The Ambitious Orphan

by Amelia Price

  She knew it wasn't impossible to live a long time. Science knew how it could be done; it just hadn't worked out a good way to do it yet. The Holmes brothers were intelligent enough one of them might have discovered a way to do just that, keep themselves alive. And given all the information she'd gathered over the previous months, it was about the only way she could explain the pattern in their family tree. Sebastian was really Sherlock and Myron was really Mycroft.

  Amelia felt her heart rate quicken and her breathing stutter as the enormity of what she'd learnt sunk in. It was possibly the biggest secret she could ever hope to have, and it changed her entire viewpoint of them. As she realised she'd just slept with a man over a hundred years older than her, she had to stifle the giggle that threatened to escape.

  A few seconds later she was composed again, but the moment of mirth had broken some of the shock off. She already knew how she had to act. The secret would be kept by her until it became right to tell the Holmes brothers that she knew. Until then, she needed to be the Amelia she'd always been, steady, calm and eager to learn.

  Chapter 5

  Sitting alone in his study, Mycroft waited for his brother to reply to his message. Once again, he'd tried to encourage the younger Holmes to send Amelia back to Bath. It was imperative she went back there before the end of the day. After several minutes with no reply, Mycroft rolled his eyes. It was getting childish, and both of them knew it.

  Realising his brother was going to allow Amelia to stay as long as she wished, simply because it bothered Mycroft, he gave up and turned on the small TV in his living room. There were only a few occasions in which he turned the device on, and today was one of them. He was expecting a big announcement, and he wanted to see some of the initial reaction to the news.

  An hour later, he turned it off. Russia had officially claimed the soldiers who'd invaded Ukraine. They had actually been a splinter group this mystery man was in charge of, but given the large number of soldiers wearing Russian uniform, the Russian president had claimed their actions as his own. It was exactly as Mycroft had expected.

  It didn't bother him that they'd started a war, but it did mean their time was up. Within the day, Nesterov and his commander would learn that Amelia was no longer in Europe but back in the UK.

  If she'd been home in Bath it would have been more useful, but his only hope of getting her back there was to appeal to her himself, something he'd put off doing since he'd last seen her. He doubted she'd be as willing to cooperate as normal. Despite her assurances that she could look after her own heart, it was evident she was hurting. He hoped it would fade, but knew the time to heal from something like heartbreak was different for every person. It was also inherently unpredictable.

  Just as he was about to move onto more mundane work, his phone vibrated. He picked it up pleased to see a message from his younger brother, but frowned when he read the single word.

  Incoming

  It could only mean Amelia, or her and Sherlock, were about to arrive. He assumed it was likely to be the latter. With a practised efficiency, he cleared off all the confidential documents from his desk and let his housekeeper know she'd be needed to provide tea for his guests when they arrived.

  Tea wasn't something he regularly provided his brother, but ever since Amelia had left, both Daniels and Mrs Hunter had cast him the odd sad look, as if they missed her. Mrs Hunter had even asked if she should leave the guest room made up in case the lady came back. It was plain to see both of them had thought her presence in the house a good one, and he was sure she'd bonded with them. She charmed everyone, it seemed.

  A few minutes later, he heard the crunch of feet on gravel and Sherlock's voice as he came with Amelia to the door. There was no knock, as his younger brother had always just walked in, but from the sounds of the feet as they came along the hallway, his young protégée had at least hesitated before walking into his house again.

  “Good afternoon, brother,” Sherlock said as he walked into the study. Not waiting for a reply, he wandered over to the nearest armchair and sat down. A few seconds after him, Amelia walked in. She stopped as soon as she saw him, right in the entrance to the room.

  Her jaw was firmly set and a fire burnt in her eyes that didn't waver even with the hesitant entrance. There was only one thing she could be angry at him for, and he had no intention of helping her say it. Instead, he waited.

  “Did you know rescuing me would start a war?” she asked eventually, sounding calm even though her eyes still blazed.

  “Of course.”

  “I told her the same thing,” Sherlock yelled from his chair. He then picked up the nearby newspaper and began leafing through it. It was just like him to come just to listen to the possible argument.

  “What have you done to stop it since we got back?”

  Mycroft raised his eyebrows at the question.

  “I've done nothing to stop it; in fact, I've done everything to encourage it.”

  “Why would you encourage war?” She took a few steps closer and let her anger dissipate enough for him to see the sadness that fuelled it. Emotion was ruling her. “Why would you encourage the deaths of innocent people?”

  “Because it saved your life!”

  “I've been safe for a whole week.” She shook her head and he saw water well up in her eyes. A second later she turned her head from him and walked over to the window.

  “Was there no other way to save me?” she asked, still not looking at him.

  “No. I assure you we did all we could to rescue you before it got to the point of starting a war.” Mycroft didn't hide his annoyance at her attitude. It seemed to make its way through to whatever part of her mind was still thinking rationally. The last of the anger and dramatic emotion left her. She walked back to his desk and stood in front of it looking at him where he sat. Not moving, he let her search his face.

  “My conscience doesn't like the thought of people dying now because I lived.”

  “It was my choice, Amelia. If anyone should feel guilt for those lives, it is not you.”

  “Can you end it? Can you stop the bloodshed, now it has served its purpose?”

  Again, he raised his eyebrows. She didn't try to hide her emotion from him, something she'd never done before, and it was strange to see. She looked calm and collected except for her eyes. The pain in them was a thousand times worse than any other look she'd given him since he'd known her, and he'd seen her in physical pain far more times than he'd liked.

  “Please, Myron, do something to stop it. I don't want people to die because of me, and you're the only person I know who could even try to stop it.”

  “Will you go home?” he asked. Her mouth dropped open and even Sherlock stopped pretending to read to actually listen.

  “Are you going to make helping those people conditional on me going back to Bath?” Her question came out barely above a whisper.

  “I don't want you in London.”

  “Why? And don't avoid the question.”

  “No, I won't make it conditional, but you know I don't like to be disobeyed, Amelia. Go back to Bath.” Mycroft held her gaze, watching her think through what he was asking. She bit on her lip and hesitated.

  “Why do you want her to go back to Bath, brother?” Sherlock chose this moment to interrupt, breaking the unspoken conversation happening between them. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

  “It's not something for you to be concerned about.”

  “Really?” Sherlock finished walking up to stand beside Amelia, and then tucked his arm around her shoulder. “If she wants some help from me with her corset in the mornings I'm not going to say no.”

  “Sebastian!”

  “Don't be vulgar.” Mycroft gave his younger brother a pointed look, pleased that Amelia had exclaimed at the remark. She wasn't sleeping with him after all.

  “He kicked you out, Amelia. Where you go afterwards is up to you.”

  “I'm aware,” she said, shrugging out from underneath his arm. “Would yo
u please wait outside, Sebastian? I'd like to talk to your brother alone.”

  It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes, but he did as she asked, and Mycroft waited for her to say whatever it was she intended to voice. For a few seconds she looked at him.

  “You know he has a point. You did make it very clear you don't want me here any longer.”

  “Then stay in a hotel. If you really won't go back to Bath, let me find a hotel for you.”

  “Anywhere else but with your brother?”

  Mycroft nodded. She let out a small chuckle and then came around the desk to him. In response, he stood, but she reached out for his arm before he could put any distance between them. After studying his eyes for a second, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips up against his cheek, lightly kissing it.

  “I shouldn't need to tell you again, Myron. You should have known I meant it the first time. I chose you over your brother many months ago. You have no reason to be jealous, even if Sebastian would like to make you so. But he is right. You did ask me to leave, and you can't dictate whom I see and then push me away yourself. Either you want me for yourself or you don't.”

  Without thinking about his reaction, Mycroft lifted his hand and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind Amelia's ear, brushing his fingers against her cheek as he did so. Her eyes widened a fraction but she held still and waited for him to respond.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “Of course. You travelled all the way across Europe to get me back.” She gave him a lopsided grin and he felt the corners of his own mouth twitch up.

  “I'd appreciate it if you went back to your own home in Bath.”

  “It's not because you're jealous, is it? At least not entirely that.” He nodded, now she was understanding him. “If it's really important, then, yes, I will go back, but I don't think I'll feel safe. They know where I live. They followed me back from Scotland.”

  “You should always face your fears, Amelia.”

  “I know, but I should also choose when to. It doesn't help me overcome a fear if it's still so scary it's debilitating. I don't think I'll sleep much, alone in my own house. That only makes it more dangerous.”

  “You won't be in any danger.” He looked her in the eyes, wanting to reassure her.

  “Okay, I'll go back tonight. I need to get some clean clothes anyway, but if I don't sleep I will come back to London tomorrow.”

  “No, if you think you won't last more than one night, go tomorrow.”

  “Are you going to explain why?”

  He shook his head and looked away. A second later she kissed his cheek again.

  “Well, you'd better bloody well keep me safe this time, Myron.”

  She gave him a small smile and went to leave. As she did, they both noticed Mrs Hunter standing in the doorway with a tray of tea for three.

  “I didn't want to interrupt,” the older woman said, redness creeping into her cheeks.

  “It won't be needed now, thank you,” Mycroft said.

  “Sorry,” Amelia added and hurried away. He listened to the click of her heels on the wooden floor and then sat back down behind his desk. Mrs Hunter brought in the tea anyway and simply laid it out for him alone.

  Once she'd retreated Mycroft let out a sigh. Somehow, Amelia had upset his entire routine. Her request wasn't entirely unexpected. Few people could start a war and cope with all the guilt associated with the deaths. But her confidence in coming to him and asking him to sort it out was unexpected.

  The closeness between them in the last week had changed her reaction to him. She had an extra boldness. Thankfully, it didn't seem to have tempered her desire to understand him and do as he asked.

  Her fears seemed to be growing since he'd met her, however. She was so fragile in comparison to both of them. It was easy to forget that she couldn't achieve everything they could. No matter how intelligent she was, she would never be able to reach their level. She would die too soon.

  Pushing the thought aside, Mycroft looked through all the reports he'd been sent on what was happening in Ukraine. The official cover story was that the Ukrainians in that area wanted Russian control. It wasn't entirely unbelievable, as quite a few of them did want exactly that.

  As he perused the documents, he put together the best plan for how to stop there being any more bloodshed. It would require him to negotiate a few agreements between some of the involved parties, but he was sure Mark Turner could come to the rescue. It seemed this war would end before it had really begun.

  After thinking about what all the interested parties would want in return for their cooperation, Mycroft sent a few messages. He never showed up to a negotiation without knowing exactly what he could offer.

  As soon as that was in place, he looked over the details he had for Nesterov. By now the Russian would know that Amelia wasn't on Ukrainian soil. It wouldn't take him much longer to realise she was back in the UK.

  So far, none of this border checks had flagged the man as being in the country, not even on a fake passport, but that didn't mean he wasn't there for sure. Having checks was only so secure. Mycroft couldn't be everywhere at once.

  Chapter 6

  The rush of cold air as Mycroft stepped out of the Russian embassy ruffled his hair and immediately made the hair stick up on the back of his neck. He tried to ignore his discomfort as he walked to the waiting car.

  “Home,” he said to Daniels, his mind still in the office suite he'd just left. Almost six hours earlier, he'd gone in to discuss the current invasion of the Crimean area of Ukraine by Russian forces, with what had been the closest Russia had to a counterpart of him.

  So far, there was very little that could be done. If either country backed down now there would probably be more blood spilt from unhappy citizens rioting in the streets. It seemed a few of Mycroft's reports had underestimated how much the pro-Russian people in Ukraine actually wanted to be part of Russia. Both of the countries' leaders were also very stubborn.

  After going back and forth almost the entire time, all he'd managed to get them to agree on was holding a referendum in the already occupied area of Crimea. It wasn't as much progress as he'd wished for, but it was something that would reduce violence.

  Considering the situation, there was little violence already, but he knew if it wasn't handled well there could easily be more, and Amelia had begged him to reduce it as only he could. For her sake, he'd decided to do what his position allowed. In a day, he'd done a reasonable amount, but he knew it was a conflict that could take many months, if not a few years, to sort out.

  Just as Daniels was pulling up outside his house, he received a message from his secretary.

  Nesterov spotted coming into Bristol under alias of Vadik Dyatlov. Plane landed several minutes ago, but not through customs. Shall I issue order to arrest?

  Although Mycroft could possibly have Nesterov arrested before he left the airport, he knew it would make the man's capture the responsibility of whoever was on duty at the small facility. Given how good Nesterov was at evading capture, the last thing he wanted was for him to escape and become even more cautious. Amelia was the one most in danger, and Mycroft couldn't make another mistake with her life. Not only would he never forgive himself, she'd expressly pointed out her decision to trust him.

  No. Let him through. Keep an eye on his movements. I'll have one of ours pick him up.

  Mycroft then sent messages to the two agents he had in that area, as well as Tom. At that precise moment, Amelia was having a lesson with her martial arts instructor. Just as she'd told him she would, she'd gone back to Bath that day and agreed to another lesson while she was there. If Tom couldn't protect her from a man like Nesterov, then none of his people could.

  On top of needing to protect Amelia, he had assured the Queen that he would take care of this particular terrorist leader once and for all. Once Nesterov was brought to him, it would take him only a few days to find out who had been commanding him, and then Mycroft could
begin his final manhunt.

  “I'll need the car again in a few hours,” Mycroft said as he walked indoors, not even glancing at Daniels but continuing to send messages out using his phone. It was important he had every little detail from his agents as they tracked the man towards Bath. He would need to feed constant instructions back.

  He's left the airport. Bought ticket to main Bristol train station.

  Mycroft didn't need any more information to know exactly where Nesterov was planning to go next. The Bristol train station had very regular trains to Bath. The Russian really didn't like to have unfinished business.

  ***

  The sound of Amelia's panting filled the room as Tom gave her a break. For the last twenty minutes they had been sparring against each other, Amelia trying to land a hit on the much quicker and more practised teacher. Not a single lesson had resulted in her scoring anything even close to a hit yet, but she hadn't been expecting to during this lesson.

  “You're more hesitant. What's holding you back?” Tom asked, blunt as always.

  “You know we said we couldn't ever talk about the things that happened as a result of Mr Holmes,” she replied to remind him. He nodded and then paused to think for a few seconds.

  “You had a real fight of some kind, didn't you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, you're still alive and you look well enough. I'm going to assume my training saw you through whatever it was.”

  She nodded but didn't meet his eyes. No part of her wanted him to guess that she'd killed a man.

  “Everyone who works for him gets to that point eventually, Amelia. It was bound to happen, and I know you probably feel a little disgusted with yourself right now, but this is the world we're all a part of. I know you wouldn't have hurt an innocent. And he's not the kind of man who sends us to hurt the innocent. In the long term, you've probably saved others from harm. Hold on to that thought.”