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Set during 'Watersheds' chapter 2
Mary had laughed when John first told her about Mycroft's penchant for kidnapping people off the street to carry out covert discussions in abandoned buildings.
"Just wait until he does it to you Madam. He likes to lay on the scare tactics. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Oh, don't be silly. Anyway, why would he have any interest in me?"
-0-0-0-
She'd just finished a long day analysing samples from a mysterious outbreak of what appeared to be plague in Madagascar. She and her team had confirmed it to be known strain of pneumonic plague, enabling a more targeted treatment regimen that would hopefully enable containment of the outbreak and minimise loss of life.
Her aim was to get home quickly, if the Central Line wasn't playing silly buggers, take a long bath and order in a takeaway.
Mary pulled her scarf tighter around her neck as she exited onto Keppel Street on a chill November evening, only to find a black Bentley purring seductively at the kerb. A uniformed chauffeur walked round to open the rear door bowing his head slightly and indicating she enter. She could see a woman with long chestnut hair and even longer legs sitting in the far seat, tapping away on a Blackberry. Without looking up her voice wafted over, her cut glass accent betraying a seriously expensive education.
"Please get in Professor Morstan. You have an important appointment and we really mustn't be late."
Mary shrugged, sighed, and climbed in, arranging herself comfortably in the sumptuous leather seat. John had warned her and she hadn't believed it. Now she was off to meet the infamous Mycroft Holmes.
Deciding not to waste the journey she turned her head slightly to scrutinise the woman beside her. Everything, from her subtle fragrance to her tailored silk suit and her expertly manicured nails screamed refinement, and yet the woman carried with her an air of danger, like a languid big cat coiled to pounce at a moment's notice.
"Hello. I assume you're Anthea. Not your real name of course. John told me you were gorgeous. He wasn't lying. He also said you are the most dangerous woman he's ever met. I don't think he's exaggerating there either. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Mary, as you're no doubt aware. And which particular warehouse will I be meeting Mycroft Holmes in today? I do hope he keeps it brief. I've spent the day battling with Yersinia pestis and I could do with a cup of tea and a good soak."
Halfway through Mary's speech Anthea had stopped typing. By the end she was looking at the woman sat beside her with a gentle smile and an air of respect. "It's a pleasure to meet you too Mary. You're quite right, Anthea isn't my real name. It is my code name to be used by the residents of 221B Baker Street and their immediate contacts. I believe that you fall into that category, so please, call me Anthea."
Mary smiled back. "Delighted. So Anthea, should I have brought my thermals for this meeting with Mycroft?"
Anthea smirked slightly. "No Mary, that won't be necessary. He only continued to take Dr Watson to such locations because it amused him to do so, annoyed his brother, and because Dr Watson expected it. A little game between boys enjoyed at the time but soon abandoned. Recent meetings have taken place in a more salubrious and secure location."
"I'm sure John is delighted. He prefers to deal with failed attempts at intimidation in comfortable surroundings."
"Dr Watson is rather remarkable in that regard. More commonly one of Mycroft's invitations causes considerable disquiet in his guests."
"I have no doubt. But does he usually send you as the escort?"
"No, the escort is selected according to the target. It is more usually Jake, who I have to say, is intimidating in any circumstance."
"Big huh? The strong silent type. All muscles and implied violence?"
Anthea licked her lips. "Oh very much so. Watching him work is a delight. Luckily his husband, Leo, is a darling. He loves the fact that Jake is so good at his work that it makes his colleagues weak at the knees. He once told me that it was watching Jake deal with an over attentive body builder in a gay bar that encouraged him to pluck up the courage to ask for a date, once the altercation was over of course. Apparently the rippling muscles, bone melting tenor ordering the man to stand down, and his concern for Leo's wellbeing completely overwhelmed his usual sense of self-preservation. It turns out Jake was unused to being hit on. His build normally proved too intimidating to potential partners. They've been inseparable ever since."
And so the conversation continued. The two women cheerfully chatting away until they reached their destination, Anthea's Blackberry for once forgotten.
"Here we are. The Hilton. If you'll come with me I'll escort you to the Library Lounge. Don't tell him I told you, but leave him the macaroons. He adores them, but will only allow himself to indulge when he's meeting with someone. I'll say goodbye now. Partridge will drive you home when you're finished. It was a pleasure to meet you Mary. We should do this more often, without Mycroft's intervention. My number's in your phone."
"It was a pleasure to meet you too. It'd be lovely to get together again. Perhaps you should give me a call, as you're the one with the more erratic work schedule."
"I will. Have a safe journey home."
"You too. Goodbye."
Anthea opened the glazed doors to the empty Library Lounge and stepped around the screen that had been placed in front of the door to provide privacy. "Mr Holmes, Professor Morstan."
Mycroft Holmes rose from his seat in an alcove to the right of the door. He was surrounded by bookshelves and was apparently perusing one of the offerings, since he closed the book and placed it on the table before he stood.
"Professor Morstan." He held out his hand in greeting, which Mary took giving a firm shake.
"A pleasure to meet you Mr Holmes."
"Mycroft, please. I have taken the liberty of ordering high tea. I felt sure that you would need sustenance after your sterling work today. Pneumonic plague, I understand. Ghastly. I'm sure your timely analysis will enable the outbreak to be contained with minimal loss of life. But enough of this talk." Mycroft flicked his eyes to the hovering waiter who immediately withdrew. "Perhaps I could tempt you with tea. Two parts Earl Grey, one part Lapsang Souchong is, I believe, you blend of choice."
A waiter appeared placing two pots of tea, a jug of milk, and a dish of lemon slices upon the table, whilst a waitress delivered a tea stand replete with assorted finger sandwiches, jam and clotted cream for scones, and genteel pastries and cakes. Mary noted one of the delicacies was a macaroon and made a mental note to avoid it.
Mycroft picked up a tea pot, and, with a smile that seemed only slightly forced, enquired "Shall I be mother?"
Having sipped tea, blended exactly to her taste, and each selected a sandwich in silence, Mary decided to take a bite. She was hungry, the sandwiches looked delicious, and there was no way she was giving Mycroft Holmes the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand by forcing her to start the conversation. The silence continued as she finished her first sandwich. Still unwilling to break the silence she reached for another from the top tier of the tea stand. Just as her fingers drew near to her goal, a rather scrummy looking smoked salmon and cream cheese mouthful on caraway seed bread, Mycroft broke the silence, causing her to pause.
"Mary Elizabeth Morstan. Born 17th February 1972 to Pierre Thomas Morstan, engineer, and Theresa Phillipa Downs. Second of four children. Older brother Peter, younger sisters Jacqueline and Jennifer. No previous relationships of any note. No criminal record. Shall I go on?"
Mary finally picked up her sandwich and placed it upon her plate. Wiping her fingers on her napkin, she looked up into the face of the self satisfied man opposite her.
"I'm sure you have an exhaustive and mostly accurate file on me. I wouldn't expect any less from you Mycroft. Drink up, your tea's getting cold."
Mycroft blinked slowly once, then, as instructed, delicately lifted his tea cup to his lips.
"Mycroft Holmes. Older brother of Sherlock Holmes. Notoriously manipulative and over protective of his younger sibling. Willing to intimidate anyone who gets close to his brother, and no doubt make them disappear if he deems them an unacceptable influence in his brother's life. Will cheerfully abuse his power and position to achieve this end. Known as The Ice Man, presumably because of his apparent lack of emotion, but when it comes to family ... well. If someone didn't know better they'd think he was jealous of his 'high-functioning sociopath' brother's ability to build friendships he doesn't recognise he's got, and gain their trust and devotion just by being himself, without even realising he's done it."
"Professor Morstan …"
"Oh, Mary, please Mycroft. After all, you're treating me to high tea and we're having this intimate little talk. I think it's only polite that we continue on first name terms, don't you?" Mary picked up her tea cup and took a sip to cover her smirk.
"Yes, quite. May I ask, what is your relationship with Dr John Watson?"
"My relationship with John is, if I may say so, none of your business. It exists. It has existed, for a long time, in many forms. Suffice to say we are good friends. Anything else is private, is of no concern of yours, and is not open for discussion."
Mycroft leapt on Mary's comment, grabbing hold and worrying at it like a terrier with a chew toy. "So there is something more?"
"Really Mycroft, what do you think? We're old friends. We met scarcely three months ago after a decade apart, and in the most dreadful circumstances. We've been out to restaurants, films and the theatre as I'm sure you've been informed by your surveillance teams. We've even slept over at each other's homes on multiple occasions. Again, events of which you've no doubt have been apprised. I am helping one of my oldest friends through the devastating loss of his best friend and flatmate. The man he'd shared his life with for nearly two years. Anything and everything that happens behind closed doors is our business alone. What makes you think it's yours?"
"Because, Mary, John Watson trusts you. Implicitly by all appearances. I would not want that trust to be misplaced, or worse, to jeopardise ongoing security operations."
"And what, you think I'm a security risk? That perhaps I'm some covert agent living under an assumed identity? An assassin perhaps, or an agent for some criminal, perhaps even Moriarty? Be reasonable Mycroft. You have my dossier. You know every documented incident in my life. You know my family. I'm sure you could tell me my ancestors to four generations. I'm not some orphan with no connections who has suddenly insinuated myself into John's life. We went to Uni together for crying out loud. Are you really that concerned that any trust he has in me is misplaced?"
"You must understand. John Watson is important, not just in his own right, and to the people around him, but because his existence risks the security of another. Someone who is supremely important, not only to National Security, but also personally."
Mary swiftly looked around the room to ensure no waiter was near. The room was, at that minute, entirely empty apart from themselves.
"I take it this room is secure. You would not risk meeting in any location without it being clear of any unwanted surveillance would you?"
Mycroft was mildly irked that this woman was questioning his security measures. "Of course it is secure. Why do you ask?"
"Because I have something to say that neither of us wants known outside this room."
"Very well. In that case we are quite secure."
Mary took a deep breath. "Alright. I was with John when he worked things out. We did it together. So I know. I also know how critical that knowledge is, and how important John is to its successful completion. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep the secret, and to keep John safe. John's well being and safety are my top priority. Do you understand me Mycroft Holmes? You have nothing to fear from me."
Mycroft leant back against the sofa as he processed what this quietly self-possessed woman had just imparted.
"Very well. Should any incident of concern arise, contact Anthea immediately. I believe she has already given you her number." Mary startled, since they had been outside the room when Anthea informed her of their exchange of contact numbers. "Don't be surprised. It was inevitable. A simple deduction. I'm sure you will enjoy each other's company immensely. Now, let us continue with this excellent tea while the sandwiches are still fresh."
He turned and waved over a waiter just re-enetering the Lounge, indicating the requirement for fresh pots of tea.
"I am glad we've had this talk. It has allayed my concerns. As you can imagine, I was naturally suspicious of a woman who had no previous history of long-term relationships, yet who had appeared in John's life and suddenly become a mainstay of his existence."
Mary pursed her lips as hurt and anger spiked in her. Pushing it down, she controlled her breathing before answering Mycroft. "What is it with you Holmes boys and your frankly ridiculous deductions? When you get something wrong you do so rather spectacularly, yet you are too certain of your own infallibility to question your conclusions. You are completely wrong about John. He's no more an adrenaline addict than you are. And he most certainly does not miss the battlefield. Yes, he told me about your spectacularly wide of the mark deductions at your first meeting."
Mycroft set his teacup down with slightly more force than he'd intended. "Then pray tell, how else do you explain his acceptance of Sherlock's intolerable behaviour, being used as a subject in his experiments, the body parts and toxic experiments around the flat, the constant invasion of his privacy and personal belongings. Yet he chased after Sherlock without question whenever Sherlock called his name, no matter the danger, and often without knowledge of the facts or sufficient intelligence. As a trained soldier, the risks he took for Sherlock were unconscionable."
Mary smiled indulgently. "Oh Mycroft, it was because that's what Sherlock needed. You know he needed someone to protect him, as much from the world as from himself. He needed someone to care for him, to trust him, to follow where he lead, to call him brilliant. He needed someone who didn't call him a freak, but instead called him amazing. And John genuinely believes that. Yes, of course John has a higher tolerance for excitement than most. But at the end of the day what John needs most, has always craved is to be needed, to use his skills for a genuine purpose and for the care and protection of others. John's reason for being is to be really, truly, exceptionally needed in a way few, if any others can offer. Not a hero complex, he's never been one to seek fame, but a genuine desire to help. That loss of purpose is what almost destroyed him when he was invalided home, and very nearly killed him when Sherlock fell. He lost the one person in his life who needed him beyond measure, and who he cared for unconditionally in return. If I had not contacted him when I did, I fear you would have lost him, and with him perhaps your security operation."
Mycroft was silent as he processed what Mary had told him.
"And do you need him?"
"No, Mycroft. As you so cuttingly pointed out, I have no previous history of long-term relationships. Had I not met with John, I could quite happily continue my life as it was. Need and want are very different beasts aren't they. But no, I do not need him."
"Then what is the purpose that you claim he requires? Who, or what satisfies his craving?"
"I think that is much as it ever was. He is doing what he has done for the last two years. Protecting someone who does not accept he needs it. He is placing himself in harms way by maintaining a ruse to protect a life. That is his purpose. And I am helping him."
Mycroft almost smiled. A sparkle of his eyes and a glance down at his tea cup were the only indications Mary saw that Mycroft was effected by what she'd said.
They continued their tea in a not uncomfortable silence, enjoying freshly warmed scones with clotted cream and rich strawberry jam.
It was Mycroft who initiated a resumption of their discussion. "How is John?"
Mary brightened. "As you know, he's started taking shifts at the University College London Hospital A&E. He's enjoying using his medical skills properly again, and the A&E suits him better than a normal doctors surgery. He's giving trauma management training too. Passing on his knowledge to the next generation. We suspect a certain minor government official may have had a hand in his appointment. If so, thank you Mycroft. It's doing him a power of good."
Mycroft demurred, waving away the thanks with a small smile. "It was nothing. No less than he deserved."
"Well thank you anyway. It's helping refocus his mind on living again. I'm doing my best, of course, supporting him where I can. He's even begun rebuilding his social life. Of course, the whole fake genius rubbish still rears its head, but he's started going out for coffee with Mike Stamford. That man is an angel. And some of his new colleagues have begun asking him out for drinks. They mostly seem to focus on him and his skill in the A&E, rather than any past history. He doesn't drink much or stay out late, as I'm sure you know, and if they ask for stories he tells them tales from his army career. I've met them a couple of times. They're a pretty good bunch and seem to steer clear of anything to do with Sherlock. Yeah, it's beginning to look brighter."
"That's excellent news. I was ... concerned. I did not want the situation to cost a good man his life or his peace of mind."
"Yeah. It was dicey there for a while, but I think we're getting it sorted." Mary smiled, eyeing the cakes that decorated the lowest tier of the stand. She reached her hand towards the macaroon, noticing a slight tightening of Mycroft's grip on his tea cup. She smiled, and turned the plate, helping herself to a mille feuille that came into reach, the macaroon fortuitously arriving in front of the relieved Mycroft Holmes. "Hmmm, I love mille feuille. I hope you don't mind Mycroft?"
"No no, not at all. I would not dream of depriving you of something you love. I think I may just help myself to this small macaroon."
There is a documented outbreak of pneumonic plague reported in October 2011 in Miarinarivo, Madagascar, causing six cases, one of them fatal.
Two parts Earl Grey, one part Lapsang Souchong is apparently Benedict's blend of choice
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