Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Thirty Nine

John glanced across at Mary as she slept on the plane. He thought back to the woman on the bus – E. He thought about the daily texts and subtle flirting, the mixture of guilt and excitement he had grown to somewhat enjoy. As his wife's eyes twitched in sleep, he felt like he had married a stranger. Yet somehow, he loved her. He loved her so much that he had stopped talking to E, no matter how much he wanted to. He had put time into rebuilding their marriage. He had flown to Morocco without sleep just to bring her back to him.

They stepped into their house, throwing down their bags and turning to each other with solemn eyes.

"Please don't ever do that again," John said softly. "I know you wanted to protect us, but 'the problems of your future are my privilege', remember?"

Mary nodded, biting her lip as her eyes welled up.

He pulled her into a hug. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "It'll be fine."

III

The mid-afternoon sky was overcast, with dull grey clouds appearing even duller through the London smog. Sherlock pushed his hands in the pockets of his coat as he walked along Vauxhall Bridge. He stopped in the centre and glanced over at the murky water. He was thinking. As Sherlock often did.

Margaux rushed down the street to meet him. She hurried up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her head into his chest. Sherlock stood with his arms by his side, fighting a smile that was trying to force its way out.

"I've only been gone for 48 hours," he said.

She looked up at him. "Are you purposely leaving out the part where you fought off an angry, gun-wielding super agent?"

"Ah so you've already spoken to John." He looked down at her, assessing her face for a moment. "Oh wait, no, it was Mary. You visited her this morning. She made you a cup of tea but you didn't drink it."

"How do you do that?"

He let out a small laugh and backed out of her embrace, turning to look out across the water again.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She tries to pretend she's okay. But I know she's shaken by it all." She joined him at his side, folding her arms and resting them on the bridge. "At least that A.J's out of the picture. She can relax now, get back to normal."

He made a deep, gravelly noise in his throat.

She looked up at him. "Or not?"

"In Morocco, A.J said something... He said the English Woman betrayed them. He thought it was Mary but it wasn't." He put his hands back in his pockets. "There was a code word that this woman said to make the hostage-takers aware that AGRA were coming. Ammo."

"Ammo?"

"I thought about it for a while. Then something clicked. Lady Smallwood."

"You think Lady Smallwood was the English Woman?"

"She was the conduit for AGRA – gave them their assignments. And six years ago she ran an operation with the codename 'Love'... Amo is Latin for love."

"Bloody hell," she sighed. "I assume you've told Mycroft."

His eyes narrowed. "I watched him interview her."

Margaux saw the conflict in his expression, the uncertainty tucked away in the lines around his eyes.

"It wasn't her." She nodded.

"No."

"Mm, too obvious isn't it." She glanced up at him. "Things like that; betrayals, double-crossings, they always come from people who you'd least expect."