Sherlock Holmes & The Knights Templar

Chapter 11

Sherlock burst into Moriarty’s apartment in Prague. He turned around in a frantic circle with his hand to his mouth. John and Moriarty were gone. A few seconds later, Mycroft burst into the room followed by Mary.

“Damn it, Sherlock, wait for backup before you go into a situation like this,” Mycroft shouted half annoyed and half fearful for his little brother’s safety. In order to cover the emotions that flitted across his face, Mycroft lashed out. “Never mind, brother mine, you have unfortunately let your heart rule your head in all matters regarding John Watson.”

Sherlock wanted to scream, he felt so frustrated. He settled for pacing the floor instead. Sherlock paced a few moments and then he noticed the old spiral notebook in the corner. Hastily, Sherlock picked up the notebook, for he knew there was something important about its dog eared pages. The note book turned out to be Moriarty’s journal from childhood. As Sherlock read each entry was more heart breaking than the first, so that by the time he was finished reading it Sherlock was sick at his stomach from revulsion and something that he would never admit to anyone, perhaps not even to John, Sherlock felt-pity. He felt pity for the damaged child that grew up to be the heartless man-Moriarty. Sherlock looked around as Interpol officers poured over the scene, making sure no one was watching, Sherlock stuck Moriarty’s journal in his inside pocket. He failed to notice Mary watching him from behind him, as he patted his jacket where the journal was safely stored for future perusal.

Back at the safe house Mary and Mycroft listened as Sherlock played one heartbreaking Bach Partita after another. Finally, Mycroft could stand no more. “For God’s sake Sherlock, quit playing those melancholy funeral like dirges.” Mycroft shouted tensely as he always did when he couldn’t reach Sherlock. Was Sherlock’s world-his mind palace, a place of safety or torment? Ignoring Mycroft’s request Sherlock played louder until Mycroft got up and left the room with Mary on his heels.

Mary looked troubled. “I never realized that Sherlock was such a passionate player. I somehow thought his playing would be well, cold and mechanical.” Mary mused aloud.   

Mycroft nodded. “Sherlock’s spirit is a restless one. I only hope that it will not be his undoing,” Mycroft said softly.

Mary looked over a Mycroft and was surprised that he actually cared about Sherlock, perhaps even loved him.

Mycroft was clearly uncomfortable and was relieved when Mary suggested they have a tall Gin and Tonic.  Mary made the drinks and few moments later Mycroft was coughing furiously. “Good God, Mary, did you put in any tonic water at all?” Mycroft said as he coughed again.

Mary shrugged. “I thought we could benefit more from the effects of the gin more than the quinine in the tonic water. After all I don’t have night leg cramps, do you?” Mary asked as her blue eyes bored into Mycroft’s.

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably. Something about talking about potential physical issues with Mary, made Mycroft feel nervous.” Mary downed her drink in a couple of swallows, promptly sat down in a chair and began to cry.

Mycroft panicked. Good Lord, he could handle anything but tears. Mary sobbed for a few moments and then Mycroft crossed the room to where Mary sat and awkwardly patted her on the back. “There, there,” Mycroft said quietly.  Mary turned her tear stained face up to Mycroft and took his hand. Mycroft gasped for he was totally unprepared for the effect of another person’s touch, especially that of a woman as beautiful as Mary.  His reaction was not lost on Mary, for she stood up and kissed Mycroft hard. “Mycroft, take me to bed,” Mary whispered huskily.

Mycroft backed up as if he had been stung, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Mycroft asked in panic.

Mary ignored him and kissed Mycroft harder this time. As his lips parted slightly Mary slipped her tongue inside Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft hesitantly slipped his tongue in Mary’s mouth and then after a few moments pulled away.