Calliah Mullen is the sister to Irene Adler and has always been called the ugly sibling. After hearing it for so long, Calliah believes it and cuts her self to relieve the pain. When see meets Sherlock and John, her views on the world, herself, and her sister change. Will it be for the better or worse?


31. Chapter 31

Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.

Here is the first part of the Empty Hearse

I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.

We go to the bathroom so Mycroft’s barber can cut Sherlock’s hair and shave his face. I sit on the counter, Mycroft stands beside me, and Sherlock was in a chair. “You have been busy, haven’t you?” Mycroft asks.

“Of course. Moriarty’s network – took me two years to dismantle it.” Sherlock says.

“And you’re confident you have?” Mycroft asks.

“The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle.” Sherlock says.

“Yes. You got yourself in deep there…” Mycroft says and grabs a file. He opens it up. “…with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme.”

“Colossal.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft closes the file. “Anyway, you’re safe now.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock says.

“A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.” Mycroft says.

“What for?” Sherlock asks.

“For wading in.” Mycroft says. Sherlock raises a hand to the barber to make him stop shaving him. The man steps back a little. “In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.” I giggle.

Sherlock sits up and looks at Mycroft angrily. I frown. “’Wadding in?’ You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp.” Sherlock says.

I look over at Mycroft and frown. Mycroft was shaking his head. “Really Mycroft?” I ask and cross my arms.

“I got him out…” Mycroft says softly. 

I shake my head and look away.

“No – I got me out. Why didn’t you intervene sooner?” Sherlock asks.

“Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything.” Mycroft says and tries to place a hand on my leg. I pushed it off.

Sherlock glowers at him. “You were enjoying it.”

“Nonsense.” Mycroft says.

“Definitely enjoying it.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft looks at him. “Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going ‘under cover’, smuggling my way into their ranks like that? That was the reason I was gone all the time.” He looks at me. I look at him. “I didn’t want to be away but I had to.” He says and frowns. I sigh and nod.

“I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.” Sherlock says.

“I didn’t, but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words.” Mycroft explains and shrugs. “Took me a couple of hours.”

“Hmm – you’re slipping.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft smiles tightly. “Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all.” He frowns and I place my hand on his. He looks at me.

The door opens and ‘Anthea’ comes in and holds up a dark suit and white shirt on a hanger to show Sherlock. Sherlock gets his pants and shirt on. He tucks his shirt into his trousers while he looks at himself in a large mirror on the wall. We stand nearby. I was standing in front of Mycroft and leaning against him. He had his arms around me.

“I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?” Mycroft asks.

“What do you think of this shirt?” Sherlock asks.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft says exasperated.

“I will find you underground terror cell, Mycroft.” Sherlock says and looks briefly at Mycroft. “Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.”

“One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there’s going to be a terror strike on London – a big one.” ‘Anthea’ tells Sherlock.

Sherlock puts on his jacket. “And what about John Watson?” Sherlock asks,

‘Anthea’ throws an exasperated glance towards Mycroft. “John?” Mycroft asks.

“Mmm. Have you seen him?” Sherlock asks.

“I see him almost every day. We go out for lunch.” I say.

“And I have kept a weather eye on him.” Mycroft says and holds out his hand for a file. ‘Anthea’ hands him a file. Mycroft hands it to Sherlock. He looks through it. “You haven’t been in touch at all, to prepare him?” Mycroft asks.

“No.” Sherlock says distracted.

“You haven’t let anything slip, have you?” Mycroft asks me.

“Nope.” I say.

“Well, we’ll have to get rid of that.” Sherlock says. I’m guessing he is talking about the moustache. Yeah. It wasn’t pretty.

“’We’?” Mycroft asks.

“He looks ancient. Calliah and I can’t be seen to be wandering around with an old man.” Sherlock says. He closes the file and drops it onto the desk. He straightens his jacket. “I think I’ll surprise John. He’ll be delighted!”

“You think so?” Mycroft asks, smiling cynically.

“Hmmm. I’ll pop into Baker Street. Who knows – jump out of a cake.” Sherlock says.

“Don’t say cake.” Mycroft complains.

“If we started planning the wedding, we get to try cake…” I say and smirk at Mycroft. He smiles and kisses my head.

Mycroft looks at Sherlock. “He isn’t at Baker Street” Sherlock looks surprised. “Why would he be? It’s been two years. He’s got on with his life.”

“What Mycroft is saying is, he moved out when I did. We couldn’t live where you weren’t. It was too hard and John… um…. Moved on.” I explain.

“What life? I’ve been away.” Sherlock says.

“Our lives don’t focus on yours.” I tell him and roll my eyes.

“Where’s he going to be tonight?” Sherlock asks.

“How would I know?” Mycroft asks.

“You always know and if you don’t Calliah does.” Sherlock says.

“He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion ... though I prefer the 2001.” Mycroft says.

I open my mouth to tell Sherlock about Mary and Mycroft covers my mouth, and I glare at him.

“I think maybe we’ll just drop by.” Sherlock says. I shake my head.

“You know, it is just possible that you won’t be welcome.” Mycroft says.

“No it isn’t. Now, where is it?” Sherlock asks.

“Where’s what?” Mycroft asks.

“You know what.” Sherlock says. Mycroft looks at me as I look down and hum. “Calliah, where is it?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about?” I says softly.

“Calliah. Give it to me.” Sherlock says.

“I don’t wanna…” I say.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Mycroft says. I sigh and go and get Sherlock’s coat. I bring it back and give it to Sherlock. I lean against the counter and pout.

Sherlock smiles and slides his arms into the sleeves and pulls it up. He pops the collar. “Why did you have my coat?”

“I…I slept with it… when I missed you.” I said embarrassed.

Later that night, Mycroft takes me out to the Landmark Hotel to watch Sherlock. We had a bet. I believe that John would punch him. Mycroft says he will just leave. I was wearing a light grey Coast Reanna Feather Dress, silver shoes, diamond ear drops and my engagement ring. Mycroft got us a table close by but where John won’t see us. Nearby, John is sitting alone at a table, checking the inside pocket of his jacket before taking a drink from a glass of water. I see Sherlock and tap Mycroft. I point out Sherlock and smile. Sherlock looks across the room at him, then hesitates. A waitress picks up some menus from the bar and walks across in front of him.

“’Scuse me, sir.” Sherlock’s attention is drawn to the bowtie she is wearing as part of her uniform. He looks to a nearby table where a couple are sitting. There is a glass of red wine and a glass of water to the man’s left. The man has his back to the door but Sherlock can see him reflected in the water glass. As John picks up the wine list and starts looking at it, Sherlock smiles to himself again and walks over to the side of the other couple’s table where he picks up the glass of water and pours it down the man’s front. The man – wearing a white shirt, black jacket and a bowtie – recoils and cries out in shock. “Sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” The man lifts his napkin from his lap and starts mopping himself with it. Sherlock steps behind him, pulling the napkin higher up the man’s chest. “Please, let me just go to the kitchen and, er, dry that off for you.” With one smooth tug, he pulls off the man’s bowtie and walks away, tying the bowtie around his own neck. Continuing across the restaurant, he sees a man at another table taking off his glasses and putting them down on top of the menu he has just been reading. Sherlock walks to his side. “Finished with that, sir? Allow me to take it for you.” Not paying much attention, the man waves him away. Sherlock picks up the menu and the glasses and walks away, putting on the glasses as he goes. At a nearby table, a woman’s small handbag is open beside her. Sherlock sees that there is an eyeliner on the top. He steps close behind her, offering her the menu he’s holding with his right hand while simultaneously taking the menu she is holding with his left hand. “Madam, can I suggest you look at this menu? It’s, er, completely identical.” She automatically takes the menu from his right hand and he instantly pinches the eyeliner from her bag and steps away, turning his back to the bulk of the restaurant and lifting the eyeliner towards his face. When he turns back, he has drawn a small pencil moustache on his top lip. He goes over to John’s table, standing to his left and one step behind him. He addresses John in a French accent. “Can I ’elp you with anything, sir?”

“Hi, yeah. I’m looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one.” John says, not looking up.

“Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages.” Sherlock says, leaning closer.

“Er, it’s not really my area. What do you suggest?” John asks.

“Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you’d like my personal recommendation ...” Sherlock says, his French accent becoming a little Captain du Creff-esque

“Mm-hmm.” John says.

Sherlock gestures at the list with his eyeliner pencil. “.. this last one on the list is a favourite of mine.” John nods, still not looking up at him. Sherlock straightens up. “It is – you might, in fact, say – like a face from ze past.” He takes off his glasses and waits expectantly. John still doesn’t look round.

“Great. I’ll have that one, please.” John says that. He finishes his glass of red wine. Sherlock looks startled that John hasn’t recognized him yet.

“It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!” He almost lapses into his own voice on the final word and he gestures grandly. John grimaces at the taste of his wine, then – still without looking round – hands the wine list to the man he thinks is the wine waiter. I giggle into my hand.

“Well, er, surprise me.” John says.

“Certainly endeavouring to, sir.” Sherlock says tetchily, in pretty much his own voice. He walks away. John reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a small red velvet box. Opening it, he looks at the ring inside, then closes the box and puts it on the table in front of him. Nearby, a woman walks down the stairs. John fidgets with the box, turning it this way and that, perhaps in an attempt to make it look perfectly placed. He blows out a nervous breath as his dinner date, Mary Morstan, rejoins him, patting his shoulder before walking round to her own seat. I grin at him. They are so cute together.

“Sorry that took so long.” Mary says. John snatches the box off the table and shoves it back into his pocket. I chuckle and look at Mycroft, who was looking at me. She sits down and smiles at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am fine.” John says. She smiles sweetly. John chuckles and gazes at her with a delighted look on his face.

“Now then, what did you want to ask me?” Mary asks.

John’s smile fades and he looks nervous. “More wine?”

“No, I’m good with water, thanks.” Mary says.

“Right.” John says. He briefly looks away.

“So ...” Mary says.

“Er, so ... Mary. Listen, erm ... I know it hasn’t been long ... I mean, I know we haven’t known each other for a long time ...” John starts to say. He looks down, clearly struggling.

“Go on.” Mary encourages. I grin. She was so good for him.

“Yes, I will. As you know, these last couple of years haven’t been easy for me; and meeting you ...” John says and looks at her for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened.”

“I agree.” Mary says.

“What?” John asks.

“I agree I’m the best thing that could have happened to you.” Mary says, smiling. I chuckle again. John laughs. Mary screws up her nose apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Well, no. That’s, um ...” John says. He pauses, then looks at her. “So ... if you’ll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um ...” She giggles. He clears his throat. “... if you could see your way to ...”

Just as he’s about to go for it, Sherlock glides over to the table, still with the glasses, the ridiculous fake moustache and the ridiculous fake accent, but now with the added bonus of a bottle of champagne which he shows to John. I groan. So close. “Sir, I think you’ll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking.” Mary shields her face with her hand so that the ‘waiter’ can’t see her as she giggles silently at John. “It ’as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new.”

John eyes locked on Mary’s. “No, sorry, not now, please.”

“Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers ...” Sherlock says. Mary pulls a face at John. “... suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend.” He takes off his glasses.

“No, look, seriously ...” John says and he finally lifts his gaze to meet the waiter’s eyes. “... could you just ...” His face drops. His entire body jolts and he stares with an expression of utter disbelief.

“Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters.” Sherlock says in his normal voice.

John turns his head towards Mary, then his eyes fill with tears and he ducks his head momentarily before he stumbles clumsily to his feet. “John?” Mary asks concerned.  As John straightens up, Sherlock begins to move his right hand forward as if expecting John to shake it. John looks down at the table breathing heavily before lifting his head and briefly locking eyes with him. “John, what is it? What?” Mary asks, worried.

John looks down again, clearly still in shock. “Well, short version ...” Sherlock says,a little awkwardly. John raises his eyes to him again. “... Not Dead.” John stares at him, his face full of pain, shock and growing anger. Sherlock finally seems to catch on and looks a little guilty. “Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny.” He laughs nervously, not meeting John’s eyes, which is probably for the best because John’s gaze is slowly turning murderous. “Okay, it’s not a great defense.”

“Oh no! You’re ...” Mary says.

“We should go over.” I say and get up. I rush over. “John. Mary.” I says softly.

John looks at me and glares. “You knew didn’t you?” He asks.

“Not the whole time…” I say softly.

“Oh, my God.” Mary says shocked.

“Not quite.” Sherlock says.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?!” John yells at me.

I look down and back up.

“You died. You jumped off a roof.” Mary says.

“No.” Sherlock says. I keep moving away.

“You’re dead!” Mary says appalled.

“No. I’m quite sure. I checked. Excuse me.” Sherlock says and picks up a napkin from the table, he dips it into Mary’s glass of water and then starts to rub off his moustache. Sherlock looks at John. “Does, er, does yours rub off, too?” He asks.

John smiles tightly at Sherlock and then me. I look down and try not to cry. I didn’t think he would be mad at me.

“Oh my God, oh my God. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?” Mary ask Sherlock, the anger is clear in her voice. She turns to me. “You knew what he was feeling and you let him believe it!? You call him your friend!?”

“Hey! She had to.” Mycroft says and pulls me into him.

Sherlock looks down. “Okay, John, I’m suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology.”

Clenching his left fist, John slams it down onto the table. He hunches over his fist. “All right, just… John? Just keep…” Mary says.

John pulls in a deep shaky breathe before looking up at Sherlock. “Two years.” John says in a whisper. He shakes his head, dragging in another long breath and blowing it out again before starting to straighten up. “Two years.” He moans and slumps down over his hands again. Sherlock has the decency to look awkward. John glances up at him momentarily. “I thought ...” He groans, unable to continue and gesturing helplessly. Mary stares at him in sympathy. John finally straightens and turns to Sherlock. “I thought ... you were dead.” His face begins to fill with anger again. “Hmm?” He looks over at me. “And you! You let me talk about him and say how much I missed him. You said that you missed him too!” He breathes rapidly and shallowly. “Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?” I start crying into Mycroft. Sherlock looks down, biting his lip. “How?”

“Wait – before you do anything that you might regret…” Sherlock says. John half-groans again. “…um, one question. Just let me ask one question. Um…” John looks at him. Almost giggling as he gestures towards his own top lip, Sherlock says. “Are you really gonna keep that?!” He grins as he turns his head to look at Mary. She laughs in disbelief. John draws in one more long breath, then hurls himself at Sherlock, grabbing his lapels and bundling him back across the floor until Sherlock loses his footing and they both fall to the floor, John on top of Sherlock and trying to throttle him. Mary and various waiters run to pull John off.

We got kicked out of the restaurant and go to a café. Mycroft and I sit down. I wanted to go home. Mary and John hated me. I move to Mycroft’s lap and he wraps his arms around him. Sherlock slips in beside us. Mary and John sit side by side opposite us with their arms folded. I didn’t look at them because I didn’t want to see them glaring at me. “I want to make sure John doesn’t kill Sherlock love.” Mycroft whispers into my ear. I nod and move more into Mycroft.

“I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I’d invited Moriarty onto the roof.” Sherlock starts explaining. “I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling…”

“You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick.” John interrupts.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“I don’t care how you faked it, Sherlock. I wanna know why.” John says.

“Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped.” Sherlock says bewildered. He looks at John’s expression. “Oh. ‘Why’ as in... I see. Yes. ‘Why’? That’s a little more difficult to explain.”

“I’ve got all night.” John says darkly.

I move my head so I could see them all. Sherlock clears his throat and looks down. “Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft’s idea.”

John looks at Mycroft. “Oh, so it’s your plan.”

Mary points to Sherlock. “Oh, he would have needed a confidant…” Mary trails off at John’s look. She refolds her arms and look down. John turns back to Sherlock.

“But those two” John points to Mycroft and me. “are the only two who knew?” John asks.

“Calliah didn’t know when I jumped.” Mycroft says. “She has only known for a year.”

“A year that I didn’t know! She should have told me.” John says.

I move into Mycroft more. “Can we go…?” I asks softly.

“Not yet love.” He whispers.

“A couple more knew..” Sherlock says. John lowers his head. “It was a very elaborate plan – it had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities…”

“Who else?” John asks in a despairing whisper. He looks up at Sherlock. “Who else knew?” Sherlock hesitates. “Who?”

“Molly.” Sherlock says and looks at me.

“Molly?” John and I ask angrily. John looks at me.

“You didn’t know?” John asks.

“N-No.” I look at Sherlock and Mycroft. “My best friend knew but I couldn’t? Or John?”

“Sorry love…” Mycroft says softly. I sigh and look at John.

“Molly Hooper – and some of my homeless network, and that’s all.” Sherlock says.

“Okay.” John says and sits up. He glances round at Mary, who gives him a sympathetic smile. He turns to Sherlock. “Okay. So just those two, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps.”

Sherlock chuckles. “No! Twenty-five at most.”

John looks at Sherlock and hurls himself across the table and attempts to throttle Sherlock again. I sheik and Mycroft shields me.

We got thrown out of the café and are now in a kebab show. John and Mary are standing leaning with their backs against the counter. Sherlock was standing in front of them. Mycroft and I were standing to the side. John actually hit Sherlock this time and busted up his lip. Sherlock is holding a paper napkin to the cut. He looks at the blood on the napkin, wincing, then presses it to his lip again. He looks at John as he raises his head, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze.

“Seriously, it’s not a joke?” Sherlock asks and gestures to his own top lid. I roll my eyes. He was going to die tonight. “You’re-you’re really keeping this?”

John clears his throat and meets Sherlock’s gaze. “Yeah.”

“You’re sure?” Sherlock asks.

“Mary likes it.” John says.

“Mmmmm, no she doesn’t.” Sherlock says.

“She does.” John says.

“She doesn’t.” Mycroft and I say.

John looks at us and then glances at Mary, then does a double-take. She makes incoherent apologetic noises. “Oh!” John says and tries to cover his moustache with his hand. “Brilliant.”

“I’m sorry. Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t know how to tell you.” Mary says.

“No, no, this charming.” John says sarcastically. He points angrily at Sherlock. “I’ve really missed this.” He says sarcastically again. He looks down, then takes an aggressive step towards Sherlock and gets into his face. “One word, Sherlock. That is all I would have needed. One word to let me know that you were alive.” He steps back, breathing heavily.

“I’ve nearly been in contact so many times, but…” Sherlock says softly. John laughs disbelievingly. “…I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet?”

“What?” John asks.

“Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag.” Sherlock says.

John steps closer. “Oh, so this is my fault?! You trust Calliah with this secret?” John asks.

“Well… actually… I didn’t. I didn’t know she was living with Mycroft. I wanted a hot shower before I shipped off and well yeah. She was there.” Sherlock explains.

“So I would have not known if I hadn’t been in the house?” I ask.

“Of course.” Sherlock says.

I shake my head.

“Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong – the only one reacting like a human being?!” John shouts angrily.

“Over-reacting.” Sherlock says.

“Over-reacting?!” John asks furiously.

“John!” Mary says.

“’Over-reacting’. So you fake your own death…” John says, shouting.

“Shh!” Mycroft and Sherlock says.

“…and you waltz in ‘ere large as bloody life…” John continues.

“Shh!” Mycroft and Sherlock says.

“... but I’m not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it’s a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!” John finishes.

“Shut up, John! I don’t want everyone knowing I’m still alive!” Sherlock says, shouting.

“Oh, so it’s still a secret, is it?” John asks, shouting.

I put my hand on my head. These two are exhausting. I was getting a head ache.

“Yes! It’s still a secret!” Sherlock says loudly. He looks around at the other customers in the shop. He looks at John. “Promise you won’t tell anyone.” Sherlock says casually.

“Swear to God!” John says angrily and sarcastically. He looks around at the other customers and backs down a little, blowing out a long breath.

Sherlock steps closer to him and speaks quietly. “London is in danger, John. There’s an imminent terror attack and I need your help.”

John stares at Sherlock in amazement, then turns to throw a quirky ‘can you believe this guy?!’ look at Mary. He turns back to Sherlock. “My help?”

“Well, yours and Calliah’s.” Sherlock eyes narrow and then he smiles. “You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world ...” John grabs his lapels, rears his head back and hits Sherlock’s nose with his head.

We get thrown out of the kebab shop. Sherlock was standing just outside the door with his head tilted back a little. Blood was running from his nose. “I don’t understand.” Mycroft was off calling for his car and some gift baskets for the places we disturbed. I was standing by Sherlock and Mary was standing by me. Sherlock pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and holds a paper napkin underneath. “I said I’m sorry. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” I rub his arm and smiles softly.

John was down the road hailing a taxi.

“Gosh. You don’t know anything about human nature, do you?” Mary asks Sherlock.

Sherlock lowers his head and looks at her. “Mmm, nature? No. Human?...”

“No.” I says.

Sherlock smiles at me.

“I’ll talk him round. For both of you.” Mary says and smiles softly at me.

Sherlock looks at her curiously. “You will?”

“Yeah, you will?” I ask.

Mary smiles confidently. “Oh yeah.”

Sherlock looks at her closely. I knew he was deducting her. She smiles at him, then looks round as John calls to her. “Mary.” She turns and gives Sherlock and me a last smiles, then walks over to John.

“What did you find out?” I ask.

“Only child, linguist, cleaver, part time nurse, shortsighted, guardian, bakes own bread, disillusioned, cat lover, romantic, appendix scar, secret tattoo, size 12, liar.” Sherlock lists.

“Liar?” I ask.

“Almost everyone is a liar.” Sherlock says.

I shrug as Mycroft’s car pulls up.

That night, Sherlock and I, go to St. Barts. Molly walks into a locker room, takes out her keys and opens her locker. We were stand behind her and she sees us. She gasps and turns to look at him, starting to smile. “Sherlock.” She grins and looks over at Sherlock and me. She frowns slightly as she looks at me. “Ah, Calliah. Hi…”

“Hi Molly. So guess what I just found out?” I ask and cross my arms.

“Um… not dead?” Molly says softly. She smiles awkwardly.

“Oh no. I knew that a year ago.” I say.

“That…. I’m your best friend.. And you can’t kill me with Sherlock here?” Molly says.

“Nope. That my so called best friend knew Sherlock was alive and helped plan his fake death.” I say softly and frown.

“I…. er… Sherlock told me not to…” Molly says softly.

I sigh and go over. “I understand.”

Her eyes pop open. “You do?” She asks.

“Of course. John is pissed at me for not telling him and I am… I don’t know how I feel about that, but I know I wouldn’t want you to feel that way. So yes. I understand.” I say.

“Oh thank God.” Molly says and hugs me.

“Calliah. I have more people to visit.” Sherlock says behind me.

“Go on. I’m going to hang with Molly.” I tell Sherlock. He nods and leaves.

“Let’s have a double date.” I say.

“I can’t… I actually have to go… I’m sorry…” Molly says softly.

“What? Why?” I ask.

“I have plans…” Molly says.

“Oh.” I smile and get out my phone. “Okay. I’ll call Mycroft and have him pick me up. He can take me somewhere nice.” I say.

“Okay. We will plan another day to hang out.” Molly says and hugs me.

“Okay.” I hug her back and then she leaves. I call Mycroft. “Croft?”

“What is it love?” Mycroft asks. “Is Sherlock being annoying?”

“No. He left…” I start to say.

“What? Why did he leave you? Are you in trouble?” Mycroft interrupts me.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “I’m fine. I told Sherlock to leave. I was going to hang with Molly but she has plans. So, I was thinking that I would let you take me out.”

He sighs. “Calliah… I have to work. When you said you were going with Sherlock I went to the office. I’m there right now.”

I frown. “Oh. Okay. I will head home. Maybe stop at the movies and have some fun.”

“No. I can come.” He says.

“No. No, work. I will just hang alone. I am fine being alone Croft. I will see you tonight.” I say.

“Are you sure?” Mycroft asks.

“Yes. I’ll see you later. I love you.” I say.

“Love you too.” Mycroft says and I hang up.

I sigh and go home.



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