A Gift and A Curse

Chapter 4

Mycroft didn't object like she expected him to; instead he nodded and spoke quietly.

"When would you like the ab-your appointment to take place?"

"Tomorrow, the earlier the better," She paused; she could feel a lump in her throat forming. "I can't – not tonight."

"I understand. I can arrange a car to take you home or I can ask James to hail a taxi to take you back?"

"Mycroft…Sherlock and I…we aren't on the best of terms at the moment…"

"Ah…I see. So, I suppose you do not wish to go back to Baker Street tonight?"

"No…not really."

In all honesty she would rather be anywhere else than Baker Street. It seemed like the root of all her problems were in Baker Street and had the name Sherlock Holmes.

"There are some rooms upstairs at the disposal of our members obviously I assure you our complete discretion. I'd say this was an exceptional circumstance."

Jane couldn't think of anything else to say so she simply thanked him. Mycroft shrugged it off, it was as if the gravity of the situation hadn't hit him yet, or that he was completely unaffected by it.

"I'll have James show you to one of the rooms."

Jane rose just as a middle aged butler came in; he wore a simple black suit with immaculately polished shoes and white gloves. He had grey thinning hair and there was absolutely no trace of facial hair.

"Sir?" His voice was indistinctive as it held no accent.

Jane felt rather unnerved at how there was nothing truly distinctive about the man, he was the kind of man that was faceless and knew it. He was all but invisible.

"James, please show my guest up to one of the rooms upstairs. I'd like you to personally make sure she has everything she requires."

"Yes sir." James inclined his slightly and turned his attention to Jane. "Madam? If you would care to follow me?"

James opened the door for Jane and the two stepped out. James didn't speak but the look in his eyes said 'Follow me'. And so Jane did. James led her down corridors filled with portraits people long dead until they reached a large mahogany door.

James opened it and stepped to aside to let Jane enter before him. Once they'd both entered James shut the door carefully.

"You're free to talk in here, Madam. It shares similar rules with the Strangers' Room."

Jane smiled half-heartedly. It wasn't that she was intentionally being rude; she just didn't have the energy to bring herself to be polite. Thankfully, James didn't seem to mind.

The room was typical of Mycroft Holmes, practical yet undoubtedly luxurious. Everything in the room was minimal yet expensive. The room housed a four poster bed, wardrobe, desk situated by the windows (which were drawn by the curtains) and a roaring fire with two dark emerald Chesterfield armchairs.

Jane went over to the armchair and slumped in it, completely exhausted. Now the upset and anger had settled for the moment she felt fatigue wash over her.

"Is there anything I can get you Madam?"

Jane looked up and was startled to see James still in the room. She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to look more awake.

"No thank you I…oh…uh…I know this may sound a bit strange but I've only just realised –" She blushed faintly. "I…don't have anything to sleep in."

James nodded in understanding and walked to the wardrobe which looked exactly like the kind of wardrobe that housed Narnia. But instead of finding a winter forest, James pulled out a white nightgown that looked like it had been imported straight from a Jane Austin book.

Jane blinked for a couple of seconds, trying to formulate exactly what to say. James looked directly at her and with no hint of embarrassment said;

"Some of our members have more of a select taste for what they would like their…female companions…to wear."

"Oh," Jane said not fully understanding what he'd just said. Until she repeated it in her head and then it clicked. "Oh, oh…I'm-I'm not a…female companion…I'm a friend of Mycroft's…brother." Jane blushed furiously. "I'm really not."

"Please accept my apology Madam, I didn't mean to embarrass you. If this isn't suitable enough for you I can see if there's anything else available?"

"No, it's fine…to be honest; I don't care what I sleep in as long I actually get some sleep tonight."

"Very good, Madam. Can I offer you anything to drink before you retire to bed?"

"Do…do you have whiskey?"

"Indeed we do, Madam. Will Royal Brackla Single Highland Malt do?"

"Uh…yes, thanks."

"Very good Madam and if it may say so, an excellent choice." James said before leaving the room.

She had never heard of it but and knowing Mycroft it was probably going to be ridiculously expensive. Jane knew medically that it wasn't the best idea to drink but that fact that it was the very early stages of the pregnancy and that she was going to have it aborted anyway meant that she really didn't give a shit. Selfish, yes, but not entirely unjustified.

James returned in very little time and came back carrying a tray with a single whiskey glass balanced on top of it. He offered the tray to her and Jane accepted the glass gratefully.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else you require madam?" James tucked the try underneath his arm.

"No, nothing else."

"Very good. Goodnight, Madam."

"Goodnight, James."

Jane watched James exit the room one last time before turning her head languidly to stare into the fire. She rested the glass onto the arm of the Chesterfield. She closed her eyes, promising herself that it would only be for a moment.

She listened to the sound of the fire crackle and the radiating heat gently caress her skin. It was blissful but there was something wrong.

Sherlock wasn't there.

He wasn't sat opposite her talking aimlessly or playing his violin or even just sat there enjoying the silence with her. God, it felt wrong. They hadn't been apart in months and she realised with a heavy heart that this the first she'd slept in a separate bed to him for months.

"I trust you know the implications of drinking alcohol when with a child?" Mycroft's slow drawl brought her out of her mind and her eyes flew open.

The elder Holmes was leant against the door, arms crossed, glasses tucked into his shirt pocket and staring very intently at Jane.

"What does it matter?" Jane spat. "I'm losing it tomorrow anyway, aren't I?"

"There is always the choice not to choose that option."

"You know that's not a choice." The bitterness was adamantly clear in her voice, so much so that it almost took Mycroft back, almost.

"Jane, I am not here to berate you on your choice, as I'm sure you will complete that task perfectly well on your own. Nor am I trying to act as a relationship counsellor. I am here to give you the facts."

Mycroft strode over to the second armchair and settled himself into it.

"And the facts are these; you have conceived my brother's child. Which, I admit, when you first told me I felt somewhat… elated for the two of you. It is also clear that neither of you are suited to be parents, I'm sure your mothering instinct is perfectly sound and there is no doubt that you will love the child. But, children to not survive on love alone.
You will have to change your lifestyles which is clear to me that neither of you are willing to do. Sherlock most probably won't and you won't do it without him. This is the dilemma and your fears aren't unjustified. Now you have decided to submit yourself to an abortion without consulting my brother. I am not asking for you not to go through with it, all I am asking is that you wait, just for a few hours, for Sherlock to turn up and you talk with him. If you both agree that an abortion is for the best than I will have no qualms about arranging an appointment for you. Are those terms acceptable to you?"

If it wasn't for that fact that Jane was indescribably tired she probably would've put up some form of protest or argument but she didn't. She nodded and passed the whiskey glass over to Mycroft who accepted it without another word.

He rose with the glass in hand and went to the door but just before exiting he said softly; "Goodnight, Jane. Sleep as well as you can." And without giving Jane another chance to reply, he was gone.

Jane looked over to where the four poster bed was situated in the middle of the room. For something so old it looked so comfortable. She got up out of the chair and crossed the room to where James had hung the nightgown.

She undressed quickly and left her clothes in an ungracious heap on the floor. The soft cotton nightdress slid over her head with ease and hugged her body as if it had been made for her.

She dragged her heavy feet over to the bed, threw back the covers and fell into the bed. Seconds later she fell into the gloriously open arms of a dreamless sleep.