Chapter 9

Jane realised it must have looked a strange sight; a woman in her mid thirties (late thirties) in dark jeans, a black t-shirt, shining Docs and a tatty olive green service jacket twenty plus years old walking next to a man who was pretty much elegance personified. Said man was now wearing a navy pinstriped suit and black cashmere overcoat which probably cost more than she'd earn in a six months.

All her clothes had been washed, ironed and were hung neatly in the wardrobe when she woke up which meant at least she didn't look as tatty as she did when she arrived at the Diogenes.

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she walked, trying to avoid the curious glances of those around her. Mycroft, however, walked with an unconcerned air, absently twirling the umbrella hooked on his arm.

Everything was so…clean and expensive. The waiting room was about the same size as a ward with individual booths with a television in each. Not exactly your bog standard NHS abortion clinic, then.

Jane stopped in the waiting room momentarily but Mycroft continued on walking so she followed his lead. They walked close enough together for it to be companionable but there was still a gap between them.

A young female nurse walked past them, not even batting an eyelid. Jane stared for a lot longer than she normally would've done because the young woman looked more like a supermodel than a nurse.

She wore a lime green uniform with a white beret, the dress came down to her knees but it hugged the young woman's shape perfectly, which was…curvaceous to say the least. Her make-up was minimal but it was there and not to mention the three inch heels she wore which made her well over six foot.

Talk about a real confidence booster, not that having top model nurses was going to deflate any woman's self confidence in the slightest.

Jane lowered her head even more, trying to ignore the curious stares radiating from other patients. Mycroft didn't seem to notice or care but edged just that inch close to Jane to show he was fully aware of the situation around her.

They reached the end of the corridor and were greeted by 'Isis' waiting outside room 19.

"Hullo Anthea. Is it still Anthea or is it something different this week?"

"It's Isis, this week, Doctor Watson," Isis smiled briefly. "Your consulting room is just through here. Just to be clear, you don't have to give your consultant any personal details, she's been told a…version…already. Oh, and your name on the register is Smith. Your consultant will be along shortly."

"What is this version of my story?" Jane asked, genuinely interested at what Isis had come up with.

Isis smiled briefly. "There's no need to worry, she's been informed not to ask any questions unless strictly necessary."

"Ah, I see. Right…well, thank you. Uh…" She turned to Mycroft. "Are you coming in?"

Mycroft looked at her with mild surprise, he frowned. "Surely it's not my place…unless you want me to."

Jane was silently for a lengthy amount of time. "Come in when the consultant asks you to."

"Very well." Mycroft nodded briefly and Jane opened the door to the consulting room.

The room was large, it was about the same size as the living room and bathroom in Baker Street put together. The walls were covered by a bold blue floral wallpaper.

In the middle of the room was an oak desk the size of a single bed with two black Chesterfield armchairs either side of the desk.

In the farthest end of the room was a window that spanned the size of a wall that showed London in all its shining Monday morning nine o'clock glory.

Jane sank back into the armchair and tried not to think of what she was about to do and where she was. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inwardly calling Sherlock Holmes every name under the sun.

But she still wanted him there, more than anything she wanted him beside her. Why the bloody hell did she have to go and fall in love with a sociopathic genius with the morals and decorum of a six-year-old of all men?

Mycroft waited patiently outside the room alone, he'd sent Anthea back to his office to assist Sosa with tackling issues with regards to the Minister of Education, particularly to do with a certain story that – well, there was no need to think about that now. He tapped his umbrella absently on the laminate flooring.

He knew it was none of his business, he knew it was Jane's choice and Jane's alone but this was one mistake he simply couldn't allow his idiot of a brother and the emotional wreck of a doctor to make.

Mycroft was not a religious man but he prayed to anything and everything that wherever Mummy was that she would give him some sense for once in his life.

She couldn't stay still, she was simply too nervous. She had to move or she knew for a fact she was going to explode.

She got up slowly and walked towards the window, the view was magnificent to say the least. Below her people turned into ants and were scurrying about in their thousands. It was quite tranquil being this far up into the heavens and looking down onto the world below.

She curled her arms around her stomach protectively, her heart wrenched in her chest and tears began to spill down her cheeks when she thought that there were two hearts beating inside her now, two bodies, two minds and that both were going to die, one figuratively and the other literally.

Mycroft knew the consultant as soon as she rounded the corner. The woman was short and stout but she had a pleasing face, one that didn't abuse the eyes. She walked straight but her hands where stuffed into the pocket of her white lab coat.

Mycroft extended her hand to her. "Doctor Harris, pleasure to meet you."

Doctor Harris' sharp green eyes scanned Mycroft quickly, she smiled. It was blatantly fake to Mycroft but would indeed be tricky to read for anyone simpler.

"Good morning, Mr…?"

"Harrington, Michael Harrington."

"Mr. Harrington…are you a relative of Miss Smith's?"

"I am a…close friend." Mycroft's pause was almost undetectable but Doctor Harris caught it.

"Ah. I see. So close that you have accompanied her to an abortion clinic, you must have no doubt known each other for a long time?"

Mycroft smiled, he liked Doctor Harris. She was a clever woman. She was subtly or rather not so subtly in his eyes, probing him for information whilst encouraging him to talk with her friendly manner. How interesting. Still, she wasn't exactly going to win but there was no harm playing along for a bit. After all, he had given his brother twenty minutes.

"Long enough. We met through my brother."

"Oh I see. Yes, a lot of the woman we see met their friends through mutual acquaintances." Doctor Harris smiled innocently but there was no denying the venom behind her sentence.

Now Mycroft was impressed. She'd managed to insult him by one little sentence that could be interpreted either way. Mycroft thought he may as well give her what she wanted, as a 'well done' present.

"I am not the father of her child."

"I never said you were Mr. Harrington."

"Hm…you didn't did you?"

"No, now if you will please excuse me Mr. Harrington, I have a patient to see."

Doctor Harris moved towards the door but Mycroft blocked her way. Doctor Harris looked up and straight into Mycroft's eyes.

"Excuse me, Mr. Harrington but I believe you are in my way."

"Indeed I am." Mycroft flashed her one of his less intimidating smiles.

"Then I suggest you move out of my way or I shall be forced to call security and have you forcefully removed from the premises." There was true loathing in the good Doctor's voice, so much so that Mycroft laughed.

"Doctor Harris, whilst you and I have been conversing, you've failed to notice that all the security guards seem to have taken a morning break. Now, I strongly suggest you return to the staff lounge and take a cup of tea, strong with milk and no sugar."

"How dare –" Doctor Harris' voice rose, her face turning a dark shade of pink.

"Ah, ah, ah. Calm yourself Doctor, we wouldn't want you having a heart attack now would we?" Mycroft smiled but this time there was a dangerous air about it.

Jane could've sworn she heard Mycroft talking to someone but she was in too much of a state to turn around and check. She didn't want Mycroft, of all people, to see her acting like a blubbering wreck. She did have some pride left.

She wanted more than anything to just get it over with so she could crawl home and hide in her bedroom and never, ever, come out again.

She wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand. She had to be strong. She was strong. She was a soldier. She was a Doctor. She was…broken and no amount of bandages or hugs could fix her.

She was tempted to run. Run from this place, those people. Run from everyone and catch a train and never come back. Keep the child safe that way. Change her name, her hair, her eyes and everything else that could be changed on her body.

Why was she doing this? Why –

'Moran.' The voice answered. 'Moriarty may be dead but Moran will never stop until you put a bullet through his skull. He'll hunt you down, hurt you, torture you and when there's nothing left of you or them, that's when he'll kill you. He'll take the child; he'll hurt your baby. And he won't stop. He'll never ever stop. He'll tear down the world to get to you.'

The tears continued to roll down her face as she faced the truth. She wouldn't do it…if there were any other way she'd take it. Dear God, she'd leap on it in a heartbeat but there wasn't there simply wasn't.

She could hear the handle twist and the pins in the lock contract, she heard the door push open inch by inch.

She couldn't turn around, she just couldn't. She couldn't accept this was happening, she couldn't believe what she was about to do. She closed her eyes, wishing the whole situation away, begging for it to not be true.

Someone stepped in and closed the door behind them gently.

She had to look, she had to turn around and face her consultant. She could do this. She was strong. She was strong. She was strong. She opened her eyes and breathed a shaky sigh. She turned around.

Then, with true disbelief in her voice, she whispered;

"Sherlock?"