Chapter 13

October

Lion found in Totteridge Village

By Kitty Reilley

It seems that even London isn't immune to the unethical allowances of government officials. Mycroft Holmes can do what he wants when it concerns his brother. He continues to expertly utilise government resources to make sure his brother's crimes don't make it to the Old Bailey while the rest of British citizens don't have the luxury of that relationship.

Less than a week ago a lion was discovered by the infamous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. It seems he and Dr Watson aren't above a little breaking and entering. The police reiterated no comment when this journalist investigated the circumstances and pressed why there were no charges in regard to entering the premises of Mr Tony Oxley illegally.

My reliable source revealed the following shocking facts. One: Mr Tony Oxley has a permit to keep the lion. Two: Sherlock Holmes and his partner entered the grounds illegally and then proceeded to try and break into the house. The lion – which was kept securely in the enclosed porch at the back of the house, was inadvertently let loose by their bungling. Three: Sherlock Holmes then proceeded to accost Mr Oxley after entering his home without consent, pretending to be a neighbour. Four: Mr Oxley was arrested on trump-up charges and currently his whereabouts are unknown. Five: And this is the most shocking of all, dear readers. Mr Holmes and Dr Watson – even though they have no legal reason – returned to enter Mr Oxley's house for a second time the next day and unearthed a few hunting trophies and photos Mr Oxley had kept as mementos.

Why would Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson feel the need to invade someone's privacy like that? Where is Mr Oxley at the moment? Why has he not been released if he'd been in the custody of police?

One wonders if Mycroft Holmes is involved as he was seen entering the house after Mr Holmes and Dr Watson the next day. Sherlock Holmes had left the premises, carted away in an ambulance. Is his drug problem worse than we thought? Is he masking his usage by these incidents? Did Mycroft Holmes use his considerable powers and make Mr Oxley disappear?

We are not some third world country run by a dictator. We are supposedly a first world country with duly elected officials. We have rights. So, where are the rights of Mr Tony Oxley to be heard in a court of law? Where are the rights to be tried and given due process if indeed something untoward was found in the house. Where is the law in compelling Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson to be fined at the very least for entering a man's property uninvited.

Mycroft Holmes, do the right thing and let your brother for once own up to his drug-induced delinquency and take responsibility for his actions.

"Why do you care?" Sherlock turned to John. "It doesn't matter."

John brandished the Sun into Sherlock's face. His own reddened with anger. "Because it affects me too, Sherlock. This rubbish is defamatory at the very least."

"It's speculation. Nothing more. And it makes for a whole lot of stupid if people believe…"

"Believe! Do you have any idea…" John turned away, flinging the paper onto the kitchen table. His fist thumped down next to it as he breathed harshly through his nose. "Sherlock…mmmm…" He held up a hand, finger extended. Breathed through his anger and Sherlock's uncomprehending face in front of him. "Have you given any thought to how Molly might be dealing with this?"

"She's fine." Sherlock said.

"Really? Think about this, okay. Kitty has phoned the switchboard at Barts requesting to speak with her. Wants to know if the baby is really yours as you and I are seemingly more than partners. You had let this woman get away for far too long now with her tabloid rubbish on you."

"This will blow over, John. Tomorrow they'll focus on the alien baby of a woman in Sussex. Again, why do you care?"

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! Are you really so thick?"

Sherlock stiffened. His hand clenched behind his back and he stared at his friend. "I'm going for a walk," he said through gritted teeth. Turned and left John standing alone in the kitchen. He turned towards Regent's Park; anger had turned his strides long. He took the outer circuit but didn't enter the road to the rose garden. Instead, stood indecisively at the crossroads, suddenly uncertain on where he wanted to go and what he'd wanted to do.

She phoned Barts…

John's voice was loud in his ears. He pulled his phone out and went and sat on a bench. Pulled his coat tight as he dialled Molly's number.

"Hey," her voice sounded perfectly fine. Same as it did this morning.

"It has come to my attention that Kitty Reilley has been trying to contact you. Apparently John and I are having an affair. I'm also a drug addict who is breaking into other people's properties to get high. Mycroft is sweeping everything under the rug. Although in saying that, she doesn't know my brother very well. Mycroft has never lifted a finger to do any menial work. Mummy could never get him to do any chores."

Molly laughed. "Is this about the Sun?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock, I thought you didn't care?"

He took a deep breath. "I don't. John apparently does."

"Oh…okay. Fair enough."

"Did she try to contact you?" Sherlock asked.

"Mike has given the switchboard strict instructions regarding any journalist who might be calling. You remember Jenny?"

"Who?"

"Sherlock…" Molly gave a soft sigh. "The frumpy sergeant at arms, as you so aptly put it when you met her."

"Oh…oh." He suddenly felt a lot better. Jenny would field all calls with adequate skill. She was good at her job.

"Are you still up for tonight?"

"Do I have to?" he asked petulantly, a pout evident and he didn't even try to hide it.

"It's important, okay. So, yes. Your parents made the effort, Sherlock. The least you can do is be there."

"Mycroft managed to worm his way out of dinner."

"Mycroft isn't about to become a father, now is he?"

Sherlock sniggered. "No. Can you imagine him with a child? He'll be completely and utterly lost on what to do. Did you know that he asked me if our child is functional?"

"Ah…yes. I can see Mycroft make that remark. 7 sharp, Sherlock."

"Fine." He rang off and rose from the seat. Decided in the end to take the outer circuit. It will allow John to calm down and by the time he gets home, hopefully he'll be in a better mood.

"He's requested Oliver's file be reopened." Jason said. He lounged against a wall, watching the proceedings on a tv screen of the smaller room in the warehouse with interest.

"Not entirely unexpected, is it?" Lord Byron said, turning from the screen and meeting his gaze.

"No. What do you want to do?"

"Brad?"

"He didn't like it but he left this morning. We had to utilise one of Moriarty's smuggling channels. Mycroft's agents had a border watch out on him."

"Talking about Moriarty?"

"He's still secure but is getting more vocal. He isn't happy to be kept out of the loop. He's a crazy bastard, I'm not sure why you decided to use him. He's threatened to skin me alive. Even though he doesn't like getting his hands dirty, apparently he'll make an exception."

"He's a tool. Nothing more. We'll use him when the time is right."

A shout came over the speakers of the tv screen, bringing both their heads to focus on what was going on. A man struggled briefly against the hands that held him down. He was manhandled onto his stomach and then Dr Smith was kneeling at his side, a syringe in his hand. They watched him administer the drug quickly, watched as the man's struggles slowed and then stopped.

Jason smirked. Pushed away from the wall and stepped casually to the sidebar that had been setup against one wall. He poured himself a good measure of whiskey and took a sip. Indicated with the glass to the screen. "Say what you will of that crazy bastard but he delivers. The drug seems to be a success. Maybe we should take him up on his offer regarding Dr Watson."

"Maybe…" Lord Byron wiped his mouth, his eyes not leaving the screen. "It can become an incentive to make sure he behaves himself.

"About Mycroft?" Jason asked again, downing the rest of the liquid.

"Ye-es. I think we need to intervene. We're not ready yet for what he's got planned. Use Lyle and do it tonight."

Jason nodded and his eyes gleamed in anticipation. "Sure. What about the Woman?"

"Take her along for the ride. It would make it clear to Mycroft our intent and the gravity of the situation. If he persists in keeping the file open, warn him that you'll kill the Woman as a demonstration of our resolve."

Jason turned to leave. Ignoring the screen and the man that was now manoeuvred onto a couch, his body relaxed.

"Jason," Lord Byron said as he was about to exit the office. "Don't underestimate Mycroft Holmes. You know what he did to the others."

"Sure."

Lord Byron watched him leave. He turned back to the screen and turned the volume up. Listened as Smith spoke to someone off screen, indicating to them to start the video. Oliver's voice came over the tv set, loud and clear and the man on the couch stiffened. Turned a blindfolded head into the man he was seated next to. Whimpered and then slightly shook his head.

Smith nodded; made a note on his file he held open in front of him. The cadence changed again and the man flinched. Moved to push away but was repositioned on the couch.

"Mr Holmes…"

Sherlock stopped moving. His body language changed completely and then he answered Oliver's question.

Yes. Things were progressing well. Revenge was such a dirty word but after what the other man had done, it was something he craved above everything else. He is going to enjoy watching Mycroft squirm on the hook until the time is right. And when he had taken everything away from the other man he'll let Sherlock pull the trigger and kill Mycroft. Afterwards, he and Sherlock will go on a hunt back at the estate where it all started. Oliver would appreciate the irony.

Two Holmes for the price of one.

He watched as Sherlock reacted on the screen to something Oliver said. They had moved him from the couch and he was standing in front of a cement wall. One of the men held Sherlock as another forced his hand around the grip of a gun. Sherlock protested but Smith was quick to reassure the man. He used Oliver's words to bring the other man back to a semblance of calm while the man behind Sherlock patted his back in soothing circles. They took it slow, waiting until Sherlock was relaxed, breathing slowed to a mockery of normalcy. Smith stepped forward and removed the blindfold. Sherlock blinked against the light, his hand with the gun was held down his side. He baulked when he finally registered the life size target set against the wall in front of him. It was a good facsimile of Mycroft, the face set in a scowl that Lord Byron had on occasion seen at committee meetings. Sherlock shook his head and tried to take a step back. Smith indicated to someone and Oliver's smooth voice suddenly filled the air. The man behind Sherlock stopped him from moving and again the consulting detective shook his head at the command. Even drugged and at their mercy, his will power was phenomenal. Byron suddenly had insight into why it took Oliver so long before he completely broke the man.

Smith was getting annoyed. Byron could see it clearly. He spoke to someone off screen while the man behind Sherlock continued with the physical caresses Oliver had used to train the other man to associate with calm. Sherlock visibly trembled, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he shook his head again. He tried to bring the gun up but was prevented by the second man that stood by his side. Someone passed Smith another syringe and he injected Sherlock again. Byron wondered if it was such a good idea. He'll ask the doctor about it later but whatever it was, it seemed to bring Sherlock back down to a dreamlike state and less agitated.

Oliver's voice sounded again. This time he mentioned Redbeard and Mycroft. Asked a question. Sherlock sneered and finally he answered. Anger visible flashed across his face which is what Smith seemed to have been waiting for. He said something but Sherlock resisted. Shook his head. Smith played the recording again. And again. Until finally Byron watched Sherlock vibrate with fury and in one smooth movement he swung his arm up and pulled the trigger. Watched the play of emotions on the man's face. Watched as Oliver's praise flowed over the man, bringing back a sense of calm.

The target paper that had been Mycroft held a perfect round of bullet holes in the centre of his chest area. Lord Byron turned the volume all the way down and moved away.

Finally. He wondered if he'd get to see the look on Mycroft's face when Sherlock pulled the trigger at the end. It would be just…perfect.

He knew Mycroft was home when he saw the front door knocker straightened, never mind his brother's car parked in front of 221B. His brother sat in John's chair, reading a file. He looked up when Sherlock entered the flat, not even trying to hide his annoyance.

"What are you doing here? Sherlock asked. He flung his scarf and coat onto the couch and headed for the kitchen. He was sporting a headache that just didn't seem to want to go away. He grabbed a glass of water and then left the glass on the table as he headed for his bathroom and the medicine cabinet. Between John and Molly, it was well stocked and he grabbed two paracetamols from a packet. Only after he'd swallowed the pills did he sit down on his seat across from his brother, closing his eyes as he tried to ignore the throbbing ache that seemed centred just behind his eyes.

"Where were you?" Mycroft asked him.

"Why do you care?" Sherlock asked. He was irritated, not understanding why. For some reason Redbeard came to the forefront when Mycroft had spoken and it had brought back a tumble of memories he'd rather forget. Most disconcerting of all, is the memory of Oliver on the couch asking him about Redbeard…pulling apart his childhood memories of the event until he felt violated all over again at his brother's actions during the whole sordid affair.

He took a cleansing breath. Steepled his fingers just under his chin as he tried to push the memories back into their respective files in his mind palace. He partially succeeded but the anger still seemed to linger.

"Sherlock. You were gone for three hours." Mycroft's voice brought him out of his reverie and he opened his eyes, staring at his brother who hadn't moved since he had sat down at his chair. Mycroft seemed determined today to force him to a confrontation.

"Shouldn't you be undermining a government somewhere rather than wasting your time here, sitting in John' chair?" He said with a disdain. "Better yet, rooting out Moriarty's hidden network."

"A perfectly reasonable question, don't you think brother mine?" Mycroft persisted, ignoring Sherlock's retort. Leaned forward and scrutinised Sherlock. His gaze narrowed and he leaned back and Sherlock wondered what his brother had observed.

"I'm an adult, Mycroft. I don't have to tell you where I am every minute of the day. I went for a walk. Surely your lackeys would've been able to follow my every movement." He said, waving a hand in the air in a dismissive gesture.

"That's just it, brother mine. They lost track of you around 3 hours ago. You were in a blind spot on the outer circuit that usually takes you less than five minutes to traverse. You went off-piste as it were, Sherlock. So, once again, where were you."

Sherlock stared at his brother. The look on Mycroft was familiar enough from his uni days that he automatically said, "I'm clean, Mycroft."

A brief look of disappointment seemed to flirt across his older brother's face. For some reason Sherlock felt guilt make itself known…and shame. The headache increased in tempo and a sharp flash of pain had him leaned forward, fingers massaging his temples aware that Mycroft wasn't convinced at all.

"Not what I asked but thank you for confirming. You do look a bit wrung out."

He met Mycroft's eyes, dropped his hands in exasperation and sneered, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mycroft closed the file. Sighed. "I do care about you, you know."

"Oh, shut up."

"Yes well, you are meeting our parents tonight, Sherlock. It would be good if you can do it without being high."

"For the last time, Mycroft. I'm not high. I didn't procure drugs. I'm clean. I went for a walk."

"Can you recall where you went?"

"I was thinking." Sherlock said. Frowned but his memory was hazy. He completed the circuit around Regent's Park…didn't he? More than once if the timing was accurate according to his brother.

"You always know where you are in London, brother dear. Even when …thinking."

Sherlock met his brother's gaze. "Why are you here?" he said instead, trying and failing by the look on Mycroft's face to hide his own disquiet. He seemed to pause, considering his words. Sherlock wasn't surprised by what Mycroft said in the end.

"I've set up a meeting with Moriarty tomorrow at ten. Sherlock, maybe we should rethink the meeting. You seem to be under …increased…" he cleared his throat. Then resolutely continued, "…stress. This business with Oliver and now the fishing expeditions are playing havoc with your memory, brother dear. I'm concerned it might lead to a relapse…" he looked Sherlock up and down again deliberately, "if it hasn't already. Do you have a list?"

"There's no list, Mycroft. I didn't take anything." Sherlock said. Stood and with fingers that seemed to have a mind of his own, he undid his cuffs and pushed his sleeves up. Pushed his arms under his brother's nose. "See…no track marks. Now piss off."

Mycroft sniffed. Pushed Sherlock's arms away and stood. "Sherlock, your mind…"

"There is nothing wrong with my mind, Mycroft." Sherlock interrupted his older brother. Pushed the sleeves down as he stepped from the chair, "I'm perfectly fine so now if don't mind, I've got a headache and would like a bit of peace and quiet before tonight."

Mycroft gathered his jacket and umbrella from the stand that stood beside the door. He turned to his brother. "Might I suggest you talk to Giles, Sherlock. You don't seem …at all yourself." Sherlock watched him disappear out the door. He stood and went to his bedroom. Closed the curtains and lay down on top of the duvet. Closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Mycroft had his phone out by the time he was seated in the back of his car. Andrea answered almost immediately.

"He didn't know."

"What do you want us to do?"

He contemplated his options, making lightning fast deductions. Something was very wrong. A child could see it.

"I want to upgrade Sherlock's surveillance to active, priority alpha. Two men team on him at all times when he's not at Baker Street. If we lose contact for more than five minutes I want to know. And get a camera sorted for the blind spot on the circuit."

Andrea acknowledged his request and he was left with his own thoughts. His mind was making connections – so far none of it was good. He pressed another number that was on the fast dial on his phone. Listened to the ring before it was answered.

"Dr Watson, can you shorten your workday and check in on Sherlock."

"What…Mycroft?"

"My brother didn't seem well when I left."

"Okay. What's wrong?"

"He complained about a headache…"

"Mycroft, I'm not…" John sighed. "Did he ask for help…never mind. He won't but we can't come running each time he stubs a toe. We need to allow him a bit of freedom to make his own choices."

"I would appreciate it if you check in on him, John."

Silence on the end of the line. Mycroft waited and then John said, "I have three more patients I need to see that I can't reschedule. I'll go home after."

He thanked John and finished the call. Anderson turned into the car park at MI-6. Mycroft had a few things to get sorted for the day. He was concerned about Sherlock. His brother seemed to be struggling for some reason today and he wasn't entirely convinced that it had to do with the Oxley's cellar and his response to Oliver's video.

Something was definitely going on and he now more than ever convinced that opening the file on Oliver is the right thing to do.

"Sherlock?"

Somebody was pushing against his shoulder. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light and found John sitting on the bed by his side.

"What?" he mumbled, closing his eyes as he pulled his legs up. A hand settled briefly on his forehead and he moaned in protest. "Go away."

"Hey mate, do you know what time it is?"

He pushed his head into the pillow but John wasn't having any of it. He turned Sherlock on his back and then lifted an eyelid and swung a penlight at his pupil. "What the hell!" Sherlock pushed against the hand, pulling his head away from John's grip.

"Sherlock, you've been sleeping for the last three hours."

Sherlock sat up, blinking against the light, and then glancing at the clock on his side table. His eyes went wide when he noted the time.

"Molly," he started to say. Groaned and grabbed his head. Squinted up at John and he suddenly felt nauseous.

"Hey, you okay?" John asked and grimaced, reaching for the bin that stood beside Molly's bed table. Pushed it against Sherlock and he grabbed it as he emptied his stomach. A cool hand was on his forehead again and then John left. Sherlock felt miserable. He didn't understand why. John was back in short order, pushing a thermometer into his ear.

"Ok, at least there's no fever."

"What?" He looked up at John. Blinked against the light and continued to squint. "Switch the damn lights off."

"Sherlock…"

"What?" He pushed the bin towards John, laid back down and curled up feeling absolutely horrid. His headache was worse and his body felt like he'd been hit by a truck.

"Mycroft said you complained of a headache. How about now?"

"It's still sore."

"Okay. Can you give me a rating…"

"Sod off."

"John?"

"Oh, hey Molly."

"What's wrong?"

"Judging by the symptoms, it looks like Sherlock has a good old-fashioned migraine."

"Just shut it," Sherlock whispered. Groaned and pushed his head into the pillow, eyes closed tightly. "Just want quiet and switch off the damn light."

"Sherlock," Molly said softly as she sat down next to him on the bed, hand reaching out and touching him on the shoulder. "The light's off, okay. We can barely see as it is."

"Can you stay with him? I'm going to grab my bag. I'll give him something a bit stronger. Mycroft said he drank two paracetamols earlier. It should've worked itself out by now in any case."

"Okay. I guess I'll have to cancel tonight."

"Yeah, he's not going anywhere by the looks of him. Phone Mycroft. He can take his parents out."

Sherlock heard John leave. Molly's hand was still on his shoulder and he placed his own over hers while he tried not to move too much. It helped a little. At least Molly didn't try and make small talk, seeming to understand his need for quiet. In short order, he heard his friend enter the room again.

"Sherlock, hey mate. I'm going to give you something that should help."

He nodded his ascent, barely cognizant of the injection. A short time later the welcome relief came as the pain was dulled and sleep pulled him back in.

"What happened?" Molly asked John. They were in the kitchen, Molly making a quick pasta for supper.

"Not sure," John said. "Sherlock left this morning for a walk after we had a few words around that article from the Sun. Mycroft phoned me at work, asking me to check in on Sherlock. I tried to explain to him that he needs to give Sherlock a bit of room to breathe. You know how Mycroft is…"

Molly nodded; a small frown settled on her face as she stirred the white sauce. "I can't ever remember Sherlock getting a headache before since I've known him. Can this be some leftover reaction to the cellar or last month's stomach bug?"

"Not the stomach bug." John said. "If it's a leftover of his reaction, then Giles would be better able to answer. It could be psychosomatic. Maybe just a way for him to work through his experience."

"Should we phone Giles?"

John got the strainer out, the pasta about cooked. "I don't know, Molly. I really don't. Something's going on with him and I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Do you think it's the pregnancy? That he's finally realising that he's going to become a father."

"No…definitely not. You've seen how excited he is. He's more than ready as any new parent out there. He wants this Molly." He poured the pasta water off, placing the pot back on the stove. Molly added the béchamel sauce and then added a few sprigs of parsley. A soft knock came on the door and both looked up from the kitchen table to see Greg Lestrade walk in.

"Hey, sorry for the hour. Where's Sherlock?"

"He's got a migraine. Sleeping it off." John said succinctly.

"Uh, okay. Since when does he get migraines?"

"First time, I'm aware." John said. "You want to join us?"

"No. Here on official business, sorry. I'm afraid Kitty's article in that rag has reached the ears of the higher ups. There's been some kickback from the public and until things die down a little, I can't officially use you on cases. I've also been asked to deliver a warning to you and Sherlock that any further activities proven to be illegal will be investigated and may lead to prosecution."

"Yeah. Thought as much," John said, leaning back in his chair. "Sherlock isn't going to take this well."

"Sorry mate," Greg said. Turned to leave. Paused at the doorway and looked back at them. "For what it's worth, lie low for a little bit. Get under the radar and this will blow over as soon as the public gets someone else to focus on."

Less than an hour later, Mycroft called Molly.

"How is he?"

"Sleeping. He's got a migraine. How was dinner with your parents?"

"My parents are sufficiently sated and on their way to their hotel. They still want to see you. Can you please contact Mummy and organise a suitable venue for you and Sherlock to meet them."

"Sure, Mycroft. I'll phone them tomorrow."

"Molly, I need you to find out where Sherlock was this morning. My people lost him for three hours. I'm concerned."

"John gave him some strong painkillers. I'll find out tomorrow, okay." She rang off, closing the connection.

"Mycroft?" John asked Molly.

"Yes. He wants me to ask Sherlock where he was."

"Mmm. Good luck," John said with a smirk.

"Hey."

"No. I'm glad I'm not the only one anymore that Sherlock ignores or chooses to keep in the dark. We can share the joy of Sherlock Bloody Holmes."

Molly giggled. "That's mean, John."

"Really? As mean as sending the man out to find you Wotsits and mango at 11 at night."

"Fair enough. I'm going to go check on him and probably turn in myself. Good night, John."

"Okay. See you tomorrow, Molly. Knock on my door if you need me." Molly nodded her thanks and made her way to the bedroom. She was quiet as she got herself sorted and dressed. She slipped under the covers and Sherlock turned to her, pulling her into his own body like they'd slept when they were at the bothy. She relaxed as his arm tightened around her.

"Feeling better?" she whispered, snuggling back against him. "If you're feeling up to it, there's food leftover in the fridge."

"Not hungry," he murmured. "Just need sleep."

"Okay. John said…"

"I'll be okay." Sherlock nuzzled her hair. "Sleep well, Molly Hooper."

"Night Sherlock." She replied, their ritual complete. She felt him settle and then his breathing was deeper again as he slipped back fully into sleep. She enjoyed the feel of being in his arms. Memories of the bothy come forward but it was not all bad. Even on the bad days, Sherlock would complete their ritual. It brought a semblance of calm. A promise that things will work out.

She allowed that feeling to persist and somewhere in that moment, she fell asleep.