Thank you very much for all the reviews I received for the last chapter! I can't say the reviewer's full name here, otherwise FFnet will wipe it, but I just really wanted to thank Ida D. for her constructive criticism. I very very much appreciated that :)
Anyone who is unhappy that And then there were 3 hasn't been updated in a while, I very much apologise. I have the whole story planned out already, and about 2 later chapters already written, but currently I am kind of stuck somewhere in the middle of chapter 3. This is my way of coping with writer's block, so please bear with me for a while. I promise that I will try to update soon.
Anyways, here is some interaction with the Holmes brothers. Happy reading! :D
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As soon as John had gone, Sherlock stood up and walked over to the corner of the room. He took out his mobile phone and took a deep breath. He was about to do something he abhorred, something that he had never wanted to do before and something that he didn't really want to do again either.
Lestrade had left about 10 minutes ago, and it would take him about 30 minutes to reach his house or his office at the Yard.
Sherlock had been lying slightly when he had said that Irene was in no danger. There was always the chance that someone might look her up or that Lestrade might inform other officers about the investigation this evening.
Which meant that there was only one way out.
He tried to hold back a slight groan as he dialled a number on his phone. If there was any way to avoid what was about to come, then he would certainly do it, but he saw no other way.
He needed to ask Mycroft for help.
He waited tersely as the phone rang, and almost flinched when he heard his brother's impatient voice: "What is it Sherlock?"
He took a deep breath and waited a second, carefully thinking of how to formulate his request.
"Mycroft" he said eventually, with a heavy tone. "I need to…ask you a favour."
He could practically feel his brother's surprise over the phone, and heard the brief but shocked silence that followed. He hadn't said that he needed help, because he disliked the way the phrase made him seem weak or vulnerable. Instead he opted for favour, because it sounded like something that Mycroft could do for him, but something that was not of great importance.
But Mycroft knew something was up. The fact that Sherlock actually needed something from him already surprised the politician, but the fact that there seemed to be some sort urgency to his little brother's tone made the situation almost drastic.
"Yes?" he asked carefully, feeling sudden concern for Sherlock's well-being.
Sherlock almost smirked, in spite of the situation. "You're not going to like this"
Mycroft frowned to himself, but said nothing, letting the silence speak for him. Sherlock saw it as confirmation to carry on.
"Someone I know has a… problem and is in need of new ID. "
"Someone you know?" Mycroft asked, his voice icy and piercing. Sherlock was being deliberately vague, which was always a bad sign. Besides, he couldn't just simply hand out new identification to those who needed it (well he could, but there were legal boundaries that he could at least pretend not to overstep).
"She's been attacked, and is now in danger. I wouldn't ask for this favour if it weren't absolutely necessary Mycroft."
"She?" Mycroft questioned sharply, wondering what woman Sherlock could possibly care about. The only one that came to his mind was Mrs Hudson, and he truly doubted that the conversation was about her.
But if not Mrs Hudson, then who?
"Look" Sherlock said brusquely. "Please just come here, I would prefer to discuss the details in person."
"Where are you?" Mycroft asked, sighing resignedly. It seemed that he would always have to be Sherlock's babysitter in a way and have to comply with his every request.
"Bart's hospital" Sherlock said, and heard Mycroft disconnect the call. He hoped he would hurry up, because he only had 20 minutes left to make sure that Irene stayed absolutely safe.
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Mycroft arrived within 5 minutes, something that Sherlock was very grateful for. He met him outside Irene's room, because he knew that Mycroft would be utterly furious if he saw Irene. He doubted that there was a woman that Mycroft abhorred more.
Sherlock smirked at the fact that he had unintentionally managed to make his brother angry without even trying it; it seemed to be one of his talents.
He composed his face into a more serious expression however, because he knew that if Mycroft helped him tonight, then he would be forever indebted to him. He grimaced. That was not something that Sherlock had wanted either, but he supposed that if it came as a side effect to keeping Irene safe, then he would gladly take it.
Mycroft wore a slightly irritated but concerned expression as he walked over to Sherlock.
"Well?" he asked. His voice sounded like it usually did – irritated and impatient, but Sherlock knew that this was his normal tone, and thought nothing of it.
"Someone I know has been kidnapped, abused and probably imprisoned in some sort of cellar, and now she's been found unconscious in a street in London." Sherlock said, coming straight to the point. "The police force wants to conduct a full investigation, but there's a small problem."
Mycroft raised his eyebrows.
"She's going to need new ID. I need you to be able to somehow get that past the government and the police."
Mycroft's eyebrows rose even further. He decided to ignore the favour Sherlock had just asked on him, and concentrated on his voice ne instead. Sherlock's tone sounded like it usually did, but there was some sort of softer and gentler quality to it – not apparent to people who didn't know him, but Mycroft noticed it immediately. Sherlock's tone was generally so detached and cold, but there were emotions in it now. They were very subtle, and barely noticeable, as if Sherlock was doing his best to supress them, but they were definitely there. Worry, and fear and …love?
No, he was being absurd.
Sherlock knew as well as he did that caring was not an advantage, and there was absolutely no way that he would allow something even similar to love get the better of him.
"Who is she?" he asked, needing to know who this woman was. He hadn't seen Sherlock with her, so he couldn't judge, but if Sherlock cared for a woman…how had he not managed to find out about this?
Sherlock frowned slightly. "I'm relying on your help" was all he said, before he opened the door to Irene's room. "Oh and one more thing" he added, and closed the door again when he saw that Mycroft was craning his neck to try and see who she was. "Do try not to wake her, she needs rest."
With that he pushed open the door, and walked in, not bothering to hold it open. Mycroft managed to walk in just before the door slammed in his face.
He immediately went over to the bed, trying in vain to conceal his interest. Even from the other side of the room, he could see that the woman was not in a good condition. She was strapped up to an IV, and there were several monitors next to her, probably monitoring her pulse and heart rate. Bruises covered the snow white skin, or what was visible of it anyway.
He stepped closer, and her facial features suddenly became familiar to him.
His emotions got the better of him, and he was unable to control the small gasp that left his mouth. For a second, his face betrayed utter and complete shock, before he gained control over his feelings and concealed his emotions behind a mask.
But he let his eyes show the piercing anger he felt. He fixed his furious gaze on Sherlock.
His voice was like ice, cold and hard, and sliced through the air like a knife.
"What have you done?"
Sherlock didn't seem at all intimidated by Mycroft's glare, but looked vaguely irritated at the fact that Mycroft had raised his voice. His eyes went immediately to Irene, making sure that she did not wake, and then went back to Mycroft. "I told you to be quiet."
Mycroft stared at his brother's audacity. He was fairly certain that Sherlock had played a part in somehow keeping Irene alive and fooling him, because no one else would have been able to pull it off. Which means that he had acted on the fleeting feeling he had felt for her, the feelings that made him no different to other men.
Weak, vulnerable and stupid.
He had fooled him, and then asked him for help concerning her, and now he was asking him on keep his voice down?
Did he have any idea what he had done?
His gaze, although more controlled, was getting more dangerous by the minute. Sherlock still remained unintimidated.
Sherlock simply raised his eyebrow in response to Mycroft's question, not bothering to answer. He let the silence speak for itself.
Mycroft's eyes catalogued the way his little brother's eyes drifted over to Irene every few seconds, almost unconsciously, as if he didn't realise he was doing it. He saw the way that his eyes softened, just a bit, and the way that his whole facial features shifted. He wasn't the emotionless detective anymore.
The total and utter realisation was like a wave crashing down on him. No, not a wave, a tsunami, each wave carrying its own message.
He cares for her.
It's not just fascination and intrigue anymore.
He wants her safe.
He loves her.
The last realisation made him almost physically weak, and he tightened his hold on his umbrella. His face, however, stayed neutral.
Only a second had passed, but Sherlock now saw that his brother now understood the situation. Mycroft, he knew, was still very angry, and unpleasantly shocked, but he understood.
Not in the positive sense, certainly, he had been the one who had told Sherlock over and over again that caring was a disadvantage and he was angry that the advice had had no effect on him, in the end.
No, his understanding was resigned. He knew that shifting Sherlock was impossible. Sherlock was awfully stubborn, and once he set his mind on something there was no possible way anyone could ever convince him otherwise. Love was a strong emotion, one that managed to get into every inch and fibre of someone's body, an emotion that infiltrated someone's mind at the most unwanted of times and slowly turned anything in there into mush. Even a practical and sharp mind like Sherlock's might not have been able to escape this, however hard he tried.
The proof was right before him.
Mycroft sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice suddenly tired and irritated.
Sherlock inwardly sighed in relief. A small part of him had been scared that Mycroft would refuse, and leave Irene Adler to the authorities. But now there was a way out.
"I need you to somehow make the hospital staff turn a blind eye for a bit. And the police force too, if possible" he said.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows. The police force? Surely there would be an investigation; he supposed that it was precisely this that had his little brother so very worried. But honestly, did Sherlock expect him to somehow make everyone in the police force ignorant of the fact that the woman they were investigating was a (supposedly) dead criminal ex dominatrix, with lack of identification? Contrary to what he said, he was pretty much the British government, but he wasn't god.
"I thought you said she needed new ID?" he asked, deciding to take questions one at a time.
Sherlock nodded. "Yes. But she hasn't woken up yet, and I have no idea who did this to her. Nor do I know whether she came to London by her own choice or if she was taken here by force."
"You think the kidnappers took her and her identification?"
Sherlock nodded in confirmation. "Yes. There was no identification found on the body. Either the kidnappers have the ID I had made for her-" (he saw Mycroft's mouth turn down in the smallest of grimaces)-"or she never took it with her. I won't be able to determine that until she wakes up, and it may be wholly unnecessary to make her new identification. If we refer to her by her old alias however, the kidnappers will be alerted, and will know that they have tricked us."
"What about the hospital staff?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock nodded.
"I haven't given them an official name yet. She was moved to intensive care quite quickly, and I ignored everyone, so after a while, people stopped asking. "
Mycroft sighed. That did sound like his brother.
"I'll see what I can do" he said, and saw something appear in Sherlock's eyes that he had not seen there for a very long time.
Gratefulness.
"When will she wake up?" Mycroft asked, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable. Sherlock turned around (having gone to Irene's bed) looking almost distracted.
This is what sentiment did to people. Left them distracted and clueless. Mycroft sincerely hoped he never encountered it.
"The doctors aren't sure" he answered. "But certainly not for another few hours."
Mycroft sighed and nodded. "Alright."
The two brothers shared a long glance. Sherlock broke it first and went back over to Irene, sitting down on the chair positioned next to the bed, and closed his eyes, evidently thinking of what else he should do to ensure Irene's safety.
Mycroft got ready to go. He fastened the buttons on his coat and transferred his umbrella to the other arm. He doubted that Sherlock even noticed him leaving, he was already too engrossed in his thoughts (or possibly even in the woman before him?) he shook his head and opened the door, stepping into the hall.
"Mycroft" his brother's voice called out just before the door closed. Mycroft raised his eyebrows.
"Thank you".
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Thank you for reading, and please drop a review :)
Laura x