Disclaimer: all characters belong to their rightful owners.

Still looking for a beta, or just someone to point out my errors.

By the way, I just realized that there was no time-line… Well, I guess it's happening sometime around S2E2 Baskerville case. Probably after this case, since I wanted Sherlock to be able already to deal with some of his emotions (fear, worry, etc.) in this story.

Please review and tell me if anything's wrong or just if you like it, that'd be lovely =)

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 5. Threats and quarrels

Sherlock emerged from his mind palace four hours later. It was long past midday and shadows started to grow in the room, all the things taking a warm orange shade. He found the file Rita brought placed carefully on the arm of his chair. Forgetting his conflicting feelings concerning this woman, he grabbed the yellow sleeve and leafed through documents. Eventually he found the 'treasure' – copies of threat mails.

"N'oublie jamais. Tu ne t'échapperas pas." And "Bientôt tu seras réduit au silence."

Holmes whispered these phrases in English: "Never forget. You shall not escape. Soon you'll be silent forever."

"What are you talking about?"

Dr Watson was sitting in the chair in front of his flat mate, a newspaper on his lap. He was used to Sherlock's thinking habits; hours spent spacing out of reality. Sherlock eyed his best friend silently, pondering if he should go into details or not.

"Mails received by Mercier. Threats. But what was he about to forget?"

John replied honestly: "I don't know."

"Maybe Mercier was about to reveal something. I need to know what."

"Perhaps, Rita knows about it."

"I do not trust her. Where is she?"

Sherlock would always speak with short and acerbic phrases whenever he or his thoughts were contradicted. Watson knew well about this and wouldn't pay attention at his friend's crappy attitude, even if sometimes he would just go ballistic about it. Happily it was one of many days when he'd stay patient.

"She went out an hour ago, just to get a spare of clothes."

"What for? She's wasting our time."

"No, she's not… You spent hours pondering your deductions, and she didn't want to disturb you."

"Are you siding with this woman?!"

Holmes was sulking just like a little boy whose best friend went to play with other kids. Half amused and half exasperated, Watson tried to explain himself:

"We chatted a little, and she's a good person, you know. And she's clever, I mean, like really clever. A 25-years-old senior detective, the youngest in France."

"Oh really? That changes everything."

"Come on, why are you so against her?!"

"Because I don't understand her!"

"Then talk to her!"

They glared at each other when the person in question came in. Rita completely changed her style. Instead of an official suit, she was wearing black jeans and a dark blue hoodie. Her slightly curly hair was tied up in a ponytail. Right at this moment, no one would be able to tell she's a policeman, either that she's over twenty.

"What's with this outfit?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

"Thanks, you look great, too" she said while casually dropping her black raincoat on the sofa. "I just wanted to blend in the crowd."

"So you don't want to be seen."

"Well, that's a basic aptitude for a detective, isn't it?"

Before they could continue this heated exchange, John stepped in: "Rita, can you tell us more about Robert Mercier? What kind of man was he?"

She remained silent for a second, glowering at Sherlock who feigned a deep concern for the police file. Then her expression changed to a sweet one as she started talking to Watson: "Robert was a business man. His company sells wines all over Europe. As far as I know, in his youth he dreamed to be a spy, even took exams in this field, but failed. After that he got married, started this wine business and had a son."

"He wanted to be a spy?!"

"Yeah. He told me about it, first thing he said about himself. He was an outstanding person, whatever people say."

"Interesting" Holmes said with an empty look and a slight grin on his face.

"That's why I slipped a list of his 'spy' friends into the file." Rita unwittingly replicated his expression. "I even know where some of them hold their meetings."

"Somewhere in France, right? Useless."

"They're in London. He came here to meet them."

Both detectives looked at each other, first grave, then with disquieting stars in their eyes.

"Certain?"

"Of course."

"Then…"

"It'd be fun!"

"You know what I think about your presence."

"Don't worry; you'll change your mind."

"Don't be so full of yourself."

"Don't talk like an old geezer!"

"Can you PLEASE stop doing this!?" Watson shouted. He felt as if two smart but unmanageable kids gave him a funny look. Not quite inaccurate. At last, Sherlock attempted to make it clear:

"Doing what?"

"Diving in your own world, I didn't get any bloody thing you were talking about! Are you using telepathy or something?!"

Sorrel's reaction to this little speech was rather unexpected: "Are you jealous then?" Her attitude became that of a scientist absorbed in a bewitching experiment: empty look, expressionless face, dried lips, bending forward… That was not what one would call normal, but actually not so shocking for someone who lived with Sherlock. And after all, Rita was intentionally underlining her switch in attitudes every time she spoke to one of them.

Perplexed, John gave a wavering answer: "Erm… Nope."

Sherlock chose to have the last word: "He is exasperated. You should know the difference."

She snapped out of her dream state: "Oh, well, sorry 'bout that… Are we going then?"

"Going where?" John asked, forfeiting any chance of grasping the situation on his own.

They replied with one voice: "Spying on the spies' meeting!"