Devil Take The Hindmost •Sequel To Life Is But A Dream•

•A Scandal In Belgravia: Part Four•

Chapter Four: If Only

"I'll be mother." Mycroft said later, after Sherlock had reluctantly put some clothes on.
"And there is his whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock said. I still stood while the four men sat on the couches facing each other: Sherlock and John on one and Mycroft and his friend on the other.

"My employer has a problem." he began.
"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, your name has arisen." Mycroft explained.
"Why? You have a police force of sorts. Even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?" Sherlock asked, and I mentally agreed. If this was so important, why did they was Sherlock?
"People do come to you for help, don't they Mr. Holmes?" Mycroft's friend asked.
"Not to date, anyone with a Navy." Sherlock sassed.
"This is a matter of the highest security," Mycroft stated, then glanced at me. "and therefore, of trust.

"That being said, I will have to ask Ms. Watson over here to be excused from any further discussion of this meeting." He requested. The men then looked at me, with the exception of Sherlock. I felt my milky skin turn pink at the attention; also because Mycroft called me "Ms. Watson."
"Excuse me?" I squeaked.
"Anything you can tell Sherlock and I, you can tell her." John said, then hesitantly smiled at me.
"Oh let her leave. This is just holding us back." Sherlock said, and I shrugged my shoulders.

"O-okay." I said, my words delaying the sound so it sounded like a whisper. I walked over to the entrance where Sherlock came in as they resumed their conversation. Glancing back at them, I noticed John looking in my direction. He nodded, and I proceeded, every step like I was on a tightrope.
I was very tempted to linger at the wall dividing the ornate hall with the great room, and eavesdrop on the conversation. My thoughts on that did make me stop, but not listen. Blood pounding in my head from the previous spotlight was still easing into a calm pulse.

I sat down several meters away from the entrance to the hall, and pulled out my phone. No messages, thank god, I thought as relief washed over. But something made me feel... disappointed... like I expected a message... I shook the thought into extinction as I plugged in some music and fell asleep.
*
It was in the years past, on Christmas. John let me wear his oversized jumper with Father Christmas on a reindeer whenever I spent the holiday at his flat he owned before leaving. We smiled as tunes played on the radio. That's all I heard. We spoke, but no words could be heard. The door rang, and John wanted to get it. I stopped him and smiled, something I wouldn't see myself do in the years to come. I went to the door and opened it to a snowy night, and looked down at the threshold. The music stopped as I turned around to what I assumed was John calling me. Quickly, I bent down to pick up the object camouflaging in the snow: a white rose. I lifted my head only to have myself be jerked away and my mouth being covered. The stern face of Jim Moriarty teased me as the world went dark.
*
I woke in a shiver, and my breaths short and choppy. John was at my eye level, and we were alone.
"Aspen? You okay?" He asked, his face iced with concern. "You were mumbling in your sleep. I sent Sherlock to get a cab."
My words were switched with the sounds of incoherent noises combined with breaths I still inhaled as John helped me up. That, for sure, would never leave my mind. I couldn't bear the thought of that man haunting my dreams, if I can ever sleep again...
*
Back at the flat, I read my book to try and calm down as Sherlock noisily throws clothes about his room. I looked up to see John becoming irritated, until he finally asks, "what are you doing?"
"I'm going into battle, John." Sherlock yelled from his room. "I need the right armour." Almost after that he appeared in the doorway with a bright yellow jacket those construction workers wear, I think.
"Aspen! You're going to need your glasses!" He called from the room. I raised an eyebrow to John before heading into the other room to grab the case.

In the cab, I sat in the front, my arms neatly folded against my book I held on my chest.
"Just here, please." Sherlock ordered the driver, and we stopped.
"You didn't even change your clothes." John said.
"The. It's time to add a splash of colour." Sherlock joked as they got out. I waited a moment before following them, mostly because I assumed this wasn't our destination: a random alley.

"Punch me in the face." Sherlock said, stopping. I did a double take at the statement.
"Punch you?" John asked.
"Yes, Punch me in the face," Sherlock repeated, tapping his right cheek, "didn't you hear me?"
"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you speak, but it's usually subtext." John admitted.
I shrug my shoulders in agreement, making Sherlock roll his eyes in exasperation.
"Oh for gods sakes." he said to himself before throwing a blow to John's face.

I jumped back, dropping my book and glasses. Just as John preps up and returns the punch to Sherlock, I squat to pick up my materials. 'Great,' I thought, 'they're cracked.'
"Ow." John cursed under his breath as he examined his knuckle, apparently cutting himself on Sherlock's cheek.
"Thank you, John that was-" he began, but John is occupied with interrupting Sherlock's thanks by tackling him to the ground.
"Hey John- my glasses they're-" I start, getting closer to the beating Sherlock was getting. I examined them to see a fracture that resembled a spider web, then focused my eyes on John holding Sherlock in a choke on his back.

"You have to remember, Sherlock. I was a Solider. I killed people." John strained, very intended on getting even with Sherlock's punch.
"You were a doctor." Sherlock laboured out of what looked like John's tightening grip.
"I had bad days!" John stated.
"Guys- guys stop." I started, folding my glasses carefully and placed them on top of my book that rested on the ground.

I went over to the duo and attempted to pry John off, ending with John reluctantly getting off Sherlock.
"I was trying to tell you my glasses broke." I told the two, with Sherlock panting for air.
"Perfect. It'll work perfectly." he said his voice hoarse. "Put them on, and come with me."