Sherlock - The Game Is On!

His Last Vow- Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Outside the cottage, Sherlock and Mycroft stand side by side whilst I sat on the wall. Each of us holding a lit cigarette. "I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business."

"Are you?"

"I'm still curious, though. He's hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you... Hate him?" I looked to the ground, avoiding the piercing eyes. "Michelle?" Mycroft sounded a little alarmed. "Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets... Why don't you?" I responded. "He never causes too much damage to anyone important. He's far too intelligent for that. He's a businessman, that's all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a dragon for you both to slay." He takes a drag on his cigarette while Sherlock smiles and walks back to his side. "A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of us?" Sherlock mused thoughtfully. "No. It's what you think of yourselves."

The cottage door opens behind us, Violet walks out. "Are you three smoking?" The boys spin round, frantically holding their cigarettes behind there backs.

"No!"
"It was Mycroft."
"Mycroft's fault."

We all replied simultaneously. I point to Mycroft, like the little snitch I am. "Michelle, being a smoker isn't ladylike." She scolds lightly. I laugh. "Who said I was anything like a lady?" Giving us a suspicious look, she walks back inside shutting the door. Sherlock looks very smug blowing out smoke, Mycroft looks repulsed.

Walking a few paces away from us, Mycroft turns back. "I have, by the way, a job offer I should like you to decline."

"I decline your kind offer." Sherlock answered without a beat. "I shall pass on your regrets."

"What was it?"

"MI6." I stated. Straying eyes away from mine, he answers with more context: "They want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months." Sherlock, who had started to raise his cigarette to his lips, lowers it again and looks a little surprised. "Then why don't you want me to take it?"

"It's tempting... But on balance you have more utility closer to home."

"Utility. How do I have utility?"

"Oh yeah, thanks Sherlock." I mumble, blowing out smoke. Sherlock nudges me a little with humour. "Here be dragons." Mycroft holds out his cigarette, frowning he coughs. "This isn't agreeing with me. I'm going in." Treading it out, he walks to the door. "You need low tar. You still smoke like a beginner."

"Also, your loss would break my heart." I turned to Mycroft, surprised by his outburst of brotherly compassion whilst Sherlock starts to cough uncontrollably. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!"

"Merry Christmas"

"You hate Christmas." Sherlock deadpanned. "Yes. Perhaps there was something in the punch."

"Clearly. Go and have some more." Sherlock urges. Mycroft turns and goes up the steps, opening the door. We turn away. "Sherlock, what are you up to?"

"Why would you assume I'm up to something?"

"Why wouldn't I assume it?" I counter. Sighing heavily to himself, he faces me. "Alright. Point proven. You haven't had anything to drink, have you?"

"No."

"Good, looks like your coming along..." Stomping out butt ends, we walk back into the cottage. "Don't drink Mary's tea." He instructs to John. "Oh, or the punch."

Siger lies on his back on the sofa, Sherlock holds his hand over his father's nose to check that he's breathing normally, then continues onwards. John and I follow him into the room while Sherlock heads into the kitchen, where Violet is asleep in the armchair in which Sherlock had previously sat and Mycroft is slumped on a dining chair with his head on the kitchen table and his eyes closed. The kitchen clock above the door shows that about seven minutes have passed since the earlier in the kitchen, so clearly Sherlock's countdown was absolutely accurate. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock holds the back of his hand to his mother's nose to check her breathing, then walks past Bill, who is standing nearby, and goes over to the kitchen table. "Did you just drug my pregnant wife?"

"Don't worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I calculated your wife's dose meself. Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on her."

"He'll monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job."

"What the hell have you done?" John accuses. I sigh. "Apparently a deal with the devil." Sherlock looks down reflectively. John turns away from him. "Oh, Jesus." Sherlock and I stare down to a unconscious. "Sherlock please tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind." Pulling the laptop underneath Mycroft, Sherlock answers. "I'd rather keep you guessing."

John turns towards the second sitting room where Mary is, but just then the sound of an approaching helicopter can be heard. "Ah. There's our lift."

Very shortly afterwards, as the helicopter flies low past the front of the cottage, John walks down the path with Sherlock and I behind him, laptop in hold. John goes through the gate as the helicopter lands in the field in front of the cottage. "Coming?" We stride ahead. "Where?"

"D'you want your wife to be safe?"

"Yeah, of course I do." John nods. We look to the helicopter. "Good, because this is going to be incredibly dangerous."

"One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us." I spit fired. "But it's Christmas." John exasperates. Sherlock smiles. "I feel the same." I slap his arm. "Oh, you mean it's actually Christmas. Did you bring your gun as I suggested?"

"Why would I bring my gun to your parents house for Christmas dinner?!"

"Is it in your coat?"

"Yes." John replied nonetheless. "What about you?" The boys turn to me in question. I lift my dress up a little, showing my strapped up knife. "Off we go, then."

"Where are we going?"

"Appledore." Sherlock helps me up to the helicopter, before him and John follow...

Here's to another dangerous scenario...