Trust and Weakness

My body shivered slightly when the sun woke me the next morning; the fire had gone out long ago and while our bodies were still warm beneath the covers, my head was not. Gingerly, I lifted Sherlock's arm from around my middle, causing him to grumble and turn over, still fast asleep.

After relighting the fireplace, I made my way down the seventeen steps and around the corner into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets to see if Mrs. Hudson had the means lying around to make him some cranberry muffins before we left. I managed to find the basics, along with something that resembled a muffin pan, and was doubtfully eyeing the black wood stove that lined the kitchen wall.

"Not quite what you're used to 'eh dearie?" Mrs. Hudson's cheery voice asked as she entered the room, lighting the stove and putting on a pot for tea before taking a seat at the small wooden table in front of me.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'm not as daft as that man thinks I am," she chuckled. "And it took a while, but I remember when you came knocking on my door years ago, never thought I'd be having a chat with a girl from the future in my kitchen, yet here we are."

She watched me intently as I mixed the dry ingredients together, her worn hands folded and resting on her lap.

"Who said I was from the future?" I asked with a cautious tone. I knew better that to think Sherlock would tell her such a thing, he made it a point to spend as little time as possible with his landlady.

"It tends to get quiet around here when Mr. Holmes and the Doctor are out and about, and Hannah missed you terribly. Didn't quite know what to think at first, her tales of funny motor cars, how Mr. Holmes found your shop and such, thought she may have been mad." Mrs. Hudson smiled and leaned forward in her seat. "But then I remembered when you came looking for him, and how quick Dr. Watson was to leave with you and for such a long period of time. After all the things they have dealt with in the past, I suppose a little time travel shouldn't come as such a surprise to my old eyes."

I pulled the milk, butter and eggs from the oak ice box and added them to my mix, smiling at the image of Hannah sitting around the table sipping tea with Mrs. Hudson, gossiping like a pair of old biddies.

"And I can see why he fancies you dearie," she continued. "A grand mystery all wrapped up in such a pretty package; can't say I miss that Adler woman popping in when ever she liked, never did care much for her."

Apparently Mrs. Hudson liked to talk…a lot; it was amusing actually, listening to her ramble on and on about the many moods of Sherlock Holmes, most of which she chose to avoid like the plague, about his sulking when John left with Mary, she even went as far to admit that she cared deeply for the still sleeping detective, despite his ways, in her eyes he was more of a dysfunctional adopted son rather than someone that rented out her rooms.

"My old mind had never thought of that," she exclaimed when I began to grate up an orange peel and add it to my mix, just before dumping it all into the pan.

"Gives it some pizzazz," I replied with a smile and a wink, sliding them into the oven and taking the kettle from off the stove, taking it upon myself to make the two of us a cup of tea before sitting across from her.

"We could always do with a bit more of that," she chuckled as she pushed her spoon around in circles.

"What about you, Mrs. Hudson? What did you do before Baker Street?" I asked, folding my arms on the table and resting my head on them.

"Me? Why nobody ever asks about me," she said softly, shocked by my silly little question.

"Well I'm asking. There must be some great stories about the great young Mrs. Hudson."

She looked at me with shy smiling eyes and looked around the room as if she were making sure we were alone; scooting her chair closer to me and leaning in across the table.

"I was in the theater you know," she beamed. "Met my Jim there, god rest his soul; said I had one of the finest voices in London. I can't count the amount of times we snuck around our parents just to see each other."

"You're kidding!" I laughed.

"You should have seen the look on my own mother's face when she caught us behind the market one afternoon," she replied while giggling like a teenager. "I rather like it when he plays, takes me back all those years," she said with a content sigh.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmmm, I only wish he'd learn to pick up after himself."

"I've been told that everything is in its proper place," I whispered with a smile.

"Indeed it is madam," Sherlock's disgruntled voice came from the doorway. "Spare me Nanny, and tell me you are not attempting to bake…again."

"Samantha made use of my kitchen herself this morning," Mrs. Hudson replied, standing from her seat and taking her tea with her. "Perhaps if you weren't up all night with that blasted instrument of your's, you would have been awake to know that yourself," she said dryly as she shuffled past him and out of the room.

"Thank god, the last tray I tossed nearly killed a bird," Sherlock muttered, leaning up against the counter.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled softly. "She was only trying to cheer you up, you know," I said in a hushed voice.

"Hmmm, perhaps," he said crossing the room and dropping a kiss on the top of my head. "But we both know it was much more than your baking that I desired," he whispered, squeezing my shoulders gently. I could hear him humming quietly to himself as he made his way back up the stairs; I couldn't help but smile to my self while I sat and drank the last of the tea in my cup.

Enjoy it while it lasts Samantha My recently quiet mind spoke up. You do realize that more than likely everything is about to turn to shit.

"It could turn out to be nothing," I replied.

But you know it's not. Six girls gone without a trace, where exactly do those hedges lead? He won't think twice about slipping through to find out.

"I know, and neither will I."

But you have your doubts.

"Yes…and I intend to stick by him, just as I said I would."

And what happens when you can't find your way back?

"I will."

You may not.

I closed my eyes tightly and pushed my pestering thoughts to the back of my head. If there was a way in there had to be a way out, at least that's what I hoped.

The ride to Mycroft's was long and quiet; Sherlock's thoughts had him staring blankly out the carriage window as the country side hills rolled by. I on the other hand tried to keep my mind from thinking about the girls Mycroft had lost, the last thing I wanted to do was worry myself into a depressed stupor.

We slowed down; turning onto a long gravel roadway, passing through an area of overhanging trees before entering through a pair of gates. The amount of land alone was breathtaking; private gardens with impressive strands of pink, purple, yellow and almost every color flower you could think of, an orchard, a small gazebo was nestled near the back of the property overlooking a quiet stream. I heard Sherlock give a low mocking chuckle causing me to pull my eyes away from the captivating view to face him.

"Pity; such a charming home being overseen by such a languid man, and now with so little help, it's sure to be overgrown within a month," Sherlock said in a dull tone while his eyes were still looking out the window.

"He hasn't hired any replacements?"

"Quite so, my dear Samantha, and even if he tried I'm sure the remaining staff would be quick to let any potential new comers know about the recent events in the gardens."

The carriage came to a stop in front of an equally impressive brick home, easily large enough to house several families and their children. Large bay windows were spread out along the top two floors, along with a few balconies perfectly placed to capture the entire view of the land. A pair of wooden doors sat beneath an archway, leading into the main entrance of the house; where someone was already waiting for our arrival.

Sherlock stepped out and reached for my hand, linking my arm through his as soon as my feet were on solid ground.

"Welcome to the Holmes Estate darling," Sherlock softly whispered in my ear. "Our host is more than likely to busy taking tea to be bothered by his own brother's arrival."

"Good day to you Mr. Holmes," the older well dressed man said as he scooped up our bags.

"Ah, good to see you Thomas," Sherlock replied. "This is Samantha, I'm sure Mycroft has mentioned her to you."

"Yes, of course sir. Excuse me for saying sir, but Mr. Holmes was, how should I say, bothered by her decision to accompany you," Thomas said shyly, taking a few steps back.

"No worries, Thomas, was it?" I spoke up. "Mr. Holmes doesn't know what to think of me just yet," I said cheerfully.

"Well I certainly don't mind Miss, could always use a fresh pretty face around, if you don't mind me saying so," Thomas smiled. "I'll let Mr. Holmes know you've arrived, and have someone show you to your room."

"I can manage that, Thomas, thank you," Sherlock said. "I'm sure it's the same room I usually stay in when I visit."

"Indeed it is sir."

"Then you go on ahead, I'll get us settled in and then seek out Mycroft shortly."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," Thomas nodded, taking our bags inside.

"There is something I wish to show you," Sherlock said once Thomas was out of sight.

"Something other than your room I imagine?" I laughed lightly, as he led me up the cherry wood stairs and down one of many hallways, lined with red carpeting and gold swirls, various paintings spread out on the walls every few feet.

"Mmm, but I think you shall enjoy it," Sherlock grinned. "And being as we won't exactly be staying here long, I thought I would leave you with a pleasant thought to get started on." He stopped and pushed open a door decorated with intricate carvings around the frame.

"Might I suggest the seat by the window, I find it to be most relaxing," he said softly, stepping to the side and allowing me to enter first.

My eyes opened wide as a huge smile broke out onto my face. Endless rows of books, from floor to ceiling, with very few gaps between each one; covering the space on the walls as if they were wallpaper. A few feet in I was met by a railing, a railing surrounding the top floor and leaving the middle entirely open. I peeked over the edge and laughed to myself; the bottom half of the room was the same, just as many books, just as many long lost tales to be discovered, and the smell alone was enough to win me over in a second.

"There is a small alcove tucked away in the far right corner, with a stairwell leading downstairs, but that is mostly filled with history and politics. I think you'll be much more entertained upstairs, with the likes of Chaucer, Kipling, and Poe," Sherlock said with smiling eyes, standing with his hands clasped behind his back beside me.

"You do realize how quick you'll loose my attention in here," I smirked.

"Indeed, it is rather easy to do so, my dear. It's one of the few things my brother and I have in common; an eye for literature." Sherlock took a step forward and pressed a chaste kiss to my temple. "Don't get too lost Samantha, Mycroft is sure to come around soon enough," he whispered sweetly into my ear. "Three doors down on the right, that is my usual room, although I'll be back to check in on you in a while."

I nodded, and began my trek around the room, allowing my hand to lazily drag across the brass banister, taking in all the titles at my disposal. It was a full ten minutes before I realized he had already gone. I sighed contently and plucked a well loved leather bound treasure from the shelf, making my way to the seat by the window.

I was rudely drug from my current fantasy world by a god awful clattering and a distinct odor of tobacco, not the sweet alluring smell I had become so fond of, it was almost foul and exceedingly dull at the same time.

"Come to give me a proper welcome Mr. Holmes," I spoke to the large figure that was sure to be lurking somewhere behind me.

"I see you've already made yourself comfortable Ms. Parker; my brothers doing no doubt. Now tell me, how is it you knew it was I standing behind you and not Sherlock or one of my staff?" Mycroft asked curiosity obvious in his firm tone.

"First off, Sherlock is very good at being light on his feet, and honestly the huge shadow that shaded the light didn't help you either. But the main thing, Mr. Holmes, is that nasty tobacco scent you have flowing out of that pipe set between your lips." I turned in my seat to see Mycroft, with said pipe, in fact, being held tightly in his mouth; his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

"Now my question to you, Mr. Holmes, is why don't you trust me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"And who is it to say I don't?"

"It's implied," I muttered turning back to the window.

"Hmmm, I won't claim to know much of this magical wall my brother kept going on about upon his return, but I refuse to believe it. The last thing my brother needs is another American woman taking him for a ride. Sherlock and I have our differences, but he is my brother, above all things, and the last bit of family I have left." Mycroft kept a stern face and a dry tone as he spoke, and yet his gray eyes were looking at me with sincerity.

"I've seen the way he is with you, Ms. Parker, he looses himself, and that, I fear, just might be his undoing."

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, taking a moment to dwell on the truth behind Mycroft's words. I single handedly had become the great detectives strength and weakness all in one, and him mine. But what would life with Sherlock Holmes be without a little bit of that extra danger lurking everywhere you went; dull and boring. And let's face it, I was through with that portion of my life.

"I promise you this, Mycroft," I whispered, not seeing the point in keeping formalities between us. "I'm not in any way, shape, or form, taking Sherlock on any sort of ride." I got up from the round cushioned chair and walked past him towards the door. "And as for magic," I grinned, slipping my hand inside my pocket and pulling out a simple quarter, flipping it in his direction, watching as he caught it with his pudgy little hands. "Perhaps you should just take a leap of faith." I called, smiling to myself as he looked in wonder at the fresh coin between his fingers, with a date reading 2010.

A/N Hey look at that, I managed to update in a week! Sorry for the filler chapter, but I felt Mrs. Hudson needed some love, and Mycroft deserved his little time in the spotlight before we go off to new and...dangerous places. Hope you all had a great New Year, mine was a little too fun and I had a nice headache the day after to show for it. Thanks for all the fantastic reply's and thanks to all the story alerts and favorites. Hope you enjoyed! As always let me know!

-Shelly