a/n: So…. It's been awhile.
To be completely honest, I'm not even certain where the first part of this year has gone.
That being said, in addition to this chapter being done I also have chapter 9 ready to go. Expect to see it later this week. It's also my goal to get back to some sort of posting schedule!
Thank you to everyone who is keeping up with me and following along with this story. I truly appreciate all of the favorites, follows and reviews! I love love love seeing them in my inbox!
Someone I Used to Know
Chapter 8
After spending Christmas with my family, I awoke the next morning to a car waiting to take me to the airport to meet Sherlock in Spain.
The day prior had been filled with catching up with my family and avoiding questions about my relationship. My mother was very interested in knowing where this was headed and, for the most part, I avoided her line of questioning. While continuing to keep the lie about Sherlock, I also didn't want to seem too blissful in the relationship to the point that my family became fully invested in it. There would come a day I'd have to either have to tell them the truth or at least tell them that Paul and I had gone our separate ways.
No matter my uncertainty about where Sherlock stood on this fake relationship I'm certain that it, whatever it is, will end once he returns to Baker Street. How could it not? He is a man that has said more than once that he is married to his work. It would be hard for me to imagine him ever truly divorcing himself from being a consulting detective in order to truly pursue a lasting relationship. And while I'd be happy to see what a life that included both his work and me in it looked like, it was hard to convince myself that moments like we had had a week earlier weren't just moments and actually meant something more.
The arrival of the car signaled the end of my visit with my family and inspired a whole new line of questioning. When asked what Sherlock, well Paul really, did for a living I had simply replied that he worked for the government. I was already convinced that in some ways Mycroft was the government, and by saying Paul worked for him wasn't a far stretch of the truth. And while I'm certain my family originally thought that meant paper pusher, their version of what he may do was shattered with the arrival of the Town Car ready to take me to the airport.
"I suppose he also has some family wealth on the side," I said in the way of an explanation as I departed.
As I prepared to get out the car, my phone alerted me to a new text message.
There is a ring in your carry on. Wear it. Will explain when you arrive. – SH
Reaching into my purse, I pushed around a few things until I located a black velvet box sitting at the bottom. I wasn't completely surprised that it had gone undetected in my bag over the past few days. Typically the things I needed were towards the top and I had the bad habit of just tossing items inside and never really taking them out. What really made me curious was if my sister had seen the box while I was at my brother's. She had asked about my shade of lip gloss and I told her to just check for it in my bag. Maybe she wasn't as excited to find it as I thought.
Realizing the door had been open for me for a few minutes now; I quickly opened the box and put the ring onto the appropriate finger before quickly exiting the car.
As I rushed into the airport and went through the process of checking my bag and going through security, I barely took the moment to look at the ring now resting on my finger. While I was curious about the it, I was even more distracted by the fact that Sherlock hadn't mentioned this part of plan to me when we had talked prior to me leaving to join my family for Christmas.
The ring itself was simple, a gold band with a diamond in the center. On either side of the diamond two other diamonds rested. It was obviously an expensive ring but not overpowering on my hand. Oddly, I couldn't help thinking it looked like it belonged there, but maybe that was more to do with my recent visit to my family and their ever present question of when I would settle down.
XXXXX
"Why the ring?" I asked as the door closed behind me once we were standing in our hotel suite.
"Sometimes, I miss the meek Molly Hooper," Sherlock responded from his spot on the sofa, a laptop sitting in front of him on the table.
With a sigh, I crossed the room, pulling the ring off as I went and sat in on the keyboard of the laptop before sitting beside him.
"Madame Milverton needs to think you have more than a relationship to lose. You are also expecting, unsure if it is mine or some other man who can offer you far less. I'm a traditional, trusting man. I'd want to do the right thing and quickly. Also because of my family background, I'd make you sign a very binding prenuptial agreement if my family has anything to say, which is why you are hoping for a quick marriage while we are abroad. Thus you are insured at least some form of settlement if your worse fears come true. But if your suspicions are not confirmed, you will be the wife of a wealthy man with an extremely large disposable income."
The Milverton name went back a few decades in importance in communications world. The most recent in the line was Mireille Milverton, a French woman who heads up a few corporate communications firms in addition to owning a few well-read papers throughout Europe. According to Sherlock, she had been a thorn in Mycroft's side in recent months.
"Able to pay what she is asking to never reveal my worries to my new trusting husband," I finished. "Why didn't you tell me all of this before?"
"I didn't want the over thinking like you have been doing since you found the ring in your bag to occur while you were with your family. I assumed you'd rather not be distracted," he replied with a shrug before turning his attention back to the laptop.
With another sigh, I leaned back against the sofa and looked at my surroundings. The hotel was one of the nicest in Barcelona and from looking around our suite, I could tell why. The walls were mostly white, which complimented the darker furniture. While many hotels go for the modern minimalist look, our suite instead reflected more of a nineteenth-century look.
After a period of silence between us, I noticed his hand hesitate over the keyboard before picking up the ring I had placed there.
"You will want to wear this when you are not in the room," he said turning to me. He pulled my left hand from my lap, but rather than placing the ring on my finger he simply placed it in the palm of my hand.
XXXXXXX
I didn't meet Madame Milverton and her husband until the following night at a gallery opening Sherlock knew the two would be at.
When I had unpacked my suitcase the day before I discovered half of the things I had originally packed had been taken out and replaced by an array of clothing I had never seen before, but was all my size.
"Mycroft's assistant," Sherlock called from the sitting area.
Thus, rather than wearing my preferred plain black dress, I was wearing a nude colored dress with a black lace overlay and heels I would have never picked out for myself.
As we moved through the gallery among other well-dressed people drinking wonderful French wine, I felt like a fraud sipping on tonic water with lime in desperate need of something stronger. But there's a fake pregnancy to keep up, so I tightened my jaw and said nothing.
"I had a bottle sent to our room," Sherlock said after catching me eyeing yet another person's glass of wine as we moved through the crowd. We had yet to run across Milverton, and I had already developed a habit of tapping the ring, still a very foreign object on my hand, against my glass.
I also glanced around the room, not expecting to really notice or recognize anyone from before tonight until my eyes landed on a slim brunette who bore a striking resemblance to a woman I had seen in my morgue almost exactly a year ago. But it couldn't be her, the woman Sherlock could identify without being able to truly see her face, could it?
Curiosity had gotten the better of me after that night and I had googled her name to see what the woman had looked like in life. A few months later, Sherlock had had a picture of her in the lab when running a scan on a cell phone.
John had mentioned later in passing that Irene Adler no longer existed. But now as I stood across the room from the woman, I couldn't help but be even more curious about a woman who could capture Sherlock's attention.
I was so distracted by these thoughts that I didn't even notice the approach of Madame Milverton.
The conversation went as Sherlock had planned.
Sherlock had previously met Madame Milverton and while she had shown little interest in him, she was intrigued when she had learned he had a significant other. From there she had insisted on a meeting the next time the three of us happened to be in the same city, which was why we were at the gallery opening in the first place. As the conversation drew to a close, she insisted on all of us getting lunch the next day.
It was at this lunch that I would truly be put to the test in this set up. I needed her to be convinced I was hiding something and then cause her to prompt me to share my secret with her.
I needed to sell the lie Sherlock had come up with as though it was the truth and be truly surprised once she gained the information from me.
XXXXX
The next morning I awoke to the unfamiliar scent of a perfume. As I began to wake up more, I realized it was on the shirt Sherlock was still wearing from the night before. When I had gone to sleep, he had still been across the room working in his laptop. I also didn't remember smelling the perfume then and so I had to assume he had left after I had fallen asleep and returned and joined me before I woke up.
"The Woman," he slightly mumbled as I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up. Due to the large variety of hours I worked, waking up was always my least favorite part of the day.
"Hmm…?" I mumbled in response, moving slightly so that I wouldn't be smothered completely by the perfume but not wanting to fully pull away from Sherlock. I couldn't help taking advantage of mornings like this. He didn't sleep much, but normally, on nights he stayed at my apartment or when I went to the cottage, he would at least lay down with me for a few hours when I went to sleep or before I woke up. While I enjoyed falling asleep nestled beside him, I couldn't help the excited shock that ran through me when I woke up curled beside him.
"I went to see Irene Adler after you went to sleep," he explained further. "You saw her last night across the room, and she obviously saw us. For the time being, she plans to keep the secret that I am alive, although it is only because the same people who want her dead are the ones I need to believe I am dead. To reveal me, she would have to reveal herself first. She owes me her life, her words, but she will not hesitate to sell my secret to save herself."
"She isn't here for the same reason as us, is she?" I asked, turning slightly so I could face him without moving out of his grasp.
"Milverton is in the same business she used to make her living from... well, one of the businesses she made her living from," he replied. "She tends to keep a close eye on her former competition."
We lay there in silence for a few minutes until I was nearly back asleep.
"You're meeting Madame Milverton in two hours, you'll need to get ready," he said pulling me back awake. To further support his comment, Sherlock moved from underneath me and stood up from the bed, stretching. I stayed there for a few moments watching him move around the hotel room and wondering about when mornings like this became so routine for me until my eyes fell upon the bedside clock and I realized I really did need to start getting ready.