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simplysherlockfanfic · 7 years ago

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The study of a haunted mind: two

Read Part One here

A TAB period Spin-off of Connection

(Connection)Reader x Sherlock

Word Count: 4481

Upon our departure, the fog had filled the streets but there was still no sign of the storms I had been waiting for. The only rumble came from the train and then our carriage. The fog had thickened the further we headed away from London, the cold seeped inside me causing the ache to grow substantially more inconvenient.

I was bothered by the cold, the fog, and the feeling that something was coming. An itch that maybe it wasn’t a storm but something worse. I stared out the window at the passing countryside or the shadows of it along the long winding lane of clay and tried to force the pain from my mind.

Victoria tapped my hand and produced a small vial from a hidden pocket in her trousers. “Sherlock gave me this. I think he was right. Again.”

I glanced at the vial before meeting her gaze, “just what is that?” I recalled their whispered conversation before the men took their leave, Sherlock sharing some of his thoughts from what he had gained from the letter he received. The look of her patient but concealed annoyance with him always amused me.

“One of his concoctions. He said it has the same quality of pain relief from Laudanum or Morphine but it wouldn’t have the side effects that would slow you down, only dull the pain. I suspect he diluted whatever it is enough that you will still be clear headed. You can drink it.”

I lifted the small vial from her fingers. “Must I drink it all?”

She shrugged craning her neck to look out the small window, “I suppose you could take however much you’d like. Maybe test a bit and see how you feel, but quickly. We’re drawing near. I can see a farmhouse.”

I looked out her window and studied the large ancient structure with a long new addition that stretched out to the right giving it an L shape. The carriage jostled us and Victoria braced me against the seat before the back wheels hit the hole. I yanked the stopper from the vial and splashed about half of its contents on my tongue swallowing quickly.

Victoria’s brow hiked up but she only smirked and looked back toward the window.

By the time we stopped in front of the manor, my ache was gone. I stepped from the carriage without a single wince but still kept my cane in hand. No need to be pushing the bounds when I couldn’t be sure how long the relief would last.

We climbed the few stone stairs and I noticed a divot in which my cane struck. It rested in the O of a name carved in the last step, Hurlstone. A sense of familiarity swept through me.

“Hullo!” We were greeted at the door by Robert Ferguson, the man of the house. His sunken frame filled the doorway, once a great athlete, John had told me, but he was far from his prime today. “Mrs. Doyle, Mrs. Watson,” He stepped back and directed us inside, “I am so glad to see your journey was safe. Dreadful evening out there. I can not believe Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson allowed it but he was very adamant that you could help me.”

Victoria responded and I walked into a very large central room filled with such an amalgamation of the owners that called it home; from the original farmer to the latest addition to the household, the Peruvian lady we’d been asked to assist. I was drawn to the South American items that adorned the wall feeling once again something I couldn’t quite reach. I had seen similar weapons before but they had no American origin whatsoever, a few were Arabic and some Indian. Sherlock had studied them for cases years ago and yet they had strangely stuck in my mind.

Something flickered off one of the hanging utensils and the odor of decay filled the space. A horrid clicking resounded in my head and all I could see were gray walls and ceiling. A building pressure against my ankles, hips, and wrists and then more clicking. The vision hit so suddenly, my lungs ached for oxygen they no longer had.

“Oh, Daddy!” A child’s voice broke me from the trance and I sucked in a gasp as quietly as I could manage.

I shook the image from my mind and turned, breathing deeply with each item my gaze fell upon. A pale, flaxen haired boy, older than I imagined from the cry, had his arms wrapped around Ferguson’s neck as he enthusiastically greeted his father. It reminded me of William and Rosie, the way they latch onto us in greeting but this boy could be no younger than fourteen.

Ferguson introduced us to his son Jack and the boy looked at each of us with something akin to suspicion. His blue eyes sparked something within me, a memory, another feeling of a static charge and distant rumble.

“The famous detective has a partner?” A crooked grin stole over his face for the barest of moments and a gleam in his eye shook me.

I turned away, something about the boy chilled me and I walked over to the fire analyzing the stone work and the iron grate in front. I wondered if maybe Sherlock hadn’t tested the dosage he had given me and the drug was indeed playing tricks on my mind. My eye caught on sixteen hundred and seven chiseled in the middle slab about halfway up the back wall of the fireplace. A date that seemed wrong, another fact that felt out of place.

“I will call for the nurse to bring the baby and check on my wife for any change,” Ferguson remarked.

“If you could inform her that we would like to speak with her,” Victoria responded, her mind still secure in our purpose. She moved to the Peruvian woman’s collection on the wall, studying the weapons and other items, her fingers running over something like a dart or small arrowhead.

The boy hobbled over to the fireplace drawing up close to me and I took a step to the side. He kept his face turned away but it still nagged at me. The look in his eye, the cruel crook of his mouth, it was like a taunt of a past I couldn't yet touch.

He reached out toward the fire and I almost pulled him back before he flicked his wrist, throwing a handful of dust into the flames. The fire sparked and a brief puff of smoke spiraled up. The word ash came to mind and I tried to recall what Sherlock had spoken of it over the years. He would certainly be able to recall information from the look, the smell, the flame’s reaction and be able to identify it from those few clues.

“Jack, do you like your sibling?” Victoria asked but her voice was so very far away.

My head spun with Sherlock’s voice in a state I had only heard once, for God’s sake, control the pain. For William, for me. Stay, y/n, I beg of you. Stay.

The laughter echoed around the high vaulted chamber and a prickling began at the base of my skull. The temperature rose and yet the chill in my blood remained.

I closed my eyes to shake the memory that fought for control. Cold hands and hard eyes, the dark underground cavern flashed and the constant dipping echoed around me. Icy fingers wrapped around my neck, James so loved your neck.

I emerged, shaking the memory briskly, and fixed my eyes on Jack or what used to be Jack. He stood with his back, no longer curved but ramrod straight, to the fire. His childish clothes were gone, replaced with a fine suit. Dark slicked back hair in place of the fair, short cut.

He turned and I gasped, “Jay!”

That smile I couldn't place before complete with smoldering brown eyes. “Did you enjoy the game I left for you?”

“Impossible.” I stepped back glancing toward the stairs hoping no one else would approach. Someone was supposed to come, we were supposed to talk to someone, the reason we were here.

He pulled a small pistol from his suit jacket and pointed it at my chest, “this is the end, though I loathe it this way. Not really my style but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

A scream pierced the air and I was shoved to the side crashing to the ground before the blast of the pistol echoed in the chamber. I slammed into a wall then rolled to my back patting myself down searching for the hole, the blood, but then I saw her, lying not that far from me. “Mary.”

Mary was staring at me, her hand reaching for me.

“No!” I scrambled across the floor, “just hold on.” I searched her dress and found the warm stain growing on the front of her bodice.

“You’ll take… care of them… for me.”

I shook my head desperately trying to clear my vision. “No. No, you… you will. These bullets aren’t that…”

“We both know he didn’t bring bullets from this time.”

“What do you… Mary, you’re in shock.”

“You need to go, before he wakes. It won't be long now. Take care of them. Make sure they’re loved.”

“Mary!”

“Oh, Mary!” His mocking scream bounced off stone walls.

I whipped around and he stood there dominating the room in his perfectly pressed suit with that smirk I couldn't bear. “You’re dead! You’d never survive that fall. That cliff is far too steep.”

“Oh, love. We both know things are never as they seeeem.” He snaked that last word out, his smile sickening but the poison affecting his sight.

Poison. I trusted the intuition. He was blinking rapidly and his eyes roamed far too much.

Mary must have had the dart she had been studying still in her hand… No, not Mary. I turned and covered my mouth. Victoria lay sprawled on the ground, her eyes staring blankly at the far wall. I knelt down beside her and pulled her eyelids down. I thought of William and Rosamund, of Sherlock and John. Oh god, John.

I swallowed the pain, the shock, the panic, and pushed to my feet, my eyes never leaving James Moriarty. He was swaying and I only had one chance of getting past him. I bolted toward him lowering my shoulder and slammed into him with every ounce of pressure I had gained from the speed.

We tumbled to the ground with a resounding crack. He grabbed his head and I scrambled up to my feet once again ignoring my hip that throbbed with atrocious pain. I continued on with gritted teeth. I needed a weapon, something that would stop him, but I didn’t have the slightest idea of where to find one.

The first room I came upon, I dashed inside and closed the door. I turned and found rows of tables filled with pots, plants, and dirt. I was in a greenhouse. In trying to rush, I had locked myself in without a hope of a weapon. Could the poison have come from a plant? What exactly were they growing in here?

I moved along the rows of green plants with pops of different colors from leaves to petals. I found a small pair of shears and grabbed them.

“What are you going to do with those?”

I spun and grabbed my chest, “curse you! You gave me such a fright!”

Mary smiled, “did you really think I’d come here without precautions?” She opened her blouse and pulled out some sort of blood soaked padding. “Sorry, I couldn’t let them know it was all fake. Bullet proof vest with blood packets. One of our latest bits of testing but it worked like a charm. Mycroft will be delighted.”

I cleared my throat and tried regulating my breathing again. “The constable should be here by now.”

We turned at the loud crash behind us. James Moriarty’s face was pressed against the large window in the door. I didn’t recall it being there before but I had maneuvered through the various rows of plants, I could be turned around and that was simply a different entry. His eyes were fixed on us, his pupils so constricted they were mere black slits in a sea of white.

“He's gone mad,” Mary cried.

“He was always mad.”

“Well, the poison is only helping him on his way then.”

“But what of the baby and the parents?” I held the shears in front of me but knew they would stand no chance against his pistol.

“He only wants us. Well, you. It was only ever you and Sherlock. You must go.”

“But where? He's blocking the only exit.”

Mary turned and moved further into the room that proved longer than I originally judged. “This will do nicely.” She gripped the edge of a table and looked up, her eyes fixed upon a tilted panel of glass above us. “If we pull that rope free, maybe lift another table onto that one, you could climb out.”

“Are you insane?”

“No, but he is and if he gets in here, he will not stop until you are no longer breathing.” Her eyes were pinned to mine and she vibrated with determination.

“Fine.” We walked to a neighboring table and each took an end then lifted it over to the one below the open panel of glass. It took a good bit of strength, something I was very quickly running out of, but we finally placed it on top. Mary boosted me up and followed behind me.

She pulled a small pistol from her trousers and shot the bracket holding the rope against the ceiling rafter. It swung down and she grabbed it then held it out to me. “You need to make it out that window. We don’t have another choice.” I took the rope and she knelt down then got on her hands as well, “step up then move as fast as you can.”

Another shot rang out along with shattering glass. I gripped the rope and stepped on her back then ascended. My head spun with each scream of my wrist and ankles but I had to get out the window knowing our time to escape was far too quickly closing.

Sweat burned in my eyes but I finally reached the edge of the glass, the rigid frame dug into my gloved hands. I ignored it and pulled up thinking of William and Sherlock.

Control the pain!

I stood carefully, keeping my weight on the metal frame that held the panes of glass in place and worried that Moriarty would simply shoot through the glass and kill us both. Mary made quick work of the rope and rolled out the open window. She moved so easily along the roof until she reached the side. “Go on, you first.”

I leaned over and eyed the drain pipe she tilted her head toward. My heart was beating in my throat, my arms and legs screaming, but I had to get down and hope we could get the upper hand before Moriarty came round.

When I made it to the grass Mary’s voice followed me, “tell them I still love them.”

I called up to her, “Mary! Come on, let's not dawdle.” I glanced around then looked up. “What are you doing?”

As I stared at the top of the drain pipe waiting for her leg to come over the side, the air seemed to shimmer. A pale face appeared above me, dark hair and red lips, she eclipsed my vision. Don't worry. We women must stick together. Her warm lips pressed against mine.

“It may not have killed me but it did hurt quite a lot.”

I whipped around at my friend’s voice, “Victoria?” My head was spinning, my lips tingling. Something wasn't right.

“Yes?” She looked at me as if I’d gone mad.

“You…” I glanced inside the greenhouse then back up to the drain pipe feeling numb. “You were shot.” I realized I was touching my lips and needed no further convincing that I indeed had gone mad.

“Well, yes, I thought that was clear. These vests may stop the bullet from penetrating the skin but there's not much to stop the force that propels them.”

“But how..?” I stumbled and she rushed over to catch me.

“Alright, now. You must've gotten nicked. Damn poison, who the hell keeps that in their home?”

“I think…” My vision wavered and my stomach churned.

“It's okay, the constable is here. They're speaking with Jack. It's a miracle you got out, the boy was practically foaming at the mouth.”

“No, it's… it's Moriarty. He was…”

“Shh… shh, darling. It's okay.” She turned and shouted, “we need a doctor!”

“Mary…” My head, my tongue, everything was too heavy and my body ached far more than before. The fog around the house seemed to have lifted, but not the one in my head. “Get Mary.”

I awoke with sunlight in my eyes. I rolled over, my hip shrieking at the movement, and had to lay on my back to get my breath back. I could smell his aftershave and knew before I scanned the room that I was in our bed at Baker Street. But I was alone.

I got up gingerly and pulled on the housecoat Sherlock had presented to me only a year ago. I still preferred his old one but it had to be cleaned at times.

I walked into the kitchen wondering if Sherlock and John were successful in their endeavors before asking the same of mine. How much of what happened was real and how much was tainted by either the vial Sherlock had made for me or whatever had been thrown into the fire?

My body suddenly relaxed and yet turned on, an electric current that always lit up my senses whenever he was present. I never bothered to figure out whether it was my brain or body that recognized him first because it didn't matter.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair plucking at the strings of his violin with a splendid fire crackling beside him. He smiled, his eyes assessing and watching my every step toward him. He placed the violin down with care on the table next to him and proffered his hand.

I took it and he pulled me toward him, guiding me to sit on his lap. His left hand rested gently on my hip, “how are you feeling?”

“Confused. What did you put in that concoction?”

“It's a mixture of cannabis and acetylsalicylic acid.”

I fidgeted with the tie for my housecoat and his right hand brushed my cheek before touching my jaw and turning my gaze back to his. “Would you like to discuss the case?”

“Mine or yours?”

“The one that is causing you such distress.”

I stared into his keen gaze seeping concern and curiosity. I took his hand and traced the lines on his palm wondering how much Victoria told him, how much I had actually said aloud. “Mary was there. And Moriarty.” I glanced up at him but there was no judgment, nor the humor I half expected at such an impossible utterance. “One moment he was a fifteen-year-old boy but then he threw some kind of ash in the fire and changed before my eyes.”

“Ash? There are a few ashes when burned that cause hallucinogenic effects and with you already using…” he stared off ahead of us, no doubt viewing his catalog then shook his head. “Even if it was a hallucinogen, it was only a dream, my love.”

“But, I remember… the constable, even Victoria said they didn’t understand how I climbed up without help. Mary was there, she helped me lift the table, get the rope, and I climbed on her back. Without her, I wouldn't have gotten out. James… Jack would have reached me.”

“You are the one who always regales me with the power of the mind. Adrenaline you spoke of that caused a mother to lift unimaginable weight to save her child. You were saving three actually, well maybe four. I find Watson quite childish at times.”

“Moriarty shot Victoria but I saw Mary.”

“You simply saw the same... what did you call it, psychosis?” I nodded, “you saw the familiar pattern and the poison altered him just as it did Victoria. There was no pistol but his darts.”

I looked down at our hands again. “Right.”

His fingers brushed over the scar on the left side of my neck, “it's still not as bad as what my blood did to you. Maybe I shouldn't let you go off on these cases. Maybe I should lock you in here and never chance losing you again.” His fingers caressed my cheek moving slowly over to my lips, “selfish and horrible. Some say I'm very cold hearted, maybe I could do it. Bar you in my castle and never release you.”

I kissed his fingers as they lingered on my lips, “you are a man of many things but cold hearted is certainly not one of them.”

He stared at my lips then finally met my gaze, “things are never as they seem.”

“What?” I blinked with an icy hand of fear skittering down my spine.

“Are you okay?” His face swam into focus and I could see his eyes but I couldn't draw a breath, like something was sitting on my chest.

“Y/n! Open your eyes! Look at me!”

The entire room flickered becoming fuzzy and unfocused. I tried shaking my head but it didn't work or help. Sherlock’s hair once slicked back was now curly and loose, his four piece suit replaced by a black coat. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to focus on breathing.

“William!” I croaked as I opened my eyes to an empty sitting room. I was standing in front of the fireplace no longer warm but empty and cold. The room was dark with only dull gray light seeping through the end of the curtains.

“I told you things are not as they seem.” Moriarty stepped into the unnatural light and I noticed the subtle changes in the room.

“No! You're dead! You shot yourself!”

He grinned, “and just where do your ghosts lie, my love?” His laughter chilled me, “does it thrill you to know I live where your parents do? Where sweet, skilled Mary does?” Suddenly, he was in my face, his eyes dilated and insane. “I'm right where I wanted to be. With you forever. Sherlock too, the cherry on top. I've saturated every inch of your life.”

“We’ve got a pulse.”

His eyes sparkled, “they're going to take you back to a place where the ghosts don't get to save you.”

“No, but it's a place that's rid of you, you sonofabitch!” I clenched my fists at my side. Sherlock’s voice echoed, it was only a dream, my love. “And since this is my dream,” I closed my eyes and thought of the room where I took Shelly, imagined the windows then pictured the roof of St. Bart’s just outside.

When I opened my eyes, he was stumbling backward. “What is this?”

“Y/n! Breathe!” Sherlock’s voice was blaring, shaking the room I conjured from memory.

I smiled, “if you want to live on in here then you'll stay right where I want you. Where we beat you.” I turned, opened the door, and ran out as he screamed my name.

Another jolt to my chest and I choked on pure oxygen, blinking rapidly and groaning from the burning brightness.

“Dear god,” John released a sigh of relief.

“Deep breaths, that's it.”

My mind was too fuzzy, “William?” I whispered.

There was a pause and beeping at my side was like a pike axe to my skull.

“Will is fine. He and Rosie are with my parents.”

I tried to push up on my elbows but strong hands held me down, “it's best not to move right now, Mrs..?” The unfamiliar voice trailed off.

“Please don't call me madam.”

“We’re going to transport you to the hospital.”

I jerked, squeezing my eyes closed. Nightmares and pain burst in my head. Sherlock grabbed my hand, his fingers painting soothing strokes down my forearm, “just to check you over. Where does it hurt?”

I thought of the ache in my hip but it wasn't there. I was just stiff, drained, and foggy.

“The building's clear. How is she?”

“Victoria?” I peered toward the voice and she frowned. Her red hair pulled back, her black raid gear meant to discourage and intimidate rather than flatter her figure. I thought she looked amazing.

“Are you okay?”

Pain lanced through my head when I tried nodding. “Just my head. I feel heavy. Did you see her? Did you see Mary?”

Sherlock and John shared a glance. Sherlock’s voice was so soft I could barely make out what he was saying to them. “The... drug she used on me.”

“Did you ever figure out what it was?” John was agitated. I wanted with everything in me to soothe him.

“Your vial, mixture of cannabis and acetylsalicylic acid,” I mumbled but they all just stared at me.

“My vial?” Sherlock asked.

I stopped myself from nodding, “like Laudanum but no horrid side effects.”

“What?” John looked fairly panicked and I reviewed my wording searching for what would cause him worry.

Sherlock tilted his head as he eyed me, “Laudanum was a popular drug of choice, a pain reliever in the early eighteen hundreds but found to be very dangerous. Acetylsalicylic acid is…”

“I know what Aspirin is,” John snapped but it lacked any real punch.

“Nineteen hundred... and one,” I muttered but it felt wrong. I closed my eyes and Sherlock took my hand again.

“Things will clear up once the drugs are out of your system.”

The bed I was on began to move and my stomach clenched. I groaned, “I just want to go home.” Screw whoever was listening, I didn't care. “Husband, please take me home.”

There was whispering, some of it with harsh tones as I continued moving. Something thick and hot swelled in my throat, my heavy heartbeat kicked into an abnormal rhythm, and my nerves couldn’t seem to settle between the burn of fire and ice along my veins. That annoying beeping pierced my head and then his hand was on mine again, his fingers lacing us together.

“I’m here. I’m not letting you go.” The heat of his hand and the promise in his voice spread through me like a salve on a gaping wound. I supposed that’s what I was.

Mercifully, sleep pulled me under once again.

TBC

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simplysherlockfanfic · 7 years ago

Text

The study of a haunted mind

A Spin-off of Connection - inspired by a few requests for a one shot or spin off continuing the Connection Universe and the TAB period sparked by @jiuweihututku

(Connection)Reader x Sherlock

Word Count: 4327

The lofty round chamber was illuminated by well placed lamps around the table situated in the center to create a cavernous setting. The men seated around the rather ornate table unobservable in such dramatic lighting preferred the secluded atmosphere for the discussion of topics that would not pass through the heavy doors. The artificial cavern was perfect for the equally artificial men who occupied the chamber.

Mycroft Holmes brought the meeting to an end and I needed no instruction to stay seated and keep my eyes low. I preferred my place tucked in between the door and heavy drapery that blocked any natural light. Being the only female in the room was not lost on me nor the men who spanned a multitude of positions in various government entities. The group of seven men held different beliefs of where a woman of any standing had a right to be, never the less one whose native country was not the same as their own.

I had no illusions to the temperaments of the men in my company as some would refuse to acknowledge me as company. Mr. Holmes was the only reason I held such a station. He was a man who answered to none and none would speak against his appointments. Even after all my years in his employ, I did not know precisely his position, only that he was of such grave import none would oppose his view save for the very highest and I've only witnessed it once. I was sworn to secrecy and not due to the nature of the discussion but, I believe, because of who came out on top.

The men filed out of the room in silence. I closed my book and placed my items in the crook of my arm as I rose taking hold of my cane.

Mycroft strolled toward me, “what of your findings?”

“Two found your second point a hard pill to swallow.”

He nodded, “mark them in your notations.”

“As always.” I often wondered if he saw the same ticks I observed that betrayed the men who thought so highly of their ability to show the world only what they desired to let them see and he merely used me for confirmation of his own theories. I wouldn’t mind in the least because I often relied on him to confirm my own skills at times.

I wasn't ashamed to admit I had to battle back from a harsh mental climate after an unfortunate incident that forced me to hold a cane at all times outside of my own home. My body wasn't the only thing battered and bruised and I relied on my family and friends to fight back to where I am today.

Mycroft walked by my side to the door, he preferred the slow pace that my injury presented me but also felt it rude to walk ahead of someone he considered his equal. I did not share his opinion of myself for he had accomplished far greater things but I acquiesced to his compliment when he shared it.

“Have I presented my gratitude recently?”

I shook my head, “this position is gratitude enough.”

He smiled as he stopped at the door, “ah, yes when one can stomach the ignorant.”

“We learned that long ago.”

“The best of us had to.”

Mycroft Holmes, man of refined inclinations and unmatched mind, had in recent years softened around the edges in a different way. From the very day my son William came into this world, he began to decrease in size. He was still a tall, large man but different choices had made him, in the words of my good friend Dr. Watson, no longer a man challenging death.

I stepped into the hall and another tall figure moved toward us. Just over six feet, not as excessively lean these days yet still his presence filled the space. His sharp eyes met mine and his purposeful steps slowed to a stop in front of me. I stared up into warm, intelligent eyes that spoke more than I ever thought possible.

Mycroft closed the door, “why, Sherlock, how unexpected.” His smile revealed otherwise.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock inclined his head, “I had some business in the building and heard you were concluding a meeting.” His piercing gaze turned back to me and he tipped his hat belying nothing save for the glitter of his eyes, “Miss Doyle.”

“Holmes.” I nodded with a hint of a grin.

Mycroft folded his hands over his stomach, “yes, well. That will be all for today, y/n. I'd like the meeting’s pages on my desk by nine.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. Don’t forget Mr. Melas will be meeting you at the club at seven.”

He eyed me, no doubt perturbed by my persistent formal use of his name, but decided against commenting upon it. “Thank you.”

“May I accompany you out, Miss Doyle?” Sherlock proffered his arm and the elder Holmes’s eyeroll was hardly hidden.

“I’d be delighted.” I took his arm giving the elder Holmes a final nod before turning with Sherlock.

“Good-bye, Mycroft.” Sherlock tossed over his shoulder in a way that only those brothers could, with challenge and love.

“As to you.”

We walked in silence through the building exchanging minute touches around corners and in empty halls. His elbow cheating back to brush his fingers against my wrist, palm, and in between my fingers. Muscle mastery that could entice a rousing masterpiece on his violin and a soothing or inspiring composition in me. I could always tell how his day was going by the way his fingers alighted my skin. He was mixing his piece, half soothing and half enticing. Today was a good day but he wanted to ease the ache in my hip.

His fingers swept over the plain silver band on my ring finger just before he pulled his arm forward and we stepped out the front door where a cab awaited me. He opened the door, plucked up my cane, and held my hand to help me inside. I sat and he placed the cane neatly at my side. “Where may I ask should I send you?”

“I have a meeting with the Society before I venture home.”

He nodded and gave the address to the driver before closing the door. I leaned forward, “a good afternoon to you, sir.”

He smiled with just a hint of delight in his eyes, “a good afternoon indeed.” He stepped back and the cab bounded off.

I closed my eyes and let his composition accompany me through the muddy streets of London.

Baker Street was still bustling even though the air had turned brisk. I had long since grown accustomed to London’s gray sky but I had no doubt more clouds would roll in within hours. Sherlock would scoff at my prediction but the quirk at the corner of his mouth gave him away every time.

I strolled down the sidewalk with one gloved hand tucked in my pocket trying not to lean too heavily upon my cane. Despite the weather, the people hustling and strolling about were in good spirits. They may complain year round but they loved their city, gray skies and all. I smiled, tucked my head against the wind, and returned to mulling over our most recent research into the human mind.

My study pursuing a way to ease, if not erase, dark memories that haunt or, in other cases not so lucky as mine, debilitate those who survive such terrors had been slowly gaining traction. While my research into a mind that felt compelled to inflict such pain had been flourishing and my fellows were already contemplating offering their opinion on suitable titles. Due to the rise in sensationalist stories of Jack the Ripper, I was disinclined to give any more public notoriety to despicable behavior.

I turned my mind from the distant past and recalled the thoughts that had been trying to lure me from my analysis throughout the afternoon. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel the way his nimble fingers caressed my palm amidst the quiet halls. I will forever be amazed by his ability to take my breath with a single touch.

“Mama!” The shout drew me back to Baker Street. William’s dark curls bounced over his bright face as he rushed toward me filling me with a completely different warmth.

I knelt down and opened my arms just before he carefully latched onto me, “hello, my love.” I wrapped him in a tight embrace. “How was your day?” I glanced up and smiled at the little sandy haired girl rushing toward me.

“Auntie y/n!” Rosamund pressed into my side wrapping us in a hug all her own.

“Hello my little dove!” I chuckled and looked up at Mary walking over with a smile lighting her face. My heart jolted and I shut my eyes.

“They’re very excitable today,” Victoria’s voice was bright and when I again looked up, her red hair replaced the blonde I thought I saw. Her face, now whispering concern, was nothing like the ghost of the woman in my mind.

I smiled with a slight shake of my head, “the chill.” I stood as the children released me chattering over each other about their trip to the park. “What great timing. I was going to send a telegraph.”

We turned and guided the children back toward the flat. “Come along William, Rosamund.” I leaned into her side while the children skipped ahead of us. “So, you heard?”

With a curt nod, she glanced my way, “Molly sent a telegraph about an incident in Sussex.”

“Sussex? Mycroft spoke of a different matter.”

Victoria’s eyes lit in excitement, “how delightful.”

The door to two hundred and twenty one B opened and Mrs. Hudson appeared shaking her head but all signs of discontent were dispelled by the children who immediately swarmed her. Victoria and I stepped inside and removed our coats and gloves.

“You read the new story then?” Victoria said with chagrin.

“Who needs silly stories when I am in the presence of the lovely ladies and gentleman of the house?”

“My dear Martha, this will always be your house. You are not a servant.” She smiled. I had to admit I over indulged in our innocent teasing on most days.

Her gaze was pulled by the sprites at her legs vying for her attention and Victoria elbowed me. We parted as a black cloaked woman complete with black veil rushed down the stairs, in between us, and out the front door without a word. Victoria and I glanced at one another before making our way upstairs.

The patter of the children’s feet followed along with Mrs. Hudson who no doubt would herd them into the kitchen.

I stepped into the sitting room where Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were seated in their chairs by the fireplace in which a small fire crackled. I leaned my cane against the wall by the door not usually needing it for short distances, due in no small part to Mycroft’s swift thinking and action after the incident more than three years ago.

Sherlock’s gaze trailed over me, his ever watchful eye not missing a thing. I saw on his alert face what answers he had gained in his quick yet efficient observation and knew some piece I would miss gave him some knowledge of half my thoughts today. I winked before turning to the other presence.

Lestrade gave a tip of his head in greeting before his gaze was drawn to William rushing over to Sherlock. “Papa!”

Sherlock lifted our son onto his lap and leaned in, “my dear boy, what adventures did you find?”

“I hear John’s sister is doing quite well in the Queen’s service,” Lestrade said.

I grew confused at his words for all present were in good standing of our situation. But then it alerted me to an outside source from which I was still unaware. “I do what I can.”

Victoria chortled, “yes, who dared to think…”

“Victoria that would be quite enough.” John’s curt remark bordered on offensive.

I turned toward him with a look of disapproval, “now, dear brother.”

“Husband.” Victoria’s admonishment was so that one had to know her thoroughly to hear the dangerous undertone.

Sherlock grinned, “I believe Watson was simply trying to steer back to the matter at hand with our guest.”

William had crossed his leg over the other just like his father trying his best to match the posture down to the crook of his arm holding an invisible pipe to his mouth. Sherlock pulled a small pipe from his pocket and held it out for him. He grabbed it, fumbling it slightly in his excitement and shoved the mouthpiece into his mouth and blew. A few bubbles shot out and William turned such a look of contempt on his father but the sheer delight visible in Sherlock counteracted even the most stubborn of our son’s attributes.

I chuckled softly at my boys as I stepped further into the sitting room and Lestrade moved aside. A man, quite unkempt with messy straw-like hair and dirty overcoat, was seated in a chair on the right side of the room placed directly in front of the couch. “My dear sir, how terribly unkind of me and in my own home. Have you not treated the man to a drink?” I saw the signs of anxiety on his taut face, in his stiff shoulders, and uneven breathing that Sherlock had no doubt already deduced.

Sherlock Holmes may not be an expert in Psychology but he trained himself to catch even the slightest twitch of the eye from a lying man. He knew enough about the emotive ticks to judge the state of the man in front of us.

“That would be grand…” His wild eyes darted from Sherlock and William to me, “did you say your home?”

I walked over and offered my hand, “why yes, y/n Doyle. Pleasure to meet you.”

His gaze flicked to Sherlock and then to John. If I hadn't known better I might think he was about to take flight. “I thought your sister’s name was Harriet?”

Well,” John shook his head, a delay as the struggle continued in his mind, the only thing that came to me was trust in the man before us, “Mrs. Doyle is… adopted… and well, she…”

“She is a woman out of her time.” Sherlock spoke matter of factly and caused a blush to stain my cheeks, his gaze on me with pride and so much more.

I watched John, his conclusion finally eased his features. I laid my hand on our guest's shoulder hoping to assuage some of his nerves. “A relationship like the one John and I share is much like family but without blood relation in this society is, shall we say, frowned upon. It is much easier to tell those less minded that we are in fact blood related. It avoids scandal.”

“Anymore scandal,” Sherlock quipped pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe at me.

“By Jove, Holmes! How anyone could see you choosing a bride of such ordinary tendencies is just beyond…” John chuckled with another shake of his head.

“Or choosing a bride at all from those stories in The Strand,” Lestrade said with a grin at John.

“You're married and a child? But she doesn't bear your name!” The man cried, leaning forward as his stress increased.

I patted his shoulder, “a matter of security I can assure you.” I walked over to the decanter and poured him a drink.

John laughed, “poppycock. You'd no less take that name than…”

Victoria glared at him, “husband.”

I walked over to our guest, “the Holmes name has a notoriety that I would prefer to avoid. Sherlock is a man that takes no offense to my position. He delights in it.” I handed him the glass but his gaze was riveted on John and his hand so shaky, the liquid sloshed about.

“But your stories, you say it’s cocaine or ambition.”

“I believe the line you're thinking is the man alternates between his drug of choice and ambition. She would be that drug,” Victoria quipped with an amused smile. “And sometimes ambition.”

“Is it still only a seven percent solution?” John tossed at Sherlock.

Sherlock grinned, they were enjoying this far too much for decency. “Ah, I do believe I’ve far exceeded that dosage for quite some time now. Some days, at least, but then I tend to be quite fanciful these days.” He met my gaze and I smiled before turning away.

“Gentlemen, I do believe we may only be furthering his distress. That cold drink would do your mind and a good amount of deep breathing would help clear some of that anxiety.” I squatted in front of him, “now, if you would permit it, I would like to help you with that anxiety.” He nodded, still watching me warily. “With me, deep breath in.”

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade continued discussing whatever this man had brought them as I directed him into a calmer state. After a few minutes, he opened his clear, soft gray eyes and gazed into mine.

“May I ask what your speciality is?” His voice was smoother and deeper without the stress tightening his vocal cords.

“Psychology. It's the study of the mind.”

His laugh was like a crack of a whip in the room and everyone turned toward him, “but that's simply a fake…”

I smiled as I stood, “I am a member of the Society of Psychical Research and I'll have you know this area of study is exploding especially in America. I just calmed you with techniques I have perfected through my own research, sir. Feel your heart and listen to your breathing, your brain is no longer running in circles. You are now comfortable for the first time since the incident. Are you not?”

His eyes widened and he looked at Sherlock, “is this some kind of sorcery?”

“My wife is of high intellect and sorcery is of no use in this household. You’ll find no parlor tricks here.”

“She is published, both medical journals and novel!” John said tightly, eying the man he had only moments ago allowed a clearance like no other outside our circle.

“Dr. Watson trusts you highly for certain things to be spoken so easily in your presence. I hope you measure up to the worth of that trust.”

He stared at me but the thunder coming from the stairs drew our attention to the door just before it flung open. A large man in an unleashed rage heaved at the doorway, his wild gaze jumping around the room and growing all the more incensed. “Which of you is Holmes?”

I walked toward him and held up my hands. “Good sir, won’t you take a breath and know that no harm will come to you here.”

His bloodshot eyes burned in my direction, “a woman who doesn't know her place!”

I was sure by now my husband would know more about this man than I ever cared to but I could only see the tension in every muscle that spoke of panic and wild rage, a dangerous animal. “And you will lower your voice in my home.” I inwardly flinched at such a careless mistake but dared not show the slightest bit of weakness.

A flash of confusion shadowed his rage but only for a moment before it flared back, “your home!” His gaze darted toward the fire place where John and Sherlock were still seated. “The busy body has a woman with no control!”

His huge hand reached out for me and I snatched his wrist from the air, twisted it swiftly down and around his back as I shoved the mountain of a man off balance and into the door frame. “And you would do well to keep your hands where they belong. Men who foolishly think they can overpower women simply because they are bigger only prove how very uneducated they are.” Malice seeped through my every word and my pulse was pounding in my ears. I had focus on my breathing simply to hold back from injuring him any further.

“The conversation is most entertaining but I believe my wife has just shown you to the door, sir.”

The controlled lilt that hinted of danger in Sherlock’s voice tempered my heated blood. I released the man and backed away. A slight fright at the amount of rage that still pulsed through me. My gaze darted around the room and I was thankful that William was no longer present.

“When I have my say…” He rubbed his wrist and turned but stepped backward into the doorway. He glanced at me with a vicious look before returning his gaze to Sherlock.

Sherlock stood from his chair, his face tight and his nostrils flared but it was Victoria who stepped toward the man, “I believe you have done enough for one day. What would Scotland Yard have to say?”

Lestrade turned toward the man and he huffed, muscles rippling in aggravation as he ignored Lestrade and stabbed a finger toward Sherlock, “do not meddle in the affairs of Dr. Grimesby Roylott!” Then he spun awkwardly and lumbered down the stairs.

I turned to Sherlock and raised my brow in question when John’s old friend seated behind me exclaimed, “good Lord! You…” I turned and met his astonished look with confusion, “you… madam are extraordinary.” There was a lingering fear in his stiffened muscles and I could only conclude that John’s trust wouldn’t be the only thing holding this man to our loyalty.

“A woman can surprise you if only you let them.” Sherlock gave a sharp tug on the bottom of his vest, “if you would excuse me for a moment. I need to speak with my wife.” Sherlock walked toward the kitchen and paused with his hand held out toward me.

Victoria slipped something into my hand as I passed her. I stepped into Sherlock’s side and he took hold of my arm, the soft caress of his fingers on my palm soothing as we walked into the kitchen then around the children and Mrs. Hudson.

I quickly read the telegraph Victoria had handed me as Sherlock guided me into the hall for a touch of privacy, but the words handwritten there didn't make sense, meet me at his boathole in cemetery. I.A.

I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head at the sudden burst of pain. When I again looked at the paper, it was a simple telegram from Molly. He stopped us and turned to face me as I inquired, “do you know the meaning of the bull at our door?”

“His step daughter made her leave before your entrance.”

“The woman… dressed in black?” A tingle of fear itched the back of my neck. What I had just done could very well be reflected back on her.

He nodded, his fingers brushed over my cheek then he kissed me with a quiet reverence. “You taught him a lesson that I should...”

I pressed my finger to his lips, “it's not that bad. Just the weather. Promise me that woman won’t be alone with that man. If my actions...”

His hand brushed my hip where the ache always flared up in cold weather. “Watson and I must catch the next train to take his step daughter’s case. I believe he’s going to have her killed much like her sister.”

I nodded, “Victoria received a telegram asking for our assistance in a matter in Sussex.”

“Lamberley?”

“Yes.”

“This lady in need of assistance is Peruvian?” He asked with a smile.

I looked upon him in amusement and he kissed me again. “I received a letter of the same matter. I shall send word that an associate of highest caliber will be arriving.”

I turned toward the kitchen, “Mrs. Hudson, could I ask you to watch the children for us until tomorrow?”

“Of course! Oh, how lovely, are you finally going on holiday?”

“Oh no, we have two…” my gaze froze upon the scrap of paper tacked to the wall just behind Mrs. Hudson, “different cases.”

She shook her head with a chortle, “of course.”

The odd stick figures in different positions called to me, something whispering that I should know. “The dancing men,” the words spilled from me but still brought no understanding except for the flash of a woman’s face, dark hair, red lipstick, and clever eyes. You understand.

Sherlock caressed my neck, “still waiting on more data for that. One case at a time.”

I turned back to him, his lopsided grin and a pinch in his brow. “Right.”

“Associates.” His palm pressed against my cheek, “then I shall see you again tomorrow.”

I held his hand on my face with the most peculiar feeling of living this moment before yet the emotions were different, more afraid. “Does your case have an increased element of danger?”

“None higher than others.” He searched my face, my eyes.

I nodded, “until tomorrow then.” He lifted a brow, “just simple instinct, I suppose the bull may have increased my own anxiety for the girl. A cornered animal is a dangerous one.”

He pressed his lips to mine, a slow and sensual kiss that only heightened my sense of being here, saying such a stressed, intense goodbye before. “I will see you no later than tomorrow night. I guarantee this will be wrapped up by morning light.”

John’s story of the events of Reichenbach swarmed my mind and I held onto him tighter. I hugged him tucking my head into his chest, breathing him in. Losing this man was not a possibility.

He bent down just enough to press his lips to my ear, “I’m invincible, you know that.”

I squeezed tighter. “Tomorrow then.”

PART TWO

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