Chapter 33

Sherlock and John woke up the next morning at almost the same time, when Mrs. Hudson snapped up a blind after carrying in a tea tray. Both of them let out cries of consternation and pain as the noise and light beat against their brains and jerked them back into the waking world. John rolled over on the floor, groaning in agony, and Sherlock looked affronted at being alive and conscious.

"What...the...bloody...hell?" John began, slowly pulling himself up into his chair from the floor.

"I don't know," moaned Sherlock, holding his head. "What happened last night?"

"What happened?" Mrs. Hudson said, far too cheerful in light of the suffering around her. "What do you mean, what happened? You and John came home, had a little something to nibble, and when I went to bed, you were still up here, talking."

"Something truly catastrophic had to have happened for both of us to be in this state," Sherlock pointed out. "Nerve gas, a chemical attack..."

"Did anything happen last night?" John asked, cradling his head in his hands. "Anything out of the ordinary, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Not really," she said, pouring them both cups of tea to help them get their feet under them. "Well, there was...well, it's not important."

"Oh, please, tell us," Sherlock said, swaying to his feet and staggering toward the miracle that was the morning cup of tea. "I'm dying to know."

"Well, your brother did send a few things over last night," she said. "That young lady, Anthea, dropped them off. She said that Mycroft had noticed your cupboards were looking a bit bare, so he was worried about you."

"Mycroft...sent groceries?"

"That he did, and I put them away for you," she said, wandering about the room and picking things up. "Looks like you found the cocoa all right...how many cups of it did you have?"

Sherlock picked up the cup of tea as if it were a holy relic and sipped. "Cocoa?"

"Real expensive kind, too," she continued, not noticing the sudden murderous look on Sherlock's face. "How about you boys have some tea and then come downstairs for some breakfast once you feel up to it? Mrs. Burton and I have been cooking all morning, so I hope you're hungry."

Sherlock had finished his cup of tea and was pouring another. "Sounds lovely."

With that, Mrs. Hudson bustled out the door, intent on the coming task of getting them both fed.

"Why would Mycroft send groceries?" John wondered aloud, finally reaching his cup of tea.

"Unfortunately, he knows both of us," Sherlock said, dropping back into his chair with a groan. "It's been a harrowing case, start to finish, and last night was extremely stressful. He knew you, being a doctor, would look for something to settle your nerves, something comforting and familiar. You would often drink cocoa when you were smaller, and indeed, you'd mentioned once in his hearing that it always had a calming effect on you when you were stressed. He also knew, you being a doctor and more importantly, my friend, you would insist on my having some as well so that I had something in my stomach. In addition to the health benefits like antioxidants found in chocolate, it would be a drink that a doctor and a good friend would insist on."

"Please stop babbling," John moaned, massaging one temple with his hand. "I lost you at 'he knows both of us'."

"Do keep up, John," Sherlock said. "I said that Mycroft would know both of us would have some last night once we saw it."

"Oh, is that what you said?" John said after a long sip of tea.

"Yes, that's what I said," Sherlock confirmed.

"And?"

"And, of course, it's just like my brother be a bit high-handed in making sure I got some rest," Sherlock told him.

John pulled his sleepy wits together. "So Mycroft drugged the cocoa?"

"Exactly," Sherlock confirmed, starting on his third cup of tea.

"Easy, there," John cautioned him. "You don't want to be so caffeinated that you're buzzing."

"The existence of caffeine in this world is the only reason Mycroft is still alive," Sherlock remarked calmly. "You can rest assured that I'll be telling Mummy about this, just remind me to be at least a continent away when she starts yelling at him. Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Burton will be put out if we don't make a token effort at breakfast, so let's go down and let them feed us."

"The last thing I want is breakfast," John said, heading for the bathroom. "Give me five minutes to clean up and change."

While John was busy, Sherlock also washed up and changed, and ten minutes later, they were both settled at Mrs. Hudson's table while she and Mrs. Burton dished up breakfast for them.

"Got a message from that Anthea girl," Mrs. Hudson chattered happily. "She said you'd both be hungry this morning after last night, so Myrcroft suggested a big breakfast for both of you, and then Mycroft will be by later this morning."

"We just saw him last night; why do we have to endure his presence this morning?" Sherlock asked as a plate was placed in front of him. He was about to speak again when he saw the sheer amount of food on the plate. Fried eggs, bacon, sausage, fried potatoes, tomatoes, mushrooms, buttered toast, and a cup of oatmeal. "Mrs. Hudson, am I in danger of wasting away?"

"Nonsense, dear, but you do need something in your stomach, doesn't he?" she asked Mrs. Burton.

Mrs. Burton beamed at her friend. "That he does, so go on, then." With that, they both turned to the washing in the sink and started scrubbing, chattering away.

John stared at the mountain of food in front of him and turned a little green. A little toast and perhaps some more tea would have been fine, but after being drugged the night before, this...this was torture by food. He had no doubts in his mind that this was all Mycroft's idea.

"Rowlesden used to feed me like this," Sherlock said thoughtfully, picking up a piece of toast.

John glanced at the two women, who were oblivious to what Sherlock had just said due to a discussion of next door's ugly drapes. "Did he really?"

Sherlock nodded. "If I tried to refuse food or didn't eat as much as he thought I should have, he would suggest that I might need to spend some time in the infirmary under Dr. Black's care. I had to eat a lot more if I was there."

"Breakfasts like this?"

"Not really," Sherlock admitted. "The dishes that were sent to me there were more...dainty, if you will. I suppose they were meant to tempt my appetite, and some of it actually did make me want to eat. Mrs. Burton is on a par with Mrs. Hudson when it comes to cooking." Sherlock took a big bite of toast and chewed.

"So, you've learned a lesson about skipping meals?" John asked hopefully. He hated to see Sherlock turn down food even when he knew his friend was hungry.

"Let's just say I've learned to be cautious."

John fixed Sherlock with a look. "Cautious how?"

"Just cautious." He took another bite of toast.

John looked at Sherlock munching on his toast. "I see."

"Mm-hmm," Sherlock agreed. "Marmalade?"

"Please."

They'd finished breakfast and were back upstairs in the lounge when Mycroft arrived.

"Hello, brother mine," Mycroft said lightly as he strode into the room. "How are you this morning?"

"Just fine, despite your wretched cocoa," Sherlock sniped. "I'm telling Mummy."

Mycroft blinked and stared at his brother. "You wouldn't."

"Drug me or John again, and you'll find out," Sherlock told him. "So, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

"I've come to see how you are after last night," Mycroft added. "Also, I would like to ask your help with something."

"So, you drug us, and then you want to ask for our help?" John said, amazed at Mycroft's temerity. "Are you joking?"

"I could not be more sincere," Mycroft said, his voice and demeanor dripping innocence. "I was planning to make a call on Mr. Wright and his sister this afternoon, and I would like the both of you to come with me."

"Mmm." Sherlock did not sound as if he were ready to commit to anything. "Are they at home, or the hospital?"

"He was released this morning," Mycroft replied. "He and his sister have gone to their flat and an associate of mine is keeping an eye on them, but I thought I'd stop by myself. I need the two of you to reassure them everything is okay, in regards to Rowlesden."

"And is all well in regards to Rowlesden?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft was still holding his umbrella, and his grip tightened on the handle. "We have a problem."

Sherlock fastened his gaze on his brother. "A problem? What kind of problem?"

"The problem of disappearing evidence," Mycroft said at last. "All of our files on him have been hacked and they've been erased, one by one. We don't know who is doing it or how they broke into our system, but everything, and I do mean everything, that we had on the man is gone. The most we could get him for would be Sherlock's kidnapping and that of James Wright, but anyone with a good lawyer and good behavior in prison can manage to bargain his way out before his full sentence is served."

"Oh, come now, Mycroft," Sherlock said, dropping into his chair. "Couldn't you just...arrange...something?"

"Not with the situation the way it is now," Mycroft admitted. "There's the problem of the hacking to think of, after all. We were in the midst of tracking down all of Rowlesden's resources and contacts abroad, but now that we've lost our files...we're at a standstill. His associates have also managed to wriggle out of our custody on the flimsy defense that we have only suppositions of crimes supposedly perpetrated by them. I don't doubt they're preparing to leave the country before we're able to muster enough evidence to prosecute them. Their lawyers are formidable. If we were to arrange for something to befall Rowlesden, they would cry foul, we'd lose any leverage we had, and we might never know what kind of a tangled mess he's left behind him."

"So, how are we supposed to reassure Jamie and Lacey that everything is fine in regards to Rowlesden when it isn't?"

"You could just say that England's best men are on the case and that they needn't worry," Mycroft suggested.

"That would be lying," John pointed out.

"That's despicable, Mycroft," Sherlock added.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at his brother. "And you've never lied before, little brother?"

"Well, I won't lie in this instance," Sherlock stated. "Both Lacey and Jamie trust us. We need to have them keep trusting us."

"Trust is over-rated, Sherlock."

"So says the lord and master of the free world," Sherlock muttered. "But, we will go with you to see them, won't we, John?"

"Yeah, sure," John agreed idly. He was glad he was sitting across the room from the two brothers rather than between them. They looked ready to go for each other's throats at any moment. Mycroft wanted Sherlock to lie and Sherlock wouldn't and he was angry about it, and Sherlock was angry that Mycroft wanted him to lie. The last time the two brothers had been this angry at each other, things had gotten very dodgy, indeed.

"Will you at least agree not to say anything about the hacked computer files?" Mycroft asked for the hundredth time during the short car ride to Jamie's and Lacey's flat.

"Let's not and say we did," Sherlock answered, gazing out the window. "I see you still have watchers on them."

"It would be foolish not to have them," Mycroft reminded Sherlock.

"Could they be any more obvious?"

John was glad the doors were locked. Mycroft looked on the verge of tossing Sherlock out of the car while they were en route. "They're not obvious, Sherlock."

"Of course they are."

John had had enough. "If you two don't knock it off right now, I'll tell Mrs. Hudson, and then I'll phone Mrs. Holmes."

Two pairs of eyes fastened on him in horror. "You wouldn't!"

It was pretty amusing when both of them said the same words at the exact same time. "I would," John said calmly. "That is, I would if you don't both shut up. I can only take so much, you know."

Anthea's voice came back to them from the front seat where she sat with the driver. "Hear, hear."

Mycroft looked like a volcano that was ready to erupt at any moment, but thankfully they pulled up to stop in front of the flat before anything could happen. As soon as they rang the bell Lacey flew out of the door and jumped right into Sherlock's arms. "You're here! You're here! You're here!"

"Hello, Lacey," Sherlock said, returning the hug. "How are you?"

"Frustrated," Lacey stated, pulling Sherlock up the stairs and into the flat. "Will you talk some SENSE into Jamie?"

"Sense about what?" Sherlock wanted to know as Lacey ushered them into the sitting room.

Jamie was curled up in a chair, his arms wrapped around his knees. He actually glared at his little sister. "Don't think that Mr. Holmes is going to help you, Lacey. My mind's made up."

Mr. Holmes brought Sherlock up short. If a person was distressed then it would be easy for him or her to fall back into old patterns of behavior, especially those formed under stressful events. Jamie's captivity with Rowlesden definitely counted as such an event, and during that time, he'd referred to Sherlock as Mr. Holmes.

This was not good. Not good at all. "What is that you don't want Jamie to do?" he asked Lacey.

"He wants to go see Rowlesden."

Sherlock had to sit down quickly. He knew for certain that his knees wouldn't hold him. "What?"

"I need to know the man's locked up," Jamie said shortly. "I need to see him locked up and under guard. Otherwise, I'll always be expecting him to jump out of the shadows at me."

"And going to see him is a good idea because of that one reason? Lacey demanded. "You're a shaking wreck now!"

"And I'll shake myself to pieces if that's what's needed, little sister, but I want to go see him!"

"You're a bloody idiot!" Lacey almost screamed, shocking all of them. "If you get anywhere close to him...he'll hurt you! I know he will!" A moment later her face crumpled and she collapsed into a sobbing heap on the rug.

John seemed to know what to do. He simply crouched down next to Lacey, picked her up, and sat down with her, holding her on his lap as if she were still a small child. "Easy, there. Try to breathe a little, hey? That's right. Another breath, now."

Lacey calmed, and for a little while the only sound in the flat was her quiet sobbing. Jamie left his seat and sat down next to John and took his sister's hand.

"I know you're scared for me," Jamie said at last. "I understand. I wouldn't want anyone hurting you ever, but this is something I feel I have to do. Please understand that, Lacey."

Still sniffling, Lacey lifted her face from John's shoulder and met her brother's eyes. "Then I'm coming, too."

Protest on all sides was immediate, but Lacey rose to her feet and regarded all four men and Anthea with a composure that would have been envied in Buckingham Palace. "I would like to come, too, Jamie. I...would feel better about this whole thing if I were there, too."

Jamie gave his sister a long, long look. "There isn't any way I can dissuade you, is there?"

Lacey grinned. "Having my friends over for a sleepover would be nice."

Jamie looked as if all the hounds of hell were baying for his heart. "Oh...no. No, no, no. Absolutely not!"

Anthea chuckled. "What's so bad about a sleepover?"

Lacey's grin grew even wider. "All of my friends think he's cuuuuuute!"

One stifled chortle of laughter from John made all of them crack up. Slowly, one by one, each of them became breathless with laughter while Jamie groaned and hid his face in embarrassment.

John slipped from his seat and landed on the floor, laughing so hard that his breath hissed in and out. "A house full of young girls who think you're cute! What did you do, hide in your room all night?"

"Practically," Jamie muttered.

"And how did you take a shower?!" John howled, the hilarity of the situation hitting him again.

"I didn't. Not until they'd left, anyway."

Sherlock fought to keep his snickering under control. The situation was pretty funny, but Jamie doubtless thought it equal to a trial of Hercules. "Okay, so in order to avoid a sleepover, what are you going to do?"

Jamie groaned again. "All right, all right, you can come, Lacey. But you're not to be anywhere near him alone, got it?"

"Yes, big brother," Lacey said sweetly. "Got it!"

"Okay, then," Jamie said, giving his sister a squeeze around the shoulders. "Mr. Holmes, do you think you can arrange for me to see Rowlesden?"

"Of course," Mycroft said evenly. "I can phone and let them know we're coming."

A breathless shriek from Lacey made everyone pause.

"Right now?" she said in horror. "Right now? I can't go over there like this! I have at least wash my face and comb my hair...!" She stopped and fixed everyone with a steely eye. "Nobody move. Got me? Understand? Nobody go anywhere until I'm ready! I'll be just five minutes!" So saying, she darted off down the hall and into her room.

"I love when she panics like that," Jamie said fondly. "It helps me remember that she's just a girl after all."

A chime from Mycroft's phone broke into the good mood. Mycroft looked at his text message and actually paled.

"What's the matter, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

"Just a headache," Mycroft said lightly. A twitch in his right thumb alerted Sherlock that not all was well. "I'll make some calls, yell at a few people, and then it'll be better."

"Well, while you're doing that, I'm going to change," Jamie said, getting to his feet and brushing his knees off. "Back in a moment."

"What is it?" Sherlock asked quietly once Jamie was gone.

"We now no longer have a leg to stand on when it comes to prosecuting Rowlesden," Mycroft sighed. "We'll be able to get him for two counts of kidnapping, at least, as well as what he did to Mr. Wright, but...the rest of it is gone. It will be a miracle if we manage to recover any of it."

"What?" John said, not following. "How can...?"

"He had a very efficient hacker," Mycroft told them. "I felt all this time as if I had my finger in a dam, trying to stop a leak from a crack that just kept getting bigger and bigger." He got up and started to pace. "Damn!"

Sherlock pulled out his phone and started texting. Two texts later, Mycroft noticed. "What are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Checking on something," Sherlock said. "Remember when I disappeared for a few days? I was out...checking on things. Possibilities of hacking had occurred to me, so I checked on that, too." He paused and read the latest message. "He'll have to get back to me."

Mycroft glared at his brother. "Have you been poking about, Sherlock?"

"If things pan out well, then you should be glad I did," Sherlock said evenly. "If they don't pan out well, then you can yell at me."

Mycroft looked on the verge of yelling no matter what, but Lacey's and Jamie's return stopped him. He made a quick phone call and then a car arrived to take them all to where Rowlesden was being held.

"It'll go up and down the same way no matter how many times you push the button, Lacey," Jamie said ten minutes later. "Trust me."

"But it's fun," Lacey reminded her brother. "We could have a race!"

"Please stop playing with the window, children," Mycroft sighed. "We're almost there."

Lacey smiled and left the window alone. "Oh, boy. I can hardly wait."

Her gleeful tone surprised them all. "Really?" Jamie asked.

Her smile grew even bigger. "Really. Jamie, did you know that if you smile, people think you're up to something?"

"You're evil, child," Jamie said, putting an arm around his sister. "Are you thinking of playing with Rowlesden's head?"

"Maybe."

"I suggest you don't," Jamie told her. "He's had a lot more experience playing with people's heads."

Lacey didn't say anything, but Sherlock noted that she was still smiling. If he knew anything about her, then he knew for certain that she was already planning a bit of mental torture for Rowlesden. Interesting. Very interesting.

The car stopped ten minutes later in front of a large house in the suburbs. Despite being surrounded by high stone wall, it managed to look inviting and entirely hospitable. John stared out the window at it and looked at Mycroft. "Wait a minute. You're keeping Rowlesden here?"

"It's a secure location," Mycroft stated. "If Rowlesden manages to escape from this house, then he deserves to."

"He deserves drawing and quartering," Lacey muttered as they pulled through the gate and up to the front of the house. The driver got out and opened her door first. "Let's go see to it, shall we?"

Mycroft looked at Jamie and raised an eyebrow. "Is she always this bloodthirsty?"

"Only when it comes to the people she loves," Jamie answered. "Doubly so when it's me, and I'm not boasting, either."

"Your boasting would not occur to me," Mycroft told him.

"Out of curiosity, why are you keeping him here?" Jamie asked as they headed up the front stairs. It was a charming gray stone house with a tidy front garden and it looked like the picture of suburban bliss. He'd expected Rowlesden to be in at least a prison or a mental hospital; anywhere but a place like this.

"Appearances are deceiving, Mr. Wright," Mycroft said as he opened the front door. "On the outside, you see a fine family home. On the inside, however, it's quite different." So saying, he stepped inside, leaving the rest of them to follow.

The outside, as it turned out, was merely window-dressing. Inside, it looked like something out of a spy novel. There was only a lobby with an elevator, which took them two levels down before it opened. Sherlock found himself wondering just how many of these places his brother had access to. A man was there to meet them and he ushered them all into a room behind a two-way mirror. In the room beyond was a table and two chairs.

"Mr. Holmes, have you ever read the James Bond books?" Lacey asked innocently.

He gave her a long look. "Don't be impudent, child."

She smiled again, amusement in her eyes. "I'm a child. It's my job."

The door in the room beyond opened, and Rowlesden was led in by two men. Sherlock heard Jamie suck in his breath and he moved closer to the two-way mirror, his arms wrapped around his body. "Can he see or hear us in here?"

"No," Mycroft assured him. "He won't know we're here until we let him know."

Rowlesden shifted in his seat and looked right at them. "Come now, Mr. Holmes. How long are you going to make me wait?"