Chapter Text
Sea Life London Aquarium
9 hours later
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Aquarium will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please make your way to the exit. Thank you.”
Mary makes her way down the blue-lit corridors, her eyes tracking the marine life through the transparent glass of the underground tunnels. The alien quality of the place is overpowering; the sounds of her footsteps bouncing off the empty corridors.
She walks towards the nook that an unassuming usher had directed her to. Once she reaches a dead end—an obscure looking observation room—she doubles back; with her senses jumping to full alert, her head tilts in hesitant confusion.
“Hello?”
An elderly woman sits on a bench with her back turned to her. The fluorescent jellyfish swimming above her make the woman seem small, almost fragile.
“Over here, dear.”
“I’m… sorry, I’m in the wrong place.” Mary moves to turn on her heels, her brow furrowed.
“No, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, Mrs. Watson,” the woman says. Mary's pleasant, fake smile fades at the sound of her name. “You know, this was always my favourite spot for agents to meet. We’re just like them, aren’t we, dear? Ghostly, living in the shadows.”
Mary’s eyes narrow and she scrutinizes the woman under her sharp glare. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Vivian Norbury,” the woman says. “Lady Smallwood’s deputy.”
“Lady Smallwood doesn’t have a deputy.”
“Deputy, assistant, aide-de-camp. Whatever you choose to call it is fine by me.” The woman turns from her place on the bench with a small smile.
“I don’t talk to secretaries,” Mary says.
“That’s rather rich, coming from a secretary,” the woman says with far too much satisfaction. “Don’t underestimate secretaries. They know everything. In fact, I know you quite well.”
Mary has to fight any visible proof of the rush of adrenaline flooding her body. “Is that so?”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Watson,” The woman cuckles. “I’m intimately familiar with you, with your career.”
Mary’s eyes sharpen dangerously.
“You see, I’ve always appreciated your professionalism. AGRA was always very reliable. Never put a foot wrong.” The woman stands up, hoisting her black purse on her arm. “That's why I was so surprised to learn that you chose to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I received a call at my office, late last evening. I say my office; it’s Lady Smallwood’s office, not that she’s ever there,” Mrs. Norbury says with a huff. “Corporal Stewart's wife told me that a stranger approached her and gave her that number, saying that they have proof that Sherlock Holmes has had their house under surveillance for weeks.”
Mary swallows, tilting her chin up proudly.
"Luckily, I've always been quick on my feet. I told her crazy people always come out of the woodwork when things like that happen, and she has nothing to worry about. Best not to mention it to anyone, least of all her husband," Mrs. Norbury says."She was so rattled she actually bought it. But there I was, thinking ‘who could possibly be resourceful enough to cotton on to something like that’? Then it struck me. Of course. Who else could it be?”
“Listen—”
“See, the Mary Morstan I knew wouldn’t do that. She would know better than to interfere with somebody else’s covert operation,” Mrs. Norbury says. “Or rather, Gabrielle Ashdown did. Or Anna Dobb. Or Danielle Wren.”
Mary gasps, her breathing shallow. “Who are you?”
“I told you,” the woman says sweetly. “Just a secretary, but a rather industrious one. I’ve asked you here to advise you to keep off, dear, and mind your own business.”
“Why would I do that?” Mary asks.
“Professional courtesy?”
Mary chuckles bitterly.
“What’s in it for you, all this nasty business with the Corporal?” Mrs. Norbury asks. “You finally have everything you wanted, don’t you? A family, a home, a nice life?”
Mary’s lips twist in silent anger.
“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Norbury cracks a poisonous smile. “You're bored, aren’t you?”
“You don’t know m—”
“Your kind always gets bored,” the woman says with a dismissive wave. “A shame to do it on the back of a small child, though, but really, I’m not here to judge.“
Mary stands taller, unyielding to the veiled threat. She knows when she’s being offered something or another. “What do you want?”
“Here’s the thing,”—the woman’s eyes twinkle—“I’ve been working on Corporal Stewart for so long. Years and years this has been going on. I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it, too.”
“Is there a point you’re getting to?”
Mrs. Norbury’s face turns to cold, hard stone. “Keep out of it.”
“Or what?”
“I prefer carrots over sticks, myself,” Mrs Norbury says. “Keep out, and I’ll give you something quite valuable in return.”
“What could you possibly offer me?” Mary asks sourly.
“A way out, a fresh start,” Mrs. Norbury says. “Everything you ever wanted and thought was lost.”
Mary scoffs nervously, shaking her head. Mrs. Norbury’s hand goes to her purse, pulling out a set of photographs. She hands them over to Mary, who doesn’t move, suspicious and careful.
“Go on now,” she urges, shaking the photos. “Look at them.”
Mary strides across the room, her eyes never leaving the older woman’s face. She grabs the photographs, browsing through, doubt written across her face.
“Oh my—” Mary starts, choking on her words. She looks up at the other woman with a start. “That’s—”
“Ajay,” Mrs. Norbury nods.
“These are... new!” Mary says in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“So he’s—”
“Alive. Yes, dear.” Mrs Norbury nods contentedly. “He’s alive, and he’s desperate to find you. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a phone call away.”
Mary looks up at the woman, shocked.
“No one will have to know. You can make up the story as you'd like; ‘Poor, brave Mary Watson. Her past came back to haunt her’.” Mrs. Norbury tuts again. “Although, what do you imagine he’ll say when he arrives in London and finds that you ended up marrying somebody else?”
“Oh, God,” Mary whispers. She rifles through the pictures, realizing there are other photos, too. Not only Ajay’s, but scans of documents, proof of her old identities and whereabouts. “Where did you get these?”
“Who do you think gave Magnussen all these documents?” Mrs. Norbury asks with a raised brow. “Oh, you missed your chance that night in his office, didn’t you? So close. Luckily Sherlock Holmes had finished the job for you. He’s so very useful at times, isn’t he?”
Not for the first time, Mary wishes she had a gun with her.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, dear,” Mrs. Norbury says. “Those Holmes brothers are a menace, but here’s a little something I’ve learnt from experience, and it’s proven itself yet again just this morning. When it comes to those two, it’s best not to waste your energy. They think they’re so clever, but given enough time, enough temptation, they’ll always end up their own worst enemy.”
Mary stands breathless, her eyes closing briefly in distress.
“And then all you have to do is sit back and watch it happen.” Mrs. Norbury smiles, a wide, satisfied smile.
When Mary doesn’t say anything in return, Mrs. Norbury looks down at her with what one might mistake as motherly affection.
“So what do you say, petal?” she asks. “Would you like to hear about that deal?”