Sherlock - The Game Is On!

His Last Vow- One

Chapter One

Third POV

Lady Smallwood is found to be sitting at a table with other tables scattered about. It's possible to say this room is in an exclusive club similar to The Diogenes Club. She looks to the  paperwork. A smartly dressed attendant speaks to a man near the door: "Your car's waiting outside, sir. See you tomorrow."

Magnussen appears to be sitting in an armchair some feet away from the table. Lady Smallwood puts down her office work and looks across to Magnussen as he stands up and walks across the room towards her. "May I join you?"

"I don't think it's appropriate." She dismisses politely. "It isn't." Approaching a wheeled chair nearby, he rolls it across to the side of her table. "Mr Magnussen, outside the enquiry we can have no contact, no communication at all." He sits down and grasps at her hand. "Please don't do that."

"In 1982 your husband corresponded with Helen Catherine Driscoll."

"That was before I knew him." She dismisses again. "The letters were lively, loving. Some would say explicit and currently in my possession."

"Will you please move your hand?" Magnussen begins to narrate a part of the letter of by heart: "I long, my darling, to know the touch of your... Body."

"I know what was in the letters."

"She was fifteen." He deadpanned. "She looked older." She tries to correct her husbands past doing. "Oh, she looked delicious. We have photographs, too. The ones she sent him. Yum yum." He smacks his lips together from the last sentence. "He was unaware of her age. He met her only once before the letters began. When he discovered the truth, he stopped immediately. Those are the facts."

"Facts are for history books. I work in news."

"Your hand is sweating." She grimaces slightly. "Always, I'm afraid. I have a condition."

"It's disgusting."

"Ah, I'm used to it. The whole world is wet to my touch."

"I will call someone. I will have you removed." Lady Smallwood tries to withdraw her hand but his fingers clamp around. "What is that?" Gently lifting her hand he turns it over, bringing the wrist up to his face, sniffing slightly. "Claire de la Lune? A bit young for you, isn't it?" Pulling her hand free, Lady Smallwood flails her hand towards him. Magnussen seizes her arm and holds it still. "You want to hit me now? Could you, still? You're an old lady now. Perhaps you should settle for calling someone. Well? Go on." He gestures, unclasping her hand. She continues to look away. "No? Because now there are consequences. I have the letters and therefore I have you."

"This is blackmail."

"Of course it isn't blackmail. This is... Ownership."

"You do not own me." The attendant walks across the room towards them but stops some distance away. Magnussen's eyes turn briefly as if hearing his footsteps but otherwise he takes no notice of him. Instead, he half-rises, leans towards Lady Smallwood, sticks out his tongue and runs the tip of it up the side of her face. She cringes. He sits back down. "Claire de la Lune."

Picking up a paper napkin from the tray, he sticks his tongue out and rubs the napkin over it. "It never tastes like it smells, does it?" Lady Smallwood stares ahead of herself. He puts the napkin down, gives her one last look and then stands up, walking to the attendant. "Lady Smallwood's bill is on me. See to it."

"Yes, Mr Magnussen." Lady Smallwood lowers her head and lets out a shuddering breath.

Some time later, she is being driven home. Sitting in the back of her Rolls Royce, she holds open an compact mirror in one hand and has a handkerchief pressed to the side of her face where Magnussen licked it. She breathes out shakily. "Oh, God." The chauffeur takes notice of her and looks to the rear view mirror. "You all right, ma'am?"

"Fine, yes." Lowering the handkerchief, she looks at herself in the compact mirror. "Magnussen." She takes a few moments to brief before slamming the compact closed. "No one stands up to him. No one dares. No one even tries." Picking up her perfume bottle, she begins to spray herself. "There isn't a man or woman in England capable of stopping that disgusting creature..."

Suddenly getting a distant idea. She looks to the window. "Ma'am?"

"Turn the car around. We're going back into town. Turn around." The chauffeur does a U-turn and starts driving back the way they just came. "Where are we going, ma'am?"

"Baker Street." Hearing the tires press against the road, she smiles feeling lightly relieved. Rain starts to patter as they turn the street. The chauffeur parks up, gets out, holds the door open and a umbrella out for her. She nods her thanks and walks to the door. Knocking on, a few moments later she is greeted with Sherlock.

"Mr Holmes, I have a case..."