Fourteen
Reincarnation

I was trying to act as if everything was normal. To be honest, it sort of was. Sherlock was being the same old pain in the arse that he usually was, running off on adventures and keeping foul experiments in the fridge. John was getting on with his life as if nothing extraordinary had happened. And I was still sprinting back and forth between the café, my flat, and 221B. It looked as if everyone had forgotten the entire episode had even happened.

That was except for when the phone sounded that awful noise.

At those moments, each one of us would turn to the mobile expectantly, each for our own reasons. John would swiftly glance anxiously between the guilty phone and me, before coughing and moving on to a new topic of conversation. Sherlock would check the thing, never sending a response, before apparently deciding that it wasn't even worth mentioning. And I… I tried to ignore it.

That small nagging voice in the back of my brain – I shoved it down, forced it out of the way, tied it up and left it in the corner to be addressed another day. They were just texts. It wasn't anything important. For all I knew they could be simple statements about the weather or even inquiries after John. They didn't have to mean anything. Sherlock wasn't actually answering them anyway. He was probably more annoyed at them than anything else.

It helped – thinking these things that somehow I knew weren't true. It meant I didn't have to linger on my doubts.

This state of blind denial by all three of us continued for over two weeks; the questions stayed mere ghosts lurking somewhere in the very depths of our peripheral vision, not looming any further into our lives.

That changed, for me at least, one Monday evening.

The noise from the two Bengali waiters chatting outside their restaurant reached my ears even from this distance. This street was always quiet, the only places of interest being a couple of spots to eat and a tiny corner shop. It was surprisingly out of the way for this part of London as well. Only those that actually lived nearby would know it even existed; I only did because I had accidentally taken a wrong turn a month or so back and discovered that this was in fact by far the quickest way between my flat and the café.

For London, it looked oddly serene in the last vestiges of sunlight the day had to offer.

I was just readjusting the position of my handbag on my shoulder when the BlackBerry in my pocket chirped merrily. I automatically reached for it and checked the number.

Blocked.

Well, that was always good news.

Even before I answered the call, I had a sneaky suspicion as to who was on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" I greeted cautiously.

"Good afternoon, Melanie."

I could have slapped myself on the forehead. This was so not what I needed right now. I needed to get home and have a hot bath and put my feet up. I did not need this man badgering me. I sighed and rolled my eyes, already knowing what was about to happen.

"Let me guess," I started forlornly, "that big, shiny, black car about to pull up beside me?"

There was a small titter of laughter from the speaker. "A brilliant deduction."

The aforementioned big, shiny, black car slowed down and came to a stop, the back seat almost exactly parallel to where I had paused my walk. I shook my head in disappointment.

"I'll see you soon." I told the man on the phone, hanging up before he had the chance to elaborate any further. I shoved the BlackBerry back into my pocket, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder and stepping towards the already open car door.

A far too pretty to be allowed woman was starting to get out, but I held up a hand to stop her.

"I know, I know." I muttered, completely defeated once again, as I slid into the back of the vehicle and shut the door behind me with a thud.

I'd just have to get this over with.

I was only a little surprised when I realised where the expensive car was heading to, and even less surprised when it actually stopped and the woman who had refused to talk during the journey got out, holding the door open for me with so little attention paid that I honestly had the idea she might truly be some sort of robot.

The huge gothic building lurched over us, its dark stone warmed by the rosy sunset. I sighed.

Surely he could have come up with somewhere a little less conspicuous to meet than the bloody Houses of bloody Parliament?

"Ok," I said to the woman, not expecting any sort of answer at all, "am I seeing the PM today? Because frankly I've been meaning to talk to him about his employment laws."

Unpredictably, the woman actually bothered to respond. "This way, Dr Hunt."

A small frown crept onto my forehead as I saw where she was gesturing to – not the governmental headquarters at all, but a small run down pub across the street.

Oh, he just liked showing off, didn't he?

"A pleasure, as always, Melanie."

I climbed the final step to the grotty apartment above the pub and took another few steps forward, careful to keep the distance between me and this man to one where he couldn't touch me if he reached out. I knew it was a stupid idea; if he wanted to harm me then he would never sully his hands himself, but the idea that he couldn't grab me unexpectedly somehow helped settle my nerves a bit.

"Uh, yeah," I muttered, "same."

He chuckled, looking up to the ceiling briefly. "If only that were true."

I wrapped my right arm around my waist, not desiring in the slightest to be dragged into his dark world of jokes and levity. "What's this about, Mr Holmes?"

"Oh, come dear," he answered just as lightly, "I'm sure Mycroft will suffice."

I tilted my head to the side unimpressed. "Yes, well, I don't usually make a habit of calling my kidnappers by their first names."

Mycroft Holmes nodded. "I prefer the term impromptu host myself, but each to their own, I suppose."

Impromptu host? Right. He was clearly hosting a party in this dirt-covered room and had forgotten to invite anyone until the last minute. The only way he could actually get any guests to come was to send his peons out to grab anyone they fancied the look of off the street and drive them here. And I was the lucky invitee! Hooray!

"I'm guessing this is about Sherlock?" I asked wanting to get out of here as quickly as possible.

The flippancy instantly vanished from his face. "Yes, I'm afraid you've guessed correctly."

I narrowed my eyes and echoed, "Afraid?"

Mycroft leant his head sideways slightly, the seriousness in his eyes rarely spreading to the rest of his expression. "This is not a casual meeting to simply catch up on how my darling brother is faring."

"I never thought it was."

There was a pause. This minor government official seemed to be contemplating something. At last he spoke. "And what, then, do you think that this is?"

"I-" I stopped before finishing my sentence, rephrasing my words into something with an entirely different meaning. "I don't know."

"I believe that you do." He replied in that even tone he was so adept at.

My head swept around to the side in aggravation; not looking at the man made this all a little bit more bearable. "Then what's point in asking me?"

"There is always a point in asking these questions, Melanie, if only to see how the questioned replies."

I swallowed, turning my attention to the dusty hardwood floor in front of me. There was no use getting annoyed at Mycroft. It wasn't really him I was annoyed at anyway. The true reason, however, of my frustration, was one that I had been trying so desperately to bottle up that I didn't want to even skim over it now. I shut my eyes and let out a breath. How long could I run from this? Forever? My brain would surely explode from the pressure. A few months? The outburst would be worse then than it would be now. An hour? Mycroft would never let it go so far – he would force it out of me long before that.

What was the point, then, of keeping this locked inside my chest?

"Adler?"

The name felt venomous on my tongue as it slithered past my lips and out into the wider world. That was it, wasn't it? That simple name was what all this denial had been about. Adler.

I heard Mycroft answer stoically from the few steps away that he was. "Indeed."

My voice came out as a whisper, not the plea I had meant it to be. "Who is she?"

"No one for you to be concerned about."

I yanked my eyes up to meet the man once more, my fingers abruptly deciding that they would like to dig into the side of my torso in a violently painful way.

"Then why the hell am I here?" I snapped, some of the anger I had locked inside slipping out.

Mycroft's eyes turned to dangerous slits as he voiced slowly, "Control your temper, Dr Hunt."

I took in a monumental breath in an attempt to quash my resentment. My nails stopped digging quite so hard into my flesh, but their firm grip remained where it was. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

"It is unfortunate," he said, "but I find that I am requiring a small favour from you."

"Which is?" I asked, distrust dripping from my pores.

Mycroft inclined his head and peered up at me with deadly serious eyes. "I require you to remain by Sherlock's side through this little tantrum he is throwing."

"Why wouldn't I?" I threw back, not really thinking about it.

The only answer I received was a look from Mycroft that I had become far too used to over the last six months. Being able to pull off a decent patronizing stare is apparently a genetic trait.

I bit the inside of my cheek and looked away. If Mycroft was worried about this, it could only mean one thing. I didn't want to think about that thing, but I had the gnawing feeling that I was going to have to. When I next spoke, there was a subtle sadness in my voice that I had not been expecting. "It's serious, then?"

It helped somewhat to see that a miniscule trace of this sadness was mirrored in Mycroft's words. "Regrettably, yes."

I blinked away the unwanted excess moisture that had suddenly snuck up on my eyes. Sherlock wasn't just ignoring those texts out of annoyance – there was something else there. My carefully constructed lies to myself were gradually being destroyed.

"Why do you want me involved?" I asked, trying to distract myself from the I-told-you-so's ringing through my skull.

"Because, and I do hope that I'm not speaking out of turn, I believe that you, Melanie, have formed something of a connection with my brother."

I swallowed, focusing on Mycroft's words in order not to be pulled down into that dark pit in the root of my mind. "And?"

"And that connection may prove crucial to us in the end."

I tugged at my attention and brought it back to the figure before me, my forehead furrowing in confusion. "By us you mean…?"

Mycroft nodded, none of his occasional jokiness apparent on his features. He obviously knew what I was getting at.

"All of us, Melanie," he spoke clearly before repeating, "All of us."

Oh, God.

"This is something big, isn't it?"

Mycroft apparently decided that was a good moment to check his watch, his eyebrows rising slightly as he took in what the dials were saying. "Sadly, this is all the time I can spare. I have an important appointment with a man nearby."

He started walking towards me, passing my form as he made his way to the stairs behind my back. "Do think about what I've said, Melanie."

He needn't have told me that. Right now, I was far too busy thinking about it to try to stop him from leaving. I was so busy thinking about it, that by the time I finally came to my senses and swept around, he was already at the door to the outside world.

"Does Sherlock know how big this is?" I called, glad that I was able to catch him before he disappeared into the unknown.

He halted, gazing up at me with a carefully considered stare.

"I don't believe so," he replied. The light from a nearby streetlamp cast his features into shadow as his assistant kept the door propped open for him, "and hopefully it will remain that way."

He left, abandoning that piece of information so that I might continue to consider it in his absence.

Far too serious, I know, but these things will happen. Well, they will when you're writing about a relationship with Sherlock Holmes.

Mycroft has been rather lacking from my story, hasn't he? There will be a few more appearances from him, but not too many. I feel like he should have his own segment in every chapter. I do love him. Hail Godtiss!

I have to be careful when uploading chapters like this because whenever I include a mention to a BlackBerry my beta automatically puts in after it (which suck). Yeah, useful beta. Hope I managed to spot all of them and take them out! And Rose, from now on whenever I mention my beta (who sucks)…

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