Glass: After the Storm

Twelve Months

A year had passed as quickly as rain fell in the spring.

Spring in London was melting into summer; the daffodils had bloomed and wilted, the smog had thinned, and the bright mornings poured warm air through open windows.

Margaux pulled the curtains apart, welcoming the morning sun on her face. She felt two arms wrap around her waist, a firm body pressed against her back. She turned her head to the side as his lips met the back of her shoulder, travelling up her neck to her cheek. She leaned back against him and smiled.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Hm? What do you mean?" he muttered as his lips pressed against her temple.

"You're showing me affection first thing in the morning and you're fully dressed – bag sitting on the floor by the door." She turned around to face him, slinking her arms over his shoulders. "So, I'll ask again: how long will you be gone?"

"All day. I will do my best to return tonight."

"Where to this time?"

"Not sure. I assume Mycroft will enlighten me once I arrive."

She narrowed her eyes. There was an inkling in the pit of her stomach that told her he was lying. She was sure Sherlock had been lying for a while.

In the year they had been together, she had noticed he would disappear; unreachable by phone and without John by his side. Where he was going, she wasn't sure. But as he picked up his bag and made his way downstairs, she heard a familiar text tone echo from the staircase – a tone that sent a shiver down her spine and made her chest feel hollow.

*

John took a large gulp of coffee. He was nervous, burning his tongue in his haste. The woman across the table smiled. Her name was Victoria; they had studied medicine at St Bart's at the same time but never crossed paths, finally meeting over twenty years later at a mutual friend's wedding. She had sharp features, deep brown eyes and thick, perfectly styled black hair that glittered with greys when it caught the light.

A waitress placed two plates on the table.

"Lovely," said John, rubbing his hands together as he looked down at his Full English.

Victoria nibbled politely on her toast as she continued her story. "So, then my eldest son Carl came running downstairs wondering what the hell was going on–" She stopped talking as she raised her head to look at him.

He was distracted, almost angry as he stared off at something behind her.

"S-sorry, Victoria," he said, rising from his chair. "Can you just... excuse me for a second?"

He made his way towards the door, glaring at Sherlock who stood waving at him through the glass pane.

"What are you doing, Sherlock? I told you I was going on a date."

Sherlock looked at his watch with a raised eyebrow.

John huffed. "People go for breakfast together – it's a perfectly acceptable date."

"Alright..."

"Ugh, what is it? What do you need?"

"Margaux is becoming suspicious. She thinks I'm lying about where I'm going."

"You are lying about where you're–"

"Never mind that, John. Just- If she comes snooping around for information, you tell her I've travelled to Brussels to aid Mycroft in some government... stuff."