Sherlock mounted his horse and was handed a lantern by a servant. John came back over to mount his own horse and he told Sherlock that everyone had been given instructions.
"Right. Let's go." Sherlock coaxed his horse to move forward, and he quickly increased speed, knowing that the immediate fields were not the most productive search area. They needed to get some distance.
John followed Sherlock with the little light that they had to work with. It was almost impossible to see anything. They both knew they would have to slow down considerably when it was time to actually search.
Sherlock began to pass the area of dry open fields and enter the greener areas with patches of trees and brush. He slowed his horse and held the lantern out as he and John trotted along, looking into some of the dips in the ground, and brush. They didn't speak much, hoping to pick up on any sort of small noise.
"We're close to a roadway, Watson. Keep an eye out. It's possible she could have been on the road, or trying to get there."
"Do you think it's possible she was...trying to disappear?" John asked as he pulled his horse up next to Sherlock's
"It is remotely possible. Though she took nothing with her. There's also the state of her horse. The circumstances of horse and rider being parted must have been unpleasant enough to spook the animal. I am not sure Anthea's climbing aboard a carriage would have been enough to do that."
"God, I can't imagine what happened."
"Unfortunately I can imagine all sorts of things...but it isn't productive to speculate till we have evidence."
Sherlock came up to where the road was. The ground dipped on either side of the road, creating a trench. As they got closer, Sherlock held the light up again and saw a shadow in the lower area of ground.
"Watson-" he began.
"I see it too," John answered instantly.
They both trotted over quickly and dismounted, running over to investigate. It was difficult to see at first. The fabric was dark, not easily distinguishable from the color of the earth. But as Sherlock approached, his hopes and fears were confirmed. That was a woman lying in the dirt.
John was the one who charged forward more quickly. Sherlock made way for him, holding the lantern up. John crouched down and turned the body gently over. This revealed the grim sight of Anthea's still face. Even Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat. There was some dirt on her face from the ground, but he could also make out bruising and blood, even in the dim light.
"Dear Lord," John breathed out and looked up at Sherlock in horror.
"Is she..." Sherlock began, but found he couldn't even finish the question.
John leaned down closer to Anthea's face and Sherlock saw him press his fingers against her neck. His face shot up and he sighed a little, looking a bit relieved. "She's alive."
Sherlock nodded, releasing the breath he'd been holding in fear as well.
"Let's get her back to the house as quickly as possible. Let me just make sure she doesn't have any serious injuries that would make it more difficult to move her." John began to look her over more carefully.
Sherlock and John both noticed the same things as he did this. Her hair had been pulled down from its pins, there were bruises on her wrists, marks on her neck, and some damage to her gown.
John felt her neck and limbs and finally looked back up at Sherlock. "I believe we can move her safely."
As John began to shift her body for easier lifting, Sherlock examined the ground around the area. He saw footprints in the soft dirt. His eyes darted around trying to get a good picture of who had been here besides them. He concluded there were at least two other men, probably about John's size. They had horses as well, judging by the evidence of the additional hoof marks. He knelt down, seeing something shine a bit. When he picked the item up, it was a single link from the chain of some piece of jewelry.
Sherlock knelt down where John was with Anthea and looked at her neck more closely.
"What is it?" John asked
"Those marks on her neck...I think they were made from whatever necklace she was wearing being ripped off."
"My God," John shook his head. "So this must have been some sort of robbery. Do you think she resisted them? They took the trouble of hurting her rather badly in the process."
"She must have fought them to some degree. Whether she fought first, we cannot say. But they certainly were violent." Sherlock reached down and gestured specifically to the skirt of Anthea's gown which was ripped halfway up the leg, in more than one place.
John looked angry as well as afraid. "I need to get her back to the house, and then I can examine her properly. Hopefully she'll wake soon and she can tell us if she has any idea who did this to her."
Sherlock got a sudden distant look in his eyes. "Watson, I have an idea. I know what she needs right now. She doesn't just need a doctor...she needs another woman."
"You're right, she will. I imagine she won't want Miss Adler's presence at the moment. Perhaps Miss Morstan could-"
"No, I have a better idea." Sherlock said no more, but effortlessly leaned in to scoop Anthea off the ground and walk her over to John's horse. "Get on. I'll help you get her up there with you."
John mounted his horse and they positioned Anthea in front of John with some difficulty. "I've got her...what's your idea?"
"Anthea needs a medically knowledgable woman's presence. I'm going to get Miss Hooper." Sherlock settled on his own horse and turned him in a different direction from John. "You take her carefully back to the house, I'll meet you back there as soon as I can."
John barely had time to agree to this plan before Sherlock took off almost immediately at a gallop. John moved a bit slower for the sake of balance, but began to steadily make his way back the way they had come.
Sherlock leaped off of his horse and ran to Molly's door. He pounded on the door continually, breathing hard, adrenalin still pumping through his veins. Finally he heard footsteps approaching. Mrs. Hart opened the door, looking up at him in shock.
"Mr. Holmes! It is very late indeed. Is something the matter?" she asked.
"Yes, something is. I need to see-"
"Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock looked past the older woman and saw Molly coming slowly down the stairs. Her hair was down and she was pulling it aside with one hand as she pulled her shawl around her shoulders with the other.
"What's wrong?" she asked, looking alarmed as she got a better glimpse of his face.
"I need you to come with me immediately. Anthea has been injured, and I think she could do with your assistance," he said, looking down at her with wide and fearful eyes as she came closer.
"Anthea? What happened?" Molly asked.
"I can explain more, but I'd like to leave right away. Will you come?"
Molly nodded. "Of course, yes, I'll leave now. Mrs. Hart, get some sleep, don't wait for me." She took her shawl and shoved it into Mrs. Hart's waiting hands.
"Be careful, Miss," the housekeeper admonished.
As Molly hurried out the door with Sherlock, he turned and said to Mrs. Hart. "Be sure to bolt the doors and windows."
"Forgive me, I have only my horse." Sherlock mounted as he spoke and then reached a hand down to help Molly up. She stepped up and sat in front of him, both legs draped over one side of the horse.
"It's fine. I just want to help, I don't mind."
Sherlock took off as fast as he could, given Molly's added presence and position on the horse. As they rode quickly, he explained what had happened thus far, as best he could. By the time they'd reached Seaborne, Molly knew the general circumstances and what sort of state Anthea was in. At that point, her heart rate matched Sherlock's and she was even more terrified than he was.
The two of them rushed through the front door, and for once, neither acknowledged the barking Redbeard who followed at their heels. They both flew up the stairs.
The first thing Sherlock saw was Mycroft leaning against the wall outside Anthea's room. He had his hand over his eyes and his jacket had been discarded on the floor beside his feet. As Sherlock and Molly approached, he looked up and Sherlock was sure he saw red rims around his brother's eyes.
"Is Watson in there with her?" Sherlock asked.
"He is. I saw her, just briefly. She's still...she wasn't...awake yet." Mycroft looked exhausted. "Dr. Watson advised me to wait outside for now."
Molly placed a hand on Mycroft's arm. "I'll take good care of her," she said with a comforting smile. She instantly fell into the role of a caretaker, doing exactly what Sherlock knew she would. She quickly slipped past both men and went into the room, closing the door behind her.
There was silence between the two brothers once they were left alone. Sherlock removed his own jacket, laying it across the railing nearby. He leaned against the wall a little distance away, letting his head rest against the hard surface.
"Thank you." The low spoken words made Sherlock turn briefly again.
Mycroft didn't look at him, but Sherlock didn't need to see his brother's face to detect the sincerity. The tone was one that was rarely heard, from either of them, and it did not go unnoticed by Sherlock. He knew his brother was grateful beyond the expression of words.
"You are welcome," Sherlock answered in a whisper.
Silence settled in again, and very soon both men gave in to fatigue, sinking down to sit on the floor, no longer trusting their own legs.
John opened the door and both men jumped up from where they sat.
"How is she?" Mycroft demanded, before John had even shut the door.
"She is all right. She is almost fully awake now. We've got her cleaned up and into her night clothes. Miss Hooper is still speaking with her right now." John looked nervous despite the fact that he hadn't reported anything terrible.
"What is it? Is there something else?" Mycroft asked more forcefully.
"She is all right," John repeated. "It seems her injuries were relatively minor. Some bruises and scrapes, but no broken bones or serious injuries. No...other sort of violence."
Mycroft let out a shaky sigh. He was so terrified at the possibility of what could have been done to his wife. "Are you sure?" he asked desperately.
"I am," John said with a small smile. "She was harmed in no way beyond what I described. You have my word...though there is another matter which I believe I should speak to you about."
"What sort of matter?" Mycroft asked, his expression becoming one of worry again.
"It is a...personal matter," John said cautiously. "Would you prefer that your brother leave?"
Surprisingly to Sherlock, Mycroft said, "You may speak freely in front of Sherlock."
John nodded and glanced at Sherlock briefly before looking back at Mycroft. "What I have to tell you is not directly related to your wife's injuries. In fact, if the circumstances were different, I should be quite pleased to be having this conversation...Mrs. Holmes is with child."
Mycroft's jaw fell and he stared at John wide eyed for a moment. He placed his hands on his hips for a moment and took a couple of breaths, pressing his eyes closed. He finally looked back at John and spoke in an only partially controlled voice. "And the child is...unharmed?"
John nodded slowly. "At present, it seems so. But I think I should warn you that there is the possibility of loss in a case such as this. She was handled very roughly indeed. I am sorry to say that one of the first things she experienced was being forcibly pulled down from her mare, landing on the ground."
Mycroft pressed a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes again, cut deeply to hear the details of what Anthea had suffered. "You believe she will lose the child?" he asked quietly.
"It is not clear one way or another. There is no evidence of miscarriage right now, but I also cannot promise there will be none. She has experienced physical trauma, and that is no small thing. I just wanted you to be aware. One way or another...your lives will take quite a turn."
Sherlock stepped forward, taking the opportunity to speak. "Did she tell you who did this?"
"Unfortunately, she said she didn't see their faces clearly. She didn't recognize either of their voices, but she thought they seemed to know who she was."
"I'll need to speak to her," Sherlock said right away.
"No, you won't," John stopped him short. "I want her to do nothing but rest for tonight. You can speak to her in the morning when she's had some sleep."
"I'd like to see her now," Mycroft tried.
John looked a little uncomfortable as he answered. "I'm sorry to tell you that she has specifically said that she will not see you. She also refuses to see Miss Adler."
"I would venture to say my theory behind her unplanned excursion this afternoon has now been proven," Sherlock said ruefully. He looked at his brother and spoke again. "I will speak to her, Mycroft. I'll explain."
Mycroft looked only marginally comforted.
John put a hand on Mycroft's arm. "Let me give you something to help you sleep. You need rest as well. You'll be no good to your wife if you can barely stand up."
Mycroft walked off with John, looking as if he was also barely able to put one foot in front of the other. John escorted him into his own room, leaving Sherlock alone in the hallway. He stayed there though, waiting...
Not too much later, Molly came out holding a basin of dirty looking wash water and a rag. Her eyes looked tired when they met Sherlock's, and she even looked like she may have been crying.
Sherlock stepped forward as Molly closed the door behind her. "Is everything all right?"
Molly nodded. "I feel she will be fine, but it is awfully difficult to see her suffer right now. Mr. Holmes, I know this is none of my affair, and you can certainly tell me I'm rude to ask but...why was Mrs. Holmes so upset at the idea of seeing either Lord Holmes or Miss Adler?"
"It is a long and complicated tale to tell, but the general idea is that Mrs. Holmes was a bit hasty to judge a conversation she overheard earlier today. At least, that is my current theory. I will speak to her tomorrow and clear up any misunderstanding, in addition to questioning her in the hopes that I can get what is needed to find these criminals." Sherlock ran a hand over his eyes, suddenly beginning to feel the effects of the long night.
"Have you any ideas about who could have done such a thing? I cannot ever recall something so awful happening around here. It seems more likely to be someone passing through on the main road that she happened upon. Perhaps they have no connection to the town or anyone in it."
"Perhaps. Either way, I hope to find them. And I am sure my brother will expect no less. He'll be seeing red till they're caught and brought to justice."
There was an awkward silence as he finished speaking and Molly finally smiled and looked at the basin she was continuing to balance in her arms.
"Well, I'd better get this taken care of."
"You needn't do that. Just set it there, by the door. I'll have a servant fetch it."
Molly set the basin down and stood again. "Thank you. I suppose I should be going now. Perhaps I'll be able to get a bit of rest before the sun comes up."
Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Why don't you come downstairs and I'll call for the carriage to take you home."
Not long after, when Molly was ready to leave in the Holmes carriage, Sherlock stood with her at the door and prepared to say goodnight. It was becoming more and more unpleasant to say goodbye to her. Every time he said it, it felt a bit weightier, and more final. He felt like he lost a little bit more of her every time they parted. No matter what he'd decided was for the best, it still hurt.
"You did us a great service tonight, Miss Hooper. We are all very grateful," he said softly.
Molly smiled up at him. "It was not very long ago that you stayed by my side on one of the most trying nights of my life. How could I do any less for you and your family? I am only glad that I could do something to help. I do hope she will recover quickly. And please do not hesitate to call for me again if she needs...any other sort of assistance." Molly's expression fell a bit, knowing that if she was needed again, it could be for rather sad reasons.
"I will surely call for you if she is in need of any more care. Good night, Miss Hooper." His eyes lingered on hers for a moment, but he pulled them away as quickly as he could. The disconnection of their eyes seemed to allow Molly to finally turn and open the door.
"Good night, Mr. Holmes." She smiled at him one more time, and disappeared behind the door.
Sherlock hurried upstairs immediately. He knew he needed a bit of rest if he was to begin more work tomorrow. His brother still needed him very much...and he very much needed the distraction.
"Thank you, Miss Adler," Sherlock said as they walked back inside after having a stroll outside. "This will surely help. I just wanted to be sure I had absolutely all the available details."
"I am glad you understand that I wanted to help, Mr. Holmes. I feel that some in this house are looking at me as if I were the one who had beaten Anthea at the side of the road!"
"I think I know you a bit better than that." Sherlock gave her a sideways smile.
"Would you tell me after you've spoken to her? I should like to see her before I go. I hate to leave while she's still thinking the absolute worst of me. I have many faults, but seducing Lord Holmes is hardly one of them!" Irene made a grimace of disgust.
Sherlock let out a laugh at her expression. "That would be a fault indeed...and yes, I will tell you when I have adequately cleared you name. As much as I can clear it, that is. I am a detective, not a miracle worker."
Irene smacked his arm, making him laugh again.
"As for the younger Holmes though, I cannot say the same." She gave him a flirtatious smile. She went on as he turned to face her. "I am leaving today, but I do hope we will meet again soon. I meant what I said before. My door is always open. I hope you will visit when we are both back in London. Even a great detective can get lonely."
Sherlock pressed his lips together. She was right, he could get lonely. He had learned that especially clearly this summer. He could get lonely, and suffer loss, and want what he couldn't have. Irene, on the other hand...he could have. And yet, he knew he could never give in to her. It wasn't the same. It wasn't what he really wanted. He wasn't remaining a bachelor because he wanted to. It was because he refused to settle for anything less than the woman he loved.
"Forgive me, Miss Adler. You are my friend, but I feel the need to be perfectly frank in telling you...that we can never be more," he said softly.
Irene let out a slow sigh as she looked back at him. "Well, it was worth one more try, was it not? I do wish you happiness, Mr. Holmes."
"You as well, Miss Adler," he said with a fond smile.
After one more lingering glance from Irene, the two of them parted in the entry way, and Sherlock went upstairs to speak with his sister in law.
"Do you...believe me?" Sherlock asked, looking at her evenly.
Anthea swallowed and looked at her hands in her lap for a moment. She ran her fingers along the bruises on her wrists for a second, before looking back at Sherlock.
"I do, yes. In fact I feel a bit foolish now. Seems I did not consider all the evidence," she said sheepishly.
Sherlock shrugged. "Do not berate yourself. I am constantly surrounded by people who do not consider all the evidence...you are hardly the worst." He gave her a half smile.
Anthea smiled back at him. "Thank you...for everything. And I also hope that what little I remembered is enough to help you in your search."
"I need very little," he said proudly. "Leave it to me. I will do all I can."
As Sherlock got up to leave, Anthea added one more thing. "Um, could you do something for me? I was wondering if you would be kind enough to send Miss Adler up. I think I would like to see her now."
Sherlock smiled. "I thought you might. She will be glad to hear it. I'll send her along." He tipped his head briefly, and then left her room.
That evening, a very glum looking Mycroft sat in the drawing room with his mother, brother, and John.
"Honestly, Mycroft, if you poke at that fire one more time!" Lady Holmes groaned.
Mycroft set the metal poker down with a clang and sunk into a chair. Just as he'd sat down though, Mary came into the room. All their eyes shot over to her, but she looked back at only Mycroft.
"Somebody wants to see you," Mary said to her cousin, and smiled.
Mycroft was frozen for a moment before he stood slowly, making his way to the door. He was as relieved as he was terrified to make his way upstairs.
Mycroft knocked lightly on his wife's door and she called for him to enter. He looked at her nervously as he took a seat next to her bed. She looked a bit worse than she had the day before, which John had told him would be expected of the bruising for a while. But to him, she still looked like some sort of angel propped against the pillows of her bed.
Anthea played with some of the hair at the end of her braid, apparently drawing her own conclusions about the way he was looking at her. "I must look a fright." She laughed a little.
Mycroft shook his head. "No, not at all. How are you feeling?"
She shrugged. "I am sore, and awfully tired, but I suppose I could feel much worse. No...new symptoms today."
Mycroft's eyes widened a bit. "Really? No change is...good...is it not?"
Anthea smiled shyly. "It is a good sign, yes...I am sorry, Mycroft. I should have told you about the baby. I should have told you sooner. And now you were not able to leave for London on time. I am sorry for that as well. I was not thinking clearly. I rushed to judge, and I was wrong. I worried everyone, and could have gotten myself killed. I am so sorry." She looked down, pressing her lips together.
"Anthea," he began slowly. "Please include no more apologies in this conversation. I cannot bear it. I am the one who should be apologizing...for untold numbers of things."
Anthea sniffed and looked back at him, surprised at the emotion evident in his own eyes. "This is not your fault," she said sincerely.
Mycroft shook his head and chuckled ruefully. "Oh, Anthea, of course this is my fault. This never would have happened if I had been...if from the start I-" he had to stop to take a breath. It was difficult to be honest like this. He had been afraid of it, and how it would change things. But he knew it was long past time to overcome such things...and simply give in.
Anthea reached over and touched her fingers to his hand. He extended his arm slowly, and finally intertwined his fingers with hers. He looked at her smaller hand in his as he began talking again.
"Do you know what I thought when I first saw you? All I could think was that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I knew I was expected to marry, and that I should have done so before then. In my mind I was simply making another business deal, but it was hardly a business like decision when I singled you out. In truth, it was an indulgence to ask you. I tried to ignore my feelings at the time. I believed that I could marry you, and go on living my life, changing nothing. It scared me half to death when I realized that wasn't so simple."
Anthea held her breath as she listened to him talk and watched him stare at their clasped hands.
"I thought about you...constantly. When I was away from you and working, you were still in my head. I thought about when I would next see you, and hear your voice. I learned very quickly how strong the bond between husband and wife can be. But...I didn't think I wanted that. I believed it would be detrimental to my work. I felt I shouldn't be so easily distracted and compromised by sentiment. I concluded that the best policy was distance, both physical and emotional. So I...restricted myself. I did not seek out your company. I limited the time we spent alone together." At that moment, he raised his head and met her eye again. "But it never got easier."
Anthea took shaky breaths as she looked back at her husband and tried not to start crying.
"I counted the days and hours till I would allow myself to touch you again," he whispered and shook his head slowly. "And it was never enough. If I had been honest with myself, I was just as distracted by distancing us. Naturally, I was especially concerned about this summer with no work to occupy my mind and fill my time. You did not make things easier. You have been rather persistent haven't you?"
Anthea let out a shaky laugh as the corner of Mycroft's lip curled up. "I could not help it. I was far more compromised by sentiment that you." Her voice shook and a tear finally made its way out.
Mycroft shook his head. "No, my dear. I was as well. I was just fool enough to try and fight it. I didn't know how to give in. I was afraid to give in. But when I thought I might lose you...all I wanted was a chance to go back in time. I was afraid you might never know," he said sadly.
Anthea wiped tears away and squeezed his hand harder. "I know now," she whispered. "And you don't have to be afraid of anything. We have each other, no matter what else happens. That doesn't have to change. There will always be life, and your work, and a world of people, both bad and good, around us. But that doesn't mean that we can't have this. You can still have this. In fact it's already yours...you just have to take it."
Their eyes stayed locked together as Mycroft rose from the chair. He moved over and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Anthea sat up from off the pillows and leaned forward to meet the hug her husband initiated. She clung to him, breathing in his scent and pressing her face into his shoulder.
"Forgive me," he whispered into her hair. "I do not deserve what you give me."
Anthea moved away from his shoulder to press a kiss to his lips. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "Yes you do. I always believed you did, but tonight...you've finally proven me right." She smiled, making her eyes sparkle in the candle and moon lit room.
To her surprise, he leaned forward again, kissing her harder and with more passion than the kiss she'd just given him. Anthea sighed softly and wrapped her arms around his neck. But he pulled away a moment later, breathing rapidly.
"Forgive me, you are not well."
Anthea laughed. "I have never felt so well as I do right now, darling! Injuries and all!"
Mycroft smiled, but didn't kiss her again. He knew this wasn't the time. There would be plenty of other times. He felt a renewed warmth at the idea that they had the rest of their lives together. He reached his hand down and pressed it against her nightgown over the slight swell of her abdomen.
"How long?" he asked, moving his fingers slightly.
"Somewhere between two and three months. That is what I had believed, and Dr. Watson agreed. I am so very happy now, Mycroft. I was already happy, but I was afraid to share it with you. Now that I know you want this, you want us...I want us to have this baby more than ever." Anthea's lip began to quiver a little and she was reminded that this baby's life could still be hanging in the balance.
Mycroft could offer no words of wisdom. He knew that he could promise nothing. It was something that neither of them could control or change, no matter how much they wanted to.
"I know," he said softly, wiping the tears off her face. "I want that too."
Without another word, he kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket. He climbed onto the bed and reclined next to his wife, encircling her with his arms. She rested on his chest and cried a little. But after she'd calmed, Mycroft stayed. He stayed there holding her, and both eventually fell asleep. It was a deep and restful sleep. Because whatever had been, and whatever was to come...
They had this.
"I do hope they are able to set things right," Lady Holmes sighed as she tried to work at her needle point in the fading light.
"I think they will," Mary said with a smile at John.
Sherlock stared blankly into the fire, wondering how it was possible that the tables had so quickly turned. One moment, his brother seemed to care nothing for his own marriage and he himself had been on the brink of proposing to Miss Hooper. And the next, his brother cared for nothing but his wife, while Sherlock sat contemplating his long and very single life looming ahead...
They all turned at the sound of a knock on the door.
"For heaven's sake! Who could that be? It is near eight, and I am not sure I can handle one more shock!" Lady Holmes set her project down, looking a little flustered.
A minute later, the butler came in with a man who looked to be a servant, but was not one of their own.
"This is Mr. Danvers. He comes from the Hawkins house. He would like to speak to Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
Sherlock stood and walked over. "Yes, what is it?"
"First of all, the Hawkins family sends their best wishes for Mrs. Anthea Holmes' recovery. Those searching for her had stopped by the estate last night and we were glad to hear today that she'd been found."
"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said in a tone that added the unspoken words, get on with it.
"Lord Hawkins doesn't like to bother you in this difficult time, but he has already gone to the authorities and they feel there is not much to go on, so he wanted to come to you for help in this matter...it seems that the household has been robbed."
Sherlock frowned. "Robbed? When? And what was taken?"
"There were some small expensive decorative items from the sitting room, and some of Lady and Miss Hawkins jewels. It must have all been done within the past few days. What is especially of note, is that when this was discovered and the entire staff was called out for questioning, one kitchen hand was missing. He has not been found since."
Sherlock chuckled lightly. "Is this supposed to be some sort of mystery, Mr. Danvers? The missing servant is likely your culprit."
"Agreed, sir. But the authorities feel there is little hope to find him now. They searched and he cannot be found anywhere in town. He could be anywhere, but Lord Hawkins hoped you might be more creative."
"Right. What is his name?"
"He was hired only about a month ago. His name is Sebastian Moran."
Mary stood up. "I know that name!" She looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Sherlock, I know that name. I remember Robert speaking it often."
Sherlock's eyes began to dart back and forth in mental calculations. "I feel I know it too...in some way," he muttered, mostly to himself. Sebastian Moran, Sebastian Moran, Sebastian Moran... "What is familiar about it?"
He walked around the sitting room for a moment as everyone stared at him. He thought and thought and threw symbolic papers around his mind palace in search for something that made a red flag pop up at the sound of that man's name. Mary knew it...if Mary knew it, that meant that the connection could be...no, it's not the name that's familiar...it's the letters! The letters S.M. which I saw not long ago...letters on an envelope...
Sherlock turned to look at them all with revelation evidenced on his face. He spoke, or more like growled, only one word.
"Moriarty."
Duh duh DUH! I'm sure many of you may have already guessed Moriarty's possible involvement, but still, it's fun to do the dramatic reveal. I've been looking forward to all this stuff. :) I know there are things I still haven't spelled out yet, like what Anthea remembered exactly from that night, but I will get to that. No worries!
A few thanks now- First of all, again, this Mythea drama was painstakingly discussed with my bff Pillowslave and I'm so glad I have a sounding board and assistant. Phew! I also had a lot of very helpful input from Queencumberbitch on this couple of chapters. In fact, it was completely her idea (based on an original ACD Sherlock case) for Sherlock to deduce where Anthea may be based on the dirt in the horse's hooves. Loved that little touch, thank you! Also thanks to MizJoely for last minute (once again lol) editing this long chapter at a very late hour of the night. You are oh so kind. ;)
That's it for now. I'd say you can probably expect another chapter next week. Hope you enjoyed this one and I'd love to hear any comments or questions you have. Talk to me on here or Tumblr! ;)