The Devil in Devon Part Ten
The Devil in Devon
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence
Character(s): John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade
Summary: Sequel to "Promise to the Living". Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade investigate the devil's reappearance in Devon County after 160 years. What they find out places their lives- and John and Mycroft's relationship- in jeopardy.
Status: WIP
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine
While John silently panicked, Elena whispered, "Damn it, Myke, you always did show up at the most inconvenient times." As she rummaged in her server apron, causing change to jingle, she hissed, "Stall him."
John had no idea what good that would do. There was no way out of the men's toilet except through the door. Still, he called out in strangely hollow tones, "A moment, Mycroft."
Mycroft's response was to tackle the lock. He was coming in anyway, it seemed. Then the door swung open and the elder Holmes stood in the narrow entrance, his entire frame taut with anticipation. Seeing John unharmed, he relaxed minutely, but when his blue eyes took in Elena, they widened.
"Dear God," he breathed.
She stepped forward, a softness mellowing her features. "Myke," she said in a voice like molten honey. "You look good."
During the millisecond that Mycroft was off-guard, Elena's arm shot out. John saw her jab a syringe into his neck, depress the plunger, and toss it to the floor in one precise and graceful motion. Whatever its contents were, they worked fast: Mycroft's eyes dulled before he could even exclaim and he pitched forward. She caught him and shoved his heavy weight toward the two bodyguards who hovered in the hallway. Then she seized John around the throat, pinching his neck in the crook of her elbow, and pressed a gun to his temple.
"Step back, gentlemen," she snapped at the guards and Lestrade, who appeared beside them. "Or I will shoot Dr. Watson."
Lestrade crouched and carefully touched Mycroft's neck, checking his pulse. The elder Holmes was slumped in the arms of one of his men, blinking rapidly and muttering under his breath. Judging by his hooded eyes and slowly relaxing limbs, he was losing the battle with unconsciousness. "What did you give him?"
"Nothing he won't sleep off. Now step back. I won't ask again."
As Lestrade and the guards reluctantly obeyed, the latter dragging their insensible boss, Elena manoeuvred into the hallway, holding John in front of her. Forced to lean against her, he detected that they were moving toward the fire exit at the end of the narrow passage. Its steel door creaked in protest as she nudged it open with her hip, and then they were in the parking lot behind the pub, the bright afternoon sun blazing down on them.
"You're going to drive away with me, John," she whispered as she pulled him along. "Once we're a safe distance away, you'll be dropped off."
Lestrade appeared in the doorway, revolver gripped in both hands. When he took aim, John cried, "Greg, don't! She's not going to hurt me unless you make her!"
Lestrade lowered his weapon, distress written all over his face.
John briefly wondered where Sherlock was. Then a car door opened behind him, and Elena slid into the back of a silver BMW. When John collapsed onto the seat next to her, she ordered, "Close the door."
When he obeyed, the car started. As it hurtled out of the parking lot into the quiet Topsham street, he turned to look at the driver. It was a young woman, aged twenty-five at the most, with black hair caught in a severe ponytail and the hard, determined expression of a habitual renegade.
"This is Petra," Elena said crisply. "She's my partner and confidante. She knows everything." She barked something in Polish to the woman, who nodded sharply and stepped on the gas.
"God almighty," John breathed. "You just took out Mycroft Holmes and abducted me in broad daylight in front of an ex-copper and two government minders. No wonder Mycroft never forgot you." Then he remembered the fierce needle jab and his lover's collapse. "What was in that syringe? What did you give him?"
She thrust the revolver back into her apron pocket before crossing her arms and leaning back. "10 mgs of Haldol. I suspected that he might discover us, so I came prepared. He's going to have quite a headache when he wakes up, but otherwise, he'll be fine."
Although adrenaline from their sudden departure still pulsed through John's body, a cold fear now seeped in, dampening its effect. He stared down at his hands, trying to wrap his mind around the reality that unless a miracle intervened, in twenty-nine days those hands would be shredded by an explosion, along with the rest of him.
"John," Elena said.
Numbly, he faced her.
"I'm not going to give up, and nor should you. You have reasons to fight, just like I do. Namely, my son." She paused to address Petra in Polish again. John heard the word 'Alexei' pass between them. Whatever the young woman said in reply must have satisfied her, as she relaxed.
"How can I fight this?" John asked. He clenched his hands and watched the veins pop out in his wrists. Was that microscopic explosive travelling in those very veins right now, so close yet so unreachable?
"You can't, but whoever designed that device probably can." She released her long blonde hair from its ponytail and stared into the distance. "I'm going to find out who that is. The question is how I'm going to contact you when Mycroft will have you under a microscope from now on."
"Why keep hiding from him now? He already knows you're involved."
"He'll take me into custody and separate me from my son."
"So tell him about Alexei. Tell him everything you told me. Let him help."
"I can't."
"Why not? Sergei's in custody. He can't touch the boy now, can he?"
"No, but his associates can, and will." Elena's voice took on a bitter edge. "When it became known that I had terminal cancer, the Consortium placed Alexei in one of our facilities in Surrey. I can see him whenever I wish and even stay there with him when not on assignment, but I'm not free to take him away. They do this whenever agents with children and no immediate family become ill like this. Imminent and certain death makes many people question their priorities, John. Some have rethought their earlier ideals and gone to MI6 to undo their perceived misdeeds. By controlling Alexei, the Consortium has peace of mind where I'm concerned. They've also caught on that he's unusually intelligent. They'll use him after I'm gone, like I told you."
"Mycroft could get him out of that place. You don't need to die before he's told about the boy."
She laughed bitterly at that. "Mycroft is always about duty first and foremost. He wouldn't execute me, because of our shared past and my present illness. But he will incarcerate me, and that's not the way I want to spend whatever time I have left. I expect you to hold to our deal, John. You tell Mycroft about Alexei after I'm gone." She paused before adding soberly, "If that's possible, given this new development."
They rode on in silence for another five minutes. When the BMW turned onto a quiet residential street, Elena ordered Petra to pull over.
"You can get out here," she said. "Do you have your phone with you?"
"Yes."
"When we leave, call that gentleman you were with. Tell him where you are."
John opened the car door and stepped out onto the pavement. He turned and said, "I'll be grateful for whatever you can find out about this… thing- inside me."
"I will do my utmost. I can't let you die before I do, John. I won't fail Alexei."
She pulled the door shut and gave him a curt nod. Then the BMW moved back into the street and was soon lost to view.
John didn't remember taking out his phone and dialling. But it seemed that only moments later, Lestrade arrived in a black SUV with three bodyguards.
"John!" he exclaimed as he jumped out of the vehicle. "Are you all right?"
"For the time being. Is Mycroft okay?"
"Out like a light, but otherwise, yeah." Lestrade's expression changed from relieved to troubled. "John, that was her, wasn't it? The woman whose name sets you off?"
"Yes." John noticed that a man who was mowing his small front lawn and woman enjoying a cigarette on her doorstep were watching them curiously. They probably thought he was ill or drunk and being collected by concerned friends. There was no way they could guess the truth, and he envied their ignorance.
Sensing that John was about to collapse, Lestrade refrained from further questions and led him toward the car. But as they got into the back seat, John remembered something. "Where's Sherlock?"
"I don't know. Mycroft came into the pub without him. The minder who accompanied us there was apparently taking camera phone photos of anyone who served us or even looked our way, in case one of them might be a recognized person of interest. He forwarded them to Mycroft. Moments after you went into the Gents', Mycroft showed up. He must have recognized that woman."
"Greg…" John ran a hand over his eyes to fight back an oncoming headache. Mycroft would demand an explanation after the drug wore off, forcing him to choose between loyalty to his partner and his promise to a dying woman who might be able to save him. "I know how questionable that looked."
"Questionable isn't the word, John. What's happening?"
"She's helping me."
"And why would she do that?"
"She doesn't want Mycroft to die," John said, honestly. "And she doesn't want me to die either."
"What makes you so sure that you can trust her?"
John eyed Lestrade speculatively. The need to talk to someone was so urgent that his throat ached. The nightmare was worsening. More confused and afraid than he'd even been on the battlefields of Afghanistan, he decided to confide in the ex-Yarder. Instinct told him that he could trust Elena, but experience confirmed that he could trust Lestrade.
Before he could speak, his mobile went off, signalling an incoming text.
John? Are you there? SH
"It's Sherlock," he told Lestrade before replying.
Yes. JW.
John, the car is slowing down. As soon as they leave, I'll ascertain where I am and text you again. SH.
Lestrade, who was reading over John's shoulder, frowned. "What's he on about? What car?"
"My thoughts exactly." John hit the reply button and typed, What car? JW.
Sherlock's reply made both of them swear so loudly that the driver's eyes flew to the rear view mirror.
The car that Diabel took you away in, John. I'm in the boot. SH.
Sherlock had been in the boot of Elena's BMW the entire time! Somehow he had slipped inside while she was dragging John out of the pub, but how had he done so without Lestrade and Mycroft's men- never mind that Petra woman- seeing him? John's fingers scrambled over the phone keys.
You WHAT?
"Oh, bloody hell," Lestrade groaned.
Climbed in when the woman at the wheel was distracted. Must ascertain where Diabel is hiding, as the key to helping you must lie there. When I do, I'll text you the location and Mycroft can play battlefield general all he likes. SH.
A moment later, another text followed.
We've stopped. SH
Glancing up, John saw that they were nearing the manor. Mycroft's Audi was visible in the elaborate garage. He and Lestrade would have to retrieve Sherlock themselves: with 10 mgs of Haldol in his system, Mycroft wouldn't be able to stand, let alone direct an infiltration team.
Sherlock, listen to me. Do nothing to give yourself away. Wait for Lestrade and I. Understood? JW
Sherlock never replied.
Part Eleven
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence
Character(s): John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade
Summary: Sequel to "Promise to the Living". Sherlock, John, Mycroft, and Lestrade investigate the devil's reappearance in Devon County after 160 years. What they find out places their lives- and John and Mycroft's relationship- in jeopardy.
Status: WIP
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine
While John silently panicked, Elena whispered, "Damn it, Myke, you always did show up at the most inconvenient times." As she rummaged in her server apron, causing change to jingle, she hissed, "Stall him."
John had no idea what good that would do. There was no way out of the men's toilet except through the door. Still, he called out in strangely hollow tones, "A moment, Mycroft."
Mycroft's response was to tackle the lock. He was coming in anyway, it seemed. Then the door swung open and the elder Holmes stood in the narrow entrance, his entire frame taut with anticipation. Seeing John unharmed, he relaxed minutely, but when his blue eyes took in Elena, they widened.
"Dear God," he breathed.
She stepped forward, a softness mellowing her features. "Myke," she said in a voice like molten honey. "You look good."
During the millisecond that Mycroft was off-guard, Elena's arm shot out. John saw her jab a syringe into his neck, depress the plunger, and toss it to the floor in one precise and graceful motion. Whatever its contents were, they worked fast: Mycroft's eyes dulled before he could even exclaim and he pitched forward. She caught him and shoved his heavy weight toward the two bodyguards who hovered in the hallway. Then she seized John around the throat, pinching his neck in the crook of her elbow, and pressed a gun to his temple.
"Step back, gentlemen," she snapped at the guards and Lestrade, who appeared beside them. "Or I will shoot Dr. Watson."
Lestrade crouched and carefully touched Mycroft's neck, checking his pulse. The elder Holmes was slumped in the arms of one of his men, blinking rapidly and muttering under his breath. Judging by his hooded eyes and slowly relaxing limbs, he was losing the battle with unconsciousness. "What did you give him?"
"Nothing he won't sleep off. Now step back. I won't ask again."
As Lestrade and the guards reluctantly obeyed, the latter dragging their insensible boss, Elena manoeuvred into the hallway, holding John in front of her. Forced to lean against her, he detected that they were moving toward the fire exit at the end of the narrow passage. Its steel door creaked in protest as she nudged it open with her hip, and then they were in the parking lot behind the pub, the bright afternoon sun blazing down on them.
"You're going to drive away with me, John," she whispered as she pulled him along. "Once we're a safe distance away, you'll be dropped off."
Lestrade appeared in the doorway, revolver gripped in both hands. When he took aim, John cried, "Greg, don't! She's not going to hurt me unless you make her!"
Lestrade lowered his weapon, distress written all over his face.
John briefly wondered where Sherlock was. Then a car door opened behind him, and Elena slid into the back of a silver BMW. When John collapsed onto the seat next to her, she ordered, "Close the door."
When he obeyed, the car started. As it hurtled out of the parking lot into the quiet Topsham street, he turned to look at the driver. It was a young woman, aged twenty-five at the most, with black hair caught in a severe ponytail and the hard, determined expression of a habitual renegade.
"This is Petra," Elena said crisply. "She's my partner and confidante. She knows everything." She barked something in Polish to the woman, who nodded sharply and stepped on the gas.
"God almighty," John breathed. "You just took out Mycroft Holmes and abducted me in broad daylight in front of an ex-copper and two government minders. No wonder Mycroft never forgot you." Then he remembered the fierce needle jab and his lover's collapse. "What was in that syringe? What did you give him?"
She thrust the revolver back into her apron pocket before crossing her arms and leaning back. "10 mgs of Haldol. I suspected that he might discover us, so I came prepared. He's going to have quite a headache when he wakes up, but otherwise, he'll be fine."
Although adrenaline from their sudden departure still pulsed through John's body, a cold fear now seeped in, dampening its effect. He stared down at his hands, trying to wrap his mind around the reality that unless a miracle intervened, in twenty-nine days those hands would be shredded by an explosion, along with the rest of him.
"John," Elena said.
Numbly, he faced her.
"I'm not going to give up, and nor should you. You have reasons to fight, just like I do. Namely, my son." She paused to address Petra in Polish again. John heard the word 'Alexei' pass between them. Whatever the young woman said in reply must have satisfied her, as she relaxed.
"How can I fight this?" John asked. He clenched his hands and watched the veins pop out in his wrists. Was that microscopic explosive travelling in those very veins right now, so close yet so unreachable?
"You can't, but whoever designed that device probably can." She released her long blonde hair from its ponytail and stared into the distance. "I'm going to find out who that is. The question is how I'm going to contact you when Mycroft will have you under a microscope from now on."
"Why keep hiding from him now? He already knows you're involved."
"He'll take me into custody and separate me from my son."
"So tell him about Alexei. Tell him everything you told me. Let him help."
"I can't."
"Why not? Sergei's in custody. He can't touch the boy now, can he?"
"No, but his associates can, and will." Elena's voice took on a bitter edge. "When it became known that I had terminal cancer, the Consortium placed Alexei in one of our facilities in Surrey. I can see him whenever I wish and even stay there with him when not on assignment, but I'm not free to take him away. They do this whenever agents with children and no immediate family become ill like this. Imminent and certain death makes many people question their priorities, John. Some have rethought their earlier ideals and gone to MI6 to undo their perceived misdeeds. By controlling Alexei, the Consortium has peace of mind where I'm concerned. They've also caught on that he's unusually intelligent. They'll use him after I'm gone, like I told you."
"Mycroft could get him out of that place. You don't need to die before he's told about the boy."
She laughed bitterly at that. "Mycroft is always about duty first and foremost. He wouldn't execute me, because of our shared past and my present illness. But he will incarcerate me, and that's not the way I want to spend whatever time I have left. I expect you to hold to our deal, John. You tell Mycroft about Alexei after I'm gone." She paused before adding soberly, "If that's possible, given this new development."
They rode on in silence for another five minutes. When the BMW turned onto a quiet residential street, Elena ordered Petra to pull over.
"You can get out here," she said. "Do you have your phone with you?"
"Yes."
"When we leave, call that gentleman you were with. Tell him where you are."
John opened the car door and stepped out onto the pavement. He turned and said, "I'll be grateful for whatever you can find out about this… thing- inside me."
"I will do my utmost. I can't let you die before I do, John. I won't fail Alexei."
She pulled the door shut and gave him a curt nod. Then the BMW moved back into the street and was soon lost to view.
John didn't remember taking out his phone and dialling. But it seemed that only moments later, Lestrade arrived in a black SUV with three bodyguards.
"John!" he exclaimed as he jumped out of the vehicle. "Are you all right?"
"For the time being. Is Mycroft okay?"
"Out like a light, but otherwise, yeah." Lestrade's expression changed from relieved to troubled. "John, that was her, wasn't it? The woman whose name sets you off?"
"Yes." John noticed that a man who was mowing his small front lawn and woman enjoying a cigarette on her doorstep were watching them curiously. They probably thought he was ill or drunk and being collected by concerned friends. There was no way they could guess the truth, and he envied their ignorance.
Sensing that John was about to collapse, Lestrade refrained from further questions and led him toward the car. But as they got into the back seat, John remembered something. "Where's Sherlock?"
"I don't know. Mycroft came into the pub without him. The minder who accompanied us there was apparently taking camera phone photos of anyone who served us or even looked our way, in case one of them might be a recognized person of interest. He forwarded them to Mycroft. Moments after you went into the Gents', Mycroft showed up. He must have recognized that woman."
"Greg…" John ran a hand over his eyes to fight back an oncoming headache. Mycroft would demand an explanation after the drug wore off, forcing him to choose between loyalty to his partner and his promise to a dying woman who might be able to save him. "I know how questionable that looked."
"Questionable isn't the word, John. What's happening?"
"She's helping me."
"And why would she do that?"
"She doesn't want Mycroft to die," John said, honestly. "And she doesn't want me to die either."
"What makes you so sure that you can trust her?"
John eyed Lestrade speculatively. The need to talk to someone was so urgent that his throat ached. The nightmare was worsening. More confused and afraid than he'd even been on the battlefields of Afghanistan, he decided to confide in the ex-Yarder. Instinct told him that he could trust Elena, but experience confirmed that he could trust Lestrade.
Before he could speak, his mobile went off, signalling an incoming text.
John? Are you there? SH
"It's Sherlock," he told Lestrade before replying.
Yes. JW.
John, the car is slowing down. As soon as they leave, I'll ascertain where I am and text you again. SH.
Lestrade, who was reading over John's shoulder, frowned. "What's he on about? What car?"
"My thoughts exactly." John hit the reply button and typed, What car? JW.
Sherlock's reply made both of them swear so loudly that the driver's eyes flew to the rear view mirror.
The car that Diabel took you away in, John. I'm in the boot. SH.
Sherlock had been in the boot of Elena's BMW the entire time! Somehow he had slipped inside while she was dragging John out of the pub, but how had he done so without Lestrade and Mycroft's men- never mind that Petra woman- seeing him? John's fingers scrambled over the phone keys.
You WHAT?
"Oh, bloody hell," Lestrade groaned.
Climbed in when the woman at the wheel was distracted. Must ascertain where Diabel is hiding, as the key to helping you must lie there. When I do, I'll text you the location and Mycroft can play battlefield general all he likes. SH.
A moment later, another text followed.
We've stopped. SH
Glancing up, John saw that they were nearing the manor. Mycroft's Audi was visible in the elaborate garage. He and Lestrade would have to retrieve Sherlock themselves: with 10 mgs of Haldol in his system, Mycroft wouldn't be able to stand, let alone direct an infiltration team.
Sherlock, listen to me. Do nothing to give yourself away. Wait for Lestrade and I. Understood? JW
Sherlock never replied.
Part Eleven