Thank you to all who have made it to the very end. I never thought writing Sherlock would be a possibility for me. It certainly has been challenging and fun!

IMPORTANT NOTE: Stutley Constable has been tough yet kind in assisting me with this story. Without his help, I would have never made it to the end. I am very grateful. And a special thank you to Mrs. Pencil and Jack63kids.

And now the final chapter...


John Watson's Blog

July 25, 2011

Once again, I find myself adjusting to life. Where do I even begin?

Much has happened since my last entry. We've solved a lot of cases. Well, Sherlock actually. But I did have a hand in.

The Geek Interpreter. The Speckled Blonde. Like a machine, he's been at it. Case after case. Never phased by any of it. His social graces still haven't improved, but on occasion I do catch him trying. For my benefit, perhaps?

Regardless, all of that pales in comparison to what I've had to endure. I thought everything was fine when all hell broke loose. We were duped. Yes, even Sherlock was mislead, though not nearly as long as the rest of us. I still can't believe it. I feel like a fool. I wish I had been more careful, more observant. He claims he knew from the very beginning, but I have my doubts, even in him.

I can't believe I'm saying that! All of this has caused me to doubt even my best friend. If I can't trust him, how can I possibly trust anyone again? Right.

Sod this.

Comment

Don't be so hard on yourself, John. Coffee?

Mike Stamford

Sounds good. I'll give you a ring.

John

This post is verging on poetry. All hell broke loose. You're referencing Milton now?

SH

Should I bring up Auckland?

John

Perfect pitch.

SH

Too much for your high intellect?

John

**Comments have been disabled**


The sun was high, shining brightly over the small yet elegant garden courtyard. A slight breeze offered little comfort to those sitting or wandering about in the heat. The gazebo, benches and greenery offered the illusion of freedom, though not one prisoner was fooled. Most gathered in small cliques, each stealing glances in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Holloway's highest profile prisoner. Word had spread fast enough, she was the only woman to have initially bested Sherlock Holmes over a three month span.

After a moment, Careen began to pace the length of her cell at Her Majesty's Prison Holloway. Her room was modest with a bed, writing desk, and chair. Her lips pressed tightly together. Her eyes shifted, but remained downcast. Scrapes and bruises on the side of her head were fading, her split lip having healed. Careen cradled her broken wrist, the metal confines of an external fixation device framing the mending injury. According to the prison physician, she wouldn't be free of the contraption for at least another four or six weeks. The steel served to remind her of just how far she had pushed the 'good' doctor.

Through the bars of the window, Careen glanced out and sighed. Her reputation had served to protect her, but also to limit her to solitary confinement. The manager of the prison staff specifically instructed that no prisoner would be allowed close enough to communicate with her. But at one time there was a miscommunication between the switching guards. Another prisoner by the name of June Massey had been placed in a holding cell alongside Careen for half a day. The two made little conversation and shortly thereafter the oversight was corrected and the women were separated to their respective cells. A week later, Careen had leaned of June's illness and sudden death.

I need to play the part. Go along with this charade, she thought, the muscles in her lower jaw flexing. But once its over, I'm out and he's dead.

The jingling of keys announced the approaching guard, snapping Careen into full alert. She stopped near the courtyard scene, but her eyes remained fixed on the door. Her face, once holding a frown and furrowed brow, appeared to be wiped clean of any emotion. A blank slate, she waited.

A small panel slid aside in the door, revealing the face of Kathy, the guard assigned to her cell during the day shift. Kathy Williams was a no nonsense woman who had come to learn of Careen's exploits thanks to an embellished memorandum and gossip among the prison staff. And for that alone, security around her was tighter than for any other in Holloway. Careen suspected it was Mycroft's doing, another way to rub in the fact that he 'won'. She clenched her hand at the thought. I let them win.

"How are we doing today, Careen?" Kathy asked, though her tone was anything but caring. Her expression gave warning. The prisoner would do best to comply or suffer the consequences.

Careen's eyes flickered, nearly challenging Kathy. It's not worth it. Play along like a good girl. There was silence for a few seconds before she forced out, "We are well." in a tone mimicking that of her guard.

"Good girl." Kathy's forced smile broadened. "Behave."

Kathy unlocked the cell door. Two male guards, wearing body armor and face shields, entered first and took up position on either side and slightly ahead. They provided a barrier of protection. Standing with body shields, they remained pensive, as if expecting Careen to strike at any moment. Kathy followed, along with two other guards close behind her.

How easy it would be. One quick move, slit a throat, snap a neck and I'd be free. Careen looked at them from below her brow, but said nothing. Her eyes darted to the other two female guards standing behind near the doorway. There was a sour look on Kathy's face when Careen's attention finally returned to her.

"You know the drill," Kathy said matter-of-factly.

Careen nodded, extending her hands forward. With a near wicked smile hinting at her lips, Kathy slowly shook her head. Knowing she had no alternative but to relinquish control, Careen turned around and placed her hands behind her, the movement of her splint causing her to wince. Kathy fastened the restraints, successfully snaking it through the brace and around the mending wrist. The feel of the cold metal caused Careen's mind to recall her time with John. I miss him. A faint smile played on Careen's lips.

Kathy wrapped a restraint belt around Careen's waist, attaching a chain to the middle of the handcuffs. As the other guards stood ready, she knelt down and secured ankle cuffs. One long chain ran up the length of Careen's legs until it met with the restraint belt.

"Turn around," Kathy growled.

Careen did as she was told.

Taking a position behind Careen, Kathy firmly grabbed her elbow. "Let's go."

The entourage of guards escorted Careen down the hallway, taking the stairs and exiting toward the courtyard. The murmurings of the prisoners seemed to hush as she was walked through. Careen held her head high, her eyes scanning over every face she passed. Outside windows were barred, plexiglass separated them from guard stations. Security cameras swiveled and seemed to follow as she passed by. While waiting for the final door to be unlocked, Careen stared at the last camera up in the corner. She was tempted to flip off the staff monitoring from the other end, but managed to resist the urge. The only evidence of this was a twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Within minutes, they had arrived at the outer gate. Kathy nodded and one of the female guards took her place by Careen's side. Kathy then stepped aside to confer with another guard. After a nod, she returned to Careen.

"We'll be seeing you," Kathy said with mocking smile.

Careen nodded and forced herself to look at the ground. She knew she was being monitored, even outside. Every eye was on her, watching her actions and reactions. One eye roll would be enough for Mycroft to justify skipping her 'trial'. She scoffed internally. Trial, Mr. Holmes? What a farce.

Kathy transferred her charge over to a male guard, part of the escort unit assigned to transport Careen to the courthouse. Her restraints were adjusted so that her hands would be in front. Her eyes narrowed. Rogers, she thought. The last time she was taken to the courthouse, Rogers had nearly pushed her too far. But just as her temper was about to flare, she realised he was doing so to force her into assaulting him. Yet another one of Mycroft's stooges.

The walk from the prison gate to the white, unmarked van was a quiet one. Any eye contact Rogers made with Careen showed indifference. He took her by the elbow, holding her back as two guards hopped inside and sat in the back seat. Once they were settled, he pushed her inside the vehicle, directing her to the middle seat. As the two guards watched from behind, Rogers secured her restraints to the floor of the van, deterring any ideas of escape, and seat belted her. Backing out, he slammed the door shut. Waving on an additional guard, whom he called Jerry, the two piled inside. Jerry, unlike Rogers, was dressed in a finely tailored black suit, his eyes hidden by a pair of sunglasses. Careen noticed the familiar bulge of a Glock, more than likely a G18, what most of Mycroft's agents seemed to favor. She did not need Sherlock Holmes to deduce who he was working for.

The van, with Rogers, Jerry, prisoner and two additional guards in tow, was on its way. During the ride, Careen observed and listened. Most of the trip, Rogers complained about the recent football match. Jerry remained silent, only offering an occasional tolerant smile, though to Careen at times it looked more like a grimace. At one point, they received a call, she deduced, from someone at the courts. She watched as Rogers listened to the one-sided conversation, his eyes flickered towards her in the mirror.

"Yes, sir," Rogers said finally before ending the call. Addressing her he stated, "Looks like you've got an appointment with a headshrinker at The Old Bailey. Bet I could save that lot a bit of time. You're mental." He sniggered before returning to their previous subject.

That may be my ticket out of this hell hole. I'll be remembering your face, Rogers.

The suited man turned and watched her, his expression unreadable. He stared at her for a good minute before lowering his sunglasses and giving a subtle wink. With a faint hint of a smile, he returned his attention ahead. His smartphone in hand, he typed in a message that she could not read.

She was confused. Careen's expression turned to a narrow gaze as she stared at him. He isn't one of Mycroft's. After a few seconds she looked out her window, biting at the lower corner of her lip. Finally taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and forced the rising panic back down. Forty minutes passed before they reached the Central Criminal Court.

Rogers seemed to avoid her, allowing the other guard to unlock and roughly pull her from the van. Jerry stepped forward, gripping her elbow tightly. He guided her into the building stopping her at the first security checkpoint. Jerry stepped aside to allow the guard on post to begin the wand search followed by a pat down.

During the process, Careen took in her surroundings. Security cameras covering all areas. Great. At least two security checkpoints, five guards at front. Expected. I can work with this. But Jerry, he's a wild card. I need to shake him soon.

"She's clear," the woman said after finishing the required search.

Jerry nudged Careen in the back, spurring her beyond security into the foyer. Rogers stepped ahead and glanced back at Jerry. "You got this? I gotta take a leak."

"Yeah, mate. Go on," Jerry nodded.

She watched Rogers briskly walk away. As soon as he was out of sight, Jerry gripped Careen's arm at the elbow and tugged her in the opposite direction. "Let's go."

Careen suspected a setup. During the van ride, Jerry's actions, the wink, the slight smile, all were uncharacteristic of Mycroft's minions. The question was: who was his employer?

He escorted Careen down a short hallway. That's when it occurred to her, none of the cameras had power and there were no other guards. Glancing back towards the security checkpoint, she caught his eye. Jerry had no intention of taking her to the courtroom. What she was unsure of was if she were being lead to something far worse than Mycroft's trial. Her initial excitement gave way to apprehension and she had to force her legs to continue the walk. She resolved to remain compliant for the time being. This unexpected detour had thrown her off kilter. His steps on the marble tiled floor seemed to hammer louder in her ears. With each click of the heel, her mind whirled with possible escape plans.

Jerry stopped her in front of a wooden door and rapped on it.

"Come in," called a male voice from within.

Jerry opened the door and stood to the side. Careen looked at the guard. He gave no eye contact, no sign indicating why she was here or what to expect. She scanned the room. There was a cherry wood conference table, surrounded by plush office chairs. One man sat to the right, leaning back almost in a reclining position in his chair. Dressed in a plain shirt and jeans, he adjusted his small, rounded glasses. His sandy, blonde hair had an unkempt look to it. In total, his appearance reminded her of a typical Southern California boy. He isn't working for Mycroft, she noted with some growing apprehension.

He stood, pushing his chair away from the table. "Careen, glad you could join me. Please, sit."

Careen slowly headed for a chair on the left side of the table, immediately opposite the stranger. She heard the familiar click of heels as the guard turned and left. The young man gently closed the door and returned to his seat.

"Would you like anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?" he asked.

"No, thank you," she replied, at which he sat back down.

"Careen. My name is Doctor Aaron Declan. I am the court appointed psychiatrist here to evaluate your mental capacity prior to arraignment," he explained. After a brief pause he added, "May I call you Careen?"

She remained silent. He's no psychiatrist, more like...

Careen looked at him, starting with his hair, working her way down his face. When he removed his glasses to clean them, she noted his pupils constrict. The eyeglasses were real and he did require them to see far distances. He suffered from a lack of sleep, seen in the subtle discoloration under his eyes. His nose was slightly reddened, compared to his overall completion, indicating a cold or allergy. The skin on his lips was torn from biting, no doubt due to excessive nervousness. This fact, Careen confirmed, with a glance at his fingernails, most of which had been whittled down. She noted the fingers were stained brown, possibly from silver nitrate. The callous between the index and middle finger, along with yellow stained cuticles indicated he was an excessive smoker. As she took a longer look at his eyes, Doctor Declan gave a fleeting smile. His confidence was a facade.

Reaching down by his right side, he retrieved a case file and opened it up in front of him. A minute went by as he perused papers. Finally, he looked up.

"Look, I realise you don't trust me. I get that. Let me start by saying I know a great deal about you," he said.

She did not respond.

"Allow me. I've gotta admit, you've done an impressive job. Tapping into government security systems. Monitoring devices in several apartments. Posing as police officers. Kidnapping an ex-military officer, and all under the watchful eye of the world's, supposedly, greatest living consulting detective," he listed.

At the last comment, Careen scoffed. The phrase struck a nerve. The doctor's eyes seemed to brighten. She stiffened in response.

"Relax, Careen. We share similar opinions on the Holmes brothers." With one swift move, Declan had walked around the table, released her uninjured hand from the restraints and returned to his seat. "To be honest, I'm not here to go over your mental status. I'm also not here to discuss the detective. I totally understand he humiliated you, they both did. And Mycroft? He-"

"Used me," she interrupted quietly.

"Right, exactly! And now that he's done with you, I can bet you'll get a speedy and unfair trial with a lifetime sentence. Lucky for you there isn't a death penalty. It's crazy, you know? All of it is a waste of time, if you ask me. So, let me cut to the chase. I've come to offer you employment. I scratch your back, you'll scratch mine sort of deal. Join me and you'll achieve the revenge I know you really want." He turned the file and pushed it to her.

When she made no sign of interest, Declan continued. "Tell me about June."

"I was busy in June." Careen looked about the room, as if bored.

He chuckled. "Well, yes you were. But we both know I wasn't referring to the month. Your cellmate."

"She's dead."

"That's right. Some fever took her in less than twenty four hours. And that was after a week of knowing you." Declan paused, ensuring he had her full attention. "Mycroft certainly doesn't waste any time."

Careen's posture straightened. Her penetrating blue eyes bore down on him, yet she remained silent. What's his game?

"She ends up in the hospital ward with "fever" and then dies a day later? An illness that infected no one else? The report said you knew nothing, but I don't buy it. Mycroft can't risk your influence over other prisoners. June's contact with you was a mistake by the prison, one he corrected quickly. Do you think he'll ever let up on monitoring you at Holloway? He won't. He underestimated you, just as his brother had, but he won't be caught making that mistake twice. June's death was easy for him to cover up. And if you were to become too much of a liability, you know exactly what he's capable of. But of course he wouldn't do it personally. He'd send down one of his lackeys. And that's the sad thing, isn't it? Your death would be quiet and uneventful. No one would ever know. And worst of all, you'd never get the chance to challenge him again."

Her expression showed the rage churning within. Despite her initial impression of Declan, he seemed well informed. Looking inside the file, she found pictures of herself, often taken through windows from outside. In each image, she found herself following Sherlock, placing monitoring devices in various flats, tasering John and one of her heated arguments with Henson, Mycroft's agent. These people had been watching her for some time.

He spoke in a nonchalant tone, "Do you get it now? Enter my service or, well, take your chances out there." He leaned back in his chair. Taking out his smartphone, he worked in silence and in no immediate hurry for her answer.

Her gaze narrowed on the picture at the Neasdon Lane flat. Whoever this man was, whoever he was working for, they knew about Agent Henson. Glancing up at Declan, she saw the confidence, the power he attempted to hold over her. She continued through the file until she reached the last page, the one that revealed her true identity. Careen's eyes darted from page to page. He had nearly everything on her. When she looked back up, Declan was staring at her.

"I can see I have your attention now. Here," he had another folder that he slid towards her.

She immediately opened the file. More pictures were attached on the left, images of what looked like research facilities. Her brow creased. At the back of the file, Careen found several security badges. The one on top was to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia. Each badge had her face, though the names were different. She stifled a gasp of surprise.

He chuckled briefly. "We all hate our badge picture. Almost as bad as on a driver's license."

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I told you, Doctor Aaron Declan," he answered simply.

"You aren't a psychiatrist," she stated flatly.

He laughed. "No, I'm not. But I am a doctor. More specifically, I'm a virologist. Oh, I've dabbled in genetics, but virology is my passion. A single virus can take down even the strongest of men. It has the potential to cripple world organizations. It is power." His face lit up with excitement.

"So what's the plan?" She asked, pushing the file back to Declan.

Declan grinned. "Ah, can't reveal too many secrets, it being our first date and all. My main point here is that I need someone like you, someone well versed in breaching security systems. Your technical and medical knowledge will benefit me greatly."

She sat back. "What's in it for me?"

"Millions, for starters. If this business arrangement works out, even more."

"Before I accept any terms of service, I want to meet my employer," she replied.

There was a flicker in Declan's eyes. "What are you talking about? I'm the man you'll be working for," he answered. Careen could detect a hint of fear.

"No, you're not. You're his representative, a mere lab rat in this game," she answered in terse response. "If he wants me, he'll need to meet with me personally. Otherwise our business here is concluded and I have a trial to attend." She stood.

Declan's forehead glistened as a sheen of sweat formed. He followed suit and stood. His head cocked to one side, he looked away from Careen for a moment. Silence settled between them. Giving a nod, he looked back at her and replied, "A car, 'round back, will take you to her. But first, you'll need to change your attire." He pulled back the chair next to him, revealing a neatly folded woman's business suit.


John flopped into his chair. He ran a hand down his face and expelled a sigh. It had been a long night, but finally he was home. Leaning his head back, he stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, drifting off for what felt to be a brief moment before the sounds of rummaging in the kitchen stirred him awake. Opening one eye, he could just make out the silhouetted figure of his friend. He closed it again, relishing the darkness if only for a little longer.

The clatter of tea cups on a tray startled John. He bolted up, blinking away the fog on his eyes. How long have I been out? he thought as he rubbed his sore neck.

"Tea?" Sherlock asked with cup in hand.

John nodded. "Yeah, thanks." He took the proffered cup.

Leaning forwards, he placed his elbows on his thighs. John took long sips. His eyes became unfocused while he stared ahead. His posture slouched, on occasion he push out a heavy sigh. Sherlock sat on the sofa. He remained quiet, sipping his tea. A pendulum clock ticked. John could hear his friend's fingers tapping randomly on the porcelain cup. Water from the kitchen tap dripped. He gritted his teeth, irritated. The wait to hear back about Careen's trial was driving him crazy. Sherlock's mobile started to ring. Unable to sit still any longer, John hastily set his cup down and darted out of his chair to stand by the window.

While he watched people pass along the street, he overheard Sherlock's conversation. John was only partially listening. It sounded to him as if it might be Lestrade. He looked over his shoulder for a moment. Sherlock was watching him, eyes narrowed with a frown on his lips.

John turned his back to the window and waited. He knew it was about her. What now? He felt a twinge of fear that justice would not be served. He knew she was gone.

"We'll be there shortly," Sherlock said. Ending the call, he rose and went to slip his coat on.

John followed suit, taking hold of his own coat. "Careen?"

"She's gone."

John took in a sharp breath. He looked to the floor, eyes darting back and forth. After a moment, he straightened his posture and gave a nod. With a glimmer in his eye, Sherlock turned quickly and darted downstairs. John followed close behind.