The Swan Queen | Sherlock

I AM SHERLOCKED

    In a quiet sophisticated cafe in London, a trembling girl drank tea from a pretty teacup whilst sitting opposite from the most dangerous man she knew. It wasn't me, I kept telling myself. This wasn't my life. As if I hadn't just been taken at gunpoint, forced into a car, crashed into another car and taken by another gun carrying dangerous man. I had been checked out for injuries, nothing major, just a few cuts and bruises. I looked fine, but I wasn't fine. Inside I was crumbling.

Across from me, Jim Moriarty was focusing on his phone and uncharacteristically happy. He was humming something, tapping his fingers against the table and occasionally taking a drink of his tea. Sebastian Moran was nearby, as always. I suppose I was grateful for him. He had saved me from the Americans seeking Irene Adler's phone. But that meant he had been watching me, and that made me nervous.

Amanda was fine. I apologised profusely and explained how dangerous Sherlock's world was becoming, how I was getting dragged into it. By the end of our conversation at the hospital, she seemed to feel less sorry for herself and more so for me. She promised to keep today a secret but said she didn't want to be seen with me anymore. I understood that, what else could I say? My world was dangerous. The present moment was evident of that.

"Why are you so cheerful?" I asked, hating the silence in our empty quarters of the cafe.

He looked up at me for the first time since Moran had sat me down at the table. I had been allowed to shower at a hotel and changed into a floral dress chosen for me. I looked like I was going to a garden party with London's upper class, not afternoon tea with Jim Moriarty.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied, taking a sip from his cup. "You look nice."

"I dressed up for the occasion." I forced a fake smile. "What is the occasion?"

"Just two friends having tea." He picked up the plate of biscuits and cake, offering it to me. I shook my head, unable to face food.

"I suppose I have you to thank for today." My gaze drifted across the room to Moran. "Did you know or was it a lucky guess?"

"Both," he replied, suddenly sliding his phone across to me.

747 Tomorrow 6:30 PM Heathrow

I arched my eyebrow. It was a text, but I didn't understand. Was it supposed to mean something to me? "Going on holiday are you?" I asked.

He ignored my question, taking his phone back. "Your dear uncle Mycroft tried to deceive me, placing a whole lot of dead bodies on a plane targeted to be bombed. Unlucky for him my people found out. You have your other uncle to thank for that." He was smug about it.

I felt my heart race, skip a beat and sink at the same time. Poor Mycroft, I can't imagine how much planning would have gone into his flight of the dead plot. Poor Sherlock, I bet he didn't mean to reveal the truth to Moriarty of all people. I wonder how he found out. Snakes perhaps, spiders in a web.

That's when it hit me. Of course. Who else could it have been but Irene Adler? It can't have been a coincidence on the day she reappears demanding her phone back that the truth is revealed. Could this be what the American's were after as well? Another coincidence? What a wicked game this was we were playing. Well, I didn't want to play anymore.

"Sounds like a cunning plan," I replied, sipping my tea. "Plane goes down, nobody dies. Everybody is happy."

Another plane would be targeted now. A real plane, with real people. Passengers, crew, innocent men, women and children.