"Bed," he said, glaring down at his little lover. Well, not so little these days.
"Don't want to," Finch replied with a huff, glaring at him. "I want to go to work."
"You've gone into your second trimester according to Vance, who keeps readin' them books," Thad said, chin jerking. "Which was our 'greement that you'd ease your workin'. Ain't happenin'. Bed."
"I have been sulking in this flat ever since M-m- ever since. I'm tired of being in here, I want to go to work. Please?" Finch looked up at him with big green eyes. "How am I meant to have a shop if I'm never there? Not to mention Bran is at work and according to him, his mother said my father has a new girlfriend already and she's some vicious little guttersnipe who wants all his money and is pretending to be my cousin. Without work, how are we supposed to-"
"Just because Brandon, healthy, not-pregnant Brandon is at work, does not mean you ge' t' go back on your word to rest. Three days a week, six hour nights," Thad said. "And don't think you kin give me them big eyes with Vance outta town and old Thad's just gonna roll over."
"You're not my keeper. I can go wherever I like. Now, if you please, move away from the door," Finch said, angling her nose up primly.
Thaddeus sighed, his street face obviously not working. He switched gears, mouth quirking.
"What if I gave you a bit of incentive to crawl back into bed?" Thaddeus purred. "If you please."
"Like what? You've fed me half to death, you've given me tea, I'm bored, please can't I go out?" Finch asked, sulking. "Please, Thad? If I stay here, I just think about it. I don't want to think about it anymore."
Thaddeus reached out, trailing his hand down Finch's rounded tummy. It wasn't overly large - just enough to show she was in the family way. He licked his lips. "What if you didn't go back to bed alone?"
Finch blushed, turning a bright red. "What on earth are we going to do in bed together?"
"I can think of a few things," Thaddeus smirked. "Boyfriend is out of town. Aren't you feeling a trifle naughty, little bird?"
The pregnant girl turned away with a sigh, heading for the sofa. "Fine. I'll watch telly, if you're not letting me go anywhere."
"Oi," Thaddeus whined. "I wanna shag." He pouted.
"No you don't. You just don't want me to go anywhere," Finch replied, sitting down on the sofa with a little huff of air. She looked around at the place her mother had built, with every inch marked somehow with art or books she'd left behind. No one had come to claim anything. Finch felt like she could feel her mother's ghost with her. And she was going mad from it. "I'm giving you what you want."
"Are not," Thad said, tossing himself down beside her, winding his arms around her possessively. He nuzzled behind her ear, his long black hair draping down her shoulder as he kissed her neck. "Vance, Vance, Vance," he sulked. "What's so bloody great about Scarface?"
"I love him. He's intelligent. He reads books and takes care of me," Finch replied. My mum gave him to me like a favorite toy. She whined, rubbing her hand over his leg. "Besides, I'm all puffy and weird. And a baby keeps using my intestines as a rattle. You can't want me like this."
Thaddeus laughed, reaching around to cup her stomach.
"Serious? It's cute, and a wee bit sexy," he murmured. "Sides, I'd put bets on that little thing being made the night I kipped over. Angry sex! She'll be a spitfire." He cupped her breast with his other hand. "And your tits are amazing." He licked up her neck to nibble her ear. "I bet you're hotter than anything at your core."
Finch felt like there was a fire creeping over her skin. She licked her lips, turning her head to look at him with bright eyes. "Did you listen? That night?"
Thad's grin was positively wicked. "With my hand down my pants," he said, tongue between his teeth like a child caught. He used the distraction to wriggle his hand beneath Finch's tunic. "Oops, now it's going for yours."
"You are so ridiculous," Finch replied, not sure of what to do. She gasped, her skin so sensitive. "How is sex resting? You're- You're getting my heart all up and beating-"
"Exercise?" Thaddeus asked innocently as he kissed along her jaw. He wriggled happily against her back, closer to her warmer body. "Doc said exercise. Turn about, want to kiss you."
Finch twisted in his arms, her lips surging forward to meet his. It still felt wrong, even with all the agreements and truces (and that threesome after her mother's funeral). Thaddeus moaned, touch starved. A usual sex fiend, he'd been with no one, but Finch and, by extension, Vance since he'd moved in. He stroked Finch's body, pulling her closer.
"Yesss," he hissed, flicking his tongue out against her lips.
"Th-Thad," Finch gasped, her own mouth devouring his. "T-Touch me." She was nervous. In a house that felt like she was being watched, she was so afraid to want. "Take me. If you want."
"Bloody hell, I thought you'd never ask!" Thaddeus said, pulling her off the sofa. "Proper bed, for fuck's sake, you're better than a sofa." His eyes were wide and grin wicked, luring the sweet-hearted girl into his den.
"Says you," Finch replied, ever contrary. She let him take the lead, her hand in his.
Thaddeus had been waiting so long - longer than he ever had for a bird. He undressed Finch like he was unwrapping a present he wanted to savor. Her body was different - not coked out, waxed within an inch of its life, overly muscled, three times his size or even simply average. She had the unique swell along different places of her body, but all rounded, all soft, smooth and warm.
He laid her out, kissing her as he quickly covered her with his own nude body. He hissed as their skin touched. "Do you think he's watching?" he whispered into her ear.
"If not, he can press rewind," Finch replied. The flat, thin planes of his body reminded her of a long dragon, something dangerous, something to be savored. She licked over his throat and his jaw. "He was my first."
"What, really?" Thaddeus asked, shivering. He rubbed back against her for her warmth, his heavy cock bobbed against her leg. "Tell me you're joking."
"No. I'm not. I never had boyfriends. Or friends. Just my family," Finch whispered, for the first time feeling like that statement gave her power. "He rescued me on a night I shot my first person. And I knew then that I wanted him with a rawness I never felt before."
"The little death," Thad said, amused as he tucked away a curl to kiss her again. "My body must seem odd to you. Do I shock you?" He took her hand and brought it to curl around himself. Vance hadn't let him.. touch. He slipped his fingers down. Every one of his lovers had been different.
"I studied art. I know about bodies," Finch said, stammering over the words. She let her fingers touch the soft skin, hard as well as smooth. She kissed him, lips lingering.
Thad's breath caught as he felt her. "Yes, well I studied bodies," he gasped. "Maybe you can teach me to make art." He brushed their lips together. "Want you. Can I?" He bucked his hips forward.
"Isn't that what we came here for?" Finch asked, her innocence showing through the pretend toughness for a moment, genuine confusion puckering on her brow.
Thad took his hand away from her slick cunt to wrap around her hand. "Always polite to ask when shagging someone new," he said with a smile as he leaned in, nudging himself against her. He licked his lip, leaning in to kiss her as he thrust forward, biting gently at her bottom lip. She moaned, sensitive and over stimulated from his teasing and touches.
"Thad," she breathed, tilting her head back so he could kiss her more.
"Finch," Thad replied, taking over her mouth as he rocked, feeling slick ease his way. "Better than work?" he asked cheekily.
"Eh, at least you're only flirting with me instead of the whole bloody block," Finch quipped. She brushed a curious hand over his nipple, down his sweat-drenched sides. Thaddeus jerked slightly, hissing as he pressed deeper.
"Ah! Tease," he moaned.
Sex with Finch was surprising. It was loving, sexy, but also fun and teasing. There wasn't the hurried shag of the unknown, or the repetitive moments of people who knew one another too well. Instead it was like having the most wonderful intimacy with someone Thaddeus had grown to truly love. Once they'd both been brought to completion, Finch more than once (Thad was an overachiever), he lay playing with her curls as he hummed in happiness.
"Thad," Finch said his name, a high note at the end like a question was coming. "You'd do anything for me?"
"Hmm?" he asked, opening his almost shaped eyes. "What do you want, little bird?"
"Can't you go get that girl away from my parents? I don't trust her," Finch said, cupping his jaw, kissing his sweet mouth again. "You're smart. You could do it. Better than Bran, even."
"You want me to try," Thad sighed. "I'll look into it - if you promise to stick to our agreement. Less work. Abby needs the hours anyway."
"Yes, yes, fine. I'll play couch potato if you can please try to get that money-grabbing tramp away from my parents," Finch replied, nosing his cheek. She fell back on the pillows, sunset colored hair spread out beneath her.
"I'm half-Irish. I love potatoes," Thad giggled, curling towards her. "...Finch?"
"Yes?"
"I love you," Thad said quietly, almost shyly.
Finch's breath caught, and she turned her face to look him in the eye. "Really?"
Thad's eyes flicked down then back to her. "Yeah," he said, certain of it. "Thanks for bringing me home."
Finch wrapped her arms around him, curling close to his body. "Don't ever leave."
"You'd have to kill me first," Thad promised, holding her close, finding he meant it.
***
Spencer was irritated at everyone's accusations about him going to Mad Mary's. It was just a club. Sure, some of the demonstrations were a little grittier. The clientele a little more kinky and people more likely to gasp in pleasure at the sight of blood than horror. He tottled Liam on his knee before passing him off to Brandon.
Usually Spencer took the boy at night if Abby worked, but tonight they were both on the clock. Spencer had slicked back his hair, donning a slick suit and cufflinks, little platinum M's he'd purchased. A silly indulgence, but he fingered them as he was let into the club.
Tonight he went deeper.
The club was like an onion. Outer rooms contained less kink and more burlesque show girls. A long curving bar hosted patrons who could walk in - at the right price. To be invited into one of the inner rooms meant you knew someone, a Dom who was on the hierarchy. Of course, there was always someone else. Someone mistreating a pet well past play.
Spencer had to be careful when offering up his rescue services, but he retained a good set of lawyers willing to work 'pro bono' for subs who wanted away from their Masters. However, Spencer had begun noticing a pattern of missing subs - men and women both in many of the circles, both online and in the clubs.
It was a carefully cultivated selection that had gone missing. Never on the same day, never spaced apart like some trigger was involved. A tricky one. No bodies had come about in the morgues, Spencer had checked.
Word was spreading about a man, a Dom - very exclusive. He was older, a sugar daddy to all the subs he took on. Distinguished, but a man without a name. Online, he went simply by The Master.
An usher tapped him on the shoulder, pulling Spencer back into one of the rooms he'd visited prior. He'd gotten a few offers from subs last time. A few he might've not turned down if he hadn't had a family waiting at home. However, tonight, the usher (bouncer) led him through the room and into another, this one posher than the last.
Victorian furniture, swirling light and dark woods with pale tapestries and blood red velvets lining the seats, fainting couches and St. Andrew's crosses littered the room. Heavy curtains mimicked windows in the inner room. Pretty subs dressed up like play things, dolls and ponies, kittens and pups milled about while Doms in leather and spiked heels, suits and masks chatted with one another.
Nudity was on the menu back here. Bodies were exposed, arching in pleasure as mouths and bits met one another, bowls of tasteful condoms sat on pillars.
A smaller bar was open in a corner, no longer the center stage.
Spencer felt eyes on him from a throne near the bar.
A man in a red king's cape with three women at his feet, one dark, one light, one ginger. They all cooed for his attention, caressing one another. He waved his scepter at them, murmuring, until Spencer had grown closer. The 'king's' head tilted up as a strange smile lit on his face.
"Good evening, Mr. Holmes."
Spencer's eyes widened, terror striking him in his chest.
He had seconds to register the oily black eyes of an older, very much alive - James Moriarty.
Then the lights went dark. People screamed in surprised, and Spencer felt people jostling him and then a heavy thunk landed across the back of his head, dropping Spencer to the ground.
***
Spencer woke, groaning. His arms were aching as he rolled his head. Concrete floor was beneath his bare feet and expensive trousers. His shirt and jacket were gone, hair falling out of its mimicry of Jim's coif. He struggled to find he couldn't really relax enough to take the pressure off his arms, but standing grew just as exhausting. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out. He was underground, that much was for certain.
Pricks on his arms said that the blow to the head wasn't the only thing that had put him out. He felt weak, drunk almost.
"Hello?" he called out.
"Hola?" a woman's voice returned.
Spencer's chains rattled as he spun around. "Hello? Where are you?"
"No entiendo! Ayuadame!"
"Fuck, fuck, Spanish," Spencer swore. "Why didn't I pay attention- Es- Esta bien! Donde- donde.. fuck." He jerked against his chains before he heard the slap. Leather against skin. He knew that sound. It went on, and on, and on. The woman's screams and cries echoed in the cement chamber.
It reminded Spencer very much of ...kennels.
Shadows appeared, growing nearer to his cell. His grey-green eyes were wide with panic as the padlock was undone. A man - a stranger - holding a whip grinned at him. He promised himself he wouldn't scream. Afterwards, he only promised himself, he wouldn't break.
***
Seb hated to rouse her when she was sleeping. She did so so rarely.
"Mary," he whispered imperatively. "Mary, wake up."
Her eyes opened, quicker and without blinking. "Something's wrong. Your voice is funny."
"Spencer is missing," Seb kept his voice low. "Two days. Haven't told Sherlock or John. Vance can't locate him. Found his mobile crushed in a skip."
"Get up," Mary was scrambling over the bed. She slid jeans over her silky thighs, shouting over her shoulder. "Freya! FREE! GET UP!" She turned back to Seb, reaching for someone's discarded sweatshirt to pull over her naked breasts. "Get out of bed. You're going to go babysit. You and Jack, go to Finch's and hole up there until I tell you. Idiot children."
"Babysit!" Seb grumbled. "Jack!"
Freya tumbled out of her room, draped only in her comforter. "Wha?" she said, squinting.
Mary stormed out of the room, tucking one of Seb's guns in her waistband, a bleary eyed John opening the door to Sherlock's room. "Free, Spencer is missing. I'm going for him but you and John and Sherlock have to get to Baker Street. Seb will give you something to carry, you must go sit with Abby and Bran. Keep them together-"
Jack had on his battle gear, quickly followed by Seb (still tucking in his shirt).
"Oi, I am not letting you go off on your own, you little blighter," he said.
"Spencer is missing?" Sherlock said, tugging his dressing gown around himself. "Where, when?"
"Jack! Out of the two of us, which appears to be indestructible? Stupid boy, he should've stayed out of that god damn club!" Mary snapped at him. She pointed her finger at the red-haired man. "Finch needs you. I will go get my son back."
"Your son?" John growled, still not quite realizing.
"Our son!" Sherlock countered. "None of us are indestructible. Not even you."
"I've a sight better chance than the rest of you," Mary said, tugging her hair up into an elastic. "Besides, if I'm going after Spencer, who is going to look after the other ones?"
"We've worked together before," Sherlock said, heading for his clothes. "There's six of us, and there's no need to keep them separated!"
"Sherlock," Mary stomped after him, pushing past a bewildered John. "Please. Please, can't you just for once do as I say? Can't you see reason-"
"My son missing is a reason!" Sherlock said. "How do you expect to find him without a detective!?"
"Oh, I don't know, I'm a criminal! Crime is sort of what I do!" Mary shouted back before throwing up her hands. "Oh, oh! Don't even start that your son- he's still my son, Sherlock!"
John listened to their argument with wide eyes. "Fuck."
"Oh don't you start," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at John as he pulled on his trousers. "I'm not going to sit on my thumbs while you go off into danger while I'm left to wonder if either one of you is coming back."
Mary crossed her arms. "I know what I'm doing, Sherlock. You'll get Spencer back. I don't want any of the McCanady's seeing Spencer's disappearance as an excuse to make a move on Abby and the baby, or Finch and her child. We have to keep the ones we have safe. I'm faster than you."
Sherlock glared, mouth pinching. "I'm still smarter," he hissed. "I expect updates. Constantly!"
His phone pinged on the dresser.
"While you've been speaking I've been running footage from the club for the last week, I've found something that shows Spencer disappearing into the upper level and not coming back down. You'll have your updates," Mary turned on her heel, calling over her shoulder. "I've got WiFi."
"Hey," John said, in a voice so stern it made Mary pause in her steps. She glanced back at him. "Come back. After."
Mary smiled at him. "Of course, John. Where else have I got to go?"
And with that she went out the door.
"Wifi?" Freya asked, still in her comforter.
"Everyone dressed! Freya, you'll be actual-baby sitter. John, you're on Brandon duty. Keep him out of the drinks," Sherlock said. "I- will attempt to make nice.. with the girl."
Her eyes opened, quicker and without blinking. "Something's wrong. Your voice is funny."
"Spencer is missing," Seb kept his voice low. "Two days. Haven't told Sherlock or John. Vance can't locate him. Found his mobile crushed in a skip."
"Get up," Mary was scrambling over the bed. She slid jeans over her silky thighs, shouting over her shoulder. "Freya! FREE! GET UP!" She turned back to Seb, reaching for someone's discarded sweatshirt to pull over her naked breasts. "Get out of bed. You're going to go babysit. You and Jack, go to Finch's and hole up there until I tell you. Idiot children."
"Babysit!" Seb grumbled. "Jack!"
Freya tumbled out of her room, draped only in her comforter. "Wha?" she said, squinting.
Mary stormed out of the room, tucking one of Seb's guns in her waistband, a bleary eyed John opening the door to Sherlock's room. "Free, Spencer is missing. I'm going for him but you and John and Sherlock have to get to Baker Street. Seb will give you something to carry, you must go sit with Abby and Bran. Keep them together-"
Jack had on his battle gear, quickly followed by Seb (still tucking in his shirt).
"Oi, I am not letting you go off on your own, you little blighter," he said.
"Spencer is missing?" Sherlock said, tugging his dressing gown around himself. "Where, when?"
"Jack! Out of the two of us, which appears to be indestructible? Stupid boy, he should've stayed out of that god damn club!" Mary snapped at him. She pointed her finger at the red-haired man. "Finch needs you. I will go get my son back."
"Your son?" John growled, still not quite realizing.
"Our son!" Sherlock countered. "None of us are indestructible. Not even you."
"I've a sight better chance than the rest of you," Mary said, tugging her hair up into an elastic. "Besides, if I'm going after Spencer, who is going to look after the other ones?"
"We've worked together before," Sherlock said, heading for his clothes. "There's six of us, and there's no need to keep them separated!"
"Sherlock," Mary stomped after him, pushing past a bewildered John. "Please. Please, can't you just for once do as I say? Can't you see reason-"
"My son missing is a reason!" Sherlock said. "How do you expect to find him without a detective!?"
"Oh, I don't know, I'm a criminal! Crime is sort of what I do!" Mary shouted back before throwing up her hands. "Oh, oh! Don't even start that your son- he's still my son, Sherlock!"
John listened to their argument with wide eyes. "Fuck."
"Oh don't you start," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes at John as he pulled on his trousers. "I'm not going to sit on my thumbs while you go off into danger while I'm left to wonder if either one of you is coming back."
Mary crossed her arms. "I know what I'm doing, Sherlock. You'll get Spencer back. I don't want any of the McCanady's seeing Spencer's disappearance as an excuse to make a move on Abby and the baby, or Finch and her child. We have to keep the ones we have safe. I'm faster than you."
Sherlock glared, mouth pinching. "I'm still smarter," he hissed. "I expect updates. Constantly!"
His phone pinged on the dresser.
"While you've been speaking I've been running footage from the club for the last week, I've found something that shows Spencer disappearing into the upper level and not coming back down. You'll have your updates," Mary turned on her heel, calling over her shoulder. "I've got WiFi."
"Hey," John said, in a voice so stern it made Mary pause in her steps. She glanced back at him. "Come back. After."
Mary smiled at him. "Of course, John. Where else have I got to go?"
And with that she went out the door.
"Wifi?" Freya asked, still in her comforter.
"Everyone dressed! Freya, you'll be actual-baby sitter. John, you're on Brandon duty. Keep him out of the drinks," Sherlock said. "I- will attempt to make nice.. with the girl."
***
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Spencer's knees scraped the floor, arms and hands numb as blood trailed down the slashes left on his back. Whip marks over welts, paddle imprints over reed cane. His face even ached from open handed hits. His chest felt like a carving board. He whimpered when he heard the cage door swing open, but he still tried to push himself to his feet - defiant - even if he couldn't stand to open his eyes.
"Steady him, I'll work on the locks," a female voice whispered. "Don't let him drop."
"Anywhere I touch is going to hurt," the deeper male voice echoed. Spencer almost cried when he felt warm hands touch his waist.
"No! No, no," he begged. "Stop!"
"Shh, shh, Spencer," the woman soothed. "You must calm yourself. We're taking you home." The chains clinked together, metal links scratching together. "Ah, good old-fashioned. None of that digital nonsense."
Spencer's eyes were puffy and clouded from tears. Strong arms and a familiar scent enveloped him.
"Got it?" Jack whispered.
"Jah-"
"Shhh."
Mary's fingers were quick at the locks. There were several, holding the boy up. As the last one popped open, the chains sagged. "There, there. Do you need me to take him, Jack?"
"Yeah, can you?," Jack said. "I'll take point. We'll have to go back out another way, in case there's more security who gets across the ones we took out."
"It's not a problem, I'm equi- I'm stronger," she said, ducking under Spencer's arm, hand wrapped around his waist. She could've cried from the relief of touching him again. "You are so grounded, darling. Not even a question."
"Mum?" Spencer whimpered, trying to open his eyes. He hiccuped slightly, tears streaming what they could.
"Yeah, yeah, reunion later. Out of here first," Jack said, gun back in hand. "This way."
Jack took her around a zigzag way, checking once in awhile when Spencer's soft cries turned into sharp hisses or moans. Finally they broke out from the underground, hope was welling up in his chest as they neared the door. Just beyond, their car waited - safety, freedom.
Jack held open the heavy industrial door for Mary and Spencer.
"Go, go," he urged.
Mary half-dragged Spencer out the door, trying to keep him upright. "Come on, darling, come along. We're almost-"
"Free?" Jim said, sitting like a fashion model on the hood of the car. His brows rose quickly. "Oh. Ooohhh!" His voice rose. "Oh, this is precious."
Jack had his gun trained on the madman's head before the press of a pistol to his head made him freeze. The brunette from the club had him pinned.
"Mary," Jim said, rolling his head as he slipped off the car. "Mary, Mary, darling."
Mary blinked. "Jack, is he-"
"Real," Jack gritted out.
Jim laughed, pulling a gun from his jacket, shooting Mary in the shoulder supporting Spencer.
With a grunt, she fell forward, dropping her son on the ground. Her hand started to twitch uncontrollably. It hurt. She hadn't expected it to feel so real the first time she was injured, it was a shock. "No- k-killed you-"
"Unfortunately darling, not well enough," Jim said, stepping closer.
Spencer panted as the cold ground made him shake. Jim pointed his gun at Spencer.
"You didn't think he'd just hand me off like a lost puppy, did you, princess?" Jim said, tsking. "But it looks like you're dead."
Mary tried to scramble over Spencer's body, a blood-like substance oozing from her wound. Systems were shutting down quickly, protecting the core. "N-No. N-not possible. J-Jim-"
"He's got old, Mare," Jack said. "Look at him!"
"Pissant, kill him!" Jim snarled.
"No!" Mary shouted, but she couldn't bring herself to tear away from Spencer. Her legs felt like they were locked in place. "W-what do you want? What g-good is his death?"
Jim knelt down, drawing close to Mary.
"What good was mine? Oh, you did well, Mary love, you did well, but Sebastian? Over me?" Jim said, twirling upright as he spun, turning back to glare. "And the great detective!? WERE YOU HAPPY?"
"Y-you- system error read 6766603 dash 2," Mary said, eyes twitching. Her hand continued to twitch and her gaze became unfocused. "J-James-"
Jim tsked. "She's broken," he sighed, like a favorite toy had become useless. "Run away, little boys. Take your dolly with you." His leather shoes scraped the ground as he passed Jack, still being held hostage. "Oh, and tell Sherlock, I'm baaack," he sang, waggling his finger in the air. "Down, Candy."
Jack darted to Mary as the two walked out of sight.
"Mary, Mare-" he said, cupping her face. "You're bleeding."
Her eye twitched. "Spencer, take, take, take, take, Spencer, home, error. Erro-"
And then her eyes rolled up into the back of her head, and her body went limp. Jack caught her before she landed on the poor boy. He managed to get them both into the car, Mary feeling lighter than she ought to. He linked into the car's voice to text system, finding out where everyone was. It seemed Sherlock had ignored even his own orders and gathered everyone at Finch's apartment as it was better fortified than Baker Street.
John was waiting at the door, hands stretched out for his son. "We've set up the big bedroom for him, sterilized everything. Should we take him to the hospital?"
"You'd know better than me, doc," Jack said. "I'd say stitch him up here, but we didn't do hospitals. I need a.. doctor, a mechanic, and a computer programmer. Mary's been shot."
Seb was shoving past them to the car.
"Get them both in, we'll decide what to do," John said, grunting under the weight of his son. "Sherlock!"
Brandon was the one who stepped forward, assisting John in half-carrying the boy. His eyes were glazed with tears. "Fuck, you moron, you stupid kid- if you die-"
"He better not," John muttered.
Spencer furrowed his bloodied brow. "No' all my," he managed to get out.
"Shh, don't talk, it looks like you've damn near broke your jaw," John instructed, propping Spencer up with some pillows on the clean bedding. He started working an IV into the boy's arm, a makeshift stand mounted on the wall. "Bran, go get some water, for drinking and for washing. He's filthy."
"Yes, Dr. John," Bran said, turning to rush from the room.
Spencer reached for his Dad, gripping John's shirt sleeve harder than he ought to.
"It's alright, Spencer, you're alright. I won't let anything happen to you," John promised, smoothing his hands over his son's hair.
"Dah," Spencer said. "Jmm."
Sherlock was hovering in the doorway."What did he say?"
"I believe he said 'Jim'," Mary's voice came from his back pocket. Sherlock picked up his phone.
"Mary?" he said, looking bewildered. Spencer nodded his head, letting his hand fall and his puffy eyes fall closed. Everything hurt, even the bed. "What does he mean 'Jim'? You know you, erm, your body is down."
"I've got video," Mary's voice said. "I was shot, in the arm. Someone will be along to fix it, the system shut down. It's flawed that way. Shock sends it spiraling into panic mode." The screen came to life with the events in the alley, sound muted, through Mary's eyes.
"Doesn't seem like the sort of thing that would've been a good idea going to rescue our son," Sherlock said, watching the screen. "Wait, rewind-"
"It's not a trick," Mary said, pausing the frame. The image of Jim wavered, her emotions interfering with her playback. "It's him."
"You shot him," Sherlock breathed. "Seb-"
"I buried him," Sebastian filled in. "How's Spence?"
The phone switched off.
The doorbell rang.
"He's fine in John's capable hands," Sherlock said, both of the men heading for the door. Jack was going to open it.
"Wait," Sebastian said, pulling out his gun. "Alright."
Jack rolled his eyes, and opened the door.
The man standing there had been dead for several years, but his smirk and quirked eyebrows were still in tact, though his features were more youthful than they'd been at his funeral. In Mycroft's trademark silky tones, he said, "I believe you need something fixed?"
"Piss off, Mycrof-"
"Shut up, Sherlock," Sebastian said. "Yes. Please. Her arm is badly damaged."
"If you would, lead the way," Mycroft angled his head, a small plastic bag in his hand.
"She's on the sofa," he said, leading him the short distance. "We've got a young kid in the other room, and Spencer in the master. Is the fluid running her toxic?"
"Not particularly," Mycroft hummed, looking around the apartment with disdain. He knelt next to the sofa, taking instruments from the bag, as well as what looked to be a small cooler. He began to work.
"You're doing it wrong," Mary quipped from Sherlock's back pocket.
"Would you care to have a go?" Mycroft sneered back, his magnifying goggles letting him see into the inner workings of the body in front of him. "If you're going to go rogue, you should really learn to repair yourself."
"If you're going to continue body snatching, I suggest warning people before you turn them into monsters!" Mary snapped.
"Mary, behave," Sherlock said into his phone. "Spencer got doused in your life juice. Seb was right to ask."
"Mr. Holmes," Vance said, poking his head out of the hall. "Mr. Seb?"
Mycroft tugged the bullet out in a less than gentle fashion before starting a tool that appeared to be a miniature battery-operated welder. Sherlock was leaning in to watch, but Sebastian turned, pushing Vance back into the hall.
"Children back in their rooms," Seb said.
"I'm twenty-s-"
"Aluminum skeleton?" Sherlock asked, clutching his phone. "How do you bring the mind over?"
"Classified, I'm afraid," Mycroft replied coolly, but Mary's voice answered, "Machine. Reanimates dead tissue and-"
"Shut up," Mycroft hissed, welding wires together in her shoulder. "I'll replace the pseudo-flesh next, you'll have to keep it clean and dry for a week for the life compound to seal itself."
"Blood. You could at least use words they understand," Mary said, this time her eyes opening, turning to look at him. "Or ones I do."
"If only healing humans were quite so easy," Sherlock muttered, thinking of his son.
"Yes," Mary whispered, biting her lip. She watched Mycroft peel the moist tissue-like substance from wax paper in the cooler, cutting a piece to fit the hole the bullet had left in her shoulder. What he hadn't managed to repair would knit itself back together, she was already receiving system updates that indicated as much. "I hate this."
"I know," Mycroft said happily.
"I believe the reason was worth it," Sherlock said. "Are you finished?"
"I am. You know, my dear, if you would return to the lab, we could-"
"No," Mary ground out, trying to push herself up to sit. Frizzy, filthy hair tumbled around her face. "I'm not coming back for you to poke at me. Especially after what I've seen tonight."
"No, tonight, you're going to explain yourself, brother dear," Sherlock said acidically, turning the frozen mobile phone towards Mycroft. "Why has my son been tortured by a dead man? A dead man who is very much alive."
Mycroft sighed, sitting next to Mary on the sofa, who immediately shifted away from him. "She shot a duplicate. The real one had too much information to hand over so easily, regardless of the agreements. He was in prison until recently. Released into the wild, as it were."
"So why not snatch his brain?" Sherlock seethed.
"Cos they couldn't do it," Vance said, stepping out of the shadows. "Evenin', Miz Mary."
Mary started to say something but then her jaw clicked back closed. "Hello, Vance. How are you, darling?"
"Worried somethin' fierce. Spence doesn't look too great, and Finch is worryin'. I won't let her look at him til Doc gets him patched up," Vance said. "Why didn' they just put him down when they were through? It's been long enough. Man can't survive on the outside after this long. They always gettin' locked back up."
"There was a small miscalculation-"
Mary interrupted Mycroft, "He escaped."
"I didn't say that," Mycroft told her. Mary shivered, standing up, rubbing her hands over her arms.
"It's what you meant, isn't it?" Mary asked, trying to keep her voice low. "He's not going to stop at just some clubs, Mycroft. And I'm not going to leave them to go looking for him. It's not safe."
"No one asked you to," he replied smoothly.
"Oh, but you know I want to. I hate you. I hate what you do to me," Mary said, turning her back on him.
Vance's shoulders tensed and he crossed the living room.
"Sir, I'mma have to be askin' you to leave now," he said.
"I understand. Of course, I'm more their family then you are," Mycroft said, gliding towards the door. He glanced back at Mary with a Cheshire cat smile on his face. "Do protect yourself, my dear. You are fully functional."
Vance opened the door, staring as he watched the stranger leave them. If the door was shut a bit hard - well, it wasn't his fault.
"You're not goin' after him," he said.
"You don't even know what we're talking about," Mary scolded. She paced restlessly. "I failed. I failed at my entire life. This is what failure looks like. I can't even stay properly dead."
"I 'magine there're people who are happy about that," Vance replied.
Sherlock though, usually many steps ahead, was still niggling over Mycroft's words. "Fully functional."
"I couldn't protect my family when they needed it. I unsuccessfully killed the absolute most psychopathic man I've ever met," Mary griped back at Vance, before noticing movement in the hall. Finch stood there, watching the whole conversation with wide eyes. Mary looked back at Vance. "I'm apparently the worst at keeping secrets."
"Mum?" Finch asked. Bran was behind her shaking his head.
"No, it's that girl-"
"No it isn't," Vance said. "Go back to your boyfriend. We're doing business. Finch, you were supposed to stay in our room."
Freya had Liam on her hip. "Sorry, he had to pee," she said sheepishly.
"It's alright." Mary smiled at the little boy. "He's gotten bigger."
"B-But she's dead," Finch said, reaching out for her mother, a single hand in the air. Vance caught it, turning to block off Mary from her daughter.
"Not as such," he murmured as Freya slipped around them to bring Liam over to Mary. "Don't get attached or involved, bird. We're not as safe as we thought we were."
"Mum-"
"It's alright, Finch," Mary said, raising her green eyes to meet her child's. They could've been twins. "Nothing to stress over. Your uncle just did a bit of necromancy and-"
Finch had pulled away from Vance, pulling Mary in for a tight hug. Mary looked surprised, but she patted the child on the back. Finch sniffled on her shoulder, "You're the stupid slag Papa has been shagging? We were going to break you up!"
"I'd be most grateful if you didn't, sweetheart," Mary murmured, rocking her gently with her good arm. "There's a girl, now, go in and say hello to your brother."
Freya laughed. "I just wanted to see you too, Mare," she said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Hasn't he gotten so big?" She hefted Liam up. He rubbed at his eye. "Gone a bit quiet since Spencer disappeared, but we didn't want to frighten him. Can you say hello, lovey?"
"Hello, Liam! Have you learned any more colors?" Mary asked, patting Finch again before the pregnant girl wandered in the direction of Spencer's makeshift hospital room. She picked up one of his little hands. "How are you, Batman?"
"Mare-mare?" Liam asked, head tilted.
Sherlock gasped in the background, lighting striking.
Liam stuck out his arms, wanting Mary. Freya had to catch him. "Easy love, she's got a boo-boo," she said. "How bout you give her a kiss g'night?" She looked at Mary. "He's terribly sleepy, but none of us could rest."
Mary gave him a soft kiss, trying to smile for him. "Go on, go with Free now. I'll come visit really soon, alright?" Promises could be made to children who would forget them anyway.
"Mkay, Mare-mare," Liam said, giving her a sleepy smile. Vance brushed the boy's fly-away hair as Freya carried him away.
Sherlock padded the distance to stare at Mary. "Fully functional?" he repeated. "That cannot possibly be possible."
"Sherlock, we have problems here, I don't have time for you to experiment with how long I can go without food or air. Here's a hint- it's a while," Mary said, blinking at him.
"He meant children!" Sherlock hissed. "Have you used an ounce of protection while you were...?" He made frustrated wild hand gestures that Vance made confused faces at.
"I don't even want to know what that gesture means, and I'd like to give that second one a shot," Mary said, blushing as sweetly as Finch usually did. "But Sherlock, I'm -" her lips pulled tight and she forced herself to say the word in a low, low voice, "I'm a robot. We don't have babies."
Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mary, while I realize I love you and you have been in our lives for a very, very long time, you have yet to truly learn to speak Holmesian," he said. "That is precisely what he meant. You aren't simply a machine, but some sort of mixture of biological matter and electronics. It would be just like him to make that full functional, the pervert."
Vance bit his finger trying not to laugh at the two of them. If he'd had questions about whether it was really Mary or just a good simulation, he was certain now.
Mary's teeth clenched tight and she seethed while trying to count backwards in her head to keep from killing him. "Sherlock. That would be impossible. Really consider the idea with logic. Besides, I doubt if I could get- I'm not even saying that because it's not true- it would probably have to be with Mycroft. I doubt just a human male would work."
Sherlock's face turned into a mask of horror.
"Ew!" he said, flailing off. "Tea! I need tea!"
Vance burst into heaving chuckles, eyes almost teary with emotion as he took over Sherlock's spot. "Scuse me, Miz Mary," he said, wrapping her in his strong arms. Mary smiled, hugging him back.
"I missed you, too," she whispered.
"I know you feel responsible, m'um, but I'm the Moriarty now. Alive, dead, robot or ghost, you're retired. Besides, I got a family to protect too," Vance said. "I'll need your help with a plan, but the rest of them are goin' right back to the cottage where they belong. I migh' send Finch with you if she doesn't listen more." He scowled.
"I should like to see you try," Mary chuckled, feeling misty like she should cry only she didn't think she had enough extra liquid. "To send Finch, I mean. I-I will have to go to the cottage with them. They're so much... older. They need protecting, too. I would be happy to help you plan, but Vance, you're one of mine. Don't get killed. I can't bring everyone back, you know."
Vance shook his head. "I don't want coming back," he said, taking her hands.
"Me either," Sherlock said, a cup of steaming tea in his hand. "Here. I imagine you need something. You do drink."
"I didn't want coming back either, if I might point that out. Again," Mary whispered, feeling like her current state was something she should be ashamed of. She took the tea from Sherlock. "Thank you. I lost fluid during the shooting."
"Can you make sure-" Sherlock said, looking guilty. He looked back to the hall. "Neither John or I come back?"
Mary's expression turned sour and she very nearly threw her tea at him. She gave him a stiff smile, heading for the front door. "Yes, Sherlock, whatever you desire. I'm going out for air. Go check on your flesh and blood son."
"Our son," Sherlock corrected.
Vance shook his head at the older man, following Mary out to talk with her.
Spencer was finally resembling less of a slasher fixture and more of a human being. He was finally warm, but he was still shivering.
"Dad, f-fl-saline's cold," he complained.
"You'll survive," John replied, checking the bandages again before letting Abby perch on the edge of the bed next to Finch. "Careful, girls, don't shake him. He's broken a lot of ribs, he'll have to stay very still."
Spencer scowled, waving him off to reach for Abby with bandaged fingers. Only one of which was broken, but his wrists were wrapped to hide the raw skin.
"You are in so much trouble," Abby whispered, her voice crackling under stress. "We was all so worried over it. Liam wouldn't even sleep 'cause you wasn't there."
"Sorry," Spencer rasped. He looked at John. "Mum?"
"Are- Are we still calling her Ari or are we all on the same page now?" John asked, looking to Sherlock for answers.
"We know. I don't understand it, but we all know- well, except Bran but I expect he's sorted most of it. You want me to get her?" Finch offered.
"Yeah," Spencer said, holding Abby's hand. "Stop hoverin' like I'm dead," he complained, jaw aching. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.
"You nearly were, kid," Jack said, sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed.
"We were sure you weren't comin' 'ome, Spence," Abby whispered, squeezing his hand. "Don't you dare tell us not to hover. We earned hoverin' privileges while we was waitin' for you."
"Quite," John agreed, checking for the thousandth time that Spencer's bandages were in place.
Spencer hissed. "Dad, hurts," he whined. "Water would be better'n poking at me. Where's Mum?"
"She's coming," Seb laughed. "She got a bit banged up, too."
"Know that," Spencer did his best to glare. Mary appeared in the door, leaving Finch and Vance in the hall for a moment of privacy.
"You asked for me?" Mary said, looking shy at all the people in the room. All the people who suddenly knew something she'd tried to keep secret.
"Mum," Spencer sobbed out, starting to cry again, tears sliding out his eyes. His chest spasmed as his sudden movement jarred his ribs. "Ow."
"Shh, don't fuss, Spencer, John worked very hard patching you up," Mary said, rushing for him, fluttering around him. She wiped the tears from his face, perching gingerly next to him. "Don't cry, sweetheart, don't cry. You don't even know if I'm your Mum. I'm just a very nice copy, don't cry, please-"
Spencer grabbed her hand with his free one, pulling it to the side of his face that was less beaten.
"I know," he said, sniffing. "What took you so long?"
"You were very well hidden," Mary replied, her thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. "I only have so much processing power, and then we had to kill ever so many guards-"
"No, meant comin' back," Spencer said.
Mary swallowed, blinking at him. She carefully leaned forward and put her head on his shoulder, hardly touching him. "Hell was loathe to let me go. They waited so long to get me."
"Missed you, Mum," Spencer whispered. "Don' leave. I hurt."
"I'm not going anywhere just yet," Mary promised, feeling Finch settle behind her, rubbing her back. "Try and get some sleep. We'll be here when you wake up."
Spencer tried to nod, sighing. He tugged at Abby to lay down beside him, eyes closing and breathing evening out.
Seb nodded, as though satisfied a job well done. He leaned down to his wife and daughter. "C'mon you two," he said. "We all need rest. Is there still a bed in Jack's shanty?"
"It was a perfectly respectable flat," Jack countered with a scowl.
"Without a door or kitchen?"
Jack rolled his eyes.
"He spent most of his time in our room anyway," Mary sighed, fingers reaching for Seb's. "A moment in the hall, if you please?"
"Let me go make sure Thad isn't asleep on that bed. He can kip on the floor so you and Mum can have it-" Finch wandered down the hall in search of the missing lover.
Seb held Mary's hand as he let her lead him outside. It was hard to find privacy in the crowded flat. Once the door closed, she turned to hug him fiercely, rubbing her cheek over his clothes, trying to crawl into him.
"He was angry, at us, oh, oh Seb, Sherlock said the most wretched things and Jim, and I just don't even feel human. Everyone's so happy to see me but no one would want it for themselves, I feel dirty," Mary said in a gush of words. "Filthier than I ever did hooking or killing. Why aren't I the same? Why couldn't I just be the same?"
Sebastian turned, huddling her against a wall. He ducked his head, nuzzling into her hair, her skin, her body, "I want it," he murmured. "I'll be very cross if you leave me behind."
"You should let me be in front. He might try to kill you. I failed to protect you once, I'm not failing again," Mary swore, fingers twisting through his hair, petting and smoothing. "I won't leave you behind. You're mine."
"Yours," Seb promised, kissing her deeply. "We'll get him this time, for real, and then we'll have all the time in the world."
"And where do I get off on this?" Jack said, sulking on the opposite wall.
"She can put you in an mp3 player," Seb snorted. Mary reached for Jack.
"Sherlock was so cruel," Mary complained. "I find I don't like him as much in this lifetime as I did in the last."
"You didn't really like him in the last," Jack said, moving from one wall to the other. He huffed when Seb pulled him into the hug, still playing up the embarrassment of it.
"Love doesn't make sense, Mary," Seb murmured. "But loyalty does. We're with you. Forever."
"And ever," Jack snorted. "Alright mushy faces, I've had one too many guns pointed at me today. Find our bed?"
"Mmm," Mary hummed in agreement, knowing she wouldn't sleep. But she'd watch them sleep, and that was alright. "You know, Sherlock thinks I can have children. We should try sometime."
"We can try all you like," Jack teased.
"Enough, Jack," Seb said, shoving him off a bit before taking Mary by the elbow, heading back for Jack's old space. "We've got enough children to worry about for one night."
"Alright, old man," Jack snickered.
"Steady him, I'll work on the locks," a female voice whispered. "Don't let him drop."
"Anywhere I touch is going to hurt," the deeper male voice echoed. Spencer almost cried when he felt warm hands touch his waist.
"No! No, no," he begged. "Stop!"
"Shh, shh, Spencer," the woman soothed. "You must calm yourself. We're taking you home." The chains clinked together, metal links scratching together. "Ah, good old-fashioned. None of that digital nonsense."
Spencer's eyes were puffy and clouded from tears. Strong arms and a familiar scent enveloped him.
"Got it?" Jack whispered.
"Jah-"
"Shhh."
Mary's fingers were quick at the locks. There were several, holding the boy up. As the last one popped open, the chains sagged. "There, there. Do you need me to take him, Jack?"
"Yeah, can you?," Jack said. "I'll take point. We'll have to go back out another way, in case there's more security who gets across the ones we took out."
"It's not a problem, I'm equi- I'm stronger," she said, ducking under Spencer's arm, hand wrapped around his waist. She could've cried from the relief of touching him again. "You are so grounded, darling. Not even a question."
"Mum?" Spencer whimpered, trying to open his eyes. He hiccuped slightly, tears streaming what they could.
"Yeah, yeah, reunion later. Out of here first," Jack said, gun back in hand. "This way."
Jack took her around a zigzag way, checking once in awhile when Spencer's soft cries turned into sharp hisses or moans. Finally they broke out from the underground, hope was welling up in his chest as they neared the door. Just beyond, their car waited - safety, freedom.
Jack held open the heavy industrial door for Mary and Spencer.
"Go, go," he urged.
Mary half-dragged Spencer out the door, trying to keep him upright. "Come on, darling, come along. We're almost-"
"Free?" Jim said, sitting like a fashion model on the hood of the car. His brows rose quickly. "Oh. Ooohhh!" His voice rose. "Oh, this is precious."
Jack had his gun trained on the madman's head before the press of a pistol to his head made him freeze. The brunette from the club had him pinned.
"Mary," Jim said, rolling his head as he slipped off the car. "Mary, Mary, darling."
Mary blinked. "Jack, is he-"
"Real," Jack gritted out.
Jim laughed, pulling a gun from his jacket, shooting Mary in the shoulder supporting Spencer.
With a grunt, she fell forward, dropping her son on the ground. Her hand started to twitch uncontrollably. It hurt. She hadn't expected it to feel so real the first time she was injured, it was a shock. "No- k-killed you-"
"Unfortunately darling, not well enough," Jim said, stepping closer.
Spencer panted as the cold ground made him shake. Jim pointed his gun at Spencer.
"You didn't think he'd just hand me off like a lost puppy, did you, princess?" Jim said, tsking. "But it looks like you're dead."
Mary tried to scramble over Spencer's body, a blood-like substance oozing from her wound. Systems were shutting down quickly, protecting the core. "N-No. N-not possible. J-Jim-"
"He's got old, Mare," Jack said. "Look at him!"
"Pissant, kill him!" Jim snarled.
"No!" Mary shouted, but she couldn't bring herself to tear away from Spencer. Her legs felt like they were locked in place. "W-what do you want? What g-good is his death?"
Jim knelt down, drawing close to Mary.
"What good was mine? Oh, you did well, Mary love, you did well, but Sebastian? Over me?" Jim said, twirling upright as he spun, turning back to glare. "And the great detective!? WERE YOU HAPPY?"
"Y-you- system error read 6766603 dash 2," Mary said, eyes twitching. Her hand continued to twitch and her gaze became unfocused. "J-James-"
Jim tsked. "She's broken," he sighed, like a favorite toy had become useless. "Run away, little boys. Take your dolly with you." His leather shoes scraped the ground as he passed Jack, still being held hostage. "Oh, and tell Sherlock, I'm baaack," he sang, waggling his finger in the air. "Down, Candy."
Jack darted to Mary as the two walked out of sight.
"Mary, Mare-" he said, cupping her face. "You're bleeding."
Her eye twitched. "Spencer, take, take, take, take, Spencer, home, error. Erro-"
And then her eyes rolled up into the back of her head, and her body went limp. Jack caught her before she landed on the poor boy. He managed to get them both into the car, Mary feeling lighter than she ought to. He linked into the car's voice to text system, finding out where everyone was. It seemed Sherlock had ignored even his own orders and gathered everyone at Finch's apartment as it was better fortified than Baker Street.
John was waiting at the door, hands stretched out for his son. "We've set up the big bedroom for him, sterilized everything. Should we take him to the hospital?"
"You'd know better than me, doc," Jack said. "I'd say stitch him up here, but we didn't do hospitals. I need a.. doctor, a mechanic, and a computer programmer. Mary's been shot."
Seb was shoving past them to the car.
"Get them both in, we'll decide what to do," John said, grunting under the weight of his son. "Sherlock!"
Brandon was the one who stepped forward, assisting John in half-carrying the boy. His eyes were glazed with tears. "Fuck, you moron, you stupid kid- if you die-"
"He better not," John muttered.
Spencer furrowed his bloodied brow. "No' all my," he managed to get out.
"Shh, don't talk, it looks like you've damn near broke your jaw," John instructed, propping Spencer up with some pillows on the clean bedding. He started working an IV into the boy's arm, a makeshift stand mounted on the wall. "Bran, go get some water, for drinking and for washing. He's filthy."
"Yes, Dr. John," Bran said, turning to rush from the room.
Spencer reached for his Dad, gripping John's shirt sleeve harder than he ought to.
"It's alright, Spencer, you're alright. I won't let anything happen to you," John promised, smoothing his hands over his son's hair.
"Dah," Spencer said. "Jmm."
Sherlock was hovering in the doorway."What did he say?"
"I believe he said 'Jim'," Mary's voice came from his back pocket. Sherlock picked up his phone.
"Mary?" he said, looking bewildered. Spencer nodded his head, letting his hand fall and his puffy eyes fall closed. Everything hurt, even the bed. "What does he mean 'Jim'? You know you, erm, your body is down."
"I've got video," Mary's voice said. "I was shot, in the arm. Someone will be along to fix it, the system shut down. It's flawed that way. Shock sends it spiraling into panic mode." The screen came to life with the events in the alley, sound muted, through Mary's eyes.
"Doesn't seem like the sort of thing that would've been a good idea going to rescue our son," Sherlock said, watching the screen. "Wait, rewind-"
"It's not a trick," Mary said, pausing the frame. The image of Jim wavered, her emotions interfering with her playback. "It's him."
"You shot him," Sherlock breathed. "Seb-"
"I buried him," Sebastian filled in. "How's Spence?"
The phone switched off.
The doorbell rang.
"He's fine in John's capable hands," Sherlock said, both of the men heading for the door. Jack was going to open it.
"Wait," Sebastian said, pulling out his gun. "Alright."
Jack rolled his eyes, and opened the door.
The man standing there had been dead for several years, but his smirk and quirked eyebrows were still in tact, though his features were more youthful than they'd been at his funeral. In Mycroft's trademark silky tones, he said, "I believe you need something fixed?"
"Piss off, Mycrof-"
"Shut up, Sherlock," Sebastian said. "Yes. Please. Her arm is badly damaged."
"If you would, lead the way," Mycroft angled his head, a small plastic bag in his hand.
"She's on the sofa," he said, leading him the short distance. "We've got a young kid in the other room, and Spencer in the master. Is the fluid running her toxic?"
"Not particularly," Mycroft hummed, looking around the apartment with disdain. He knelt next to the sofa, taking instruments from the bag, as well as what looked to be a small cooler. He began to work.
"You're doing it wrong," Mary quipped from Sherlock's back pocket.
"Would you care to have a go?" Mycroft sneered back, his magnifying goggles letting him see into the inner workings of the body in front of him. "If you're going to go rogue, you should really learn to repair yourself."
"If you're going to continue body snatching, I suggest warning people before you turn them into monsters!" Mary snapped.
"Mary, behave," Sherlock said into his phone. "Spencer got doused in your life juice. Seb was right to ask."
"Mr. Holmes," Vance said, poking his head out of the hall. "Mr. Seb?"
Mycroft tugged the bullet out in a less than gentle fashion before starting a tool that appeared to be a miniature battery-operated welder. Sherlock was leaning in to watch, but Sebastian turned, pushing Vance back into the hall.
"Children back in their rooms," Seb said.
"I'm twenty-s-"
"Aluminum skeleton?" Sherlock asked, clutching his phone. "How do you bring the mind over?"
"Classified, I'm afraid," Mycroft replied coolly, but Mary's voice answered, "Machine. Reanimates dead tissue and-"
"Shut up," Mycroft hissed, welding wires together in her shoulder. "I'll replace the pseudo-flesh next, you'll have to keep it clean and dry for a week for the life compound to seal itself."
"Blood. You could at least use words they understand," Mary said, this time her eyes opening, turning to look at him. "Or ones I do."
"If only healing humans were quite so easy," Sherlock muttered, thinking of his son.
"Yes," Mary whispered, biting her lip. She watched Mycroft peel the moist tissue-like substance from wax paper in the cooler, cutting a piece to fit the hole the bullet had left in her shoulder. What he hadn't managed to repair would knit itself back together, she was already receiving system updates that indicated as much. "I hate this."
"I know," Mycroft said happily.
"I believe the reason was worth it," Sherlock said. "Are you finished?"
"I am. You know, my dear, if you would return to the lab, we could-"
"No," Mary ground out, trying to push herself up to sit. Frizzy, filthy hair tumbled around her face. "I'm not coming back for you to poke at me. Especially after what I've seen tonight."
"No, tonight, you're going to explain yourself, brother dear," Sherlock said acidically, turning the frozen mobile phone towards Mycroft. "Why has my son been tortured by a dead man? A dead man who is very much alive."
Mycroft sighed, sitting next to Mary on the sofa, who immediately shifted away from him. "She shot a duplicate. The real one had too much information to hand over so easily, regardless of the agreements. He was in prison until recently. Released into the wild, as it were."
"So why not snatch his brain?" Sherlock seethed.
"Cos they couldn't do it," Vance said, stepping out of the shadows. "Evenin', Miz Mary."
Mary started to say something but then her jaw clicked back closed. "Hello, Vance. How are you, darling?"
"Worried somethin' fierce. Spence doesn't look too great, and Finch is worryin'. I won't let her look at him til Doc gets him patched up," Vance said. "Why didn' they just put him down when they were through? It's been long enough. Man can't survive on the outside after this long. They always gettin' locked back up."
"There was a small miscalculation-"
Mary interrupted Mycroft, "He escaped."
"I didn't say that," Mycroft told her. Mary shivered, standing up, rubbing her hands over her arms.
"It's what you meant, isn't it?" Mary asked, trying to keep her voice low. "He's not going to stop at just some clubs, Mycroft. And I'm not going to leave them to go looking for him. It's not safe."
"No one asked you to," he replied smoothly.
"Oh, but you know I want to. I hate you. I hate what you do to me," Mary said, turning her back on him.
Vance's shoulders tensed and he crossed the living room.
"Sir, I'mma have to be askin' you to leave now," he said.
"I understand. Of course, I'm more their family then you are," Mycroft said, gliding towards the door. He glanced back at Mary with a Cheshire cat smile on his face. "Do protect yourself, my dear. You are fully functional."
Vance opened the door, staring as he watched the stranger leave them. If the door was shut a bit hard - well, it wasn't his fault.
"You're not goin' after him," he said.
"You don't even know what we're talking about," Mary scolded. She paced restlessly. "I failed. I failed at my entire life. This is what failure looks like. I can't even stay properly dead."
"I 'magine there're people who are happy about that," Vance replied.
Sherlock though, usually many steps ahead, was still niggling over Mycroft's words. "Fully functional."
"I couldn't protect my family when they needed it. I unsuccessfully killed the absolute most psychopathic man I've ever met," Mary griped back at Vance, before noticing movement in the hall. Finch stood there, watching the whole conversation with wide eyes. Mary looked back at Vance. "I'm apparently the worst at keeping secrets."
"Mum?" Finch asked. Bran was behind her shaking his head.
"No, it's that girl-"
"No it isn't," Vance said. "Go back to your boyfriend. We're doing business. Finch, you were supposed to stay in our room."
Freya had Liam on her hip. "Sorry, he had to pee," she said sheepishly.
"It's alright." Mary smiled at the little boy. "He's gotten bigger."
"B-But she's dead," Finch said, reaching out for her mother, a single hand in the air. Vance caught it, turning to block off Mary from her daughter.
"Not as such," he murmured as Freya slipped around them to bring Liam over to Mary. "Don't get attached or involved, bird. We're not as safe as we thought we were."
"Mum-"
"It's alright, Finch," Mary said, raising her green eyes to meet her child's. They could've been twins. "Nothing to stress over. Your uncle just did a bit of necromancy and-"
Finch had pulled away from Vance, pulling Mary in for a tight hug. Mary looked surprised, but she patted the child on the back. Finch sniffled on her shoulder, "You're the stupid slag Papa has been shagging? We were going to break you up!"
"I'd be most grateful if you didn't, sweetheart," Mary murmured, rocking her gently with her good arm. "There's a girl, now, go in and say hello to your brother."
Freya laughed. "I just wanted to see you too, Mare," she said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Hasn't he gotten so big?" She hefted Liam up. He rubbed at his eye. "Gone a bit quiet since Spencer disappeared, but we didn't want to frighten him. Can you say hello, lovey?"
"Hello, Liam! Have you learned any more colors?" Mary asked, patting Finch again before the pregnant girl wandered in the direction of Spencer's makeshift hospital room. She picked up one of his little hands. "How are you, Batman?"
"Mare-mare?" Liam asked, head tilted.
Sherlock gasped in the background, lighting striking.
Liam stuck out his arms, wanting Mary. Freya had to catch him. "Easy love, she's got a boo-boo," she said. "How bout you give her a kiss g'night?" She looked at Mary. "He's terribly sleepy, but none of us could rest."
Mary gave him a soft kiss, trying to smile for him. "Go on, go with Free now. I'll come visit really soon, alright?" Promises could be made to children who would forget them anyway.
"Mkay, Mare-mare," Liam said, giving her a sleepy smile. Vance brushed the boy's fly-away hair as Freya carried him away.
Sherlock padded the distance to stare at Mary. "Fully functional?" he repeated. "That cannot possibly be possible."
"Sherlock, we have problems here, I don't have time for you to experiment with how long I can go without food or air. Here's a hint- it's a while," Mary said, blinking at him.
"He meant children!" Sherlock hissed. "Have you used an ounce of protection while you were...?" He made frustrated wild hand gestures that Vance made confused faces at.
"I don't even want to know what that gesture means, and I'd like to give that second one a shot," Mary said, blushing as sweetly as Finch usually did. "But Sherlock, I'm -" her lips pulled tight and she forced herself to say the word in a low, low voice, "I'm a robot. We don't have babies."
Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mary, while I realize I love you and you have been in our lives for a very, very long time, you have yet to truly learn to speak Holmesian," he said. "That is precisely what he meant. You aren't simply a machine, but some sort of mixture of biological matter and electronics. It would be just like him to make that full functional, the pervert."
Vance bit his finger trying not to laugh at the two of them. If he'd had questions about whether it was really Mary or just a good simulation, he was certain now.
Mary's teeth clenched tight and she seethed while trying to count backwards in her head to keep from killing him. "Sherlock. That would be impossible. Really consider the idea with logic. Besides, I doubt if I could get- I'm not even saying that because it's not true- it would probably have to be with Mycroft. I doubt just a human male would work."
Sherlock's face turned into a mask of horror.
"Ew!" he said, flailing off. "Tea! I need tea!"
Vance burst into heaving chuckles, eyes almost teary with emotion as he took over Sherlock's spot. "Scuse me, Miz Mary," he said, wrapping her in his strong arms. Mary smiled, hugging him back.
"I missed you, too," she whispered.
"I know you feel responsible, m'um, but I'm the Moriarty now. Alive, dead, robot or ghost, you're retired. Besides, I got a family to protect too," Vance said. "I'll need your help with a plan, but the rest of them are goin' right back to the cottage where they belong. I migh' send Finch with you if she doesn't listen more." He scowled.
"I should like to see you try," Mary chuckled, feeling misty like she should cry only she didn't think she had enough extra liquid. "To send Finch, I mean. I-I will have to go to the cottage with them. They're so much... older. They need protecting, too. I would be happy to help you plan, but Vance, you're one of mine. Don't get killed. I can't bring everyone back, you know."
Vance shook his head. "I don't want coming back," he said, taking her hands.
"Me either," Sherlock said, a cup of steaming tea in his hand. "Here. I imagine you need something. You do drink."
"I didn't want coming back either, if I might point that out. Again," Mary whispered, feeling like her current state was something she should be ashamed of. She took the tea from Sherlock. "Thank you. I lost fluid during the shooting."
"Can you make sure-" Sherlock said, looking guilty. He looked back to the hall. "Neither John or I come back?"
Mary's expression turned sour and she very nearly threw her tea at him. She gave him a stiff smile, heading for the front door. "Yes, Sherlock, whatever you desire. I'm going out for air. Go check on your flesh and blood son."
"Our son," Sherlock corrected.
Vance shook his head at the older man, following Mary out to talk with her.
Spencer was finally resembling less of a slasher fixture and more of a human being. He was finally warm, but he was still shivering.
"Dad, f-fl-saline's cold," he complained.
"You'll survive," John replied, checking the bandages again before letting Abby perch on the edge of the bed next to Finch. "Careful, girls, don't shake him. He's broken a lot of ribs, he'll have to stay very still."
Spencer scowled, waving him off to reach for Abby with bandaged fingers. Only one of which was broken, but his wrists were wrapped to hide the raw skin.
"You are in so much trouble," Abby whispered, her voice crackling under stress. "We was all so worried over it. Liam wouldn't even sleep 'cause you wasn't there."
"Sorry," Spencer rasped. He looked at John. "Mum?"
"Are- Are we still calling her Ari or are we all on the same page now?" John asked, looking to Sherlock for answers.
"We know. I don't understand it, but we all know- well, except Bran but I expect he's sorted most of it. You want me to get her?" Finch offered.
"Yeah," Spencer said, holding Abby's hand. "Stop hoverin' like I'm dead," he complained, jaw aching. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.
"You nearly were, kid," Jack said, sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed.
"We were sure you weren't comin' 'ome, Spence," Abby whispered, squeezing his hand. "Don't you dare tell us not to hover. We earned hoverin' privileges while we was waitin' for you."
"Quite," John agreed, checking for the thousandth time that Spencer's bandages were in place.
Spencer hissed. "Dad, hurts," he whined. "Water would be better'n poking at me. Where's Mum?"
"She's coming," Seb laughed. "She got a bit banged up, too."
"Know that," Spencer did his best to glare. Mary appeared in the door, leaving Finch and Vance in the hall for a moment of privacy.
"You asked for me?" Mary said, looking shy at all the people in the room. All the people who suddenly knew something she'd tried to keep secret.
"Mum," Spencer sobbed out, starting to cry again, tears sliding out his eyes. His chest spasmed as his sudden movement jarred his ribs. "Ow."
"Shh, don't fuss, Spencer, John worked very hard patching you up," Mary said, rushing for him, fluttering around him. She wiped the tears from his face, perching gingerly next to him. "Don't cry, sweetheart, don't cry. You don't even know if I'm your Mum. I'm just a very nice copy, don't cry, please-"
Spencer grabbed her hand with his free one, pulling it to the side of his face that was less beaten.
"I know," he said, sniffing. "What took you so long?"
"You were very well hidden," Mary replied, her thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. "I only have so much processing power, and then we had to kill ever so many guards-"
"No, meant comin' back," Spencer said.
Mary swallowed, blinking at him. She carefully leaned forward and put her head on his shoulder, hardly touching him. "Hell was loathe to let me go. They waited so long to get me."
"Missed you, Mum," Spencer whispered. "Don' leave. I hurt."
"I'm not going anywhere just yet," Mary promised, feeling Finch settle behind her, rubbing her back. "Try and get some sleep. We'll be here when you wake up."
Spencer tried to nod, sighing. He tugged at Abby to lay down beside him, eyes closing and breathing evening out.
Seb nodded, as though satisfied a job well done. He leaned down to his wife and daughter. "C'mon you two," he said. "We all need rest. Is there still a bed in Jack's shanty?"
"It was a perfectly respectable flat," Jack countered with a scowl.
"Without a door or kitchen?"
Jack rolled his eyes.
"He spent most of his time in our room anyway," Mary sighed, fingers reaching for Seb's. "A moment in the hall, if you please?"
"Let me go make sure Thad isn't asleep on that bed. He can kip on the floor so you and Mum can have it-" Finch wandered down the hall in search of the missing lover.
Seb held Mary's hand as he let her lead him outside. It was hard to find privacy in the crowded flat. Once the door closed, she turned to hug him fiercely, rubbing her cheek over his clothes, trying to crawl into him.
"He was angry, at us, oh, oh Seb, Sherlock said the most wretched things and Jim, and I just don't even feel human. Everyone's so happy to see me but no one would want it for themselves, I feel dirty," Mary said in a gush of words. "Filthier than I ever did hooking or killing. Why aren't I the same? Why couldn't I just be the same?"
Sebastian turned, huddling her against a wall. He ducked his head, nuzzling into her hair, her skin, her body, "I want it," he murmured. "I'll be very cross if you leave me behind."
"You should let me be in front. He might try to kill you. I failed to protect you once, I'm not failing again," Mary swore, fingers twisting through his hair, petting and smoothing. "I won't leave you behind. You're mine."
"Yours," Seb promised, kissing her deeply. "We'll get him this time, for real, and then we'll have all the time in the world."
"And where do I get off on this?" Jack said, sulking on the opposite wall.
"She can put you in an mp3 player," Seb snorted. Mary reached for Jack.
"Sherlock was so cruel," Mary complained. "I find I don't like him as much in this lifetime as I did in the last."
"You didn't really like him in the last," Jack said, moving from one wall to the other. He huffed when Seb pulled him into the hug, still playing up the embarrassment of it.
"Love doesn't make sense, Mary," Seb murmured. "But loyalty does. We're with you. Forever."
"And ever," Jack snorted. "Alright mushy faces, I've had one too many guns pointed at me today. Find our bed?"
"Mmm," Mary hummed in agreement, knowing she wouldn't sleep. But she'd watch them sleep, and that was alright. "You know, Sherlock thinks I can have children. We should try sometime."
"We can try all you like," Jack teased.
"Enough, Jack," Seb said, shoving him off a bit before taking Mary by the elbow, heading back for Jack's old space. "We've got enough children to worry about for one night."
"Alright, old man," Jack snickered.
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