Chapter Four

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When they left, John trembled with the effort it took to keep his emotions under control. He wanted to thrash about and curse his captors until his voice gave out. But one key tenet of his military training held him in check – never let the enemy see your fear. So he laid there for hours in the dimness, stoic expression hiding a turmoil that would have driven a weaker mind insane.

He accepted that he'd never be able to identify the 'activation key': that word or object that would turn him into an assassin. He could only try to avert the danger.

Sergei would ensure that he was delivered directly to Mycroft. The only way to prevent disaster would be to slip away quietly as soon as the opportunity presented itself. The very thought of reuniting with Mycroft, Sherlock, and Lestrade, only to have to disappear again afterward made his heart clench. Sherlock had vanished to save his friends once, but John had never been able to let logic completely subdue emotion. He'd be more destroyed than those he left behind.

He clenched his fists. The tragedies he'd witnessed in Afghanistan had prepared him for implacable enemies and senseless loss but this - this represented an advancement in malicious warfare. John could not imagine a worse fate than being an unwilling automatic weapon against someone he loved.

The door opened. John raised his head off the pillow and watched Elena enter the room. "What do you want?" he snapped, lips pulling back from his teeth.

She raised a finger to her lips. "Please lower your voice. Sergei will be coming for you in twenty minutes, so there's not much time."

John glared. "Unless you're here to tell me how to undo what your associates have done to me, you can go to hell."

"That's what I'd like to talk to you about."

John hesitated. Unlike her colleagues, Elena never gloated or spoke to him condescendingly. Her face was solemn, but John detected something soft, even compassionate, in her eyes. Relaxing only slightly, he said, "I'm listening."

"I want to make a deal."

For the first time, hope glimmered. "Deal?"

The blonde woman glanced over her shoulder at the still-open door before approaching the bed until she was close enough to lean over him.

"You were right," she said. "About being familiar with Mycroft."

"Go on."

Elena lowered her voice. "Fifteen years ago, I was with a group under surveillance by MI6. In retrospect they were pathetic plotters with a careless agenda, but membership paved my way to more formidable organizations. Not long after I joined, government agents raided one of our meetings and my comrades and I were taken. We were interrogated rather harshly."

"You mean beaten."

She nodded. "They soon gave up on me because I have CIPA. As a doctor, I presume you know what that means."

John did know. CIPA –or congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis- was a rare genetic disorder that disabled one's ability to feel pain. When he nodded in the affirmative, she continued.

"Mycroft was Chief of SIS at the time. When he found out about me, he questioned me personally, and read my entire life story in less than five minutes."

"Yes, he's rather good at that."

"He deduced –quite correctly- that I wasn't committed to that group's ideals. So he offered me an alternative to imprisonment or execution. Working for him."

"Are you telling me that you're a double agent?"

Elena smirked. "No. But I played the part for awhile and even convinced Mycroft."

"You've lost me."

"You don't need to know my personal history from its inception, John, and there's no time for a detailed explanation of my political beliefs. Suffice it to say that I'm not in sympathy with the British government, and never will be. And Mycroft never realized it until after he got too close. Literally. In case the drugs have slowed your perception, we were lovers." She stared at him. "Mycroft Holmes is one of those people whom you initially dislike, and then unexpectedly fall for. I suspect you know what I'm talking about, if Sergei's correct."

John flinched but managed to whisper, "Go on."

"When I 'terminated' my services at MI6, I didn't realize that I was pregnant."

John's jaw dropped. "You're saying you had his-?"

"I delivered a son nine months after I was last with him," she interrupted. "Yes. And before you ask, I know my child is his. Mycroft was the first –and only- man I've ever slept with. I prefer women."

Her revelation transported John back almost two years, to that volatile conversation with Irene Adler in the abandoned building. Irene had insinuated that despite their respective sexual orientations (she was gay, John wasn't), Sherlock Holmes had captivated both of them. Now he was having a similar conversation with another beautiful woman, about another Holmes. It was like something out of an espionage tale. Or a Lucifer Box novel.

John wasn't entirely sure he believed her. Mycroft felt things more than Sherlock did, surface appearances to the contrary, making it possible that the elder Holmes had been fascinated enough by this woman to drop his guard as well as his trousers. But Elena was a self-proclaimed insurgent and opportunist, making him suspicious of anything she said.

"I had no intention of ever telling Mycroft, or even letting him know indirectly," Elena went on. "But recent developments made me rethink that position. I have terminal cancer, John. Six months to go at the outside. When I die, my son –who is fourteen- will be claimed by Sergei and trained for life in the organization. I overheard that a week before you were picked up."

"Does Sergei know who the boy's father supposedly is?"

She took no visible offense at the 'supposedly'. "No. He knows I was temporarily under Mycroft's control: that's why he used the devil footprints to attract his attention. Mycroft gave me this ring, an antique originally created to commemorate the devil's appearance in Devon in 1855. It was his idea of a joke, because my code name in the original group was 'Diabel', or 'devil' in Polish." She raised her hand, watching the light play off the ring's U-shaped insignia. "But I've always presented Alexei as the child of a deceased comrade." She crossed her arms and stared at the wall, biting her lip. "I understand that Sergei plans to use disaffected youth as front-line combatants. I don't want that for my son. If he decides to support my ideals when he's old enough to understand and appreciate them, I would be proud. But at fourteen he's nothing but a pawn. Like you are now."

John let his head fall against the pillow and shut his eyes until the dizziness passed. It was all so much. Mycroft might have a son he never knew about. Good God….

"Here's my proposition, John. I don't know what exactly went into your programming, but I can find out. When I know for sure, I'll contact you. And in exchange, I want you to tell Mycroft about my son. His son."

"Tell him that the boy exists?"

"And where to find him. A trusted friend will give you the particulars after my death."

John raised his head again. "There's something I don't understand. You don't want your boss- who believes in the same things you do- to bring up your son, but you have no problem with Alex-"

"Alexei."

"Alexei coming under the protection of a man who represents everything you despise?"

"I already told you: I will not see my son sacrificed for ideals he is not old enough to appreciate. Mycroft will keep him safe."

"And when he's eighteen or older?" John shot back. "You hope he'll kill his own father?"

She hesitated, even looked troubled. "Kill? No. Change for the better? Yes. Alexei is an unnaturally intelligent boy. I look at him and I see a better future. So tell me, John, do we have a deal?"

John's answer was lost in the sudden explosion of gunfire and screams. Then he heard a man's voice, strong with authority, rise above the uproar.

"Spread out and search the premises for him. John! JOHN!"

Mycroft.

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