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“Has John mentioned his girlfriend going away for a bit?” Kelly asked Annabelle the evening before Molly was supposed to come up to St. Trinian’s to see Sherlock. Annabelle had been very eager to poke a little fun at how Sherlock was trying not to be excited and ended up scowling at everyone. It was rather cute. She just wished Kelly could be here to see it. She’d wanted to share, but Kelly had gotten right to this question, causing Annabelle to frown on her end of the conversation.
“No,” she said, drawing the word out slightly. “I mean, Molly is coming up tomorrow and she hasn’t said anything either, but I can ask her.”
“You need to know something about her. It’s not...well, it could be problematic,” Kelly said.
“What is it?” Annabelle asked.
“She’s working with me on behalf of the Americans,” Kelly said. “Her ‘last job’ as a member of the CIA. She has special skills my superiors seemed to think I needed at my side.”
“Bloody hell,” Annabelle said, sinking onto the bed. “Is she...has she…?”
“Killed people?”
“Yes.”
“Not that she’ll confirm, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” Kelly paused. “She actually loves John a great deal, Belle. And I don’t think it could cause too many problems unless her past comes back to haunt her. But they should talk, and he should know.”
“Kelly...she should tell him,” Annabelle said. “Not me.”
“I know,” Kelly said with a sigh. “It’s a shite situation.”
Annabelle was quiet for a moment. John was, really, the only family she had, even if by most standards no one would consider them family anymore, and she felt very protective of him, possibly even more than Sherlock. But she liked Mary. Mary was so good for him, and this? This was a complication. “Does she plan on telling him?”
“She can’t really avoid doing it, now that I know the truth,” Kelly said. “But give her a day or two and...be there for John, alright?”
“Alright,” Annabelle said. The conversation turned from that topic to others, but the truth stayed in her mind. She wasn’t sure what to do, and in the end, she went to bed with her troubled thoughts.
The next morning, a car came around to the front of the school. She had given the first years strict instructions to leave the car be since Molly didn’t deserve to have it destroyed. She and Sherlock waited out at the front, but she was somewhat surprised to see two people inside. “Why is John here?” Sherlock asked Annabelle quietly.
“I think he learned something about Mary last night,” she said before they moved away to greet their respective guests. John just ended up engulfing her in a hug, and she knew. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Did you know?” he asked, pulling away to look at her.
“I just found out last night,” she said, reaching to squeeze his hand. “Did she tell you?”
“Probably more than Kelly told you,” he said with a sigh. “Do you have something stronger than tea?”
“Strong as in your favourite whiskey or strong as in the bootleg vodka?” Annabelle asked.
“I want a drink, not a brain aneurysm,” he said with a small smile on his face. He watched Sherlock and Molly head towards the teacher’s quarters and then nodded towards the main building. “But I’ll take tea if that’s all you’ve got.”
“You know I have a bottle of your favourite liquor on hand,” she said. “Of course, Aunt Camilla always had stuff in between that and the vodka.” They made their way up to the door. “But the vodka isn’t as potent. It sits just around 100 proof now. We haven’t put anyone into a coma in weeks, according to Flash Harry.”
“Good to know the girls are taking their chemistry lessons to heart,” John said.
“Well, Sherlock is a good teacher. It helps that he specifically gathered up the girls who make the vodka and gave them a private lesson.”
John stopped, staring at her with wide eyes. “He’s helping?”
“One of our other teachers ended up getting blackout drunk after half a shot so he decided to make sure there were no deaths on their hands,” Annabelle said. “He doesn’t want to be associated with an investigation.”
“Well, that makes sense,” John said, starting to move again. Neither of them spoke again until they were safely up to Annabelle’s office. She went to the desk and got a bottle of Glenmorangie Milsean, pouring a bit into the cups in the tea set on her desk, and then handing a cup to John. John looked at it and then drank it all in one gulp. “She’s a spy, Belle. Not even for the Queen. And...”
“So she has killed people,” Annabelle said. “Do you love her any less now that you know the truth?”
“No, and I think that’s the problem,” he said with a sigh. “If anything it makes her more bloody interesting.”
“Oh, how I know that feeling,” Annabelle said with a smile. “Remember, my girlfriend is MI-6.” She had some of the whiskey in her cup. “So what do you want to do?”
“Ask for as much of the whole truth as she’ll give me when she comes back, I suppose,” John said. “I mean, I’m not a saint either, obviously. I've killed, and not just in the war.”
“The man who pulled a gun on Sherlock when you first met?” Annabelle asked.
“You knew?” he asked, his features reading shock.
She nodded. “Sherlock knew, and we talked about it. He felt at one point after we became friends that perhaps involving you in his life was a bad idea. I reminded him that you’d do anything to keep him or I safe, and he told me about the cabbie.” She had some more of her whiskey. “I told him that if he did that for you without knowing you as well as you do now, you’d already decided whatever this life entailed, you would do, because you won’t leave anyone in danger.”
“No, I suppose I don’t,” he said. “But do I just attract...people like Sherlock and Mary?”
“Just as much as I do,” Annabelle said. “Harry is the outlier in our family. She picks the normal women.”
“Yes, well, she’s a mess, and I suppose we’re more...” He trailed off.
“One day she’ll straighten herself out when she hits rock bottom,” Annabelle said. “Or at least I hope she does, for your sake.”
“Not yours?” John asked.
Annabelle shook her head. “Harry’s never seen me as family the way you have, and frankly the feeling is mutual. I have you, and somehow Sherlock and Molly and Mary are all part of my extended family too. That’s enough for me.”
“You know Mrs. Hudson would gladly adopt you too,” John said, a smile easing on his face.
“Oh, she would?” Annabelle said, smiling back. “She can be my adoptive grandmum, then. I mean, I’d say the vodka aunt but that was Aunt Camilla, and no one will take her place.” She set her cup down and fingered the necklace she wore. “She’d challenge Mary to a sharp-shooting contest if she was still here, you know, and she’d be so happy for you.”
“I don’t know who would win, either,” John said with a chuckle. “Mary has a pretty good aim in other things.” He set his cup down and tilted his head. “I miss her, you know. Perhaps not as much as you, but Camilla was always someone I admired.”
“She knew that, I think,” Annabelle said. “It’s why she wanted us to stay close.” She nodded to his cup. “Refill?”
“Only if we’re going to drink and reminisce about Camilla,” he said.
“I’ll agree if you tell me about why you love Mary so much,” she said.
“Deal.” Annabelle got up and got the bottle, somehow not all that surprised that John and Mary might have a happy ever after in the end. After all, he had one relationship that was the same he could pattern his after if he was smart. And as she had always considered John the smartest man she knew, she didn’t think he would mess things up too much.