Chapter Text
Janine Watson didn’t believe in things like fate, especially not since she’d been shot and shipped home half-delirious and with no prospects. She had a fine pension, access to counselling, and a few more medals for her dress-uniform jackets, but…she didn’t have a job, she didn’t have stable housing, and she didn’t have any friends or family to talk to or go to when things got rough. So, when she woke up on the morning of 4 May, she was dreading the day for many reasons. It was hard to motivate herself to get out of bed and prepare for her day, but she did it. Grabbing her bag, she slung it over her good shoulder, picked up her cane, made sure she had her phone, and set off into the crowded, bustling streets of a city that just didn’t feel like home. And really, London had never been home, it was a place she had lived for a while, at different times in her life, but…it wasn’t home. She lived in a cramped studio-flat in Gloucester Place, never left except to make her counselling appointments or get food, which almost never got eaten, and didn’t really talk to anyone. She wasn’t even sure her neighbours knew her name. That was fine, though.
As she walked from her flat to Baker Street Station, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. There was an air about the city, an unrest, that had her skin itching. She knew the feel of conflict but hadn’t ever expected to find it in London, thousands of miles displaced and a world away from Afghanistan. And she’d been home for about a year, so it wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with London or it’s many scandals and grievances. Janine didn’t encounter anyone who really got her attention until she got to Baker Street Station. She always took the same route to the tube station, walking down Gloucester Place to Marylebone Road, and down Marylebone to Baker Street Station. As she picked her way through the early-morning crowds, Janine was drawn to a low-key confrontation between a couple of commuters. One was a well-dressed businessman type, carrying a briefcase and overcoat as he rushed to catch his train, the other a less-well-off bloke about Janine’s age and taller (which wasn’t that hard when she was barely five-foot-seven) wearing ratty jeans and parka with a backpack over one shoulder, with messy dark hair and a day-old stubble. Apparently, by what she could understand, the younger bloke had only asked if the businessman had some spare change so he could get a ticket. It was what the businessman said next that prickled Janine’s ire.
“I have better things to do than give my hard-earned money to a junkie! Go bother someone else, you freak!” He spat, brushing the other man off and going on his way. Janine watched the casually-dressed man stiffen and close up. Freak, to him, was not a new insult, but it was a painful one. He didn’t look like a junkie, and Janine knew what one of those looked like, ta. Irritated that common courtesy didn’t seem to exist in London, and exhausted from another sleepless night lost to nightmares and PTSD, Janine approached the man, careful not to startle him into any kind of violence.
“Sir?” He didn’t respond right away, and she touched him on the arm, squeezing his wrist to get his attention, “Sir? Are you alright?”
“Sorry?” He turned and blinked at her, focusing first on her hand, then moving up until he reached her face. She had encountered a number of the city’s homeless, had been among them for a few months right after getting back from Afghanistan. And she realized, with a start, that she knew this one.
“Alestra!”
“Scotty?” She looked him over, “Jesus, how long has it been since last I clapped eyes on you, son? You look better!”
“Alestra, thank Christ! Oh, god, it’s you!” The taller man hauled her into a tight hug, “Oh, thank god.”
“Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast.” She linked her arm through his after squirming out of the hug, and went about the first business of getting him a ticket before steering him into line at Starbucks. After procuring two coffees and pastries, she headed for her platform with Scotty in tow.
“So, where are you going this morning?”
“Saint Bart’s. I’m…uh, I’m meeting someone there.” Scotty looked around the crowded station, there was an air of wariness about him. He kept shying away from people and at one point, he almost bolted. When she looked to see what had set him off and her gaze fell on a couple of Transit Police going past on their routine patrols. They didn’t spare Janine or Scotty a second glance, but that didn’t keep him from startling like someone had put a gun to his head. The minute they were past, Scotty bolted. She tracked him to a nearby bathroom, breaking into the gents without a care. Thankfully, there was no one in the open areas, and only one stall was shut. She walked up to the door and rattled it.
“Scotty? What happened? You know you can talk to me.”
“I’m in trouble, Alestra. You shouldn’t be around me, you’ll get in trouble, too. I can’t let you get hurt.”
“Scotty, don’t be an idiot. Get out here and tell me what’s going on? You don’t jump like that at the sight of coppers on a normal day, you’ve never cared about them. What kind of trouble are you in?” Her first thought was he was afraid of being mistaken for someone else, and specifically someone else who was wanted by The Met. The lock rattled and the door opened. Scotty came out, pale and sweating.
“I’m afraid they’ll arrest me.”
“Because you look like someone else who’s wanted by them?”
“Yes.”
“Who do you think you look so much like they’d arrest an innocent man?”
“You know Sherlock Holmes?”
“Oh, him?” She smiled and looked her tall friend over, “Yeah, I can see that. You do look an awful lot like him, don’t you? Been mistaken for him a time or two before, I bet.”
“Just…just a time or two.” Scotty scuffed the floor with one shoe and looked up at her, his eyes a hazy grey under reckless curls and long lashes, “Would you still be my friend, Alestra, if I were a criminal?”
“Everyone deserves a friend, Scotty, even criminals. I can’t imagine you’ve done anything that terrible, and even if you have, I wouldn’t turn you out.”
“Okay. Thank you. You’re my only friend.”
“I can’t be.”
“You are. You don’t…you don’t look at me like other people do, you don’t treat me like other people do. If I was someone else, say if I had lied about something, would you hate me?”
“Depends on what you lied to me about. I’m still not going to turn on you. If you’re in trouble, you’ll need help. Come on, let’s get to Saint Bart’s and worry about the mess you’re in later.”
“You’re a very, very good person, Janine Watson.” He murmured, taking her hand in his. Janine had never told him her real name, she had gone by her middle name Alestra living on the streets.
“How…did you find out my name?”
“I looked you up. I wanted to know everything about you. You were so nice to me, I wanted to know what kind of person wanted to bother with the careless, mean likes of me. I never thought a decorated soldier who’s saved hundreds, thousands of people, would look at someone like me and think I was worth it.”
“I’m no hero, Scotty, and I can barely afford rent at the place I live in right now. Why do you think I was homeless for so long?”
“If you need somewhere to live, you can live in my flat, if you’d like. I…I can’t live there anymore, but you should.” He seemed to have come to a decision, “I may not see you again after today, but I want you to live in my house. You deserve it.”
“You…uh, where do you live?”
“Baker Street. I’ll write my address down for you. Here, this is my house-key.” He handed her a simple brass key and they boarded the train when it came. It was a quiet trip from Baker Street to Saint Bart’s, and Janine went with Scotty to the hospital. There, despite his best efforts to assure her that he didn’t need company anymore and he really didn’t want her to get into trouble if things went south, she stayed with him as he hid out in the chemistry labs.
-&-
Finally, around eleven-thirty, Scotty got a text message from someone. Apparently, it was whoever he was supposed to be meeting with. By that time, he had taken a shower and changed clothes and looked like a completely different person. She had the feeling that was very much the point of things. As she stood with him at the top of the stairs leading to the rooftop of the hospital, that was apparently where he was meeting this mystery person, Janine folded her arms and looked him over.
“I’m not an idiot, Scotty. There’s something you haven’t told me. There’s a lot you haven’t told me.”
“If you want to know, read the papers in the morning. But please, please don’t believe what you see.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone who has to disappear. Several important people need to believe I’m dead, and that’s what the papers are going to say about me. It’s not going to be my name, the name I gave you, but it’s me. It’s always me they’re talking about.” He took her hands, “Please, believe me, Janine.”
“Call me Alestra. I don’t even know who you are, but I don’t think it really matters.”
“What if I’m not…”
“Stop! Alright?” She reached up and grabbed him by the lapels of a very nice Belstaff coat he had in his backpack, “Whoever’s on the other side of this door wants to destroy you, or someone just like you. You have to let them, but don’t you dare expect me to believe a lie! I’m a fucking soldier, Scotty! I’ve killed people in the name of my country for believing in a different god than I do, for being the wrong ethnic identity. You are innocent, whatever this is. You. Are. Innocent.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do. Here.” She tugged on his coat, wondering at how different he looked now from earlier that morning, “Come down here a minute.”
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you something to believe in.” She touched the side of his face, smooth now after he shaved a bit of stubble. Janine smiled and leaned up on tip-toe to kiss him. He wasn’t expecting it, but he didn’t push her away. In fact, she was pulled off her feet a bit as long arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her. Janine gasped and held on as he pushed her against the wall of the stairwell. Instinct kicked in and she put her legs around his hips. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, things were changing too fast, plans were being ignored and modified. She heard a soft metallic clatter and pulled back from what seemed to be an endless kiss, gasping.
“Shit. Shit, this shouldn’t…we can’t…”
“Let me, Janine. Please, if it’s the only thing I do right today.” He begged, hands already on her belt and trousers. She dropped to her feet and made short work of her belt and trousers, he was quick to pick her up again and with her back against the gritty concrete wall and nothing between them but air and bare skin, Scotty asked her forgiveness before he took something she was happy to give him. No condom, he didn’t have one and she wasn’t going to stop to dig through her bag for the stash she kept in the bottom, but she was content to let him have his way with her when he slid home in a single heavy thrust. Janine groaned and buried her screams in his shoulder, muffled in that gorgeous coat, very aware of the dampness on her face. She held onto him long after they were put back together and cleaned up, the discarded wipes tossed carelessly into her bag after wiping down each other and their clothes. He leaned against her, forehead pressed to hers, flush with nerves, and asked her to do something for him.
“Janine, do you have my number?”
“I think I do. Why?”
“I need you to do something for me. Something dangerous and potentially life-threatening.”
“Okay? What can I do? What do you need?”
“I need you to play along. I want you to go downstairs again, wait approximately ten minutes, and then I want you to walk out onto the street in front of the hospital over by the Ambulance Station on West Smithfield. Text me when you’re at the north corner just out of sight of the hospital, and I’ll call you. Since you know so little of what got me into trouble, you should be able to play off the dumbfounded friend. Someone watching me needs to think I’m going to do something risky.”
“You’re not going to jump are you?”
“Jump, yes. Die? Not if I do it right. But I need you to pretend otherwise. Can you do that?”
“I think I can. I’ve seen enough violence and lost enough friends I can probably cry over you with someone else’s name in my head.”
“That’s all I need. He’s not going to know who you are, his snipers aren’t going to know...”
“Wait a minute.” She heard a keyword in there. She looked up at him, “Snipers? Who the hell did you piss off?”
“No one you need…”
“Don’t do that. You’re asking me to play a game, I’m asking you for the truth. I think you owe me that much, after what we just did? Who is it?”
“James Moriarty. One of the smartest criminals in the world. At the very least in London.”
“Mor…” Janine tilted her head, “James Richard Moriarty?”
“You…know him?”
“I know of him. And he’s no world-famous criminal. He’s a two-timing local ganglord from Dublin raising hell across the UK.”
“How?” Scotty frowned, and she looked towards the door, “Who are you to Moriarty?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But…I think I have an idea.” She smirked and took him by the hand, “If you want to get him off your back and throw the scent of his local network, I can help.”
“How?”
“How good are you at playing dead?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Can you trust me?”
“Are you coming with me?”
“You’re not going out there without me.” She kissed him on the cheek, “Come on, let’s topple a small-time criminal mastermind who can’t keep his network together because he keeps killing them off.”
“Who are you, Janine Watson?”
“Technically, I’m Jim Moriarty’s worst nightmare.”
“Not one of Moriarty’s, but you belong to my brother. You worked Intelligence.”
“For a while, yeah. Nothing serious, but it was certainly an experience.” She chuckled, “Come on, let’s go.”
“I don’t suppose you have your service-pistol, by any chance?”
“Of course I do.”
“Loaded?”
“Here.” She handed it to him as she shouldered the door open. He checked the chamber and cocked the slide. The magazine was full and a round was chambered before he handed it back to her. She didn’t put it back in her pocket but kept it in hand as she advanced on the man sitting at the edge of the roof, head down, The Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive” blaring from his phone at full volume. He was about her height, broader at the shoulders, dressed in an impeccable bespoke suit and overcoat, hair slicked back, sunglasses concealing his eyes and a carefully placed hand covering his face. Hearing their footsteps, or at least hearing Janine’s, he lowered his hand but did not move beyond that. And even then, he barely moved at all.
“Ah. Here we are at last – you and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem.” He held the phone up higher, thinking it was Sherlock and not Janine. Sherlock stood behind Janine, well out of danger.
“Stayin’ alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it?” He sounded so angry, frustrated. “It’s just...” he held his hand out flat with the palm down and skimmed it slowly through the air level to the roof, “... staying.” He pulled his hand back and briefly lowered his head into it while Janine took a few steps closer, pacing around in front of him a bit, just out of range of his periphery. He would have to look up properly in order to see her.
“All my life I’ve been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don’t even have you. Because I’ve beaten you.” Janine looked over at Sherlock, who’s gaze narrowed and he took a few steps towards them. He stopped when Janine raised her free hand and folded his hands behind his back. She was standing right in front of Moriarty now.
“And you know what? In the end, it was easy.” He shook his head, disappointed, “It was easy. Now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you’re ordinary just like all of them.” He lowered his head again and rubbed his face before looking up and coming nose-to-muzzle with Janine’s pistol.
“I’m not Sherlock Holmes.” She said calmly, “Clearly.”
“Who…?” He looked around past her to Sherlock, as if making sure he had actually come up to the rooftop.
“Don’t look at him, look at me. Up.” She took a step back and waved him to his feet, “I’ve spent six years looking for you, Moriarty. Six fucking years of my life tagged to one mission. You started causing trouble last year but I was too busy piecing my pathetic life together. It’s bad when even M doesn’t want me back on her rosters until I’m stable. That took a bit longer than I wanted and I may not go back.” She circled him once and carefully put him between her and the four-story drop from the roof to street-level.
“I sure as hell can’t go back to the Army. And that was no thanks to your bloke Moran. Sorry to say he didn’t make it out of that little encounter alive. But you knew that. He made the mistake of coming to gloat and I bled him like a stuck pig. I was covered in so much blood by the time anyone found me they wouldn’t touch me until I’d been stripped of my clothes and rinsed off like a dog covered in mud from a run out in the rain.”
“How did you survive?”
“With a bullet in my shoulder? Good fucking question. Adrenaline, and the fact that I wasn’t about to die in that fucking desert.” She pressed the muzzle of her gun to his forehead, “Game over, Moriarty. You’re done playing with people’s lives.” Adrenaline had her on the edge of fight-or-flight, but the tremor in her left hand was absent. The tension and mortal peril were actually keeping her calm and in the moment. There was a very good chance things could go quite badly, people could be seriously injured or even killed, but she was...calm. Her heart was pounding in her chest, she felt fear, but she wasn’t really afraid.
“You can’t get rid of me that easy. I have people in place to make sure dear Sherlock behaves.”
“Three of them are already dead because you can’t figure out how to keep your own fucking operatives alive. The other three are easy to take care of.” She reached into his coat pocket.
“Ooh, take it easy, sweetheart. Buy me dinner first.” He teased, looking past Janine to Sherlock, “I like your little girlfriend, Sherlock, she’s a keeper!”
“And you’re a dead man. Shut up.” She found his phone and waved it at him, “What’s it take, a phone-call? A text? A code-word?”
“Why should I tell you? They won’t take orders from anyone but me.” He chuckled, “I told em, last one to Sherlock Holmes is a sissy.”
“And then you killed them off one by one as they outlived their usefulness. You’re a moron.” She huffed, “This ends here and now.” She looked over the edge of the roof and raised an eyebrow. There were people gathering below, just sort of loitering with no real clear purpose obvious to any casual observer.
“Bit of an audience, it looks like. Yours, Sherlock?”
“Most likely. You don’t look that upset.”
“I told you.” She smiled at her trouble-mongering friend, “Takes a lot to throw me off, Holmes.”
“I lied to you.”
“For your own sake, and probably for mine.” She shrugged. “You, keep your fucking mouth shut.” She said this to Moriarty, who seemed to realize he was in trouble. Taking two steps back, she scrolled through contacts and text-strings, firing off a stand-down order to three contacts in the list under the heading “Reichenbach Job”. Then, once she had received affirmatives, she pulled the trigger before Moriarty could say or do anything else. Dropping the phone by the body, she retrieved her own phone and called a number she hadn’t had a reason to use in almost two years. It rang out and she paced along the edge of the roof, her balance almost perfect.
“Holmes.”
“Oh, good morning, Ice.” She chuckled, “You busy?”
“Oh my god.” She heard the breathless exclamation, “Hedgehog?”
“I’ve got a job for your blokes. Three targets. Are you ready?”
“Of course. Fire away.” She would have caught him at the office, and she listed off the names of the assassins.
“Take care of it for me.”
“Of course. And the outlying threads as well, my pleasure.”
“Thank you, Ice. What should I do with your brother?” She looked over her shoulder Sherlock, who paced around the body, muttering to himself and tugging on his hair. Irritated or nervous, one of the two.
“Get him out of London.”
“How far out of London? That’s a pretty broad territory. We can stay close or go far afield.”
“The further the better. If you can think of anywhere safe, take him there.” It was one of the few times Mycroft Holmes sounded genuinely concerned for his brother’s safety, “Is he safe?”
“He’s fine. Didn’t realise it was him until Moriarty said something, but you know me.”
“Loyal to the death and willing to do whatever it takes. Bless you, Watson.”
“You work on clearing up this mess and I’ll get back to you.” She smiled and hung up with Mycroft Holmes. The door opened behind them and a couple of men in street-clothes collected Moriarty’s body. Janine suspected they had orders and simply let them do their work.
“Yours?” She asked Sherlock, she had known him as Scotty for almost a year, as the men zipped the body into a body-bag and dragged it away.
“My brother’s. He’ll be cremated in private and his remains destroyed.” Sherlock looked at the grey sky, “Now what?”
“We get to disappear.”
“Did he say the further the better?”
“Something like that. Any ideas?”
“Hmm. We won’t be needed, will we?”
“I doubt it.” She collected her bag and cane and took his hand, “We’ll know if we are. Your brother is not exactly subtle.”
“I hear Scotland is rather lovely.”
“Plenty of quiet places up there. I could do with a holiday in Scotland.”
“Or even France, maybe. Further away.”
“Oh, lovely place that is. Wine country is gorgeous and Paris is beautiful.”
“Plane or train?”
“Plane’s faster.” She rubbed her chin, “But Transit Police will be looking for you.”
“There is that problem.” A problem they had narrowly avoided earlier at the train station. When they got out of the hospital, which took a while with all of the activity, they walked a few blocks before a black government car stopped after following them for a while. It was Mycroft. While they had been busy trying to get out of Saint Bart’s, he had been busy doing other useful things for them. He had two bags apiece packed for them from their separate lodgings, their passports (Sherlock’s was under a false name), and a plane waiting on the tarmac down at London City Airport. It would take them wherever they wanted to go. The plane and passport were already planned for whatever eventuality occurred, granted Sherlock didn’t actually get himself killed in the process (which he hadn’t, thanks to Janine), but Janine was a last-minute addition. She had no connections in London, no family or friends, and leaving for a few months to stay with the one friend she did have wasn’t going to be much of a problem.
As they boarded the plane, they were still debating where to go to ground until Mycroft gave the word. They couldn’t actually agree, there were positives for both countries. Scotland was closer, the same language was spoken almost universally, and they could technically hide right in plain sight. France, on the other hand, was definitely on Mycroft’s “the further the better” list of sanctuary/exile countries. A different language was spoken, it was on a completely separate landmass, and Paris was a little over two hundred miles away. Any destination in Scotland would be almost five hundred miles from London. Still a decent distance. Standing on the boarding-stairs by the hatch, Janine pulled a quid coin from her pocket and held it up.
“Fine, we’ll settle this the old-fashioned way. Heads, we go to Scotland. Tails, we go to France. That’s it. That’s the end of it.”
“Always the gambler, Watson,” Sherlock smirked as he took the coin from her and passed it to the highly-amused pilot, who rolled her eyes and looked between them.
“So that’s how it is? Destiny determined by a fucking coin-toss?”
“Afraid so, Jenkins.” Sherlock grinned sheepishly. Chelsea Jenkins just shook her head and flipped the coin for them. It landed between them with a clatter and Janine crouched to look at how it had landed. Heads. Scotland it was. Home to their families for generations and seats to their clans. Janine took a deep breath and picked up the coin.
“Home it is, then.” She pocketed the coin, wondering where exactly they would end up going. She had a few places in mind that were just out of the way enough no one would bother them. Good places to disappear for a bit. She wondered if the old ferry-house was still in the family. If her grandparents still held the policy that any of the clan who needed shelter could stay there for as long as they needed. She would call when they got to Glasgow. Waving to Mycroft, who stood by the car and watched, Janine ushered Sherlock onto the plane and found a seat.
“I’ll have you two wheels-down in Glasgow in about an hour and a half, then. Buckle up.” The pilot came through. “Haven’t been that way in a while. Nice country.”
“Time to disappear.” Janine buckled her seat-belt and looked at Sherlock, who was nervous but resigned. “You, stop. You survived, he didn’t, and it’s no one’s business but our own that you did. Okay?”
“You shouldn’t have helped me, Janine.”
“There was no good reason for me not to. And besides, I absolutely refuse to be someone’s final phone-call again. Even for show. No. I can’t do that ever again.”
“Again?” he frowned, “What do you mean, again?”
Janine just looked out the window as the plane lifted off the tarmac and became airborne. It still hurt, all this time later, to think about it. To know that she hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been able to talk her best friend out of a permanent solution to a temporary problem. And to make it worse, she had been four thousand miles away.
“This phone call – it’s, er...it’s my note.” A distant voice broken by static and thousands of miles, begging her not to hang up. “It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?” She was remembering her last conversation with Ricky Benson, the last thing she had said to Janine.
“Goodbye, Janine. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough. Thank you for being my friend. I love you.” That was the last time she’d heard from Ricky. Two weeks later, she was home for a funeral and had told a crowd of a hundred friends and family that all she remembered was Ricky saying “I love you” and then a gunshot as her best friend since forever put a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. It was one reason Janine had never pulled the trigger on herself. Ricky had made her swear that she would never, ever let herself do something that stupid and permanent. Janine had promised, over and over, not to do what Ricky had done.
“Only one of us is allowed to be a stupid fuck-up, Janine, and that’s not going to be you. You get to be the bright, brilliant soldier who can save lives and take them. I don’t have that kind of future, I’m not sure I ever did. Be the better of both of us. Be the best of both of us. Make me proud.” Those had been some of Ricky’s last words for her, a plea to be the better person, the best of both of them. Friends since practically before they could talk, she remembered when Ricky had been “Richard” before “Erica”, the drama and trauma of transition, the nasty, violent coming out when they had been eighteen. Their first kiss, two of them actually, the hours and hours spent in quiet places as she taught Ricky to love her body in all it’s forms, patching up broken noses and fractured bones when angry significant others took offence or a phobic cis-gender citizen decided Ricky was disgusting and less-than. A touch on her hand grounded her back to the present and she realized she had zoned out for quite a while. Sherlock sat across from her, face drawn in concern.
“I thought I was the only one who did that.” He squeezed her hand, “Who were you thinking of?”
“My best friend.” She pulled out the pocket-watch she had carried everywhere for four and a half years. It was a unique piece, the outer shell engraved with a series of concentric circles and lines. Sherlock took it from her and studied it, making deductions about the previous owner. When he realized that the owner was no longer alive, the pieces came together.
“Oh.”
“I told you. I said I could cry over your body with someone else’s name in my head.”
“Janine, I didn’t…I’m so sorry.” He handed the watch back to her, “Will you tell me about them someday?”
“I’d love to. Ricky would have adored you.” Janine smiled and tucked the watch away carefully. Really, Sherlock would have been just Ricky’s cup of tea. Tall, dark, handsome, intelligent. Just a bit cocky. Well, a lot cocky. But that was the kind of person Janine and Ricky had always enjoyed tumbling the most. It was always fun to see how long it took to bring someone like Sherlock to their knees, completely undone and at the mercy of Janine or Ricky, whoever had snatched them first. Most of the time, the two of them had worked together, doubling the effort and the blissful agony. Their targets had never complained.
-&-
An hour later, they landed in Glasgow. Leaving the airport, they picked up a hired car, Janine did the driving, and before they left the city, she asked where he wanted to go. She had several places in mind, but he was the one in hiding.
“I…don’t know. I haven’t been here since I was twelve.”
“Then, can I ask you to trust me?” She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled a number.
“Of course.” He nodded and she waited for the call to ring through. It rang three times before it was picked up. Of course, they always answered if they were home, it wasn’t like they ignored phone-calls. Especially from family. And she knew her grandparents had her phone number. She had called them a few times since returning to London.
“Janine Alestra Horatio Watson. It’s about fucking time you called.” Some things would never change. Her grandfather’s salutation was probably one of them. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh and caught her breath.
“Hi, Gampi.”
“Well, what is it now, child? You don’t call without reason. Where are you, anyway?”
“Er, Glasgow. Something came up in London and…I had to leave. I have a friend with me, we need a place to stay. Is Ferry House available, by any chance?”
“Oh, Janine. What did you do?” He wasn’t disappointed in her, he was intrigued. Her grandparents knew exactly what kind of work she did, tah, and they admired her for it.
“Five years of hard work, and one frighteningly close call, all finished.” She checked traffic-patterns as she switched lanes, “I did my bit, now it’s someone else’s turn to finish the job. All I was responsible for was the lieutenant, the kingpin, and the local network. Most of my work was done before I even faced him, he killed off his own operatives.”
“And the lieutenant?”
“Dead before I left Afghanistan.”
“The head of the snake?”
“Dead, dead, and dead again.” She cleared her throat, “Can we stay in Camusnagaul?”
“Ferry House is open to you, always. How long will you be staying, then?” Her grandfather asked conversationally. Sherlock held up six fingers. She nodded.
“Through at least two seasons. Perhaps longer. It’s not my call to make, Gampi, I’m just responsible for finding a safe place to stay.”
“You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you like. We would be very happy to have you.”
“Thank you, Gampi. Give my love to Granda, will you?”
“Oh, of course I will, love. We’ll visit after you’ve settled in. The house is stocked, but you know how to get to Fort William if you need anything.”
“We shouldn’t need much, and anything we do need can be acquired later.” She sighed as they started leaving Central Glasgow behind. “See you in Fort William, I’ll let you know when we arrive.”
“Safe travels, my dear.” Her grandfather just chuckled and hung up first.
“Where are we going?” Sherlock asked as she carefully entered the Ferry House address into her GPS. She opted for the more scenic route through Stirling and Pitlochery. They weren’t in any real rush, and Janine was willing to take things a little slower now that they were finally in Scotland.
“Family property near Fort William. Clan seat’s outside of Leven, but my grandparents live in Fort William now. The family’s a little scattered these days.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve stayed at Ferry House many times over the years, it’s always been open to me. I’ll probably be the one to inherit it when my grandparents pass on.” She thought of her grandfather’s house, all lit up and warm, of hot toddies and warm blankets, bedrooms that smelled of the loch and heather and sun-warm cotton, a kitchen that smelled of tea, fresh scones, and peat. The whole house would smell of peat, the fireplace had never been converted and still burned peat-logs alongside central heating to warm the upper rooms. And tobacco for Alasdair and Hamish’s pipes.
Ferry House didn’t actually belong to Hamish Watson, it belonged to Alasdair Harrow. Alicia Watson had passed away when Janine had been ten years old, it had been very sad, and most of the family had shunned her widower husband after it came out that Hamish Watson had entertained a polyamorous relationship with his wife and his oldest friend from childhood, Alasdair Harrow. Shortly after Alicia’s death, Hamish sold the house he and Alicia had kept together and moved in with Alasdair for the sake of company and being with a loved one. Now they lived together in a house on Achintore Road that also housed Hamish’s veterinary surgery on the ground floor with kenneling and storage in a small villa behind the main house. Ferry House in Camusnagaul had remained in the family and remained open thus to any of the family who required a place to stay for whatever cause.
Janine hadn’t known Gram Watson that well, her memories of the woman were fuzzy but fond, but she had grown up loving Alasdair Harrow, whom she had always called Gampie and always would. It was rumoured in the Watson clan that Janine’s first real word had actually been Gampie, which was how he had gotten the title in the first place and no one had ever bothered to change it. He had always told her, every time they saw each other or spoke to each other, that if she ever found herself in need, he would always be there for her. And he had been. Through a tumultuous childhood and adolescence, through three years of medical school and ten years in the Army, three of those spent on classified duty for MI6, working assignments she had continued even after leaving the organization. She had departed just short of gaining a coveted agency, so close she could smell the ink on the paperwork. Mycroft had all but promised it to her if she felt like ever returning to MI6, and even M, who had been rather fond of her during her time with them, had offered her a place should she find herself in need of some work.
-&-
It was a five-hour drive from Glasgow to Fort William, they stopped along the way to get dinner and switch places driving. It was well after nightfall by the time they arrived at the small but spacious house on the western shore of Loch Eil and Loch Linnhe. The lights of Fort William glowed distantly across the loch, and a breeze blew up from the sea. Janine offered Sherlock one of the five bedrooms and retreated to her own room after she had closed down the house and went upstairs to get ready for bed, taking a Plan B pill with water, just in case. After taking care of business in the upstairs bathroom, she brushed her teeth at the little vanity-sink in the corner of her room. Every room had one, she had never asked why, but it was very convenient if the bathroom was occupied and you needed to get ready but didn’t need a shower. Turning the bed down, she climbed under the covers and was asleep in no time. The window was open, and she listened to the sounds of the Highlands. The occasional passing car, the water against the shoreline, the wind against the trees. It was a very different kind of nocturnal noise than she was used to in the city. It would certainly be a change of scenery for Sherlock, who slept in the next room.
Janine slept well that night and woke up early enough to watch the sunrise over Loch Linnhe and Ben Nevis across the loch. She was sitting in front of the house with her laptop when she was joined by Sherlock. He had coffee, which she took with a smile.
“Sleep at all last night?”
“No.”
“Mm. Probably won’t for a few nights.” She sipped at the coffee and looked out across Loch Linnhe. “But you are absolutely safe here, Sherlock. This is as close to a safe-house as we’re going to find up in the highlands.”
“I like this house. It’s…cozy.”
“I always loved this place, it’s always been a kind of refuge when I needed one. And since you’re not technically supposed to be dead, no one is going to care up here. People will recognise you, but Highlanders don’t judge like folks to the south do.”
“I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.” He seemed a little at odds, but she didn’t blame him. That day was quiet, Sherlock explored a bit of Fort William on their side of things, and they settled into Ferry House.
-&-
Two days after she brought Sherlock to Fort William to save him from himself, Janine’s grandparents made the promised visit. Sherlock was out on a walk when they arrived, but she knew he would be back soon. Janine made her grandparents welcome and shared news with them, what little they didn’t have already.
“So, word came our way that Sherlock Holmes got into a bit of serious trouble in London and no one’s seen hide or hair of him in two days. Hard for a bloke like that to just disappear.” Alasdair eyed Janine up and down.
“But he did just that.”
“And who’s going to bother with a little place like Fort William to find ‘im?”
“That’s the idea, Gampie.” Janine sighed, “I don’t know how long we’re going to be here, but this was the safest place I could think of.”
“And we would have insisted.” Hamish scolded, “Where is he, anyway?”
“Went out for a walk. He likes to do that.” She heard footsteps on the gravel drive and smirked, “There he is.”
“Janine!” He shouted from outside, she knew by the tone he was excited. Or nervous? One of the two. She went to the door and pulled it open, poking her head out.
“Alright, Sherlock?”
“I found something! I need your help, and the phone number of a veterinary surgeon, quite possibly!”
“Oh for…Jesus, Sherlock, what now?” She looked over her shoulder, “Sorry, can you…”
“Did he say he might need a vet?”
“Yes, he did. Christ knows why.”
“Hamish.”
“Of course.” Her grandfather just smiled and got up, going out behind Janine and to the car they had driven over from Fort William. Janine heaved a sigh of relief and ran around the side of the house to find Sherlock. He’d found something, alright. And God alone knew where.
“Oh, my god. Sherlock!” She stopped short at the sight of her friend sitting on the gravel, soaking wet and hugging something to his chest.
“Please don’t be angry with me?”
“Where did you find it?”
“Down at the loch. I saw it struggling.”
“Explains why you’re wet. Did you go in after it?”
“Yes, I had to. Right off the ferry-dock, ten people saw me go in and pulled me back out.”
“You idiot.” She looked up and over her shoulder, “Granda, we need towels and blankets! Please tell me you have your kit?”
“Never travel without it, love.” Hamish appeared with his kit over one shoulder and his arms full of blankets and towels.
“My grandfather’s a veterinary surgeon. Hasn’t retired yet.” She said in answer to the look Sherlock was giving the two of them.
“Oh.” Sherlock looked up at Hamish with wide eyes, blinking water out of his field of vision, “Hello, sir. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Pleasure’s mine, son. Let’s get you and your find inside, then. Come on, lad.” Between them, Janine and her grandfather got Sherlock to his feet and back into the house. Alasdair had retrieved the folding table-pad and was laying it on the dining-room table. Putting down a protective padded sheet, they then laid down the water-logged, half-drowned creature Sherlock had rescued from the loch. It was a dog, or looked like one. The poor thing was in miserable shape, and Janine wondered for a minute where it had come from.
“There aren’t many strays in Fort William.” Hamish murmured as they worked over the dog. “And no one’s missing a dog recently.”
“Sherlock, what happened out there? What did you see?”
“It was one of the fishing-boats. I couldn’t see exactly what they were throwing out, but I didn’t know what to do.”
“Think the Douglases would know anything?” Alasdair folded his arms as he watched. Janine narrowed her eyes.
“If anyone would, they’d be the ones. They’ve got eyes all over the Inland Seas. I’ll go see Ferdy and Rowena and see what they can tell me.”
“Did you see the name of the boat that dumped this dog, then, Holmes?” Hamish looked up at Sherlock, who was pacing nervously.
“I did. Absolutely.”
“Then go with my granddaughter. She’ll be in touch with some sources of ours.”
“Yes, sir.” Something in his brain clicked over and she saw a change of posture. He was still very concerned, being terribly fond of animals, but now he was running on a different circuit. This had gone from an emergency to a case. He liked that kind of thing.
“Go get some dry clothes and I’ll take you to Fort William.” Janine stepped away from the table. “Will you take the dog to the clinic, then?”
“Absolutely. You kids get in touch with the Douglases and local force, I’ll make sure this one stays with us.” Hamish smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “A bath, a good groom, and a couple of square meals should about do it for this one.”
“A round of antibiotics just for good measure.” Janine had worked alongside her grandfather as an assistant at his clinic for several years, wondered if she could go back to veterinary medicine since working on humans wasn’t really in her cards anymore. All standard tests would be drawn and run, and they would look for the owners unless the owners were the ones who’d made the mistake of dumping the dog in Loch Linnhe where Sherlock could see them. In which case, Janine was not above pressing charges for animal cruelty and abandonment.
Fifteen minutes later, she was waiting for the water-taxi. The ferry had already run, but she wasn’t waiting for them to come back. Sherlock stood beside her, doing something on his phone, dressed in dry clothes and looking suitably serious.
“Don’t worry about that dog, Sherlock. Granda’s one of the best at what he does, everyone in Fort William knows it. Are you going to need a new phone?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll get that taken care of. Was everything saved to the Cloud?”
“Always.”
“Good.” She heard the rumble of familiar engines and raised her head, “Ah, our ride’s here. Come on.” She went down the jetty and caught the rope tossed out to her by Billy Douglas.
“Watson.”
“Douglas.”
“What’s on? You sounded pretty urgent on the radio.”
“We’ve got something we need your help with.” She looked over her shoulder, “Sherlock! Come on, time’s wasting!”
“Hang on.” Billy leaned out and eyed Sherlock as he came down the jetty, “That’s not Sherlock Holmes, is it?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, Jesus. So it’s true?”
“Not a fucking word of it. We’re trying to get things straightened out in London, but he can’t be in the city while we clear his name.”
“So you brought him up here, knowing it would be a desperate moron to come after him.”
“Precisely.”
“Clever little bastard, aren’t you, Watson?”
“Got to be, in my line of work.” She grinned at Billy, who offered Sherlock a hand onto the Wisteria Mare.
“Mr Holmes.”
“Mr Douglas.”
“Sherlock, this is Billy Douglas. He’s a friend of mine, friend of the family going back a long time.”
“Oh, just a friend?”
“Shove off, Douglas.” She kicked at him as he danced out of reach.
“Oi! If you rabble-rousers are done, we’ve got work to do!” Ferdy Douglas yelled from the wheel-house, “Hop to it, Watson!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Janine rolled her eyes and hopped onto the deck of the tour-boat she had spent summers driving as a job from the age of sixteen until she went to the Army. Using boat-hooks and blind intuition of exactly where they were and how deep the water was, they manoeuvred away from the jetty and got headed back towards Fort William. Janine stood on the bow of the boat for a while before doing a walk-around. Her balance was slightly compromised, but she used the rocking of the deck to her benefit.
“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked as she passed him on one circuit.
“I know this boat inside and out, the way it sounds now and how it should sound, the fastest it’ll go on a clear day and it’s idling-speed optimal for docking manoeuvres.” She leaned against the railing, “I kind of grew up here when I was a kid.”
“Wouldn’t know that looking at you.”
“You didn’t know I was MI6 either, did you?” She raised an eyebrow as he joined her.
“Do you think the Douglases can really help us?”
“Absolutely. And I’ll talk to the other captains. They don’t like people making a fuss and since none of us are missing pets, it’s a good bet someone snatched one of the strays and tried to dump them.”
“Will the dog survive?”
“Almost without question.” She sighed and watched as they came up on the Ferry Dock. They passed a number of boats coming and going, and Sherlock suddenly straightened, going very still.
“What is it?” She asked softly.
“That boat.” He pointed out a fishing-boat idling out on the loch, “That’s the boat. That’s them.”
“Got it.” She nodded and patted him on the shoulder, getting a look at the name of the boat in question. “That’s the Felix Manara.” She headed for the wheelhouse and stepped in.
“Captain.”
“Ma’am.” Ferdy Douglas looked over his shoulder at her, “What’s on, love?”
“Mind if I borrow your radio real quick?”
“Be my guest.” He indicated the radios and she grabbed the radio-log. Flipping through the pages, she found the frequency for the Northern Constabulary’s Fort William Area Office. By the time they were idling up by the jetty, she saw the cars on the street above, lights flashing, and looked over her shoulder to see a couple of cutters closing in on the unawares Felix Manara.
“So much for getting away with trying to drown a dog in Loch Linnhe.” She mused, leaning against the railings as they came up alongside their berth. A couple of local officers, neat in their familiar uniforms, were waiting to take the anchor-lines. Janine leaned down and picked up the coiled rope at her feet and held it at the ready. As soon as the boat bumped against the dock, she tossed her rope out.
“Thanks for the assist, lads.”
“Pleasure, ma’am. That the boat that threw the dog?” The older of the two pointed out at the idling, unwary Felix Manara.
“That’s the same boat. I saw them do it, I thought they were throwing out lines or nets.” Sherlock watched the boat with sharp eyes, “I thought something was wrong, but I wasn’t expecting to take a swim.”
“You…what did you do?”
“He rescued the dog. It’s up at Fort William All Creatures Great Clinic.”
“We’ll send someone up there, then.”
“Doctor Watson will be happy to see you.” Janine looked up at the car-park above, “I guess you boys’ll be wanting statements, then?”
“Uh, yes. The chief’ll want to talk to you. If you’re the ones who made the call?”
“I did. On the radio just now.” Janine hopped the rail and landed sound-footed on the stable jetty. She batted off her trousers and held out one hand to the constables as Sherlock did likewise. Just up, she saw the Douglases talking with another lot. Good thing small-town forces took things like this more seriously.
“I’m Janine Watson, Doctor Watson’s granddaughter. This is my partner, Sherlock Holmes. We’re visiting for a while, be here through to at least winter.” Janine didn’t hesitate to name Sherlock her partner.
“Sherlock Holmes? The Sherlock Holmes?” Oh, boy, did their eyes get wide. “Oh, you’re the smart one! Did all that hard work in London, didn’t you? Damn genius!”
“Squalling shame the way you got treated last couple of months.” The senior constable, he was about Greg Lestrade’s age, shook his head, “Nah, if you need work, laddie, we’ve probably gotta puzzle or two just mad enough for you to crack.”
“Who would I talk to?”
“You’ll meet ‘er. Name recognition’ll go a long way up here. But if you need hiding, we can hide you proper.” The man, probably a Hamilton if Janine had to judge, and she knew most of the families in Fort William, just smiled and offered his hand. “I’m Brantley Hamilton. This one’s my partner, Lucas Gaines.”
“Oh, you are a Hamilton!” Janine chuckled as she shook hands with them, “I thought you might be! Spent a lot of my time up here when I was younger, much younger, know most of the families here. Or, I used to.”
“Nah, I know you, kiddo.” Hamilton narrowed his eyes with a sly smile, “But not because you were one of the rascals running havoc up here with those Douglas boys. Nah. I know you from somewhere a little further away from here.”
“Army?” Sherlock murmured. Janine nodded as she double-checked Hamilton’s ranks. Not a constable, after all. He was an inspector, just like Lestrade in London. But she had to give Hamilton’s constable props for being nice. What little she knew of Lestrade’s sergeant, she was not very nice to people who weren’t with Scotland Yard.
“We don’t do things up here like they do back in London, but you’ll be alright.”
“Fort William’s probably the size of all of Marylebone, things will have to be done differently.” Janine rocked on her heels. Hamilton offered to take them back up to the station, or they could walk. Apparently, they knew about Sherlock’s adversity to riding in police vehicles. And seeing as he’d narrowly escaped wrongful arrest barely twenty-four hours prior, it was completely understandable if he’d rather walk. It wasn’t that far from the West End Car Park, where they had tied up the Wisteria Mare, to the Area Office. Three minutes’ walk, maybe.
“We’ll walk, tah. Who do we ask for?”
“Rowena Douglas.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Janine chuckled and took Sherlock’s hand, “She thought it was the right thing to do when I was in university.”
“That’s what makes the Douglases such reliable resources, they run the place.” Sherlock mused, not minding at all that she’d taken hold of him that way.
“Just about the way of it. See you up there, lads.” Janine waved at Hamilton and Gaines and set off on the short, three-minute jaunt to the Area Office. It didn’t take long to get there, and they stopped at the proper desk to ask to speak with Rowena Douglas.
“Is she expecting you?” Oh, there was always one or two, everywhere. Some haughty clerk with a chip on the shoulder big enough to topple a mountain. Janine looked at Sherlock, who shrugged, and turned to the clerk.
“If she’s not, she’ll take us anyway. Watson and Holmes, we’re here about the incident over across Loch Linnhe just a while ago. It’s kind of important, she’ll want to hear from us.”
“What’d you say your names were?”
“Sherlock Holmes and Janine Watson. We’re from London, with The Met.” Oh, nice move. Poor girl almost choked and went white as a sheet when Sherlock flashed an obviously-stolen badge. She never got a very good look at it, but Janine knew it had been stolen from Lestrade. She kept a straight face as the clerk called back to the proper office and then offered, very tamely, to show them the way.
“No thank you, we’ll find it ourselves, constable. Good day.” Janine was already on her way, she knew where Rowena’s office was, thank you. As soon as they were out of earshot, she grabbed the badge from Sherlock and flipped it open again.
“Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Where the hell did you get this?”
“I pickpocket him when he’s been particularly annoying. I have more, you can keep that one if you’d like.”
“You steal his badges? Sherlock, that’s awful!”
“Oh, he doesn’t mind.”
“Yeah, I bet he doesn’t. You idiot.” She pocketed the badge, “Don’t suppose you nick his handcuffs, too?”
“Always.” Dangling said pair of handcuffs. Janine sighed and rubbed her forehead. They got to Rowena Douglas’s office and knocked.
“I heard you halfway down the hall, Watson, I’m surprised you remembered your manners and knocked,” Douglas called before her knuckles touched the surface of the door. She knocked anyway and pushed the door open.
“I’m not a petty teenager anymore, ma’am.” Janine stepped into the office, which hadn’t changed at all since she’d last been here. “Come in, Sherlock.” As soon as Sherlock was in, she closed the door.
“Boy, if The Met has you two on rosters, London has a big problem.”
“London always has a big problem.”
“Who’s your tall friend, Janine?”
“This is Sherlock Holmes, Rowena.”
“Oh, I remember you, son. Cocky little shite, doesn’t look like that changed a bit.” Rowena sized them up as they stood side-by-side on the other side of her desk and chuckled, shaking her head, “That badge and cuffs were stolen from some unfortunate inspector with The Met, weren’t they? Good friend of yours, too.”
“She’s smart.”
“Didn’t get here playing stupid.” Janine cleared her throat, “You may have an animal-cruelty case on your hands this afternoon, Rowena, sorry about that.”
“Neither of you two are a bit sorry. Nobody took a swing?”
“Never set eyes on the bastards. Probably be a different story if we had.” Janine looked at Sherlock, who nodded, “Only thing that happened was this tall moron saw them toss the dog, and went straight into the water to save it. I think we’re lucky they didn’t have it netted or something.”
“They did, but it got to the surface.”
“Oh, Christ. Who was it? Did you see the boat?”
“The Felix Manara.”
“Jesus, that’s the Finley boys. Damn hooligans make you two and my sons look like fucking angels.” Rowena ruffled her greying hair with both hands, “Well, you two sit down and keep your mouths shut. These are yours. Don’t leave anything out.” She shoved a couple of reports across the table at them, “Over there.” A small work-table set to one side provided the space they needed and Janine shrugged. Taking one seat, she started in on her share.
“Can I get you mad things anything?”
“Coffee, please?”
“Black?”
“Two sugars, please.”
“Be right back. Don’t touch anything.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It wasn’t until the door closed again that either of them dared to breathe. Janine looked at Sherlock, who sat next to her, and snickered.
“I like her!” His eyes were bright, “Too bad she’s up here! Oh, she’d be wonderful at The Met!”
“Oh, she’d have them all running scared like rats on a sinking ship in no time! Think Lestrade would like her?”
“Oh, they’d get along fine! She’s married?”
“Um…” She frowned. “No? Don’t think she is. She’s Ferdy’s sister.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t even think about it, Sherlock.”
“Can I think about it but not act on it?”
“No, because you’ll do both.”
“You’re no fun.” He huffed, smiling too much to be serious. Janine rolled her eyes. Rowena came back with two cups of coffee and sandwiches from a break-room tray.
“Knowing you two, you haven’t eaten in longer than is healthy. That’s for you.”
“Thank you, Rowena.” Janine smiled at the woman who had been part of her life almost as long as she’d been alive. Sometimes she missed living up here, she missed Fort William. She sighed and took a sip of coffee. It was quiet in the office while she and Sherlock filled out reports like they’d done it hundreds of times before, which they sort of had, and Rowena did paperwork. They finished their reports and Rowena filed them properly, giving Janine a key.
“What’s this?”
“Storage. We’ve got a few cases you might like to work on. Not much happens around here, but it’ll keep you two out of trouble.”
“Oh. Thanks, Rowena.” Janine palmed the key and went looking for the archives. They loaded four boxes with case-files and evidence packets, returned the key, and got a ride over to Fort William All Creatures Great Clinic. Alasdair and Hamish were there, and Janine saw the hired Land Rover she and Sherlock had driven from Glasgow. Loading the boxes in the boot, they went inside.
The dog, for the safety of the other patients, was in isolation until they got the blood tests back. Janine suited up in a green short-sleeved jumpsuit and let herself into the kennel. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she leaned against the wall and watched the dog. It might have been traumatized earlier, but it was not afraid. It sat for a few minutes before venturing over as she talked to it in soft Gaelic and held out one hand.
“Oh, you’re pretty, aren’t you? Just a pretty thing.” She stroked the dog’s head. It was a Flat-Coated Retriever, female, fairly young but…not a puppy. Maybe two or three years old. Janine smiled and rubbed the dog’s ruff as she got a tired whine and her lap was suddenly full of dog. “Okay, that works too.” Rubbing the dog’s belly, she noticed a fullness. Was this dog…something occurred to her and she looked over her shoulder.
“Sherlock!”
“Yeah?”
“Can you do me a big favour?”
“Of course. What’s on?”
“I think I know why they tried to drown the dog.”
“Oh?” In a heartbeat, he was coming down the hallway, “Is everything alright?”
“Call Rowena, and find either of my grandfathers. I think we have a problem.”
“Oh, she’s pregnant!” His eyes got wide as he understood, seeing where Janine’s hand rested over the dog’s belly. “They were…oh, no, they were trying to kill the puppies!”
“And figured why not take out the whole lot at once!”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. That’s not…” Sherlock looked sad and furious, “There had better fucking be a good explanation for this!” With Janine’s phone raised to his ear, he walked away again. Janine stayed with the dog, keeping her company. When Sherlock came back, Hamish was with him. Yes, he knew the dog was pregnant. As soon as he had her cleared, he was going to see about fostering her until the pups were born and then until they could be adopted.
“We’ll do it.” Janine and Sherlock said it in tandem.
“We’ll foster the mum and her puppies.” Janine stroked soft ears, “It’s the least we can do, anyway. Do we have any idea who the sire is?”
“No, but Chief Douglas is going to do her best to get answers.”
“Sherlock?”
“Hmm?”
“You want those answers, don’t you?”
“But why would they let me anywhere near the suspects?”
“Because you rescued their dog. You can’t stand cruelty to animals, and they owe a very good reason for this kind of abuse and neglect.”
“Will you come with me?”
“Do you want me to?” She didn’t really want to leave the mum, but if Sherlock wanted her along, she’d go with him.
“Well, you are my partner, aren’t you? So, you should come with me. I mean, you can stay with the dog, but…”
“You want company, too.” Janine smiled and leaned over to kiss the dog on the muzzle. “Sorry, Mum, but I have to go back to work. I’ll find out why they tried to hurt you and your puppies. Then, when you get out of here, you’ll come live with us. Nice warm house, lots of room, safe place to bring your puppies into the world.” She got a nuzzle and a lick and got up, making sure to close the gate behind her.
“So you’re partners now, are you?” Hamish just looked all smug as he followed them down the hall. Janine looked at Sherlock, who shrugged.
“Yeah, I guess we are.”
“And already working the small-town cases together? All because he jumped into Loch Linnhe and saved a dog?”
“Something like that.”
“Why am I not surprised.” Hamish shook his head and saw them out.
-&-
Going back to the Area Office, they talked Rowena into letting them into the interview. Sherlock had done this before, was rather good, and watching him tear apart the Finleys for what they’d tried to do was a thing to admire. He was clinical and brutal and honest and the boys folded, admitting that they just couldn’t afford to keep the dog.
“Well, that is absolutely no reason to do what you did! You don’t just throw a dog away because you can’t keep it! Put it for adoption, let someone else take care of her!” Janine leaned across the table, “I’ve seen a lot of stupid shite in my time, lads, but that’s not just stupid, that’s heartless and selfish. I hate to think of what else you’re willing to throw away because you don’t want it. I sincerely hope neither of you has children, or may the gods have mercy on all of us.” The brothers had gone pale while Sherlock destroyed them verbally, but they looked like they wanted to sink into the floor as Janine laid into them. Shaking her head, she pushed away from the table.
“You two need to spend some time thinking long and hard about your priorities and your decisions. The next time you’re in here, we won’t be this nice.” Sherlock got up, brushing off the front of his jacket, “I think we’re done here.” With a nod to Rowena, who was trying so hard to keep a straight face, Janine and Sherlock left the interview room. As soon as the door was closed behind them, she leaned against the wall and caught her breath.
“Think we scared ‘em?”
“Did we get our point across? I think so.” Sherlock grinned, “You were rather good at that.”
“If there’s one thing I’m not too bad at, it’s interrogating someone. I could have been a lot meaner to them, I’ve worked much harder suspects.” She shrugged and leaned her head back, “That was…fun.”
“Wasn’t it? That’s what I do.”
“Think we can solve Fort William’s crimes?”
“Absolutely. Do you want to?”
“Of course! And it’s more fun with a partner.”
“Then yes, we can solve Fort William’s crimes together.” Janine sighed and the door opened. Rowena came out and locked the door behind her. The Chief Inspector looked from Janine to Sherlock and smiled.
“That. Was spectacular. I knew about you, Mr Holmes, but watching you is a treat! Can you do that with a crime-scene?”
“Of course I can.”
“You might be very useful.”
“We are at your service, ma’am.”
“Good. I think we might have some use for you.” Rowena just smiled, pleased with something. Janine looked at Sherlock, wondering what exactly Rowena had in mind for them.
“Come back to my office, why don’t you? I’m not quite done with you two.” Rowena went back towards her office, Janine and Sherlock obediently followed. Coffee was provided and they talked a bit.
“So, how long are the pair of you looking to be in Fort William, then?” Rowena asked in that calm tone of voice that meant she was paying attention to every single thing you said and did. Janine looked at Sherlock, who shrugged.
“A few seasons, maybe longer.” She looked at the woman who had been part of her life for so long, “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, the way I see things right now is, I’ve got a former soldier and a disgraced consulting detective in my office with nowhere to go and nothing to do with themselves.” Rowena folded her hands on the desk and leaned forward, “Now, I know Janine could go work for her grandfathers and do quite well there, maybe even be content with the job, but…you, Mr Holmes? Oh, no, you require puzzles and stimulation for that great brain of yours or you go mad, tear yourself apart, get destructive.”
“Ma’am?” Sherlock blinked a bit owlishly, he hadn’t expected Rowena Douglas to be quite so…smart. She had city-smarts, and the stubborn Highland constitution to get the job done right whatever the cost. It was what made her so good at her job.
“Aunt Rowena?” Janine ventured carefully.
“I can offer the two of you honest jobs for as long as you need them, but I won’t take you on as consultants. You can do so much better than that and deserve better.” Rowena’s eyes narrowed and she looked from Janine to Sherlock, “How much time can you give us?”
“How much time can we…um. To Police Scotland? How much time are you asking for?”
“Minimum of two years. Three, maybe.”
“Two…years.” Janine tapped her fingers against her lips, trying to work out what Rowena wanted them to do. “That’s…that’s two years for probationary training. Periods at Scotland Police College Jackton/Police Training & Recruitment Centre in East Kilbride, or Tulliallan Castle in Glasgow for the first eleven weeks?” She looked at Rowena, who nodded. “And then Divisional training somewhere up here. Either here in Fort William, or further north in Inverness.”
“Well, your skill-set is highly sought-after and transfers well to police-work, I suppose.” Sherlock tilted his head.
“I said two of you.”
“This one doesn’t play well with others, never mind playing nicely with police.” Janine looked at Sherlock, “He has a bad habit of speaking his mind about his “co-workers”, and he’s not very nice about it.”
“I am aware of this.” And if anyone would know, Rowena Douglas would. “But I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and a chance to prove himself worthy.”
“But they’re going to know who he is.”
“Not likely. Holmes isn’t an unusual name up here, after all, and you’ve got two other names we can pick from to keep your identity under wraps as long as it takes.”
“Two…names?”
“Well, unless I’ve forgotten, your full legal name reads William Sherlock Scott Holmes.” Rowena grinned behind steepled fingers, Janine had the sneaky suspicion she and Sherlock were going to be run into the ground to within an inch of their miserable lives, and as far as anyone south of the border cared, Sherlock Holmes was either dead or in hiding. Up here? They didn’t particularly care.
“So, is that going to be William or Scott, then?”
“William, ma’am.”
“Excellent. And Janine, you’re going with him.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Janine just nodded. Not like she was new to taking orders like that or anything. And right out of the Army, she would probably have less trouble adjusting than Sherlock would.
“Now, I know you have taken on care of the Finley’s dog, so I’ll give you a couple of months to get that squared away.” She handed over packets to them and Janine looked hers over. The physical fitness aspect didn’t bother her much at all, getting back into shape enough to pass the final physical wouldn’t be too hard for her. But Sherlock? He had some work to do. A lot of what was required could be accomplished well ahead of time and held until needed, such as preliminary medical exams and drug-testing for Sherlock. In fact, Janine would be damned if she didn’t hear a soft whimper from the disgraced detective next to her as he read through the requirements. She chuckled and patted him on the arm.
“I’ll help you, Sherlock. We’ve got…maybe two months before we need to seriously consider? Plenty of time. You’ll hate me before the end, but you’ll be in better shape to make it through the program. We’re doing this properly.”
“Together?”
“Absolutely.” She didn’t miss Rowena grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “How’s your stamina?”
“Dismal?”
“We’ll work on that.” Janine got up first and Rowena saw them to the street. They returned to the surgery to see how the Finley dog was doing. When the dog saw them coming, she lifted her head and wagged her tail.
“That’s the first sign of life we’ve had out of her since you two left her here.” Hamish watched, “Did you ever get her name from those idiots?”
“They named her Brill. We can do better than that.” Janine let herself into the kennel, joined this time by Sherlock, and sat on the floor near the gate. The dog struggled to her feet and shuffled over, sniffing Janine and Sherlock’s outstretched hands and giving a timid, grateful lick before she nuzzled under Janine’s hand and collapsed across her lap for some love.
“What should we name her?”
“Something proper.” Janine rubbed the dog’s ears, marvelling that she was so trusting of strangers after everything that had happened to her.
“Victoria. Regina. Catherine. Gwendolyn.”
“Victoria?” Janine tilted her head. The puppies would be adopted to good families, but the mother would stay with them, and they would take her with them when they eventually returned to London if that ever came to be an option. She stroked the dog’s muzzle, knowing it soothed a nervous constitution.
“Victoria?” She tried again. The dog lifted it’s head a bit, the ears twitched, and she thought the tail wagged. Smiling, Sherlock leaned over.
“Victoria.” Like magic, she was at attention, looking up at the two strangers who had rescued her, wide brown eyes adoring.
“I guess we’ll call her Victoria, then.” Janine chuckled and they spent a bit more time with the dog before going home. They had work to do, anyway. The rest of the day was quiet, and it was a week before she returned the four boxes they had taken out of Rowena’s archives and got another four.