I woke up the next morning to my alarm at 4:30. I sighed and rolled over and saw Sherlock still asleep. He was here. He was real. Part of me thought I had dreamt the whole thing. But now I had to get him home.
I was still angry, but punching him would only make me feel better for a moment. Each time I think I've forgiven him, I'm taken back to every painful moment I had experienced over the last two years. I thought of how much easier things would have been if I would have just known. Even if he wasn't there, I would have known he was somewhere out there. Not thinking he was dead.
"You're staring, Adelaide." His voice woke me from my trance.
"Sorry... I just... Thought maybe it was all a dream." I muttered and crawled out of the bed to go make some food. Just because I was mad at him doesn't mean I was going to let him starve.
My journey back to London was long. Luckily I was receiving directions through my earpiece from Q back at headquarters most of the trip so I didn't have to talk to Sherlock. What would I say? So.. How was the last two years without me? Oh and by the way when I left I was sort of pregnant with your child. Nope, probably wouldn't go over well.
I was now sitting in Mycroft's office brooding. I had trusted him, and he betrayed me. He knew Sherlock was alive, and he was meant to tell me.
Sherlock and Mycroft were chatting about Moriarty's network as my eyes drifted to the Times sitting on his desk. I grabbed it and read. Front page, above the fold. I read the article by Kitty Riley, but not the one I expected to see after my conversation with Mycroft before I left.
"After extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty. Amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion. Sadly, all this comes too late for the detective, who became something of a celebrity two years ago. Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far. Sherlock Holmes fell to his dead from the top of London's Barts Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it's unlikely it would have occurred without the acquittal of James Moriarty and the ensuing public defamation."
She did what I asked, gaining back my trust. At least someone around here could do as they were asked.
"Have you seen this?" I asked Mycroft.
"Yes, it seems she has trouble following orders." Mycroft said.
"Maybe just your orders, she did exactly as I told her. Maybe her loyalties lie elsewhere." I said.
"You told her to write this?" He asked.
"A thank you might be warranted here. I believe it might help now that he's actually back." I said, insensitively.
"I'm detecting a note of anger here, Adelaide. Care to explain?" He shot back.
"You were supposed to tell me, Mycroft! Not swoop in like a knight in shining armor and console the grieving damsel in distress! I trusted you, Mycroft." I yelled, putting both of them on edge.
"I had all intentions to, but after learning the state you were in I made a judgement call." He argued. I knew exactly what he meant by 'the state you were in', and he didn't mean mentally.
"It wasn't your call to make!" I shot back.
"I was sparing you further pain, we weren't even certain he was ever coming back. I didn't want to give you false hope. I thought it would make it easier to move on, and then when you and Charles–" He began and I cut him off.
"Don't bring Charles into this!" I yelled, I knew he was only doing this to make Sherlock jealous.
"But now things can go back to the way they were." Mycroft insisted.
"Things can never go back to the way they were Mycroft! Things have changed!" I yelled, storming out of the room.
It was dark outside, nearly midnight. I caught a cab back to my flat. Mrs. Astor was already asleep, but I could still hear her TV running. I quietly trekked up the stairs, hoping not to wake her.
When I entered my flat I saw toys scattered around the floor. I had completely forgotten that I let my brother stay here while I was gone. I pushed open the door slightly to my guest room and saw that they were all asleep. One happy little family. I rolled my eyes. I really was ruined. I spent the last two years convincing myself that I wouldn't love ever again, to the point where I believed it. Now he was back, and my heart wanted to jump right back to him, but my head knew better.
I picked up all the toys in the living room and quietly slipped into bed.
Meanwhile Sherlock was still in Mycroft's office.
"What do you mean 'the state she was in'?" Sherlock asked after I stormed out.
"She didn't tell you? I thought you told each other everything." Mycroft said, slightly angry that Sherlock told me that Mycroft lied.
"She barely said two words to me, Mycroft! She can barely look at me!" Sherlock yelled.
"Oh brother mine, were you really that oblivious? All the signs were there, an amateur could have deduced it. You basically lived with her and you still couldn't tell." Mycroft mocked him.
"Tell what!" Sherlock yelled, wanting to know, needing to know.
"She was pregnant Sherlock." Mycroft shook his head. And Sherlock abruptly shut up. Slowly everything started to click in his might and he mentally beat himself for not realizing it sooner.
"You knew?" Sherlock asked, angrily.
"I urged her not to tell you, I knew it would make it harder for you to leave." He tried to rationalize it.
Sherlock moved towards the door, he was going to run after me.
"Before you chase after her, we need to talk about the reason we brought you back. I need you to give this matter your full attention." Mycroft said, and Sherlock sighed and sat back down. He knew it was better to let him finish.
"Who's Charles?" Sherlock asked before leaving.
"Her partner, 007. They're very close." Mycroft said, insinuating something more.
The next morning Sherlock grabbed the paper and noticed my name in the headline. Mycroft hadn't mentioned anything to him about me leaving MI6. I was now Director-General of the Secret Service and MI5. Things really had changed. He traveled to my flat, only to find I wasn't in it. It was only 8 o'clock, I should have been there. He snooped around the room before finding the drawer in my TV stand.
He was surprised to see his name on all the envelopes. They were handwritten letters. He sat and scanned through all of them.
"My therapist thinks this will help, writing to you, saying the things I wanted to and never did. Yes, I went to a therapist, the same one John uses I think. How ironic." He read.
"It's 2:00 AM and I'm still trying to figure out how everything went wrong so fast. Was there something I could have done? If only I had been smarter, if only I had figured out his plan sooner I could have helped you, I could have prevented this from happening." A tear slipped from his cheek, he should have told me himself. He could have prevented this pain. He moved on to the next letter. The order told a story, a visual representation of my stages of grief. My last letter terrified him.
"All I have left of you are the memories. Memories are the only things that don't change when everything else does. That's not the reason I'm writing this though. It's because I don't want to remember you anymore. I can't remember you anymore. I need to let you go, for good." He cried, I had moved on.
"Without you I'm not dead, but I'm not alive either. I'm just a ghost with a beating heart. A heart that is no longer capable of love." He caused this, and it broke him. His eyes left the tear stained letters to scan the room, landing on a box of toys.
Mycroft had mentioned she was pregnant when he left, he hadn't even considered that she had the child. Before he could inspect the box the door opened and I entered with a coffee in my hand and a copy of the Times.
I nearly dropped my cup when I saw him.
"What are you doing here?" I yelled. My eyes scanned the room and landed on the letters scattered across the table. I quickly scooped them up and returned them to their drawer, closing it with a bang.
"Those were personal." I argued.
"Well they were addressed to me." He smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. I wasn't as amused. I noticed his eyes were red, had he been crying?
"You were right, I could never understand, but please help me to." He tried, and the door opened once more.
My nephew ran in and latched onto my leg. He reached up, wanted to be picked up.
"How's my favorite little boy! Did daddy take you to the park?" I asked, and he nodded with a big smile across his face. I saw Sherlock stiffen, and I wasn't sure why.
Chuck walked in behind him.
"Daddy!" Henry yelled, bouncing in my arms. My brother smiled at me, and kissed me on the cheek. Then he realized they weren't alone in the room.
"Oh, uh hello, I'm Charles." He smiled and shook Sherlock's hand. Something was still off about him, and I couldn't understand what.
"Sherlock." He introduced himself.
"You're Sherlock?" Chuck turned to me for confirmation and I just looked to the ground, "Do you have any idea what you put her through? I swear to God I'll–"
"Charles!" I scolded him, and he calmed down. "Why don't you give us a minute."
He went into the guest room, leaving me alone with him.
Sherlock was moving towards the door, clearly uncomfortable and flustered.
"Auntie Adwaid's friend?" Henry spoke, and Sherlock whipped around.
"That's right Henry, he's a friend of auntie Adelaide. Now how about you go see daddy for a bit and wait for mommy to come home." I sent him off after his father.
Sherlock stopped in his tracks, and whipped around.
"He's not...?" He said quietly.
"Not what?" I asked.
"Mine?" He finished.
"You thought... Oh. No, he's my nephew. Chuck's been staying here while I was in Serbia. His wife was training with a firm in London. Why would you think he was yours?" I asked.
"Because Mycroft told me that you were pregnant when I left, the age matched and I just..." Sherlock said.
"He told you that?" I asked and he nodded. "Then he failed to mention that I.. I lost the baby."
"Oh. Adelaide I had no idea, I'm sorry." He said, his voice low. My head dipped and my hand moved to cover my mouth and I cried. Sherlock held me, and I let him.
"I'm so sorry." I choked, burying my head into his chest.
"Don't apologize, Adelaide. Never apologize. I should have been here." He whispered, rubbing soothing circles into my back.
I pulled back and wiped my eyes.
"I want to forgive you Sherlock, I really do. It's just going to take time." I said, and he nodded.
"I understand." He nodded.
"I should go, I have some things I need to take care of. And I think you do to." I stated.
"I do?" He asked, and I raised an eyebrow.
"John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly... and just a warning John will hit you, possibly a few times." I said, grabbing my coat on my way out the door.
"One more question–" Sherlock said and I turned around, "Mycroft said Charles was your partner not your brother."
"Oh ok, well I see how that could be confusing. He was talking about Charles, my partner but he didn't know that my brother, Chuck was in town." I explained. "He's convinced that there was something going on between us, but I swore off relationships. Truth is you ruined me for anyone else."
I shut the door behind me, hailing a cab. If I was going to be starting a new job, I was going to need a good assistant. Someone who trusted their instincts, who would search for an answer and believed even if no one else did. I wanted someone like that in my corner, and I knew exactly who.