A lot of knowledge is a dangerous thing
Happy Birthday to 
legionseagle!
This isn't the birthday fic I originally set out to write. But then I heard the awesome Amanda Abbington was getting more crap last week over her marvellous portrayal of Mary Morstan, and I thought "Sod that, I want to write more Mary Morstan." So this is what came out, and I hope you don't mind sharing with her.
Thanks to fengirl88 for encouragement, and to tanngrisnir for medical advice (the most important part of which was "do not attempt to drug the Christmas punch at home, it's really a very risky plan").
PRESSURE POINT
Mary's head was heavy - it felt as if it would take a great effort to lift it. She could sense someone nearby; she needed to work out what was happening, what was wrong, before opening her eyes, so she'd be ready to act before they knew it. This heaviness - she could feel her muscles recovering, but there was an odd taste in her mouth. She knew what it was - someone had drugged her, knocked her out, with what... the tea? John? Was his forgiveness a lie, to fool her? No, impossible. In her mind, she could still feel his arms holding her tight, and the wave of relief that had flooded him, relaxing him into reconciliation. John's body never lied. So someone else had found her... what had they done to John? They must have taken him out, and the Holmes family too. Someone was standing up, walking towards her, leaning over the chair where she sprawled. She must act now.
Summoning all her strength, she sprang from the chair, toppled the man on to the low table in front of the fireplace, and pinned him down there, crouching on his body with her hands gripping his neck.
"Easy, Mrs Watson, easy now! It's Bill!"
Bill Wiggins. His odd features came into focus. Even odder contorted in pain and alarm.
"Who are you working for? What have you done to John?"
"Nothing! Well - nothing to 'im. We just made the rest of you sleep a bit -"
"Who did? Who are you working for?"
"Sherlock! Oo d'you think? 'E left me on guard to make sure you were OK..."
The baby! Mary scrambled off Bill and clutched her bump, trying to feel a kick.
"It's fine, Mrs Watson! We gave you a drop less 'cos of the little one - no risk, Shez was well clear on that..."
There were noises outside the room, and a voice said "well, get it here as soon as you can", before the door swung open. Mycroft Holmes stormed in, a little unsteady on his feet, blundered into an armchair, and grabbed it to keep himself upright.
Mary felt her daughter move inside her, and smiled.
"You may well smirk, Mrs Watson - or should I say Ms Grant?" snapped Mycroft. "I should have known something like this would happen if you came..."
"I smiled because the racket you were making woke the baby," she said calmly. "I've only just come round myself, and Bill hasn't finished explaining what's going on."
Bill was sitting awkwardly on the table, feeling his back. "Got any painkillers 'ere?" he asked. "You an' your 'usband, you're lethal..."
Mycroft scowled at him. "You're telling me you didn't bring any 'painkillers' yourself?"
"First he can tell us what he brought to knock us out," said Mary. "Do you mind if I sit down? Standing's tiring at the best of times just now..."
"A benzodiazepine, or similar," said Mycroft. "You're claiming you were drugged too?"
"Yes. You can analyse the tea if you like. Bill says he was acting on Sherlock's instructions, but he hasn't said why. Who else is here? Is John...?"
"My parents are still unconscious. No sign of John Watson, or my brother, or my laptop." He glared at her.
She gazed back. "It seems reasonable to assume all three left together."
"It does. But where they went, and whether they were conscious..."
"They were fine!" interrupted Bill. "Shezza took the laptop, and they went off in an 'elicopter."
"Did he mention where they were going?" enquired Mycroft.
"No," said Bill. "But the 'elicopter had CAM on the side, so I deduce..."
"Oh," said Mycroft, and steadied himself against the armchair again. "I told him... But he still won't give it up, will he?" He paused for a moment. "I am prepared to believe that my brother and Dr Watson left of their own volition, and that Sherlock took the laptop. But it can hardly be a coincidence that all this should happen in your presence..."
"Of course it's not a coincidence! They're trying to save me. They didn't tell me in case I tried to stop them. Look, you clearly know who I am, and so does Magnussen. He's got information that could destroy me - there's a copy of his file in that fire, if you can still retrieve it - and Sherlock must have struck a deal to swap it for your laptop. "
"No," said Mycroft. "Sherlock's not that stupid. Reckless, yes. Hubristic. He's playing a bigger game. He admitted just now that he hated Magnussen; I was a fool to think he'd really drop it. He's trying to bring him down." His phone beeped, and he pulled it from his pocket. "You're right. The GPS says they're approaching Appledore."
"Clever!" said Bill. "'E booby-trapped the laptop with a locator, so Magnussen gets caught with your stash of state secrets!"
"Not clever!" said Mycroft, thumping the back of the armchair. "I told him Magnussen was under my protection..."
"What's Magnussen got on you?" Mary asked. "Why won't you let him go?"
"He's got nothing on me. Well, nothing but my highly embarrassing brother..."
"And everyone knows about your highly embarrassing brother," she said. "He's been embarrassing all over the papers, several times. It hasn't stopped your career. So that's no good to Magnussen. He wants pressure points."
"I'm sorry if you thought you were important enough to warrant his attention in your own right. But the embarrassment of my brother's close friendship with the husband of a professional killer would be in a different league from his substance abuse, or supposed frolics with your bridesmaid."
"Still not enough," she said. "We both know if it came down to the national interest versus your brother, you'd cut Sherlock loose, no matter how you felt. Same as Lady Smallwood did with her poor bastard of a husband. And anyway, I know what Magnussen wanted me for; he told me. A pet assassin, in case he came across someone he couldn't tackle any other way."
"And you didn't fancy coming out of retirement?"
"Only for one job," she muttered.
"Ah...! It was you in the penthouse, then?"
"Yes," she said flatly. "Another problem with the boys not tipping me off about their plans. Sherlock's OK with what happened, but it took him a while to talk John round."
"Accounting for the chilly atmosphere."
"Yes. And don't think you can distract me. If you've got a pressure point, it's something much closer to home - something you can't blame on Sherlock. A decision you took that would cause a national scandal?"
"No."
"Tell you what," said Bill. "Could still be about Sherlock. Lots of people fancy 'im, and I bet 'e was pretty as a kid. And you're quite a bit older. Ooh, Mikey, you didn't?"
"Certainly not! For your information, Sherlock was an unprepossessing adolescent - podgy with spots. He grew into his looks later. But even if he had been - pretty - I wouldn't have." He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the idea. "You can both stop speculating, because there really is no secret. I have a simple business relationship with Magnussen. As I told Sherlock, he is occasionally useful, and not worth attacking because he is too intelligent to damage anyone who really matters. In return for - occasional - business favours, he provides me with information. For that, it's worth putting up with his sometimes distasteful manners."
"The information's that useful?" asked Mary. "He's too valuable an asset to lose?"
"'Ow many occasions?" asked Bill.
"Oh," said Mary.
Mycroft frowned. "What?"
"That's what it's all about, isn't it? Just how many occasions. That's why you're so defensive. You couldn't hide the fact of the relationship from Sherlock, but you played it down. You were embarrassed, but it was by the thought of him finding out how heavily you used Magnussen's information. That's the one form of addiction that would pull you in - addiction to knowledge." She smiled bleakly. "Was it Magnussen who informed you about me?"
He said nothing.
"But surely," she continued, "you can have the best of both worlds. If Sherlock pulls this off - if Magnussen's caught with state secrets, and arrested - you can get access to the Appledore vaults. All his knowledge, without the embarrassment of bargaining for it."
Mycroft sighed wearily. "Sherlock can't pull it off. I'd have done it myself if it were so straightforward." He glanced up at the whirring of a helicopter. "A pity, from your standpoint at least, that you were interrupted in the penthouse. An assassin would have been the most effective method..."
Beneath the sounds of the helicopter, they could hear a woman's voice calling from the kitchen.
"And now, Mrs Watson, I'm afraid I must leave you, while there's still a faint chance I can sort this out. I'm sure you'll be able to offer my mother an explanation." He walked swiftly towards the stairs, opened the window as he pushed aside the Christmas candles on the sill, and climbed out into the back garden.
Mary looked round wildly as footsteps approached. "We need more time!"
"'Ad any false contractions yet?" whispered Bill. "Can you fake 'em?"
"I might not need to!"
He grinned, grabbed her shoulders and shouted "Sorry, missus! I think you're going into labour!" as Mrs Holmes came through the door.
Also posted on Dreamwidth, with
comments.
legionseagle!
This isn't the birthday fic I originally set out to write. But then I heard the awesome Amanda Abbington was getting more crap last week over her marvellous portrayal of Mary Morstan, and I thought "Sod that, I want to write more Mary Morstan." So this is what came out, and I hope you don't mind sharing with her.
Thanks to fengirl88 for encouragement, and to tanngrisnir for medical advice (the most important part of which was "do not attempt to drug the Christmas punch at home, it's really a very risky plan").
PRESSURE POINT
Mary's head was heavy - it felt as if it would take a great effort to lift it. She could sense someone nearby; she needed to work out what was happening, what was wrong, before opening her eyes, so she'd be ready to act before they knew it. This heaviness - she could feel her muscles recovering, but there was an odd taste in her mouth. She knew what it was - someone had drugged her, knocked her out, with what... the tea? John? Was his forgiveness a lie, to fool her? No, impossible. In her mind, she could still feel his arms holding her tight, and the wave of relief that had flooded him, relaxing him into reconciliation. John's body never lied. So someone else had found her... what had they done to John? They must have taken him out, and the Holmes family too. Someone was standing up, walking towards her, leaning over the chair where she sprawled. She must act now.
Summoning all her strength, she sprang from the chair, toppled the man on to the low table in front of the fireplace, and pinned him down there, crouching on his body with her hands gripping his neck.
"Easy, Mrs Watson, easy now! It's Bill!"
Bill Wiggins. His odd features came into focus. Even odder contorted in pain and alarm.
"Who are you working for? What have you done to John?"
"Nothing! Well - nothing to 'im. We just made the rest of you sleep a bit -"
"Who did? Who are you working for?"
"Sherlock! Oo d'you think? 'E left me on guard to make sure you were OK..."
The baby! Mary scrambled off Bill and clutched her bump, trying to feel a kick.
"It's fine, Mrs Watson! We gave you a drop less 'cos of the little one - no risk, Shez was well clear on that..."
There were noises outside the room, and a voice said "well, get it here as soon as you can", before the door swung open. Mycroft Holmes stormed in, a little unsteady on his feet, blundered into an armchair, and grabbed it to keep himself upright.
Mary felt her daughter move inside her, and smiled.
"You may well smirk, Mrs Watson - or should I say Ms Grant?" snapped Mycroft. "I should have known something like this would happen if you came..."
"I smiled because the racket you were making woke the baby," she said calmly. "I've only just come round myself, and Bill hasn't finished explaining what's going on."
Bill was sitting awkwardly on the table, feeling his back. "Got any painkillers 'ere?" he asked. "You an' your 'usband, you're lethal..."
Mycroft scowled at him. "You're telling me you didn't bring any 'painkillers' yourself?"
"First he can tell us what he brought to knock us out," said Mary. "Do you mind if I sit down? Standing's tiring at the best of times just now..."
"A benzodiazepine, or similar," said Mycroft. "You're claiming you were drugged too?"
"Yes. You can analyse the tea if you like. Bill says he was acting on Sherlock's instructions, but he hasn't said why. Who else is here? Is John...?"
"My parents are still unconscious. No sign of John Watson, or my brother, or my laptop." He glared at her.
She gazed back. "It seems reasonable to assume all three left together."
"It does. But where they went, and whether they were conscious..."
"They were fine!" interrupted Bill. "Shezza took the laptop, and they went off in an 'elicopter."
"Did he mention where they were going?" enquired Mycroft.
"No," said Bill. "But the 'elicopter had CAM on the side, so I deduce..."
"Oh," said Mycroft, and steadied himself against the armchair again. "I told him... But he still won't give it up, will he?" He paused for a moment. "I am prepared to believe that my brother and Dr Watson left of their own volition, and that Sherlock took the laptop. But it can hardly be a coincidence that all this should happen in your presence..."
"Of course it's not a coincidence! They're trying to save me. They didn't tell me in case I tried to stop them. Look, you clearly know who I am, and so does Magnussen. He's got information that could destroy me - there's a copy of his file in that fire, if you can still retrieve it - and Sherlock must have struck a deal to swap it for your laptop. "
"No," said Mycroft. "Sherlock's not that stupid. Reckless, yes. Hubristic. He's playing a bigger game. He admitted just now that he hated Magnussen; I was a fool to think he'd really drop it. He's trying to bring him down." His phone beeped, and he pulled it from his pocket. "You're right. The GPS says they're approaching Appledore."
"Clever!" said Bill. "'E booby-trapped the laptop with a locator, so Magnussen gets caught with your stash of state secrets!"
"Not clever!" said Mycroft, thumping the back of the armchair. "I told him Magnussen was under my protection..."
"What's Magnussen got on you?" Mary asked. "Why won't you let him go?"
"He's got nothing on me. Well, nothing but my highly embarrassing brother..."
"And everyone knows about your highly embarrassing brother," she said. "He's been embarrassing all over the papers, several times. It hasn't stopped your career. So that's no good to Magnussen. He wants pressure points."
"I'm sorry if you thought you were important enough to warrant his attention in your own right. But the embarrassment of my brother's close friendship with the husband of a professional killer would be in a different league from his substance abuse, or supposed frolics with your bridesmaid."
"Still not enough," she said. "We both know if it came down to the national interest versus your brother, you'd cut Sherlock loose, no matter how you felt. Same as Lady Smallwood did with her poor bastard of a husband. And anyway, I know what Magnussen wanted me for; he told me. A pet assassin, in case he came across someone he couldn't tackle any other way."
"And you didn't fancy coming out of retirement?"
"Only for one job," she muttered.
"Ah...! It was you in the penthouse, then?"
"Yes," she said flatly. "Another problem with the boys not tipping me off about their plans. Sherlock's OK with what happened, but it took him a while to talk John round."
"Accounting for the chilly atmosphere."
"Yes. And don't think you can distract me. If you've got a pressure point, it's something much closer to home - something you can't blame on Sherlock. A decision you took that would cause a national scandal?"
"No."
"Tell you what," said Bill. "Could still be about Sherlock. Lots of people fancy 'im, and I bet 'e was pretty as a kid. And you're quite a bit older. Ooh, Mikey, you didn't?"
"Certainly not! For your information, Sherlock was an unprepossessing adolescent - podgy with spots. He grew into his looks later. But even if he had been - pretty - I wouldn't have." He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the idea. "You can both stop speculating, because there really is no secret. I have a simple business relationship with Magnussen. As I told Sherlock, he is occasionally useful, and not worth attacking because he is too intelligent to damage anyone who really matters. In return for - occasional - business favours, he provides me with information. For that, it's worth putting up with his sometimes distasteful manners."
"The information's that useful?" asked Mary. "He's too valuable an asset to lose?"
"'Ow many occasions?" asked Bill.
"Oh," said Mary.
Mycroft frowned. "What?"
"That's what it's all about, isn't it? Just how many occasions. That's why you're so defensive. You couldn't hide the fact of the relationship from Sherlock, but you played it down. You were embarrassed, but it was by the thought of him finding out how heavily you used Magnussen's information. That's the one form of addiction that would pull you in - addiction to knowledge." She smiled bleakly. "Was it Magnussen who informed you about me?"
He said nothing.
"But surely," she continued, "you can have the best of both worlds. If Sherlock pulls this off - if Magnussen's caught with state secrets, and arrested - you can get access to the Appledore vaults. All his knowledge, without the embarrassment of bargaining for it."
Mycroft sighed wearily. "Sherlock can't pull it off. I'd have done it myself if it were so straightforward." He glanced up at the whirring of a helicopter. "A pity, from your standpoint at least, that you were interrupted in the penthouse. An assassin would have been the most effective method..."
Beneath the sounds of the helicopter, they could hear a woman's voice calling from the kitchen.
"And now, Mrs Watson, I'm afraid I must leave you, while there's still a faint chance I can sort this out. I'm sure you'll be able to offer my mother an explanation." He walked swiftly towards the stairs, opened the window as he pushed aside the Christmas candles on the sill, and climbed out into the back garden.
Mary looked round wildly as footsteps approached. "We need more time!"
"'Ad any false contractions yet?" whispered Bill. "Can you fake 'em?"
"I might not need to!"
He grinned, grabbed her shoulders and shouted "Sorry, missus! I think you're going into labour!" as Mrs Holmes came through the door.
Also posted on Dreamwidth, with
comments.