A/n: As always – I own nothing. Thank you to everyone who has kept with this for ages and ages. I love getting all the new alerts of favorites and reviews. We're nearing the end – so keep holding on a little bit longer.
Someone I Used to Know
Chapter 12
"I don't know how long I'll be gone for sure," Sherlock said as we lay in bed that night after returning from the wedding. "I've arrange with Mycroft that a car will pick you up for work each day and bring you back at the end of your shift. It will be the same driver every time. If it isn't, pretend you forgot something in the flat and call Mycroft immediately."
"Has someone found out that I helped you?" I asked turning to look at his face. This version of him was my favorite. He was calm, a level of calm he rarely reached except for after we had made love, a term I typically found cheesy and over used but the only way to describe what we had just done. Prior to moving to get a better look at him, I had been lying on my side curled into him with my head resting on his chest. One of his hands was absent mindedly running through my hair, the other resting on top of my own hand on his chest.
"Possibly," he said after a long pause. He never lied to me when asked a direct question although I had realized he avoided the subjects when possible if he didn't want to discuss them. My involvement in his suicide was one of those subjects. "A member of the web tried to infiltrate Mycroft's network of employees. He was caught last night but he had passed on information prior to that. He wasn't anyone important and he was caught within days but one of those days I went to discuss things with my brother and he walked into the room during our conversation."
"And I was mentioned?" The idea of the Holmes brothers discussing me worried me slightly. Sherlock barely talked about our relationship with me, I couldn't imagine him being any more open with anyone else, especially his brother.
"You were," he replied. "The direct line to your driver has been programed into your phone. If you need to go anywhere else while I'm away it would be best to have him take you. Avoid leaving here when possible."
A few days turned into two weeks. Two weeks turned into three.
It was on the first day of the fourth week that John Watson knocked on my door.
He had a worried expression on his face and offered me a tight smile in greeting when I opened the door for him.
"Tea?" I asked as he walked past me to stand nervously in the living room.
"Um, yes, yes please," He mumbled.
I quickly turned on the kettle and pulled two mugs before returning to the other room.
"John, is something wrong? Is it Mary?" I asked, standing in the doorway.
"Have you checked your flat for bugs recently?" he was still standing in the same spot but I could see his eyes sweeping over the various items I had around the room.
"Bugs? Did you see one while I was in the kitchen? The building is a bit old, but they've never been a problem in the past," I replied wondering why the subjects of bugs seemed to have him so rattled.
"Not the insects, the electronic type," he replied turning to me.
"Oh, well I don't know why I'd have any of those either," I replied. In the back of my mind, I knew Sherlock always looked through the flat for changes when he returned from trips and I wouldn't put it past Mycroft to have planted something in the flat in the past few weeks in Sherlock's absence if the threat to me was as serious as Sherlock made it seem.
"This is important, Molly," John replied.
At that moment the kettle began to whistle.
"John, what do you need, what's on your mind?" I asked, ignoring the whistle.
"Bugs Molly, are there any in the flat that could overhear us?"
"None that I know of," I replied truthfully.
He crossed the room so that we were standing inches apart.
"Is Paul actually Sherlock?" he asked in the softest whisper.
I closed my eyes. Had Sherlock been to see John? Or Mycroft?
"H…how… why are you asking?" I replied, also bringing my voice down to a whisper.
"That's a yes?"
I shook my head to confirm.
"Right," he said, taking a step back and running a hand over his face. "We need to… I need… to ask you a few more questions, but first we need to check this room."
"Wait, I'll fix the tea and send a text. It will be quicker," I replied. I left the room and grabbed my mobile from the counter in the kitchen where I had left it when I heard John ring the doorbell.
J knows. Is the flat safe? – M
The text was sent to both Mycroft and Sherlock, although I didn't expect a text from the latter.
It didn't take long to receive a reply from both.
Stay put. There soon. –S
Yes. A sweep was run this morning. Do not leave flat. – Mycroft
I placed my mobile in my pocket before carrying the two mugs of tea into the living room.
"There was a sweep this morning, most likely when I ran for groceries," I said as I handed John a mug. Overall, I had stuck to my promise to Sherlock and hadn't ventured out with out the driver but it seem ridiculous when I just needed a few things from the local Tesco.
We sat in silence for a few moments; John's tea was held in his hand but forgotten already.
"When did you plan to tell me? How long have you known?" he asked after a few minutes, or seconds or hours. I wasn't sure.
"I was hoping it would be soon. I've… I've known the whole time. I… helped him fake the fall. I didn't know the plan from there. But we kept in contact and that is when Sherlock decided it would be best that I start mentioning Paul. It gave me an excuse to leave London from time to time to visit him. We… well Sherlock really, decided a fake relationship was the best cover," I paused noticing John's look of concern. "It didn't stay fake, but um… that's another matter I suppose. He has been in and out of the country throughout the past few months. He has never given me all of the details but checks in from time to time where he is gone by texting. He… Sherlock, left right after your wedding to tie up loose ends and planned to tell you when he returned. Or at least that was the plan. He was only suppose to be gone for a few days but its been nearly a month," I explained.
"I saw him today. He was dressed like Paul; everything was Paul except his hair. It was Sherlock's color, short but the color certainly wasn't what I was use to seeing Paul with. And he certainly doesn't strike me as the type of bloke to dye his hair. He saw me. Eyes went wide, and then got into a black sedan. A sedan I've also been in before. If Mycroft wasn't in the car, that is who he was headed to see," John said. "What I don't understand is how is he alive. I've had my suspicions in the past but I was positive Sherlock was dead and dismissed every indication that told me the opposite. Was that even really him that day? It certainly looked like him, but he didn't have a pulse. And his eyes where open, blank. I've seen death, and that is what he looked like."
"I…" I didn't need to finish. The door opened and quickly slammed shut. In moments Sherlock was standing in the doorway, looking like he had run the entire way from where ever he was. John was correct. His hair was dark again. It looked like he had shaved it all off after the last time I had seen him and was now growing back in in his natural color. The glasses he normally wore when disguised as Paul were absent and his clothing looked more like his preference than Paul's. And while his appearance was far more Sherlock than Paul, the biggest thing that caught my attention was the cut on his cheek, nearly two inches long. It was thin, and looked like a clean cut but still worried me as much as any of the other injuries Sherlock had appeared with. It looked like it would heal without leaving a mark, but I worried about how it had happened.
"Sherlock?" John asked turning to him and standing to get a better look at the taller man.
"Yes," he replied.
The fist impacted with his chin faster than I could process what was happening.
"You bastard," John said rubbing his fist slightly.
"John!" I said leaping from my seat and standing between the two men. I quickly reached for Sherlock's face. Checking that the punch didn't re-open the cut on his cheek nor did it do any other damage. Sherlock for his part stood in silence and bent slightly to allow me a closer look at his face.
"How old is this cut?" I asked, lightly running a finger over it.
"A few days," he replied, looking over my head at what I assumed was a still disgruntle John Watson.
"Any other injuries?" I asked trying to see if he showed any strain in how he stood or if any other cuts or bruises were visible. I had had my back to him when he walked in and hadn't had the chance to see if he was moving differently.
"Molly, I think the exam can wait," Sherlock said before wincing as I ran a hand over his rib cage.
"Again? You can't keep bruising your ribs!" I said noting this rib injury was on the opposite side as it was nearly a year before.
"Molly, please, stop," he said placing his hands over mine to stop my examination of him. At the moment, my hands had been pulling on his button down shirt to get a closer look at the bruising. I had half the buttons undone before my hands were stilled. "You can exam me as closely as you need to later, for now we need to duck."
"Wha-" my question went unanswered as I was pulled to the ground as bullet broke through the window and imbedded itself in the wall directly behind where we had been standing. I glanced to me side to see John had also moved to the floor as a few more bullets came into the room.
"Why is someone shooting at the flat?" I asked as we quickly moved further into the kitchen.
"That would be Moran. He was the last loose end," Sherlock replied. "Lestrade and the City police should have him in custody now."
The shooting had stopped as we entered the kitchen and once saying the shooter, Moran, was in custody. Sherlock stood, slowly, and pulled out his phone from his pocket.
"It's done."
"Are you going to explain, or are you going to assume I'll figure it out?" John asked, still sitting on the floor. Irritation obvious in his voice.
"Maybe it would be better to move out of the kitchen? Or at least off the floor? Were any of the chairs damaged? I can make tea again. Sherlock, do you need to speak with the police before they leave? Should I text Mary?" I was rattling things off as I moved to make tea and shot worried glances at both men.
"Molly, stop talking," Sherlock said from his spot glancing up from his phone.
"Right sorry. Not every day someone shoots at the flat," I replied as John scolded him with "Sherlock!"
With a shake of his head, Sherlock crossed the room to stand beside me before dropping a kiss on the top of my head. "Tea would be wonderful. Is there something to eat as well? John and I'll be in the other room. I've sent the City Police and Met everything they'll need."
After sitting fresh tea out for the pair and giving Sherlock a sandwich, I quickly looked around the room at the damage. There were a few bullet holes in the wall behind where we had stood seconds before the bullets hit. The window was shattered and the chair we had originally ducked behind had what looked like two bullet holes as well. I noticed neither man sat in the seat, opting instead to sit on either side of the couch.
I continued to look around at a loss of what to do next. Should I stay in the room with the two as they discussed the past few months, or did I retreat to a different room to allow the friends time to catch up?
My decision came in the form of a knock at the door. I crossed the room to answer it and found Mycroft and his assistant waiting on the other side of the door.
"Come in," I said in greeting. They followed me back into the sitting room where John and Sherlock were sitting. As Mycroft moved to face the two men, I moved to stand beside Sherlock. He reached for my hand and tugged me down to sit in the newly created space on the sofa.