A Scandal in Belgravia [Reader Insert]

Coventry

          When you and Sherlock arrived back at the flat, you were pleasantly- no, sorry, nothing about it was pleasant- surprised to find a well-dressed man from the palace.

       Sherlock regarded the man mechanically. "Come to take us away again?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "We decline."

      "No, I don't think you do, Mr. Holmes," the man said. He reached inside his coat and pulled out an envelope. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and took the envelope.

      You curiously watched as Sherl opened it.

      Two tickets, one for you, one for Sherl, for Flight 007. You felt the familiar chill of fear, coupled with a desire to go back to your room with a knife and get to work. You shot the desire down. You'd promised Sherlock.

     It was just that this, this was what you'd been trying to fix. You knew what was about to happen. Mycroft had told you when you'd called him.

      It was Coventry all over again.

  

       /_ o _\

     Coventry. It's a story, probably not true. In the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code, but they didn't want the Germans to know that they'd broken the code, so they let it happen anyway.

     History was repeating itself now. A terrorist organization had planned to bomb a plane, and Mycroft, through inside sources, had become aware of that fact. So he'd come up with a solution.

      Months, you thought, climbing the stairs to the massive plane, the dread you felt weighing down each step. Months of planning, wasted because of one email. Sherlock paused behind you, probably saying something smart to the Agent Blondie, who was standing at the base of the plane.

      When you entered the plane, you found that it was intensely cold. Well, it would need to be, if anyone were to survive an excursion through the aisle. Otherwise, they'd die from the smell.

      Nearly every seat was filled with a body, yet the soul count was lower than the temperature. You walked slowly down the corridor, eyeing your surroundings warily. 

        "The Coventry Conundrum." Mycroft stepped out of the darkness at the end of the aisle. "What do you think of my solution?"

      You clutched a hand to your stomach, suddenly feeling very sick. 

      "The flight of the dead."  

      The plane blows up mid-air," Sherlock said from behind you. "Mission accomplished for the terrorists- hundreds of casualties."

      "But nobody dies," Mycroft said. "Neat, isn't it?"

       "How will it fly? Oh, of course. Unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

       "It doesn't fly," you muttered. "It will never fly."

       "The entire project is cancelled," Mycroft confirmed. "The terrorist cells have been informed that we're aware of the bomb. We can't fool them now."

       "They've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."

     "Your MOD man," Sherlock assumed.

      "That's all it takes," you told him coldly. "One lonely, naive man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

     Sherlock tilted his head. "Perhaps a more careful defence screening would be in order."

      Mycroft tensed. "We're not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; we're talking about you!" he spat.

      Sherlock looked genuinely confused.

      "The damsel in distress," you muttered.

      "In the end, are you really so obvious, Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice was suddenly a bit softer. "Because this was textbook. Take a man who's already aching, give him the promise of mutual love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption, and finally, let him loose on a puzzle... and watch him dance.."

       The fear glistened in Sherlock's eyes. "Don't be absurd-"

       "Absurd?" You snapped. "You know what I was doing on the bathroom floor with a knife pressed into my skin? I was trying to solve this, this mess that you've caused. How quickly did you decipher that email for her, even despite my warnings?"

       "I think it was less than five seconds," a new voice came in. Irene? You looked up at the Woman, who'd appeared out of nowhere from the other end of the corridor, with surprise.

       Sherlock whirled around to find the dominatrix smiling at him slyly. "He was very eager to impress," Irene recalled.

       "I drove you into her path," Mycroft murmured. "I'm sorry... I didn't know."

      "Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk."

      "As do I," Sherlock started to say, "as there are still a few things I'm not quite clear on-"

      "Not you, junior." Irene pushed past your curly-haired companion, not even glancing at you as she strided over to the eldest Holmes brother.

       You, Sherlock, and Mycroft watched helplessly as Irene proudly switched on her phone and held it up to show Myc. "There's more. Loads more. On this phone, I've got pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world." She beamed triumphantly.

       "You have no idea how much havoc I can cause, and there's no way to stop me- unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."