Dear God, He's Gone and Done It: Chapter 6

"Yes. As a matter of fact he is Master Holmes. He went up with her hours ago."

Without breaking stride, Mycroft walked through the front door, breaking the call with the men at the desk.

"Oh, whoever was outside a moment ago seems to have dashed off when he saw the car approach. Our people are on his trail though."

"What brings you out on a night like tonight, Master Holmes?" Phillip asked in his most respectful tone, which wasn't saying much. Mycroft Holmes might be their superior, but Phillip and Edward both had a healthy loathing of the man.

"I'm here to remedy the idea of my brother being with our agent."

Edward came flying out from behind the desk, accompanied by Phillip, 'You hurt our Poppet and we hurt you."

"I. Own. You. Both of you." Mycroft's entitled sneer was planted firmly on his face.

Phillip stepped forward, 'You own your suit and that pompous umbrella. You do not, however own us."

"Is that so?"

"We joined MI-6 voluntarily. You and the powers that be accepted our requests to join based on our skill sets. We were trained quite well. All of these things are true. But, if push comes to shove, more of us will back her than you."

"Are you sure about that, Edward?"

"Let me tell you something Master Holmes every agent that we have, that would take our side in an act of disobedience could turn in their government issued weaponry and their agency identifications and we would still have enough of a private armory stashed at an undisclosed location, and enough manpower to use it, that we could topple your entire beloved British government in twelve hours….If we were so inclined."

"I am the British government."

"Twelve hours Master Holmes…."

"Or less, depending on how charitable we were feeling." Phillip spat out.

"Very well. Since I don't want civil unrest all over my brother's activities….Goodnight gentlemen."

With that, Mycroft Holmes left as suddenly as he came, climbing back into his insanely expensive car. He still resolved to drive a wedge between his dear brother and his agent. This just wouldn't do. Most of the men that found themselves in Barbary's bed had an alarming tendency to wind up dead….usually dispatched by the lady herself; never mind the fact that it was typically over the course of some case that she had been sent on, the fact still remained she was a fatal piece of work. Of course he understood clearly that if that wedge fell between Sherlock and Barbary that it would have to come from Sherlock's lips and not his own. Mycroft did not like very well the idea of an all-out mutiny by three quarters of his roster. He knew very well what the odds were against him. And considering that so very many of them had prior military ties before coming to the agency….he wasn't even sure they would be able to count on Her Majesty's best; they'd likely defect. He knew when he and his men scraped her off of the streets of Marrakesh that she would become a force to be reckoned with. It seemed as if now was the time.

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Hours later, as sunlight poured through the window in Barbary's sleeping nook, there was an infernal knocking at the door to her flat. Sherlock sat up trying to determine if the sound that he was hearing was real or if he had merely been dreaming it. In the meantime, Barbary sat up slightly behind him; her hair was sleep rumpled, cascading in unruly tangles over her shoulder as she held a sheet carefully to her chest, and letting out a gasp.

Sherlock turned to her and really couldn't speak for a second. Her brown hair was ablaze of gold with subtle, barely noticeable natural red highlights; even her dark eyes glowed as gold in sunlight that was currently filtering over the London skyline; even her skin which was near to alabaster took on a golden glow. Dear God, now I'm writing poetry! Damn you Shakespeare!

"What time is it?" She spoke quickly.

Glancing at the watch on his wrist, 'A little after 8 a.m. Why?

"Damn! I have a meeting." Grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around her, Barbary jumped down out of bed and scampered off to the bathroom to catch a shower. Not even fifteen minutes later, she came back out with a towel wrapped around her body, and her hair hanging down her back, stopping just past her rear-end in damp waves.

"Go get some clothes on Sherlock, but use the other room. I have to get dressed."

"I've seen it all already."

"I don't have time to argue. Please, Sherlock, go get dressed."

"A meeting?"

"Yeah, a work thing. It's what normal people do….they work…because they have to eat and pay rent. It's dull stuff I swear. But, it'll be my ass if I'm much later than I am now. Hurry, go now."

Barbary had tossed much of Sherlock's clothes to him and he made his way into her bathroom to change as she had asked. Once she was dressed she came and knocked on the door to make sure he was decent. Sherlock opened the door; he was still naked from the waist up, not having the time to put his shirt back on yet.

"I hate morning meetings." Barbary stomped her foot like a toddler would and had the most adorable pout on her face. "It's so not fair. We should still be in the bed. By all rights it was your turn."

Sherlock stifled a bit of a chuckle as she came waltzing into the bathroom and nudging him over a bit so they could share the sink as they brushed their teeth. He noticed she nearly had to stand on her tip-toes to see her reflection in the mirror; and the sink itself did come up quite high on the waist compared to some others he had encountered.

"You could always call in and say you were sick."

"I wish. You have no idea what my boss is like. He would never go for that."

"We should get him together with my brother….lock them both in a room to fight it out and see who wins."

"Maybe." Barbary smiled. She almost gave everything away then and there. But she couldn't.

Mycroft was counting on her. He had assigned her to keep Sherlock alive; he was getting himself into more and more trouble these days. And, he had just been recently acquisitioned to help investigate a human trafficking ring. Those bastards were Barbary's specialty. She'd taken down her fair share of them over the years. But, Sherlock was getting to close now; the powers that were in charge of this particular ring were about to strike. She could only guess what this meeting was about. Barbary wished all of this would just come to a head so she could get back to her 'normal' life. Having to be this close to Sherlock was killing her. She had always had a thing for him, at least from a distance. She read and kept every newspaper article she could get her hands on about him. She was even privy to John's blog. The little that she knew of Sherlock, she absolutely worshiped the man. Sure, Mary had warned her that he could be an insufferable ass, this is true. But, none of that mattered to Barbary. She just loved him. She couldn't have explained it to somebody without sounding totally out of her mind, but she did. Mary understood. Mary loved John the same way for the longest time. Oh, she still loved him….likely would until the day they died. But, before they were married, and before John found out that Mary had such a secret life before him….Mary loved him because he never judged her, he just loved her back. Everything he did for her, he did solely to make her happy. Mary had never known anybody like John. But, still….Mary tried to warn Barbary about how Sherlock could be. Barbary didn't care. She couldn't care.

Yes, Sherlock was strangely attractive with his angular features and almost cat-like eyes; never mind the color of said eyes being completely hypnotizing. And he was tall, quite a bit taller than her; but that wasn't altogether unheard of, she was only about 5'3 or 5'4. And he had those hypnotic eyes and that dark hair, and a voice like liquid sex; and then there was his accent. His build was lean enough, but athletically muscular. From head to toe, Sherlock was almost physically perfect as far as she was concerned….and quite well endowed. Barbary had managed to notice that last night even if they didn't get around to doing anything about it. She felt like shouting a loud 'You're Welcome' to the universe for that observation.

But, his physical attributes had very little to do with why Barbary found herself completely stupid over one Sherlock Holmes. No. It was the simple fact that Sherlock Holmes was likely the only human being on the face of the planet who would ever be able to see her; not just Barbary the assassin or secret agent. But, he would be able to see who she used to be. Since she was a girl she had been a ghost. She had no real identity, just the one that Mycroft supplied her with. She barely remembered much about her old life. She knew that her father was a monster; her mother had allegedly drunk herself to death when Barbary was quite small and left her alone with her father. But, a lot of the years after that were sort of a blur. She remembers being afraid to go to sleep in her own bed, and then….she lived in a lot of different countries over the next few years after that. She couldn't remember ever going to school. She was kept a prisoner by one person or other for so many years. When Mycroft Holmes scraped her off of the streets of Morocco Barbary could neither read nor write to any degree. She didn't even remember her real name and she wasn't too certain of what her age was. Mycroft gave her a new identity. He gave her the name Barbary which meant 'Stranger' because that was what she was, a stranger, even to herself. He had her properly educated with private tutors; she had been a sponge. It didn't take her long to learn what she needed to know. Once she had been taught how to read and write at all, she took that gift and ran with it. She became a voracious reader, anything she could get her hands on.

Then Mycroft asked her to become one of his agents. She, of course, said yes. Barbary owed Mycroft Holmes everything she had.

But, from the time that she had been a small child, she had no identity of her own. For sake of argument, she was a ghost. Nobody ever paid much attention to her, she blended into her surroundings; the only time that anyone ever took notice of her was when it was too late and they were in her cross-hairs. The other agents knew of her, most of them respected and feared her in equal measure. Even if they all socialized at agency meetings, she didn't really see any of them socially outside of work. She had never had any friends that she could remember; she had no idea what it was like to have other people in her life. She lived for her work. She was good at it. It cost her a little bit of herself most times; you don't want to know the things she had to do to get close to some of her targets. The men that she let use her just so she could get close enough so she could kill them and make damned certain they were dead. With each passing case that she was assigned, what was left of her was being stolen away, until she felt like the mythical Echo; pretty soon all that would be left of her would be her voice.

Sherlock was the only person that she knew of that could even come close to giving her any part of her life back. It was a fact. He had deduced at some point that she was American by birth; a fact that she did her best to deny, hopefully sounding believable. But she knew if she really let him, he would be able to tell her nearly everything that was lost, or enough of it that the gaps that were left would make sense. For so long, that's all she wanted….to know who she was and where she belonged. She couldn't remember the last time she felt any love from another human being, not truly. Her children didn't count. Most children love their parents unconditionally, unless something truly horrible happens to change that. She worshipped her children, all six of them; and she hoped and prayed every day that she was a good enough mom to them that they could, in their own way, love her back.

No, she couldn't be late for this meeting. Being summoned to see the great wizard made her stomach hurt every time; she always wondered what Mycroft was up to. She knew she had her usual assignment of looking out for Sherlock; that was a given. But, in the meantime, what would he put her up to? What other fresh hell would she have to walk into? What new version of Satan would she have to cozy up to and dispatch? She was so sick of men, at least the wrong kind of men, putting their hands on her she could vomit. But it came with the job.

"Come on Sherlock. We have to go."

Sherlock noticed her voice sounded worried. Was her boss really as bad as all that?

Without another thought, Sherlock made sure he had himself together and followed her as they walked out of her flat. She waited with him as he hailed a cab.

"Tell Mary and John that I had a great time. It was wonderful getting to meet you after having heard Mary talk about you so much. We'll have to do it again sometime."

"Definitely. There's so much more I have to learn about you. And maybe start on 'War and Peace'."

Barbary, seeing the wink Sherlock shot her as he got into the cab, 'You wicked little devil."

She couldn't help but giggle at the way his face scrunched up slightly at her calling him little again. As soon as the taxi pulled away from the curb, an expensive black car pulled into its place.

"You're late. Get in."

"Top o'the morning to you as well Mycroft."

The car ride was silent. Mycroft wasn't even looking at her; he made no idle gossip with her as they went. Mycroft admittedly wasn't a chatty sort of person; he didn't get on well with others. But, at least with her, he seemed to fall into a sort of routine. If he wasn't in the mood to be his usual 'charming' self, then she must be in some sort of trouble. This made her stomach tie itself in tighter knots than before. Barbary just wanted it out in the open.

"What the hell have I done now?"

"I assigned you to guard my brother. I don't remember giving you permission to fornicate with him."

Mycroft's words were clipped and to the point.

Well, at least it's out in the open now.

"Permission? Excuse me?"

"I am still your boss am I not?"

"You may be right about that. You may be superior to me as far as our chosen professions go. I will not argue with you there. But, I am still a grown ass woman, I am not a child."

"Yes. And if Sherlock wants you in his bed, you'll go to him; just like you have done with all of the others. Isn't that right?" Mycroft seemed so smug it was rolling off of him in waves. He would throw it up in her face.

In that moment Barbary saw red. There was a rage that overtook her that she had rarely felt in her life.

She didn't even realize that she had slapped Mycroft that hard until she noticed that the car had come to a halt and she saw the look of utter disbelief in his face, and his hand was against the cheek that was still stinging.

"Go fuck yourself Mycroft Holmes!" With that she jumped out of the car and took off running down the road. Mycroft jumped out of the car as well and watched as she ran; even if he was the type of man to give chase, he would never be able to catch her. There might be cameras every few feet on the streets of London, and Mycroft may have access to them all, but Barbary knew where there were no cameras; she knew where she could go and drop off of the grid for a few days and there wasn't too much of anything that Mycroft could do about it.

She ran as far as she could for as long as she could until she made it to her favorite place. She made it to the roof of the building and stared across the river at Big Ben. When everything else in life went all to hell and stopped making sense, she could always rely on that damned clock. She loved Big Ben; he was one of the few constants in her life. The sounds of the chimes were comforting to her. Although right now, she was so ashamed of her life and the things she had to do to survive. She backed herself up against a wall and slid down, still managing to watch some of the taller buildings of the London skyline. She watched them all afternoon. Come evening, she was still sitting there, her knees curled to her chest, her arms and jacket wrapped around her legs, hugging them. She had been crying for hours. All the work she had done for Her Majesty's Secret Service, all the times she had put her body and mind on the line….and that was all Mycroft thought of her. Even now, thinking about it, made her cry even harder.

This is how she fell asleep, sobbing her eyes out, watching the London skyline as the city lights came on and darkness fell over the land.

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Post AN: There we go with Chapter 6. Same as always, lemme know. Thanx.