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Burgeoning Pains
It’s late evening and she’s walking down a darkening street. At first her steps are only the slightest bit faster than what could be considered an easy walk, but as the shadows grow larger, and as the figures hiding in those same shadows become more and more obvious her pace quickens. Heels clicking loudly in the uneasy silence of the mostly empty street. Mostly empty, except for the pretty brunette and the three stalking her from the shadows.
Minutes pass and as the darkness grows, so seems to her anxiety. Her steps get faster, even as she looks to the side, or over her shoulder every so often. As if looking for predators she fails to see. And then it happens, she turns around a corner, and it’s the wrong street, instead of finding her way to a well-illuminated avenue, instead she ends up in a dead-end. She might have tried to climb the fence at the end in an attempt to reach the avenue, were it not for her skirt and heels.
And then the laughter comes. Several voices mock her, taunt her…
“You lost, little girl?” one asks as it approaches her.
She says nothing, body still turned to the fence, face hidden in the shadows. Her hands seem to almost be trembling, which only makes the men laugh even more.
“You don’t need to be afraid, little girl,” the second man states in a fake nice tone. “We don’t bite,”
“…much.” The first adds with a leer.
And if that’s not a perfect cue, she really doesn’t know what is.
“Oh, but I do,” she states as she spins around on one foot.
There’s what could almost be called a smile on her face then. Only she’s showing too many teeth, like some kind of predator who’s just caught itself some prey…
Before the two thugs can truly understand what’s going on, the young woman goes into motion, a kick to the knee makes thug #1 drop, at the same time she delivers an open-palmed blow to the other’s face, the base of her hand connecting hard enough to break his nose. The man howls, while the former whimpers in pain.
Thug #1 jumps onto his feet and tries to throw himself at her, only for the young woman to step aside in the nick of time, he breaks one, possibly two fingers when slamming his hand against the fence, his own face connecting with it a moment later, almost hard enough to knock himself out.
“Bugger!” He yells even as he goes down.
“Who the fuck are you?!” the second demands through his still bleeding nose.
She almost, almost rolls her eyes. Trust thugs to take on the job of going after someone, without even knowing who they’re going after, exactly. She doesn’t even dignify him with an answer, instead going into a spin and delivering a kick hard enough to knock the second thug out. The first one just sees him go down, not daring to even move.
The third stalker for his part, having chosen to keep his distance thus far, takes a couple of steps back. Having realised that his intended prey is not the little, vulnerable girl they were lead to believe she was, he’d rather get away while he still can… he only realises the impossibility of this when he finds himself hitting something, a body, as he attempts to give another steps backwards; and next thing he’s aware of, is the gun being held loosely against his head.
“Who sent you?” a male voice questions, voice rough and dark.
“I just…” the stalker begins, mind going blank as he tries to process what the hell’s going on.
“Who Sent You?” the man demands.
The scariest part is perhaps that the man behind him never so much as raises his voice. Yet the would-be-predator can still hear the force behind it, the threat of violence if he does not give a satisfactory answer, and quickly!
“I can’t…” the stalker begins, hesitant.
“Who?” the man demands, he still doesn’t show, yet the way he cocks the gun says enough.
“Lord Moran!” the man blurts, terrified half out of his mind.
That seems to throw the armed man for a loop, though certainly not long enough for the thug #3 to realise it. At an unseen signal, the man uses the but of his gun and hits the thug on the temple hard enough to drop him. He doesn’t lose consciousness but the blow’s enough to disorient him to the point that, by the time he’s fully aware again and looks around, it’s only him and the other two thugs left in the dark alley.
The thugs have no idea what the hell just happened. And truth be told, they don’t want to. If they never see those two again it’ll be too soon!
xXx
“Lord Moran…?”
Mycroft’s voice comes from a small speaker connected to a mobile phone. The call rerouted enough times to make it impossible to track or intervene, regardless of who might try (well, there is one person who might be able to, but there’s no reason for him to do so… if he had any interest he’d just call her and ask directly).
The young hacker’s not far from the phone, fingers flying over the keys as she does what she does best.
John isn’t far from her, sitting on a wing-backed chair in a corner of the room with a lap desk over which the pieces of his handgun are carefully arranged while he cleans and oils them. More for something to do than because it’s truly necessary. It’s not like he actually had to shoot.
“Augustus Moran II, son of Augustus Moran I, Member of Parliament, Peer of the Realm and Minister for Overseas Development…” she calls as she starts reading over the information she’s hacked. “Hey! I’ve heard about him! Cassia said he’s an absolute pain in your ass…”
“Sister!” Mycroft cuts her off. “Must you be so crude, truly?”
The girl shrugs. Her brother might not be able to see her, but it’s not like he needs to, he knows her well enough. She chooses instead to focus on what she’s doing.
“Are we sure he’s our man?” John asks, not because he doubts either Holmes, but just to make sure they’re considering all the possibilities.
“Well, our options are pretty limited actually,” she points out even as she keeps typing. “Since old Lord Moran is dead and buried, while his other son, one Colonel Sebastian Moran is… well actually he’s dead as well.”
“What…?” John seems honestly taken aback by that. “Are you sure?”
There’s a certain tension in his voice, in his posture, as he asks that question, she can’t not notice it. Even Mycroft hears it.
“What’s your history with Col. Moran, John?” Mycroft wants to know.
“He… he’s the one who taught me to shoot.” John answers, as even as he possibly can.
Truth is Mor… Sebastian, did a lot more than just teach him to shoot. Everything John knows regarding how to handle a gun, he owes to the man. And it’s not just that John can shoot, he has the training of a sniper, even if it was never included in his file (he’s a doctor! No one would have ever believed that one could be a doctor and a sniper at the same time). The only reason he went through with the training was because Sebastian insisted that it would be a waste not to, with his natural talent.
“Sebastian Moran… Colonel… dishonourably discharged in 2008… found guilty of trafficking…” The hacker trails off as she reads the next part. “Fucking bastard!”
Neither man needs her to tell them what it is she’s found exactly. John was there when the trial took place… and Mycroft probably knows already too. Still, the bastard was trafficking children. Why the hell wasn’t the bastard thrown in the darkest pit someone could find, the key thrown away, or lost or… something?! Oh right, fucking nepotism. His father, or brother, or both protected him as much as they could and… fuck!
At least the man’s dead now. According to the records he didn’t stay long in the UK after being discharged from the military. Either unable or unwilling to make a civilian life. He joined a mercenary group and was killed somewhere in Eastern Europe a few months later.
John says nothing, though one of his hands trembles, briefly, as he reaches for the next part of his gun to clean and oil.
The young woman shakes her head. So Sebastian isn’t their guy. Which means she’s gotta go back to the other Moran. The one still alive. She knows there’s gotta be something, somewhere. There has to…
“Gotcha!” she crows in triumph minutes later.
“What?!” Both John and Mycroft react automatically to Violet’s exclamation.
“He’s a spy,” she announces with satisfaction.
John blinks in surprise.
“What?!” Mycroft is far past disbelief, he’s furious. “That’s not possible… I would know!”
Would he? Well, technically he should. She can only think of one reason why he wouldn’t know all about Moran’s ties with North Korea already and… it’s not good.
Those at Baker Street can hear a low growl coming from Mycroft, just for a second, before the call ends abruptly. The young hacker exhales loudly, shaking her head as she finishes her own work, putting everything together in an encrypted file and sending it to the top-secret cloud only a handful of people are aware of and have the keys to access. Then she picks her mobile up and sends a quick heads up to Cassia warning her that her brother’s on the warpath.
John waits until she finishes turning off her machines, turning her swivelling chair in his direction; taking that time to reassemble his gun in a few quick, smooth motions, before speaking up.
“What did I miss?” he asks, calmly.
He’s long since stopped feeling self-conscious when he misses things where there are Holmes involved. It’s par for the course really. Chances are that with enough time and effort he’d pick up on things himself, but right now there’s no need for that so…
“There’s only one reason for Mycroft to have been unaware that one… or well, at least one, there might actually be more,” she cannot help but babble a bit as she considers the possibilities. “Anyway! There’s only one way such a thing could be happening and Mycroft not know.”
“Someone kept it from him,” he realises the obvious then.
“Purposefully,” she nods seriously. “Myc’s a genius, but he cannot be in everything at the same time. There just aren’t enough hours in the day! He has people who work for him, of course. And someone, somewhere, kept this information from reaching him…”
“Which automatically means there’s more than one person involved in this,” John points out.
The girl blinks. She hadn’t considered that… while she expects her brother and sister to have thought of it, she decides she’d rather be safe than sorry, and sends another message to Cassia.
“How bad is this, Skye?” John wants to know.
Skye… that’s what he calls her nowadays, because she asked him to. It’s… for the most part she’s never cared much for names, has had little to no attachments to most of the ones she’s bore. She hated the name of Mary Sue; but after enough therapy she came to accept that that was less about the name itself, and more the implications. The knowledge that the name was given to her by nuns, almost as an afterthought, because she had none when she was left at the orphanage. Also, the expectations that came with a name like that… she hated them.
Skye… that was the very first name she chose, first as a screen-name, and later on it was convenient, when she went to America, got involved with the Rising Tide. And it’s easy enough to justify even with her current identity. After all, Skye’s a perfectly acceptable nickname for Skylar, and she wouldn’t be the first person, not even the first Holmes, to choose to go by their middle-name instead of their first… Truth is, she might have given up on the life she was building, in America, with SHIELD, with the team, but that doesn’t mean she has to give up on who she was… is, who she became, during that time. Despite everything, she likes being Skye!
“Well, it depends on how far along whatever plot they’ve been concocting might be,” she answers John’s question. “There’s a reason Moran wants us gone.”
“We got close, somehow, without even trying…” John snorts. “What were you researching last?”
“Hmmm…” Skye turns to the edge of the wide table, picking the closest papers and looking through them. “Let me see? The Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland? No. Agatha Geier? Nope. HYDRA Labs? Unlikely. Quantum? Absolutely not. Lord Ronald Adair? Could be, but I don’t think so. Senator Christian Ward? Definitely not him, he’s not even from this country!” What? So she’s looking into a lot of things at the same time. She’s good at multitasking! “Howard Shilcott? I don’t even remember…”
“No, wait, I remember him,” John interrupts her unexpectedly. “He’s the CCTV operator for the London Underground. He came to us with that mystery about the man who got on a train, and never got off, and how impossible the whole thing was.”
Yes, a man went to them with a mystery, because apparently in Sherlock’s absence (presumed death, still) John Watson is the next best thing. And she supposes her own skills don’t hurt.
“What would he have to do with…?” Skye begins, then trails off as she sees it.
It was easy enough to find the appropriate file. While she does prefer to keep most of her files digital (and highly encrypted), John likes having things on paper, being able to both see and touch things for whatever the reason; so she’s made a habit of printing a lot of stuff. She trails off mid-rant because she sees it then, as does he. After several pages of basic information the man had given him there were several pictures, stills from the CCTV recording Shilcott gave them a file of. A couple showing a man in a suit and coat getting on the last car of the train, at Westminster Station; and then a few more of the same train making it to St. James’s Park Station, where no one got off. Also, at least one of the pictures left it pretty clear that the train was empty so… where did the man go? What they both become aware of in that moment though, is who exactly the man in the pictures is…
“Lord Moran…” John mutters under his breath.
Skye cannot help but have a rather… insane thought right about then. She doesn’t even know what brings it to mind. It’s the wrong season, after all. But people can be crazy and, yeah…
“Remember, remember, the fifth of November,” she quotes, a hint of hysteria in her voice. “The gunpowder treason and plot!”
“Fuck,” John hisses.
And really, what else needs to be said?
xXx
In the end, things aren’t quite so dire as Skye’s quote of the old rhyme might have implied. Or well… not yet. Turns out there is a nasty plot in the works, but they’ve managed to catch it pretty early on. Lord Moran is caught infraganti, in a disused tube tunnel underneath the houses of Parliament. His connection to North Korea can be easily proven, and is enough to put him in jail while a more detailed investigation is handled by other agencies.
Skye surrenders what information she got, making sure it’s all well-documented and acceptable in court… Though she suspects that with charges for spying and attempted terrorism involved, it’s unlikely the case will be handled in the kind of courts that worry about such things. Still, the last thing they need is for a potential terrorist to walk on a technicality so…
After a week working on the case (most of that time spent tracking down anyone and everyone who might be even tangentially involved) the two friends make their way back home, to 221 Baker Street. John’s still living at 221B, still in his old bedroom; at Mrs. Hudson’s insistence he’s not paying any more rent than he used to. Also, Sherlock’s bedroom remains untouched. In Mrs. Hudson’s case John believes this is because she’s not yet ready to let go of Sherlock, certainly not enough to even consider renting out the room to someone else. Skye knows Mycroft’s helping, having offered to pay Sherlock’s rent for a year or two, to ‘give her time to mourn’ (though those who know the truth are well aware that this was done in the hopes that Sherlock would be returning before then).
Skye for her part is renting 221C. Mrs. Hudson originally hadn’t been too interested in renting out the top-flat. In part because it needed some renovations (including insulation, rewiring in some parts and a new coat of paint pretty much everywhere); and probably also because she’d been well aware of how complicated it’d have been for Sherlock to get along with most prospective tenants, and them with him. In the end Skye and John managed to convince her to rent out the flat to her by promising to handle the renovations themselves (and, Skye’s pretty sure, she probably saw the girl as the kind of friend John needed during such a hard time).
Mycroft handled the renovations for the most part (indirectly, as only John’s aware of their connection). This allowed Skye to get a proper set-up in what was technically the living area of 221C. Mrs. Hudson never really goes up there, two full flights of stairs too much for her most days, which means Skye has full privacy when there. Not just in her bedroom, but even in the small living area. She and John spend a fair amount of time there, doing what they can to help in the hunt for Moriarty’s web.
It wasn’t supposed to be like that. When Sherlock first left Britain to hunt down Moriarty’s web, sometimes with the assistance of some operatives connected with the Interpol and MI6 (people who vetted by Mycroft and Cassia), Mycroft took it upon himself to find the snipers who’d had Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and John in their crosshairs the day of the fateful ‘fall’. John wanted to go after them, or at least the sniper put on him, himself, but Mycroft would not allow it. And then the trail went cold.
It had been so easy to find the first two snipers. Mycroft’s men caught the one on Mrs. Hudson before he even reached the end of the block after doing his work as ‘handyman’ that very same day. The dirty cop paid to keep an eye on, and potentially assassinate Lestrade was a bit harder, but not impossible. What none of them expected was for John’s sniper to pretty much vanish in the inter. By the time Mycroft turned his attention in that direction, there was nothing and no one to find. They hated it, and Skye knows that deep down John feels that if he’d been allowed on the case, he’d have found the sniper. Skye isn’t sure he’s wrong.
And then the last thing any of them could have ever expected, happened: The man Sherlock had been tracking in Germany, Russian ex-military, suspected of being a hit-man for one (or more) of the Russian mobs vanished. Sherlock only realised what had happened when it was too late for him to get to the man.
“Russian hit man enroute to London. He’s after Mycroft.”
They tried phoning him, but Mycroft and Cassia seemed to both be in some kind of top-secret meeting with some very important people and couldn’t be interrupted. So the two rushed to Westminster themselves. It was… saying it was insane would be putting it kindly.
Making use of what she knew of the building, Skye was able to make an educated guess, regarding what side of the building the top-secret meeting was likely to be taking place. John’s own training let him calculate where the best place would be for an assassin to take position. And the two headed there.
They made it just in time. Skye pushing the stealthy approach aside when seeing the man already with his finger on the trigger. She screamed, as loud and shrill as she could. The scream was enough to distract the man, just for a moment. Also, apparently she managed to make it loud enough that the people inside a certain room, in the next building (a room with a wall made entirely out of glass, what the hell were these people thinking?!), heard it, realising something was off, and moved.
The assassin did take a shot in the end, but he missed, his target no longer accessible to him. That was when John threw himself at the man.
The man slit his own throat with the knife he’d been trying to kill John with, upon realising that there was no way he would be getting to his target, nor did he stand a chance against both John and Skye. It did make them wonder what things he knew that he’d rather die than reveal them…
The ‘family meeting’ following that attempt on Mycroft’s life was… memorable:
“I love you Myc, but you know I don’t actually need to ask your permission to get involved in this.” Skye pointed out rather bluntly when the family gathered that evening.
“You wouldn’t,” Mycroft blurted out sharply.
“Élisabeth Fleur is still an active identity,” she reminded him, before changing her accent, from her usual neutral one, to one that while clearly British had a hint of French behind it (since Fleur was supposed to be of mixed British and French origins. “One I can don at any given time. And you know that I have enough contacts who’d be delighted to have me work on the Moriarty case.”
They would too.
“MI6 won’t take you,” Mycroft insisted. “He won’t allow it.”
John’s eyes narrowed, wondering exactly who ‘he’ was in this scenario. He knew it wasn’t Sherlock; and last John knew, M was a woman. He didn’t ask, though. MI6 being what it was, he had no doubt that if they were avoiding using any names, or even code-names, there must be a reason.
“Maybe not, but there’s always Interpol,” Skye shrugged. “Chief Prentiss likes me.”
Mycroft gritted his teeth, he hated being outmanoeuvred. And yet… it was his sister. Marion (or Skye, as that was her chosen name, at least for now,) might not have been born a Holmes, but the girl had still earned the name. While perhaps not a ‘traditional genius’, she was one in her own way. Not just where hacking was concerned, but she was brilliant in topics Mycroft would (under duress) admit to being not-the-best at himself.
John said nothing. Sherlock’s chuckles could be heard on the phone, through which he was attending the impromptu meeting. He was so very proud of his little fae. Cassia for her part just looked at her paramour with an expression that made it very clear what she thought about his insistence for both Skye and John to remain uninvolved. She understood wanting to protect them, but it’s not like they were mere civilians! Much as Mycroft might hate it, his sister was a qualified agent, as for John Watson… Well, Cassia couldn’t be sure of course, but she highly suspected the man to have been involved in one (quite probably more than one) secret op during his time in the military. The kind that left no records of ever having happened…
“Very well,” Mycroft conceded eventually. “We’ll do things your way.”
And thus, whenever they find a member of Moriarty’s web who’s stationed in Britain; or sometimes in another country, where Sherlock and MI6 can’t get quickly enough as they’re busy with something else, John and/or Skye step in.
That’s how they ended up investigating several of the subjects in Skye’s files. Though, surprisingly, the one that ended with the arrest of Lord Moran was totally unconnected with Moriarty. Instead it was a case brought to John by a man who was looking to find in him some of the old consulting detective. He wasn’t the only one to have done it in the months since Sherlock’s ‘death’. It had in fact gotten to the point where John had decided to get a PI licence himself. Were he anyone else, the licence alone would have never been enough, no company will hire a man with no education on the topic. But then again, that isn’t the point.
“I know most people think I’m crazy,” John muttered after showing Skye the licence, the day he got it. “Some think I’m doing this in order to try and… salvage some of Sherlock’s legacy, or whatever. Others that I’m just obsessed, in denial, refusing to move on…”
“Does it matter?” Skye cut him off.
“What…?” he finally looked away from the licence, focusing on her.
“Does it really matter what people think?” she rephrased.
“I… suppose not,” he conceded eventually.
“Of course it doesn’t matter,” she pressed. “These people… they don’t know, they don’t understand. Who cares why you chose to get a licence? People are bringing you cases, and you’re solving them. That’s what matters!”
“We are solving them,” John corrected, emphasising the ‘we’.
She was right, of course. The licence is still necessary, to keep things legal. And because John’s pretty sure that after everything that happened with Sherlock, there’s no way anyone in NSY will ever let him anywhere close to a crime scene if they don’t have to. Then again, it’s not like he’s going traipsing into random crime scenes like Sherlock likes to. John only works cases that people bring to him (whether that’s someone hiring him, or the homeless network bringing something to his attention).
Skye, while very willing to help John, does technically have a job (then again, so does he, he’s a doctor, part time, but still). And it’s not fixing laptops and mobiles, that was only a temporary job when she’d just returned to London. She’s working cyber-security, freelance, though loosely affiliated with a number of companies. Her speciality being testing firewalls and warning her clients about any possible vulnerabilities they might have. She’s also proven to be pretty good at dealing with ransomware. Her clients know they’re guaranteed utmost privacy and will not be judged regardless of what might have happened, how they might have gotten in trouble (whether it was due to ‘illegal downloading’ of music tracks, or porn...).
In any case, John working part-time, and Skye doing her job from home has made it fairly easy for them to be able to work on things related to Moriarty’s web at the same time.
That particular evening, Skye isn’t surprised when John follows her to her own flat. Just goes to make some tea for the both of them, pulling out some shortbread cookies to go with it. Usually they have tea down in B, at times even with Mrs. Hudson joining them, but she suspects John wants to talk about her cases, and they never do that anywhere but in her flat. Where they know for sure they won’t be spied on (either by potential enemies, or well-meaning landladies).
She isn’t surprised either when John picks the files that hold the basics of her numerous ongoing researches. Still, he waits until she’s sitting on the other wing-backed chair, cups of a floral blend of tea she’s taken a recent liking to in the small table in between the chairs, before saying a word:
“Why are you researching HYDRA Labs?” he asks her quietly. “I suppose it’s related to… well, with HYDRA, of course but…”
“But you don’t understand why I keep getting involved in this matter,” Skye finishes. “Especially when we made sure to purge everyone involved with that here in Britain as fast as we possibly could.”
Not that there were that many people, actually. Holmeses being so incredibly paranoid paid off, in some ways, she supposes.
“I understand this is important to you for some reason, beyond the initial mess, even if I cannot fathom as to why,” John admits with a shrug.
Yeah, that part became crystal clear back in March:
The two of them had been sharing some tea and slices of a delicious berry pie baked by Mrs. Hudson when their attention was caught by the telly and the breaking news regarding a high-speed chase across the streets of Washington DC. And that wasn’t all. They were also showing clips of none other than Captain America fighting a bunch of guys, one in particular with a metal arm that looked like it couldn’t be real. And then… Skye’s attention was harshly pulled from the telly by a shrill alarm from her mobile. She took a quick look at the screen of her phone before cursing and shooting out of the couch in the direction of the stairs, climbing them two at a time.
By the time John caught up with her Skye was already turning on her machines with one hand, while with the other she sent coded text messages quickly, one after the other. John was just about to ask her what was going on, when the ringtone was heard and Skye twisted her wrist in a way that looked almost painful in order to close her message app and actually answer the phone:
“Cassia…?” she called.
“What the hell is going on?!” It was Mycroft’s clipped tone of voice coming from the other end of the line, rather than his assistant and wife (in all ways bar the paperwork). “Why does it seem like the whole intelligence world is imploding or…”
“HYDRA,” Skye answered in an equally clipped tone before dropping the mobile to the desk and turning to where her computers had finished booting up.
She didn’t even bother sitting down before her fingers were flying across the keys and windows started popping up and out, one after the other.
“HYDRA…?” Mycroft sounded quite disbelieving. “Wait, you mean to tell me that all those traitorous bastards that we keep routing out as they try to infiltrate us are not off-shores' spies but actually…”
“HYDRA operatives,” Skye finished for him, then revised. “Well, all things being fair they might not all have been HYDRA, but it’s a fair assumption to make, considering what’s happening right now. Apparently something just went down in the US and…”
“Wait, is this connected to what’s going on in Washington DC…?” John piped in. “I mean, with Captain America and…”
“SHIELD…” Mycroft said the name of the organisation like it was a curse word.
“And that’s far from the biggest issue.” Skye added as she finally took a deep breath, waiting for several programs to open up before she got back to work.
“What could possibly be worse than a superhuman and so-called hero going nuts on live-tv and giving all those xenophobic idiots an excuse to do more stupid things than usual?”
Like try and create a new ‘law reform’ that would attack anyone who might be considered in any possible way ‘inhuman’, all while coaching it in being meant as protection for humans… the Holmes had seen it before, time and again, only more so since Tony Stark first went and created Iron Man.
“Some utterly idiotic person, or people, just decided to go and dump the entirety of SHIELD’s database into the web,” Skye announced as her latest programs finished opening and she threw herself into hacking as fast as humanly possible.
“WHAT?!” It wasn’t just Mycroft who cried out in horror then.
“What the hell were they thinking?” Cassia’s voice was finally heard clearly.
For the longest time Mycroft said nothing at all. Which showed just how angry he was.
“Sister…?” he called, eventually.
“I was warned about what was going on by a former Rising Tide,” Skye explains, most of her attention on her screens. “We’re calling on everyone, everywhere, that we can. I even texted Ray, who got a special permission to drop whatever he was doing and help us, he’s also getting some of his own people to aid. We’re all working together to catch and encrypt as many of the files as we possibly can. Once that’s done we’ll release the ones about assets to those who might be better able to extract them safely. Hopefully we’ll get things done fast enough to prevent too much loss of life…”
John gasped as everything Skye was saying (and what she wasn’t) hit him. Assets… extraction… prevent too much loss of life…
“What the hell were they thinking?” he muttered, beyond horrified.
“That’s just it John,” Cassia murmured quietly. “They weren’t thinking.”
They better not have. Though, which is worse in the end? People with that much power being thoughtless idiots? Or them potentially being so cold-hearted they didn’t care for the loss of dozens, possibly hundreds of innocent lives?
Skye spent three days and nights hacking almost non-stop. Barely taking a few short naps, would have forgotten to eat and drink if John hadn’t made a point of bringing her food and beverages regularly (at one point making a comment of how the whole thing reminded him of Sherlock in the midst of a case); once even going as far as hand-feeding her while she kept typing at frenetic speeds. He didn’t even mock her for it. Understanding how important it all was, how much was on the line.
When it all ended Skye collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, barely staying awake long enough to have a quick shower (John afraid that if she tried for a bath she might end up falling asleep in the tub), falling asleep halfway through an early dinner. Slept more than twelve hours.
In the morning John watched in silence as she half-stumbled down the stairs into 221B, heading straight for the coffee (while they both preferred tea for the most part, Skye tended to go for coffee early in the mornings). She looked to be still half asleep, at least, so John said nothing, just prepared some toast and placed it in front of her when she was halfway through her coffee. She managed to drink two cups of coffee, eat several pieces of toast and half a bagel before she just… froze.
John said nothing still. Just watched as she sat there for several seconds. She didn’t speak, didn’t blink, seemed to barely even breathe. He could tell the exact moment when she finished waking up, and not just that, but when she remembered what she’d been doing before falling asleep.
Skye stood so fast from the kitchen chair that she ended up pushing it back, hard enough to make it hit a wall. Mrs. Hudson called something from downstairs, probably worried about the noise, but John paid her no mind, fully focused on Skye. Whose breathing kept getting faster and faster, hands trembling and then… her mouth opened in a silent scream right as she dropped to her knees.
“Skye!” John cried out, rushing to her side.
She seemed to react instinctively, turning to him, burying her face against his chest and holding onto him for dear life as she broke down into heart-wrenching sobs.
He didn’t try telling her it was alright, or that it would be. Platitudes would have been useless when neither of them would have believed them. So instead he just held her, running a hand up and down her back soothingly. When she eventually fell asleep again he made some effort and managed to pick her up in his arms. He didn’t think he’d be able to climb the stairs while holding her, so instead he carried her to the couch and laid her out on it.
He kept watch over her for the rest of the week. Until she recovered enough from both the physical exhaustion of such a long hacking, and the mental and emotional upheaval following the whole mess. He didn’t know how many people died; how many good agents, contacts, informants and their families got killed when their personal information was summarily dumped onto the web by people either too stupid or too careless. He has a feeling she does know. Skye is too… She's the kind of woman who wouldn’t stop until she found out.
John’s made sure to reassure her, on repeated occasions, that the losses aren’t on her. She, and everyone else she worked with during those days (over a hundred hackers all around the world, from what he’s heard), did everything humanly (and almost inhumanly) possible to save as many lives as they could. And they couldn’t save everyone, that is true, but at least they tried. Which is certainly more than those at SHIELD can say!
John knows that in the weeks following that absolute mess Skye worked with Mycroft and his people to root out anyone not just in his staff, but on any level of the government who might be even tangentially involved with the terrorist organisation that was (and is) HYDRA. John would have believed such a thing (finding all those people and ousting them, especially in such a short amount of time) to be impossible but well… Mycroft is a Holmes, and like Sherlock has said more than once, he Is the British Government (insane as it sounds, the more the doctor gets to see of Mycroft Holmes, the more he believes Sherlock’s words).
Still, while researching HYDRA while looking for anyone who might be involved with it makes sense, continuing to research them months later? Not so much. Especially because John knows that particular mission was finished weeks ago. He knows because he was with Skye when the last of them was caught. She happened to be standing too close when MI5 agents went to apprehend the man, he grabbed her, probably intending to use her as a hostage, the last thing he expected was for the young woman to bury her heel in his instep, then her elbow in his stomach, before twisting and pivoting in such a way that the man was on the ground, with several guns pointed at him (one of them John’s) before he even knew what was going on.
“Remember that team I told you I worked with in America?” she asks him out of nowhere.
“With those guys who worked for the government or something…?” John begins, trailing off as it hits him. “Wait… they were HYDRA?”
“SHIELD actually, though I suppose it may be hard to see the difference,” Skye shrugs. “I don’t think they were bad guys. Actually, I know they were not, they were always trying to save people, do the right thing. Even if… even if they didn’t trust me the way I wish they had. They… I just…”
“They’re still your team,” John finishes for her.
He gets it. While most of the people he served with in the military… well, the first unit he was with, who he was very close with, they’re all dead now. The guys he was with there at the end (up until the mission that got him discharged), a few have died, one or two were discharged at the same time as him, while the rest are still off getting shot at; and he was never that close to any of them anyway. And yet, there were these guys, they weren’t actually part of the army, but SIS, John ended up involved in one of their missions, entirely by accident, and then his assistance was requested several more times while they were in the country. He liked working with them. A lot. By the end of things they were his friends. John remembers James saying something about convincing his boss to make him a job offer or something, though that never happened. Then again, less than six months later he was getting a bullet through his shoulder and being sent home so…
The point is, he does understand Skye feeling attached to her old team. Even if they might not deserve her regard, considering how broken up she was, and still is, over their lack of trust.
“I’ve kept tabs on them,” Skye admits, somewhat self-consciously. “It’s… It hasn’t been good. One of them, Ward, he… he died at the end of last year. I… I don’t know what happened exactly, just that he was shot while on a mission somewhere in southern Europe.” She exhales, forcing herself to move past that, to not torture herself with what-ifs (not again). “FitzSimmons… they weren’t even active agents, the scientists of the team, they apparently almost got killed when HYDRA was revealed. Fitz was really badly hurt or something. They left SHIELD shortly after it all went down, and are living in Scotland nowadays. I…” She swallows. “I pulled some strings to ensure their current employers wouldn’t ask too many questions about the blanks in their curriculum.”
Because of course, with the current situation being what it is, worldwide, the two scientists couldn’t just say they’d been working for SHIELD during those years.
“The others?” John asks, curious and not able to help himself.
“Still with SHIELD,” Skye shrugs, trying and not quite managing to sound uncaring. “I’ve sent them, and several other people in SHIELD tips, during the past few months. Regarding those HYDRA operatives they might have missed. I think I’ve helped?”
She cannot be sure, of course, but she hopes.
“HYDRA Labs?” Because what he’s heard thus far explains her general interest, not so much her fixation with that particular place.
For all answer Skye picks up her tablet from where she stashed it earlier, beside her legs, opens a file, and passes it to John. It’s a longer, far more detailed file on HYDRA Labs. John skims it, not really paying much attention until he gets to one detail that really makes him stop and focus: it’s a clip from a digital news outlet, announcing an explosion that half destroyed the place. It’s followed by several more (pictures, video-clips, newspaper articles, and even pieces of official records) announcing the horrors that were discovered when first local police, and later on a specialised FBI team (from the BAU), investigated the explosion. He doesn’t look at it all, though still enough to pick up on key details like: illegal experimentation, torture, brainwashing, conditioning… he pushes the tablet away, almost throwing it on the low coffee table. He’s… angry, horrified, sickened. It’s only his long cultivated control over himself that keeps him from retching.
“Fuck…” he mutters under his breath.
“The explosion only happened two weeks ago, a few days before you noticed we were being followed and we decided on a plan to confront the thugs.” Skye points out. “I was already researching the place back then. I mean… by the name alone I knew they were bad. I just wasn’t expecting… I thought I had time. I thought there was time to do more research, and find the right person to pass the information onto, those who’d be able to handle things appropriately. The last thing I expected was…” she waves a hand vaguely at the tablet. “That.”
“You do know it’s not your fault, right?” he checks in. “It’s not your fault it happened. Nor that you aren’t psychic and couldn’t guess that things would go to hell in such a way.”
“I cannot help but feel that I could have done more…” she admits.
“So could so many others. People who looking into such things is actually their job, even.”
Skye nods, she knows he’s right. Doesn’t fully stop her from feeling as she does, though. She has control-issues, so what? All Holmes have them!
For a while neither of them say a thing, just drinking their still warm tea and eating cookies in companionable silence.
“Anything I can help you with?” John asks her eventually.
Skye seems to actually ponder on it for a few seconds before shaking her head.
“I will always be willing to help you,” he assures her. “Anytime, anywhere, with anything, And I promise not to judge.”
Skye just cannot help herself at that and after leaving her empty cup on the side table, rushes to John, sitting on the chair’s armrest and bending so she can hug him from the side.
“Thank you, John,” she smiles at him. “You’re the very best of friends.”
She goes as far as pressing her check to his head briefly, and kissing his cheek. John smiles at her, kissing her temple tenderly. And then, because John Watson cannot help but tease sometimes, he adds:
“Gonna tell Sherlock I’ve debunked him as your best friend,” he quips.
Skye just laughs. Well, it’s not like she can only have one best-friend, right?