Dear God, He's Gone and Done It: Chapter 12

"Yes, the Elizabeth Tower, home of Big Ben; one of mother's favorite places. Soon we will be walking past King Richard I himself."

"Is this wise young man?"

"This is one of the safest buildings in all of Great Britain Mr. Holmes; home to Parliament. This is your kingdom, so to speak. You are a fairly recognizable figure here among your peers. Nobody will try anything here. Besides, as I said our old friend Ben is one of mother's favorites. He would never let anything happen to you." Tarek winked at Mycroft as if trying to make him understand some unspoken plan that had been cooked up. "Now come. I will see you to Diogenes and home and then stay with you until these bastards are stopped."

They made their way towards the main entrance of the building as they continued to talk.

"Surely you have other work to do."

"No sir. Mother would want me to handle your safety personally. For one thing, if something were to happen to you, in your position in the government, then it wouldn't be long before the people at the root of the problem would go after Her Majesty and others. Protect you, protect the throne. At least it is one possible scenario.

Here we are. Stay close to me as we make our way to the car."

Tarek carefully lead Mycroft to the dark colored sedan.

"Get in." Tarek ushered Mycroft into the car, Edward was already sitting in the back seat on the other side.

"Edward, good to see you."

"I am only here as a favor to our Poppet. If it were up to me you would be left to fend for yourself. But, Tarek requested our help."

"Our help?" Mycroft said carefully.

"You might buckle up Master Holmes; it could be a bumpy ride." Phillip winked at him puckishly from the driver's seat.

"Tarek, I would like to take my chances with the gunmen, thank you." Mycroft began trying to get out of the car. The door locks clicked into place.

"Master Holmes, we don't like you, we barely respect you. But our Poppet would hunt us down like dogs if we fail in protecting you. You know what she is capable of; would you want her coming after you?" Edward grasped the man's arm.

"Mycroft, my friend, you're stuck with us for now." Tarek all but chuckled as he sat in the front passenger seat.

Once everybody was safely in the car, Phillip made his way to Diogenes; Tarek keeping watch from the front seat, Edward from the back, guns at the ready.

"Did I glimpse a fellow about the roofline?"

"I told you Mycroft. Big Ben would not allow something bad to happen to you. There were others as well."

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Sherlock made his way back into the apartment building that housed Barbary's flat. He noticed that the concierge station was unmanned; this was strange. Phillip and Edward seemed to be perennially behind the desk, greeting him as he entered. Something was going on, he knew that. He carefully made his way to the lift that would take him to his destination.

Upon reaching Barbary's flat, Sherlock was fairly satisfied that there was nothing terribly wrong. Perhaps Edward and Phillip had some work that actually needed doing. He just knew that he was this close and he was not backing out of his plan now. He could feel something twisting in his stomach; in a normal person he would assume that would be guilt….But Sherlock didn't do feelings in the first place, so he just ignored it.

He had not liked being told what to do by his brother of all people. Mycroft had only rarely done anything for Sherlock out of his own concern for Sherlock's well-being. Most of Mycroft's efforts to pull Sherlock's strings had been for his own benefit. And now, suddenly, when sentiment was not a virtue, and love was a chemical defect anyway….NOW Mycroft gets bloody worried about how this will affect Sherlock? And to hear Mycroft tell it, Barbary was a woman of questionable morals anyway. He was well shod of 'The Woman' and he had no intentions of falling into another trap just because relationships and the trappings associated with one were not his area.

No. He was going to rid himself of this nuisance, Barbary, once and for all.

Picking the lock, Sherlock let himself in as quietly as possible. Upon doing so, he happened to notice Barbary tottering across the living room on some crutches he hadn't noticed before.

Hearing the door to her flat open and then shut so carefully, Barbary turned ever so slightly to see who the intruder was.

"Oh, just you." Noticing the look on Sherlock's face, 'these stay stashed in my cabinet in the bedroom. I'm….I'm accident prone."

"You hardly seem the type. More likely your assignments leave you in need of such apparatus."

"If you want to crash, go for it. I need to get some water to take these pain killers. You have run of the place otherwise."

Barbary never got the chance to continue over to the kitchen to get her drink; Sherlock had bolted the door behind him and made his way to her in just a few brisk steps. When Barbary felt the presence of somebody behind her she tried to turn around, but Sherlock's closeness made her nearly topple over, which she would have had it not been for him grasping her left elbow.

Before she could even form a question about what he was doing, Sherlock kept his hold on Barbary's elbow, tugging her closer to him, grasping the back of her head with his own left hand. Without a second's notice he had pressed his lips to hers. After making sure she had no intentions of pulling away anytime soon, Sherlock removed his right hand from where he had gripped her elbow and knocked away one of her crutches, wrapping his arm around her back to show that he would be all she needed to stay upright for the foreseeable future. As he began to shift her around he then kicked away her remaining crutch, leaving her completely dependent on him for her balance.

Breathing was becoming quite tedious, but they needed air. As soon as Sherlock pulled mere millimeters away from her Barbary signaled her discomfort.

"I really need to take some pain killers, Sher…."

Deciding he had to shut her up, Sherlock dove back into kissing her, slipping his tongue into her mouth quickly to keep her off of her game as much as he could.

"With what I want to do to you, you'll forget all about that ankle. Trust me" He gave her what he hoped was a seductive glance without giving away any part of his plan. While doing so, Sherlock lifted her by the hips indicating that she should wrap her legs around his waist. With that done, he carried her back to her bed, carefully climbing onto it with an arm still wrapped around her, barely breaking the kiss. Once she was comfortably placed he used one of his hands to trap both of her wrists above her head so he could use his free hand to remove the large sleep shirt that she had settled on for the day.

"When we were first together you seemed ashamed that I would take your clothes off." It wasn't a question, Sherlock was stating facts.

And why is he talking? I must be losing my touch. "How many women have you ever been with that have scars from gun-shot wounds to the chest? Why should I be anything but?"

"But you lived," he began to suck at her neck.

"For what though?" Barbary shrugged her shoulders a bit before pulling a hand free and pulling his face back to hers and kissing him deeply. She didn't want to talk about it; none of that seemed to matter just now.

Of course Sherlock was still deducing her….right up to the point in time when his brain stopped working.

She had been assigned to protect him, possibly save his life, by Mycroft. She had a scar from a gun-shot wound that happened ages ago. According to the conversation that happened between Mary and Mycroft here earlier in the morning, Barbary has worked for Mycroft for quite some time. And Mycroft did say that this bit of trouble was down to some slave traders having been upset by some of Sherlock's investigations, by both Holmes brothers actually. The only conclusion that Sherlock could possibly arrive at was that Barbary had, at one time, been property of some slave traders herself, possibly being shot during an escape attempt, and Mycroft saved her life. It was the quickest path from point A-point B. So, in effect, Barbary was a former victim of slave traders, shot, left for dead, life saved by Mycroft, forever after giving undying loyalty and devotion of sorts to the man that had saved her often to the detriment of her own health and life. But, if her own life meant so little to her, there had to be….Tarek. She was grateful to Mycroft for saving Tarek's life. When Barbary first met Mycroft, she would still have been pregnant with her son; at least it was the most likely scenario.

And then he happened to realize that her hand had slid beyond the barrier of his waist band and he felt her small hand close around him. He broke the kiss gasping for air; the feel of her cool hands on his hot skin was almost jarring for him.

"You were thinking too much. Stop it." Barbary grinned at him as she leaned up a bit and started kissing him, gliding her lips down his throat, sucking on the place where the collar bone made a connection with his neck. While he was distracted she began unbuttoning his purple dress shirt, pushing his coat off as she went. While Sherlock was quite distracted, Barbary flipped them over so that she was on top of him, straddling his waist. She leaned over him to continue kissing down his neck but, before she did so, Sherlock noticed the look on her face. It was a strange bit of recognition, as if she was seeing him, really seeing him for the first time…..as if she had only been seeing what she wanted to see up to that moment, and suddenly the blinders were off. But, also, there was a hint of sadness that he remembered seeing earlier that morning. It was as if she knew something was about to happen and there was no way to stop it. It must be bad, judging by the depth of feeling in her eyes. That look, the emotions in it, they were fleeting at best. Soon she was kissing and licking her way down his torso as she exposed more of his flesh, still tugging his shirt and coat off.

Smiling up at him from her current position near the fly of his trousers she finally spoke what was on her mind.

"Last time was all about me. This time….You will never forget me."

"I do delete things that I find unnecessary. Surely Mary has warned you."

"You won't be able to delete what I am going to do to you Mr. Holmes. Of that I'm sure."

That was the last bit of talking she seemed inclined to partake in for the foreseeable future. That wasn't deduction. It was simple fact. Barbary had set to work using her teeth to unzip his trousers and then the button fastening them shut, winking as she did so.

Barbary couldn't have been more right about Sherlock never deleting this from his mind palace. It was going right next to the bit about her wrapped in the towel as he helped her out of the shower this morning….and that was right next to the bit when she handed him a copy of 'War and Peace' and seeing her on stage in that ridiculous costume. His bloody mind palace was turning into a can of rubbish by the minute. This woman was going to be the death of him one day.

"Barbary, you'll want to st..' he was already so bloody close to losing all control.

She pulled her mouth off of him slowly, "Hardly." There was an impish smile and a wink and she went back to her task. She pulled herself away once more, 'I owe you, remember."

At that phrase, Sherlock jerked her up from her work and forced her back on the bed, 'What do you mean by that?" He sounded fierce.

"Your last overnighter here left me an extremely happy woman. I know I can be just as good for you."

Sherlock had to shake the cobwebs out of his brain. Moriarty is dead, has been for so long now.

Maybe one day he would believe his own line of bull shit. Moriarty was never really dead. Even after watching the man shoot himself in the face, the evil deeds he did would live on in the minds of those that had been sucked into his vortex.

Seeing the look on Barbary's face though, Sherlock realized that she meant precisely what she had said. There didn't seem to be a hidden agenda, at least as far as Moriarty was concerned. He quickly stripped the rest of their clothes tossing them away with carelessness and before long found himself buried completely inside of her in one swift thrust; as he did so, he had leaned forward and pressed their lips together, his tongue going slowly and deeply into Barbary's mouth, catching the moan that was trying desperately to escape her.

She tasted as heavenly as he remembered and they fit snugly together. At that moment in time his self-imposed vendetta against her was temporarily forgotten. He was only able to keep his entire weight from crushing her into the mattress with his elbows, otherwise he was as physically close to her as he could get. His strokes varied from short, yet powerful thrusts pulling shouts of pleasure from her to longer slower strokes that left her whimpering.

Barbary tried to flip them over so she could take over control yet again. Sherlock wouldn't allow that. He grabbed her legs and pulled them up so that her feet rested around his shoulders and continued to go deeper into her. She settled for cupping his face in her hands and pulling him down for another kiss.

"Sherlock…" she sighed against his lips, pulling him closer to her. "Sherlock, you're going to be the death of me I think."

Something in her words sent a peculiar feeling through him; perhaps it was the fact that he had just thought the exact same thing about her mere moments ago, or it could have been the tone of her voice….there was a mild undercurrent of sexual innuendo, but in large part there was regret or some sort of unspoken anguish. However, this revelation as not enough to keep him from finishing what he had started. Knowing he was close, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and bit down rather harshly, sucking the skin between his teeth. With that and one more sharp thrust they came together. His face never left the crook of her neck, and the piercing sound of his name leaving her lips….she had warned him that he would never be able to delete this moment from his mind palace. She was right. He would never…not that he was sure he wanted to. Of course there was always the chance that the inability to delete this would come back to haunt him; there was always a chance.

Soon after, they both fell asleep. Sherlock hadn't even been able to shift his weight onto the bed, he rested his body upon hers, his head against her chest, face still buried in the crook of her neck…oh and then there was the fact that he was still buried inside of her. For all the ways in which he was about to hurt her, he could not bring himself to be separated from her just yet. Sherlock never said he wasn't selfish. He was, he was quite selfish. He had fallen under her spell, just as Mycroft had predicted. And before he would allow her to crush him or make him look like a fool he was going to do it to her. Sherlock was not a man that gave in to feelings or sentiment; but when he did, he did not like being left with egg on his face. For her part, Barbary's right arm wrapped around him, her right hand had been stroking through his hair, the left resting on the bed behind his body, a glock wrapped in the hand. Even as she pretended to sleep she was keeping her promise to Mycroft….protect Sherlock at all cost. She couldn't be sure if Sherlock had been followed back to her flat or not, or if Kostya would just get bored and come looking for him anyway. She had only pretended to fall asleep. Barbary rested her chin against Sherlock's curly topped head. She knew Sherlock was completely asleep judging by his breathing levels and the fact that his pulse gave it away when she checked.

Listening to him breathing as he slept, Barbary's heart silently fractured. The break wouldn't come yet, no. That would happen later. These were mere fractures for now; this was going to lead up to the break that would likely kill her. Tears came then, quietly, just like the fissures in her heart. She was careful to sob quietly and tried not to let the sobs cause her body to shake; she couldn't allow her feelings or sentiment to wake him.

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"Sir, I have the files you asked me to find."

"Thank you Anthea. Leave them on my desk please. I'll call if there's anything else."

"Yes sir, of course."

Mycroft Holmes stood at the window behind his desk looking out over the streets of London from three floors up. The day was slightly cloudy with a chance of showers later in the evening. He contemplated what he might find in the files once he started looking, what actions he would have to take to right the wrongs that had been visited on Barbary for years. He hoped by doing so that he would be able to correct his own mistakes with her care over the years. After sighing tiredly, he sat down at his desk and began flipping through the files that his assistant had left for him.

According to the first file Evelyn and Wallace Halliwell had one daughter, Imogene. She had married a wealthy young American man, Samuel Chapel. She went missing, according to the file, sometime around 1982, late in the year apparently; it seemed as though most people assumed she had run off. That was the story that Samuel had told most people around town…that the rigors of raising a toddler had been too much for the young woman and she had disappeared, leaving him to raise their daughter. Upon further digging it was found that she had never actually disappeared. It seemed as though her husband had used his particular influence to have her committed to a psychiatric hospital. Samuel Chapel had apparently told the staff that the young mother had become a danger to their small daughter, a three year old named Lila (who was close to four), showing the authorities bruises that the girl had sustained (which had likely been caused by him). Samuel had thrown enough money at the establishment that he could be assured that she would never be allowed to leave. Since then it appears as though she had been kept doped to the gills, many of the drugs causing hallucinations which in turn gave the quacks working at the facility every excuse to give her more medication. It seemed that Imogene was still living at the facility. Mycroft made a mental note to remedy this situation, Imogene Chapel would be a free woman by tomorrow morning at the very latest and put on a plane and brought home to London where she belonged. He would reunite her with her daughter if it was the last thing he did.

Further research of the files showed that after her mother's 'disappearance' Lila had been left living in that house with her father. There had been next to nothing in the files about any abuse. There was the odd mention of rare hospital visits; one for a broken arm, another time the little girl needed stitches above her left eye…according to the file she had been running through the house and fallen, giving herself a gash above her eye….That must explain the scar above her eye. Mycroft had always wondered about that. Another trip to the hospital for a broken rib…..there were only a couple more mentions of injuries, however no outward mention of abuse was made, it was all put down to the girl being a clumsy child. Further fact checking proved that the physician that had attended to the small child had once been high school friends with Sam Chapel and that they had kept in touch throughout university. Another phone call to be made; two doctors left without a practice before the end of business today, and in all likelihood, a mental hospital shut down at least for the foreseeable future, if not for good, until it could be staffed with reliable people.

All of this took place in the little girl's first four years of life. The year that she turned five, her grandparents apparently made a plea to Sam Chapel to allow them to bring the girl to London with them for some time; they used the excuse that they had wanted to spend time with their granddaughter since their daughter had gone missing. In reality, based on other things Mycroft had read, they were trying to use the time to get the child away from her father permanently and track down what had happened to their daughter Imogene. Things did not go the way they had hoped. At the end of the month they had to return the child to her father. Immediately they began petitioning the courts of England to intervene and get the child back. They had done everything they could short of getting the crown involved in the case, which they could have done considering the close personal friendship between Evelyn Halliwell and Her Majesty, but apparently others in the government were not all agreed on the idea. They couldn't reconcile possibly starting an international incident over one tiny child. Times were different now. Mycroft Holmes was at the helm of this branch of government. Barbary….Lila…was no longer a tiny child with nothing to bargain with. She was one of the top agents of MI-6, a world class assassin...she had done work to protect members of the royal family and others among the monarchy and nobility before and they knew her to be one of the best. Now…Now, if Mycroft ordered it, there would be a world war if necessary to clean up this mess. And Mycroft would not hesitate to use everything in his power to do so; not only were these people coming after his agent, but also his brother.

If Sherlock was willing to jump off of a building for the only three people he was known to care about, then it went without saying that Mycroft was willing instigate World War III if it was necessary to save the life of his brother and Sherlock's childhood…What had she been to Sherlock? A friend?

Within less than six months after the child….Lila, her name was Lila….within six months after Lila was returned to her father in America, she too went missing. She had only been five years old, where would a five year old disappear to? And why was there only a cursory investigation? The only thing the police files seemed to say about the child's disappearance was that it appeared that someone had snatched the girl from a store she had been visiting with her father. Mycroft knew from studying statistics that stranger abductions were actually quite rare, typically the worst danger a child faced came from someone that they knew. Mycroft got on the phone to his assistant.

"Yes sir?"

"I need whatever information that you can find on one Samuel Chapel; that means everything. I want to know if he has so much as a parking ticket. And do get me any record of his financials. I also need anything that you can find on where he might be today."

"Of course sir. I will get whatever I find to you as quickly as possible."

Mycroft began to wonder if it was possible that Samuel Chapel had sold his own daughter as a slave to these traffickers just to keep his in-laws from ever getting her and to thwart any effort on their parts to track down what had happened to Imogene. From what Mycroft was to understand about the man's finances so far, he didn't actually need the money. No matter. He would simply have his people track down Samuel Chapel and keep eyes on him every moment possible; he had acquaintances in America that he could call on for aid if necessary. The man would be in his late sixties perhaps. Most people of that age weren't usually harmful; but, if Samuel Chapel was the monster that Mycroft suspected he was, then no chance could be spared, he would bear watching.

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When Sherlock woke up later that afternoon Barbary wasn't anywhere near him. He sat up looking around, wiping his eyes to clear them of sleep, the sheet draped around his waist. Upon honing in on his surroundings Sherlock could hear water running in the bathroom; Barbary must have been brushing her teeth. He looked around a second more and realized that she left a note on the night table on one side of the bed.

Tea and a light breakfast are ready in the kitchen…if you want it. B.

Sherlock got up, pulling on his pants and trousers, looking around for where his shirt might have landed in the commotion of last night. Barbary came out of the bathroom, it seems as though she had decided to forgo the crutches for limping carefully around the flat after all. Before turning around to look at her, Sherlock smiled to himself smugly, having come to a conclusion on what to do to sever ties with this woman. Reaching into his trouser pocket his hand came into contact with some money that he usually kept in there in case of incidentals (i.e. running into a member of his homeless network or needing money for a spur of the moment cab ride). There had to be fifty pounds there. As he walked, shirtless, into the living room he took the money out of his pocket, getting closer to Barbary.

"Here, I would like you to have this. Last night was incredible." His face remained placid, as if this was a normal conversation.

Barbary carefully turned around looking to see what he was talking about. Seeing the money in his hand, she looked him in the eye for a second.

Sherlock saw what he might have considered actual pain in her eyes, but the look only lasted a split second as she reached out her hand taking the money. The look on her face became contemplative as she brought the money closer to herself looking at it as if considering the amount for a moment.

"I'm sorry Sherlock." Barbary looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Mycroft has already paid for services rendered." Suddenly she threw the money back in Sherlock's face; if it had been a stone, it would have put out his eye, before storming out of her flat the best she could with a sprained ankle.

As she exited through the door of the flat, Sherlock would almost swear that he heard her actually sobbing. He knew that was ridiculous; they weren't really in a relationship anyway, why should she care what he had to say or think.

Once back in the bedroom he found his shirt, putting it on and making sure it was properly buttoned before grabbing his Belstaff. Upon running his fingers through his hair, he felt that his hair seemed to be damp. Funny, I haven't showered. Turning around he looked towards the still opened door of the flat where he had just watched Barbary make her escape. His eyebrows pinched together as he tried to figure out what was going on. He would have to talk to John and Mary about…OK, maybe not Mary, she did shoot him once to protect herself against John finding out about her past. Sherlock shuddered to think about what she would do to him if she found out what he had said or done to upset Barbary in such a way. But John…definitely talk to John…Perhaps Lestrade. Maybe the two of them can help him figure out what he had done wrong.

As it was he got the rest of his things together and began to leave the flat and make his way back to Baker Street. Luckily, Barbary had left the money behind so he could pay the cab driver.

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"Barbary, when you get this, call me immediately. There are some things we need to discuss."

Mycroft was worried; this was the fifth time that he had tried reaching Barbary, it was the second time leaving a message. He couldn't figure out where she was. He had heard some news about Kostya's whereabouts and it concerned him. Currently, Mycroft was walking the halls of the third floor in the building that housed Diogenes, deep in thought. He had made the necessary phone calls to acquire the freedom of Barbary's mother Imogene. He had also had the pleasure of having the license of a certain doctor revoked that had overlooked or buried signs of child abuse; as it was the man was being escorted out of the hospital and into a non-descript government vehicle. There were actually two doctors in two separate government cars that were going to be brought to England sent to a private facility to be housed until such time as Mycroft could clear some space on his schedule to "speak" to them.

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Barbary made her way through the halls of Diogenes following behind the man that had greeted her at the door with a bag slung over her shoulder. Ordinarily women weren't allowed here, but this was Barbary….Mycroft had already alerted them that if she showed up to give her whatever she asked for.

Letting her into Mr. Holmes' office, the gentleman opened the door and allowed her to enter ahead of him.

"Will you need any tea or something stronger madam?"

"No sir, thank you though." She gave the man a slight smile, it seemed as though that small gesture took all the effort she had left.

He noticed her looking around, admiring the books, her face betraying her professionalism, she was upset. Her eyes were swollen and red. Her face was still pink from crying. Her posture was stooped with the effort of maintaining this façade of being strong.

"Alright madam. Well, if you would like to have a seat, I will make sure that Master Holmes will be with you shortly." The man bowed to her as he left, shutting the door.

Barbary swung the bag down off of her shoulder, dropping it to the floor, looking around again at some of the books that her hands just itched to take down to read.

Not my things. I mustn't touch them, they don't belong to me. She had to keep reminding herself over and over again. Her eyes came to rest on a leather wing backed chair that sat in front of the fire place of the office a bit to the left. She made her way to the chair, dragging her bag behind her. Before she could plant herself in the seat, there was a voice from nowhere.

"Thank you for making this so convenient."

Without flinching, Barbary brought her glock up, pointing it in the direction of Kostya who was standing by an open door at the opposite end of Mycroft's office.

"I had originally come here to cause Mycroft some slight trouble. Oh, don't look like that. I wasn't going to kill him. Not today anyhow. But instead I will give you a bit of friendly information. I was going to hold on to this, but…. I think you and I are much the same actually."

"We are nothing alike. You murder people for money, you're a gun for hire."

"What are you darling? Mycroft pays you to eliminate targets. It must confuse you that suddenly he has you protecting one."

"Say what you have to say and leave. You have no business even breathing the same air as a man like Mycroft Holmes."

"You could be a little more polite than all of that. I am all that stands between you and Khaled. You know how badly he wants you back. And you know what will happen if you make him come to collect you. Collateral damage mean anything to you at all?"

"You're right. I apologize. Please continue." She arched her left eyebrow at him before lowering her gun, tucking it into her trouser waist, sitting carefully in the chair crossing her legs. "Do sit."

"I think I will stand. I can't really stay long. What I wanted to tell you was that Khaled has hired more men like myself. It's really more like a small regiment in truth."

Barbary sat up, listening a little more closely, 'What are they planning?"

"I can't give details."

"Been kept out of the loop I see."

"Apparently mercenaries aren't seen as very trustworthy. What I have been able to find out is that they will be targeting an elderly couple." Kostya was raising his eyebrows, waiting for Barbary to react to his information.

"So. How has that got anything to do with Mycroft or me?"

Kostya walked over to the coffee table sitting between the two matching wing backed chairs, tossing two photographs onto the table top. Barbary saw the pictures; Kostya knew exactly when it dawned on her who the people were, she got that disturbed look on her face.

"Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, the elder. Khaled will use any means necessary to strike out at you and both Holmes brothers. This is what he has come up with. He knows how you are. This is the quickest way to control you. He knows your pressure points. Go after either Holmes boy and you will get some decent results. Go after you and the Holmes boys will snap like rubber bands. Use the parents, and he gets all three of you. You will come to the rescue of the parents, the Holmes boys will come to your rescue."

"You're wrong about most of that. For one thing, the Holmes brothers are not like normal people. They don't do caring and sentiment like the rest of the population. They are of insane levels of intelligence. They consider their parents to be ordinary like everyone else and that it is a burden for them to carry through their lives. And besides that, even if they had any sort of care for their parents, what makes you think they would lift a finger for me? In case you haven't noticed, Mycroft is the one that sends me into these assignments. And Sherlock….He's made his opinion of me perfectly clear as of late. I mean nothing to him. And really, why are you even telling me all of this?"

"As I have said, I believe that we are a lot alike; more than you care to realize I'm sure. I lost my family when I was a boy, under extreme circumstances. Imagine what I could have been like if I had a normal childhood. Imagine what your life had been like if you had been granted a normal childhood. Suffice it to say, we would not be sitting here having this conversation right now. You would have never been sold to those men. You would never have been shot in the chest and you would never have met the Holmes brothers. You can't tell me you haven't wondered what it would have been like to grow up with normal parents, marry a normal man and have your average number of children and a dog named Spot."

"Normal people are boring."

Kostya chuckled briefly, smiling at Barbary, 'You've been spending too much time around the Holmes boys."

"You know that if Khaled finds out what you've done that he will kill you."

"Yes, that is why I have already arranged my passage out of England."

"You won't be able to run far enough to get away from him. Look at me after all. Twenty-five years later and I am still under his shadow."

"No matter. I will simply get as far as I can and when the time to die comes, I will do so with a smile on my face. Now, I need to be going. Just because I have accepted death in any form it may take, doesn't mean I want it to happen so soon. I also wanted to say goodbye, seeing as this is the last time we will ever see each other. You were a worthy opponent. I don't think any other could have matched me move for move over all these years. Sometimes I catch myself wondering what we could have achieved together, had circumstances been different for both of us. Nothing can be done for it now. You went your way and I went mine.

If you chose to believe my information and you do take on the safety of the Holmes parents, be careful. And take this." Kostya handed her a nice dagger. "It has kept me safe all of these years against you, so it has to be worth something. I got it off of a shop owner in Cambodia a long time ago. He was a mysterious little fellow. I have been back many times since and have never been able to locate him; he does nice work, all hand-made items. You remember that job?" Kostya smiled at her before heading for the door from which he came.

"Kostya!"

"Yes?"

"Watch your back. Be careful." Barbary wouldn't turn to look at him, she was afraid to give herself away. It had been a hard day; her nerves were frayed at best.

Instead of waiting on Mycroft, Barbary decided to leave, go to Bart's to see how Yasmina was fitting in watching over Molly, and then find the pub that was quickest to get to from there. It had been a long day; if there was one thing that she had picked up over the years that would come in handy, it was her alcohol tolerance. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SH~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: So, that's chapter 12 in the can. It took me long enough. I had more written for it, but it seemed kinda off by keeping it going, so I cut it off where I did. Perhaps the 'Editor's Cut' will make it into chapter 13 (which I fully well intend to start on immediately considering I already have a certain amount of it planned out in my head). To give you an idea…the 'cut' portion is mainly a letter that Barbary leaves for Mycroft. No other hints. Peace out.