The American Fire that Melted the Ice Man (Mycroft Holmes x OC - BBC Sherlock)

Chapter 18: Gone

When Sophia came home that evening from work, Mycroft was already there. "Hello dear, how was your day?" he asked as he watched her come through from the entry way and walk through to the stairs, already trudging up to go to their room. He presumed to get into something more comfortable. Though usually she would stop and give him a kiss before doing so.

"It was a day," she grumbled.

He frowned. They'd made such progress after yesterday's concerns, and he'd thought she was back to her normal self. He stood, folding his paper as he did so and leaving it in his chair before following her up.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he followed her into their room. "Another bad day?"

"Yes."

"A similar case?" he asked, and it was only his years of political and corporate negotiation that enabled him to remain straight faced, showing only the concern of any average husband.

"No. Just ridiculous things that made the day harder. Tools misplaced or not charged properly, Molly and I met for lunch today and this total jerk ran into my table and knocked my drink over—" she turned then waving her hand in front of her jumper. "All over the new jumper you got me last week. Then, I was walking to the car after work and this other car drove past and went right through a puddle and got muddy water all over my trousers. I look a mess, and I feel even worse. It reminds me of a book my mother used to read me—something about a terrible no-good day."

She was already pulling the soiled jumper off, leaving a thin undershirt covering her remaining underclothes, when Mycroft made it to stand in front of her and ran his hands over her now bare arms. "I'm so sorry dear. Another bath?"

She shook her head. "Not this time. I was thinking of some hot tea, a good book, and that new record you bought the other day when we went to the shops. What do you think?"

He smiled at her. "That sounds lovely. I'll go make the tea while you get into something more comfortable. I'll join you in the library."

She smiled back and raised up to her tip toes to give him a gentle kiss. "Thank you, love."

*****

Mycroft stood in the kitchen, waiting on the tea to boil, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

Misplaced tools, spilled drink on jumper at cafe, puddle splashed from passing car. Normally I would chalk it up to a collection of chance. But not now. I fear we're being toyed with, and Sophia is the pawn. ~MH

Patience, brother. We're narrowing down the suspects. Can you review CCTV footage? -SH

Not till later this evening. -MH

The tea whistled, ending the text conversation as he finalized preparations and after picking up his newspaper from where he'd left it in the sitting room, carried the tea tray into the library where Sophia sat curled up in a large chair by the fireplace. Mycroft sat the tray on the table between their chairs and went to the side table to place the new record they'd picked out at a local shop. Soon Clare de Lune began playing through the speakers and Sophia hummed as she sipped on the tea. "This—this is heaven. This makes everything better," she said as she smiled at him in such an adoring manner that he was certain, as always, that he truly didn't deserve. "And now, tell me about your day. I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier. I was still a bit caught up in my own personal misery."

"My day was caught up in some investigation and negotiations, paperwork—always my favorite," he said with his best sarcastic smirk that made her chuckle.

"Oh, so your day was as lovely as mine, then?"

"Oh yes, quite lovely."

"Well, at least we can end it on a high note—together."

"Agreed," he said, now with a sincere smile.

He opened his paper, and she her book, and they enjoyed the companionable silence.

*****

It had been a particularly rough day for Sophia, but in another one of his incredible displays of care and compassion (the ones that he swore to her were totally out of character in his interactions with anyone else) Mycroft had managed to improve her mood and lighten her spirits. They'd spent much of the evening enjoying the quiet of each other's company, reading and listening to music. She'd convinced him to play a game of Scrabble which always ended in them playfully arguing over her use of the American spelling of words and his use of the British.

By the end of the game, she was ready for bed, and Mycroft was focused on getting into his home office to begin studying CCTV footage and trying to determine if he had been right—that there really were nefarious plans at work that somehow involved making things difficult for his wife.

They walked up the stairs together, hand-in-hand, and when they arrived at the door to his study, she rested her hands on his chest and smiled up at him, a twinkle in her eyes. "Don't stay up too late working, okay? Come to bed soon."

He slipped his hand into hers and lifted it to his lips. "I shall endeavor to be there as soon as possible. As much as I hate to use the phrase, I'm afraid I might need to—don't wait up. It might be a while."

She nodded, ever understanding of his odd work hours. "Then, if I am asleep, wake me when you come to bed. Okay?"

"I can hardly refuse such a request," he said as he leaned in and gave her a kiss. "Goodnight, darling."

"Goodnight, love."

*****

Sophia entered their bedroom, a smile still on her face. She was just about to flip the light switch when a female voice whispered. "You probably shouldn't turn on the light, Mrs. Holmes."

She gasped, frozen in place with her hand still lightly resting on the switch plate by the door.

"Lower your hand," the voice whispered again, and she felt them step out from their hiding place behind the door, gently closing it as they did.

Sophia did as she was told and spoke quietly and calmly, "Whoever you are, whatever you want—I'm sure we can work something out."

"Oh, I'm going to get what I want, and you're just what I need to do it." As the voice spoke that time, she felt what she knew was a pistol push into her back.

"Who are you?" Sophia whispered, not daring to turn to see the person.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Holmes, you'll know soon enough."

*****

Mycroft rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was definitely something going on. And while the previous days emotional toll was quite intense, it and todays incidents were fairly mild. Just enough for Mycroft to take notice, but not enough to truly put his wife in danger. What game were they playing? Whatever it was—he hadn't learned anything more about their identity from the footage.

He considered his wife's invitation from earlier—Wake me when you come to bed. Okay? And with that, he shut down his computer for the night, determined to do just that.

****

Gone. She was gone, and Mycroft Holmes was frantic. He'd entered their room to find the bed empty. Checked the bathroom. Empty.

The entire house was empty.

She was gone.