The Hunt for Victoria Holmes

Nothing Shall Forestall My Return

The sun beat down hot against the back of my neck while sweat beaded up on my skin and my legs started to weaken beneath me as I ran as fast as I possibly could. The sun of California was something I could never get used to and it was only made worst by the pounding of my heart against my rib cage and the natural heat your body gains when anxiety levels rise. Darting in and out between people and through traffic, I tried to get to the safe spot with as little damage as I could possibly manage. I could just see the small, barely functioning garage coming into view as my lungs felt like they were about to explode. The closer I got, the more the door opened until I was finally able to run in as the door slammed shut behind me. I collapsed to my knees feeling like I was breathing in nails because my chest hurt so much.

“Not bad, but you need to get it down under at least twenty minutes. You’re at twenty two, but that’s good, we can work with that.” I looked up as Mathew walked over, dark eyes glancing at his stopwatch.

“I was a consulting criminal, not a track star. I never had to run like that and you expect me to get myself to run two 10 minute miles with absolutely no rest? Mathew, you’re going to be the death of me,” I stood speaking as I attempted to steady my breathing.

“No, Moran will be the death of you if you don’t get yourself under twenty minutes,” he clicked his tongue, putting the stopwatch away and taking a seat on the stool at the bar that was built into the wall across from where I still sat on the hard, concrete floor.

Mathew was a contact of a contact of Mycroft. He met me at the private airport the day I made it to America and stayed with me since the day I landed three months ago. We did basic drills weekly, each a different plan to get me to safety should Sebastian ever find me. He was about my age, but much taller, and his mostly relaxed personality made him much easier to get along with than most others I knew. He was basically a big teddy bear; a soothing change from the people that had recently been in my life.

“It’s been almost four months and I’m not running any faster, nor are there any signs of Moran anywhere. I’m not letting my guard down, obviously, but these drills are cutting into my tea time and I’d much rather just go back to my flat and sleep right now.”

“God, you’re so British.” His laugh was light and airy in contrast to his deep voice.

“And you’re so American with your tan and your obsession with physical fitness,” I rolled my eyes jokingly.

“The tan is natural, thank you very much. I’m part Navajo, remember?”

“So that means you’re even more American than I thought. Anyway, I’m going home. I cut my time down by three minutes in the last couple of weeks, so I say I’ve earned the rest, dear Mathew.”

He groaned quietly as he stood up. “Didn’t I tell you to just call me Matt?”

“Yes, but you first introduced yourself as Mathew and I’m sticking to that until I officially decide to call you a friend.” Standing up from my spot on the floor, I dusted myself off and headed towards the door.

“You never called John Watson Jonathan, so why keep calling me Mathew?” he questioned as I opened the door, the California sun sinking in.

“I like to tease you, it’s entertain-” Before I could finish, a bullet sunk itself deep into my shoulder and I collapsed backwards against Mathew’s chest, the pain hazing my vision as I sunk in and out of consciousness.

I heard Mathew curse under his breath as he pulled me back into our supposed safe house. I didn’t hear anymore gun shots, but that didn’t mean that Moran wasn’t still around. I could hear Mathew on the phone as I tried to keep pressure on my shoulder, my vision getting worse.

Sebastian was teasing. He was an excellent marksman that never missed a hit and that meant he missed on purpose. He wanted me to suffer and he was going to drag this out. A game of cat and mouse.

                   

My shoulder was wrapped up like a mummy and my arm held in place by an uncomfortable sling. The wound was deep, but the doctors said that it would be fine so long as I kept it clean and kept the sling on for three or four weeks. It seemed that injuring my right arm was beginning to be a yearly thing. First I broke my wrist, now my shoulder was suffering.

Sitting in my hospital room alone, I heard footsteps pass by my room a few dozen times, none of them even hesitating by my door. It wasn’t until I was half asleep that I heard footsteps and the tap of metal against the floor.

“There’s no rain in the forecast, Myc.”

“One can never be too careful, Victoria. Just look at you; you’re slipping sister mine. There once was a time where you could have sniffed something like this out from miles away. Maybe sending you to America was a bad idea after all,” his tone was as condescending as ever as he stood at the foot of my bed, Mathew standing in the doorway.

“Why are you here, Mycroft? You barely have the time to visit when I’m at home, let alone when I’m thousands of miles away across the pond. So, tell me, what other motives do you have?”

“Why I’m simply here to make sure that my little sister is transferred safely back to England. It seems hiding you from him only delayed the inevitable. At least now I can keep a closer eye on you.” He grinned smugly and I rolled my eyes.

“Just take me home.”