Attention guys! ( I WILL NOT BE POSTING TOMORROW AND POSSIBLE THE DAY AFTER, SEE BOTTOM OF CHAPTER) Sorry I've just realised I made a terrible mistake- Simza is her name. I had called her SIZMA in my previous chapters without noticing my mistake, I do apologize. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it took me a fair while to write... oh and I just noticed how many people Favourited and Alerted this story! Wow! Thanks to all those still reading, I hope that you enjoy!
PS. MISSING SCENE IN THIS CHAPTER.
Rescue IIIII
The aura around the room was a tightly focused and highly determined one. The only sounds throughout the large area were of the voices of companions whom discussed their next move rather sharply and carefully whilst the flames in the oversized fireplace at the back of it all danced and fluttered as if to a tune.
All Watson could do was sigh as Mycroft had begun explaining to Simza the complications of the situation, but all he received in return were witting sarcastic remarks. He closed his eyes for a moment and his thoughts drifted to what they were about to do, which of course would be highly dangerous itself.
"I simply don't understand why don't just cancel the summit" Watson asked the three at the table, two his companions and the other being Mycroft as Sherlock was still supposedly 'resting'.
Everyone stopped short for a moment and mused over the answer as Mycroft spoke, his voice tired and slightly strained from having had to explain the subject over and over just too many times for his liking.
"Well the fact is that it's going to happen whether we like it or not" the elder of the Holmes answered him, "and everyone has already arrived, and although these gentlemen maybe talking 'peace', believe me their readying their armies at home" he finished with a small sigh. "To cancel the summit now would be temperamental war"
"The telegram, wasn't it clear?" Watson replied to his statement,
"We have doubled the security..."
"Oh, double the security that's comforting" Simza spoke with complete sarcasm from her large seat at the rather hefty light toned oak table.
"You don't understand the delicacy of the situation, I passed the telegram onto my superiors, though they're the ones who brought Moriarty's advice of the peace process in the first place" he paused, "He has positioned himself brilliantly! He's one of our foremost intellectuals, he's the personal friend of the..." however he trailed of as Watson completed his sentence for him,
"Prime minister, yes we all know that" he said in a rather annoyed voice.
"I believe you, but where's your evidence?" Mycroft challenged, knowing very well what the answer ought to be.
"He's too good to leave evidence" the doctor answered, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "He doesn't leave loose ends..."
There was a sudden small noise coming from the great corridor which had lead to the 'discussion table' and a tip-tapping of lightly yet strong footsteps.
"Oh he's alive" Simza said with a smirk as she watched the younger of the two siblings emerge from the brilliant hallway.
Shouldn't he be resting? He has always been the troublesome one... he isn't supposed to be out of bed until about another hour or so, but I guess with Sherly there's no point in giving him rules, even if they are for his own good. I shouldn't worry about him at all, and since when has he EVER listened to me? Mycroft thought as he watched Sherlock's movements. Something rather miniature caught his eye in the other Holme's hand as he silently groaned, when has he ever...
"Sherly put that down" his brother instructed as he saw a small strange mechanism in his brother's hand, who for a man whom had died less than a few hours ago, looked quite well.
Watson looked between the two brothers in a little amusement, no matter how grown he may seem he just isn't that grown up at all... he chuckled quietly in his head, earning a strange stare from Simza which he had pointedly ignored.
"What is this contraption, may I have it?" he asked in a rush, staring at his brother expectantly. "The effect is most invigorating" he placed the odd machine on his lips and drew a breath,
"Eh, it's my private and personal supply of oxygen and you're not to touch it" he scolded him with a light shake of his head at the younger's actions, saying the last few words whilst emphasising greatly.
"This argument is getting us nowhere" 'Sherly' retorted, dragging the attention of those in the room to the quite significant subject at hand.
"I have arranged for documents to be prepared which allow you into the ball" Mycroft countered, gesturing the spoken declaration of a soft flick of his wrist.
"Stanley!" Holmes turned and looked beside him at the servant and smiled at the old man; "You haven't aged a day" he offered him a smirk, and got a slightly perplexed look from the butler. "Is that my favourite chutney..." he drifted off, "fact is, you don't really know what he's planning..." he spoke loudly again and turned around to face the group.
"It won't be another bomb" Simza alleged, her tone knowing and certain.
"No it won't be another bomb" the doctor agreed, yet still unsure of where their collected thoughts were actually heading towards.
"It doesn't make sense... "Her sentence wafted off, as she became in sudden deep thought, calmingly taking a short but paused intake of breath.
"Why would he attack all the nations- only to unite them?"
They could only watch as Holmes lips turned into a firm line, sighing... I suppose it should be a fair time to reason with them and tell them of my discoveries... however I am surprised not one of them has caught on just yet... All in good time then.
"It should be an assassination... by a lone gunman at close range" they all paused for a moment, until realisation of the inevitable truth hit them hard, especially Simza whom had already just figured out whom the assassin might be...
"Renee"
They all looked at up the more youthful Holme's, mouths slightly ajar, as if freezing in time all together the pieced together the meaning.
How long had he known? Why hadn't he told us! Why hadn't he told me! Renee is my brother! How could he... Simza stopped, subconsciously clenching her teeth and fisting her fingers.
"Unfortunately yes." He clasped his lips in tight straight line and met the female companion's eyes for a long yet seemingly swift few moments. Well that certainly went better than I had first expected. It doesn't make the situation much better though...
"You knew..." her eyebrows were raised and her eyes, if even remotely possible, wider than before. He stopped all she was doing, her expression a little grim. He knew... how do I work with someone I cannot trust? Then again, it is Holmes; I shouldn't have expected any less.
"I had my suspicions, having seen who'd be attending I'm now certain" he spoke evidently, allowing a short but sharp intake of breath through his lips.
"Well at least we know who to look out for" Mycroft mentioned his tone a little on the light side. At least, well hopefully, that gets us SOMEWHERE. I feel as if we were stuck, now at least we are moving along, even if it as at a slow pace.
Holmes continued to stare into the deep brown eyes of Simza, as she his. One pair read great disbelief whilst the other pair were a little emotionless, other than the fact that the beared a somewhat of an apologetic look.
"Renee will be the evidence..." Watson understood, his eyes gleaming somewhat. Holmes had planned this all along, hadn't he? I swear that man is impossible.
"If we can find him- and stop him, we will perhaps not only save his life- but prevent the collapse of western civilisation" Sherlock contemplated, sighing a just a little more, his gaze wavered and fell to the side, and the next words he spoke to himself more than anyone else,
"No pressure."
"Doctor!" Mycroft yelled over to Watson whom had just finished his tea, only about an hour after the discussion and realisation of what they must do. Watson turned around, placing his empty cup of tea on the smaller sized wooden table. "I've had Stanley arrange for some attire for you at the ball, as I trust you brought non on your little journey here" he chuckled a bit. "The clothes should be waiting for you at the third room upstairs to you left. Oh! And please give Sherly his garments as well; he should be in the room to the left of the one with the clothes"
John just nodded in thanks and began treading up the stairs as he heard Mycroft telling Simza where here dress was, being not too far from theirs. He heard her asking about her friend, the one whose name he'd never learnt to properly pronounce, as she was welcome with the reply that he had asked to simply go home since his part was finished.
He accidently skipped a step and almost ended up tripping but had fortunately managed to keep his footing. Room three on my left... he remembered and walked over to his opposing side before finding the correct door. He clutched with golden doorknob without much force, and twisted before pushing it carefully.
Inside it was simple and very much like all the other guest rooms, except as Watson walked in, beside him he noticed a large mirror, with an even larger closet, its colour seemingly black. The sheets were plain crimson, unlike the room Holme's had been staying in, and the window at the top at the back of the bed as a little smaller. He took a moment to take it all in before noticing that the attire that Mycroft had promised them lay on the bed.
He and Holmes had almost the same clothes, minus the size part. There was a pair of each: pure white bow ties with the same colour dress shirts to match, dark midnight inky suit jackets with tailcoats and finally socks and, what seemed like to Watson, the shiniest pairs of murky shoes he'd ever seen. He was sure after one glance at the clothes that they had been tailor designed, and after feeling the fabric, he was certain.
He moved a set of clothes until something caught his eye, gloves. Soft, perfect fighting ashen hued gloves. Watson could only smile to himself a little,
This party is going to be rather fancy isn't it?
Picking up a pair of gloves for Holmes too, he moved and left the room to give it to him, leaving his own clothes on the bed. Walking slowly with the attire in one hand and the shoes in the other, he came to a halt at the door beside his on the left before turning around and knocking at it with his elbow and calling,
"Holmes!"
There was a muffled sound on the other side before the door was abruptly pulled open, revealing a tired looking and bored Holmes. He looked at Watson's arms where the clothes lay before offering a smirk and slowly taking a breath.
"Fancy, fancy, fancy..." Sherlock mumbled, gently taking the clothes of Watson's hands, before looking at him for a moment then saying, "We're leaving soon, I take it?"
"Yes, right after we all change and prepare ourselves. I'll be in the room beside yours, but I'll meet you down the stairs, there's going to be a carriage waiting outside in a bit" he replied softly before turning around and walking into his own room.
Hearing the other's door close and lock, he did the same for his own, before beginning to dress.
It hadn't taken very long, and soon Watson was carefully and very gently pulling his suit jacket on but leaving it unbuttoned then quickly turning to his tailcoat. His currently bare feet somehow managed to trip on each other as he was turning, sending his crashing backwards, but luckily because of the bed his coat was laying on he manage to keep his balance. Not without making a small racket though...
"Watson, you alright there old boy?" he heard the obvious voice of this best friend and companion in the room beside his, how exactly had he heard that?
"The wall seems to contain some sort of gypsum plasterboard and some actual plaster, the combination is usually used for extra rooms- it's a rather thin combined material, as to answer your unspoke question"
Now he can read minds too. Holmes, you never cease to amaze me.
"Oh, you thank you Watson" Watson turned to the wall where his friends voice seemed to be erupting from, "By simply noting the length and positioning of your pause, and your train of thought, it isn't extremely hard to tell that you were thinking that I never cease to amaze you- however you are now reconsidering and believing that you had spoken a tad too soon, correct?"
Great. He actually CAN read minds...
"No Watson, I apologise but I cannot read minds, I simply observe, this time more or so with my ears and knowledge of you rather than my other senses"
"Holmes, will you stop that? Honestly..." he groaned and shook his head then suddenly realised he had yet to where his coat. Noticing that Holmes had once again distracted him with what could be none to him as simple child's play. He picked up the rather fancy extra but necessary layer or clothing and ran his arms through the sleeves, and pulling it down perfectly on his shoulders.
Perfect fit.
He was then unexpectedly interrupted by Sherlock's rough voice,
"Watson"
That simple word, even though short and not unusual, caught his attention at full stance. He sat on the bed, his back to the wall as he waited for his friend to continue, as the tone his last name was spoken in rang out in many volumes, and he could certainly swear that there was something else in it...
Sincerity?
Impossible... it's Holmes.
He knew that the man had feelings but many often forgot the important factor because he was so good and so well practiced at hiding all his emotions, whilst on the contrary, Watson knew it would be easier if he would just allow people in... Remembering his last 'significant' conversation with Holmes he shook his head, and was pulled back to reality by the same voice.
"These shoes have quite a bit of lace, don't they?"
John looked down at the shoes and socks lying on the floor. Holmes was right actually, the shoelace- which was quite odd for a shoe of that manner- ran from near its tip and escalated to its very top. It wasn't an ankle high sort of shoe- but it was still rather high- and the laces would have to take a while since they were all undone except at the first folding intersection.
"Oh yes, your quite right Holmes" he replied, but he knew that was not what Holmes really wanted to discuss with him.
"Emotions are rather strange things now, aren't they?"
The statement stopped him short. His eyes drifted to the wall behind him and imagined his friend, sitting down and facing the wall, a look of focus and concentration on his face. Watson tried not to let it affect him too much and lightly knelt down and picked up the right shoe after putting on both his socks, then fitted his foot in it, answering,
"I suppose so" he offered nothing else, but he knew it was all he needed to say as he continued lacing his shoe, almost getting to the point where it was needed to be tied.
"They hinder you... they are practically useless and overexert the human mind with pointless trains of thoughts... yet, because of their sole existence they hold the key to reviving your will..." he trailed off, and to say Watson was just lost would have definitely been an extreme understatement.
"Watson." He stopped abruptly, as if debating whether it best to continue or not. "I do apologise for the harsh words I'd spoken not too long ago"
John's eyes were wide. They both stopped for several seconds before each continued.
"I don't need to tell you that you are perhaps my one true friend Watson. Nor do I need to thank for our friendship or the fact you have journeyed out with me this far- because you already know. As for your questions I feel obliged to answer them- well at least some of them." He paused taking a breath.
"Miss Adler's...death... hurt, yes, but I do realise that you know that already for a fact. It pained me because she was the only women I had ever truly cared for, and I did not tell you because I simply thought it was not necessary. I did not want my emotions to cloud my judgement- or yours for that matter- and perform something rash and perilous"
It's not that he didn't trust me... it's that he knew if he let it out it might be more dangerous than any of us thought...
"The torture- you unfortunately heard- was rather painful. I honestly felt no reason to... how you say- 'dawdle' on the fact because what had been done had been done already. I knew it might just hinder our process, but it's fortunate that we now know of the lengths that Moriarty will go to- to retrieve what he wants.
Watson was already up to his next shoe and lacing it about tightly, whilst still intently listening to Holme's confession with great surprise.
"I do not wish to 'play' this twist game with Moriarty longer than necessary, but I will do anything to make sure that he does not come out smiling and glad by the end of it"
Watson knew how much that had taken out of his friend. He knew how hard it was for his friend to say that... entire he knew how challenging it was but certainly wasn't expecting it. It was strange and odd in so many ways yet he was more than grateful for it. Though he could not see Holmes, only hear him, he could tell; just how strongly his words had affected him.
"John?"
Watson snapped out of his days as he finished the last of his lace moved on to his neck bow. He just called me John. Holmes never calls me John...
"I do apologise"
Right at this very moment Watson was clueless. Absolutely and undeniably utterly clueless. Sherlock Holmes, the very man who many have claimed no nothing of emotions, had just told him all about it, his senses and why he didn't share it with him in the beginning. And now, he was apologising. And Detective Sherlock Holmes, probably the most brilliant man in all of England, maybe even the world certainly does not apologize.
He heard the unlocking of a door than the shift as it drifted open. Quickly he fixed his bow, pulled on his gloves and rushed to the door of his own room. In front of it he saw Holmes waiting, with the most unreadable expressions ever...
"We shouldn't keep my dear brother waiting, now should we Watson?"
And the mask was back on and tightly fixated again...
"Holmes..."
"Yes Watson?"
He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by Mycroft as he'd realised they had already made it down the stairs,
"The carriage is waiting outside"
"Holmes- why did you..." he was broken off again as Sherlock had begun to talk with Mycroft about the business matters of the ball, and Watson knew very well that he was ignoring him. He was about to speak again but caught site of Simza. She wore a cherry red silk gown, long and decorated with bows and flowers. Her hair was done in a neat up do, whilst a tiara like diadem lay on her head- with matching long earrings and a necklace. She wore dark midnight toned gloves and he shoes were hidden beneath her long spectacular dress. He walked up to him and smiled, immediately beginning to converse about what the plan was exactly.
They talked, but he could not rid a single question out of his mind;
Why had Sherlock apologised?
Mwahahaa I am so evil. I hope you enjoyed that! In case you didn't get it the first time, I'm not going to be posting to tomorrow or even possible the day after because of a sleepover taking place. I am sorry, but please stick with me- there's only a few chapters to go!