Chapter Seventeen:

"Miss Adler, I trust you are as comfortable as you can be in these circumstances?" The question was politely phrased. Irene looked at the man in the three piece suit who had uttered it to her and wondered if it was attempt to be ironic.

"Well, Mister Holmes, I can't say this is a five star hotel. And I'm not exactly used to being asked to strip naked and endure a cavity search. Just doesn't happen in the places I'm used to frequenting. Not to mention the rather fetching concept they have here of suitable clothing." She fingered the synthetic fabric of the prison jumpsuit she was wearing. "And when it comes to shoes, well, I am afraid that prison grey just isn't my colour," gesturing at the flat canvas slip-ons. Irene kept her tone mocking and light. No need to provoke him until she knew how his attempt to foil Moriarty had gone.

He gave a bland smile back. They were sitting across from one another in what was clearly an interrogation room. She'd been brought to the Pine Woods facility by Carlton two days ago. It had been about a two hour drive from the Holmes Estate by her estimation, but it was hard to be certain, because she had neither a watch, nor eyes to watch the road during their journey- the tight blindfold had seen to that.

"So, how've you got along over the last two days? Make any progress?"

"Yes, Miss Adler, I did. Your evidence has proved useful to me. Moriarty now knows that he has lost this battle, and at some considerable expense to his network. I have no doubt that he will feel aggrieved at you personally, for your part in that."

"You know just what to say to please a girl, don't you, Mister Holmes?" This time the sarcasm was laid on thicker by Irene. "So, having ensured that he will want to kill me, are you going to hand me over to him, now that I am no longer of any use to you?"

"There is nothing to be gained by me in so doing. Why should I allow him the pleasure?"

Irene once again realised that James Moriarty's name for Mycroft Holmes was apt. Iceman, indeed. "Then what do you intend to do with me?"

"Keep you safe for a little while longer. My people are working on the phone contents now. No doubt, there will be questions that need answering. When we no longer have need of you, then we will let you go. In what manner we do that depends on your answers to those questions."

"And what's really in it for me to answer those questions?"

"There is such a thing as building good will, Miss Adler, something that you would be well advised to do, given your situation."

She decided a diversionary tactic was needed. "How's Sherlock? Recovered from air sickness yet? How did you manage to conceal his involvement in the Flight 007 debacle from the powers that be?"

She faced a pair of steely eyes. "That is no longer your concern, Miss Adler. He is no longer your concern. When I do release you, and I will at some point, it will be under the strict proviso that you have no further contact with my brother of any kind. Should I find that rule being broken, then I will have no compunctions at all about telling James Moriarty exactly where you are. In fact, I might even send the man an engraved invitation."

That provoked a smirk. "Has anyone ever told you that you are a little overprotective of your little brother? He is not a child, I can assure you." She made the comment in a suggestive tone, as if in possession of conclusive proof that Sherlock was a capable and willing partner in a rather adult relationship.

"You can stop the innuendo, Miss Adler. I know my brother. While I am sure he will have been ...fascinated… by you, I know that the attraction was cerebral and is now over. You don't know my brother, so let me explain something. He once caught an adder on the estate, and kept it in a bottle for a week. He was intrigued by it, in part because it looked so innocuous and yet had such a deadly venom. He caught mice to feed it so he could watch how it killed its prey. When he got bored of watching it, he dissected it to discover how the venom injection through the snake's fangs worked. I think he still has the skeleton of it in his flat on Baker Street. He does that sometimes- gets distracted by dangerous creatures. He gets over it, moves onto another obsession."

That's when Irene realised that Mycroft Holmes didn't really understand his brother. Not the way she did, anyway. She supposed that it would be a handicap to have all that history to deal with; lots of baggage in their relationship, no doubt. The Sherlock she knew was not so…incapable as his brother seemed to think he was. In fact, this time around, Irene had been impressed. Sherlock seemed calmer, more in control, more thoughtful and less impulsive than seven months ago. And, God, smarter, too; smart enough to figure out the password to the phone, when he'd not been able to for months. Wonder what happened in the interval? While she'd been busy trying to hide with Kate, he'd clearly been sorting some things out. Look out, big brother. Sherlock may yet surprise you.

But she had no illusions about the chance to see that for herself. She'd spent a sleepless night at the Holmes estate, sitting wrapped up in a sheet (I can see the appeal now, Sherlock), thinking everything through. When the elder Holmes let her out, and she knew he would eventually, she'd have to run fast and bury herself deep. Given the situation, she had taken the painful decision to leave Kate waiting alone at the rendezvous point. Given the likelihood that Moriarty would catch up with Irene at some point, sooner or later, it would be madness to lead him to her. I'm sorry, Love; I just can't bear the thought of you being killed in front of my eyes. She knew Moriarty well enough to know that is exactly what he would do. So, Irene would head east- somewhere totally unexpected. She loved Kate enough to say goodbye to her for good, and that surprised her. She'd always thought her selfishness would not allow such a sacrifice. The thought of Kate alive but alone was easier to bear somehow. She felt her eyes tearing up at the thought of how much she would miss her.

"Are you alright, Miss Adler; you seem…distressed." Coolly, Mycroft was watching her. And probably concluding the wrong thing, that she was upset by the idea that Sherlock would be off limits in the future. Let him think what he wants. I don't care, as long as it isn't the truth. I trust Sherlock more than his own brother does. She knew she was in protective custody because of the way that Sherlock had manipulated Mycroft into thinking he despised her. What does Sherlock really think? She didn't know.

oOo

John Watson was wrestling with the same question. He was half dozing in his chair, after a long shift at the Urgent Care Unit, when he heard the front door onto Baker Street bang shut. He waited, listening to see if it was Mrs Hudson, back from the bingo she went to on Tuesday nights with Mrs Turner next door. Then he heard the first footstep on the stairs and knew from the sound of it that Sherlock was home. The doctor took a deep breath and smiled. At last; the prodigal returns.

As the seventh step creaked its traditional welcome, John wondered what his flatmate's mood would be. He'd texted John yesterday morning, a somewhat cryptic but reassuring proof of life.

2.34pm Walking home to Baker Street, just passed Dorking. Phone off to save battery. SH

Home from where? John had to look up where Dorking was; to him it was just a station on a rail line somewhere south of London. Then he spent a bit of time on Google Earth, trying to figure out where Sherlock might have come from and which route he would take back to London, not to mention why. Given what notAnthea had said, John guessed that Sherlock would have probably started at the estate in West Sussex. John realised then that his friend had not called that place "home"; Baker Street had usurped pride of place. That fact pleased John immensely, although he would have to be hard pressed to admit it to anyone.

With Sherlock's phone off, there wasn't much reason to text back, but later that evening, John had done so anyway.

11.23pm Rivers! Arun-North-Mole- Ember- Thames at Hampton Court?

This morning when he looked at his phone, there was a reply.

04.12am The Science of Deduction- you're learning. SH

That brought a smile to John's face that lasted throughout a particularly busy morning shift.

The boots now clumping on the wooden floor from the stair landing towards the living room were not Sherlock's usual soft leather shoes, so John was prepared for a difference in clothing when the door opened. But the sight of the tall brunet in dark tight jeans and a navy cabled pullover, with a torn waxed cotton coat that had seen better days, as well as muddy hiking boots- well, the effect was very county, not city. The battered tweed flat cap completed the picture.

The doctor affected nonchalance. "So, fancied a walk, then?"

"Hm." The hat was tossed onto the side table, along with keys, phone and wallet. The coat came off and took its place on a peg beside the Belstaff, which had been delivered by one of Mycroft's minions with the suit he'd left behind. Sherlock then walked over to his chair and sank down into it, bending over his boots to untie them and wrench them off. A moment later, the socks followed and then he pushed his bare feet toward the fire, leaning back and closing his eyes with a contented sigh.

John got up. "Fancy a cuppa?"

"Hmm."

The doctor took that as a yes. "Piece of toast?"

"Even better."

When the toast and tea were delivered, John took his seat again. "Want to talk about it?"

With his mouth full of toast, Sherlock shook his head. After swallowing that bite, he said, "Can't. Mycroft would have kittens. Classified and all that silliness."

"You figured out the phone password then?"

Sherlock looked amused. "Your powers of deduction are improving."

"Out of curiosity, what was it?"

His flatmate smirked. "That shall have to remain secret, John. But, it proved her undoing."

"Likely to see The Woman again, are we?"

"Doubt it; she's now in custody and being debriefed by Mycroft's minions, so highly unlikely. Anyway, that's all over. Not worth wasting any more time talking about it." After another mouthful of toast, Sherlock washed it down with a long pull at his mug of tea. Then, re-energised, he said "Pass me your laptop; I want to check if there's anything new on the website in the way of a potential case."

And that was that.

Author's note: Of course, we all know better! But from John's point of view, he would have thought the Scandal in Belgravia was over. It was only several months later that Miss Adler would reappear in Sherlock's life and then even longer before John learned of her fate. Those events will be covered in the right time sequence in my later story, Fallen Angel, which should start to appear in November. Between then and now, a few detours. We are off next to the country again, in The Shooting Party, which I have just started writing, as well as Hellish Hound, when we go to Dartmoor, one of my favourite places in England.

On a personal note, this weekend marks the first anniversary of the first time I posted a story on FF. I started with Talking When You're Not There- which is set exactly in time after this Level Up story- just after the main part of the Scandal broadcast episode. How ironic is that? If you fancy it, have a read of it (or a re-read), in light of all the other stories in my universe since, and see if you think it still holds, and my treatment of Sherlock is consistent. I'd be grateful for any thoughts on that and what has happened in my writing since I first wrote it. One year later, and over a half million words written about Sherlock, I find myself extremely grateful for the friends I have made, the stories by other people that I have read, and the opportunity to let my imagination play with these wonderful characters. Thank you for reading. Without you, I would never have bothered to write a second story.