The study of a haunted mind
A Spin-off of Connection - inspired by a few requests for a one shot or spin off continuing the Connection Universe and the TAB period sparked by @jiuweihututku
(Connection)Reader x Sherlock
Word Count: 4327
The lofty round chamber was illuminated by well placed lamps around the table situated in the center to create a cavernous setting. The men seated around the rather ornate table unobservable in such dramatic lighting preferred the secluded atmosphere for the discussion of topics that would not pass through the heavy doors. The artificial cavern was perfect for the equally artificial men who occupied the chamber.
Mycroft Holmes brought the meeting to an end and I needed no instruction to stay seated and keep my eyes low. I preferred my place tucked in between the door and heavy drapery that blocked any natural light. Being the only female in the room was not lost on me nor the men who spanned a multitude of positions in various government entities. The group of seven men held different beliefs of where a woman of any standing had a right to be, never the less one whose native country was not the same as their own.
I had no illusions to the temperaments of the men in my company as some would refuse to acknowledge me as company. Mr. Holmes was the only reason I held such a station. He was a man who answered to none and none would speak against his appointments. Even after all my years in his employ, I did not know precisely his position, only that he was of such grave import none would oppose his view save for the very highest and I've only witnessed it once. I was sworn to secrecy and not due to the nature of the discussion but, I believe, because of who came out on top.
The men filed out of the room in silence. I closed my book and placed my items in the crook of my arm as I rose taking hold of my cane.
Mycroft strolled toward me, “what of your findings?”
“Two found your second point a hard pill to swallow.”
He nodded, “mark them in your notations.”
“As always.” I often wondered if he saw the same ticks I observed that betrayed the men who thought so highly of their ability to show the world only what they desired to let them see and he merely used me for confirmation of his own theories. I wouldn’t mind in the least because I often relied on him to confirm my own skills at times.
I wasn't ashamed to admit I had to battle back from a harsh mental climate after an unfortunate incident that forced me to hold a cane at all times outside of my own home. My body wasn't the only thing battered and bruised and I relied on my family and friends to fight back to where I am today.
Mycroft walked by my side to the door, he preferred the slow pace that my injury presented me but also felt it rude to walk ahead of someone he considered his equal. I did not share his opinion of myself for he had accomplished far greater things but I acquiesced to his compliment when he shared it.
“Have I presented my gratitude recently?”
I shook my head, “this position is gratitude enough.”
He smiled as he stopped at the door, “ah, yes when one can stomach the ignorant.”
“We learned that long ago.”
“The best of us had to.”
Mycroft Holmes, man of refined inclinations and unmatched mind, had in recent years softened around the edges in a different way. From the very day my son William came into this world, he began to decrease in size. He was still a tall, large man but different choices had made him, in the words of my good friend Dr. Watson, no longer a man challenging death.
I stepped into the hall and another tall figure moved toward us. Just over six feet, not as excessively lean these days yet still his presence filled the space. His sharp eyes met mine and his purposeful steps slowed to a stop in front of me. I stared up into warm, intelligent eyes that spoke more than I ever thought possible.
Mycroft closed the door, “why, Sherlock, how unexpected.” His smile revealed otherwise.
“Mycroft.” Sherlock inclined his head, “I had some business in the building and heard you were concluding a meeting.” His piercing gaze turned back to me and he tipped his hat belying nothing save for the glitter of his eyes, “Miss Doyle.”
“Holmes.” I nodded with a hint of a grin.
Mycroft folded his hands over his stomach, “yes, well. That will be all for today, y/n. I'd like the meeting’s pages on my desk by nine.”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes. Don’t forget Mr. Melas will be meeting you at the club at seven.”
He eyed me, no doubt perturbed by my persistent formal use of his name, but decided against commenting upon it. “Thank you.”
“May I accompany you out, Miss Doyle?” Sherlock proffered his arm and the elder Holmes’s eyeroll was hardly hidden.
“I’d be delighted.” I took his arm giving the elder Holmes a final nod before turning with Sherlock.
“Good-bye, Mycroft.” Sherlock tossed over his shoulder in a way that only those brothers could, with challenge and love.
“As to you.”
We walked in silence through the building exchanging minute touches around corners and in empty halls. His elbow cheating back to brush his fingers against my wrist, palm, and in between my fingers. Muscle mastery that could entice a rousing masterpiece on his violin and a soothing or inspiring composition in me. I could always tell how his day was going by the way his fingers alighted my skin. He was mixing his piece, half soothing and half enticing. Today was a good day but he wanted to ease the ache in my hip.
His fingers swept over the plain silver band on my ring finger just before he pulled his arm forward and we stepped out the front door where a cab awaited me. He opened the door, plucked up my cane, and held my hand to help me inside. I sat and he placed the cane neatly at my side. “Where may I ask should I send you?”
“I have a meeting with the Society before I venture home.”
He nodded and gave the address to the driver before closing the door. I leaned forward, “a good afternoon to you, sir.”
He smiled with just a hint of delight in his eyes, “a good afternoon indeed.” He stepped back and the cab bounded off.
I closed my eyes and let his composition accompany me through the muddy streets of London.
~~
Baker Street was still bustling even though the air had turned brisk. I had long since grown accustomed to London’s gray sky but I had no doubt more clouds would roll in within hours. Sherlock would scoff at my prediction but the quirk at the corner of his mouth gave him away every time.
I strolled down the sidewalk with one gloved hand tucked in my pocket trying not to lean too heavily upon my cane. Despite the weather, the people hustling and strolling about were in good spirits. They may complain year round but they loved their city, gray skies and all. I smiled, tucked my head against the wind, and returned to mulling over our most recent research into the human mind.
My study pursuing a way to ease, if not erase, dark memories that haunt or, in other cases not so lucky as mine, debilitate those who survive such terrors had been slowly gaining traction. While my research into a mind that felt compelled to inflict such pain had been flourishing and my fellows were already contemplating offering their opinion on suitable titles. Due to the rise in sensationalist stories of Jack the Ripper, I was disinclined to give any more public notoriety to despicable behavior.
I turned my mind from the distant past and recalled the thoughts that had been trying to lure me from my analysis throughout the afternoon. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel the way his nimble fingers caressed my palm amidst the quiet halls. I will forever be amazed by his ability to take my breath with a single touch.
“Mama!” The shout drew me back to Baker Street. William’s dark curls bounced over his bright face as he rushed toward me filling me with a completely different warmth.
I knelt down and opened my arms just before he carefully latched onto me, “hello, my love.” I wrapped him in a tight embrace. “How was your day?” I glanced up and smiled at the little sandy haired girl rushing toward me.
“Auntie y/n!” Rosamund pressed into my side wrapping us in a hug all her own.
“Hello my little dove!” I chuckled and looked up at Mary walking over with a smile lighting her face. My heart jolted and I shut my eyes.
“They’re very excitable today,” Victoria’s voice was bright and when I again looked up, her red hair replaced the blonde I thought I saw. Her face, now whispering concern, was nothing like the ghost of the woman in my mind.
I smiled with a slight shake of my head, “the chill.” I stood as the children released me chattering over each other about their trip to the park. “What great timing. I was going to send a telegraph.”
We turned and guided the children back toward the flat. “Come along William, Rosamund.” I leaned into her side while the children skipped ahead of us. “So, you heard?”
With a curt nod, she glanced my way, “Molly sent a telegraph about an incident in Sussex.”
“Sussex? Mycroft spoke of a different matter.”
Victoria’s eyes lit in excitement, “how delightful.”
The door to two hundred and twenty one B opened and Mrs. Hudson appeared shaking her head but all signs of discontent were dispelled by the children who immediately swarmed her. Victoria and I stepped inside and removed our coats and gloves.
“You read the new story then?” Victoria said with chagrin.
“Who needs silly stories when I am in the presence of the lovely ladies and gentleman of the house?”
“My dear Martha, this will always be your house. You are not a servant.” She smiled. I had to admit I over indulged in our innocent teasing on most days.
Her gaze was pulled by the sprites at her legs vying for her attention and Victoria elbowed me. We parted as a black cloaked woman complete with black veil rushed down the stairs, in between us, and out the front door without a word. Victoria and I glanced at one another before making our way upstairs.
The patter of the children’s feet followed along with Mrs. Hudson who no doubt would herd them into the kitchen.
I stepped into the sitting room where Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were seated in their chairs by the fireplace in which a small fire crackled. I leaned my cane against the wall by the door not usually needing it for short distances, due in no small part to Mycroft’s swift thinking and action after the incident more than three years ago.
Sherlock’s gaze trailed over me, his ever watchful eye not missing a thing. I saw on his alert face what answers he had gained in his quick yet efficient observation and knew some piece I would miss gave him some knowledge of half my thoughts today. I winked before turning to the other presence.
Lestrade gave a tip of his head in greeting before his gaze was drawn to William rushing over to Sherlock. “Papa!”
Sherlock lifted our son onto his lap and leaned in, “my dear boy, what adventures did you find?”
“I hear John’s sister is doing quite well in the Queen’s service,” Lestrade said.
I grew confused at his words for all present were in good standing of our situation. But then it alerted me to an outside source from which I was still unaware. “I do what I can.”
Victoria chortled, “yes, who dared to think…”
“Victoria that would be quite enough.” John’s curt remark bordered on offensive.
I turned toward him with a look of disapproval, “now, dear brother.”
“Husband.” Victoria’s admonishment was so that one had to know her thoroughly to hear the dangerous undertone.
Sherlock grinned, “I believe Watson was simply trying to steer back to the matter at hand with our guest.”
William had crossed his leg over the other just like his father trying his best to match the posture down to the crook of his arm holding an invisible pipe to his mouth. Sherlock pulled a small pipe from his pocket and held it out for him. He grabbed it, fumbling it slightly in his excitement and shoved the mouthpiece into his mouth and blew. A few bubbles shot out and William turned such a look of contempt on his father but the sheer delight visible in Sherlock counteracted even the most stubborn of our son’s attributes.
I chuckled softly at my boys as I stepped further into the sitting room and Lestrade moved aside. A man, quite unkempt with messy straw-like hair and dirty overcoat, was seated in a chair on the right side of the room placed directly in front of the couch. “My dear sir, how terribly unkind of me and in my own home. Have you not treated the man to a drink?” I saw the signs of anxiety on his taut face, in his stiff shoulders, and uneven breathing that Sherlock had no doubt already deduced.
Sherlock Holmes may not be an expert in Psychology but he trained himself to catch even the slightest twitch of the eye from a lying man. He knew enough about the emotive ticks to judge the state of the man in front of us.
“That would be grand…” His wild eyes darted from Sherlock and William to me, “did you say your home?”
I walked over and offered my hand, “why yes, y/n Doyle. Pleasure to meet you.”
His gaze flicked to Sherlock and then to John. If I hadn't known better I might think he was about to take flight. “I thought your sister’s name was Harriet?”
Well,” John shook his head, a delay as the struggle continued in his mind, the only thing that came to me was trust in the man before us, “Mrs. Doyle is… adopted… and well, she…”
“She is a woman out of her time.” Sherlock spoke matter of factly and caused a blush to stain my cheeks, his gaze on me with pride and so much more.
I watched John, his conclusion finally eased his features. I laid my hand on our guest's shoulder hoping to assuage some of his nerves. “A relationship like the one John and I share is much like family but without blood relation in this society is, shall we say, frowned upon. It is much easier to tell those less minded that we are in fact blood related. It avoids scandal.”
“Anymore scandal,” Sherlock quipped pointing the mouthpiece of his pipe at me.
“By Jove, Holmes! How anyone could see you choosing a bride of such ordinary tendencies is just beyond…” John chuckled with another shake of his head.
“Or choosing a bride at all from those stories in The Strand,” Lestrade said with a grin at John.
“You're married and a child? But she doesn't bear your name!” The man cried, leaning forward as his stress increased.
I patted his shoulder, “a matter of security I can assure you.” I walked over to the decanter and poured him a drink.
John laughed, “poppycock. You'd no less take that name than…”
Victoria glared at him, “husband.”
I walked over to our guest, “the Holmes name has a notoriety that I would prefer to avoid. Sherlock is a man that takes no offense to my position. He delights in it.” I handed him the glass but his gaze was riveted on John and his hand so shaky, the liquid sloshed about.
“But your stories, you say it’s cocaine or ambition.”
“I believe the line you're thinking is the man alternates between his drug of choice and ambition. She would be that drug,” Victoria quipped with an amused smile. “And sometimes ambition.”
“Is it still only a seven percent solution?” John tossed at Sherlock.
Sherlock grinned, they were enjoying this far too much for decency. “Ah, I do believe I’ve far exceeded that dosage for quite some time now. Some days, at least, but then I tend to be quite fanciful these days.” He met my gaze and I smiled before turning away.
“Gentlemen, I do believe we may only be furthering his distress. That cold drink would do your mind and a good amount of deep breathing would help clear some of that anxiety.” I squatted in front of him, “now, if you would permit it, I would like to help you with that anxiety.” He nodded, still watching me warily. “With me, deep breath in.”
Sherlock, John, and Lestrade continued discussing whatever this man had brought them as I directed him into a calmer state. After a few minutes, he opened his clear, soft gray eyes and gazed into mine.
“May I ask what your speciality is?” His voice was smoother and deeper without the stress tightening his vocal cords.
“Psychology. It's the study of the mind.”
His laugh was like a crack of a whip in the room and everyone turned toward him, “but that's simply a fake…”
I smiled as I stood, “I am a member of the Society of Psychical Research and I'll have you know this area of study is exploding especially in America. I just calmed you with techniques I have perfected through my own research, sir. Feel your heart and listen to your breathing, your brain is no longer running in circles. You are now comfortable for the first time since the incident. Are you not?”
His eyes widened and he looked at Sherlock, “is this some kind of sorcery?”
“My wife is of high intellect and sorcery is of no use in this household. You’ll find no parlor tricks here.”
“She is published, both medical journals and novel!” John said tightly, eying the man he had only moments ago allowed a clearance like no other outside our circle.
“Dr. Watson trusts you highly for certain things to be spoken so easily in your presence. I hope you measure up to the worth of that trust.”
He stared at me but the thunder coming from the stairs drew our attention to the door just before it flung open. A large man in an unleashed rage heaved at the doorway, his wild gaze jumping around the room and growing all the more incensed. “Which of you is Holmes?”
I walked toward him and held up my hands. “Good sir, won’t you take a breath and know that no harm will come to you here.”
His bloodshot eyes burned in my direction, “a woman who doesn't know her place!”
I was sure by now my husband would know more about this man than I ever cared to but I could only see the tension in every muscle that spoke of panic and wild rage, a dangerous animal. “And you will lower your voice in my home.” I inwardly flinched at such a careless mistake but dared not show the slightest bit of weakness.
A flash of confusion shadowed his rage but only for a moment before it flared back, “your home!” His gaze darted toward the fire place where John and Sherlock were still seated. “The busy body has a woman with no control!”
His huge hand reached out for me and I snatched his wrist from the air, twisted it swiftly down and around his back as I shoved the mountain of a man off balance and into the door frame. “And you would do well to keep your hands where they belong. Men who foolishly think they can overpower women simply because they are bigger only prove how very uneducated they are.” Malice seeped through my every word and my pulse was pounding in my ears. I had focus on my breathing simply to hold back from injuring him any further.
“The conversation is most entertaining but I believe my wife has just shown you to the door, sir.”
The controlled lilt that hinted of danger in Sherlock’s voice tempered my heated blood. I released the man and backed away. A slight fright at the amount of rage that still pulsed through me. My gaze darted around the room and I was thankful that William was no longer present.
“When I have my say…” He rubbed his wrist and turned but stepped backward into the doorway. He glanced at me with a vicious look before returning his gaze to Sherlock.
Sherlock stood from his chair, his face tight and his nostrils flared but it was Victoria who stepped toward the man, “I believe you have done enough for one day. What would Scotland Yard have to say?”
Lestrade turned toward the man and he huffed, muscles rippling in aggravation as he ignored Lestrade and stabbed a finger toward Sherlock, “do not meddle in the affairs of Dr. Grimesby Roylott!” Then he spun awkwardly and lumbered down the stairs.
I turned to Sherlock and raised my brow in question when John’s old friend seated behind me exclaimed, “good Lord! You…” I turned and met his astonished look with confusion, “you… madam are extraordinary.” There was a lingering fear in his stiffened muscles and I could only conclude that John’s trust wouldn’t be the only thing holding this man to our loyalty.
“A woman can surprise you if only you let them.” Sherlock gave a sharp tug on the bottom of his vest, “if you would excuse me for a moment. I need to speak with my wife.” Sherlock walked toward the kitchen and paused with his hand held out toward me.
Victoria slipped something into my hand as I passed her. I stepped into Sherlock’s side and he took hold of my arm, the soft caress of his fingers on my palm soothing as we walked into the kitchen then around the children and Mrs. Hudson.
I quickly read the telegraph Victoria had handed me as Sherlock guided me into the hall for a touch of privacy, but the words handwritten there didn't make sense, meet me at his boathole in cemetery. I.A.
I squeezed my eyes closed and shook my head at the sudden burst of pain. When I again looked at the paper, it was a simple telegram from Molly. He stopped us and turned to face me as I inquired, “do you know the meaning of the bull at our door?”
“His step daughter made her leave before your entrance.”
“The woman… dressed in black?” A tingle of fear itched the back of my neck. What I had just done could very well be reflected back on her.
He nodded, his fingers brushed over my cheek then he kissed me with a quiet reverence. “You taught him a lesson that I should...”
I pressed my finger to his lips, “it's not that bad. Just the weather. Promise me that woman won’t be alone with that man. If my actions...”
His hand brushed my hip where the ache always flared up in cold weather. “Watson and I must catch the next train to take his step daughter’s case. I believe he’s going to have her killed much like her sister.”
I nodded, “Victoria received a telegram asking for our assistance in a matter in Sussex.”
“Lamberley?”
“Yes.”
“This lady in need of assistance is Peruvian?” He asked with a smile.
I looked upon him in amusement and he kissed me again. “I received a letter of the same matter. I shall send word that an associate of highest caliber will be arriving.”
I turned toward the kitchen, “Mrs. Hudson, could I ask you to watch the children for us until tomorrow?”
“Of course! Oh, how lovely, are you finally going on holiday?”
“Oh no, we have two…” my gaze froze upon the scrap of paper tacked to the wall just behind Mrs. Hudson, “different cases.”
She shook her head with a chortle, “of course.”
The odd stick figures in different positions called to me, something whispering that I should know. “The dancing men,” the words spilled from me but still brought no understanding except for the flash of a woman’s face, dark hair, red lipstick, and clever eyes. You understand.
Sherlock caressed my neck, “still waiting on more data for that. One case at a time.”
I turned back to him, his lopsided grin and a pinch in his brow. “Right.”
“Associates.” His palm pressed against my cheek, “then I shall see you again tomorrow.”
I held his hand on my face with the most peculiar feeling of living this moment before yet the emotions were different, more afraid. “Does your case have an increased element of danger?”
“None higher than others.” He searched my face, my eyes.
I nodded, “until tomorrow then.” He lifted a brow, “just simple instinct, I suppose the bull may have increased my own anxiety for the girl. A cornered animal is a dangerous one.”
He pressed his lips to mine, a slow and sensual kiss that only heightened my sense of being here, saying such a stressed, intense goodbye before. “I will see you no later than tomorrow night. I guarantee this will be wrapped up by morning light.”
John’s story of the events of Reichenbach swarmed my mind and I held onto him tighter. I hugged him tucking my head into his chest, breathing him in. Losing this man was not a possibility.
He bent down just enough to press his lips to my ear, “I’m invincible, you know that.”
I squeezed tighter. “Tomorrow then.”
PART TWO
