The Hundred Year Wait

by Amelia Price

  Watching her handle the booksellers and then her fans also proved interesting. She picked up on their characters with speed, using the information they subconsciously gave away to relate to them and make them feel special. He'd only ever watched his brother do it better, although both missed signs he'd picked up on.

  After an hour of tirelessly greeting, signing and having her picture taken, she asked for a break. For the fifth time since he'd sat down she glanced his way and he expected her to come over and berate him for distracting her, but she didn't. Instead she walked out of the shop and into the rain.

  He got to his feet, wanting to see over the tables and work out what she was up to. Outside, his car still sat, and his chauffeur stood under the large black umbrella, waiting for him to return. Amelia went right up to him, sheltering herself under the same black dome and started up a conversation. Again she'd managed to surprise him.

  A few minutes later she came back inside and Daniels followed, keeping her dry all the way. Mycroft sat again so they wouldn't notice his interest in them. He assumed the gesture was just his driver being a gentleman but he came with her all the way to her table, got her to sign one of her books and then took it to the sales desk to pay for it.

  It didn't take Daniels long but Miss Jones was back to her carousel of greet, sign, and pose, before his chauffeur was back by the car, the book in a small carrier bag tucked under his arm. He waited for Miss Jones to get back into her flow and decided it was time to leave. Picking a moment when she would be so absorbed with signing a book that she wouldn't notice, he got up and left. His chauffeur had the good graces to look sheepish about leaving the car unattended for a few minutes.

  “Don't make a habit of it,” Mycroft said. The greying man nodded. “Also, I'd like to borrow that book. I want to check something.”

  “Of course, sir.” Daniels passed the carrier bag to him as Mycroft was getting into the car.

  Once they were on their way back to his house Mycroft pulled the book from its wrappings.

  “Naive,” he whispered, reading the title, “This should be interesting.” Curious, he flicked to the first page and read.

  Mycroft next looked up when the car halted outside his home. Forty-five pages of the novel had absorbed his attention and stopped him from noticing what was normally a chore to endure.

  “I'll keep hold of this for a few hours,” Mycroft said before entering the front door of his stately home. He placed his umbrella in the usual stand by the door and sat on the small stool to swap his shoes for slippers.

  By the time he entered his study, a tray with fresh, hot, tea and biscuits was waiting on one side of his desk, slightly covering the green leather inlaid on the top of the oak.

  Once sitting at his desk he could easily survey the whole room from the light of the large bay window to the left. It had a box seat for sitting and reading the many shelves of books that lined every other possible wall space, and dated back as far as the mid eighteen hundreds. Floor to ceiling proudly displayed the leather-bound volumes in stark contrast to the brightly covered paper book in his hands. It didn't fit in.

  For the next few hours he read, only interrupting his past time to move to the dining room at the usual time of six and back again half an hour later. Once he'd reached the end of the story he sat back and stared at the front cover. The plot had been predictable and the happy ending was a little unrealistic, but Amelia Jones had been quite clever with her character's reactions. It was a murder mystery but the detective had noticed all the right details. Plenty of them had been hidden in the text to make it easy for him to pick up on the clues and solve the crime.

  He found he had enjoyed reading the story. It was refreshing to read a book where the criminal was caught in a clever way, and even more refreshing for the main character to be intelligent. Mycroft wondered how much Sherlock had contributed to the plot.

  Despite liking the novel it didn't help him with his decision concerning her strange request. A hundred years had passed since John Watson had been part of Sherlock's life. He'd seen the effect the relationship had on his younger brother, but he'd always been a little bit curious. Perhaps Mycroft could see what fascination Miss Jones held for Sherlock. As long as no one else knew about it, Mycroft wouldn't need to have a solid reason why, and Amelia Jones herself didn't appear to care about his reasoning as long as she got to learn.

  Mycroft pulled a blank notebook from a desk drawer and wrote down this requirement, along with several others on the first page. If he was to use his time to teach her, he expected her to work through things in a sensible manner, and she definitely wouldn't be allowed to get any help.

  For the rest of the evening Mycroft put together a list of basic tasks he could make her work through, starting with coded messages since she'd already shown some flair in that area. As the minutes ticked by his ideas grew more elaborate until he realised he had a six phase plan that could take years to complete. He doubted she could hold his interest for that long and knew she would struggle to solve the last few phases anyway.

  With more than enough challenges thought out, he pulled a blank sheet of stationery paper towards him and wrote out the first coded message to her.

  39 3 3 36 1 3 6 2 41 2 39 1 41 7 7 42 3 2 37 7 26

  41 40 33 10 37 36 37 35 41 36 37 36 8 40 33 8 7 37 8 8 41 2 39 13 3 9 35 40 33 44 44 37 2 39 37 7 1 33 13 4 6 3 10 41 36 37 37 2 3 9 39 40 33 1 9 7 37 1 37 2 8 8 3 34 37 11 3 6 8 40 1 13 37 38 38 3 6 8 26 34 9 8 8 40 37 6 37 33 6 37 7 37 10 37 6 33 44 6 9 44 37 7 41 11 41 44 44 41 2 7 41 7 8 9 4 3 2 25 34 6 37 33 43 33 2 13 3 38 8 40 37 1 26 33 8 33 2 13 4 3 41 2 8 26 33 2 36 3 9 6 44 41 8 8 44 37 39 33 1 37 11 41 44 44 35 37 33 7 37 33 44 3 2 39 11 41 8 40 33 44 44 35 3 1 1 9 2 41 35 33 8 41 3 2 25

  15 28 13 3 9 27 6 37 2 3 8 8 3 8 37 44 44 33 2 13 3 2 37 33 2 13 8 40 41 2 39 33 34 3 9 8 3 9 6 33 6 6 33 2 39 37 1 37 2 8 25 8 40 41 7 41 2 35 44 9 36 37 7 13 3 9 8 33 43 41 2 39 33 44 44 4 6 37 35 33 9 8 41 3 2 7 2 37 35 37 7 7 33 6 13 8 3 37 2 7 9 6 37 2 3 3 2 37 37 44 7 37 38 41 2 36 7 33 2 13 35 3 1 1 9 2 41 35 33 8 41 3 2 25

  16 28 13 3 9 27 6 37 2 3 8 8 3 6 37 35 37 41 10 37 40 37 44 4 7 3 44 10 41 2 39 33 2 13 8 33 7 43 25 8 40 41 7 41 7 33 8 37 7 8 3 38 13 3 9 6 35 44 37 10 37 6 2 37 7 7 33 44 3 2 37 25

  17 28 13 3 9 7 40 3 9 44 36 3 34 37 13 33 2 13 41 2 7 8 6 9 35 8 41 3 2 7 33 7 7 3 3 2 33 7 4 3 7 7 41 34 44 37 11 40 37 6 37 8 40 41 7 36 3 37 7 2 27 8 35 3 2 38 44 41 35 8 11 41 8 40 6 9 44 37 15 25

  18 28 38 33 41 44 33 8 33 7 43 33 2 36 3 9 6 33 6 6 33 2 39 37 1 37 2 8 11 41 44 44 35 37 33 7 37 33 44 3 2 39 11 41 8 40 33 44 44 35 3 1 1 9 2 41 35 33 8 41 3 2 25

  19 28 6 37 38 9 7 33 44 8 3 36 3 33 7 41 2 7 8 6 9 35 8 37 36 11 41 44 44 34 37 7 37 37 2 33 7 33 8 37 6 1 41 2 33 8 41 3 2 3 38 3 9 6 33 39 6 37 37 1 37 2 8 25

  20 28 41 6 37 7 37 6 10 37 8 40 37 6 41 39 40 8 8 3 35 37 33 7 37 8 40 41 7 33 8 33 2 13 4 3 41 2 8 11 41 8 40 3 9 8 37 12 4 44 33 2 33 8 41 3 2 25

  21 28 33 44 44 1 37 7 7 33 39 37 7 11 41 44 44 34 37 4 44 33 35 37 36 41 2 37 2 10 37 44 3 4 37 7 33 2 36 7 37 33 44 37 36 11 41 8 40 11 33 12 25 13 3 9 27 6 37 6 37 7 4 3 2 7 41 34 44 37 38 3 6 33 35 5 9 41 6 41 2 39 8 40 37 2 37 35 37 7 7 33 6 13 7 8 33 8 41 3 2 37 6 13 25

  22 28 1 13 2 33 1 37 26 3 6 33 2 13 3 8 40 37 6 41 2 38 3 6 1 33 8 41 3 2 8 40 33 8 35 3 9 44 36 44 37 33 36 8 3 1 37 34 37 41 2 39 41 36 37 2 8 41 38 41 37 36 26 41 7 2 3 8 8 3 34 37 9 7 37 36 41 2 33 2 13 35 3 6 6 37 7 4 3 2 36 37 2 35 37 25

  41 38 13 3 9 7 8 41 44 44 11 41 7 40 8 3 4 6 3 35 37 37 36 26 6 37 4 44 13 9 7 41 2 39 8 40 37 7 33 1 37 35 3 36 37 34 13 44 37 33 10 41 2 39 13 3 9 6 1 37 7 7 33 39 37 41 2 13 3 9 6 40 3 8 37 44 6 3 3 1 3 6 41 2 13 3 9 6 4 3 35 43 37 8 11 40 41 44 37 8 6 33 10 37 44 44 41 2 39 26 1 33 6 43 37 36 11 41 8 40 15 6 3 2 8 40 37 37 2 10 37 44 3 4 37 26 33 2 36 33 36 37 5 9 33 8 37 44 13 7 37 33 44 37 36 25

  6 37 39 33 6 36 7 26 13 3 9 6 8 9 8 3 6 25

  The letter took half an hour, although Mycroft sped up as his brain got used to writing it in a different sort of alphabet.

  As soon as he'd finished he placed it in an env
elope and melted some wax over the flap. With this done he pressed his ring into the liquid and waited for it to cool down enough that it would keep its new shape.

  The moment to think almost resulted in him ripping the letter up and chucking it into the fire, but after staring at her name on the front of it for a moment he got up and called for his car.

  “Going out again, sir?” Daniels asked when Mycroft met him at the front door. He gave his chauffeur back the signed book and nodded.

  “I have business I need to see to. Take me to my brother's.” Mycroft had no intention of explaining his real intentions to his driver or anyone else.

  Once outside Sherlock's, he dismissed Daniels and told him not to worry about picking him up. If his driver thought this was odd he made no comment but drove the vehicle back the way they'd come. Knowing Sherlock liked to keep a watch by the window, Mycroft hurried inside and up to the flat. He found his brother playing the violin in his dressing gown and flannel pyjamas, with a lit pipe nearby.

  “This is a late visit, brother of mine,” Sherlock said as he put the instrument down and tended to his pipe. “Is it concerning this lace operation that's happening tomorrow?”

  “You solved it then?”

  Sherlock nodded and offered Mycroft his spare pipe. Mycroft curled his lip up and kept his hands in his pockets.

  “Don't look so disdainful. It's not like it will kill either of us.”

  “I need some extra eyes tomorrow at the Millennium Wheel a little before noon. I've got a full team but I want to be careful. Watchfullness from some of your discreet friends would be appreciated.” Mycroft changed the subject before Sherlock could wonder why he was there.

  “It will cost you.”

  “It always does,” Mycroft said as he pulled several twenty pound notes from his pocket and placed them on the side table. “There's one for each person I need.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Good.” Mycroft nodded his thanks but his brother got up before he could continue with his plans.

  “Anything else I can help with?”

  “No, that's all I needed,” Mycroft replied, knowing his brother was fishing for something.

  “You sent your chauffeur away.”

  “I have other business to deal with.”

  “Oh, brother of mine, always so secretive... How did everything go with Amelia? I assume she took your decision to prevent her publishing well enough?” Sherlock's direction of enquiry resulted in Mycroft raising his eyebrows. He hoped Miss Jones hadn't been stupid enough to say anything. “She posted a message to her fans apologising for delays with her next book because of some necessary and complicated re-writes. No mention of why, but right after seeing you is evidently not a coincidence.”

  “She was remarkably cooperative.”

  “She's a clever woman.”

  “Next time I'd appreciate it if you didn't encourage her to use real events, especially when neither of you should know about them.” Mycroft walked out of the flat before Sherlock could say anymore. He had no desire to hear Sherlock talk about Miss Jones and didn't want to give his brother any opportunity to notice the game they'd already begun to play. For the second time Mycroft considered destroying the letter and going home, but his feet led him onwards to the end of the road and he hailed a taxi cab before he could act on the alternative desire.

  Mycroft didn't tell the taxi driver to take him to the hotel Miss Jones was staying at, but gave him the name of a road a few hundred metres away instead. Walking the final distance would help ensure his activities went undetected by anyone.

  It had been a while since he'd had to use transport other than his own chauffeured car but the driver noticed his desire to be left to his thoughts and concentrated on his task. So close to midnight the traffic was light and only ten minutes later Mycroft stood on the pavement, alone in the dark. He walked the few streets to his destination in no great hurry. The early September night air was still warm from the summer and the later it was, the more likely Miss Jones would be fast asleep. He wanted her to be undisturbed by him dropping the letter off.

  As he got closer he reached into his jacket pocket and turned on the device he always carried with him. It gave off a small electric distortion which scrambled the feed from any camera that might be looking his way.

  When Mycroft strode into the lobby the female receptionist looked up from her book. She was chewing gum, resulting in an irritating lip smacking noise, and the perm in her hair didn't suit the shape of her face. He took a deep breath and decided this wasn't the sort of place where he should use his natural accent.

  “Evenin'” he said as he approached the woman. “I know it's late but have you got a room goin' spare? I need a place to kip for the night.” He leant against the counter and smiled.

  “Let me just check,” she replied, talking around her gum.

  “I stayed in room three six eight recently. If it's free, I'd find it easier to sleep somewhere more familiar.”

  She sighed at the extra information and continued tapping at the keyboard. Eventually she nodded.

  “It's not taken. One night's ninety-five pounds.”

  Mycroft handed the cash over along with telling her a fake name, before taking the key-card she offered him. He hurried away to find the right floor.

  As he got into the lift and heard it clank into life, the stench of cheap perfume and stale sweat hit him. Miss Jones needed to stay in a better hotel in the future and he made a note to have more internet traffic directed to her books. An increase in sales would hopefully lead to an increase in her budget.

  The ting that let him know he was on the sixth floor couldn't have sounded soon enough, but instead of heading towards his own room he wandered down the hall looking for the maintenance cupboard. It only took him a few minutes to find it and another couple to pick the lock.

  Inside was a little cart full of bleaches, clean sheets and the small bottles of shampoo and conditioner that they stocked the bathrooms with. Hanging up on a hook beside it was an apron. He reached into the front pocket and pulled out the master key-card for the floor.

  With it in hand he made his way to Miss Jones' room, number three six seven, opposite the room he'd just booked. After checking no one was about he put his head against the door and listened. No noises came through, not even running water or the TV.

  Without hesitating any longer he used the master key-card in the door and stepped through. It closed behind him with a soft-click.

  The room was dark with a strip of pale light at the bottom of the curtains from the street lamp outside. It was enough illumination for him to tell Miss Jones was in bed and breathing softly. He didn't move for a minute as he concentrated on the sound of her inhales and exhales.

  Once he was sure she wasn't going to wake up he moved over to the dresser and placed the letter where she couldn't fail to notice it. After taking another look at her sleeping form, curled up under the hotel duvet, he made his way over to his own room. With his work done he found a wave of satisfaction roll over him and paused to grin.

  Mycroft set to work making the room look used, messing up the bed a little and pouring quantities down the sink from the shampoo and shower gel bottles. Just before leaving he grabbed the complimentary chocolate.

  Once back outside he made his way back down to the ground floor, choosing to use the stairs this time. Instead of going back through the lobby he turned down a side corridor and found a fire-exit, out of the way of prying eyes. After going through it he put a small stone in against the door jam so the bar couldn't fully click back into place and it could be opened from the outside when he returned in the morning.

  He walked back towards the busy roads where he would be able to get transport home, but less than a minute later his phone vibrated. He tucked himself back from the road's edge and answered the call.

  “Myron Holmes,” he said, in his usual business voice.

  “Sir, all the preparations for monitoring the target tomorrow
are in place,” his assistant informed him in her well-spoken English.

  “Good work. Keep me updated with any further developments.” He hung up before any cars could pass him by and make it obvious he wasn't at home. Having a reputation as a recluse, he didn't want to spark her curiosity.

  If he kept his arrangement up with Amelia Jones he would have to come up with an alternative way of getting the letters between them. He could post his own in several layers of envelopes and bounce them around the post offices in the country before reaching her, to make them difficult to trace back to himself, but her responses would be another matter. He would have to plan something before he sent her anything further.

  Chapter 4

  The light woke Amelia from her slumber as it streamed through the thin curtains. She yawned and stretched, trying to decide if it was worth getting up yet. The clock on the bedside table still begun with a six, although it wouldn't for much longer. Breakfast was still an hour off and she felt cosy under the duvet. On top of that her dreams had been pleasant, but now she'd opened her eyes her mind kicked in and reminded her that her short stay in London had been a mixed event.

  Both her book signings had gone well and her sales were reasonable. Her time with Sebastian also meant she'd almost finished plotting her next novel, but in contrast she would need to change a large amount of her previous story and was still waiting on the exact instructions from Myron or his assistant. And it was him that had her unsatisfied with her brief excursion into the capital. Despite all the other positives, having him think so little of her, for whatever reason, bothered her. The inability to do anything about it only made it worse.