The door opened, and a stern faced woman escorted her into an interrogation room, chaining her to the metal table before another door opened to let in Mycroft Holmes. He stared at the bulge that the grey prison shirt and trousers were unable to hide.

"Do you think that wearing a corset at your stage of fecundity was wise?"

"Did you bring me here to criticize my dress sense?"

"You know why you are here. We had an agreement."

"I just paid a visit to my husband. Is that a crime?"

"It is, when you are found bearing a gun, a false passport, and three thousand pounds cash."

"I was shopping for Christmas presents."

He raised his eyebrow, then took a seat across from her. "And before this 'shopping trip', you visited your husband. To say goodbye, perhaps. I wouldn't have thought you the sentimental type."

"I told John that I lost the baby. I thought that it would be easier that way."

"Easier to do what?"

"To do what you've asked me to do. To work for you."

"We had arranged for you to continue to live with Dr. Watson."

"That only works if I want to live with him, which I don't. Besides, Magnussen has put a contract out on my life."

"Yes. It is unfortunate, but we are working on it?"

"Working on it? How?"

"We may be able to get Magnussen to cancel your contract. He is amenable to trade."

"A man almost shot me today. He was able to find me, do you think that others won't? My cover here is blown. I need to find a new place for me and my child."

"Dr. Watson's child."

"I told him that she was gone, and he believed me. Let me go now, and he never need know that that's not true."

"And why would you have me betray his trust by lying to him?"

"Because as long as I am with him, he is a target. It is neater this way, and I know for a fact that you have no problem with lying."

"How do I know that you won't run, like you did in Brazil."

"I won't run... Oh!" Mary exclaimed pulling back from the table, the handcuffs tugging against her wrists. "It was you, wasn't it! You gave Magnussen the USB stick so that he would blackmail me. You had access to my file. You always knew who I was. That's why you didn't come to the wedding."

Mycroft frowned, but she thought she detected respect in the crinkle of his eye. "Now why would I want to do that?"

"To control me, to contain me. Oh God, you were the one who threw John into the fire!"

"What makes you think so?"

"I met Magnussen. I talked to him. He wouldn't know how to write a skip code to save his life. All that clever wordplay. Someone knew exactly what to say. Someone who knew that Sherlock was reading the texts as well as I. Who else could have watched us moving around London? No one other than Mycroft Holmes, the man with cameras all over the city. You were working with Magnussen. I know you were, but why would you? Oh! 'Fire reveals where our true priorities lie.'"

The corner of Mycroft's mouth raised in a smirk. "When you needed help, you went to Sherlock. John was threatened, and you did everything that you could to save his life. It was sufficient to prove the sincerity of your affections."

"You weasel! He could have died!"

"There were people standing by. He only suffered minor damage. I thought it had revealed your loyalties, but somehow, I had miscalculated. Why did you shoot Sherlock Holmes?"

"Seriously? You throw my husband into a fire, and then you criticize me for shooting your brother?"

"He was your… friend."

"He's John's friend. But You! You let your brother walk into that office uninformed. You let him go in blind! This was your fault as well as mine."

"I told him to stay away from Magnussen!" Mycroft yelled. Then he took a deep breath and put on his falsest smile. "And no. The fault is nowhere near the same. It is a false dichotomy. It was you who held the gun, not I."

"Let me go." Mary demanded, "Give me back my passport, and get me safely out of this country. I want you to get Magnussen to cancel the contract on my life, and for you never to tell John that his daughter is still alive."

"And why do you believe that I will agree to any of your demands?"

"Because if you kill me, Sherlock might find out, and if he knows, John will too, and if John thinks that you murdered his wife and unborn child, he will not rest until you are dead, and your brother will help him do it."

"My brother is in a coma because of you!"

"And will you take the chance that he will never recover? That when he does, he won't use every bit of his faculties to find out the truth of what happened?"

Mycroft Holmes stroked the bottom of his chin.

"If I release you, you'll never make it to that barge. There are already three people in town hoping to take up that contract, and if they kill you, there will be nothing to link it back to me."

"You know of my family?."

"Yes."

"We can help you. You know my skill set. You know of my family's connections. We could… aid you, unofficially. Give you information. Work with you in ways that are off the books, but will ultimately be of extreme value to you."

"How can you promise these things? You have no standing with your family. You aren't their leader."

"Not yet, but I will be. Do you doubt it? John is my husband, and Sherlock and John are like brothers. That makes you almost one of the family. Help us, and my daughter and I will remember who to thank."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, then he motioned and the guard unlocked her handcuffs.

"We'll return your things, and my private jet will drop you wherever you wish to go, but I will remember what you said, and if you want my "niece" to remain safely in your care, then I suggest you keep your end of the agreement. My people will take you straight to the airport, but I can send someone to your house if there is anything else that you need. For reasons that go without saying, it would be unwise of you to retrieve them yourself."

"Thank you," Mary said rubbing her wrists. "I have a bag packed in my room, and I would like… could you have someone bring the solar system mobile, and the baby's quilt. It should be in the crib."

"The quilt? The one made by Dr Watson's grandmother?"

"Yes, that one. I like the color."

"Of course," he said, the curve of his lips telling her that he knew that it wasn't just the color that made her want it. The smile that showed that he knew that Sherlock Holmes wasn't the only one with a sentimental attachment to John Watson.

...

Rosamund Watson Alexandros was born some months later in the same room where Ana had been born, safe and surrounded by family. Ana held her daughter in her arms, swaddled in her great grandmother's quilt. She was a beauty with deep, dark blue eyes, and wisps of blond hair peeking out from under her white knit cap, her tiny feet kept warm by a pair of hand knit white stockings.