Chapter Ten

Back to Base – Diverted to Stansted – Sleep Quickly – A Particular Cliff – We Wait – Only Forty Minutes – Leaving Purfleet – Lestrade – The Guests Arrive – A Suitable Place for Traitors – Going Home – Chapter One – The English Spy.

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Sherlock seemed asleep, stretched out along an old sofa, when Croft walked into the lounge.

"Time to go. Where's the Italian?" she asked, sliding her phone back into her pocket.

"Through there," with his eyes still closed, Sherlock waved a hand over the back of the settee towards another of the ground-floor rooms in this dreary dwelling. Safe house it might be, but only because nobody in their right minds ever wanted to live here. A chilly old prefab left over from God-knows-when, with nothing to recommend it other than its remoteness from people and its closeness to nature. The sound of the birds from the nearby marshes had been driving him slowly mad and he had just arrived at the point where he could block everything out when Croft had spoken.

Upon their arrival at the house, Trentini had been most vocal in his disappointment, making very sure that everyone in the car knew of it.

"You cannot expect me to rest in this … this godforsaken hole in the ground?" he demanded. "I am used to better accommodations than this for my dogs," he snarled.

"Signor Trentini," Croft appeased his filthy temper. "This is merely a precaution to ensure that when we relocate to a better place, your privacy and safety are secured. Nobody wants you to keep moving around, so it is best we do all this now rather than fear for your future wellbeing."

Marginally pacified, the Italian gangster followed the woman into the drab house and into the kitchen where he demanded coffee.

Looking less than enchanted, Croft smiled thinly. "There is the kettle and there is the coffee and dried milk," she nodded at the various accoutrements. "I don't expect there to be anything fresh in this house but you're welcome to hunt for it."

Sherlock had walked once around the perimeter of the place, peering through each window and door, before taking up residence on the sofa, folding his arms across his chest and mimicking sleep.

But now, apparently, they were to go.

"Where?"

"We are summoned," Croft spoke quietly so that her voice would not carry. "Back to base."

"Base being ..?"

Croft just looked at him.

"Ah, of course," Sherlock nodded. "That base."

"About time we left this dismal place," Trentini was still scowling as he stomped towards the BMW. "I wish to be taken somewhere with a hot bath and a good meal," he said. "I do not intend to stay if I am denied the basic amenities of civilisation," he turned to Sherlock. "What do you say to that, eh, Anderson?"

Sherlock sighed. "I say you'd be better off with less concern over your current standard of living and more thought over the fact you are still alive to contemplate having one," he said flatly. "Remember where you would be right now had I not been able to arrange this, so do be quiet, there's a good chap."

With a sour expression on his face, Trentini got into the car, slamming the door after him. Sherlock was mildly impressed, determined to use the very continental manner of the man's bad humour in the future when it was most likely to annoy Mycroft.

In a matter of seconds, the unlikely trio were back on the road, retracing their path towards the heart of the British capital.

It would take them less than an hour.

###

Andrew Munro's jet, its flight-plan set for the City Airport in the Docklands, was inexplicably rerouted to Stansted Airport, several miles outside of London. Not a huge detour in the great scheme of things, but an annoyance.

The Earl of Tain did not suffer annoyances gladly, the foul simmer of his mood rising to a slow boil of frustration. It would be an extra hour at least, given London's horrendous peak traffic, before he would be able to enter the Mews House he kept for the odd few days each year he came to London for official duties and engagements connected to his peerage. And now he would be later still, as his driver had arranged to meet them at the Docklands aerodrome. As if a mind reader, his pilot relayed better news.

"Already been in touch with Carmichaels, Your Lordship," his voice came through the internal comms system. "Apparently he's aware of our diversion and is enroute to the new pickup, so with luck, you won't be all that much later than planned, sir."

"Did Carmichaels say he'd done that small task I asked of him?" Munro settled himself deeper into the encompassing seat.

"He asked me to advise you that the hunt had been successful, Your Lordship," the pilot wasn't about to even sound curious. "And that he had the map-references you wanted."

Excellent. Munro smiled. Finally, pleasing information. His driver had managed to follow the lovely Catherine from Heathrow, tracking her back to her den. There was no rush now; he could take his time. He liked to take his time.

The question now was, did he go direct to his house from Stansted, or did he assuage his impatience and go to meet his erstwhile guest straight away? He smiled to himself. Catherine Adin certainly wouldn't be expecting him to be at her home so soon after her own arrival; she probably had no inkling at all that she had even been named, let alone tracked down. The thought of her getting home, probably taking a hot shower, coming to the door when he knocked, her hair still damp, her body soft and clean for him …

Enjoying the dull pressure that blossomed in his groin, Munro took a slow inhale. It was decided. His house could wait; he would go directly to meet the woman who had evaded him twice. She would not do so a third time.

He would be in London in less than an hour.

###

"And?" Cate walked around to face him. "What risk?"

"You are supposed to be asleep," Mycroft frowned; she was still groggy and looked like one strong gust of wind would send her reeling.

"I was," she rubbed her eyes, smiling her gratitude as Smith vacated his seat for her. "But then I had to go to the bathroom and heard you talking about sacrificial goats," she paused, yawning. "If you're going to play hunt-the-tiger, I think the least you can do is allow me to be there."

"There is no need for you to make yourself vulnerable again," Mycroft crossed his legs and looked forbearing. "And there is absolutely no chance I would permit you to place yourself in any further danger on my account," he added. "Not a chance," he repeated, his eyes seeing a certain expression arrive on her face.

"Then tell me which big cat you're hunting," she stretched her face in an attempt to wake up. She looked innocently interested.

"There may be more than one," Mycroft settled down in his seat, and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. "I am not at liberty to say at this precise time."

Cate knew her husband's code well enough to realise he was hedging. He either didn't know, which was unlikely, or he didn't want to say anything in front of her … or in front of Smith. Casting her glace sideways, she caught a glimpse of the younger man's face; he seemed as puzzled as she was.

"Then I hope you still have those handcuffs," she said, matter-of-factly. "Because that's the only way you're going to get me to stay down here if you really are bent on setting yourself up for bait," she frowned. "I realise this must be a good idea for you to even consider doing it, but I worry, you know," she added, thoughtfully.

"No need to fret, my sweet," Mycroft stood and walked to his desk. "I am going to be perfectly safe, just as you are," he turned, smiling, a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingers.

"You wouldn't dare," Cate stared at the shiny bracelets.

"Are you willing to risk that I might?" Mycroft sounded perfectly serious.

"I would be very unhappy if you tried," Cate sat back and looked appropriately sad.

"I would rather an unhappy wife than an injured one."

"You'd much prefer one that was both happy and uninjured, I expect," she smiled, cheerily.

"I would be prepared to settle for one above the other."

"It would be awfully upsetting if you felt you couldn't trust me."

"I trust you. I do not trust your reactions. They are … unpredictable."

"I'll just be outside then," Smith waved his thumb in the direction of the doorway, deciding that the better part of valour was to let these two duke it out without witnesses. Jon hated to think what might happen to witnesses.

"My husband is not going to handcuff me," Cate smiled at Mycroft's English spy. "He's just trying to get his message across, which he has," she said, turning back to look at him. "I promise to stay safe."

"Darling," Mycroft leaned forward and squeezed her hand. "I knew you'd see sense."

"Do you promise to wake me up if I go and doze for a while?" Cate yawned again. "I mean, really promise?"

"I really promise, my love," Mycroft smiled, helping her up to her feet and drawing her back into the tiny bedroom. Out of Smith's sight, he pulled her close and kissed her dreamily. "Sleep quickly, it won't be long now."

In actuality, it would be less than an hour.

###

Greg Lestrade had spoken with the senior Holmes. Their conversation was clear but at the same time, ambiguous.

"So, just exactly what is it you want me to do, Mycroft?" the silver-haired DI frowned at his end of the phone. "You know this isn't the kind of thing I generally get involved in."

"As we discussed earlier, Inspector, I am in need of insurance, and in times of uncertainty I will take it from whatever source I most trust."

Mildly flattered, then annoyed at himself for being so obvious, Lestrade frowned. "So, yeah, I can be there and do what it is you want me to do, but then what?" he decided to play things cautiously.

"An important collar for your Division? My indebtedness? Professional success and the admiration of your peers?"

"Stop," the DI shook his head on the phone. "You had me at you being in my debt," he said. "Okay. I'm agreeing to help, now just tell me exactly what particular cliff it is you want me to jump off."

Mycroft did so.

"Jesus; you don't mess around, do you?" the DI breathed softly. "I'd better get a move on, in that case."

"How long will this take you to arrange?" Mycroft consulted his watch.

"Not long, I shouldn't think," Lestrade checked his wrist. "Definitely within the hour."

"And you are quite clear on the task at hand?"

"How will I know who to look for?"

Mycroft pursed his mouth. "You will know, Inspector, trust me."

"Looks like I'll be doing that too, then," the policeman sighed. "See you there."

###

The broad light of day was already fading when Mycroft shook her carefully, and she stirred reluctantly.

"'Nother minute," Cate groaned into the pillow. It smelled of husband and she had been having such a lovely dream involving him, the Egyptian pyramids and, for some unknown reason, a river; swift-flowing, broad and powerful. Trying to blink herself more awake, residual images of the dream flickered behind her eyes. If certain dream-interpreters were correct, she'd just been having a wonderful time; alternatively a river might just be a river.

His mouth was close to her ear as he murmured she could go back to sleep; that he wouldn't be long; she was tired; she should sleep. Sleep. She could feel the warmth of him, he was that close. And then his words made sense and she opened her eyes properly.

"'mM awake," Cate mumbled as she pushed herself up. There was no way she was going to miss this. Whatever it was Mycroft wasn't telling her about.

"I'm awake," she repeated, rubbing her face roughly and taking a few deep breaths. "Although I need a hot shower and a cup of tea to feel human again," she added, her hand searching for his to pull herself upright.

"Do not have me regret this, Catie," his words were for her ears only. "I will be acutely upset if you do anything adventurous."

"Mycroft, I'll even stay out of sight if I must," she grumbled. "But I think I've earned the right to see the end of this thing … whatever it is."

"And I recognise the fact that if I do not allow this, I will suffer endlessly because of it," his smile was negligible, but it was there.

"You know me so well, my love," Cate's smile was bigger. She squeezed his fingers.

"Then you may accompany me to the courtyard, but I want you to stay with Mr Smith until the … proceedings are over," he paused, looking at her. "Will you agree to that?"

"I agree, of course, as long as you promise not to be hurt in any way."

"I will do my level best," the smile was in greater evidence.

"Then I will behave according to your draconian demands," she leaned against him.

"Draconian?" his eyebrows lifted.

Cate warmed to his expression. How she had existed before she'd met this man, she wasn't sure any more.

"I love you," she whispered.

His answer was another smile as they walked towards the lift in the wall. Smith was directly behind them, a faint curve to his mouth as he wondered how these two managed to co-exist without implosion.

The lift opened, letting its passengers walk into the first glimpse of a London dusk. The sky beyond the immediate walls was a darkening blue-grey; the heat of another summer's day sending up faint shimmers from the grey, cobbled stone walkways. It was almost too peaceful.

Exiting into a ground-floor passageway in the White Tower itself, Mycroft led the others out into the last rays of the sun, heading across the courtyard towards Wakefield Tower, home of the Crown jewels. There was a large expanse of uncovered cobblestone outside the stronghold, normally packed with tourists during the day, all queuing to enter the holiest of holies. It was quiet now; everyone had gone home. Except them.

Mycroft paused his stride, looking around, up into the skyline of the surrounding battlements, nodding as if satisfied. "I shall wait here," he said. "You two stay around the corner of the Guard's Building," he directed them off towards his right. "You will have a clear view of events but be in the clear if anything is amiss."

Cate rested her hand against his chest. "Promise me that nothing will be amiss," she said softly. "Promise me, Mycroft."

"I promise this will all be over very soon now, my darling; be patient just a fraction longer." Nodding at Smith, who touched her elbow to steer her away, Mycroft stood in the fading light, hands clasped lightly behind his back.

"What if something goes wrong?" Cate allowed herself to be shepherded by the younger man around the corner of the old stone building into relative safety. "What if he hasn't thought of everything?"

"Don't worry, Professor," Smith reached inside his jacket, pulling out a compact pistol, its flat black solidity providing a curious sense of security. It was the first time Cate had ever associated a weapon with that feeling. The spy cocked the gun, the sharp scrape of steel upon steel making the situation far too real for comfort now and her heart beat faster.

"What now?" she whispered.

"We wait," Smith took a shallow breath, resting his gun by his knee. "Won't be long."

###

Stepping down from his personal jet outside the private hangers at Stansted, Munro stretched his legs, breathing the cooling evening air. Though it was nothing like the bracing freshness he'd left behind, it was not altogether unpleasant. He looked around, waiting.

Less than a minute later, an expensive-looking Mercedes rolled to a halt only feet away. A grey-uniformed man stepped around to nod politely at the Earl.

"Your Lordship," the man didn't quite salute, but it was as if he had. "Where would you like me to take you, sir?"

"Carmichael," Munro returned the nod. "I have a mind to pay a visit," he rubbed his chin, "to a certain lady."

"Yessir," the chauffeur lifted his eyebrows but made no comment.

"You have her address?"

"I can take you to where she is, sir," the man blinked. "It will be about forty minutes from here."

Forty minutes. In less than an hour, he could be with the woman who'd invaded his home and his thoughts, who had held his mind in the grip of a tantalising fantasy for the last twenty-four hours. He wasn't used to waiting for things, but in this case, the additional deferment had supplied an extra little edge to his appetite. He smiled. Forty minutes was nothing. The Earl of Tain folded himself into the back of his car, the smile still large across his face as it pulled out into London's early evening traffic.

###

Piloting her way around the mudflats and heading back towards town, Croft experienced a mixture of thoughts and questions. Why had Holmes have her watch over his own brother and the Italian? Clearly the visitor was not aligned with the angels – one look and even a blind man could see he was trouble. But how was Holmes' brother involved in all this? That she had been the one chosen to keep them out of the way was not incidental, she felt. But why her? Perhaps Holmes thought a woman was less likely to antagonise them? And why exactly had they been kept out of the way for much of the day? Away from what?

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Croft drove steadily back into the City. She had been told to bring them to the Tower. But this made no sense at all; why there? Why not just take them straight to MI5 itself or Scotland Yard? While there was nothing specific she could put her finger on, Laura felt uneasy. Something was wrong.

Driving through Poplar, past All Saints Church on the A13, Croft checked her watch. At this rate, and given that they were travelling against the flow of the traffic, she estimated they'd be at their destination within ten minutes.

###

Lestrade ticked off the list in his head, everything that Holmes had requested. Mentioning Mycroft's name had worked like a charm – whatever he'd asked for had been given the fast nod. He would remember this for a future emergency.

It was nearly time. He picked up his phone and called for a car.

###

Despite the warmth of the evening and the sun's slow slide from the sky, Cate felt a shiver prickle her spine. It was strange, just watching and waiting; seeing Mycroft simply standing there as shadows grew around him.

Abruptly, she wanted him to walk away from it now: whatever it was, she decided he'd done quite enough and she wanted him to turn and smile and tell her he'd changed his mind and that the Jaguar was coming to take them both home to the children and dinner. She wanted this, suddenly needing it very much. But he kept standing there, his own shadow stretching out with all the others, and the need became an ache in her chest to call out to him to stop this before it was all too late.

There was a sound of a car engine and she saw Mycroft lift his head to look; her stomach sinking as she realised it was too late now to stop anything.

The engine died quietly and there was the clunking of doors and the scuff of approaching footsteps. At least two people, maybe more.

Searching the rooftops and battlements of the Tower's inner stronghold, Smith kept his eyes peeled for any sight or sound of trouble, but the place, other than the newly-arrived car and its passengers, was in silence.

Laura Croft was the first to step into view, shading her eyes from the last of the slanting rays as they dazzled before fading to dark.

Parking in the usual place, she was about to escort the two men towards the lift to take them down to the interrogation rooms when she saw Mycroft Holmes waiting all alone in the courtyard beyond. She stopped, uncertain now. What was going on? Immediately her eyes flicked along the parapets and turrets above them.

"Mr Holmes?" she asked, slowly. "Is there something I'm missing?"

"Holmes?" Trentini's voice cracked from baritone to high tenor as he realised he'd been drawn into a trap. Launching into voluble Italian profanity, he swung around, reaching into his pocket for his pistol only to freeze as he heard the unmistakable sound of a Heckler and Koch G36 semi-automatic police rifle being cocked. And then he heard three more.

"Don't move a muscle, matey-boy," Lestrade strode out from the darker shadow of the Lanthorn Tower entrance. "I am arresting you on suspicion of illegal entry into the United Kingdom," he said. "I'm fairly sure we'll be adding a few charges to that one before the day's out," he added, turning to face a theatrically alarmed Sherlock. "And that goes for you too, Anderson, you bastard," he spat. "You disgust me,' he added, snarling. "And you a copper, too. Take them away," he waved at his men, each armed and looking as deadly as their weapons. "Separate cars."

Trentini and Sherlock, the latter's expression now of utter ennui, were manhandled rather enthusiastically out of sight as one of London's finest gave them the standard caution. "You do not have to say anything but ..."

Waiting until they'd gone, Greg turned to Mycroft and laughed quietly. "Got the big fish that time, eh? We'll give it a few minutes until the Italian can see your brother being hauled off just as he is and that should allay any immediate suspicion he's been duped. Once he works it all out, he'll have been tucked away somewhere nice and quiet."

"My sincere thanks, Inspector," Mycroft was smiling and nodding. "You have fulfilled my expectations of the Metropolitan Police, I am in your debt."

Lestrade grinned and raised his brows. "You have no idea," his words were quiet but good-humoured as he turned towards the car park.

"Is that it?" Laura Croft was still standing in the shadows, a look of surprise still across her face. "You wanted me to keep Trentini and your brother quiet all day so you could rig up this ambush?"

"Partly, Ms Croft," Mycroft turned to meet her gaze. "But there are one or two other reasons why I wanted your company, you see, I am expecting another guest."

"Guest?" her voice held an edge. "Who's coming now?" she asked, meeting a pair of unblinking eyes, their vivid blue shadowed now by dusk and … something else.

"An individual I've been wanting to meet privately for some time, and I need you to confirm the answer to one or two questions."

"But who is this other person and what is it you expect me to confirm?" Croft sounded completely at a loss.

Still hidden around the corner of the Guards Building, Cate turned to stare at Smith, her frown asking questions of its own.

He shook his head, raising a finger to his lips. Wait. His eyes returned to the scene in the centre of the courtyard.

There was the sound of a second car pulling to a halt just beyond the nearest gateway, followed by the sound of a voice raised in irritation.

"What do you mean, she's in here?" Andrew Munro's voice was as clear as a bell as he strode through the gate between Lanthorn and Salt battlements. "You told me you'd followed her home, you stupid man," the Scottish accent roughened with anger proceeded the Earl himself as he stepped into the square where he finally noticed two other people standing in the dimming daylight; a man and a woman, the woman not yet in full view.

"You!" his voice roughened still further as Munro caught sight of Mycroft standing still and tranquil. "What the bloody hell are you doing here, Holmes?"

There was a sharp inhale from Croft.

"I am minded to ask you the same question," Mycroft's elegant drawl held several centuries of authority. "Why are you here, particularly here in this place and at this time?"

"Damn you," the Earl's anger was growing exponentially. "There is no compulsion for me to listen to your inane yammering," he turned on his heel and began stalking back to the gateway, stopping short as Sherlock appeared from the shadow of the gateway, Trentini's illegal pistol held firmly in his right hand.

"Oh, but there is," he said, a faint smile about his lips. He cocked the gun and held it steady. Munro's eyes flicked between the newcomer's expression and the unwavering weapon in his hand.

"Who are you?" he asked, finally.

"Not important," Sherlock's smile grew a little wider. "Turn around," he added, waggling the pistol.

Turning back to face Mycroft, Munro was able to see the woman's face clearly for the first time. His eyes widened fractionally.

"Thank you, Your Lordship," the elder Holmes smiled coldly. "That answers one of my questions. That you clearly know one another clarifies a number of other points."

"I have no understanding of your meaning," the Earl glared his distain. "I have been entrapped here illegally and with threats to my person. I demand you release me this instant."

"There's no real hurry, is there, Munro?" Mycroft clasped his hands once more behind his back. "After all, you came here of your own accord, for your own purposes."

"You know nothing of my intentions," Munro almost spat the words as his anger roiled within him.

"You'd be amazed what I know of your private … affairs," Mycroft leaned slightly forward, his expression becoming distinctly coldblooded. "And I know precisely why you are here in London today, at this place. I know what, or perhaps I should say, who, you are looking for, and I know why."

Though he tried to disguise it, Munro was shocked by the words. Was it possible that someone on his staff had spoken out of place? But nobody had known his plans until earlier today … it was impossible for the information to have reached the ears of this man … this governmental pen pusher, so quickly.

"That aside for the moment," Mycroft turned and walked a few paces to Croft's side. "I believe there is no requirement for introductions, is there?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr Holmes," Laura Croft's face had paled. "I don't know this man."

A strange smile curving his mouth, Mycroft turned to stare at her. "Lies, Ms Croft? Really? At this late stage of the game?" he paused. "Not only do you know this man very well as an employer and trader-of-secrets, but you also know him intimately, don't you? You're lovers."

Managing to keep a reasonable façade, Croft's skin flushed at the final comment. She had been trying to phone Andrew all day, but none of his numbers had responded, a fact she'd credited to poor reception in the Highlands, but which she realised probably had a more sinister origin.

"I see you are beginning to realise how much I know of your relationship and of all your … dealings."

Munro interrupted just as Croft was about to make some explanatory remark.

"You're mad," he scorned. "Quite mad. As if I would know this woman," the Earl's voice was vitriolic. "As if I would have anyone like her in my life," he laughed shortly. "I have no need of your floor-sweepings.'

Laura froze. About to maintain her denial of Munro, his word and the tone of his voicechanged her intent. She felt sick. Her throat closed with anger and hurt.

"Come, come, Munro," Mycroft was smiling openly now. "A lovely woman such as Ms Croft here, how could you resist?" his voice was light, almost teasing. "Especially when she could bring you so many helpful stories to use in your various interests; so many names and dates and places for you. How could you refuse?"

"I do not know this woman," Andrew Munro's voice was harsh and flat. "I have no idea what you're talking about, so please do not insult me further."

"Insult you?!" Croft stepped forward sharply. "Insult you? You didn't act terribly insulted when you found out I worked for MI5 and could get into Mycroft Holmes' office," she hissed. "Nor when I showed you how to get his signature on all those documents, or when I suggested hiding them in Italy with the exact person I knew MI5 and MI6 had a special interest in, you fucking Scottish bastard," she shouted, stepping forward with the clear intent of visiting some righteous violence upon his person.

"Stop right there!" Munro shouted, bringing out his own gun; heavy-handled and menacing. He stepped up to Croft and dragged her against his chest, the muzzle of his pistol behind her ear. The sound of the weapon being cocked echoed around the courtyard.

"Time we left, I think, my dear," he muttered coolly, staring between Mycroft and Sherlock. "Before you say anything else which I might regret later."

He turned back to the younger Holmes. "On the ground," he said. "You and your gun, on the ground … NOW!" the Earl rammed the pistol hard into Croft's neck, her high cry of pain accentuating the lash of his words.

Mycroft blinked like a snake as his brother lowered Trentini's gun to the cobbles, before lowering himself down onto his knees, waiting.

"On your belly like a dog," Munro barked, the sound of triumph terrible in his voice.

Sighing gustily, Sherlock complied, resting his head on the back of his hands as he lay entirely still. "Someone will have to pay for the dry-cleaning," he muttered.

"And now you, Holmes," the Earl snarled, one hand grabbing Croft's hair, the other pointing the pistol at Mycroft's chest. "Down on your knees."

Raising his eyebrows the merest fraction, the elder Holmes looked tolerant. "I think not," he said, perfectly composed.

"On your knees or I have a mind to end our arguments once and for all," Munro growled, his face contorted by a feral scowl.

At the Guard's Building, Cate felt her body jerk forward as if pulled by strings. Jon grabbed her arm, holding her painfully still.

"No," he whispered. "You'd be another target. Your husband would kill me."

"Too bad," Cate smiled as she slipped her free hand over and around the spy's wrist, twisting it with all her weight as she moved swiftly around him, the pain of a wrongly torsioned shoulder-socket bringing him suddenly to one knee with a small whimper.

"So sorry, Mr Smith, but neither of us have a choice here," she whispered back, and stepped out from behind the stone building.

"Andrew Munro," she said quietly. "I think you have things to say to me."

The Earl of Tain snapped his eyes from Mycroft to her as she walked slowly out into the courtyard, his look one of faint displeasure but mostly stunned surprise.

Mycroft's head turned more slowly; a similar expression on his face, save that the proportions were directly reversed. A muscled flickered as he clamped his jaw tight.

"You …" the Scot's voice trailed away as he watched her walk closer. "Why are you here with all this, with this man?" he nodded at Mycroft.

"He's my husband," she smiled, walking even closer, come to a halt not ten feet from where the Earl stood.

"Mycroft Holmes is your husband? He is the one you said you were involved with?" Munro couldn't help it; he smiled. "You want me to believe you are married to him? Someone like you and him?" It was too much, he had to laugh. It was beyond credibility.

"You can prove it for yourself," Cate folded her arms, carefully maintaining eye-contact.

"You work for him, maybe, but you would never marry someone like…" Munro shook his head.

"If I had my phone I could show you my photographs , but you took that from me, didn't you?"

Munro knew he should get away from this place. He had a hostage, he had the only viable gun in play, he could go now, just walk away and they could do nothing about it. He should go. He knew it. His brain was screaming to go.

Instead he transferred the pistol to the hand holding Croft and dug in his pocket to unearth a silver Galaxy with a tiny red mark on the lower corner.

"I planned on returning it tonight," he said.

Mycroft's jaw tightened still further.

"But you still don't believe me, do you?" Cate allowed a trace of scorn to curl her mouth. "You're afraid to verify it because that would mean I prefer him to you, and your ego simply can't handle that, can it?" she mocked him, contemptuously. Making him doubtful. Making him defensive.

"I don't believe you," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "Prove it."

"My phone," she held out her hand.

Scowling, Munro threw it to her. Pleased to have it back, Cate did something she'd schooled herself not to do as she entered Mycroft's password which, despite her best efforts, she now remembered perfectly. She also remembered to include the hyphens. All three of them. Now she had to play for time.

Moving from the main icons, she scrolled to her precious 'Keep' folder. Opening it, she cast her eye over an extensive collection of thumbnail images. Finally, she chose one.

It was of a wedding. A close-up photograph that had been entirely serendipitous. She and Mycroft were toasting each other with flutes of champagne, locked in each other's gaze, the afternoon light streaming to the camera came from behind them so they were almost in silhouette. The pale sky, the fragile glassware, the still-disbelieving smiles, the fact that their eyes were mere inches apart. It was a deeply romantic photograph.

Cate turned the camera to Munro. "Look," she said.

The Earl took the phone from her and looked, his face passing through a range of expressions as he did. Not liking what he saw, he flicked through several more pictures in the folder.

Risking a swift look at Mycroft, she saw his expression was outwardly calm but Cate observed the tension in his eyes. He was not pleased with her actions.

With a growl of anger, the Earl threw the Samsung to the stones at his feet.

"Then I'll just kill everyone here and be done with it all, shall I?" his voice rising in pitch and stress as his control, never easily balanced, started to career out of check. He raised the gun, swinging it first towards Mycroft, then at Cate, then back to Mycroft.

Stop now!" Jon stood out from the corner, his gun solid in both hands as he brought Munro into the sights of the weapon.

As the Scot was momentarily distracted and focused on Smith, Sherlock jerked himself up from the ground, retrieving Trentini's gun as he did so.

"Yes, stop," his baritone voice resonated in the stone enclave.

And then things went mad.

One of the main problems when a four-bladed, twin-engined Westland Puma comes to hover less than sixty feet overhead is that it is incredibly loud. Fortunately, this particular helicopter hung in the air above the courtyard only just long enough for the eight, dark-clad paratroopers to abseil down ropes, arriving in the courtyard with their automatic rifles at the ready.

Cate looked in awe at her phone on the ground. All Mycroft had said was that she might be arrested. She turned to look at him, raising her eyebrows.

He did not smile.

Munro took advantage of the distraction of the noisy arrival deciding that escape was preferable to the alternative. Dragging the off-balance Croft along with him, he turned and ran for the nearest gateway: it was the one at Wakefield Tower that led directly through to the Outer Keep.

Shrieking as she was dragged by her hair alongside the running man, Croft fought to remember her training, if only to throw him to the ground, but Munro was moving too fast and the pain was too much. By the sounds of boots pounding along behind them, the paratroopers had seen them run and were closing in quickly.

They came to a set of perilous stone stairs leading down and Croft was too slow; Munro finally abandoning her as she sank down at the top, cradling her head and cowering away from him. Taking the stairs at a manic run, Munro found himself in a large enclosed stone space beneath a high curving stone arch. Though currently dry, it was clearly a tidal area as there was green seaweed at the high-water mark and the smell of the river was very close. There was a sturdy wooden gate, heavily chained and locked, barricading the arch, and no chance he might slip through to the outside.

It took a few seconds, but the Earl of Tain finally realised where he was, and the delicious irony of the knowledge made him laugh so hard he almost came to tears.

Traitor's Gate.

The place where at least one of his ancestors had passed into English dominion, and now, here he was, the last of his line, still fighting for land and clan.

His rising laughter echoed round and around the stone enclosure, even as the sound of eight SA80s were levelled and readied.

###

"If it would do the slightest bit of good, you know I have every right to be absolutely incensed with you at this point."

They were in the Jaguar, finally heading for home. The loose ends had been brought together, allowing Smith to take Croft to MI5's custody rather than the police who took Carmichael whom Mycroft's people had earlier persuaded to bring his lordship to the Tower. A heavily guarded Munro was also on his way to MI5, although it was quite likely that MI6 might want their pound of flesh. Sherlock had been offered a lift home but preferred to hail a cab, still muttering about his suit.

Given the flow of information from the transmitters Cate had placed in Castle Tain, new data had enabled Mycroft to arrange for the Earl's sniper to be removed from the ramparts, replacing him with a couple of his own. He realised he'd have to have those transmitters removed, and indeed he would. At some point.

But Cate hadn't known any of this, she'd just jumped into the middle of things as usual, although he had to admit, using her phone like that had been adroit.

"Are you truly furious?" she rubbed a finger over the cracked casing of her phone.

"Livid," Mycroft's gaze as he met hers was indeed somewhat intense.

"Do you want to divorce me?" she met his eyes calmly. "All this furiousness is bad for your blood-pressure, so if you want to divorce me, I'll quite understand."

"Divorce you?" his voice faltered. He paused, rubbing a hand over his face and sighing. "Not that livid."

"Then please don't expect me to be terribly upset simply because you are," she said. "I don't want the children growing up without you and with that thought in mind, I have decided to act as I see fit in future. The only way you're going to have me behave otherwise is if you divorce me, so make up your mind, please." Cate swallowed as she said this, hoping she'd sounded more decisive than she felt.

"You would prefer I divorce you rather than insist on your safety?" his voice was odd, hesitant.

"If my safety means the loss of your own, then yes," Cate felt along the seat for his fingers, winding hers in between. "I will never be able to stand by and watch you at risk, darling," her voice was husky. "Thought you'd be used to it by now."

That Cate had just suggested divorce filled his chest with a sickening pressure. Divorce would not happen; would never happen.

"You bloody little fool," he murmured, pulling her bodily along the seat and into his arms. "As if I could live without you."

"And there's something else I have to tell you," Cate leaned into him, her body soaking him up.

"There's nothing else you have to tell me, my darling heart," Mycroft murmured into her hair. "Nothing at all."

"There is," she nodded against his chest. "If I don't tell you, I'll feel awful about it."

"Before you speak, let me just say this,' Mycroft held her away, looking into her eyes, his own expression more rueful than anything else.

"The transmitters you put into Castle Tain activated the second you pressed them into place," he said. "The very moment you placed them, the pressure also activated them," he added. "Do you understand now why there is nothing you have to tell me?"

Cate thought back to last night, standing in Andrew Munro's moonlit bedroom. She had already secured the transmitter beneath the table when he'd kissed her. No wonder Mycroft didn't need her to say anything; he already knew.

"Don't divorce me, in that case," she whispered, wanting him to hold her, cling to her.

"I never will, you idiot."

They could hear Nora's voice as she spoke to the twins in the kitchen, obviously giving them their dinner before bath-time and bed. Walking on tiptoe, Cate turned back to smile brilliantly at him as they reached the kitchen door, watching his eyes light up at her expression.

"You really are unbelievable," he said, pulling her into his arms and into a kiss that burned the tiredness from her blood. Leaning back against the doorframe, neither noticed as the door swung silently open, revealing their passionate embrace to an interested audience of precisely three.

Still in his arms, Cate opened her eyes to see Mrs Compton staring at them with an expression that could only be described as gooey. She tapped Mycroft on the back. "We are not alone," she muttered, trying not to laugh. Lifting his head, he looked around to see not only a fluttery Nora, but a pair of fascinated children in highchairs.

"Hello, my loves," Cate unwound herself from Mycroft's arms and stepped into the kitchen to hug her children.

"Mummy!" Jules lifted his hands up in delight waving a small plastic duck. "Duckies, mummy. Mallard duckies!"

Mycroft had moved across to Blythe who was regarding him with a certain caution. He had been away for a very long time which was as long as forever.

"Hello, darling girl," Mycroft stroked her cheek as she sat in silence, her intelligent blue eyes, the mirror of his own, regarded him with dark suspicion. She scowled.

"Adda?" he suggested.

His daughter shook her head, a resolute cast to her expression that reminded him so much of Cate. Blythe narrowed her gaze and, waving her carrot, gave him a most particular look.

"Daddy."

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# Almost the end #

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Now things had calmed down, Cate was beginning to form a clearer picture of what she wanted to do next, but first, there was a task she'd set herself, a task she promised she would complete before anything else. Warning both Mycroft and Nora not to interfere and that she knew what she was doing, Cate closeted herself at her desk in the rear lounge.

Sitting at her laptop, she pulled up the file of her incomplete spy-novel. All 153,000 words of it. She looked at it thoughtfully, remembering how easily it had all rolled from her thoughts and fingers.

Selecting the entire document, her finger hovered for a second. Then she pressed Delete.

She had wanted to write a real novel about spies, and now she could.

Chapter One.

###

"This is the second week that Miss Cate has spent nigh on every minute in that office of hers," Nora Compton muttered. "The only time she's come out is to feed the children in the evening, tuck them up and then she'd right back in there," the older woman added. "It's not healthy is that."

Mycroft was well on the way to agreeing. For the last two weeks, Cate had been obsessed with this writing of hers to the detriment of everything else. Hardly eating, barely sleeping. He was, truth be told, beginning to feel deplorably neglected. It was time she took a break and managed her writing in a more balanced manner. The sound of her printer had been going for almost the entire morning and he was about to go and make her take a decent break – use blackmail, if necessary. If he had to, he would even say nice things to her.

The lounge door opened and an exhausted Cate stood blinking.

"I'm going to take a shower and then sleep and then have lots and lots of tea," she said, shoving a hugely thick pile of printed sheets into his hands. "G'night."

Patting Mrs Compton on the shoulder, Cate paused, stepping back to a bemused Mycroft. Sliding her hand around the side of his jaw, she brought his mouth down to hers and pleased herself with a kiss of no little enthusiasm.

Happy, she walked towards the stairs. "Now I'm going to take a shower," she said.

###

'And in the end, there was nothing left, he realised. No God or country; no law. The only important knowledge was the recognition that doing right was, in its own self, the thing of real value.

Looking at the cold gun in his hand, the English spy took a deep breath and pushed it deep in his pocket. It might be impossible to avoid the wrong, but at least he could try for the right.

Shrugging the long coat closer to his skin, Denver walked into the chilly night. Not a reasonable man perhaps, but a good spy.'

Mycroft turned the final sheet over and stopped reading. He took a deep breath. Even to his imperfect understanding of the genre, this was a good narrative. He had been engrossed from the first page to the last, he looked at his Hunter. More than two hours it had taken him, even at his usual speed.

Standing, he walked to the kitchen, grabbing two glasses and an iced bottle of fizzy before making for the stairs and the master bedroom. Felicitations were in order.

###

It was Thursday. The University was expecting her back at her desk the following Monday. It had been a year and two weeks since she'd left her office and Cate experienced mixed emotions as she and Mycroft sat at the kitchen table drinking tea.

"I still want to teach, but I like being free to do other things," she looked undecided.

"My love, you know how I feel about the situation," Mycroft smiled. "But you also know I want you to do whatever it is you feel you want to do."

"You mean that?" Cate blew on the hot tea, thinking.

"Of course," Mycroft leaned forward, a slight frown on his face. "I'd never stand in the way of you doing whatever it is you might want to do."

"That's good," she looked up and met his eyes. And smiled.

A wave of realisation washed over him.

"To what have I just agreed?" he asked, his eyes closing briefly.

Extracting a letter from her pocket, Cate pushed it across the table for him to read. It was from a large and very well-known publishing house.

Dear Cate, re: The English Spy

Thank you for offering this manuscript to us for consideration. It is very surprising for a new writer in the field to produce such an expansive work which also offers such depth of narrative and understanding of the subject matter. We are most interested in publishing this work of fiction and are prepared to make you an initial offer to the sum of £175,000 for all United Kingdom and Commonwealth publishing rights, arrangements with our sister publishers in the United States to be…

"I want to write," she said. "And I'll teach the new course I prepared last year at the University, and in-between …"

"In-between?" Mycroft's eyes were bright blue as he savoured her delight.

"I'll have other responsibilities," she murmured, walking over and sliding into his lap.

"Responsibilities such as ..?"

Winding her arms slowly around his neck, the writer of spies kissed the master of secrets.

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THE END

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NEW STORY COMING SOON … The Sabbatical of Mycroft Holmes

A romance. Summer, Sea, Sand and Smugglers. Mystery and mayhem in darkest Cornwall.

A Cate and Mycroft story.

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Huge thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and comment on this tale.

Your thoughts and ideas are always very much appreciated.

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