This chapter may not be as clean as others because it's frigging huge and I didn't have much time for editing this week but I apologize in advance.
Thanks for you guys' support, I'm ultra glad you're enjoying this.
We had planned to leave in the morning again, hoping to get back to Baker Street soon enough that we would be able to talk with you about any new advances. Getting to talk with Eddie and Theresa turned out not to be the holy grail we were expecting, but it had shaken the dust off of some of our memories of the war, and I was confident that Sholto would be a bit more help to us now. I caught him jotting down some things at the kitchen table before breakfast. More clues; the details of routes, a few names, one particular street that she preferred. He had a bit more height to his head, and I was glad for it. He was breathing easier, and so was I.
The station was buzzing with activity already. Our train wasn't the first, so there were passengers and departees thrown into the mix, and I had to look twice to make sure I got the right number for our train. But it seemed alright, and I was ready to be in the coach. A peaceful train ride and a nice cup of tea sounded like heaven.
Eddie and Theresa had insisted on seeing us off. "You boys give us a ring as soon as you reach the station in London, alright?" She said, fixing up the collar of my coat. "I want to be sure you two made it back alright."
"We will." I rearranged the duffel on my shoulder. "Thank you for having us."
"It's our pleasure!" She beamed. "Come visit us again soon, alright? And for longer this time. One night is just torturous."
I chuckled. "Alright."
She gave me a hug and pecked my cheek. "Have a good trip, doctor."
I nodded. She stepped back, and Eddie came a little closer, his spectacles sparkling in the light. "I'm not going to kiss you," He said, holding out his hand.
"Good, I was a little worried." I shook it. "Good to see you, Eddie."
"I'll be seeing you."
He nodded to Sholto, who tipped his head back, and then turned to link arms with his wife. Together they moved back toward the entrance, cutting through the current direction of the crowd, radiating brightness wherever they stepped. It seemed to get a little darker when they left, but it may have just been the absence of Theresa's bright yellow blazer. I gripped the strap of my duffel and went back toward Sholto and the tracks.
"We got the nine-thirty, didn't we?" He asked, glancing down the rails.
"That's right," I nodded. "It should be here any minute."
He turned toward the station clock, pursing his lips a bit and leaning against his case.
"You alright?" I asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He replied. "Side's just a bit sore."
"We can go find a bench if you'd like," I offered.
"No, it's fine. It'll only be a little longer."
I watched him, becoming a little more like a doctor as I assessed his posture and speech, but he didn't seem to be in too much pain, so I didn't insist. He must've felt me looking, because he turned quickly and caught my eye, perking his eyebrow and looking me up the same way. I turned the opposite direction to keep from making a fool out of myself.
As I did, my eye caught on a young woman standing a few paces away near the edge of the rail. She had a smartphone in her hand, tapping quickly, and was wearing a loose black overcoat fitted around her waist. But what really caught my eye was her particular style of hair; falling to the square of her back in heavy dreadlocks, filled with colored yarn and beads. It was pulled up into a painfully complex-looking ponytail, a bit of a contrast to her sharp features and soft hazelnut-toned skin. She dropped her phone back into her pocket and placed her hands there as well, quickly glancing back to flash her eyes at me.
Sholto didn't notice her, but he did notice other things. He leaned away from his case, stepping a bit closer to me. His shoulders had broadened. "Stay near me."
I looked at him. "Hm?"
He didn't make eye contact, and I knew what that was code for. I let my eyes drift back to the rails and the surrounding people. "Two men, eight o'clock."
"Armed?"
"Possibly."
I took a breath. "What do we do?"
"Three o'clock. Now."
We stepped simultaneously, moving slow enough to appear casual but quick enough to put some distance between ourselves and eight o'clock. I kept my head down, only daring to look toward the rails, and heard the faint whistle of another train approaching; most likely ours. I wasn't sure what Sholto was planning, but if we kept moving like this, we wouldn't be in any place to board the train when it arrived.
"Are they stationary?" I asked.
He glanced back. "Stationary, but they're searching."
"Jesus," I breathed.
Someone seized my arm, and I nearly lost it right there. I spun around, knocking my duffel into Sholto, and began to pull away when I saw it was the dreadlocks woman. Her brown eyes were dark and serious. "Are you John Watson?"
Sholto was over me, his hand on my shoulder, watching the woman with a firm stare. She didn't even flinch.
"Are you John Watson?" She asked again.
I hesitated. "Who are you?"
"A friend of a friend." She released my arm. "Follow me."
"Why should we?" I asked, stepping back into Sholto.
She glanced around quickly, then reached her hand into her overcoat, producing a gun. Sholto jumped into action, but the gun wasn't hers to fire. She held it out, careful to angle herself away from the visible crowd, spinning the handle toward my hand. I understood immediately, and the weapon fit cold and familiar into my hand.
"Follow me," She said, and brushed past.
Sholto and I quickly exchanged glances, but when he didn't put up a defense, I followed after her, tightening the strap of my duffel and trying to appear as casual as possible. The woman cut through the crowd as easily as a scalpel, her hair bounding along behind her, thick and sturdy as a rope. Sholto kept his eyes open for the suspicious characters, moving toward the tracks but not quite toward us, still seeming confused. We had precious seconds before they realized where we had gone, and our helper was wasting no step. She swept straight toward the side of the building, the place where glass ceilings met concrete walls, leading us straight into the horizon between sky and stone.
A rusted iron door led us into a hall, lined with low-wattage bulbs that took us down. I was still using my cane, but once we encountered the stairs, I felt distracted enough just to hold the crutch in my hand rather than bother wedging my way through like an invalid. Sholto followed quickly - as quickly as he could - slipping easily through the door without a bag to weigh him down. I glanced back.
"Sholto, where's your case?" I asked, hesitating on the stair only to be urged forward by his hand on my back.
"It's tagged," He answered. "There are better times to worry about luggage."
We hurried after the woman, who was in no sense of the phrase slowing down for us. Her walk was fluid and pointed, head high, and I doubted she had even glanced back at us the whole time we had been going. I made a quick jog to make it back up to her, and Sholto came along behind.
"Where are we going?" I asked, trying not to lose my breath. "Who were those men?"
"I'll be guiding you to your train." She answered. Her voice was sharp and short, reminding me somewhat of an African dialect I had heard once before. "I can get you as far as Blackpool. From there, you'll need to take care of yourself."
"Who are you?" Sholto demanded.
"Names are irrelevant, Major." She pushed open another door, leading out into the stinging brightness. "We don't have much time."
She led us out into the maintenance terminal, wrapping around the side of the station and blocked off from the road by an ominous brick wall. She was jogging now, and I jumped to keep up, holding my duffel close to me as I quickly looked over the surroundings. Several different tracks went in various directions, interconnecting and weaving in patterns unfamiliar to me. I had to be careful where I stepped as I skipped across the lines, minding my footing over the rocky terrain. I could hear train whistles blaring, both near and far, and the rumble of their wheels as they approached.
Only a handful of men were scattered around the carriages, some doing repairwork for the cars closest to the station, others milling close to the building, but as we moved forward, they thinned. None seemed to pay much attention to us, if they even noticed us in the first place. The woman didn't bother them, either, but I did notice that she chose routes away from the workers rather than not, for reasons I didn't pick up on yet. I was starting to get spooked, and my temporary confidence was wavering. I fell back to stay closer to Sholto, still struggling a bit with the pace, but using his weakness to mind himself more aware.
"There are others," He said, low.
Sure enough, I noticed them, too. One man, clad in tight clothes the color of the dirt, came from behind one of the distant cars, walking parallel to us a few hundred meters away, then dipping back behind his cover. Another, further ahead, moved in and out of view like a ghost. For the first time, the woman looked back to check for us, her face serious.
"Hurry, there isn't much time." She repeated.
"Who are those people?" I asked, motioning to the area in front of us.
"Don't worry about those people," She said, and motioned with her jaw. "Worry about those people."
He hadn't been there before, but now, there he was. He was tall; almost too tall, with a heavy overcoat reaching to his knees. His hat shaded over his eyes, and underneath protruded a long pipe billowing smoke. He came with a trail of residue and cloud, his figure angled like the devil against a backdrop of gray and glass towering above him. Two more men dressed dark slipped in behind the trains, immediately filling me with dread.
"What is this?" I asked, my hands stilling at my sides.
"War, Dr. Watson." She answered. "It's come back for you."
We heard a shot from far away, and she made a sharp turn, ducking quickly behind a line of carriages and fluttering between them. Sholto and I fell in line behind her, our minds starting to wobble from the confusion of all of it, shoved back into action by the menacing figures falling into step behind us. We quickly crossed through the yard, losing ourselves within the rows and lines of cars, bypassing another handful of disguised men nearly blending in to the shadows of the cars they guarded. Sholto grasped my wrist and prodded me toward him, dragging me along behind him like a log behind a truck while I investigated these new characters. A few of them watched as we passed by, their gazes inquisitive, serious, skeptical.
James had his gun in his hand, and I had mine behind my belt. I felt that familiar sensation behind my ears, the hair on my neck rising as the faint smell of gunpowder reached me, electricity burning through my nerves in those delicate seconds before-
An explosion rocked the ground around us as a car erupted, spewing fire and debris meters into the air. A surge of heat and pressure hit us like a gust of wind, and the two of us buckled, nearly knocked off our feet by the shock. We were shielded from the blast by another car and had no injuries, but immediately a fierce pain sprouted in the back of my neck. Fear. That was a grenade; we both knew it was a grenade, and immediately we both realized who we were and what we had to do.
His body stopped responding. I had bolted a few paces ahead, using the fear adrenaline as a boost, but realized within a few seconds that he wasn't with me. "James." I fled back, holding his arm and trying to pull him forward. His eyes had gone glassy; acutely aware, watching everything around him with his jaw clamped tight, so overwhelmed with shock that his legs went numb. "James, please, we have to go-"
"That was-" He opened his mouth, breathing deep. "John, it's-"
"I know what it is, James, we need to go, now!" I pulled him harder, leaning him into a step, and his control began coming back. With it, his face melted.
"She's gone."
I turned to look; sure enough, where the woman once stood was a patch of empty rocks and naked rails. I stepped forward, away from Sholto, to check if she had just hidden behind the next car or gone down the way. Nothing. Not even the others were visible. Just us and the smoking, screaming train car.
Just meters in the opposite direction, another explosion knocked a carriage straight off the lines, and I could hear the alarms from within the station shrieking out onto the yard. I ran and shoved myself into Sholto's chest, forcing him to move backward, running behind the back of the car just as the gunshots started. It sounded like an automatic, something firing and clanging off the metallic surface of the trains. Sholto's initial shock was turning into intensity, but not as fast as I would've liked it. Behind the car, I nearly collapsed, and Sholto stood over me, examining the surroundings.
"It looks like there are some buildings over there," He said, motioning. "Let's try to make it."
I nodded, making a quick break for the next car. Without our helper, I felt a bit overcome with the mass of the train yard, but I knew it wasn't the time to second-guess myself or explore other options. Sholto narrowed down and made for the outcropping, taking shelter behind every car we came by, careful to keep his eyes on our rear while I kept eyes ahead.
A body flickered before us, moving swiftly from train to train, and I almost didn't have time to shout. "One!" I yelped, just as I heard the gunfire. Sholto seized the back of my coat and practically threw me into the wall of one of the cars, stunning me for a moment while he found his own ground.
"Jesus Christ," I heaved, falling onto my knee.
"I counted four to our flank," He said, leaning against the car. "We've got to keep moving."
"Dr. Watson."
His gun was in his hand, aimed directly in the face of our helper. With gunshots still ringing out behind her, she squatted down in front of me.
"Are you hit?"
"No, no." I stood back up, my knees a little wobbly, but still good. "Where the hell did you-"
"No time. Keep up."
She straightened and produced her own firearm from within her coat; a handsome weapon, handled with precision, lined up against the belly of the car and shot in the general direction of our assailant. She then skipped across a line, followed by me, followed my Sholto, his own pistol still at the ready. My own bore into my back, but I felt like I would crumble if I used it. No one around me had similar feelings. A train whistle blew, aggravatingly close.
A third explosion made Sholto tense, but we couldn't risk losing the woman again. The gunshots threatened us, and the man was getting closer. She shot near his position again, and it gave us a few seconds of an opening, but his next bullet passed just half a moment after Sholto made the cover of the wheels, and my nerves weren't going to take much more of an assault. I saw another body approaching the line, and I was already wheezing with the ache and pressure in my lungs; James was holding up, but there was a bead of sweat on his brow, and his eyes still didn't look quite right. We needed to get out of this, and fast.
We jumped between a few more cars, and the woman suddenly climbed up on the window of the carriage, kicking open the wide doorway just enough to slip inside. But before I could panic, she heaved the door open a few more inches and offered her hand. "Get in, quickly. They can't see you."
I took her hand and she pulled me in like I was a child, moving so I could wedge myself inside. Sholto followed after, his face contorted with the difficulty of his injured side, but managing it anyway. She then pushed the door closed as fast and as silent as she could, plunging us into darkness.
We didn't dare breathe louder than we had to, but in this tiny space, even the tiniest gasp sounded monstrous. The blackness was inky and swelling, and I felt myself gravitate closer to Sholto, reaching out for the fabric of his jacket and finding his hand by accident. Our helper flicked a lighter, illuminating her lips and chin while she found the window she wanted, peeling off some of the thick plaster to allow a beam of light to shine through.
Outside, gunshots still rang. A man ran past, then a second, their limbs tight and frowns cut deep into their faces. They shouted to each other, but their voices were so muffled by the train's exterior that it sounded like hollow mumblings. They passed, and the shots continued. But soon, there came running a Scottish officer, weapon trained, prying through the surrounding trains and helping to clear out whatever criminals there were left in the vicinity. Another train whistle blew, this one reasonably close.
The woman and her flicker-light settled, sitting herself onto a pile of boxes near the door, still watching the outside through the hole in the plaster-board, but now angling herself more open toward us. Breathing became a little easier, and I felt Sholto start to loosen beside me.
"Are we safe here?" I asked, quietly.
"Yes, you're safe." She turned. "They won't be able to tell this car from any of the others. You're in our hands now."
" 'Our'?" Sholto repeated. "Who is 'our'?"
She watched him, then glanced toward me. "I assumed it would be obvious."
"Are you with Mycroft?" I asked. "Or Miranda?"
Her face flashed with confusion for a split second, then washed clean. However, that one spark of suspicion made my stomach turn cold. "Miranda sent me, doctor."
The train whistled again, echoing throughout the car, and suddenly we were jerked forward, thrown back into a separate stack of boxes. The crash as they hit the ground made Sholto tense, gripping me closer with an arm around my back. I balanced myself on his chest, praying that the lights didn't happen to flicker on at that moment.
"We're moving?" Sholto asked, looking around.
"This train's bound for Blackpool." She said. "It's out of the danger zone. You'll be able to contact whoever you need to contact once there."
"Thank you," I said, a little breathless.
"But, why are you helping us?" Sholto asked.
"Orders, sir." She worked further at the plaster. "You should understand such."
He quieted, and the train rumbled into motion, steadily getting faster, jolting as it crossed separate lanes and navigating its own. Once we were away from the maintenance yard, the woman tore the plaster off the window, allowing light to drench through the darkness. Now able to see, I let go of Sholto and stepped clear of the mess of crates. He, on the other hand, sat down on them, running his hand lightly over the outside of his thigh, massaging his burning muscles with his hand still gripped in his opposite hand.
"You work for Miranda, then?" I asked, moving closer to the woman.
She glanced at me. She was working at the door, the light hitting her at such an angle that she looked a bit similar to Sally Donovan. She smelled like spices, smoke, and cheap cologne, her eyes crackling like a burning fire. "No." She answered. "But I've heard about you."
I furrowed my brow. "What do you mean?"
With a yank, she pulled the train door open just a few centimeters, letting more light stream in. "In Blackpool, you'll be able to contact whoever you need, but don't try to contact the authorities or the police." She said. "It will only complicate your situation and make it more difficult for you to get what you want."
"And what do I want?"
She glared at me, yanking the door open further. "You're on your own once you arrive. I'd give you five hours before someone causes you trouble. Try to get back to London as quickly as possible."
"How do you know so much?"
"I'm sorry, I can't help you, Dr. Watson." She stood near the entrance to the door, now. "It's not my place."
"What is your place, then?"
"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson. I can't help you."
She holstered her gun and moved her hand toward the door, and that's when I stepped up. I made a lunge for her before she could make it out the door, grappling for a few seconds before pushing her against the loose crates, knocking her back into the wooden corners. She gritted her teeth together, not putting up too much of a fight, but looking incredibly pissed off beside the fact.
"Then, I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you," I replied.
"Let go of me, doctor." She snapped.
"Tell me how you know me." I responded.
"I'm much stronger than you are." She warned.
"Just tell me, and I'll let you go."
She tsked. With a swift sweep of her leg, she caught me off-guard and off-balance, from there easily shoving me away into the boxes toward Sholto. I fell back, landing hard against the wood, crying out as one of the crates made its way directly into my thigh. Sholto was up, his gun trained on her, clicking off the safety as she straightened and brushed the dust off her coat.
"Remember what side you're on, doctor,." She said, and disappeared beneath the tracks.
There's a little piece of heaven, right where you are. The fact that you keep reviewing is what sets you apart.
Next update Sunday