Doyle for President

Kat took in a deep breath and leaned back in her seat, trying to look at ease in her constraints, “You are forgetting one thing yourself, he never wanted me.” She’s trying to anger the man. Even if she wasn’t raised by her father or his family, no denying that she is one of them. “Well,” the man smiled slowly, the darkness in his eyes dancing with mirth, “I suppose it is a good thing that he doesn’t care, seeing as everyone who has claimed to love you is dead.” Kat can’t help the shocked expression snap across her face like a rubber band stretched too tight. “Oh yeah,” he glows with a sick excitement, “I almost forgot to mention, your little boy toy got in the way, ‘fraid we had to shut him up.” Kat sees red as she slams her forehead into the man leaning down in front of her, he falls back on his ass and laughed wiping the blood from his lip. “Don’t get me in the mood love,  I would hate to get start the party before daddy got here.” He stood up, dusted himself off and grabbed a needle and syringe from the table next to her. Kat felt fear climb it’s way up her spine like it was a rope ladder. She’s tied to a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor, the knots are too tight --she’s tried them for hours. She’s stuck, her training is telling her to bolt, attack, do something, but she can’t. She’s prey to this monster and all she can do is fight against the dark as he injects her and the room fades to black.  Mycroft’s employees give him a wide berth as he stormed into his office. “I want every single thing we have on Kathleen Holmes sent to 221B Baker St now.” Most of his employees scurried off to complete the task given to them, knowing not to test their senior. Most of them... One man, a new man, Mycroft deduced, did not follow the lead of his peers. “But sir, he began, “This is national secrets, I know she’s your daughter but I don’t think..” He did even get a chance to finish his sentence before Mycroft pulled the blade out of his umbrella and lined it up against the adam’s apple of his throat. “You are not employed to think, only to do as I say.” He applied a little more pressure, “Do you think you are able to do that?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow waiting for his answer. “Ye.. Yes sir”, he stuttered. “Very well,” Mycroft took a step back, sheathed his blade, “get to work.”  John felt his stomach drop with every file he read. Sherlock had taken to pinning all the data and pictures to the wall behind the couch. “Sherlock, she’s been through so much. How could Mycroft just sit by?” Sherlock is on his 100th lap around the living room --eyes glued to the most recent document in his hands, “I don’t know, John.” John stops his eyes focusing on one file. “Jesus, she was just a kid for most of this.” Sherlock stops pacing with the file in his hand and pulls in a deep breath. “John, she knew Mary.” John turns on his heel, “What?” Sherlock hands the file to him, “Mary was part of the team that broke her out CIA facility. She saved her, they worked together, for years it looks like.” John can’t believe what he’s looking at. He knew so little of Mary’s past. He was shocked to turn the page and see a photo of Kathleen and Mary in training gear. They were both smiling, happy in each other’s company. “Mary protected her, they protected each other”, John looks up at Sherlock file still in his hands, “Do you think she can tell us about Mary, about her past?” Sherlock took the file back, “We have to find her first.”

Turning his back on Sherlock, who had trudged into the kitchen, John looked at Mycroft. “What has happened then?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow in question. “Come on Mycroft, you aren’t one to share information unless you are backed in a corner or Sherlock’s life is at risk, so come on, spit it out.” John echoed Sherlock’s words from earlier in the park. “My daughter is in danger.” John couldn’t help but stand a little taller and set his shoulders. “Her name is Kathleen, she’s been taken from her post within the CIA and is being held by a party not yet known to me.” Sherlock walked back into the room, a cup of tea in his hand. “Mycroft is asking for our help, but refuses to give us any useful information, per usual.” Mycroft takes a deep breath a look of exasperation taking control of his face. “I’m trying to protect her, Sherlock.” Sitting back in his seat Sherlock takes a sip of his beverage, “Yes, of course, because you have done such a great job of that so far.” John sits at the table, the gravity of the situation taking rest on his shoulders, “Why was she with the CIA? --Why wasn’t she with you?” John can feel his paternal instincts taking control. “Because Sherlock is right. She is my child but I was never her father”, something close to shame glints over his features before he clears his voice and shifts in his, well, John’s seat. John cuts his eyes to Sherlock curious if he had seen it. He had. “How old is she?”, John asks. “Old enough to know better”, Mycroft mumbles to himself before turning his attention to John still seated at the table. “She’s 24.” “And, uh, is she like you and Sherlock or like Eurus?”, John asked drumming his fingers on the table. Sherlock looked up curious about the answer as well. “It would seem that the women in our family tend to be a great deal smarter than us,” he looked at Sherlock, “But to answer your question, Dr. Watson, she is not a threat of National Security. Not unless she is feeling bored, of course.” John sat back in his chair, relieved. “So what are we going to do?” Mycroft opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock beat him to it. “Mycroft is going to sit by the phone and wait for the kidnapper’s call.” Mycroft shut his mouth in annoyance. “Then”, Sherlock continued, “He is going to give them whatever it is they want.” John pursed his lips slightly letting that sink in his brain, “If they haven’t made contact yet, then how do you know that she’s been taken?” “I received a phone call from a very upset young man last night stating and I quote: Sir, they are going to kill her, she can’t take much more of this, she’s going to die.” John felt his eyes bug out of his head, “How are you just sitting here?!” His left hand balled into a tight fist on the table. “Ah, there we go, welcome to the conversation, John.” Sherlock quips from his seat, finishing off his tea. “We are sitting here Dr. Watson because the boy gave me no viable information before, what I can only imagine, he was shot.” John looked to Sherlock. Before another question could be asked, Mycroft’s phone began lightly chirping in his breast pocket, demanding his attention. Sherlock rocketed out of his chair and over to Mycroft who stood up with the phone in his hand, “It’s a video from another blocked number.” John moved closer. “Play it.”, Sherlock said. All three of them noticed the shake in Mycroft’s hand as he moved his finger to the screen and press play.

John sighed as he opened their closet… his closet. Running a hand over his tired face he mentally contemplated putting this off another day. He had been productive today, sorted the Kitchen and the Den called the local donation center and arranged for the items and furniture he no longer had a use for to be picked up the following afternoon, but those rooms had been shared spaces –not as intimate, not only hers. I’ll just grab mine, take it back to the flat and sort the rest tomorrow he decided. He knew he would regret not doing it when he laid down tonight but he couldn’t force himself to do it. Not right now. Grabbing an armful of his hanging clothes he stuffed them, hanger and all, into the box on the mattress. He had just grabbed the last armful when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Folding the flaps of the box in he reached for his phone, it was a text from Mrs. Hudson. Swiping the message open he saw she had sent him a picture of Sherlock and Rosie. They were in the hall, Rosie in his arms and holding onto his shoulder, her head was thrown back in laughter and a warm smile on Sherlock’s face. John couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Who would have known that the great Sherlock Holmes would have gone soft for a child? Just when he was about to put the phone back in his pocket another msg popped up under the photo. “I suggested they go to the park and enjoy this weather, you’ll find them there if you were coming back anytime soon.” John moved his eyes back to the picture. Happiness. He could see it shining in both of their eyes. He couldn’t find himself to join, not today, not surrounded by his dead wife’s things. He typed a quick reply “I would hate to ruin their fun. I’ll check in later.” Send. Tossing his phone to the empty dresser top next to him he bent to the bottom of the closet to start grabbing his shoes. Mycroft rolled down the window of the car as Sherlock and the Watson child approached the sidewalk to cross to the park on the other side of the car. “Get in Sherlock.” He watched his brother roll his eyes. “Go away, I am busy.” He moved past the car. Mycroft sighed, opening the door and stepping out. “This is important, brother mine, we need to talk.” Mycroft didn’t have to see Sherlock’s face to know he rolled his eyes again. “I implore you to look up the difference between need and want, Mycroft.” walking towards the entrance of the park. “Sherlock please.” the slight wobble in Mycroft’s voice forced Sherlock to a halt and with a sigh, he turned on his heel. “Fine, but Rosie wants to swing so you’ll have to talk there.” Mycroft shut the door of the car and walked toward the pair “Then swing she shall.” Sherlock carefully put the child in the baby swing and snapped the belt around her waist. Her chunky legs stuck out the bottom and she kicked her feet in excitement. Mycroft observed the gentle smile that crossed his brother’s face as he talked to the cooing baby. How much he had changed in the last year. How much a child changes things. He couldn’t help but feel the irony of the situation. He was about to tell his brother of the child he abandoned in front of the child his brother had adopted. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Well, whatever it is, it has you more raddled than Eurus did, so spit it out. Might as well get it over with”, he gave the Watson child a small push. Mycroft adjusted his grip on his cane and locked eyes with his brother. “Her name is Kathleen.”