The Emotional Children

XVI

"Something you couldn't have told me over the phone, brother dear?"

"I called you every three hours for the last day and a half!"

Sherlock was angrily stumped. That much was true. He struggled for the words, then blurted: "You—you could have emailed me!"

John rolled his eyes. "Here we go," he breathed.

"Everyone out immediately," Mycroft demanded, shooing John and Mrs. Hudson (who was still holding Rosie) toward the door. John protested.

"No, hang on—" he said, gawking in the door way.

"This is a family matter, Doctor Watson—"

"Let him in, Mycroft! Damn it, you ought to know by now. John is family," Sherlock argued, flopping himself down into the client chair like a pouty child. John coughed and let himself past Mycroft.

"Do have a seat, Doctor Watson," Mycroft said in a forced croon, making himself smile and looking like he was in pain the whole time.

"Yeah, I will, thanks," John replied, sitting in his armchair. Mycroft came to sit in Sherlock's chair opposite him. Sherlock fidgeted. His Asperger's was suffering horribly as he waited for his brother to get to the point.

"You don't understand why I trust Miss Adler. I suppose I ought to have told you sooner. But . . . well . . . " Mycroft stopped. He studied his brother before continuing. "I said that I learned of Miss Adler's continued existence six months later when she was living in Kiev. I didn't say how I knew that."

Sherlock sighed. "Do continue, Mycroft."

"Miss Adler was still The Woman after you rescued her, Sherlock. Roaming Europe, she was able to secure business for herself by returning to solicit her services to her previous clients. Surviving off of profits she had reserved in case things went to hell (which they did), she began to reestablish her reputation. Eventually, she found herself in the middle of an affair with a prominent Ukrainian government official. I'm afraid I cannot name names."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and mouthed "of course you can't." Mycroft sighed angrily.

"The man was engaged to be married," he continued, talking as composedly as he could through an annoyed huff, "to a member of our own British Parliament, and the scandalous affair Miss Adler was having with the woman's fiancé would have caused a great uproar, both at home and abroad. And, of course, she had incriminating photographs of herself and the Ukrainian. In explicit situations.

"But instead of baiting Parliament as she had done before, Miss Adler remained quiet. She didn't want to make money off of blackmailing this time, it would seem. Nevertheless, she was found out, and the Ukrainians had arranged her execution unbeknownst to her.

"As this was a matter of British importance—as well as Ukrainian importance—I caught wind of a certain mysterious 'Woman' who had weaseled her way into the affair. I also heard of the execution the Ukrainians had planned for her. There was only one woman, and I knew that Irene Adler was alive. When I learned that she was about to die, I did not want that happening."

"Why?" Sherlock instantly asked, leaning forward.

Mycroft looked condescendingly at his little brother. "I knew how she was alive. There was only one possible explanation. And I couldn't bring myself to do that to you, brother mine."

Sherlock shifted backward in his chair, his neck and back straight as an arrow.

"Go on," Sherlock muttered.