Chapter Text
The feeling that she was being followed weighed at the pit of her stomach, gnawing away. Though she walked as she normally would, she took chances to casually see if she really was, turning her head both ways while crossing, glancing at display windows to see if anyone was behind her, while checking the time. She didn't spot anyone, but that didn't exactly mean no one was following her. So she took the longer route, stopped at display windows as though the admiring the wares, but the feeling didn't go away. Finally coming to a decision, she pulled out her phone, then typing the text she sent it.
Immediately, it pinged. No. I'm not certain why you think that. MH
So it wasn't Mycroft then.The feeling in her stomach became heavier. Not the best of times for this to be happening. Really.
Her phone pinged again. Is there something troubling you, Dr. Watson? MH
Frustration mounting, she ignored the text, walking past the display she'd stopped next to, her leg hurting ever so slightly, her shoulder throbbing in tandem. The nausea grew stronger, until she had to breathe through her mouth to control it, the usual smells of London not helping her the least bit. Just as she stumbled due to the pain in her leg, a bullet thudded above her head in the brick wall. Instincts screaming, she ducked behind the wall of the nearest alley throwing her shields up. Steadying her breathing through the pain, she pulled out her phone and texted him while keeping her nose and ears alert for more trouble. Pocketing her phone, she peered out from beside the wall, locating the bullet, judging the angle it hit, then decided on the site it arrived from, the building opposite with its shuttered windows providing excellent place for sniping. Seeing movements in one of windows, she focused her senses there.
A torrent of malicious Intent hit her, her nausea grew stronger. That's the one. Taking out her gun, she flicked off the safety. Centering herself, she took aim, focusing she added her Intent to the bullet and fired. It hit its target with a quiet whump. Lowering her gun, she focused on the whole building to see if there were more, the simultaneous Intents of four …no five hit her. Blocking them subtly, she took aim again, focusing her Intent on the bullet and its target, she fired again. This time she heard multiple whumps, quickly counting, she heard four. Checking again, she found herself blocked. Focusing further got her no where along with a quiet throb in her head, they had evacuated the spot. Breathing deeply, she got out of her focus. Choosing to focus on the cameras, she edited the happening of the past two minutes. Shaking off her shields, she walked out of the alley and continued home, keeping her senses focused around her. This was really not the time for this to be happening. As she walked, her leg hurt worse than it had in a while.
Twenty minutes later she entered Baker Street, smoothing out her features, wearing her normal placid expression, she went up the stairs to see Sherlock sprawled across the sofa in his praying-but-not thinking pose, with two nicotine patches on his arm. She saw his eyes flicker towards her the moment she entered before darting away. So he was ignoring her then. Too bad for him that she wasn't in a mood to indulge him. She dumped the groceries on the kitchen counter that was cleaner and clearer than the rest, then went to the bathroom to have a shower. All the way through, she was aware of his eyes following her.
Under the tumult of the cold water, she mouthed a prayer for cleansing her self, her saiwala. Through her closed eyes she saw the black detritus of the foreign Intent that was stuck to her fall away leaving only the normal hues of her self, the blues, greens, browns and the reds of her life that seen together wove the story of her life. The soldier, the doctor, the sister, the healer, the friend, the hunter.
Slowly opening her eyes, she felt her senses return to normal, the sharp focus of the world around her returned, the clear rhythm of the world pulsed in her ears again and overlying them all was the Pulse of Sherlock. His was so beautiful, the quick changes in his rhythms, the never ending melody that changed and changed; never stopping, never ending, it was hypnotizing, compelling, and more than anything addicting.
His Pulse cleared her head of all melancholy, all the underlying tension melted away until she could feel, hear and sense the pulse of the world. So she didn't feel crippled by her wounds, so she felt whole again. With this she centered and calmed herself as she dressed.
Leaving the bathroom with her shower damp hair lying spread across her shoulders dripping water down her back, she made her way to the kitchen. There she sorted out the groceries, and put on the kettle for tea. As usual she followed the ritual of blessing the tea, the blodisoian, to calm, to strengthen, and she poured the water and seeped the tea and added the sugar and milk; she settled into her own skin, as she'd known she would.
By now she could sense the Pulse of Sherlock had calmed from the jangling of his sulk to the melodies of his thoughts. So probably an experiment would be conducted some time soon, more likely on her. Taking the cups of tea, she placed one on the table near him and settled with her cup and journal in her armchair, waiting for him to start. The Pulse in the flat was humming with his anticipation, which in turn made her twitchy. So she calmly sat about drinking her tea and trying to read her journal.
With an explosive Pulse, he leapt off the couch, plucked his cup of tea, as he stepped over the table to come and crouch in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet, with his hands cradling his cup in front of his mouth. Putting down her journal on her lap, she stared into his intense eyes which flickered all over her face, the colour of them shifting infinitesimally. Taking another sip contemplatively, she waited for him to come to some conclusion in his head, to start asking her what was bothering him. Just then she felt the change in the Pulse of the flat, heard the dull bass of Mycroft Holmes, before she heard the door opening downstairs along with the thumps of his footsteps on the stairs, with the simultaneous thump of his ever present umbrella that was never quite what it seemed. From the flicker of his eyes, Sherlock had heard him too, so he rose fluidly and sat on his armchair with a thump. Together they turned to look at the door as he entered. At meeting their expectant gazes, Mycroft just stood there a moment before entering the room. He was carrying a folder, quite thick one at that.
"Ah, Mycroft what brings you here?" the acidic undertones not lost on anyone in the room.
"Hello to you too, Sherlock, Dr.Watson." nodding at them both.
Sherlock scoffed sipping his tea, but she nodded her hello to him. After waiting a moment, when Sherlock refused to speak, Mycroft sighed.
Pursing his lips, Mycroft looked at them, leaning on his umbrella, "There's a situation where in I require your expertise, Sherlock."
"Not interested." his voice flat.
"This might interest you if you just heard the details." the exasperation in his tone was clear.
"Dull."
"Really, Sherlock, one would think that five deaths in a closed room without any signs of struggle would warrant your interest."
"What? Details, out with it." impatience was getting the better of him.
"Five dead, but only two bullets were recovered from the scene, no signs of any ricochets. This happened two hours ago."
"So, maybe something was missed, not surprising considering the general ignorance of the people you insist on hiring."
"I had the place investigated. Extensively. And the area around it too, and still no sign of the bullets."
"Why does this interest you, were they yours?" one eyebrow raised, mouth quirked in a smirk.
"No, but the place they were found was a secure building."
She knew that this had been sloppy of her, she should have cleaned up the place, but her state had reduced her to nothing but instincts and pain. And this was the result of her not thinking clearly. Mycroft Meddling Holmes setting Sherlock after her. She barely controlled the urge to sigh. As she waited for Sherlock to speak, she heard the change in the Pulse, felt a call to her from one of her own, almost tuning out of their conversation, the hum of their words providing a familiar background as she searched for the source.
There. The Pulse of the place synchronized with the hum of the shadow. She stabbed the Pulse with her silba, her soul, expecting to pass through but instead tearing the Pulse. Surprised, she pulled back and saw that it was not her own, but one of her brethren. So she pulled, aware that Mycroft and Sherlock still spoke, at the presence until she saw the identity. Feeling rage color her, she sharpened until it formed a knife like edge, she stabbed the Pulse with her rage and focus. The Pulse scattered, leaving the underlying Pulse of the city intact. Satisfied she pulled back, just in time it seemed. For Mycroft and Sherlock were seated face to face, aggression in the lines of their body, the expressions on their faces. Seeing this she just felt tired, not rejuvenated as she did after a hentan, a hunt.
"So, Dr. Watson what's your opinion on this? Do you think this strange?" he was asking just to prove a point to Sherlock now.
The Pulse of the flat was charged now, with the residual surge of her hentan and the charge from the brothers Holmes. "I don't know, it seems a bit strange, Mycroft. Maybe your people missed something?" her voice surprisingly placid, acting dumb in front of Mycroft Holmes had become the norm for her.
His eyebrow rose condescendingly, "They were quite thorough, Dr.Watson. I'm certain they didn't miss anything."
And I'm certain you did, Mr.Holmes.
Ignoring her after he perceived her to be of no help in persuading Sherlock, "There's one more thing, all deaths according to the initial reports, were not caused by bullets but likely caused by something sharp like metal shards or shrapnel. Without any entry wounds on any of the bodies."
Hearing this, Sherlock perked up, interest coloring his eyes for a telling moment before he blanked it. But Mycroft caught it and that meant he won this, "So will you take it?"
With a telling sigh, he murmured reluctantly,"Leave the file."
"Very well, Sherlock. But let me know what you find out. After all, the legwork is all so very ... tedious." with a nod at them both, he turned and left.
As he left, the dull bass of Mycroft Holmes faded until it was gone. Her shoulders relaxed minutely, and Sherlock lunged for the file, all thoughts of questioning her gone for now.