by Amelia Price
After grunting her frustration, she waded to a gap in the hedge and pushed through. Another field opened up before her, but this side of the hedge was more sheltered and she finally got the desired result.
With more speed than before, she jogged along the hedge line until she was in a corner and had to decide what to do next. This field had an entrance nearby but it led to yet another field, and she didn't know if she was going farther into a maze of crops, or getting closer to the road and a way out.
Either way, she knew she couldn't halt. If she stopped they would catch up to her and there was no way she wanted to go back. Even she knew she wouldn't get a second chance to escape.
By the time she'd reached the next gap, she could hear shouts from behind her and her body was shivering with the cold every time the wind blew. Out among the fields she was exposed, and she had little on her body underneath the coat. With the snow sometimes coming over the tops of her boots she didn't have the ability to keep her body warm.
As she ran into the next field she noticed there was no gap ahead for her to run through. She'd reached a field surrounded by hedges, all of which were too tall for her to climb over, and without being close she couldn't tell if they were also too thick. If they were anything like the ones she'd run past already, they would be impenetrable.
She glanced behind her while she continued on and felt her hopes blow away on the icy wind. There were three men coming across the previous field, and they'd evidently spotted her. Not wanting to give up without trying every little possibility, Amelia plunged on, but as she stumbled, she knew she was too cold and had too far to go.
Chapter 12
The wind buffeted the light drifts of snow as Mycroft hurried after Sherlock, Daniels only a few feet away from him. Up ahead, the younger Holmes was leading them to one of the lightly manned Ukrainian air bases on the right stretch of the border, but Sherlock was in much better shape than they were.
Although Daniels was faring the worst, he was almost sixty and spent most of his time driving people around London. Mycroft knew he should fare better and promised himself that he'd try and get more exercise when they were all safely back in England. He knew it was a promise he was unlikely to keep later, but for the moment it mattered.
Not more than twenty minutes after they'd left the car, Sherlock peeled off to one side. He knew what needed doing, and would create the distraction Mycroft and Daniels would require to steal the helicopter.
The younger Holmes never looked back, but he had a small tracking device and would be able to follow them as much as they could follow him. Although Daniels thought this would be so they could all meet up again once Amelia was safe, Mycroft knew it was more likely to be used to make sure Sherlock could be picked up, when he finally escaped whatever overwhelming forces he was currently walking into.
As Mycroft reached the barbed wire fence he crouched and waited for Daniels to catch up. The chauffeur had fallen behind in the last few hundred metres, and was breathing heavily by the time he joined Mycroft at the fence.
“Sorry, sir,” he said in between gasps.
“Not to worry, Daniels. Let's just get ready for the next part. We've still time.” Mycroft pulled wire-cutters out of his pocket and snipped at the fence in front of him. Between the two of them, they soon had a hole they could get through.
With that done, they waited for Sherlock to do his bit. They wouldn't make a move until the younger Holmes was attracting enough attention or they'd not have enough time to get the helicopter from a cold start to in the air before someone could get back to them. If it could be helped, Mycroft didn't want to kill anyone. Dealing with that sort of thing was more Sherlock's forte.
They waited by the fence for almost ten minutes before an alarm sounded and men poured from the middle building to deal with the cause. A few minutes after that, several more men left their posts, probably ordered to help by their commanding officers. It left this side of the base unguarded enough momentarily, and Mycroft led the crouched jog across the twenty metres of open ground.
Checking they were unnoticed still, Mycroft opened the door for his chauffeur and then reached up to give the rotor a quick starting spin. It wasn't something you were meant to do these days but it would save them a little time.
As soon as Daniels started up the engine, Mycroft hopped inside and closed the door. When he discovered there were only two seats and little space for anyone else, he frowned. Amelia was going to have to share a seat with someone, and that could only be him.
He had little time to think over anything else, as Daniels had started up the rotor enough the helicopter lifted off the ground. They were a few feet up before any of the soldiers came back to see what was going on. Since Daniels had kept the lights off and the chaos on the base lent them some confusion, the soldier simply watched them go, talking on a radio to try and reach someone. Mycroft assumed it would be whoever the soldier thought was flying the copter.
Before the mistake could be realised, they were flying off towards Russia, and it was too late for anyone to stop them. So far so good.
With no lights to guide them, their progress needed to be slow. The last thing they wanted to do was fly into power cables or tall trees, but they didn't want to be too far off the ground. Thankfully, the fuel gauge was only a little below full. Someone had been taking care of the helicopter, if nothing else.
An hour later they were approaching the first location Mycroft wanted to search. Movement on the ground caught his attention. Three men were hurrying across a field in the snow, just vague outlines in the dark. At first he couldn't see what they might be doing at that time of night, but then he noticed another person push through the last of a tall hedge, their coat getting tangled up behind them.
Mycroft pointed, discerning from the shape that it was likely to be female. Immediately, Daniels brought them down lower and flicked on the beam. As Amelia tried to wrap the tattered coat back around her, they sunk lower, his chauffeur not needing to be told to land.
Evidently unsure whether they were friend or foe, Amelia hesitated where she was and tried to shield her eyes to get a better look. He could only watch while the Russian men got closer and she glanced behind. A second later she hurried onwards. She still couldn't know they were there to rescue her, but she was choosing to press on rather than allow herself to be caught.
Before the helicopter was on the ground, Mycroft pushed open the door and jumped down. The snow cushioned the fall, making it feel like nothing, and then he was off running towards Amelia.
When he was far enough from the sound of the rotor's spinning that she stood a chance of hearing him, he yelled her name. Immediately, she looked up, and a relieved smile broke out on her face. From somewhere, she found a burst of speed, but her run was punctuated by drunken looking stumbles and haphazard motions. It didn't take a genius to work out she was showing signs of hypothermia.
Knowing he needed to make it look like she was being abducted, he ran over to her and pulled her into his arms.
“Struggle,” he said, hoping she'd hear him and then he bodily lifted her and flung her over his torso. Less than a second later she wriggled her legs and arms, doing such a good job he almost dropped her. It was evident she tired quickly of struggling, and within another minute he was back by the helicopter.
Daniels threw the door open as he got close enough, and Amelia clung to him, allowing him to get in without bashing her on anything. He just about managed to pull the door shut behind him before his chauffeur took them into the air again, turning off the light as he went.
The Russians opened fire, but Daniels was already anticipating the move and had veered to the side. Within seconds, they were up and out of good shooting range.
Very uncomfortable, Mycroft encouraged Amelia back off his shoulder, guiding her legs to the side and away from Daniels. She slid down onto his lap, and let go of him, looking around the helicopter for some place she could move to. It didn't take her long to work out she had
nowhere else to go, but he appreciated the attempt.
To reassure her, he curled his arm around her back. She winced and struggled against him until it occurred to him that he was hurting her. He stopped all movement and also noticed she was shivering violently.
Taking care not to alarm her, and moving slow enough to cause her as little pain as possible, he slid his hands and arms inside the coat she wore, cradling her body towards his. This time she didn't fight his gesture, but her cheeks reddened when he brushed up against her breasts. For someone who had tried to seduce him only days before she was being very coy now, but she didn't pull away, and eventually she looked up at him.
“Thank you,” he saw her say, although she couldn't be heard above the noise of the engines. It was a simple enough phrase and he lip-read it with no issue.
He gave her a curt nod of acceptance and she responded by resting her head against his chest. It wasn't long before Mycroft noted that he didn't feel uncomfortable with her in his arms, even given her state of attire. After all, he had seen and touched her before.
It took most of the journey back for her to stop shivering but she felt cold for even longer. If he hadn't found her when they did, he knew she wouldn't have got much farther. Despite what had obviously been a reasonable success plan for someone with the little training she'd had, she wouldn't have had the survival skills for the terrain and season she was immersed in. They'd saved her life, and given the way she had run to him when she saw it was him, she probably knew that.
Mycroft kept still so she could rest until they were a couple of minutes from their landing site, but they needed to be ready as soon as they landed. To help convince the Russians that the Ukrainians had stolen Amelia, they were landing it only a short distance away from the base they'd stolen it from. They then needed to get to the car and inside before any soldiers started shooting.
Amelia lifted her head when he moved, but he could see she was dozy and blinking lots to try to rouse her mind. Everything that had happened would be starting to catch up with her.
He used his arm to raise her face closer to his mouth before he yelled, “We need to run to the car.”
He wasn't sure she had heard him but she nodded and slowly sat up. Several times she grimaced but she didn't try to explain what hurt her. Given how long ago she had been beaten, it was unlikely to be anything that could kill her, but he would keep an eye on her anyway.
As they came in to land, Mycroft quickly noticed the car wasn't exactly where they'd left it. The lights flashed at them a couple of times. He raised his eyebrows in response and opened the door. Amelia pushed herself off his lap and straight onto the grass, and he followed, supporting her as her legs almost buckled underneath her.
By the time he was running with her, Daniels had also got out and had come around to their side of the vehicle. As a group, they hurried towards the car, just making out the outline underneath a large tree.
Several shouts behind let them know they had to hurry, and about half way across the few hundred metres, Mycroft grabbed Amelia around the waist and helped her go that little bit faster. He wouldn't get her this far to let her be shot so close to safety.
Instead of running for the nearest door, Mycroft aimed for the back of the car and around the side. As they got close, Sherlock flung open the passenger side door and Daniels dived in, while he held open the door on the other side and propelled Amelia inside.
She tripped straight into the foot well as the first Ukrainian soldiers fired upon them. All of the bullets bounced off the toughened exterior but Mycroft ducked just in case and hurried in.
As soon as he had the door shut behind him, Sherlock floored the accelerator and he fell into the nearest seat. Within seconds, he'd righted himself and regained his dignity but Amelia still lay at his feet, her face screwed up in pain.
With a small groan, she slid herself over onto her side and then just closed her eyes, ignoring the sound of bullets smacking into the side and back of the car.
“I'm assuming the rescue went far better than we planned,” Sherlock said when they were a little farther away and could hear each other over the noises outside.
“Amelia was already outside,” Daniels replied before Mycroft could.
“I assumed so when you never reached either location and turned back.”
“Did you achieve your part of the task?” Mycroft asked, studying as much of Sherlock's face as he could see in the rear view mirror.
“Of course, brother of mine. They'll think the Ukrainian Army have her.”
At this reply Amelia opened her eyes again. She pushed herself upright and gave him a curious glance, but he didn't explain, he just held out his hand to help her onto the seat.
She ignored the offering and slowly pushed herself up where she wanted to be, taking her time to keep her torn-up coat covering as much of her skin as possible, despite how dark it was in the back of the car.
It only took twenty minutes for Sherlock to drive them to their next destination, a small privately owned airport. Someone there with a plane apparently owed Sherlock a favour, and as long as it got them back to London before too many hours had passed, Mycroft didn't care.
No one talked; instead, they all processed the aftermath of their adventure on Russian soil. All of them had risked their lives at one point or another, and they would all be feeling the effects of the adrenaline breaking down and leaving their system.
Once Sherlock had woken their pilot and bribed him to take them home right then with a wad of cash from the car, and Daniels had fetched a blanket from the boot for Amelia to make herself more decent, they all trooped onto the small jet plane.
It was not a particularly posh plane and it had more seats than they needed, but it was a means home, and Amelia evidently didn't object. She was the first to settle herself into a seat, the blanket wrapped tightly around her. As she slowly undid her boots and kicked them off, Mycroft studied her.
There was a large bruise down one side of her face. It had missed her eye but it had made her cheek a very deep purple. On her hands and arms were deep scratches, and given how fresh they looked he knew they would be from the hedge she'd pushed her way through. Considering how much she'd winced when moving, he also suspected her back was damaged, but she never once voiced her pain or complained.
As soon as she looked comfortable and curled up in the chair, he sat beside her. It would be the easiest way to keep an eye on her while she slept, which he didn't doubt she would do soon.
Daniels sat down near the back of the plane, out of the way, also making himself comfortable to sleep.
Once the plane was in the air, Sherlock sat opposite him. By then both Amelia and Daniels were asleep.
“How do you think she escaped?” Sherlock asked.
“She probably took advantage of a weakness of theirs. Very few of them appeared to be bright.”
“Obviously.”
“I'm sure she'll explain once she's awake.” Mycroft glanced at her, feeling calm for the first time since he'd first discovered she'd been taken. “But I'm glad we went when we did. Much longer and they'd probably have killed her.”
“How does it feel to be her knight in shining armour? A new feeling for you, I imagine, even if you were a little reluctant.” Sherlock's mouth twitched up in merriment at the suggestion. He rolled his eyes in response. “The early signs look like it will start a war.”
“We knew it would do that.”
“Yes, I suppose we did. Now if everyone else is sleeping, I don't see why I should be awake. I've had a very busy few days. I assume you'll watch over us as you usually do in these situations?”
Mycroft nodded.
“One of us should stay awake,” Mycroft said and glanced at Amelia again.
“Quite.” His brother stood to relocate to a more comfortable place to sleep.
“Oh, and, Sherlock?”
“Yes, brother of mine?”
“Thank you.”
Sherlock nodded but car
ried on moving. Neither of them needed to say what it was for. They would just be grateful Amelia had made it unnecessary.
Epilogue
The sound of the fire crackling greeted Mycroft as he walked into his study. Immediately, his eyes settled on Amelia, curled up in one of the armchairs near it.
He paused and looked her over, unable to not do so. She'd just showered and now sat in the only clothes he had spare, an old short white shirt which left nothing to the imagination as it flowed over the swell of her breasts. To cover her bare legs, his housekeeper had found her a blanket, but Mycroft could figure out that she wore nothing else. She had nothing else in London, not after what she'd been through.
She had a slightly startled look to her face and her eyes were wider than normal, but the emotion behind them didn't unsettle him. On several occasions before now she'd shown herself to be in control and disciplined with how she showed what she felt. The bruise still marred her face but he knew it would fade, and in the flickering firelight it didn't look as extreme.
Within his shirt, all the rest of the damage was covered, and if he hadn't known what she'd been through in the last three and a half days, he'd have thought her wide-eyed look down to her vulnerable state in front of him and nothing else.
On the way back from Ukraine, after she'd slept for a few hours, she'd told him everything that had happened. As soon as she'd finished, he'd answered her questions on what they'd been doing. By the time she was tired again he'd told her the details she really needed to know and left out the rest.
Despite being exhausted himself, and having had less than six hours' sleep in the entire three days, as he looked at her, sleep was not what he thought of doing next.
Without thinking, he sat down opposite her and allowed himself to consider indulging his physical response to her beauty. For a woman, she'd shown herself to be quite remarkable, and there were few who'd ever impressed him. It also hadn't gone unnoticed by him that she'd given nothing away about him, even under the duress of torture.
