Sherlock - The Game Is On!

His Last Vow- Five

Chapter Five

"I understood we were meeting at your office." Magnussen looks round the room for a moment. "This is my office." He walks slowly towards the sofa, then stops and turns to look at John and I. He gazes to John, probably deducing from the look in his eye. "Well, it is now." The security guy cradles his broken fingers.

"Mr Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters." Ignoring Sherlock, he stares at the paper he has in hand. "Some time ago you... Put pressure on her concerning those letters. She would like those letters back." Magnussen looks at him silently as he continues speaking, "Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind..." Sherlock breaks his speech off, noticing the stomach-turners expression. "Something I said?"

"No, no. I was reading. There's rather a lot." He adjusts his glasses. "'Redbeard'." I show recognition to that word in familiarity. However, I make no movement to do by physical result.

Redbeard?

He then turns to me, his lips draw a thinner line, seeming frustrated.  Sherlock blinks and his mouth opens slightly. "Sorry. You were probably talking?"

"I..." He pauses for a long moment, then clears his throat. "I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of..."

"Bathroom?"

"Along from the kitchen, sir."

"Okay."

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters. I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents..." Sherlock tries to press further firmly. "Is it like the rest of the flat?"

"Sir?"

"The bathroom?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then."

"Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Meeting his eyes for a moment, Magnussen turns to the window again. "Lady Elizabeth Smallwood. I like her."

"Mr Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Sherlock repeats. "She's English, with a spine." He then turns to me again. Standing up, he walks towards me, sparing a glance to the broken fingered security guy. "Best thing about the English... You're so domesticated. All standing around, apologising... Keeping your little heads down." Standing face to face with him, he brushes his fingers along my collar bone. I blink. Skimming his finger, he then draws along my chest before going to squeeze my breast. By distant reflex, I clasp onto his wrist, tightly. "Oh? Finally got a reading... Lady Phillips has a broken past... With Sebastian Moran."

Removing my hand from his wrist, he turns to face the fireplace. The sound of him unzipping his trousers can be heard. My skin begins to itch. "You can do what you like here. No one's ever going to stop you." As the sound of urinating being heard, John blinks, Sherlock keeps facing forward and my collar bone begins to burn wildly whilst I feel myself heat up drastically. "A nation of herbivores. I've interests all over the world but, er, everything starts in England." A splash rings my ears from the grate placed in front of the fire. "If it works here I'll try it in a real country."

Zipping his trousers, "The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Western world." Turning back to us, a guard offers him a wipe. "Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them." Dropping the wipe to the floor he offers a goodbye. "Anyway..." He laughs and pulls out the edge of packed documents. "They're funny." Smirking to himself, he tucks them away and leaves the room.

I stood, frozen in my space. Unwanted memories try to seep their way through. John and Sherlock's voices echo. "There was a moment that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah... Michelle?" John turns his head towards me whilst I walk out the room heading to the bathroom. Locking the door, I brace myself on the sink, staring through the mirror at myself. Hanging my head low for a moment, I look to the mirror once more. I punch it. Again. Again. And again until I notice blood. Taking a deep breath, I fill up the sink before scrubbing vigorously at my collar and chest. "Michelle?" John begins knocking on. "Give me a minute." Pulling the plug, I wipe at my knuckles before unlocking the door.

"You alright?" John asks. "Me? Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure? You seem to be crying." Touching my cheek, I feel the dampness from tears that I haven't registered. Briskly wiping them away, I breathe in deeply. Sherlock gazes to me, with a flash of worry before continuing on: "And, of course, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten."

"How do you know his schedule?"

"Because I do. Right, I'll see you both tonight. I've got some shopping to do." He walks towards the coat pegs before John questions him again: "What's tonight?"

"I'll text instructions."

"Yeah, I'll text you if I'm available."

"You are! I checked!" Tying his scarf, he swings out the door. "I'm not going I'm busy." I state harshly. "Don't bring a gun."

"Why would I bring a gun?" Sherlock turns to me. "Or a knife, or a tyre lever. Probably best not to do any arm spraining, but we'll see how the night goes."

"I've just said I'm not going."
"You're just assuming I'm coming along?"

John and I spoke over each other. "Time you got out of the house, John. You've put on seven pounds since you got married, and the cycling isn't doing it." Hailing a cab nearby, he opens the door. "It's actually four pounds."

"Mary and I think seven. See you later." With that he slams the car door and is driven of.