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Mrs. Hudson's P.O.V.
Now, someone less familiar with Sherlock would have simply accepted this as a prank of some sort, or put it of towards the various drugs he liked to consume, but I knew better. Especially since I knew a thing or two about the substances he liked, and where his stash was. At my age one has certain needs... But anyways, I knew that when Sherlock used this matter-of-fact voice, he was stating matters of fact! So I brushed aside the unimportant question of how or why a girl from the future would travel to our time. I just rejoiced at the happy news! It was finally confirmed, all those suspicions I had about my boys! They would find true happiness together, my Sherlock finally settling down with someone to take care of him, and our dear John coming out of the closet he had been hiding so stubbornly in.
I put all my gratitude into my embrace of the young woman, who didn't seem to mind, but instead replied: "I've actually wondered, what you were like! I never got to meet you. In my time, you died of a stroke when I was two.” She actually seemed sad at this, bless her soul! "I only knew what you looked like. Da... John had made some photos of you holding me as a baby, but I had no memory of you. So, I'm really happy I get to know you now!”, she finished. What a sweet angel! It wasn't hard to guess where she had got her manners from, and I turned to my John with pride, who just looked back confused.
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Then we suddenly heard foot steps coming up the stairs. We all turned to the door with anticipation, when that smug bloke Mycroft entered the flat, unannounced and without ringing, as usual. Sherlock just became annoyed as he always does and John still seemed embarrassed at the situation. But then I saw the young woman's face shut down, looking over at what would be her uncle in her time. I tried to excuse myself, when I noticed this tension, just to be held back by Sherlock. His brother without greeting started asking: "Well. This is quiet the predicament. Anything you wish to tell me, brother dear?” The younger Holmes just scoffed: "Fuck off, Mycroft!”
John raised his brown surprised, then turned to Angela, and noticed her angry look. The older Holmes scolded: “Oh, come on Sherlock, is that the language you wish to use in front of a young lady?”, and he looked over to Angela with a sweet smile, but was surprised to find her hurling daggers at him with her eyes. I cleared my throat, and gave that reptile likewise an appalled look, when he eyed me, but he just huffed: "Don't act like this is news to you Mrs. Hudson. Anyways, don't you have something to get out of the oven?” "She stays!”, Sherlock stated. "Don't you think, this is a family matter?”, his brother asked, to which my dear Sherlock emphasized: "That's why she stays!”
I felt flattered at this, but also got as uncomfortable as John, who was looking back and forth between the brothers, that seemed to be fighting in silence again. Then he nudged Angela: "I think we better get out of here.” But she answered: "He's talking about us.”, and sat down at the table, crossing her legs. John looked at her with surprise and Mycroft raised a brow, but she calmly delivered: "He heard everything.” "What? How?”, John inquired confused and that smug Grinch gave her an approving smile, asking: "Oh, so you noticed?” The girl calmly delivered: "Found them the moment I entered the rooms. All 14 of them.”
Now both Holmes brothers turned a shade paler, as Sherlock asked: "14?” "We only installed 13!”, Mycroft added. "What?”, John wanted to know confused. "Cameras!”, Sherlock answered hastily. "You knew too?”, his brother wondered, "Why didn't you wreck them?” "WHAT?”, John cried at the same time, outraged, and I thought out loud: "Oh dear, I'm not presentable...” But then Angela stood up in a swift move, knocking back the chair, shouting: "Is one of them broken?”, and muttering to herself: "Please say no, please say no, please say no...” Mycroft was now very pale, retorting: "Well, camera 7 sometimes doesn't run, but...” "OH SHIT!”, she screamed, while Sherlock stepped next to her at once, stating: "It would have to be here, point to them one by one!”
Angela started pointing around the room. Me and John tried to keep track or find something, while the Holmes brothers answered in quick succession: "No. No. No. WAIT!” The young woman had pointed towards a corner at the ceiling of the kitchen, where the black wood was merged into the wall, half covered by the tapestry. She immediately pushed the table towards the wall, jumped onto it grabbing a mug, and used that to knock against the plaster of my good wall! The men and me stood back in shock, as part of the ceiling and wall gave way, revealing a small compartment. Inside was something that looked like a small black radio, with multiple wires going out. Angela cursed: "That bastard...”
Then we heard a clicking noise. I could see the men's eyes growing wide with realization, as flashback from Moriarty's bombing series came to haunt us. The girl yelled: "I need tweezers, wire cutters, something, right the fuck now!”, as she pulled at some of the wires. Sherlock ducked to get something out from under the sink and threw her a box cutter, which she used to slice through some of the wires, only to yank out the rest, screaming: "Where's your peroxide?!” Sherlock disappeared into his room.
The clicking got louder and John pulled me towards the door, instructing: "Get as far away as possible!” "That's too late...”, that once self confident tick Mycroft whispered scared, as Angela jumped down towards the sink, placing the contraption inside and turning on the water to full power. She scanned the kitchen, grabbed the kettle and emptied it inside the sink too, teabags and all! Moving on to the fridge, she opened it, unphased by what looked to me like a dismembered hand in some jelly solution, picking up the milk in the door, sniffing it while she returned to the sink, to quickly pour that inside as well.
The clicking was now very loud and fast, as though mocking us, when Sherlock returned with a plastic container full of liquid. Without asking, the poor girl grabbed it, sliced it open with the cutter, injuring herself, but pouring it all into the sink. The contraption, now fully submerged, was still ticking, and despite her bleeding hand burning from the chemicals, Angela put them into the sink to hold down the box, one cable in her hand. Then she looked at Mycroft, growling: "This is all your fault!”, and yanked out the cable.
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The ticking stopped. Angela let out a sigh of relief, as did we all, and quickly put her hands under the still running water. John ran into his room to get his doctors case, and Mycroft, who had jolted when Angela addressed him, sunk against the counter, huffing: "Oh dear lord.” Sherlock pulled back the table, covered it with a towel, and helped Angela sit down to place her hands on the top. They were all red and bleeding. John returned and quickly examined her wounds. Taking some anti-burn cream to apply, he assured her: "It will be alright, the burns aren't severe, and the cut isn't deep.” "I know. It just hurts like hell.”, she gave back, tired. Then she started to weep. "I'll give you something for the pain.”, the doctor added, but she answered beaten: "It's all my fault. Me and my darn trust. What if it was all for nothing now? What if I made it worse?” I didn't understand a word, but I knew better than to interrupt.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Meanwhile Sherlock sat down across from her and wondered: "I take it there was more than one reason I told you not to trust Mycroft.” His brother gathered himself up, looked over to them in surprise, and John asked puzzled: "Wait, when did you tell her that?” "Remember the recording John.”, my dear detective simply answered and John, still tending to Angela's wounds, tried to recall: "Well you told her where to find us, where I worked, Molly's last name... Did she get married?”, he turned to Angela, who nodded and responded: "Jup. A taxidermist called Frederic O'Moore. Had a son called Michael. We dated for a while. It didn't work out.” Oh my! Her face turned sad for a second, then she gave Mycroft an angry eye again, before looking back at John.
Sherlock explained impatient: "I also told her not to trust anyone but us and 'perhaps' George or Molly! But I never mentioned Mycroft. I wonder why!” "Who's George?”, I asked and the girl answered: "Mo... Sherlock keeps confusing Greg Lestrade's first name with any other male name beginning with G. He thinks it's an inside joke he has with him, not realizing he only confuses him and everyone around with it.” John was wrapping Angela's hands in bandages, saying: "Well okay, so you told her not to trust anyone but us, but I thought that's because Mycroft is already dead in the future, and maybe that's why you didn't mention him? I mean, you also never mentioned Mrs. Hudson, but now you're informing her anyways, so if you trust her, why not your brother?”
The older Holmes had stepped closer, eyeing his niece with worry. Sherlock started deducing: "I wonder... why did a young woman like yourself never settle down to have children? I know I'm not keen on family, but John always has been, so being his daughter too, you should have at least some urge to settle. Yet you never mentioned any such thing, and just now you seemed sad to tell us, your relationship didn't work out.” "Isn't she a bit young though?”, I remarked, "Why should she settle down with...” "She's well older than me or John, more like Mycroft's age!”, Sherlock interrupted me, surprising John and myself, "So searching for a partner should well have been under way.” He eyed the young woman, who gave him a little nod of encouragement.
He went on: "And her career choice! She could well have been a journalist, she's intelligent, observant, daring... Just now she showed excellent skills in finding hidden cameras and diffusing explosives, she could well be a spy, or an assassin! Given her parents were an army doctor and a detective, and her uncle in the secret service, that would have been a quiet obvious line of employment, thrilling enough, dangerous and highly satisfying. It would also require of her not to have a family. But she's a teacher, quiet the opposite, a job that requires a nurturing character, lots of patience, something all three of us lack, offering miserable pay and hardly any free time. Why should she want to go through with that?!”
John frowned at him: "Hey, teachers are important! And it's very rewarding!” "Maybe to a simpleminded goldfish it is!”, Mycroft suddenly joined in, "But not to a genius like her.” "How would you know?”, she hissed at him. Sherlock kept deducing: "Maybe you were a spy. Didn't have family. Perhaps when you first left home. I could picture it as some rebellion against me, working with my self absorbed brother like that. So you travel the world for MI6. But then you wanted change. Leave the secret service, settle down... You wanted kids! Can't have those as a spy. Some normality. Something simple. You tried your luck with this Michael, a boring man, for a boring normal life.”
"Sherlock, that's very rude! You don't even know what her boyfriend was like!”, he was interrupted, but brushed it aside: "Come now John, his name is Michael O'Moore and he's Molly's son, how interesting could he be?” To our surprise, both Mycroft and Angela chuckled at this, only to look at each other, Mycroft with almost pleasant eyes, Angela with a frown. Sherlock guessed: "But it couldn't work out, could it? Not with him, or anyone... You wanted children. And you couldn't have any! Is that right? So you became a teacher instead. And somehow that is Mycroft's fault!”
Me, John, and even Mycroft looked at Sherlock in awe, but Angela just curled up her lip a tiny bit. So he added: "It was Mycroft's fault. Because as a spy... No. You would have known then. Or John would have noticed, if they sterilized you unknowingly. No, it was different.” Pacing around the kitchen, his hands joined together, touching his chin, he seemed to recall: "They took the most promising DNA... Mycroft made sure we had the latest technology... You're infertile!”, he stopped short, fixing his eyes on her, "You have been so from birth! And he knew it...”, he pointed to his brother, "He knew, because... He made sure! He must have had a say in the mixing of the genes. He ordered for you to be infertile. And you found out somehow. Maybe he even confessed to it. But why?”
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Now Sherlock was looking at Angela for answers. And she turned to Mycroft, to suddenly sing: "Fear not my brother, for I am here! Keeping you safe, near and dear. No matter how bad the east winds blow. I'll guide the way, that you need to go!” Mycroft looked like he got shivers down his spine. Then she added: "There's an east wind coming! Who is it coming for, uncle?” Sherlock looked a bit alarmed. Then Mycroft asked: "How much do you know?” She shrugged, to state matter-of-fact: "I would say everything. Only I know you cannot live without withholding information. Or lying. So, I should say, I know enough. And I'm glad I didn't open with that story. That would have been a feast for Moriarty, or whoever this device belonged to!” She pointed to the still bubbling sink with the submerged spy camera.
Sherlock sat down in front of Angela, next to John, and I got the impression of a family at dinner. Out of an impulse, I went and stood behind Sherlock. He asked: "What about the east wind? Mycroft used to scare me with that as a child. Though I don't know, why I should fear any kind of current. I took it as one of those irrational fears underdeveloped young brains dream up.” Angela looked at him with compassion, and asked back: "Do you remember that you wanted to be a pirate when you were little?” Mycroft inhaled sharply, pleading: "Please don't!”, when Angela burst out: "You shut up, all this is your fault anyways!” Me and John flinched, but Mycroft begged: "Listen Angela, I am sorry for whatever I might have done in the future, but please let the past lie!”
"I will not let the past 'lie'! It's been a lie for long enough!”, she shouted, but he insisted: "You don't know what you'll do to him!” "ME?”, she yelled, "If anyone can be blamed for the hardship Sherlock has or had to go through, it's you! And I know exactly, what's going to happen!” Mycroft stared at her in anguish, John looked surprised at the new power struggle Mycroft was in, Sherlock just observed, and I worried what the neighbors might think, if it got any louder. Mycroft made one last attempt: "Please Angela, don't do this!” She gave him a mocking smile, and asked back: "And why should I listen to you? You've done nothing to earn my trust!”, and then added with a stern look: "After all, YOU aren't treating this like a family matter either, are you?”
Mycroft's face became a hardened mask, and he gulped. Then he suddenly straightened himself up and loudly declared: "As the alpha T grade 10 official of her majesties secret service, I ask that the recorded footage of 221B Bakerstreet be deleted and the devices shut down.” He gave Angela a questioning look, but when she didn't budge, he added: "All the footage.” She still didn't flinch. So he declared: "And the data shall be completely terminated!”
Then, without looking at Angela, but rolling his eyes instead, he recited: "Sometimes before things get better, the darkness gets bigger. The person you'd take a bullet for, is behind the trigger!” Then he slumped a little and Angela's lips curled up. John asked with amused irritation: "And just what was that?” Mycroft calmly replied: "The code to leave us alone, and swipe all the acquired data collected from the cameras. We are now without surveillance.” He shifted his weight a little and Angela teased: "You don't like that, do you? You feel threatened, if there aren't a dozen agents watching your every move. You're so paranoid.”
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