Marie stared at the letter again, re-reading Mary's words to John with an unreadable expression.
'My darling,' Mary had written, 'I need to tell you this because you mustn't hate me for going away. I gave myself permission to have an ordinary life. I'm not running, I promise you that, I just need to do this in my own way. But I don't want you and Sherlock hanging off my gun arm, and I don't want to drag Marie back into a world she so deservedly left behind. I'm sorry, my love. I know you'll try to find me but there is no point. Every move is random and not even Sherlock Holmes can anticipate the roll of a dice. I need to move the target far, far away from you and Rosie, and then I'll come back, my darling. I swear I will.'
"So, she's done it." Marie sighed, handing the note back to John. "She's gone off on her own."
"And she thinks she'll be untraceable by being unpredictable." John muttered, and Sherlock hummed.
"Well, she's wrong there." He commented, almost absently as he stared off into space thoughtfully, and John glared at him while Marie winced.
"This isn't just some, some distraction, Sherlock!" John snapped at his friend.
Sherlock looked up in surprise while John ranted: "This is my wife, and she's out there, doing God knows what, while this, this psychopath is hunting her!"
"I know." Sherlock started, trying to calm the other man down as he realized John's misunderstanding.
But John steamrolled over him as agitation and worry consumed him: "Oh, you know, do you? Well, that's a surprise, isn't it, the great Sherlock Holmes knowing!"
"John." Sherlock frowned, but John went on: "It must be nice, being able to stay so 'above it all', without the 'distractions' of emotions."
"John-" Sherlock tried to interject again, but John carried on over him: "Yeah, it's easy for you, isn't it? It's not your wife that's on the run!"
John shouted the last words, exploding his anger and anguish, and Sherlock finally snapped, just as heatedly: "No, but it could be!"
John blinked, falling silent at last as Sherlock huffed out a breath, taking a deep one in as he forced himself to calm down again. Marie watched them with worried green eyes as John stayed quiet while Sherlock repeated in a much calmer, more neutral tone: "I know what that feels like."
His eyes flickered over to Marie as he reminded John softly: "To have your wife run for her life, to have her facing dangers, to know she's alone in that… and to not be there. To not know if she's all right."
John glanced between his friends as Marie reminded Sherlock pointedly: "That was your own fault for not even texting me for the two years you were gone."
"Details." Sherlock dismissed, though his blue eyes did soften slightly in apology. Again.
Marie nodded, while Sherlock turned back to John, saying calmly: "So I do understand and I can sympathize, despite what you might think."
John lowered his eyes at the subtle jab at his own harsh accusations, which had been born of frustration and worry, but Sherlock moved on without further ado: "But trust me: we will find her."
"But why, Sherlock?" John asked at last, glancing back down at the letter in his hand. "Why did this, this Ajay come back? Why now?"
"You can never outrun your past."
It was Marie who answered, explaining as confusion crossed John's face: "It comes back. It will always comes back – it's the one constant for people like me and Mary."
"Do you, do you mean Moriarty?" John asked hesitantly, glancing between his friends as Sherlock moved to take Marie's hands in his soothingly. "I mean, for you two? Like this Ajay has come back for Mary?"
"No, John, Moriarty isn't back from the dead." Sherlock answered, a tad testily, and Marie explained softly: "It's not Jim. I guess you could say it's the idea of him. Or rather, people like him."
"I still don't understand." John pointed out, and Marie elaborated: "He wasn't the only one who knew my or Sherlock's past, just as Ajay isn't the only one after Mary."
"Magnusson." John breathed in realization, and Marie smiled faintly.
"He's another one, yes." She admitted, when John frowned.
"But… you were cleared." John protested. "Sherlock went after Magnusson more for Mary than you, right? Your file's already been leaked, but Sherlock cleared your name along with his over a year ago. Surely-?"
"Did you never wonder why no-one has ever since questioned Marie's 'leaked' file?" Sherlock asked, and John paused at the specific wording.
His eyes widened, and he glanced at Marie, who nodded with a sad smile.
"It wasn't my file – or, rather, I should say it wasn't my real file." Marie explained. "There was information there, yes, that could be traced back to me, but the file itself wasn't real. It was pulled together from various assassins, all of whom have been since put out of action… by me. So, yes, it links to me, but the information in it wasn't mine."
"But…" John said, shocked by this information, and Sherlock explained: "It was all faked. Moriarty sent a fake file, so it was easy to prove it all wrong."
"But why?" John asked, brows pulling together in confusion. "I mean, I get that you two, and Mycroft, pretended to be upset," he gave them pointed looks and they had the grace to look a little ashamed, "to trick Moriarty – and me. But why would he send a fake file, and what does this have to do with your 'shadows'?"
"Because," Marie answered softly, "it also means that my file exists, somewhere, out there, in someone's hands."
John blinked, realization hitting him, even as Sherlock continued: "Magnusson had everything memorized, so killing him eliminated a large threat, but there are traces that cannot be erased no matter how much we try. Mary's memory stick and Ajay's return are proof of this, and that is what Marie… and I have feared."
John nodded, looking down at the letter in his hands once more while Sherlock nodded at Marie.
"We'll bring Mary back." He promised softly, and she reminded him quietly: "The last times, you 'killed' yourself and then got yourself exiled."
"It won't be like that this time." He countered firmly. "I promise – no more running."
And despite herself, Marie smiled a little back at him as Sherlock leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.
The laptop that had been on the desk beside them beeped, and the couple drew apart as John also glanced over.
Sherlock quickly moved to stand before the computer, staring at the screen as he informed them: "She's moved."
John nodded while Marie's eyes steeled with determination, and Sherlock straightened once more.
"Let's go."
Mary walked swiftly down the bustling streets of Morocco, keeping her clothed head slightly lowered as she moved through a marketplace while the sun began to set in the distance. Checking, for the thousandth time that she wasn't being followed, Mary slipped down a side alleyway and down the less busy path to arrive finally at a doorway, which had a sign hanging above it that read: "Hotel CECIL."
Heading inside, she reached a latticed door, when she paused. Leaning in, she listened to the sound of laughter and muffled words coming from inside, and Mary tensed. Pulling a large pistol and cocking it, she slowly and carefully made her way into her room.
She could hear an adamant male voice inside saying: "Not like this, my friend. You haven't got a chance, not a chance."
Keeping to the shadows, Mary snuck carefully along the wall leading to the sitting room area, keeping her pistol ready as the voice continued: "I've got you where I want you. Give in! Give in! I will destroy you. You're completely at my mercy."
Mary frowned – voice sounded a little young – but was otherwise undeterred as she made ready to turn the corner and shoot…
"Mr Baker." A very familiar British voice spoke. "Well, that completes the set."
Mary's expression dropped instantly into one of shock while she heard the other male laugh: "No it does not."
Lowering her gun as she lost strength in her limbs, Mary stepped around the corner to look for herself as she heard Sherlock ask: "Well, who else am I missing?"
There, sitting before her room coffee table, was the consulting detective himself, looking very much at home in his favourite dark blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up as he played a game of cards – clearly Happy Families - with a young Moroccan man of perhaps thirteen.
As Mary stared, the young man was explaining to Sherlock as he pointed at the cards Sherlock had laid down: "Master Bun. It's not a set without him. How many more times, Mr Sherlock?"
Sherlock sighed, and he noted: "Maybe it's because I'm not familiar with the concept. Oh, hi, Mary." He added nonchalantly, looking up at the stunned woman.
The young Moroccan glanced at Mary briefly before looking back at Sherlock, asking in confusion: "What concept?"
"Happy families." Sherlock answered. "There's always one… or, in my case, more than one."
He then looked back at Mary as he asked casually: "Nice trip?"
That finally broke Mary from her shock, and she demanded: "How the f-"
"Please, Mary." Sherlock interrupted swiftly. "There is a child present."
He gestured at the boy before him, and Mary sighed deeply before she demanded incredulously: "How did you get in here?!"
"Karim let me in." Sherlock answered easily, nodding at the boy who smiled and waved at Mary.
"Hello." He greeted.
Mary nodded in greeting, and Sherlock asked politely: "Karim, would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?"
Mary was removing her headscarf, pulling it to her shoulders and revealing her long, dark brown bob hair, as Karim answered easily: "Sure."
"Thank you." Sherlock said, and Karim left, greeting Mary as he went: "Nice to meet you, missus."
As soon as the boy left, Mary turned back to Sherlock as she demanded: "No, I-I-I mean how did you find me?"
Sherlock frowned, as though wondering why she was surprised, and he pointed out: "I'm Sherlock Holmes."
"No, really, though, how?" Mary repeated, not falling for his feint. "Every movement I made was entirely random; every new personality just on the roll of a dice!"
"Mary," Sherlock sighed, "no human action is ever truly random."
Mary stared as Sherlock explained swiftly: "An advanced grasp of the mathematics of probability mapped onto a thorough apprehension of human psychology and the known dispositions of any given individual can reduce the number of variables considerably."
Mary blinked, while Sherlock went on rapidly: "I myself know of at least fifty-eight techniques to refine this seemingly infinite array of randomly generated possibilities down to the smallest number of feasible variables."
Mary paused before nodding, though a slight frown marred her face as she pondered his words. Sherlock paused, before he added: "But they're really difficult, so instead I just ... stuck a tracer on the inside of the memory stick."
There was a brief pause as Mary stared at him, and then Sherlock snorted a laugh while Mary's mouth dropped open and she laughed as well.
"Oh, you bastard!" Mary breathed, and as Sherlock continued to laugh, she repeated, exclaiming: "You bastard!"
"I know, but your face!" Sherlock chuckled, and Mary quoted incredulously: "'The mathematics of probability'?!"
"You believed that." Sherlock countered, and Mary laughed back as she threw her hands up in the air: "'Feasible variables'!"
"Yes. I started to run out about then." Sherlock admitted, and Mary demanded: "How did you even predict I'd use dice to make my moves after I left you?"
"The use of rolling a die is common enough practice." Marie pointed out calmly as she walked into the room from behind Mary, and Mary turned to stare at the woman. Marie smiled.
"Hello, Mary." She greeted, and Mary asked: "You're here, too?"
"I couldn't just leave you." Marie answered lightly. "You're my friend, and besides – you'd do the same for me."
"I'd have thought Sherlock would have insisted you stay at home with the twins." Mary noted, and Sherlock shrugged.
"Marie is her own person." He answered. "I will not tell her what to do."
"He means I'd never listen if I didn't want to anyways, so he wouldn't bother trying." Marie said fondly, and Sherlock just shrugged again nonchalantly in acquiescence.
Mary had to laugh again, and she said in half-amusement and half-exasperation: "Oh! So I suppose you were the one that advised Sherlock to bug the memory stick then?"
"No," John interrupted as he also walked into the room at last, "that was my idea."
Instantly, Mary lost her lightheartedness, her face dropping as she looked at John almost sheepishly. Sherlock and Marie looked between the pair as John stared back at Mary evenly, his expression carefully neutral as Mary gazed at him.
Marie nudged Sherlock, murmuring softly: "You haven't eaten today."
"Hm? Oh, right." Sherlock agreed, realizing what she meant. He was so used to Marie reminding him to eat, it had taken a moment for him to pick up on her subtle message.
"Dinner?" Sherlock suggested, reaching to grab his suit jacket, and Marie nodded.
The pair slid away quietly, leaving John and Mary to have their much needed talk. Unfortunately… it seemed neither John nor Mary quite knew what to say.
"They won't have talked by the time we return." Sherlock said softly as he and Marie sat in the hotel's lobby café for a quick bite.
They'd intercepted Karim to ask for the tea to be delayed until later, hoping to give John and Mary some uninterrupted privacy. Even so, both Sherlock and Marie were well aware that, as with last time, it would take John time to confront Mary properly about what had happened.
"They might." Marie said, though she didn't sound very convincing.
"And we cannot stay out too long." Sherlock murmured, glancing around once surreptitiously, and Marie nodded.
"I agree." She said softly. "There's no telling how far Ajay might have followed us."
"I'm hoping we lost him in Germany." Sherlock sighed, and Marie shook her head.
"He's too well-trained to be certain." She murmured, and Sherlock pointed out: "I know – I was just trying to ease your mind."
"Forgetting I'm slightly more clever than that?" Marie asked with a half-hearted teasing tone, and Sherlock shook his head.
"Marie, it will be fine." He soothed. "And we'll leave soon; Mary won't want to stay here much longer either. Then we can get back to the twins."
"I hope so." Marie sighed, leaning her head against Sherlock's shoulder. "I don't like being so far from them, especially not now."
Sherlock just nodded and, in a rare moment of PDA, kissed the top of her head softly as they spent the rest of the time waiting for their meal in silence.
Night had fallen by the time John finally broke the silence between him and Mary.
She'd removed her wig by that point, and John was seated on the low table, looking up at Mary as he finally stated: "AGRA."
"Yes." Mary agreed readily, and John said in the same neutral tone he seemed determined to maintain: "Mm-hm. You said it was your initials."
Mary bit her lip, worrying it briefly, before she said hesitantly: "In a way, that was true."
"'In a way'?" John repeated, almost sarcastically but not quite there. He finally shook his head, looking away as he almost sighed: "So many lies."
Mary stared at him, her eyes filled with sorrow, and she murmured the only words she could: "I'm so sorry."
"I don't just mean you." John murmured, and Mary frowned, asking: "What?"
But John averted the topic, looking at Mary as he listed: "Alex, Gabriel, Ajay..."
He paused before adding: "You're… 'R.'"
Mary nodded, and John gave her a tight smile, one that didn't really reach his eyes, as he stated almost flatly: "Rosamund."
Mary hesitated for just a moment before she admitted: "Rosamund Mary."
John nodded.
"I always liked 'Mary.'" Mary admitted softly, and John smiled a little as he agreed: "Yeah, me too."
But the smile dropped as quickly as it came, and John turned his head once more as he corrected with a sigh: "I used to."
Mary tensed just fractionally, looking wary as John stood up and started to pace way.
"I ju... I didn't know what else to do." Mary blurted out, and John turned back to her as he pointed out: "You could have stayed. You could have talked to me."
His calm façade cracked as he said in a tight, angry voice: "That's what couples are supposed to do: work things through."
John waited, and Mary just shrugged helplessly.
"Yes." She sighed, looking dejected. "Yes, of course."
"Mary," John sighed as he walked over, "I may not be a very good man, but I think I'm a bit better than you give me credit for, most of the time."
"All the time." Mary corrected, sighing as she gazed at John sadly. "You're always a good man, John. I've never doubted that. You never judge; you never complain. I don't deserve you. I..."
She broke off, casting her eyes down as her voice gave out. John frowned slightly, looking at her with a strange expression, when Mary took a deep breath and looked back up at John.
"All I ever wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that's all." She said quietly.
John's face softened a little, and he reached out to place his hand gently over Mary's, holding her clasped hands in a sign of forgiveness.
Marie relaxed slightly at that, glad that John and Mary had managed to work out their differences once more, and she leaned against Sherlock. He'd been sitting as silently as she had on the bench in the corner of the room, where they'd been since returning from dinner to find John and Mary still silent.
They'd waited, patiently letting John and Mary work things out somewhat privately, but now Sherlock looked over at them.
"I will keep you safe." Sherlock said quietly but firmly.
Marie glanced at him as John and Mary also looked over, and Sherlock met their eyes evenly. Feeling Marie tense, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to his side for comfort as he asked of Mary: "But it has to be in London. It's my city; I know the turf."
Mary glanced at him and then John, uncertainty warring on her face, while John averted his gaze once more.
"Mary."
Mary glanced up, her nervousness clear, and Marie gave her a soft, gentle look.
"Come home." She suggested, and Mary's eyes filled with emotions.
Home. The one thing that people like she and Marie could never have had in their old lives… but that they now each had.
John also looked at Mary as Mary bowed her head, while Sherlock stood up, bringing Marie to her feet with him, and he agreed with Marie as he said softly: "Come home and everything will be all right, I promise you."
A small smile appeared on Mary's face, a faint gleam of hope entering her eyes, when Marie's expression suddenly hardened.
Sherlock's gaze also became steely in an instant as he too spotted the ominous red dot that appeared on the side of John's head. Neither John nor Mary could see it from their angle, but her friends' expressions instantly notified Mary that something was wrong even, before Sherlock had to say anything.
"Get down!" Sherlock shouted.
