by Amelia Price
For a few seconds, all he could do was stare while she waited. Knowing he could do whatever he wanted to her and she'd cooperate was intoxicating, and he almost went back on the decision he'd made earlier. He wanted to take her to bed and please her until she couldn't take any more, but he couldn't. Already, she was too comfortable, too yielding and eager with him, and if he wasn't careful he'd ruin her from ever wanting anyone else.
Trying not to think about what he really desired, he picked her up and carried her over to the bed. Again, she yielded to his arms, only moving enough to help him place her down underneath him. He trailed kisses around her neck and throat, and then down towards her breasts, hearing her suck in her breath as he took a nipple between his teeth.
Being a little rougher with her than normal, he pushed her legs apart and held himself against her, letting her know his body was ready for what would follow. Still teasing her with his mouth, he freed himself and plunged into her, knowing she was only just ready for it.
She let out a small grunt, but still didn't do anything but yield to him, lifting her knees to give him a better angle. Not wanting to see the look in her eyes at what he was doing to her, he buried his head in her neck and thrust harder.
By the time he was shuddering and spilling his seed into her he had taken everything he wanted and left her with nothing. He stole a glance at her and found an amused smirk on her face. It stopped him in his tracks, his body still poised over hers.
“You know, if you wanted to tell me you think we've got too close and it's time we backed off, you could have just said it. You didn't have to screw me so relentlessly and pretend to prefer it that way.”
He let his body down on one side of her and she rolled to face him.
“If you realised that's what I was doing why didn't you stop me?” he asked a few seconds later.
“Because I'm willing to give you as much, or as little, as you want of me, Myron.”
“But you want more?”
“Yes, I do, but not if you can't give it willingly. I'm not going to push you, nag you, or otherwise whine. However, I most certainly don't want to play games. Don't treat me badly because you think I'm growing too attached or needy. You've made it clear you don't want my heart so let me take care of it myself.”
Mycroft reached out and lifted her chin so he could get a better look at her face. He scanned her eyes and expression and could see the traces of disappointment and hurt, yet beneath it all was a calm resolve. For someone so young she had a steadiness only decades had brought to him and Sherlock.
In an unprecedented display of affection, he leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. It was more of an apology than anything, but he knew she'd understand that now.
“I don't think you should stay another night,” he said as he pulled back.
“No, I think you're right. As much as I've enjoyed being here and having several days to recover, I have encroached on space you're not used to sharing for a little too long.”
Myron nodded, almost relieved that she was saying what he'd wanted to.
“Right now, however, I feel rather... unsatisfied,” she said, a smirk crossing her face. Over the next few seconds he considered refusing her evident request but desire flared within him once more and he gave in. For one more night, he'd give both of them the satisfaction they craved.
No sooner had he pulled her close than she gave herself over to him again, letting him dictate. He lost himself in her, thinking only of that one moment in time.
It was almost dawn by the time she was asleep beside him, her body curled contentedly in his arms. But while she slumbered, safe and dreaming, he was alone with his thoughts.
Over the last week he'd done several things he'd not thought he ever would six months earlier. Sherlock had introduced him to a woman who had restored some of his lost faith in the fairer sex.
He didn't love her, of that he was sure, but he felt a respect and even some degree of care for her wellbeing. If she died the world would be a less bright place, if for no other reason than she had an eagerness to learn and grow that few people ever achieved.
It had often made him think of Sherlock when he'd been a young boy, before teenage years had brought comparisons between the two to Sherlock's attention and created a feeling of competition and friction to their every task.
Like his younger brother had done on a couple of occasions, she'd surprised him and made him feel a little bit less alone. But unlike his brother and him, she was mortal, and Mycroft knew, no matter how much he liked her, it would be a goodbye in the end.
At some point, the risk of their secret being revealed would be too great for him to keep her in his life, and just like Sherlock had moved away from Watson to keep him in the dark about their immortality, he would eventually have to shut her out. This was the last night he could sleep with her.
Mycroft sighed. Being immortal wasn't something he'd asked for, but when it had first become apparent, he'd been reasonably pleased. He'd not expected to grow attached to anyone and had tried to guard his life accordingly, but Sherlock had brought someone into their world for the second time, and this time it would be he who would watch over them until they died. Even if he had to do it from afar.
Chapter 4
Amelia let out a small involuntary sigh as she finished her breakfast. It was the last meal she'd eat in Myron's home with him for some time, although she hoped not forever. A part of her still planned to give thawing his heart her best shot.
“Shall I have Daniels get the car ready to take you home?” Myron asked when they'd sat there a few seconds.
“Do you think he could take me to your brother's instead?”
“Yes, if you wish. I assume you need plot assistance.”
“A little,” she said admitting only that; the rest could wait. If he picked up on her lie of omission, he never said anything. Ten minutes later she was stood by the door, her small suitcase already taken out to the car by Daniels. Acting more bravely than she felt, Amelia stood on her tiptoes and kissed Myron on the cheek. All the while, he never moved.
“Please keep me updated on everything with Nesterov,” she said, not trusting herself to say anything else without her eyes watering up. He nodded and she thought she saw him swallow back some of his own emotion. Before she could be sure, he looked as composed as always.
Not wanting to be overcome in front of him, Amelia walked towards the car, holding her head high, as if it was just another day. Daniels opened the door for her as he usually did, but she didn't meet his gaze. Seeing any kind of pity or sadness would break through the calm cocoon she'd managed to wrap around herself.
Once inside, she relaxed a little, took a deep breath and one final look towards the door. Myron was already gone. She sat back, and while her eyes roved over the streets as Daniels drove, none of it was taken in, her memories dominating every thought and sense.
She closed her eyes and remembered the way his hands had felt as he coaxed her to his room and into his embrace, his kisses as they'd brushed across her skin, and the warmth as he'd slept with his arms wrapped around her. For five nights she'd been shown what heaven might be like. Now it was gone, she couldn't help but feel a hole deep inside her somewhere.
As she opened her eyes she noticed they were already by Baker Street and Sebastian's house. The first tear rolled down her cheek when she realised she wasn't ready to come back to the present. Not just yet.
“I'll drive around the block again,” Daniels said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and holding it out behind him.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking a little.
Another tear tracked down her face, this one hastily wiped away, and then she was composing herself once more. She had to hold it together. Myron had warned her, and she'd told him she could guard her own heart. Now she needed to live up to that promise, even if it required her to be stronger than she'd ever been before.
It struck her then that no matter how many times a
person has felt heartbreak and loss, each fresh time was always as painful. Right in that moment her heart was as broken as it had been when her husband died. Somehow, she had to put the pieces back together and hold them there while she carried on, hoping that when she finally let go it wouldn't all crumble again.
The second time Daniels passed through Baker Street, he stopped the car and gave her a brief glance. She gave him a small nod and handed back the piece of cloth she'd cried into.
“Thank you,” she said again, sounding steadier on the outside, even if she was still falling apart on the inside.
He gave her a sympathetic smile and got out to open the door for her.
“Shall I wait for you here?” he asked.
“No. I'm going to be here a while.”
“Mr Holmes had me understand that you'd be heading back to Bath, ma'am.”
“No, Daniels. I don't feel safe alone in Bath. I'm staying in London. I'm not sure where yet but I was going to see what Sebastian recommended. And please, call me Amelia, Daniels.” She tried to smile with her usual warmth at the sweet chauffeur but knew it hadn't quite appeared on her face as it usually would.
“Right you are... Amelia. But if you'll permit me saying it, I don't think Mr Holmes senior will be too pleased. He's expecting you to go home.”
“I'm aware. I just can't. Not yet.”
Daniels offered up no more arguments and simply fetched her suitcase for her. With a nod of gratitude, she pushed open the door to 221b Baker Street. She was half way up the stairs when Sebastian opened the door at the top.
“Ah, Amelia, I wondered when you'd drop in.” His eyes glanced over the suitcase and it was obvious he was working out what scenario had led to her being there. “Come in.”
He stepped out of the way and allowed her to haul herself and her case into the familiar sitting room. For a few seconds, there was an awkward silence as she tried to decide whether to mention the suitcase he was seemingly ignoring.
“Where would you like to begin?” he asked, taking a very brief glance at the end of the sofa where she'd tucked the black case out of the way. It still felt like it stood out.
“I was wondering what you thought of combining the two plot ideas I told you yesterday,” she replied, deciding she'd figure out what to do about where she was staying later. No doubt Daniels would inform Myron that she hadn't gone home, and there would be repercussions. It might be best not to have spoken to the younger brother before he'd expressed his dissatisfaction. Not that it would change anything. If she couldn't stay with Myron, then she'd stay where she wanted.
Sebastian had just pulled up the board they used to plot her novels and work out character issues when a phone buzzed.
“It's not mine,” she said when he looked at her.
“Oh. I guess it might be mine, but only a few people...” he trailed off as he rummaged through the papers on the desk, roughly where the sound had come from. A few seconds later he pulled out a small black phone that looked like it had seen better days. He tapped at the screen a couple of times and then raised his eyebrows.
“Apparently, I'm to forbid you from staying in London and send you home to Bath,” he said, sounding very unthreatening. Amelia frowned but didn't comment. “I take it we should discuss your suitcase now?”
She sighed and sat down in the nearest chair.
“I'd already assumed he'd asked you to leave. I take it that assumption wasn't wrong.”
“No, not at all. You're almost never wrong.”
“Well, true, but very occasionally I end up surprised. Where are you going to go?”
“You're not going to insist I go back to Bath?” she asked, taking a good look at him. He grinned.
“Of course not. Do you want to stay here?”
“Really, you wouldn't mind?”
“Not at all. I take it you were thinking of a hotel, then?”
She nodded.
“Definitely stay here. It will annoy my brother and you'll have better company.”
She laughed at the logic, but found it suited her mood. As she watched Sebastian go back to the whiteboard, she also realised it gave her an interesting opportunity.
Myron was meticulous, and she'd only found that one piece of evidence that the Holmes brothers were immortal as some part of a freak accident, but here in the younger brother's house everything was chaos, possibly well organised chaos, but chaos nonetheless. More evidence was probably somewhere to be found in the room she sat in now. The next time Sebastian was out solving some kind of case, she vowed to try and find it.
Knowing a secret of Myron's and Sebastian's, and keeping it, might just show Myron how serious she was about being in his world and being trusted. It wouldn't make him love her, but all the emotions and decisions that came out of love were based on trust, and, as of now, he still didn't completely trust her.
Amelia continued to let Sebastian help her with her book plot until he had grown bored and she could curl up and write somewhere. Not long after that, he decided to leave the house and go find an answer on some case he was dealing with. It was something to do with a botched lab test, and the police had asked him to step in and help. Not the kind of case she'd normally chip in with, and as a result he didn't ask her if she wanted to go as well.
Having no idea how long he would be gone, Amelia only waited long enough to hear him go out the front door and call a taxi. She then hurried through to his bedroom. Being careful not to disturb anything she didn't need to, Amelia looked around the room first.
Using her phone camera, she then took photos of the few areas she wanted to look in. A box on one of the shelves by Sebastian's bed looked like it might contain something useful so she snapped a photograph of where it sat and then lifted it down.
After placing it gently down on the floor, Amelia pulled off the lid. There was an old microscope inside. With a sigh, she replaced the lid and put it back. Once she had it where she thought it used to be, she pulled up the photo, held it up beside it and examined the differences. A minute later, after a few tweaks of one corner, it was back in exactly the same place.
She spent the next hour moving around Sebastian's bedroom in this fashion before she looked in less obvious places.
As she found a chamber pot under the bed, Amelia wrinkled her nose. It looked like someone had used it at some point, but long enough ago it didn't smell any more. In a box tucked away behind it was a stack of very important documents like birth certificates, death certificates and passports.
At the top sat Sebastian's passport, and it was still in date so she flipped it over and placed it on the floor. Underneath was a birth certificate for Sebastian stating his date of birth to be June 1983. Under that, a marriage certificate for an Edward Holmes to a Heidi Fitzwilliam.
As she went through the box she noticed the few certificates that were older seemed to have smudged ink, were horribly faded or just didn't seem right, until she got to the birth certificate for Sherlock Holmes, born in June 1854.
Once she'd fetched her notebook, Amelia went back through the pile from oldest to newest jotting down all the dates.
With that done she noticed that there was a pattern. The man before had died almost exactly twenty-seven years after the birth of the next man in the box in every case but the most recent one of Edward. There was also only Edward's marriage certificate, but no death certificate. It was incredibly odd.
Just in case Sebastian returned early, she decided to put everything back the way it was, using her camera once more to get the placement of everything just right, and then she returned with her notebook to the sofa.
Over the next half an hour she added the few details she knew for Myron and Mycroft, leaving blanks for the other possible family members not accounted for. Sebastian had once mentioned that Myron was seven years his elder so that birth date was nice and easy to pin down. Neither looked quite as old as they were, however.
There were two birth certificates for people no longer alive, although they
appeared to sit neatly as the two people between Sherlock and Edward. There was a Quentin who apparently was born in 1886 and died in 1944, twenty-seven years after Livingston was born. And he died twenty-seven years after Edward was born. She noticed that all five men in the tree were born in the same thirty-day window. One was born in early July but still only twelve days after Sherlock was born.
It also came to her attention that all of them, with the exception of Sebastian, were fathered by a man whose name began with M. Mycroft fathered Quentin, A Milton Holmes fathered Livingston, and Edward was fathered by someone called Morton. It was strange to have so many birth certificates for men who weren't directly related to each other.
Amelia had a feeling that if she looked up the elder Holmes and went back through the family tree she'd find every Holmes she already had on her list, and that all these fathers were seven years older than their generational counterpart. Deciding she had to know one way or another, she grabbed her coat and packed her notebook into her handbag.
After writing a note to explain she'd stepped out to do research, she hurried over to the British Library. In there would be archives for all the relevant births and deaths she needed to look up.
Within the hour, she was talking to a librarian about the Holmes family, and less than five minutes later she was heading to the section she needed.
It didn't take her long to find the right place and begin flicking through birth records for the area. An hour later she had a complete family tree, and it was exactly as she'd expected. Each generation of Holmes siblings, one of them had two sons, always roughly seven years apart. The only logical explanation was that they were faking lives to try and go unnoticed.
Given that no one else lived long enough, and they both stayed out of the public eye, it didn't even surprise her that no one had really noticed the pattern. As she found herself somewhere quiet to sit and think, something Sebastian had once told her came to mind. 'When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.'
