Contact High → Sherlock Holmes (BBC) [on hold]

{ sixty-four }

Sherlock spoke on the phone to his brother, "The English woman, that's all he heard. Naturally, he assumed it was Mary." Mycroft shook his head from the other end of the phone conversation, "Couldn't this wait until you get back?"

Carmen moved closer to Sherlock and silently linked her hand with his. Sherlock looked down at her and smiled with pursed lips. "No, because it's not over," he said to his brother, "Because Moriarty's snipers just killed Ajay right after Ajay said they had been betrayed. The hostage-takers knew that A.G.R.A. was coming. There was only a voice on the phone, remember? And a codeword."

"Ammo," Mycroft said with a raised eyebrow and a tired shrug, "Yes, you said."

"How's your Latin, brother dear?" Sherlock asked.

"My Latin?" Mycroft repeated incredulously.

"Amo, amas, amat," Sherlock said.

Carmen raised an eyebrow and repeated exactly what Mycroft was saying, "I love, you love, he loves?"

Sherlock pulled the phone from his ear, "You know Latin?"

Carmen shrugged, "It was either that or chess club."

Sherlock let a grin steal over his face before he put the phone back to his ear, "Not ammo as in ammunition, but Amo... meaning..." He trailed off and waited for his genius brother to put the dots together. Mycroft's spine straightened as he finally understood. He pursed his lips, "You better be right, Sherlock."

Both of them hung up simultaneously.

Across the globe, Mycroft got to work. Lady Smallwood made her was across the sky walk of an expensive building. She reached forward and scanned her card to let her in. The machine hesitated a moment before beeping angrily. She tried it again. ACCESS DENIED.

"Bloody thing," Lady Smallwood said angrily. Her assistant, Vivian Norbury, smiled sympathetically. A man in a cheap suit and two guards came down the hallway, arms crossed. The man in a suit stopped in front of a surprised Lady Smallwood.

"What's going on?" she asked, brushing back a piece of her greying blonde hair that had escaped her updo.

"I'm very sorry, Lady Smallwood," the man said nervously, "your security protocols have been temporarily suspended."

"What?" Lady Smallwood asked, her voice deadly calm.

A uniformed man took her by the elbow and escorted her out.

<>

Mary and John sat with a seat between them on the plane. John looked out the window sorrowfully. Carmen watched him with a slight interest. She wondered what made him so upset. Sherlock was sitting right beside her, head back on the headrest. He was sound asleep.

Carmen didn't know how he could sleep. She could never sleep on flights. Carmen opened her mouth to ask John why he looked so upset when a rumble of turbulence hit the plane. Carmen reached over and grabbed the armrest of her seat, her fingers clutching to it until her knuckles were white.

Sherlock reached over and took her hand into his without even opening his eyes. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles as the turbulence finally stopped. Somehow, he always knew when she was upset. Carmen blew out a sigh of relief and put her head back, trying to maybe doze off for at least ten minutes. Jet lag was going to come back to haunt her.

John still looked out the window. In his head, he heard his own voice. "So many lies," he had said to his  wife. He hadn't just meant hers. In the reflection of the window, he could see Mary's sleeping form. But it wasn't his wife he was thinking of.