THE DIOGENES CLUB...
Sherlock and I are in Mycroft's underground office. The consulting detective has taken off his coat and is pacing in front of the desk while Mycroft sits behind it.
"I met her once." Mycroft said.
"Thatcher?" Sherlock asked.
"Rather arrogant, I thought." Mycroft said.
"You thought that?!" Sherlock exclaimed.
Mycroft chuckles, "I know!"
"Is she better or worse than Harriet Jones?" I asked, while Mycroft's smile drops and he holds up Sherlock's phone. "I don't know Margaret Thatcher."
"She's not as bad." Mycroft said, still holding up Sherlock's phone. "Why am I looking at this?"
"That's her. That's Rosie." I said, as Sherlock stops his pacing. "John and Mary's baby."
"Oh, I see." Mycroft said, looking at the picture. "Yes." He smiles in a fake way. "Looks very ..." Mycroft pauses as he struggles for an appropriate term. "... fully functioning."
Sherlock frowns at Mycroft, "Is that really the best you can do?"
"Sorry. I've never been very good with them." Mycroft said.
"Are you not good with babies?" I asked, crossing my arms. "I mean, I'm good with kids and pets."
"No. I'm not good with them, Jared. I'm not good with humans." Mycroft said, smiling smugly.
Sherlock steps forward and takes the phone from his brother and puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket, "Moriarty. Did he have any connection with Thatcher? Any interest in her?"
"Why on earth would he?" Mycroft asked.
"I don't know. You tell me." Sherlock said, tetchily.
Mycroft sniffs, then leans forward and opens a folder on his desk, "In the last year of his life, James Moriarty was involved with four political assassinations, over seventy assorted robberies and terrorist attacks, including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea, and had latterly shown some interest in tracking down the Black Pearl of the Borgias – which is still missing, by the way, in case the two of you feel like applying yourselves to something practical."
"It's a pearl. Get another one." Sherlock said.
Mycroft rolls his eyes.
"There's something important about this." Sherlock said, thoughtfully, looking to one side, and for a few moments, the reflection and sound of dark blue rippling water seemed to surround him. "I'm sure. Maybe it's Moriarty. Maybe it's not. But something's coming."
The water disappears.
Mycroft frowns and leans forward, folding his hands on the desk, "Are you having a premonition, brother mine?"
Sherlock blinks and looks towards Mycroft, "The world is woven from billions of lives, every strand crossing every other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics."
Mycroft smiles briefly, "Appointment in Samarra."
"What?" I asked, looking at Mycroft. "What's that story?"
"The merchant who can't outrun Death. Sherlock, you always hated that story as a child. Less keen on predestination back then." Mycroft said.
Sherlock narrows his eyes, "I'm not sure I like it now."
Sherlock picks up his coat from the chair in front of the desk and starts to put it on.
"Sherlock, you wrote your own version, as I remember. Appointment in Sumatra. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine." Mycroft said.
"Goodnight, Mycroft." Sherlock said, pulling me off the chair and making us turn towards the door.
"Then he becomes a pirate, for some reason." Mycroft said, looking thoughtfully at the memory.
"Keep us informed." Sherlock said.
"Of what?" Mycroft asked.
"Absolutely no idea." Sherlock said, walking out of the door with me.
(Open POV)
Somewhere unknown...
White plaster smashes. Across the dark room where this has happened, there is another plaster bust of Thatcher, broken into pieces.
Elsewhere...
A man lies with his eyes closed, his eyelids trembling slightly as he dreams or remembers something. His eyes snap open, tears running from them, and a voice sounds inside his head, speaking with a foreign accent.
"Ammo!" A voice said, sounding again, louder this time. "Ammo!"
Small room...
The man writhes on his bed in a small room while remembered screams echo in his head. The lights of a passing car swing across the window above the bed and the man cringes, his breathing ragged.
Elsewhere...
Another white plaster bust of Thatcher smashes to the ground.
(Jared's POV)
BAKER STREET...
On the first floor landing, DI Hopkins is standing outside the closed door of the living room tapping a finger against a folder she is holding. She turns as Greg trots up the stairs holding a brown paper bag.
"Oh, hi, Stella." Lestrade said.
"Greg." Hopkins said.
"You, uh ... you, um ..." Lestrade said, making incoherent noises and points to the closed door.
"Uh, yeah. He's just got a client, so ..."
"R-right, right, right." Lestrade said, looking around awkwardly for a moment with Hopkins. "Uh, so see a lot of each other, do you?"
"It's nothing. I mean, it's nothing serious." Hopkins said, shrugging.
"No, no."
"I just pop round every now and again for a chat."
"Yeah, 'course."
"I mean, he loves a really tricky case."
"Yeah, he does!" Lestrade said, laughing before pausing for a moment, his laugh fading. "So, what you here for?"
"Well, uh, Interpol think the Borgia Pearl trail leads back to London, so ..."
"The Borgia Pearl. Are they ... they still after that, are they?" Lestrade asked.
"Yeah. So how did, uh, you two first meet?" Hopkins asked.
"Oh, it was a-a case about, um, ten years ago nobody could figure out. There was an old lady found dead in a sauna."
"Oh yeah? How'd she die?"
"Hypothermia."
"What?" Hopkins asked, frowning.
"I know! But then I met Sherlock and Jared." Lestrade said, his voice gets louder. "It was so simple, the way ..."
Sherlock hurls the door open with me behind him and glares at them.
"Will you two please keep it down?" Sherlock asked.
"Yeah. Sherlock's in the middle of a case." I said, slamming the door shut.
"Sorry." Lestrade said, sadly.
"Sorry." Hopkins said, frowning.
Living room...
Sherlock walks over to his chair, passing a man sitting on the client chair wearing grey trousers and a pale short-sleeved shirt.
"Now, you haven't always been in life insurance, have you? You started out in manual labour." Sherlock said, sitting down in his chair and raises his hands when the man opens his mouth in surprise. "Oh, don't bother being astonished. Your right hand's almost an entire size bigger than your left."
"Wow." I said, walking over to the man's clasped hands on his lap is overlaid with the words 'Glove Size:' and superimposed above his hands are the numbers '10½' over the right hand and '9½' over the other. "That's impressive."
"Well, hard manual work does that." Sherlock said, smirking.
"I was a carpenter, uh, like me dad." Kingsley said.
"And you're trying to give up smoking, unsuccessfully, and you once had a Japanese girlfriend that meant a lot to you but now you feel indifferent about." Sherlock said.
"How the hell ...?" Kingsley asked, smiling nervously before looking down into the pocket on his shirt and the several small cylindrical items in it and he smiles across to Sherlock and I. "Ah. E-cigarettes."
"Not just that – ten individual e-cigarettes. Now, if you just wanted to smoke indoors, you would have invested in one of those irritating electronic pipe things, but you're convinced you can give up, so you don't want to buy a pipe because that means you're not serious about quitting, so instead you buy individual cigarettes, always sure that each will be your last. Anything to add, John, Jared?" Sherlock asked, glancing briefly towards John's chair, then does a startled double-take. "John?"
Floating at seated head height in John's chair is a red balloon with a face drawn on it. The eyebrows are tilted enquiringly and the face has an impressed smile. The balloon is held in place by a piece of string wrapped around a book propped up on the seat.
A moment later, the real John pops his head round the kitchen door.
"Er, yeah, yeah, listening." John said.
"What is that?" Sherlock asked, staring wide-eyed at the balloon.
"That is ... me. Well, it's a me-substitute." John said, coming into the living room. "Jared, you're right. That was a good idea."
"Yeah. I do it sometimes with the Doctor. I let him ramble on while I place a balloon there in place of me in the TARDIS console room." I said, happily. "I can't be there all the time."
"That's smart."
Sherlock frowns, then glances briefly towards Kingsley.
"Don't be so hard on yourself." Sherlock said, chuckling, looking a little shy and awkward and flicking brief glances at John and I as he continued. "You know I value your little contributions, John, Jared."
"Yeah? It's been there since nine this morning." John said.
"Has it? Where were you?" Sherlock asked.
"Helping Mrs H with her Sudoku." John said, smiling.
"I was playing on my Nintendo Switch!" I said, excitedly.
"You see? Jared and I were both busy."
"What about my girlfriend?" Kingsley asked.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"You said I had an ex."
"You've got a Japanese tattoo in the crook of your elbow in the name 'Akako.'" Sherlock said, looking at the tattoo, which is very faded, and I hear the buzzing sound of a tattoo gun. "It's obvious you've tried to have it removed."
"But surely that means I wanna forget her, not that I'm indifferent." Kingsley said, looking down at the tattoo.
"If she'd really hurt your feelings, you would have had the word obliterated, but the first attempt wasn't successful and you haven't tried again, so it seems you can live with the slightly blurred memory of Akako, hence the indifference."
Kingsley laughs for a couple of seconds, then holds his hands up.
"Sorry. I-I thought you'd done something clever." Kingsley said, while Sherlock's head turns towards him. "No, no. Ah, but now you've explained it, it's dead simple, innit?"
The side of John's mouth twitches up into a smile and I am smiling. Sherlock pulls in a long breath, straightening up in his seat as he turns more towards Kingsley, then he breathes out deeply through his nose.
"I've withheld this information from you until now, Mr Kingsley, but I think it's time you knew the truth." Sherlock said.
"What d'you mean?" Kingsley asked.
"Have you ever wondered if your wife was a little bit out of your league?"
"Well ..."
"You thought she was having an affair. I'm afraid it's far worse than that. Your wife is a spy."
"What?!" Kingsley exclaimed.
"That's right. Her real name is Greta Bengtsdotter." Sherlock said, going into quick fire mode."Swedish by birth and probably the most dangerous spy in the world. She's been operating deep undercover for the past four years now as your wife for one reason only: to get near the American embassy which is across the road from your flat. Tomorrow the US president will be at the embassy as part of an official state visit. As the president greets members of staff, Greta Bengtsdotter, disguised as a twenty-two stone cleaner, will inject the president in the back of the neck with a dangerous new drug hidden inside a secret compartment inside her padded armpit. This drug will then render the president entirely susceptible to the will of their new master, none other than James Moriarty."
"What?!"
"Moriarty will then use the president as a pawn to destabilise the United Nations General Assembly which is due to vote on a nuclear non-proliferation treaty, tipping the balance in favour of a first strike policy against Russia." Sherlock said, going a quickfire rate. "This chain of events will then prove unstoppable, thus precipitating ..." He finally slows down and says the next words slowly and precisely. "...World War Four."
"And World War Three involved a battle between science and magic with Academy City in the center of it all." I said, letting out a sigh. "That was a tough battle for my friends."
John chuckles almost silently, "Are you serious?"
"No, of course not." Sherlock said, standing up and walks towards the door. "His wife left him because his breath stinks and he likes to wear her lingerie."
"I don't!" Kingsley yelled, as John quirks a look at him. "Just the bras."
"Get out." Sherlock said, opening the door.
Kingsley stands up and leaves the room, walking between the waiting inspectors. Sherlock pushes the door shut again.
"So. What's this all about, then?" John asked.
"Having fun." Sherlock said.
"Fun?"
"While I can."
"Mm-hm."
"Same." I said, looking at John. "The main case is a rough one. And I am not looking forward to it one bit."
There's a knock on the door and Hopkins opens it and comes in.
"Uh, Sherlock ..." Hopkins said.
"Borgia Pearl, boring, go." Sherlock said, at a quickfire rate, turning Hopkins around and pushing her towards the landing.
"Uh, but, uh ..." Hopkins said, at a loss for words.
"Go!" Sherlock said, pushing the door shut.
Immediately, Greg opens it and comes in.
Sherlock looks exasperated, "Oh, this had better be good."
"Oh, I think you'll like it." Lestrade said, and from the paper bag, he produces a clear plastic bag and holds it up.
Inside are shattered pieces of white plaster, and some of the larger pieces show that this was a Thatcher bust. Sherlock takes hold of the bottom of the bag and looks at it closely.
"That is the bust, isn't it? The one that was broken." John said.
"No, it isn't. It's another one; different owner, different part of town. You were right! This is a ... this is a thing. Something's going on." Lestrade said, while Sherlock looks at the bag and for a moment it's as if half of his face is replaced by a Thatcher bust, which then shatters and the consulting detective's gaze becomes intense. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased."
"I am pleased." Sherlock said.
"You don't look pleased."
"This is my game face." Sherlock said, still looking down at the bag, and he raises his eyes, a slight smile forming. "And the game is on."
"When I said I'm not looking forward to the main case, I did mean it." I said, as Sherlock turns away. "I don't know how Sherlock is still excited for this."
Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is sitting at the kitchen table examining pieces of the broken plaster under his microscope. John, Greg, and I stand nearby.
"Another two have been smashed since the Welsborough one: one belonging to Mr Mohandes Hassan ..." Lestrade said.
"Identical busts?" John asked.
"Yeah; and this one to a Doctor Barnicot in Holborn. Three in total." Lestrade said, looking at his watch. "God knows who'd wanna do something like this."
"Yeah, well some people have that complex, don't they – an idée fixe." John said, walking closer to the table with me and he looks pointedly at Sherlock. "They obsess over one thing and they can't let it go."
"Yup. At least I try to keep busy and not be fixated on one thing." I said, sipping on some Mountain Dew. "Sherlock is worse than me."
"Fair point."
"No, no good." Sherlock said, still looking into the microscope. "There were other images of Margaret ..." He pauses, then raises his head. "... Margaret?"
"You know who she is." John said, exasperated.
"... Thatcher present at the first break-in. Why would a monomaniac fixate on just one?" Sherlock asked, continuing his sentence, picking up another piece of plaster with tweezers and finds it instantly interesting. "Ooh."
"What's up?" I asked, drinking my Mountain Dew.
"Blood." Sherlock said, putting the plaster under the 'scope and looks at it through the lenses. "Quite a bit of it, too." He looks up to Lestrade. "Was there any injury at the crime scene?"
"Nah." Lestrade said, looking at his watch again.
"Then our suspect must have cut themselves breaking the bust." Sherlock said, turning his head away, using the tweezers to put the blood-stained piece of plaster into a small plastic bag. "Come on."
"Holborn?" Lestrade asked.
"Lambeth." Sherlock said.
"Lambeth? Why?"
"To see Toby." Sherlock said, smiling.
"Toby? Yes!" I cheered, jumping up and down. "I haven't seen Toby in forever."
"Ah, right. Who?" John asked. "Jared, why are you excited over him?"
"You'll see." Sherlock said, smirking.
"Right." John said, looking at Greg. "You coming?"
"No. He's got a lunch date with a brunette forensic officer that he doesn't want to be late for." Sherlock said, getting up and starts putting on his jacket.
"Who told you?" Lestrade asked.
"The right sleeve of your jacket ..." Sherlock said, looking at the long human hairs on the sleeve of Lestrade's jacket. "... plus the formaldehyde mixed with your cologne ..." He pulls a disgusted face, while John leans over to put his face nearer to Greg's jacket, either looking at the sleeve or sniffing at it, or both. "... and your complete inability to stop looking at your watch. Have a good time."
"I will." Lestrade said, heading for the kitchen door onto the landing.
Sherlock picks up his phone and types, 'Busy?', "Trust me, though, she's not right for you."
"What?" Lestrade asked, stopping and turning back.
"She's not the one." Sherlock said, loudly.
"Well, thank you, Mystic Meg!" Lestrade said, leaving.
John steps closer to Sherlock, "How'd you work all that out?"
"She's got three children in Rio that he doesn't know about." Sherlock said, quietly, still typing.
"Are you just making this up?" John asked.
"Possibly." Sherlock said, turning and going out of the kitchen door, John and I followed.
"Wish it was Molly though. Because those two are perfect for each other." I said, letting out a sigh.
"Who's Toby? And Jared, why do you know Toby and not me?" John asked.
London...
As Sherlock speaks, I closed my eyes to think of a young overweight man with glasses sitting at a desk on which are several computer screens. As he types, complicated data code streams across the screen in front of him.
"There's a kid Jared and I know, hacker, brilliant hacker, one of the world's best. He got himself into serious trouble with the Americans a couple of years ago. He hacked into the Pentagon's security system, and I managed to get him off the charge. Jared wiped the kids' record off the map through the use of the Torchwood software. Therefore he owes us a favour." Sherlock said, while I opened my eyes and walked to the door.
"Yup. The kid is good. But not as good as Toby." I said, reaching for the knocker on a black-painted door and I knock twice and then steps back onto the pavement.
"So, how does that help us?" John asked.
"What's up?"
"Toby the hacker."
"Toby's not a hacker." I said, happily.
"What?" John asked.
The young man opens the door and Sherlock and I smile at him.
"All right, Craig?" Sherlock asked.
"All right, Sherlock and Jared?" Craig asked, smiling.
"Yup. Hello Toby!" I said, smiling at the dog near Craig's feet. "Craig has a dog. And his name is Toby!"
A large bloodhound, with a lead attached to his collar, wanders out onto the pavement.
"So I see." John said, sadly.
"Who's a good boy? You are! Yes you are!" I said, laughing with delight as the dog came to me, as I took out dog treats from my sling bag. "There you go, Toby!" I crouched down to Toby and fed him a dog treat. "You are a good dog."
"It's been a while since you last saw Zwei then." Mary said, and Craig grins at us, with the former assassin coming to his side from inside the house, carrying Rosie in her arms. "Hiya!"
John stares at Mary in surprise.
"Mary, what are you ...?" John asked, holding up his hands as Mary came out of the house. "No, we-we agreed we would never bring Rosie out on a case."
"No, exactly, so ..." Mary said, handing the baby to John. "... don't wait up." She looks across to Sherlock and I. "Hey, Sherlock, Jared."
"Hey." Sherlock said, happily.
"I do miss Zwei. But he's safe with Taiyang. I know he is." I said, smiling, feeding Toby another dog treat before proceeding to pet him. "As long as Zwei is safe, everything is good in the world."
"You are good with dogs, kids, and babies." Mary said, walking over to me to grab the bag of dog treats and feed them to Toby. "That's part of the reason why I like you, Jared."
"But ... Mary, what are you doing here?" John asked.
"She's better at this than you." Sherlock said, smirking.
"Better?" John asked.
"So I texted her."
"Hang on. Mary's better than me?" John asked.
"Well, she is a retired super-agent with a terrifying skill set. Of course she's better." Sherlock said.
"Yeah, okay." John said.
"Nothing personal."
"What, so I'm supposed to just go home now, am I?"
"Oh, what do you think, Sherlock, Jared? Shall we take him with us?" Mary asked.
"John or the dog?" Sherlock asked.
"The dog! Forget John!" I said, excitedly. "John doesn't accept treats and head pats like Toby does!"
"Ha-ha, that's funny." John said, annoyed.
"John." Mary said, looking between Sherlock and I.
"Well ..." Sherlock said, mock-thoughtfully.
"He's handy and loyal." Mary said.
"Toby really is." I said, happily.
"I know."
"That's hilarious." John said, looking between Sherlock, Mary, and I.
"Mm." Sherlock said.
"Is it too early for a divorce?" John asked, not seriously.
"Aww!" Mary said, smiling, pointing to herself.
"Barnicot's house, then. Anyone up for a trudge?" Sherlock asked.
"I am! Allons-y, Toby!" I said, turning and walking away with Toby, who barks enthusiastically. "Come along, Watsons! You too, Sherlock! Keep up. Toby's fast."
Some time later, Toby has sat himself down on the pavement near a phone box. Mary stands behind him holding his lead and with her feet either side of his backside. John now has Rosie strapped in front of him in a baby carrier and Sherlock stands next to him with his hands stuffed into the top pockets of his coat. From Mary's pursed lips, John's frown as he looks down at the dog, Sherlock's distant gaze, and me looking down at Toby, it seems that we've been there for some time. John finally looks up at Sherlock and I.
"He's not moving." John said, sadly.
"He's thinking." Sherlock said.
"It's okay, Toby." I said, idly stroking the top of Toby's head with my fingers, and Toby whined. "John doesn't appreciate your cuteness."
John looks down at Toby again for a moment before lifting his head, "He's really not moving."
"Slow but sure, John; not dissimilar to yourself." Sherlock said.
John frowns and looks down at Toby again, "Sherlock, Jared, you just like this dog, don't you?"
"Well, I like you." Sherlock said, happily.
"He's still not moving." Mary said, tiredly.
Sherlock looks down at the dog for a few seconds, "Fascinating."
Mary lets out an exasperated sigh and clears her throat.
But finally the game is afoot a-paw, and, I closed my eyes to think of the familiar 'Pursuit' music – I opened my eyes to look at Toby as he lollops along the road, identifying scents in his own Sherlockian way as he visualises the different smells as 'HAEMOGLOBIN,' and 'CAFFEINE,' and various chemical symbols. Overlaying the screen, a map shows the route he's taking as he chases along many different roads. Some time later, we are walking along another road as Toby leads them, his nose down and identifying 'H: GROUP A -VE.' On they go, Toby now smelling the chemical elements of 'WHISKEY' as we run past a church.
"Well? What do you make of it?" Sherlock asked.
"They were looking for something." Mary said.
"Yes, but it wasn't a burglar. They came specifically for that Thatcher bust. Why?" Sherlock asked.
Southwark area of London...
We head into Borough Market and walk past the stalls until Toby finally slows down and stops. There's a large pool of blood on the ground and someone has thrown sawdust over it to soak up some of it. Nearby a door opens and a butcher walks out with a pig's carcass over his shoulder. Toby looks round as another butcher carries another carcass into the area the other man just left. As a third butcher with yet another carcass walks across the pool of blood, a street sweeper begins to brush the soaked sawdust into a heap ready to clean it up. Toby whines mournfully. Sherlock looks at the bloody sawdust.
"Clever." Sherlock said, smirking.
"Well, if you were wounded and you knew you were leaving a trail, where would you go?" Mary asked.
"Like hiding a tree in a forest." John said.
"Or blood in a butchers'." Sherlock said, going round to the front of the dog and bends down to stroke his head. "Never mind, Toby. Better luck next time, hm?" He looks around the market. "This is it, though. This is the one." Sherlock stands up. "I can feel it."
"Not Moriarty?" John asked.
"It has to be him. It's too bizarre; it's too baroque." Sherlock said, continuing to look around the area, his face alight with excitement. "It's designed to beguile me, tease me, lure me in. At last – a noose for me to put my neck into. Come along, Shay."
"Right." I said, walking away with Sherlock.
John and Mary exchange a concerned look.
(Open POV)
Elsewhere, someone smashes a hammer into another white plaster bust of Thatcher and then brings the hammer down again to break the bits into smaller pieces before rummaging through the fragments. A second identical bust stands beside the shattered one, and the intruder lifts it and then slams it down onto the table to break it.
MARY AND JOHN'S BEDROOM...
The Watsons are lying side by side in bed with their eyes closed. They are lying on opposite sides to the sides they occupied when we've seen them in bed before. They speak quietly and tiredly.
"You should have seen the state of the front room. It was like 'The Exorcist.'" Mary said.
"Hm! Was Rosie's head spinning round?" John asked.
"No. Just the projectile vomiting."
"Nice!" John said, shifting slightly in the bed.
"Hm! No, you'd think we'd have noticed when she was born."
"Hm? Noticed what?"
"The little '666' on her forehead."
John hums thoughtfully, "That's 'The Omen.'"
Mary opens her eyes and looks across to John, "So?"
"Well, you said it was like 'The Exorcist.' They're two different things. She can't be the Devil and the Antichrist." John said, as Mary sighs and closes her eyes.
From the next bedroom, Rosie starts to cry. John opens his eyes and lifts his head slightly and they both look in the direction of the sound.
"Yeah, can't she?" Mary asked.
John groans and drops his head back onto the pillow. Mary throws back her side of the duvet and gets up.
"Coming, darling." Mary said, and John pushes the top of the duvet down a little and presses the backs of his hands over his eyes for a moment.
Mary heads for the other bedroom.
"Mummy's coming." Mary said.
On his bedside table, John's phone buzzes an incoming message. He rolls over and picks up the phone.
"Oh, what are you doing?! What are you doing?! Come here!" Mary yelled, in a soothing voice, over the sound of Rosie wailing.
As Mary continues chatting to her daughter, John looks at his phone. His eyebrows raise at what he sees, then he frowns.
(Jared's POV)
CRAIG'S HOUSE...
Craig is sitting at his computer typing while Sherlock and I stand behind him.
"Have either of you heard of that thing, in Germany?" Craig asked.
"Are you talking about the time a friend of mine shoved Hitler in a cupboard? You have to be more specific, Craig." I said, frowning.
"You're right with the time period, Jared. I didn't know about that thing with Hitler. 'Ostalgie.' People who miss the old days under the Communists. People are weird, aren't they?" Craig asked.
"Mm." Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes momentarily.
"According to this, there's quite a market for Cold War memorabilia – Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin." Craig said, smiling. "Time's a great leveller, innit? Thatcher's like – I dunno – Napoleon now."
"Yes, fascinating, irrelevant. Where exactly did they come from?" Sherlock asked, in a quickfire rate as he steps closer and leans down to Craig.
"I've got into the records of the suppliers – Gelder & Co. Seems they're from Georgia." Craig said.
"The country or the state?" I asked, snacking on some chocolate Pocky.
"The country."
"Where exactly?" Sherlock asked.
"Uh, Tbilisi. Batch of six." Craig said, while Sherlock straightens up, looking thoughtful. "One to Welsborough; one to Hassan; one to Doctor Barnicot. Two to Miss Orrie Harker ..." Sherlock's phone rings and he reaches into his coat to get it. "... one to a Mr Jack Sandeford of Reading."
Sherlock answers his phone, puts it on speaker phone for me to hear it, and starts speaking immediately, "Lestrade, another one?"
Craig's house/ London...
"Yeah." Lestrade said, over the phone, sounding tired.
"Who was it? Harker or Sandeford?" I asked, tossing a Pocky into my mouth to snack on it.
Outdoors somewhere, Greg looks skywards as if wondering which magic pixie whispered those names into my ears. Behind him is a crime scene tape and two forensics technicians in white body coversuits, along with a couple of police officers in neon yellow coats.
"Harker. And it's murder this time." Lestrade said.
"Hm, that perks things up a bit. Let's go, Jared. You can play with Toby later." Sherlock said, turning to leave with me.
Taxi...
Sherlock and I are sitting at the back of the vehicle.
Sherlock types 'BLACK PEARL MYSTERY' into his phone and gets various snippets of information:
Legendary gem stolen from ...
Interpol launches investigation following the legendary Black Pearl ...
... Borgias from a secure vault in Georgia.
INVESTIGATION ...
He types 'INTERPOL' and more information comes up:
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
Black Pearl
Sources at Interpol have admitted they have no new suspects in the case of the missing Black Pearl of the ...
... IN GEORGIA
INTERPOL INVESTIGATION
NO NEW SUSPECT IN THE BLACK PEARL CASE
ORRIE HARKER'S BACK GARDEN...
Greg, Sherlock, and I walk across the garden to where Miss Harker's body is lying face down on the grass. The forensic investigators are taking photographs.
"Defensive wounds on her face and hands. Throat cut – sharp blade." Lestrade said.
"Was it the same thing inside the house? How many busts?" I asked, tossing a Pocky in my mouth.
"Two of them this time."
"Interesting. That batch of statues was made in Tbilisi several years ago – limited edition of six." Sherlock said.
"And now someone's wandering about destroying 'em all. Makes no sense. What's the point?" Lestrade asked.
"No, they're not destroying them. That's not what's happening."
"Yes it is."
"Well, it is what's happening, but it's not the point. I've been slow; far too slow. And Jared can't tell me anything because of spoilers."
"Well, I'm still being slow over here, so if you wouldn't mind ..."
"Slow but lucky; very lucky. And since they smashed both busts, our luck might just hold. Jack Sandeford of Reading is where I'm going next. Jared, go back to Baker Street. I'll be fine for this one. Congratulations, by the way, Lestrade."
"Right..." I said, walking away from Sherlock and Lestrade. "Baker Street it is."
"I'm sorry?" Lestrade asked.
"Well, you're about to solve a big one." Sherlock said, turning and walking away.
"Yeah, until John publishes his blog."
"Yeah. 'Til then, basically." Sherlock said, over his shoulder.
(Open POV)
SANDEFORD HOME...
It is the early evening and Inside one of the rooms in an expensive looking house, a small table holds a photo of a man holding up a trophy and smiling happily at the camera. In front of the photograph is a different trophy with a carving of a man with a golf club over his shoulder in full back swing and an over-large bag of golf clubs beside him. Next to the trophy is a white plaster bust of Thatcher.
A man wearing a dressing gown and with a towel over one arm walks past the table and goes to the other side of the room which has a floor-to-ceiling window looking through into an indoor swimming pool lit in dark blue light. A little girl is in the pool, swimming. The man goes through the open door into the pool room and calls out to the girl.
"That's enough now, love." Sandeford said, walking over to where there's a small jacuzzi set into the corner of the main pool. On either side of the jacuzzi, two silver towers, about four feet high and a couple of feet wide, are fountaining clear sheets of water into the main pool. Sandeford leans down and passes his hand over a photoelectric sensor and the water stops. "Daddy has things to do, I'm afraid." The girl has swum to the ladder at the side of the pool and starts to climb it as her father walks over to meet her. "And you need to get to bed! Come on!"
The girl gets out of the water and her father wraps the towel around her. They walk out of the pool room and Sandeford closes the door, swiping his hand over another sensor on the wall. The lights in that room go out, leaving the lights on in the pool room. They walk away and, in the pool room, Sherlock walks into view and stands at the window watching them leave. After a moment, he walks out of view again.
A clock on the screen shows the time as 19:00. Time passes and then, some time after 22:00 someone comes into the room adjoining the pool room, carrying a large bag. The person walks across to the Thatcher bust, picks it up and starts to stuff it into the bag but then the lights come on.
Sherlock – who has taken off his coat – walks across the room behind the intruder, who has the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head and is wearing a balaclava helmet over his face.
"Wouldn't it be much simpler to take out your grievances at the polling station?" Sherlock asked.
The intruder whips out a pistol and spins around towards Sherlock, who instantly slaps the gun out of his hand. The man swings the bag up and towards Sherlock's head but he grabs it and throws it out of reach before punching the man in the face. The man returns the punch and they fight on for some time, trading blows and kicks. The man hurls a bar stool at Sherlock but he shimmies out of the way and then surges in and grapples with the man, who headbutts him and then grabs the back of his head and slams his forehead down onto a breadboard on the bar. Sherlock springs back up and punches the man again, then grabs his balaclava and pulls it off. The man stumbles back.
"You were on the run; nowhere to hide your precious cargo." Sherlock said, kicking the man's knee.
The man kicks back at him but Sherlock backs out of reach. They circle each other.
Sherlock has blood running from his nose, "You find yourself in a workshop. Plaster busts of The Iron Lady drying. It's clever, very clever. But now you've met me, and you're not so clever, are you?"
"Who are you?" The intruder asked.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said, as the man looked at him murderously.
"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes." The intruder said, roaring in rage, throwing himself at Sherlock and their impetus sends them crashing through the glass window and straight into the pool.
They struggle, fighting underwater for a while. The intruder screams out in fury and they surface, the man with his hands around Sherlock's throat before they plunge underwater again.
They continue to struggle and eventually the man drags Sherlock across to the jacuzzi, hauls him half over the top and shoves his head down into the water, holding him down. One of their hands flails across a nearby sensor and water begins to bubble through the pool. Sherlock finally manages to get his head up and out of the water and he flails towards the sensor, eventually slamming his hand down onto it. The towers either side of the jacuzzi begin to pour out sheets of water. Sherlock jerks backwards, pushing the man away, and turns to face him, backhanding him and then moving around him to wrap one arm around his neck. As the man repeatedly cries out while he struggles to get free, Sherlock puts his other hand over the man's head and pulls it back while bundling him towards one of the fountains and then shoving his face under the flow. The man gags and chokes as the water pours into his mouth.
After a while Sherlock shoves him aside and makes for the side of the pool. The man cries out in rage and chases after him, climbing out and following him, but Sherlock scrambles into the adjoining kitchen and grabs the plaster bust from the bag on the floor. As the man runs towards him, Sherlock swings the bust round and slams it across his face, sending him crashing to the floor. He lands close to his own pistol lying nearby but for the moment he doesn't notice it.
"You're out of time. Tell me about your boss, Moriarty." Sherlock said.
"Who?" The intruder asked, looking up at Sherlock.
"I know it's him. It must be him." Sherlock said, holding up the bust threateningly.
"You think you understand. You understand nothing."
"Well, before the police come in and spoil things, why don't we just enjoy the moment?" Sherlock asked, holding up the bust. "Let me present Interpol's number one case. Too tough for them; too boring for me."
Sherlock raises the bust high above his head. The man rolls over onto his side and covers his head with his arm. Sherlock hurls the bust down onto the floor and it smashes to pieces.
"The Black Pearl of the Borgias." Sherlock said, looking smug, he lowered his gaze to the shattered plaster.
But there's no pearl lying in the fragments. Instead, Sherlock's eyes fill with shock and disbelief as he looks down at a large silver memory stick. Written on the side of it in dark ink are the letters
A.G.R.A
"It's not possible. How could she ...?" Sherlock asked, slowly sinking to his knees, his eyes locked on the memory stick. "That explains why Jared hasn't been telling me anything. He's been protecting her again."
Sherlock reaches out to pick the USB stick up.
Holmes' cottage...
John rolling the memory stick in his fingers in front of the fireplace.
221B's living room...
Mary puts the stick onto the table beside John's chair, "Everything about who I was is on there."
Holmes' cottage...
"The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future are my privilege." John said, turning and dropping the memory stick onto the burning fire.
SANDEFORD HOME...
Sherlock continues to stare in confusion, the intruder has finally seen his pistol nearby and now reaches for it and picks it up.
"I don't understand. Why is Jared protecting her again? She's being protected by me." Sherlock said, and the man turned towards him. "She ... she destroyed it."
"'She'." The intruder said, getting up onto his knees, his face anguished and his eyes full of tears, and raises the gun to point it at Sherlock. "You know her." Sherlock frowns and slowly raises his head to look at him. "You do, don't you? You know the bitch. She betrayed me; betrayed us all."
Approaching police sirens can be heard.
"Mary. This is about Mary." Sherlock said, his eyes widening. "That really explains why Jared has been more distracted than usual and secretive. He's been protecting Mary."
"Is that what she's calling herself now, eh?" The intruder asked.
The police cars have stopped, and now Greg's voice can be heard over a loudhailer.
"Armed police! You're surrounded!" Lestrade yelled, over the megaphone.
The intruder glances in the direction of the sound but then looks back to Sherlock.
"Give it to me." The intruder said, slowly getting to his feet.
Sherlock does likewise.
"Give it to me!" The intruder said, screaming at Sherlock.
"Come out slowly. I wanna see your hands above your head." Lestrade said, over the megaphone.
The man turns his head and yells out, "Nobody shoots me! Anyone shoots, I kill this man!"
"Lay down your weapon. Do it now!" Lestrade said, over the megaphone.
"I'm leaving this place. If no-one follows me, no-one dies." The intruder said, loudly, starting to back away in the direction of the door.
"Lay down your weapon!" Lestrade said, over the megaphone.
"You're policemen. I'm a professional." The intruder said, looking at Sherlock and speaks more quietly. "Tell her she's a dead woman. She's a dead woman walking."
"She's my friend, and she's under my protection. Who are you?" Sherlock asked, holding his gaze.
"I'm the man ... who's gonna kill your friend. Who's Sherlock Holmes?" The intruder asked, his voice shaking with rage.
"Not a policeman."
The man shifts his aim and fires at the sensor beside the door to the pool room. It explodes and all the lights go out except a couple of uplighters at the far end of the pool. A high-pitched alarm begins to sound and a white alarm light strobes in the pool room. The man turns and runs for the door. Sherlock watches him go for a moment, then looks down at the memory stick in his hand.
TBILISI, GEORGIA...
It was six years ago and there is a huge room with an enormously high ceiling. Ornate lights hang from the ceiling. Two large pedestals either side of the middle of the room have large bronze lions on them. The room is a mess with items scattered about haphazardly. There are several people sitting at the foot of each of the pedestals, wrapped in blankets. Other people are sitting on the floor underneath the massive windows. One of the windows has a Georgian flag on a flagpole propped up against the window frame. A few armed men in military uniform are prowling around the room watching the others.
In between the pedestals is a large table and a man and woman sit in chairs at one end. They too have blankets wrapped around them. A chess set is on the table. The woman looks up at an approaching soldier.
"What do you think? Mate in two?" The ambassador asked.
The soldier aims his rifle at the couple.
"I will shoot you." The soldier said, in Georgian.
The ambassador cringes away from the gun and her husband speaks quietly to her.
"Don't antagonise them, darling." The ambassador's husband said, frowning.
The soldier walks away.
"Oh, what else is there to do? Chess palls after three months." The ambassador said, making a move on the chessboard and the soldiers talked amongst themselves nearby. "Everything palls."
"They'll send someone soon." The ambassador's husband said.
"'They'? Who are 'they'? Seems to me we've put an awful lot of faith in 'they'. Well, I've got something 'they' would dearly love if only we could get out of here." The ambassador said, looking at her husband smugly."I've got Ammo."
"Ammo?"
At that moment glass shatters above them. The Georgian soldiers shout out and everyone dives for cover as two black-clad operatives with balaclavas over their faces rappel down into the room on ropes, firing as they go. At the same time, two more operatives kick their way through a door which had been held closed with an axe through the handles and begin to pick off the soldiers with accurate single shots from their rifles. With all the soldiers apparently terminated, the operatives move through the room checking in all directions.
The screen splits into four, each section containing one of the operatives. Above each of their heads appears a letter. Left to right, the letters read:
G.A.R.A.
The two operatives on the left change places, their letters following them. Now the order of letters reads:
A.G.R.A.
The ambassador kneels up from where she had taken cover under the table. The operative labelled 'R.' holds out a hand towards her and speaks in a very recognisable female voice.
"Madam Ambassador." Mary said, taking the woman's hand and pulls her to her feet.
"What took you so long?" The ambassador asked.
"Can't get the staff." Mary said, firmly pushing the ambassador towards the door.
One of the other operatives yells at the other hostages.
"Everyone out! Now!" The operative yelled.
The hostages begin to get to their feet and head for the door. Shortly afterwards, the AGRA team are leading the hostages through the building. They reach a junction and the team checks in all directions. One of them shouts, 'To your left!' and the hostages turn that way. The team moves on but Georgian soldiers suddenly come into view in front of them and the one in the lead fires upwards, blowing out all the lights in the already-dark corridor. The hostages scream and duck, and AGRA turn and realise that there are armed civilians behind them. AGRA pause, weighing their options as they calculate how many people they are up against, and then another Georgian soldier steps into view with his hand on the neck of a female hostage and his pistol pointed at her head. As he grins and chuckles, revealing a set of gold teeth, one of the AGRA team, wearing a silver A.G.R.A memory stick round his neck on a chain, pulls up his balaclava to reveal his face.
"What now? What do we do?" The intruder asked.
Mary pulls up her own balaclava and takes one more look at the armed men surrounding them.
"We die." Mary said, pulling the pin from a device and hurls the object to the floor in front of her and turns her face away as a massive white light explodes in front of them.
The hostages scream as gunfire begins.
221B Baker Street living room...
Sherlock is standing in front of his chair holding the memory stick by one end and repeatedly tapping it against the fingers of his other hand while he frowns in concentration. He has a dark bruise under his left eye. Jared is playing on his Nintendo Switch. The door opens and Greg comes in. Sherlock turns to look at him.
"Well?" Sherlock asked.
Greg shakes his head, "He can't have got far. We'll have him in a bit."
"I very much doubt it." Sherlock said, taking out his phone and starts to type on it.
"Why?" Lestrade asked.
"Because I think he used to work with Mary." Sherlock said, turning and heading for the door with Jared while still typing. "Let's go, Jared."
"That's because he did." Jared said, letting out a sigh. "This adventure is far from over."
The intruder's room...
The intruder is sitting on the floor holding an open bottle in one hand, and to the right of him on the floor is an open laptop. He has googled 'Sherlock Holmes' and is looking at the various images that have come up. He clicks on some of them and then finds one of John, Mary, Sherlock,and Jared outside the church on the Watsons' wedding day. He zooms in on Sherlock, then pans across to Mary's smiling face. Putting down the bottle, he picks up the laptop and puts it into his lap, staring at the photo and breathing heavily. He closes his eyes, grimaces.
TBILISI, GEORGIA...
Wearing his black camo gear but without the balaclava, the intruder runs across the floor of a pottery workshop and braces himself momentarily against one of the racks in the middle of the floor. Soldiers shout in Russian somewhere nearby, one of them yelling, 'I tell you, bitch, I will shoot!' A man, maybe a potter, maybe a guard, is sitting at a side bench and the operative runs across towards him. The man gets up and the operative fights with him. A gunshot explodes some nearby pottery on one of the central racks, and the operative takes down his opponent as a soldier comes in and starts firing. By now the operative has a pistol but he has no chance to use it because there are now at least two soldiers firing at him and pottery and coloured glaze powder are exploding into the air all around him. Using the cover of the flying dust, the operative turns and runs to the far end of the workshop and sees six identical white plaster busts of Margaret Thatcher on the table. Pulling his memory stick's chain over his head, he stuffs the chain and stick into the open base of one of the busts. As the soldiers make their way cautiously forward, he stands the bust up. He turns to run but the gold-toothed man is behind him and smashes him to the floor.
Some time later, the operative is tied to a chair. The gold-toothed soldier shoves his head up to reveal his bleeding mouth and then punches him hard in the stomach twice. As the operative slumps and wheezes, the man walks around behind him.
"Ammo. Ammo. Ammo." The gold-teeth man said.
The operative looks around at the bare walls. He seems to be in a small warehouse or maybe a storage lock-up. There's another man standing at a table behind him but he's not aware of him yet. A doorway some feet away in front of him leads to another room and there's some movement in there. The gold-toothed man wraps his arm around the operative's neck from behind and starts to strangle him.
"Ammo. Ammo. Ammo-o-o-o-o." The gold-teeth man said.
The operative's vision goes black and he slumps in his chair almost unconscious as the man releases him. The other man walks across and pulls his head up to look at his face.
"He passed out again." The guard said, in a heavily-accented English, releasing the operative's head and steps back. "It's no fun when they pass out. We'll come back later."
He starts to walk away and his colleague follows but then turns back.
"What would he do if he knew, huh? About the English woman?" The gold teeth man asked, also in heavily-accented English.
"What would you do to a traitor? Maybe we'll tell him one day. If he lives that long."
They chuckle. Blood dribbles from the operative's mouth. A few moments later he lifts his head. The torturers have gone into the next room and – in a shadow on the wall – the operative can see that someone has been hung from the ceiling by their wrists and is being repeatedly punched or flogged. The victim has long straggly hair. The operative's head goes down briefly but then he raises it and looks up to the ceiling. It's as if his chair is falling backwards but instead of landing on hard concrete, he falls back onto the carpet in his bedsit. Staring blankly upwards, he raises his bottle to his lips and drinks. He's still lying on his back on the floor, although his face isn't as badly beaten as it was in the past.
(Jared's POV)
Vault...
It is nighttime and rain is pouring down and there's lightning and thunder. Somebody wearing a raincoat with the hood pulled up over their head walks along a path towards a church, lighting the way with a flashlight. The person makes their way to a small wooden door with NO ENTRY stencilled on it in red. Graffiti just under the message reads 'GwJ'. Near the bottom of the door, someone has spray-painted a white circle with an 'i' inside it. The person pushes open the door and goes inside, closing the door again. Walking into a small vault, they find that it has been set up as a home-from-home: there's a tatty sofa and a couple of hard plastic chairs, and a couple of desks, one of which has an open laptop and anglepoise lamp on it. A few other lights are dotted around the room but it's still quite dark in there. The person pushes back the hood of their coat and it's Mary.
"I am an idiot. I know nothing." Sherlock said, barely visible at the end of the vault.
"Well, you could have asked Mary and I." I said, grabbing Sherlock's hand.
"He should have." Mary said, cheerily, putting her torch into her coat pocket. "Well, Sherlock, I've been telling you that for ages! Those were quite the texts you and Jared sent me." She smiles at Sherlock and I and looks around the vault. "What's going on, Sherlock and Jared?"
"I was so convinced it was Moriarty, I couldn't see what was right under my nose." Sherlock said, while Mary's smile fades and she looks at him worriedly. "I expected a pearl."
"And it's not the pearl you'd associate with Captain Jack Sparrow." I said, as Sherlock looks down to the memory stick he's holding.
Mary stares in shock and then walks quickly towards Sherlock and I, "Oh my God. That's a ..."
"Yes, it's an AGRA memory stick like you gave John, except this one belongs to someone else. Who?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know." Mary said, her eyes still locked on the stick. "We-we all had one, but the others w..." She gestures at the device. "Well, haven't either of you even looked at it yet?"
"I glanced at it, but I'd prefer to hear it from you." Sherlock said.
"Honestly. Same. I could read it off the Torchwood server. See if anything has changed from what I remember." I said, sadly. "But hearing it from the source is better. Because reading something before it happened makes it a fixed point in time."
"Why?" Mary asked.
"Because I'll know the truth when I hear it." Sherlock said.
"Oh, Sherlock, Jared." Mary said, almost silently as she turns away in exasperation, walking a few paces away from Sherlock and I and then turns back to face us. "There were four of us. Agents."
"The four of you weren't just agents. You guys were assassins." I said, squeezing at Mary.
"Polite term. Alex; Gabriel; me; and Ajay." Mary said, pointing to the device. "There was absolute trust between us. The memory sticks guaranteed it. We all had one, each containing aliases, our background, everything. We could never be betrayed because we had everything we needed to destroy the other."
"Who employed you?" Sherlock asked.
"Anyone who paid well. I mean, we were at the top of our game for years, and then it all ended. There was a coup in Georgia. The British embassy in Tbilisi was taken over; lots of hostages. We got the call to go in, get them out. There was a change of plan, a last-minute adjustment."
"An adjustment from who?" I asked, taking out chocolate chip cookies to snack on them.
"I don't know. Just another voice on the phone, and a code word, 'Ammo'."
"'Ammo'. Short for ammunition?"
"Yeah, Jared. Like 'ammunition'. We went in, but then something went wrong. Something went really wrong." Mary said, frowning.
(Open POV)
Corridors of the British embassy...
Mary pulls the pin from a device and hurls the object to the floor. A bright white light explodes in front of her and her colleague. Previously we may have thought it was a grenade but it's now clear that it's a flash grenade. As the hostages scream and cower, the Georgian forces open fire. One of the AGRA team drops a smoke bomb as they return fire. Chaos reigns as the firefight continues and one of the other two AGRA men spins and falls, apparently shot. Mary starts to move forward. A Georgian soldier grabs the fourth AGRA man round the neck and drags him away.
(Jared's POV)
Vault...
"That was six years ago. Feels like forever. I was the only one that made it out." Mary said.
"Nope. You weren't." I said, tossing another chocolate chip cookie into my mouth.
"What?"
"Sherlock was protecting me. And I know why. It was because of who he met. If I was there, I would have said too much."
"Which is why I told Jared to stay behind at Baker Street, Mary." Sherlock said, walking across to the table and picks up the laptop, putting the memory stick into the drive. "I met someone tonight: the same someone who's looking for the sixth Thatcher."
Sherlock puts the laptop down on the other table, types on it and steps away as various photographs come up on the screen. Two of them seem to be surveillance photos, while the third is a photo ID badge of a journalist called Eshan Mohindra. All three pictures are of the man with whom Sherlock fought earlier. As Mary walks towards the laptop, a new photo comes up of the man. It and the previous two surveillance photos are marked 'AGRA - 3203 - 42673'.
"Oh my God. That's Ajay. That's him. What, he's alive?" Mary asked.
"Yeah. He's very much alive." I said, and Sherlock touched his hand to the bruise under his eye. "Are you happy now?"
"I am!" Mary said, staring at the image in surprised delight. "I don't believe it! This is amazing! I thought I was the only one. I thought I was the only one who got out." She turns to Sherlock and I. "Where is he? I need to see him now!"
"Before you gave it to John, did you keep your memory stick safe?" Sherlock asked, holding out a hand to slow Mary down.
"Yeah, of course. It was our insurance. Above all, they mustn't fall into enemy hands."
"So Ajay survived as well, and now he's looking for the memory stick he managed to hide with all of AGRA's old aliases on it. But why?"
"I don't know!" Mary said, angrily.
"Tbilisi was six years ago. Where's he been?" Sherlock asked, while Mary looked down, thinking, then shakes her head, making a helpless sound.
"I knew where you were, Mary. You're easy. The rest of A.G.R.A. Not so much." I said, letting go of Sherlock's hand, bag of chocolate chip cookies in my other hand. "Where was Ajay?"
Sherlock pauses for a moment, then pulls in a breath, "Mary, I'm sorry to tell you this, but he wants you dead."
Mary laughs in disbelief.
"Sorry, no, no, 'cause we-we were family." Mary said, glancing at Ajay's image on the laptop.
"Families fall out. The memory stick is the easiest way to track you down. You're the only other survivor. It must be you that he wants, and he's already killed looking for the Thatcher bust." Sherlock said, softly.
"Well, he's just trying to find me. He survived. That's all that matters!" Mary yelled, looking at the laptop screen.
"I heard it from his own mouth. 'Tell her she's a dead woman walking'."
Mary frowns, "Why would he want to kill me?"
"Because he said you betrayed him." I said, letting out a sigh.
"Oh, no, no, that's insane." Mary said, looking at the computer again, bewildered.
"Well, it's what he believes." Sherlock said.
Mary lets out a long breath and sinks onto a chair, "I suppose I was always afraid this might happen; that something in my past would come back to haunt me one day."
"This is how I felt while traveling with the Doctor." I said, rolling my eyes. "I never did like it."
"Of course you'd get it, Jared." Mary said, looking up at me. "Ghosts haunting us."
Sherlock puts his hand to his bruised ribs and turns away from Mary and I, "Yes, well he's a very tangible ghost."
"God, I just wanted a bit of peace, and I really thought I had it."
"No. Mary, you do. I made a vow, remember?" Sherlock asked, turning back and leaning down to Mary, with the former assassin staring up at him. "To look after the three of you."
Mary smiles slightly, "Sherlock the dragon slayer."
"Stay close to me and I will keep you safe from him. I promise you." Sherlock said, firmly.
"Mary, if I play my moves right, things can change." I said, happily. "You won't die. Not on my watch."
"Thank you both." Mary said, looking thoughtful for a moment, then stood up. "Sherlock, there's something I think you and Jared should read."
Sherlock looks at the piece of paper Mary's holding out with her gloved hand, "What is it?"
"I hoped I wouldn't have to do this." Mary said, putting the paper into Sherlock's bare hand and watching him as he unfolds it, holding it in both hands.
Immediately Sherlock's vision starts to go fuzzy.
"What are you ...?" Sherlock asked, lifting the paper to his nose and sniffs deeply.
Sherlock gasps and starts to wobble.
"Mary." Sherlock said, in a whisper.
"I'm sorry, Jared." Mary said, shooting me in the chest, and I fell down on the ground, blood spewing out of my body.
Mary supports Sherlock as he totters and falls onto the chair behind him.
"There you go." Mary said, softly.
"Oh, no." Sherlock said, looking over at my body. "You shot Jared."
"It's all right. Jared will come back to life, he is immortal. It's for the best, believe me." Mary said, happily.
"No." Sherlock said, weakly, struggling to stay conscious, Mary goes to the laptop and removes the memory stick.
Pulling her hood up over her head, Mary hurries to the doorway, her voice faint and echoing.
"Sherlock, Jared, you just look after them 'til I get back. I'm sorry." Mary said.
Sherlock sighs out a breath, his eyes starting to close.
"I'm so sorry." Mary said, her voice distant and echoing.
Mary turns and looks back at Sherlock and I briefly before disappearing from view. Sherlock's vision whites out.
(Open POV)
Sherlock's Mind Palace...
The distant sound of a young child singing can be heard. A male child only fuzzily visible and with his back turned is wearing red trousers rolled up to the knees, a yellow jumper or jacket, a dark blue pirate's hat on his head and yellow plimsolls or shoes, and he's carrying a yellow plastic sword as he skips away through the shallows on a beach. Nearby a wet Irish setter, with a purple bandana tied around his neck, watches the boy. Then someone wearing a pair of red wellington boots can be seen running along the pebble beach. The child continues to sing, the pirate boy is trotting away alongside a stream followed by the other boy who is wearing red wellingtons, blue jeans and a checked shirt. The memory whites out.
(Jared's POV)
Vault...
Sherlock regained consciousness and I regained consciousness and gasped for air in the vault.
Grimacing and groaning, Sherlock looks across to the laptop and sees that the memory stick has gone. Wide-eyed, Sherlock turns the laptop for a clearer view, then grimaces again, gasps and hauls himself to his feet.
London...
Sherlock grabs my hand and we stumble outside and we look around. The rain has stopped, although a flash of lightning briefly lights the sky.
"Sherlock? What do we do?" I asked, squeezing Sherlock's hand.
"We're going to Mycroft." Sherlock said, shaking his head to try and clear it, he groans and hurries away with me.
MYCROFT'S DIOGENES OFFICE...
Mycroft, sitting with his feet up on the desk, frowns, "Agra? A city on the banks of the river Yamuna in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh, India. It is three hundred and seventy-eight kilometres west of the state capital, Lucknow ..."
"What are you, Wikipedia?" Sherlock asked, sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk.
"I think he read it off of there." I said, sitting in the other chair on the other side of the desk.
"Yes." Mycroft said, smiling.
"A.G.R.A. is an acronym." I said, happily. "Like J.A.R.V.I.S., F.R.I.D.A.Y., E.D.I.T.H."
"Oh, good. I love an acronym. All the best secret societies have them."
"Team of agents, the best. But you know all that." Sherlock said.
"Of course I do. Go on." Mycroft said.
"One of them, Ajay, is looking for Mary, also one of the team."
"Indeed? Well, that's news to me."
"Is it?" Sherlock asked, a little disbelievingly.
Mycroft lowers his head and smiles at Sherlock and I in a sort of 'believe it if you like' way.
"He's already killed looking for that memory stick. AGRA always worked for the highest bidder. I thought that might include you." Sherlock said.
"Me?" Mycroft asked, frowning.
"Well, I mean the British government or whatever government you're currently propping up."
"AGRA were very reliable; then came the Tbilisi incident. They were sent in to free the hostages but it all went horribly wrong. And that was that. We stopped using freelancers."
"Your initiative?"
"My initiative. Freelancers are too woolly; too messy. I don't like loose ends – not on my watch."
Sherlock leans forward and pulls a notepad across the desk towards himself.
"There was something else; a detail, a code word." Sherlock said, writing 'AMMO' on the notepad, then turns it round to face his brother.
The overlaid text on the notepad flips to show the letters in reverse: 'OMMA'.
Mycroft frowns at the notepad, "'AMMO'?"
"It's all we've got." Sherlock said.
"Little enough." Mycroft said.
"Could you do some digging, as a favour?" Sherlock asked.
"Brother, dear, you don't have many favours left." Mycroft said, smiling.
"Then I'm calling them all in." Sherlock said, flatly.
"And if you and Jared can find who's after her and neutralise them, what then? You think you can go on saving her forever?"
"Yup." I said, happily.
"Of course." Sherlock said, nonchalantly.
"Is that sentiment talking?" Mycroft asked, looking at Sherlock.
"No. It's me."
"Difficult to tell the difference these days."
"Told you: I made a promise, a vow." Sherlock said.
"Mycroft, you owe me for something I will do. Project Insight." I said, crossing my arms. "I know I will handle it at some point."
"Fair point." Mycroft said, taking his feet off the desk. "All right. I'll see what I can do." He leans forward and clasps his fingers together. "But remember this, brother, mine and ally of justice: agents like Mary tend not to reach retirement age. They get retired in a pretty permanent sort of way."
"Not on my watch." Sherlock said, slowly, determinedly.
"If I can help make River Song and Captain Jack Harkness good. Mary Watson isn't an exception." I said, smiling. "I can't let her die."