I hope this isn't too confusing. If you have questions, please don't be afraid to ask! If you see any glaring errors or you just want to comment, please do not hesitate to do so. I promise I don't bite, hard!
'Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive.'
Sir Walter Scott
John was the only one to see Molly and Greg emerge from the bedroom. Holding hands and blushing, they looked like the happiest couple alive, besides Wendy and Harry. John smirked and continued his conversation with Craig.
"I don't want to get too personal, and I know it hasn't been that long since his death, but I would love to ask you some questions about Sherlock." Craig said.
"Well, you are right, it hasn't been that long, but there are some things I don't mind talking about, especially with someone who can put a sane twist on him." John raised his glass to take the last drink of wine, when a gentle touch on his shoulders startled him. He turned his head and Sarah was in his peripheral vision.
"Sarah!" He said as he put his arm around her and squeezed. "I'm glad you came."
"Me too. It's getting bitter cold out there." Sarah said as she rubbed her hands together.
"Craig, this is a very good friend of mine, Sarah."
Craig and Sarah exchanged pleasantries as John introduced Craig.
"Oh, I haven't read your articles, I apologize. But I most certainly will now." She smiled up at Craig.
"Thank you, I appreciate it. I would eventually like to ask you some questions about Sherlock as well, if you don't mind?"
"Well, I didn't know him that well. But he made our first date exciting!" Sarah nudged John as he smirked at the memory. Craig raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, it wasn't anything scandalous. Just Sherlock being Sherlock." John looked somberly into his empty glass and looked at Craig's. "Would you like some more wine?"
"No thank you. I drove and another glass would be a bad idea."
"I'll take your coat," John said to Sarah as he grabbed her coat. "And get us some wine. I'll introduce you to everyone when I come around."
Sarah put her hand on John's arm. "Actually, I want to talk to you about something. Can I come with you?"
"Of course." John furrowed his brow at her. "Everything alright?"
"Yes, fine," she threw him a half-smile.
"No, it's not fine," John said after he put Sarah's coat in the closet. They walked into the kitchen and John started pouring wine. "There is something. Tell me."
"I'm just wondering why you address me as your good friend?"
"Isn't that what you are?" John handed her a glass as she accepted.
"Well," Sarah started as she looked into her glass. "I was hoping we were more, than good friends, that is." She looked up at John, who blinked several times and pursed his lips.
"I...hmm...I was hoping the same thing, actually."
"Good, then you wouldn't mind if I did this..." She closed the space between them and kissed John. He hummed his approval and she chuckled and rested her hand on his shoulder as they parted. "I think you are a very sweet man John and I like you a lot. But I didn't want to push you into anything that you didn't want."
"Thank you, Sarah. That means a lot. I wasn't sure I was ready for more, after everything that has happened. But, with you here and saying this to me, I think...I think it is right."
"I am patient and I am willing to wait for you." She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair as he licked his lips. He smiled at her, then kissed her, more passionately than the first.
"Would...um..." John started after they parted again. "Would you like to spend the night?"
"Wow, you do move fast!" She beamed at him.
John chuckled. "Oh, well, I...um...see, Christmas isn't a good holiday anymore and-"
Sarah placed a finger on his lips. "John, you don't have to explain."
Then she kissed him.
"Oh lord, Wendy and I are going to have to get a hotel." Harry walked in the kitchen and then walked back out.
"Oh God, Harry," John and Sarah parted with an exclamation. "I'm sorry. This is Sarah. Sarah this is my sister Harry."
"Nice to finally meet you." Sarah said as she shook Harry's hand. "John speaks the world of you."
"Well, it hasn't been all roses and wine between us the past ten years, but we've managed." Harry smiled and tugged at her curly blond hair. "It's nice to meet you. This old bloke hasn't really said anything about you, but I could tell that there was someone in his life making him smile more."
John blushed and looked down at his shoes as Sarah kissed him on the cheek.
"It is nice to see everyone happy for Christmas despite-" John stopped himself.
Harry rested her hand on his arm and squeezed gently. "You are surrounded by some great friends."
"And even better family." Sarah beamed at Harry. It was her turn to blush.
"Let's get everyone's glass full and have a toast!" Harry reached for the wine as John went to the fridge and grabbed another bottle.
As John walked into the sitting room with Harry and Sarah, he glanced over at Greg who had Molly's hand in his hand. He was tracing circles around the scar there. She shook her head and they both looked up as Harry started to talk.
"I want to toast all of you that have been beside John these past few months. I know that Sherlock touched all of you in one way or another. I only wish I could have known him the way all of you did. I also want to thank everyone for welcoming Wendy and I tonight. I hope to see more of everyone here. Anyway, here's to a brighter future for all of us. May all your Christmas wishes come true!" Harry raised her glass. "Merry Christmas everyone!"
~+X+~
'One more miracle...one more miracle, for me...don't...be...dead...'
John's words at his grave site always echoed in Sherlock's head, especially in his dreams; this one was a repeat of the last one-hundred and two. He conditioned himself not to wake up screaming like a lunatic, and he was grateful for that now. As he looked around, he realized that the flight he was on was getting ready to land. Sherlock didn't realize he had fallen asleep and he would've have prevented it from happening if he could have. Sleep was his enemy. Sleep was where he saw John, and that wasn't what he needed. He needed to focus on the tasks on hand. Those would lead to a future back at the flat with his friend, he hoped.
Sherlock thought about how his sentimentality had gotten him in this position; on a plane getting ready to land in New York City, with an I.D. And papers that were not his own, hair and eye color that were not his own, an identity formed with the help of his brother. Sherlock Holmes did not exist in this world, for now. William Scott took his place and he was a lawyer from overseas in America for business and possible pleasure. He also hated that Mycroft chose his given name for an alternate identity. He always hated his full name, and so did his mother. Sherlock changed his name right after his parents died...
Sherlock shook his head. This was no time to think of such things. He stretched and gathered his things. He had to admit that he was thankful that Mycroft purchased a first class space. He wasn't sure he could stand making small talk with a stranger for 12 hours.
As soon as Sherlock walked into the airport, he turned his phone on and checked his messages; one from Mycroft and two from John. That was something he had a hard time dealing with. It startled him when he saw John's number pop up on his phone. Sherlock changed his number since then, but he decided to direct the messages from his old number to his new voicemail. At least John would have his voice to listen to everyday.
Sherlock bit his lower lip and dialed his brother.
"I just stepped foot into the states."
"Hello to you as well," Mycroft said. "I'm glad you arrived in one piece."
"Yes, well, I guess I should thank you for getting me first class." Sherlock said as he made his way through the crowds.
"You're welcome. I have transportation waiting for you out in front of the airport. The chauffeur will be waiting for you on the first level. You will recognize them. Remember why you are there. I know how you loose focus when you take on another identity, William Scott."
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Sherlock cringed.
"Please, I'm still cleaning up from your last debacle in Germany."
A sharp pain started to form across Sherlock's forehead and he clenched his jaw to keep the memories from bubbling over inside his head. He had every idea in the world what his brother was talking about, and was going to make damn sure to avoid that dark path.
"Please don't talk to any one except the chauffeur I have for you." Mycroft continued. "Be careful."
"Sentiment," Sherlock ran his hand through his short blond hair, frustrated. "You're slipping."
"Don't patronize me."
"Yes, I love you too." Sherlock hung up as he pushed the fake glasses up his nose.
He adjusted the carry-on and laptop case on his shoulders and he stepped onto the escalator. Traveling half -way around the world the past few days had strained his nerves and the patches weren't helping him. Sherlock scratched his arm. If he could only find the smoking area, he could just stand in the vicinity and inhale. The smoking laws weren't as strict in certain parts of America as they were in London, and Sherlock knew he wouldn't have a problem finding cigarettes and a smoking spot.
The bitter New York air hit him hard as he pushed through the door and found the smokers all huddled in their little corner like naughty school children. He inhaled hard, and everyone looked at him strangely. Ignoring them, he inhaled again.
"Here have one." A man about his height and age handed him a cigarette and his lighter.
"Thanks." Sherlock said around the cigarette as he lit it. Sherlock tried to asses the man. Long gray coat, bags under eyes, messy blond hair, but clean shaven and well-built. A scar, that Sherlock was sure the man meant to hide behind his collar when it was buttoned up, disappeared under his shirt...
"Flying make you nervous, or just short on cigs?" The man was making polite conversation, but to Sherlock it was all boring. He had to play it off, he couldn't be himself, and that was going to be the hardest thing for him to do.
"Both actually."
"Heh, flying makes me nervous."
"Sorry to hear that." Sherlock said as he blew out a puff.
"I'm not. Gives me a chance to sleep." The man shook a bottle that he had a death grip on since Sherlock had burst through the doors. "I'm Andrew by the way."
"William."
"First time in the states?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man for a brief second. He couldn't help but think that he had seen this man before. He took a drag of the cigarette to cover his stare.
"Yeah, that obvious, huh?"
The other shrugged. "Your carry-on is an expensive European type just like your shoes, although they are the most comfortable pair you have. Also brand new passport tells me you haven't been out of Scotland much." He took a drag of his cigarette.
Sherlock blinked. He had never been on the receiving end of a deduction before.
"H-How did you-" He played it off as he gestured at the man.
"It's a bad habit, sorry." Andrew finished his cigarette. He reached into the pocket on the inside of his jacket and handed Sherlock a business card. "I'm in New York for a week, look me up. I can show you the sights for cheap."
"And you won't kill me?" Sherlock threw his cigarette to the ground.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing, sorry. I suppose a sightseeing tour wouldn't hurt." Sherlock twirled the card between his fingers, then stuck it in his pocket.
"I look forward to it." Andrew winked at him before opening the door for Sherlock. Sherlock gave him a half-smile and walked through the door. He turned and Andrew was no where to be found. He turned again. No Andrew.
Sherlock's phone went off in his pocket.
"You haven't found your transportation." Mycroft said. Sherlock detected a hint of concern. "You must complete this on time or-"
"You don't have to pull the father card on me. I know what I am doing. And, if you must know I had to have a cigarette. Not that its any of your business."
"Everything you do is my business."
"I might have to fix that when I am done here." Sherlock pressed the end button and slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He missed his long black coat. He missed his dark hair. He missed sitting by the fire at 221B Baker street with his friend. He missed John.
Sherlock cleared his throat and clenched his jaw to keep his emotions in check as he weaved his way through the crowd. As he burst through the doors he saw a man in a black suit and a black hat holding a sign with his alternate ego's name on it. He smiled and waved as he approached.
"I'm William Scott." He said as he shook the other man's hand.
"Nice to meet you." The chauffeur was an older gentleman, possibly in his sixties, but still sharp as a tack. His accent suggested he lived in Boston originally, but moved to New York recently to live with his daughter and her husband who have two dogs and one cat, and is that a bird feather? Or just from his pillow that he can't somehow let go of? Intends to get shoes shined after taking me to my destination. His teeth suggested that he smoked.
'How could I draw conclusions about this man, but Andrew left a blank slate?'
"Nice to meet you as well," Sherlock smiled as the man opened the door for him. "Say, this is my first time in New York. Is it possible to get a tour?"
"I'm sorry sir, not during lunch time traffic."
"Oh, do you know of a good smoke shop then? Patches aren't cutting it."
The other man smiled. "Yes I do."
"Good then. Thank you, sir." Sherlock took in a glance of his surroundings and to his left, he spotted Andrew. He stole a second look and the man started walking the other way as he brought a cell phone to his ear.
"The smoke shop is on the way to our destination sir." The chauffeur said as Sherlock closed the limo door. He nodded and sat back and drew in a deep breath. Something wasn't right, and it made Sherlock fidgety. He followed the small talk the driver was making as best he could.
They pulled up to a small redbrick building that looked out of place with the surrounding buildings. They were run down and tagged with bright colors. Raz would be disappointed.
Sherlock got out of the limo and surveyed his surroundings. He was fairly certain that they had been followed. He was also fairly certain that whomever was following them was not expecting a stop at this smoke shop.
He zipped the leather jacket and shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked into the shop.
The Limo finally stopped in front of an elaborate white modern mansion in the Hamptons. Another car, a silver Bently, was parked in front, but it wasn't the car that had been following them. Sherlock took a careful look at his surroundings, making himself very aware of them. He looked over at the mansion and saw a face peeking out; disappearing as soon as he stepped out of the Limo.
"Any idea where we are?" Sherlock asked, playing his part.
"Sir? It wasn't in the file you received?" The chauffeur said as he closed the door.
"Yes, but I don't remember it being this fancy!"
"Heh, you are in for a treat sir." The other man tipped his hat. "Good day."
Sherlock looked back at the mansion and saw the same curtain moving where the face was looking out.
"Can you stay for one smoke?" Sherlock looked back at the other man who had reached the drivers side of the limo already. He fidgeted with his hat.
"I shouldn't stay any longer than I have to-" He suddenly looked to his right and Sherlock followed his gaze. Down the rocky driveway, they could see a black BMW making it's way along the curves. The chauffeur was in the limo and starting it before Sherlock could stop him.
'Damn,' Sherlock said to himself as he fingered the revolver in his jacket pocket and casually strolled up to the front door of the mansion. Just as he was about to knock, the door opened and a red-headed woman was smiling up at him.
"Hello William Sherrinford Scott." The woman gestured inside the house. "Welcome to paradise and your new home for the next week. We hope it's everything you desired and more."
Sherlock stepped hesitantly into the house. It was all modern with glass and stone everywhere. He looked at the woman again.
"Thank you."
"May I?" She gestured at his laptop bag and carry-on.
"No, I'll keep it with me until I get to my room, thanks."
"Let me show you to your room then." The woman turned and Sherlock followed her as she climbed a very modern looking set of stairs. They were halfway up when Sherlock heard the door open, then close. He ducked and tried to get a peek, but all he could see were black shoes, and gray trousers.
"I expect you will enjoy tonight's entertainment." She said as she opened the door to his room. "A limo will be here at six to bring you to the Opera House. Dinner will be at five. I am Alice, if you should need anything, pick up the phone on your nightstand and ask for me. In the meantime, enjoy the pleasures of The Nightingale, Mr. Scott."
Sherlock thanked her as she handed him his room key. He wondered what Mycroft got him into; if this was a practical joke to get back at him for Baskerville and not the case they needed to be working on.
The west facing wall was made of giant picture windows that looked out onto a large garden space and a water feature in the middle. Directly out front was a large pool covered with a tarp and a good layer of snow. To the right, the house wrapped around the garden which was full of tasteful Christmas decorations.
Christmas.
Sherlock had forgotten that today was Christmas. He never put much bother in the holiday. Last year was the first time he celebrated, and even then it wasn't the most wonderful time of the year as the song suggested.
His arm started itching again where the patches had been and he placed his things on the bed and picked up the phone.
"Alice here. How may I help you, Mr. Scott?"
"Is there a designated smoking area around?"
Sherlock heard her put a hand over the receiver and thought he heard her ask someone a question.
"Yes sir. I will be there in a second to escort you to the designated area."
The phone went dead before he could protest. He did not want company and his head started hurting again at the thought of making more small talk.
"So what exactly is this establishment?" Sherlock asked after lighting his cigarette.
Alice looked at him, puzzled. "You booked the reservation, and you don't know?"
"I actually didn't book this. I told my secretary jokingly that I needed a vacation and she took me seriously and booked me this."
"Well," Alice started as she pulled her coat tighter around her. "This is an establishment for business men and gentlemen to discreetly get away for however long they want. We have everything their hearts desire, from staging an action scene in a movie, to fulfilling all sexual desires, to catering to kinks."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Does that alarm you, Mr. Scott? Since this package wasn't booked by you, I can make arrangements for a different package."
"Sex doesn't alarm me," Sherlock blew out the drag he took. He couldn't help but laugh internally at his own statement. "I am nervous about the actual package I was booked into."
Alice smiled and Sherlock frowned at her. "I am to be your personal assistant for the next five days. I am also to fulfill any and all of your desires, Mr. Scott."
She was suddenly standing very close to him. He could feel her body heat and see her eyes dilating.
"Any fantasies you wish to have fulfilled, Mr. Scott?"
He took a drag off the cigarette. He wasn't sure if he would be able to play this particular card right.
"Only if that gentleman can join us." Sherlock smiled and gestured to a man that was standing just beyond the corner of the building, talking on his cell phone.
It was Alice's turn to cock an eyebrow, then she turned. "Your secretary never mentioned anything about your sexual preference. Besides, he's only here for the adventure package."
"That's because she doesn't know what I prefer!" He winked at her. "Who is he?"
Alice tilted her head and gave Sherlock a coy look. "I can't give the names of other clients."
Sherlock looked up at the other man who was turned toward them now. He was still talking on his cell and smoking a cigarette. Sherlock recognized him immediately as Andrew. The man turned around and disappeared around the building.
Sherlock stiffened for a second and tried to cover his body's betrayal with a puff of his cigarette. He knew exactly why he was here.
Alice took a step back from him.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," he said taking the last drag. "Any way I can be included in his adventure?"
Alice frowned as she looked from Sherlock to where Andrew had been.
"I-I will have to look into that. We've never done that before."
"Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I will clean up for dinner."
~*XXX*~
Ten Months Earlier...
"Jim, what the hell are you doing in there?"
The svelte woman was about to bring the cat-o-nine-tails upon Jim's bare skin, when the voice interrupted them. She clenched her jaw.
"Making peoples dreams come true!" Jim Moriarty said in his high-pitched voice.
"Sounds like a lot more than that," the voice paused and tried the door. "Let me in Jim."
The menacing tone, or something darker, brought shivers down her back. But outwardly, she remained composed.
"Just give us a half an hour. Everyone will have everything they ever wanted. Even you. You just have to have patience, my friend."
"Jim open this door or I swear-"
"Don't forget the power you're going to have!"
A pause on the other side of the door. She could hear the man breathing.
"I...hate you." Then footsteps walking away from the door.
"I hate being interrupted." Jim sighed and sat on the chair in front of the laptop. He tapped a few keys. "This email is going to save the world. Now honey, you are going to save me."
The woman brought the cat-o-nine tails down on his snowy white back so hard, she thought she drew blood. There was no scream. Only an exhale of pleasure. This one was going to take a while to break. But that's the fun part; making them break, especially if their shell is extra hard.
After three hours of being tied up and slapped around, Jim was finally done and she had her information, the email that would save the world.
~+X+~
She was facing another man that was promising to save her, again. She wasn't going to let her heart into it this time.
"I was promised his power, his wealth, his redemption." The man was wearing contacts, but she could still see the fire and determination in his eyes. "I can promise your life back and more."
"I was already made that promise once." Irene Adler set her wine down and sat in the chair across from Sebastian Moran. "What makes you think you can keep that promise?"
Sebastian leaned forward and set his elbows on the table. "Because I know things, secrets that even you don't know."
"Hmm...I doubt that." She laughed. "I once knew all the secrets of the British Royal family, all of their dirty, little secrets."
"This secret is closer to your heart than you think." He ran his hand through his sandy blond hair. "And If you can survive this little plan of mine, I will promise you a life of power and wealth. Even more of what you had before."
Irene narrowed her eyes at the other man.
"What makes you think I'm not happy where I am?"
"Because, Irene Adler, just like Sherlock Holmes, you like a challenge. You can't back down from one. You played the Holmes brothers well, just like Jim Moriarty played you. And you lost. Now you want more. You want what Moriarty had, to be untouchable. To have a heart of stone. To be unbreakable."
Irene swallowed visibly.
She had never had any one read her so well since Sherlock Holmes.
Now he was dead the poor bastard.
"What about Mycroft? He's still alive and still very much a part of the British Government."
"That is where the fun part begins." Sebastian licked his lips. "I need you to arrange to sing at the Opera House on Christmas evening."
"Christmas? Why?" She took a drink of her wine. She hated Christmas. Just like she hated New Years.
"Because your contact will be coming to watch you sing. He will also be staying at the Nightingale."
Irene was having trouble keeping her emotions in check. She loved the Nightingale. She built that business back up to it's original glory.
Sebastian went on as he watched the different emotions wash over her face.
"After he discovers the missing link in the underground arms deal, it will lead him to the man behind the deals and the smuggling. He is the one that will help us. There are going to be some hoops to jump through, Irene. Are you sure you are ready to separate your heart and your survival instincts?"
Irene clenched her jaw, then took another drink of the wine. She started to get up, but Sebastian stopped her as he grabbed her neck.
"Don't do anything either one of us will regret." He let go of her and she exhaled loudly and grabbed at her throat. "You need this Irene. You miss the chase. You miss the adrenaline. You miss London."
She stared at his hard features. He was a handsome man, as men go. Well built, and had his wits about him. There was a lot of testosterone in this one. But she had seen his handy work; CCTV footage of assassinations that no one ever found the link back to Sebastian. Moriarty kept it that way.
"I will do it on one condition."
"Name it."
"That you never lay a hand on me again."
~*XXX*~