The detective sat up in bed quickly, eyes wide in the darkness.
"John!"
"Speaking to me now, are we?" John mumbled, after he'd woken up. He'd never taken well to being startled awake, even though his reactions had softened over the years.
"She's not dead," Sherlock said, pulling back the covers.
Alright, Freya might've talked him into smoking quite a bit of their marijuana stash to calm him down, but he always worked best when high.
"Sherlock, please," John begged, his heart breaking at the hurtful words. He flopped back down onto his pillow, putting another one over his face. "Don't do this. It's too much."
"No - no, see you're all wrong," Sherlock said. "I've been dead before." He started rifling through his things. "Feel free to call me crazy, John, but trust me, she's not anymore dead now than she was when she left with Moriarty. Became Moriarty. She's not dead. No open casket? Strange, isn't it? For a woman so beloved? She died simply? No autopsy? Blasphemy!"
"Maybe," John said, voice dripping with acid and words muffled by his pillow, "it hurt too much to see her that way. She had a family, Sherlock, children. Or were you too engulfed in your own pain to notice our son was grieving for his mother!"
"You don't believe me," Sherlock said, straightening with a pair of old worn jeans. Something that he had only grown to love after they moved into the cottage. Messing about in the garden in couture trousers? No way.
"No, Sherlock, I don't believe you. What proof have you got that she's not dead?" John asked, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at the man. John had aged years in just a few short weeks since Mary's death. He missed her, even the crazy version of her, and his heart broke for the children. Especially Bran, the poor unfortunate soul. "We buried her, Sherlock. She's gone."
"She promised me!" Sherlock said, gripping the denim. "She bloody promised me! It was my choice, not hers and I haven't figured it out yet, but I know it. I'd know it!" He turned around to pull on the jeans. "I missed the clues."
"There are no clues, Sherlock," John said, trying to go back to sleep. His gray hair blended into the expensive blue-gray sheets on the bed. "I hate to see you like this. It's sick."
"I'm not sick," Sherlock said, voice dripping with acid. He slammed through drawers, hunting a plaid shirt and sweater. His coat - unfortunately a new style of Belstaff - was in the hall. "I've got research to do."
He was out of their room and into the den when a gun met him.
"What did you say?" Jack's voice, low and deadly, asked in the darkness.
"She's not dead."
"How?" Jack said, pointing the gun closer to Sherlock.
"I-" Sherlock started. "I don't know." He swallowed. He didn't know. He didn't have the science, the facts, the clues, only the gut feeling. "I don't know, but something is wrong."
"You're not convincing me, Holmes."
"Sebastian asked you to watch me."
"We're all meant to be watching."
"She isn't dead," Sherlock repeated with the belief of a man who would curse the existence of God to his dying day, but believed in his very bones that Mary Morstan, such as she was, was out there - somewhere.
***
Three weeks pass since his revelation. Sherlock asked for coroner's report - woefully lacking. Police write up. Mary's will. He pulled her old medical records, half of which were in Russian. More than half which didn't contain her real name. Even more that were [redacted].
He knew John was furious with him. It hurt that his lover didn't believe him. Maybe he was crazy, but - he just - needed.
He wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating. It was the case of a lifetime. Mary's lifetime.
There was a knock on the front door. Sherlock scowled, scrubbing at his face as he left the latest batch of notes to the side. He was wearing too much of a grey-brown-red stubble this morning. He opened the door anyway.
It was Mary. Well, the girl standing there was a perfect copy of Mary. Even more so than Finch. Right down to her freckles on her nose, the vibrant red hue of her hair, her pale skin and bright green eyes. Except she was young. Twenty at best. The girl gave him the same gorgeously bright smile. "Hello, I'm looking for a Mary Morstan."
Sherlock's eyes watered. He dropped to his knees, clinging to the door. He stared. She was so.. young. "Mary..." he breathed.
"Oh, um, yes, that's who I'm looking for. I'm Arabella, or, Ari, as they call me," the girl said, holding out her hand. "I'm her daughter."
Sherlock struggled back to his feet. He looked at her hand as though it were an alien thing. He reached out for it. "According to popular belief, Mary Morstan is dead," he said, stroking her hand - entirely inappropriately - marveling at the warmth.
"What a shame," the girl said, frowning. "I'd never met my mother. I should've liked to know her."
"Please," Sherlock said. "Come in-" he offered the door.
The girl's walk was ... Mary's. She looked around with curious eyes. Her graceful steps were the same as they had been before the late Mrs. Moran-Morstan-Holmes had her stroke. "What a charming place you have here. Do you live alone now that she's gone?"
"I'm flattered you assume I was hers," Sherlock replied. "No, Sebastian and Jack have gone to visit her- other daughter. John, my lover, is about somewhere. My watcher for today is Freya, Mary's best friend. You say you're her daughter - the likeness is - remarkable. May I ask, if an old man may, how old are you, darling?"
Ari flushed prettily (copycopycopy) and she grinned at him, nose wrinkling. "Sounds cozy, all of you living together. Especially in a time of need. I'm.." Ari frowned, like she was concentrating on something, puzzling it out, "twenty-two."
"Impossible," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "No offense, intended, but biologically, impossible."
"It isn't," Ari insisted with a darling smile. Her cheek even dimpled in the same place as... "I believe the word you're looking for is test-tube baby. My father had a sample of Mrs. Morstan's DNA and the rest is simple."
"Father?" Sherlock choked. "And who...?" His hands were shaking. She was like Mary had just stepped out of the past. Only without the memories of the touching of their lips, the mingling of their tears, their hearts- he shook his head.
"Um, Mr. Holmes, her late husband," the girl said, clasping her hands in front of her. She shrugged. "He wasn't very paternal. Handed me over to a scientist, a Mr. Algernon Desmond."
Sherlock barked out a laugh. "Mycroft!" he sneered. "Never touched her, still managed to-" His eyes were only off her a minute. "Mary-" He winced. "Arabelle. You look, very much like your mother." He moved to sit on the sofa, pulling out his file on his lover. "Do you know who I am?"
"I'm going to assume from Mr. Holmes' personal artifacts that you are Sherlock or Sherrinford," Arabelle replied sweetly, following to sit across from him. On the edge of the window seat.
"Sherlock," he murmured. "Mary's lover and arch rival. We have a son - Spencer. About your age." He had to wipe away sudden tears. "Excuse me," he said.
The girl waved her hand graciously. "Is there anything I can get you Mr. Holmes? You seem most disturbed. Perhaps I should go?"
"No, please," Sherlock said, reaching out. "It's just- you look. Well, you make me forget I'm not a young man anymore. Almost like I've stepped back in time."
"Sherlock?" Freya called out. "D'you need another smoke?"
"Mr- excuse me, Dr. Desmond told me often that even though he'd only seem my mother in a photograph that I was a very nice copy," Ari said, shrugging her shoulders. "Had I know of her passing, I never would've presumed-"
"Nonsense," Sherlock said.
"Sherlock," Freya said.. "Sher-oh." Freya's tired eyes fell on the girl. "Oh that's just cruel."
The girl stood, taking a step towards Freya with her hand extended. "I'm sorry, miss. I'm Ari. I came looking for my mother."
Freya's hand was at her mouth. She bypassed the girls hand and wrapped her into a fierce hug.
"Oh!" Ari exclaimed, hugging the woman back. "Well, that's a lovely welcome, then. I was worried I should go."
"Only if you run away with me!" Freya teased. She sat beside the girl, cupping her face. "Oh sweetheart. Where were you hiding?!"
"I was just explaining to Mr. Holmes that I'm her daughter, with Mr. Mycroft Holmes. He left me at Baskervilles for most of my life," Ari said. She looked hesitantly towards Sherlock and back again at Freya. "Apparently I only just missed her. I never knew Mrs. Morstan."
"By about five weeks or so, I'm afraid," Freya said gently. "We're all only just starting to come back from it."
"She's not dead!" Sherlock insisted.
Freya shook her head. "She had a big family though. One that is more than willing to add one more," she said, stroking the girl's red-red hair. "Aren't you a doll?! You look so much like my Mary. She was beautiful. And strong and incredible. A good thing you took after your mother so much, Mycroft was a nasty bastard."
"Who never got a leg over!" Sherlock said, continuing to flip through his papers while glancing back at young Ari. He finally found a picture from Mary's birthday.
"Is Sebastian back?" John asked, wondering who all the voices were. He stopped short, gasping at the sight of Mar- the girl. "Who is this, then?"
"Mycroft's attempt at procreating with his arranged marriage," Sherlock said.
"This is Ari, Mary's daughter," Freya said, hands holding the girls. "How about some tea, love? Biscuits? I think my son left some dark chocolate cherry.."
"Oo, I love chocolate and cherries," Ari replied, giving Freya's fingers a warm squeeze. "If it's not too much of a bother-"
"I'll- I'll get tea," John said, clearly shaken at the sight of the girl. "You just- You all just stay here." He turned on his heel in a military style.
"We've all taken Mary's passing hard," Freya said, looking longingly at the girl. "She was much loved. I wish you had the chance to meet her. She loved children. She loved love. John and Sherlock, Mary gave them Spencer, your um, well cousin brother? about twenty years ago. Finch was about five years earlier, darling girl. Born right in the midst of the biggest crime take over."
Freya giggled, a bit hysterical.
"Brandon, my son - well, our son. I had a bit of help-"
"Sherrinford," Sherlock filled in without looking at the not-Mary.
"Hush," Freya said, flapping her hand at him. "He's a love, but we would've been blessed to have you around."
"I'm sure that's true. Perhaps, it's a bit like Harry Potter. One cannot exist while the other lives or something like it," Ari told her. "I've taken a house nearby. I'd hoped to spend time with her, but in light of her absence, perhaps I can just visit with you? Meet your beautiful family?"
"Of course, sweetheart," Freya said. "Absolutely. I had hoped Bran would be a little girl. We loved Finch so much. Alas, two boys!" She leaned in closer. "Maybe you would be good for Sherlock, too. He's taken this worst of all, I'm afraid." She made a pitying face as Sherlock mumbled over his work. "Let's move to the chairs, love. This is where she.. was found."
"Certainly, I'm sorry, I didn't know," the girl said, but her eyes didn't look very sorry at all. She stood, waiting to be directed into a chair. "A large family sounds lovely. I only had Dr. Desmond growing up, although a few years ago he had the most lovely twin boys. They're about five, named Julian and Dare. Sweetest things."
Freya's face bloomed. "Spencer just adopted a boy, Liam, well I say adopted," she waved a hand to Sherlock's chair, sitting in John's. "And Finch is expecting! Her father is in London seeing to her now. They're getting new ultrasound pictures today. Little girl. Bless her."
"How lovely. But then, children are always lovely," the girl sighed wistfully. She sat primly and straight up in a royal manner that Mary had also possessed. Like a woman in charge of the world. "And your excited for them. But surely they're all too young to be reproducing."
"Nonsense. Finch is nearing twenty six, engaged and all," Freya giggled. "Spencer's a bit young, but the boy's a foster. Brandon, my boy, I say boy. He's a chef of a lovely cafe. All professionals. Mary and I were really a bit late taking on parenthood."
"Baskerville," Sherlock said, looking up.
"And how do you like living in the country? I only just got here yesterday and it seems very peaceful," the girl asked, as though Sherlock hadn't spoken.
"Dreadfully dull - if not for the garden," Freya said. "I miss my shop, but I've retired. I still keep up with the blog, or had before Mary.. passed. I've been keeping a weathered eye on my son. I took a rather paternal role with him. Mary was such a better mother."
"Yes, mother," Sherlock interrupted. "Baskerville. Mycroft. Who in the world would he choose for a surrogate? Raised in such a place, you much have mounds of paperwork about the procedure."
"I really haven't. I believe all my files are classified," the not-Mary said, angling her chin at him when she finally deigned to look in his direction.
Sherlock felt a strange compulsion to go back to listening. Observing her too closely hurt. Like looking at the sun.
"It doesn't matter," Freya said, shaking her head. "You're healthy though? Have you been checked for Mary's little um, heart matter?"
"Oh, my heart is no trouble. I've been very closely monitored," Ari assured her. She watched John shakily set a tea tray on the coffee table. "I'd heard she had a history of stroke. Was that what killed her, do you think?"
"Likely," Freya said softly.
Sebastian was pulling off his gloves as he entered the den. "We requested no autopsy. Mary had been cut upon enough in her life," he said, dropping the gloves into his coat pocket before pulling it off his broad shoulders. "Sebastian Moran."
"I'm Ari. Mary's daughter," the girl said, standing, hand extended as it had been with everyone. She gave him an appreciative, appraising stare. Like a hungry animal, grinning. "How do you do?"
"Pleasure," Seb rumbled, taking her hand. "Ari. No last name?"
"Holmes. Arabella Holmes," the girl said after a moments consideration. "Mr. Mycroft Holmes is my father."
"My condolences," Sebastian said, hand still wrapped around the girl's. "John, tea for two more please. Jack's got the pictures of Finch's girl. My daughter's having a child, impulsive thing. Mary was like that. Decided to have Finch in the middle of a war."
"Miss Murphy was just telling me," Ari said, her smile only growing wider. "She sounds like quite a canon."
Sebastian laughed. "Quite," he hummed, leading her back to the window seat. "You favor her. I hope for your sake you are a very careful girl. Did Mr. Holmes think to train you in the arts of self-defense? Mary Morstan was not a woman without enemies."
"Of course he got the girl schooling. The best of the best and then some," Sherlock said from his perch.
Jack hovered, silent. His dark eyes soaked in the tender way Sebastian handled the girl. The loving look that passed over the older man's face.
"I can shoot a coin out of the air, if that's what your asking," Ari said to Sebastian with sparkling eyes. "Or drop a deer in the wood, if need be. But if you're offering a refresher lesson, Mr. Moran, I'm sure there are many things you could show me."
"It would be my honor," Sebastian murmured. "We've got plenty of woods out back, so it's safe to shoot. You're welcome to my gun safe any time."
"She's staying nearby," Freya said, voice pitched up. "Whereabouts did you say, darling?"
"I'm renting the cottage next door. It was such a lovely day I walked over," Ari replied sweetly. "I should be getting back. Would it be alright if I were to call again? Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"Yes, of course," Sebastian said. "Hares are common this time of year. Maybe we could try a bit of hunting, if you're inclined."
"I should like that a lot, Mr. Moran. You've been most kind," Ari said, patting his cheek. She stood and shifted her bag on her shoulder. "Thank you. I know this must have been difficult for all of you."
"You could say that," John sniped under his breath.
"Let me see you to the door," Seb said, standing to take her by the arm. "We've got a few ill-tempered hosts," he said as he lead her through to the foyer.
Ari looked pleasantly surprised. "Ah, how kind of you. I'm sure it's hard for everyone, if I do so closely resemble my mother, as everyone has said I do. I didn't realize that she had passed-"
"Yes, it may have been her time," Seb said, pausing by the door. He paused, a man uncertain. He leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to Ari's cheek. "I only wished I had the chance to say goodbye, and thank you."
Ari's smile went from Cheshire cat to soft and genuine, her eyes looking a little misty. "She would've liked that as well, I think. Tomorrow, Mr. Moran?"
"It's a date, Miss Holmes," he said, opening the door for her. "Don't be a stranger."
While Seb was taking the girl out, John was looking at everyone with a bewildered expression. "What the bleeding hell was that?"
"Mycroft's meddling," Sherlock swore, scribbling more notes into a notebook. "Experiment. Disgustingly perfect result."
"Perfect result, blimey, she's practically a clone," Freya swore.
"Clones don't have parents. Their lives are also relatively shorter than their mothers-" Sherlock continued.
"Shut up, Sherlock," Freya sighed. "How's she just coming to find us now?"
"Mycroft always was secretive," John told her, giving a disturbed shake. "I can't- I mean-" He shook his head. "I'm a doctor. Even if she'd been Mary's twin, there would've been some deviation, something... else. There is something wrong. She was too similar."
"Maybe your psycho-boyfriend was right," Jack said, arms crossed. He'd watched the entire exchange between Seb and Ari.
"Don't," John said with a frustrated glare. "Don't call him that."
"Mary always wanted a healthy body," Jack said, sizing John up.
"Science fiction," Sherlock turned around to sneer.
"But you'd be right," Jack said. "She's not dead."
"Impossible," Sherlock reiterated.
"Impossible," John agreed with an eager nod. "She's just- She's Mary's look-a-like daughter. That's the most likely."
"And no matter what your theories, impossible, improbable, or otherwise," Seb said, re-entering the room. "You will treat her like glass, or else."
Freya faked a shiver. "Ooo scary," she purred. "She's a doll, Sebby. Sherlock, keep your theories off the girl, and John, take your happy pills and we'll all be fine."
"I can't take them," John sneered at her. "We flushed everything because Sherlock can't be trusted."
"I've got them in my safe under the bed," Freya said, unfolding from John's chair. She tipped up to kiss his cheek. "Someone said baby pictures!?" she asked brightly.
Jack and Seb's expressions both changed, nearly fighting over the tiny print-outs of Finch's wee little daughter. Not-Mary was briefly forgotten in the clammer, until Seb stepped away to look out a window. Names meant little. His Mary was still out there. Sherlock, for all his insanity, was right -when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
There was a knock on the front door. Sherlock scowled, scrubbing at his face as he left the latest batch of notes to the side. He was wearing too much of a grey-brown-red stubble this morning. He opened the door anyway.
It was Mary. Well, the girl standing there was a perfect copy of Mary. Even more so than Finch. Right down to her freckles on her nose, the vibrant red hue of her hair, her pale skin and bright green eyes. Except she was young. Twenty at best. The girl gave him the same gorgeously bright smile. "Hello, I'm looking for a Mary Morstan."
Sherlock's eyes watered. He dropped to his knees, clinging to the door. He stared. She was so.. young. "Mary..." he breathed.
"Oh, um, yes, that's who I'm looking for. I'm Arabella, or, Ari, as they call me," the girl said, holding out her hand. "I'm her daughter."
Sherlock struggled back to his feet. He looked at her hand as though it were an alien thing. He reached out for it. "According to popular belief, Mary Morstan is dead," he said, stroking her hand - entirely inappropriately - marveling at the warmth.
"What a shame," the girl said, frowning. "I'd never met my mother. I should've liked to know her."
"Please," Sherlock said. "Come in-" he offered the door.
The girl's walk was ... Mary's. She looked around with curious eyes. Her graceful steps were the same as they had been before the late Mrs. Moran-Morstan-Holmes had her stroke. "What a charming place you have here. Do you live alone now that she's gone?"
"I'm flattered you assume I was hers," Sherlock replied. "No, Sebastian and Jack have gone to visit her- other daughter. John, my lover, is about somewhere. My watcher for today is Freya, Mary's best friend. You say you're her daughter - the likeness is - remarkable. May I ask, if an old man may, how old are you, darling?"
Ari flushed prettily (copycopycopy) and she grinned at him, nose wrinkling. "Sounds cozy, all of you living together. Especially in a time of need. I'm.." Ari frowned, like she was concentrating on something, puzzling it out, "twenty-two."
"Impossible," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "No offense, intended, but biologically, impossible."
"It isn't," Ari insisted with a darling smile. Her cheek even dimpled in the same place as... "I believe the word you're looking for is test-tube baby. My father had a sample of Mrs. Morstan's DNA and the rest is simple."
"Father?" Sherlock choked. "And who...?" His hands were shaking. She was like Mary had just stepped out of the past. Only without the memories of the touching of their lips, the mingling of their tears, their hearts- he shook his head.
"Um, Mr. Holmes, her late husband," the girl said, clasping her hands in front of her. She shrugged. "He wasn't very paternal. Handed me over to a scientist, a Mr. Algernon Desmond."
Sherlock barked out a laugh. "Mycroft!" he sneered. "Never touched her, still managed to-" His eyes were only off her a minute. "Mary-" He winced. "Arabelle. You look, very much like your mother." He moved to sit on the sofa, pulling out his file on his lover. "Do you know who I am?"
"I'm going to assume from Mr. Holmes' personal artifacts that you are Sherlock or Sherrinford," Arabelle replied sweetly, following to sit across from him. On the edge of the window seat.
"Sherlock," he murmured. "Mary's lover and arch rival. We have a son - Spencer. About your age." He had to wipe away sudden tears. "Excuse me," he said.
The girl waved her hand graciously. "Is there anything I can get you Mr. Holmes? You seem most disturbed. Perhaps I should go?"
"No, please," Sherlock said, reaching out. "It's just- you look. Well, you make me forget I'm not a young man anymore. Almost like I've stepped back in time."
"Sherlock?" Freya called out. "D'you need another smoke?"
"Mr- excuse me, Dr. Desmond told me often that even though he'd only seem my mother in a photograph that I was a very nice copy," Ari said, shrugging her shoulders. "Had I know of her passing, I never would've presumed-"
"Nonsense," Sherlock said.
"Sherlock," Freya said.. "Sher-oh." Freya's tired eyes fell on the girl. "Oh that's just cruel."
The girl stood, taking a step towards Freya with her hand extended. "I'm sorry, miss. I'm Ari. I came looking for my mother."
Freya's hand was at her mouth. She bypassed the girls hand and wrapped her into a fierce hug.
"Oh!" Ari exclaimed, hugging the woman back. "Well, that's a lovely welcome, then. I was worried I should go."
"Only if you run away with me!" Freya teased. She sat beside the girl, cupping her face. "Oh sweetheart. Where were you hiding?!"
"I was just explaining to Mr. Holmes that I'm her daughter, with Mr. Mycroft Holmes. He left me at Baskervilles for most of my life," Ari said. She looked hesitantly towards Sherlock and back again at Freya. "Apparently I only just missed her. I never knew Mrs. Morstan."
"By about five weeks or so, I'm afraid," Freya said gently. "We're all only just starting to come back from it."
"She's not dead!" Sherlock insisted.
Freya shook her head. "She had a big family though. One that is more than willing to add one more," she said, stroking the girl's red-red hair. "Aren't you a doll?! You look so much like my Mary. She was beautiful. And strong and incredible. A good thing you took after your mother so much, Mycroft was a nasty bastard."
"Who never got a leg over!" Sherlock said, continuing to flip through his papers while glancing back at young Ari. He finally found a picture from Mary's birthday.
"Is Sebastian back?" John asked, wondering who all the voices were. He stopped short, gasping at the sight of Mar- the girl. "Who is this, then?"
"Mycroft's attempt at procreating with his arranged marriage," Sherlock said.
"This is Ari, Mary's daughter," Freya said, hands holding the girls. "How about some tea, love? Biscuits? I think my son left some dark chocolate cherry.."
"Oo, I love chocolate and cherries," Ari replied, giving Freya's fingers a warm squeeze. "If it's not too much of a bother-"
"I'll- I'll get tea," John said, clearly shaken at the sight of the girl. "You just- You all just stay here." He turned on his heel in a military style.
"We've all taken Mary's passing hard," Freya said, looking longingly at the girl. "She was much loved. I wish you had the chance to meet her. She loved children. She loved love. John and Sherlock, Mary gave them Spencer, your um, well cousin brother? about twenty years ago. Finch was about five years earlier, darling girl. Born right in the midst of the biggest crime take over."
Freya giggled, a bit hysterical.
"Brandon, my son - well, our son. I had a bit of help-"
"Sherrinford," Sherlock filled in without looking at the not-Mary.
"Hush," Freya said, flapping her hand at him. "He's a love, but we would've been blessed to have you around."
"I'm sure that's true. Perhaps, it's a bit like Harry Potter. One cannot exist while the other lives or something like it," Ari told her. "I've taken a house nearby. I'd hoped to spend time with her, but in light of her absence, perhaps I can just visit with you? Meet your beautiful family?"
"Of course, sweetheart," Freya said. "Absolutely. I had hoped Bran would be a little girl. We loved Finch so much. Alas, two boys!" She leaned in closer. "Maybe you would be good for Sherlock, too. He's taken this worst of all, I'm afraid." She made a pitying face as Sherlock mumbled over his work. "Let's move to the chairs, love. This is where she.. was found."
"Certainly, I'm sorry, I didn't know," the girl said, but her eyes didn't look very sorry at all. She stood, waiting to be directed into a chair. "A large family sounds lovely. I only had Dr. Desmond growing up, although a few years ago he had the most lovely twin boys. They're about five, named Julian and Dare. Sweetest things."
Freya's face bloomed. "Spencer just adopted a boy, Liam, well I say adopted," she waved a hand to Sherlock's chair, sitting in John's. "And Finch is expecting! Her father is in London seeing to her now. They're getting new ultrasound pictures today. Little girl. Bless her."
"How lovely. But then, children are always lovely," the girl sighed wistfully. She sat primly and straight up in a royal manner that Mary had also possessed. Like a woman in charge of the world. "And your excited for them. But surely they're all too young to be reproducing."
"Nonsense. Finch is nearing twenty six, engaged and all," Freya giggled. "Spencer's a bit young, but the boy's a foster. Brandon, my boy, I say boy. He's a chef of a lovely cafe. All professionals. Mary and I were really a bit late taking on parenthood."
"Baskerville," Sherlock said, looking up.
"And how do you like living in the country? I only just got here yesterday and it seems very peaceful," the girl asked, as though Sherlock hadn't spoken.
"Dreadfully dull - if not for the garden," Freya said. "I miss my shop, but I've retired. I still keep up with the blog, or had before Mary.. passed. I've been keeping a weathered eye on my son. I took a rather paternal role with him. Mary was such a better mother."
"Yes, mother," Sherlock interrupted. "Baskerville. Mycroft. Who in the world would he choose for a surrogate? Raised in such a place, you much have mounds of paperwork about the procedure."
"I really haven't. I believe all my files are classified," the not-Mary said, angling her chin at him when she finally deigned to look in his direction.
Sherlock felt a strange compulsion to go back to listening. Observing her too closely hurt. Like looking at the sun.
"It doesn't matter," Freya said, shaking her head. "You're healthy though? Have you been checked for Mary's little um, heart matter?"
"Oh, my heart is no trouble. I've been very closely monitored," Ari assured her. She watched John shakily set a tea tray on the coffee table. "I'd heard she had a history of stroke. Was that what killed her, do you think?"
"Likely," Freya said softly.
Sebastian was pulling off his gloves as he entered the den. "We requested no autopsy. Mary had been cut upon enough in her life," he said, dropping the gloves into his coat pocket before pulling it off his broad shoulders. "Sebastian Moran."
"I'm Ari. Mary's daughter," the girl said, standing, hand extended as it had been with everyone. She gave him an appreciative, appraising stare. Like a hungry animal, grinning. "How do you do?"
"Pleasure," Seb rumbled, taking her hand. "Ari. No last name?"
"Holmes. Arabella Holmes," the girl said after a moments consideration. "Mr. Mycroft Holmes is my father."
"My condolences," Sebastian said, hand still wrapped around the girl's. "John, tea for two more please. Jack's got the pictures of Finch's girl. My daughter's having a child, impulsive thing. Mary was like that. Decided to have Finch in the middle of a war."
"Miss Murphy was just telling me," Ari said, her smile only growing wider. "She sounds like quite a canon."
Sebastian laughed. "Quite," he hummed, leading her back to the window seat. "You favor her. I hope for your sake you are a very careful girl. Did Mr. Holmes think to train you in the arts of self-defense? Mary Morstan was not a woman without enemies."
"Of course he got the girl schooling. The best of the best and then some," Sherlock said from his perch.
Jack hovered, silent. His dark eyes soaked in the tender way Sebastian handled the girl. The loving look that passed over the older man's face.
"I can shoot a coin out of the air, if that's what your asking," Ari said to Sebastian with sparkling eyes. "Or drop a deer in the wood, if need be. But if you're offering a refresher lesson, Mr. Moran, I'm sure there are many things you could show me."
"It would be my honor," Sebastian murmured. "We've got plenty of woods out back, so it's safe to shoot. You're welcome to my gun safe any time."
"She's staying nearby," Freya said, voice pitched up. "Whereabouts did you say, darling?"
"I'm renting the cottage next door. It was such a lovely day I walked over," Ari replied sweetly. "I should be getting back. Would it be alright if I were to call again? Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"Yes, of course," Sebastian said. "Hares are common this time of year. Maybe we could try a bit of hunting, if you're inclined."
"I should like that a lot, Mr. Moran. You've been most kind," Ari said, patting his cheek. She stood and shifted her bag on her shoulder. "Thank you. I know this must have been difficult for all of you."
"You could say that," John sniped under his breath.
"Let me see you to the door," Seb said, standing to take her by the arm. "We've got a few ill-tempered hosts," he said as he lead her through to the foyer.
Ari looked pleasantly surprised. "Ah, how kind of you. I'm sure it's hard for everyone, if I do so closely resemble my mother, as everyone has said I do. I didn't realize that she had passed-"
"Yes, it may have been her time," Seb said, pausing by the door. He paused, a man uncertain. He leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to Ari's cheek. "I only wished I had the chance to say goodbye, and thank you."
Ari's smile went from Cheshire cat to soft and genuine, her eyes looking a little misty. "She would've liked that as well, I think. Tomorrow, Mr. Moran?"
"It's a date, Miss Holmes," he said, opening the door for her. "Don't be a stranger."
While Seb was taking the girl out, John was looking at everyone with a bewildered expression. "What the bleeding hell was that?"
"Mycroft's meddling," Sherlock swore, scribbling more notes into a notebook. "Experiment. Disgustingly perfect result."
"Perfect result, blimey, she's practically a clone," Freya swore.
"Clones don't have parents. Their lives are also relatively shorter than their mothers-" Sherlock continued.
"Shut up, Sherlock," Freya sighed. "How's she just coming to find us now?"
"Mycroft always was secretive," John told her, giving a disturbed shake. "I can't- I mean-" He shook his head. "I'm a doctor. Even if she'd been Mary's twin, there would've been some deviation, something... else. There is something wrong. She was too similar."
"Maybe your psycho-boyfriend was right," Jack said, arms crossed. He'd watched the entire exchange between Seb and Ari.
"Don't," John said with a frustrated glare. "Don't call him that."
"Mary always wanted a healthy body," Jack said, sizing John up.
"Science fiction," Sherlock turned around to sneer.
"But you'd be right," Jack said. "She's not dead."
"Impossible," Sherlock reiterated.
"Impossible," John agreed with an eager nod. "She's just- She's Mary's look-a-like daughter. That's the most likely."
"And no matter what your theories, impossible, improbable, or otherwise," Seb said, re-entering the room. "You will treat her like glass, or else."
Freya faked a shiver. "Ooo scary," she purred. "She's a doll, Sebby. Sherlock, keep your theories off the girl, and John, take your happy pills and we'll all be fine."
"I can't take them," John sneered at her. "We flushed everything because Sherlock can't be trusted."
"I've got them in my safe under the bed," Freya said, unfolding from John's chair. She tipped up to kiss his cheek. "Someone said baby pictures!?" she asked brightly.
Jack and Seb's expressions both changed, nearly fighting over the tiny print-outs of Finch's wee little daughter. Not-Mary was briefly forgotten in the clammer, until Seb stepped away to look out a window. Names meant little. His Mary was still out there. Sherlock, for all his insanity, was right -when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
***
Jack, like Seb, like Sherlock, had spent his life with Mary. However, unlike the two of them, he spent a good deal of it from afar. 'Ari' as she called herself was a photo-copy of young Mary. Literally matching pictures Jack himself had saved.
Seb had told him he was going to bed - pointed look not withstanding. Jack had pretty much abandoned his room, sleeping with Seb every night since Mary's death. Tonight, however, he waved the old sniper off and said he'd be along. He slipped into some of his old gear, pocketing his lock picks and took off on foot to the neighboring house.
Process of elimination meant Ari was living in a smaller cottage off to their left. The right house was owned by a lovely elderly couple who bred Airedales in their retirement. Jack cased the house like it was any house he might break into in the past.
Front door was obvious, too obvious. Intruders were rarely so dumb. Most people barracaded their front doors while forgetting to lock the windows. He circled the house trying a few. He took a screw driver until one popped up. He wedged it under, silently raising the window up, and climbing inside.
She sat, cross legged, on a large Victorian bed, gun leveled at his face. "May I help you, Mr. Kincaid?"
Jack smiled, raising his hands.
"I think you might be able to," he said. "Mary."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, sir. I know you weren't present at the meeting this afternoon, but I'm sure someone would've told you. My name is Ari," said the girl. "Why are you breaking into my home?"
"Present? Yes," Jack said. "Participating, no. Observation is always done best from the shadows. No need to stand on manners, Ari. I do believe we're a bit past that."
The girl cocked her head to the side, regarding him with the same green eyes he'd once loved. "You still didn't answer the question. What did you hope to find by entering in this manner?"
"Hope? I've learned quite a bit. One, you're armed, two, you were prepared for someone to come upon you this evening," Jack said. "Which of us were you expecting?"
"After meeting the lot of you I think everyone except Freya or John, perhaps," Ari said, quirking up an eyebrow. "But they strike me as too sensible. I'm armed because, as your Sebastian pointed out, my mother had many enemies. Perhaps enemies who would harm me, upon learning of my existence."
"I promise I came unarmed," Jack said, hands still in the air. "You're welcome to check." He waggled his eyebrows invitingly.
"Oh, I don't think that would be necessary. You wouldn't hurt me, I'm sure of it. Your Sebastian would have something to say," Ari replied with a wave of her hand. She danced the gun in the air like she was bored with it. "What makes you think-"
"I don't do the thinking," Jack laughed. "Mary did. You did."
"What makes you think I am her? You saw her body lowered into the ground yourself, didn't you? Weren't you there when they discovered her on the windowseat? Dead and gone," Ari asked, getting up to her knees to edge forward on the bed. Her white nightgown was like mist in the moon light. "How would she even be able to come back? I'm afraid all this talk is madness, isn't it, Mr. Kincaid?"
"Mary was madness," Jack breathed. "I saw a box lowered into the ground. I saw a headstone. I saw grief and a name end. But I know you. I've always known you." He dropped the screwdriver, stepping closer. "Holmes will want to know how you've done it."
"It's good for someone to wonder, isn't it?" Mary asked, biting her lip in a familiar gesture.
Jack pushed away the gun, grasping for her hair and pulling her into a soul-crushing kiss. Her lips responded in kind, eagerly pushing back at his, her hands twisting into his hair. Jack's sighed into the kiss, relief infusing his body as he stroked her young body through the gauzy dress, nipping and biting at her lips as he groaned. He broke off to pant.
"Oh thank god," he said.
"Were you worried?" Mary asked, rubbing their noses together, fingers feeling over his cheek.
"Desperately," Jack admitted. "Don't- I'm all old now." He took her hand away from his face. "Look at you. Beautiful, young - healthy again."
"I'm old. I'm old where it counts. I'm all alone, Jack. Let me touch you," Mary begged sweetly, putting her hand back where it had been.
Jack leaned back in to kiss her. "I feel like a dirty old man," he laughed. "Don't tell me how it's done. Don't tell me you aren't her."
"I-I believe I'm her. Can that be enough for you?" the girl asked, looking on the verge of being heartbroken. She blinked back wetness in her eyes. "I feel I'm her. I want to be myself again."
Jack was holding back tears himself. "Tell me, tell me something only she knows," he asked. "And only I know."
"The first time I let you see me, you'd kidnapped Freya and I told you if you ever called me a beautiful bitch again I would show you how good a shot I am," the girl whispered, rubbing their noses together. "You took me for ice cream the first day that we had sex, and you're the only one I could trust after I tried to kill myself. You're the only one I never had to share."
Jack pushed off the carpet, pressing Mary to the bed. His lips were on her young, soft throat, marking it, scraping his gingery stubble across it as he took her hands in his.
"Mary," he breathed. "Oh my God, Mary, Mary, Mary." He stroked over her face, her body. "I am always yours." She kissed him, desperately, like she would be gone in the morning.
"My own Jack," Mary breathed, holding him tight.
Jack stroked her face, pale pink cheeks smooth, green eyes brilliant, lips cherry colored from kissing. "Should I call you Ari?" he asked. "To make it easier?"
He wasn't making it easier though, stroking his hand up her nightgown. Her legs were.. smooth. No scars, no tattoos.
"No, I want to be myself again," Mary repeated, aching inside. Her fingers pulled gently at the buttons on his shirt. "Nothing in this life is easy."
"No, never," Jack said. "Do you remember the pain?" he asked, tugging the loosened shirt over his head, moving back between her legs this time. He wanted to look at all of her. "Seventeen cuts. It was the worst video next to your stroke. I watched you, love. All your life. You've twenty something years of life I don't know."
"You're so very wrong," Mary said, brushing her little youthful hand over his graying red hair. "I remember everything. The terror, how weak I felt. How the weakness was so much worse than the pain. My body is clean, but my memories aren't."
"But you remember the love," Jack said, hooking a finger through the elastic of her underwear. "I never had your body like this."
"I do remember the love," Mary agreed, watching him. Her expression turned innocent. "You'd be the first this body had."
Jack paused, finger loosening its hold. He sighed, crawling back up to curl around the girl. "Come here," he murmured. She pushed into his waiting arms, both happy and disappointed. Her soft lips kissed him.
"Do you not believe me?" Mary asked.
"I do, Mary," he breathed, kissing her back. "I do, that's the problem." He stroked her beautiful curls. "If you remember, then you remember this is not my place, not my place to be the first with any of your body. I was never first. I was yours, body and heart, but never first, nor favorite."
"Despite the question of favorites," Mary's voice said gently, "You and Seb were the most important. I hope that counts for something."
Jack smiled, a true smile. "I know. We were the ones who got to keep you. You've got a whole life ahead of you now. A gaggle of old men? I know you want to come home, Mary, but I don't want you to watch us age and die."
"I don't want to be anywhere else. There isn't a life without you," Mary replied, nudging closer into his arms. "It's not fair. I didn't ask to die, not then. I didn't ask for this, either. I just want to come home. Of course, I know I can't. But I thought if maybe I called myself something else, lived where I couldn't be so easily observed, that I could-" She hiccuped, sniffling, a tightness growing in her throat. "I thought I could at least-"
"Mary," Jack said, holding her closer. He kissed her forehead. "Shh, shh, love. Don't leave us again, but don't come back to be the little wife, the criminal. Find yourself something new. And besides, if you're going to have it off with an old bloke, Seb'll have my bollocks if I tried taking that from him! I wasn't sure what to believe, but when I saw him with you - I knew."
"Yes, he's always been much quicker than most people," Mary hummed, kissing Jack's cheek. "Even if he's dumb as a post sometimes. And too stubborn, Finch gets that from him. This is my second chance, Jack, and I'm more than aware how good a chance it is, but what good is it without the people I love? Not worth a damn, that's what. I just wanted to see you."
"We're here. Bitter, lonely, and trying to keep your Sherlock from offing himself, but we're here," Jack said, stroking her. She felt soft and warm against his chest. "Let me stay the night."
"Alright. I would like that. It's been lonely without you," Mary whispered, her fingers as eager as his. "But I promised Seb I'd be over tomorrow, so don't let them see you sneak back in. John might have a heart attack from the shock, and we don't need to trigger anything in Sherlock."
"He's been better since he believed you were alive. It began three weeks before you showed up," Jack murmured. "He refused to believe you were gone. Do you -" He paused. "Mary, do you remember dying?"
"Yes," she whispered, cringing into him.
"Were you in pain?" he whispered. "Free said she was only away from you moments."
"No. It isn't a feeling I can describe, but I wouldn't call it pain," Mary replied, only lying a little. "Why do you ask?"
"One of us should've been there," Jack sighed. "Been there for you, been there to protect Brandon from finding you. He hasn't been the same."
"I didn't know," Mary said. She stroked his neck, holding him. "Can I be there when you die?"
"You don't want to be there," Jack said, shaking his head. "You'll have gone off, made a new life."
"I will never not be there for you, Jack. Don't ask it of me," Mary replied, catching his lips again. "Don't make me. I don't want it."
Jack sighed into her mouth. "Yes then, fine, whatever you wish," he agreed too readily. "Just promise you aren't angry we weren't there when you.."
"You were there. In our home, just steps away. No regrets, Jack. No apologies," Mary said. "Go to sleep. I'll be here."
"A little longer," Jack begged of her. "I just want to look at you. Robbin' the cradle I am. You're young enough to be my daughter now."
"Ooo," Mary grinned appreciatively. "There's some kinky role play we could try. Take me, Daddy Jack-"
Jack cackled. "Naughty girl. You go to sleep," he murmured. "Seb'll want to take you hunting. And likely shag you in the woods. I swear if he tries to feel me up one more time in my sleep.. I haven't got tits!"
Mary giggled softly, stroking over his face with her smooth fingers, down his throat, over his chest. "Well, you're mostly safe from being felt up here. And you need rest. It's been an emotional day."
"You've no idea," Jack sighed. The best, the worst - she still smelled like Mary. He sighed, relaxing into her body. He ached to be young again. To have her for himself. The damage they could cause. For now, he would content himself with simply being selfish, having her close as the curtains blew softly where he'd forgotten to close them completely.
She sat, cross legged, on a large Victorian bed, gun leveled at his face. "May I help you, Mr. Kincaid?"
Jack smiled, raising his hands.
"I think you might be able to," he said. "Mary."
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, sir. I know you weren't present at the meeting this afternoon, but I'm sure someone would've told you. My name is Ari," said the girl. "Why are you breaking into my home?"
"Present? Yes," Jack said. "Participating, no. Observation is always done best from the shadows. No need to stand on manners, Ari. I do believe we're a bit past that."
The girl cocked her head to the side, regarding him with the same green eyes he'd once loved. "You still didn't answer the question. What did you hope to find by entering in this manner?"
"Hope? I've learned quite a bit. One, you're armed, two, you were prepared for someone to come upon you this evening," Jack said. "Which of us were you expecting?"
"After meeting the lot of you I think everyone except Freya or John, perhaps," Ari said, quirking up an eyebrow. "But they strike me as too sensible. I'm armed because, as your Sebastian pointed out, my mother had many enemies. Perhaps enemies who would harm me, upon learning of my existence."
"I promise I came unarmed," Jack said, hands still in the air. "You're welcome to check." He waggled his eyebrows invitingly.
"Oh, I don't think that would be necessary. You wouldn't hurt me, I'm sure of it. Your Sebastian would have something to say," Ari replied with a wave of her hand. She danced the gun in the air like she was bored with it. "What makes you think-"
"I don't do the thinking," Jack laughed. "Mary did. You did."
"What makes you think I am her? You saw her body lowered into the ground yourself, didn't you? Weren't you there when they discovered her on the windowseat? Dead and gone," Ari asked, getting up to her knees to edge forward on the bed. Her white nightgown was like mist in the moon light. "How would she even be able to come back? I'm afraid all this talk is madness, isn't it, Mr. Kincaid?"
"Mary was madness," Jack breathed. "I saw a box lowered into the ground. I saw a headstone. I saw grief and a name end. But I know you. I've always known you." He dropped the screwdriver, stepping closer. "Holmes will want to know how you've done it."
"It's good for someone to wonder, isn't it?" Mary asked, biting her lip in a familiar gesture.
Jack pushed away the gun, grasping for her hair and pulling her into a soul-crushing kiss. Her lips responded in kind, eagerly pushing back at his, her hands twisting into his hair. Jack's sighed into the kiss, relief infusing his body as he stroked her young body through the gauzy dress, nipping and biting at her lips as he groaned. He broke off to pant.
"Oh thank god," he said.
"Were you worried?" Mary asked, rubbing their noses together, fingers feeling over his cheek.
"Desperately," Jack admitted. "Don't- I'm all old now." He took her hand away from his face. "Look at you. Beautiful, young - healthy again."
"I'm old. I'm old where it counts. I'm all alone, Jack. Let me touch you," Mary begged sweetly, putting her hand back where it had been.
Jack leaned back in to kiss her. "I feel like a dirty old man," he laughed. "Don't tell me how it's done. Don't tell me you aren't her."
"I-I believe I'm her. Can that be enough for you?" the girl asked, looking on the verge of being heartbroken. She blinked back wetness in her eyes. "I feel I'm her. I want to be myself again."
Jack was holding back tears himself. "Tell me, tell me something only she knows," he asked. "And only I know."
"The first time I let you see me, you'd kidnapped Freya and I told you if you ever called me a beautiful bitch again I would show you how good a shot I am," the girl whispered, rubbing their noses together. "You took me for ice cream the first day that we had sex, and you're the only one I could trust after I tried to kill myself. You're the only one I never had to share."
Jack pushed off the carpet, pressing Mary to the bed. His lips were on her young, soft throat, marking it, scraping his gingery stubble across it as he took her hands in his.
"Mary," he breathed. "Oh my God, Mary, Mary, Mary." He stroked over her face, her body. "I am always yours." She kissed him, desperately, like she would be gone in the morning.
"My own Jack," Mary breathed, holding him tight.
Jack stroked her face, pale pink cheeks smooth, green eyes brilliant, lips cherry colored from kissing. "Should I call you Ari?" he asked. "To make it easier?"
He wasn't making it easier though, stroking his hand up her nightgown. Her legs were.. smooth. No scars, no tattoos.
"No, I want to be myself again," Mary repeated, aching inside. Her fingers pulled gently at the buttons on his shirt. "Nothing in this life is easy."
"No, never," Jack said. "Do you remember the pain?" he asked, tugging the loosened shirt over his head, moving back between her legs this time. He wanted to look at all of her. "Seventeen cuts. It was the worst video next to your stroke. I watched you, love. All your life. You've twenty something years of life I don't know."
"You're so very wrong," Mary said, brushing her little youthful hand over his graying red hair. "I remember everything. The terror, how weak I felt. How the weakness was so much worse than the pain. My body is clean, but my memories aren't."
"But you remember the love," Jack said, hooking a finger through the elastic of her underwear. "I never had your body like this."
"I do remember the love," Mary agreed, watching him. Her expression turned innocent. "You'd be the first this body had."
Jack paused, finger loosening its hold. He sighed, crawling back up to curl around the girl. "Come here," he murmured. She pushed into his waiting arms, both happy and disappointed. Her soft lips kissed him.
"Do you not believe me?" Mary asked.
"I do, Mary," he breathed, kissing her back. "I do, that's the problem." He stroked her beautiful curls. "If you remember, then you remember this is not my place, not my place to be the first with any of your body. I was never first. I was yours, body and heart, but never first, nor favorite."
"Despite the question of favorites," Mary's voice said gently, "You and Seb were the most important. I hope that counts for something."
Jack smiled, a true smile. "I know. We were the ones who got to keep you. You've got a whole life ahead of you now. A gaggle of old men? I know you want to come home, Mary, but I don't want you to watch us age and die."
"I don't want to be anywhere else. There isn't a life without you," Mary replied, nudging closer into his arms. "It's not fair. I didn't ask to die, not then. I didn't ask for this, either. I just want to come home. Of course, I know I can't. But I thought if maybe I called myself something else, lived where I couldn't be so easily observed, that I could-" She hiccuped, sniffling, a tightness growing in her throat. "I thought I could at least-"
"Mary," Jack said, holding her closer. He kissed her forehead. "Shh, shh, love. Don't leave us again, but don't come back to be the little wife, the criminal. Find yourself something new. And besides, if you're going to have it off with an old bloke, Seb'll have my bollocks if I tried taking that from him! I wasn't sure what to believe, but when I saw him with you - I knew."
"Yes, he's always been much quicker than most people," Mary hummed, kissing Jack's cheek. "Even if he's dumb as a post sometimes. And too stubborn, Finch gets that from him. This is my second chance, Jack, and I'm more than aware how good a chance it is, but what good is it without the people I love? Not worth a damn, that's what. I just wanted to see you."
"We're here. Bitter, lonely, and trying to keep your Sherlock from offing himself, but we're here," Jack said, stroking her. She felt soft and warm against his chest. "Let me stay the night."
"Alright. I would like that. It's been lonely without you," Mary whispered, her fingers as eager as his. "But I promised Seb I'd be over tomorrow, so don't let them see you sneak back in. John might have a heart attack from the shock, and we don't need to trigger anything in Sherlock."
"He's been better since he believed you were alive. It began three weeks before you showed up," Jack murmured. "He refused to believe you were gone. Do you -" He paused. "Mary, do you remember dying?"
"Yes," she whispered, cringing into him.
"Were you in pain?" he whispered. "Free said she was only away from you moments."
"No. It isn't a feeling I can describe, but I wouldn't call it pain," Mary replied, only lying a little. "Why do you ask?"
"One of us should've been there," Jack sighed. "Been there for you, been there to protect Brandon from finding you. He hasn't been the same."
"I didn't know," Mary said. She stroked his neck, holding him. "Can I be there when you die?"
"You don't want to be there," Jack said, shaking his head. "You'll have gone off, made a new life."
"I will never not be there for you, Jack. Don't ask it of me," Mary replied, catching his lips again. "Don't make me. I don't want it."
Jack sighed into her mouth. "Yes then, fine, whatever you wish," he agreed too readily. "Just promise you aren't angry we weren't there when you.."
"You were there. In our home, just steps away. No regrets, Jack. No apologies," Mary said. "Go to sleep. I'll be here."
"A little longer," Jack begged of her. "I just want to look at you. Robbin' the cradle I am. You're young enough to be my daughter now."
"Ooo," Mary grinned appreciatively. "There's some kinky role play we could try. Take me, Daddy Jack-"
Jack cackled. "Naughty girl. You go to sleep," he murmured. "Seb'll want to take you hunting. And likely shag you in the woods. I swear if he tries to feel me up one more time in my sleep.. I haven't got tits!"
Mary giggled softly, stroking over his face with her smooth fingers, down his throat, over his chest. "Well, you're mostly safe from being felt up here. And you need rest. It's been an emotional day."
"You've no idea," Jack sighed. The best, the worst - she still smelled like Mary. He sighed, relaxing into her body. He ached to be young again. To have her for himself. The damage they could cause. For now, he would content himself with simply being selfish, having her close as the curtains blew softly where he'd forgotten to close them completely.
***
Seb was timely, of course, knocking on Ari's door early in the morning.
When she opened it, her long red hair had been bound in a loose braid, hanging over her shoulder. She wore jeans, but her shirt was blousy and had gentle flowers over it. Her feet were bare. And her lips tilted up in the sweetest smile when she saw his face. "Hello, Mr. Moran."
"Miss Holmes," Seb said, nodding. He had a few guns strapped visibly onto his person. "Weather's a bit cold. I reckon you might want something a little warmer for hunting." He looked at her feet.
"Oh, of course. I was only just finishing getting ready," Ari said, moving to the side so he could come inside. "Won't you come in?"
Seb stepped inside, feeling much too tall for the cozy cottage.
"Ours looked like this before," he murmured.
"I'm sorry, would you rather wait outside? I wouldn't like to cause you pain, Lord but you're large," the small woman said, looking up at him. Without the high ceilings of his own cottage, he did look especially big. She sat down on a soft sofa, tugging on polka dotted socks and leather boots. "I shouldn't like to cause you any pain."
"No, it's comfortable," Seb murmured. "Simple. Not a massive thing that grew and grew to accommodate the merging of three families. Hardly a cottage anymore, is it?"
"You mean the place where you live? No, I'm sure there are many who would agree that it's no cottage," the girl told him, grinning up. She pushed herself to her feet. "Let me just fetch a coat."
"I've got a permit, too. In case we find a buck," Seb added. "No shootin' does this time of year, but well, I know a few good things to do with a bit of deer meat. Got a deep freezer too, which you're welcome to keep meat in."
"You are most accommodating, Mr. Moran," Ari told him, sliding a thin jacket over her arms. "I'm glad to be spending time with you. If it's not too painful, perhaps you can regale me with stories of my mother. I would like to- Oh, do I have to with you? Jack said you figured it out, didn't you?"
"Pretend if you like, but it's not necessary," Sebastian murmured. "There were only three people in that Russian cottage. Two of whom are dead."
"Are you very cross with me?" Mary asked, stepping towards him.
"Depends on what the truth is," Seb said. His guns clinked as he shifted. He was uncertain. She was so- small. She's always been small, but after her surgery, she's gained muscle and weight again. She's grown larger than her physical self. "Will you tell me?"
"Jack begged me not to tell him, but you want to know. What if you don't agree with him when I'm finished? What if you say I'm not her?" The girl asked, ceasing her movement. Like a deer caught in sights, she held perfectly still.
"Wouldn't it still be pretending if you didn't know for certain?" Seb asked.
"Perhaps. Perhaps you're right, Mr. Moran. I'll just be Ari instead, and we'll go out to the forest and you can teach me. And I'll follow you this time," the girl said, tilting her chin down, her eyes away.
"As you say," Seb agreed. "Do you have your own weapons?"
"Do handguns count?" the girl answered sweetly.
Seb snorted. "For bigger game." He pulled a pellet shooter out. "For smaller ones. I don't fancy pulling a .45 out of rabbit's eye. Come along, kid." He headed for the door. Seb spent a lot more time in the woods after they moved out here. The garden was fine, but they'd truly purchased several acres of wild woods. "These woods are ours. No one else should be hunting in them. If you fancy it, you'll come to the house and get Jack or me."
"Yes, sir," Mary-Ari replied with a sweet time. Without taking out a phone, she sent a text message.
[Jack. He's decided not to play along without me telling him everything. I'm still Ari. He just called me Kid. This is problematic. :-( -- Ari]
[Give him time. A sniper never does anything in a hurry - Jack]
"We've got a shooting range set up aways out, too," Seb continued. "But I hunt further. Think you can keep up, princess?"
"I certainly think so, old man," Mary poked, skipping beside him. She wasn't even breathing hard. "It's a very pretty day out."
[He doesn't look as happy as he did last night. If I end up with bullet wounds I will be very put out we didn't shag first. Of all the things, to die a virgin. -Mary Ari]
[love you - Jack]
Seb walked silently, watching. He stopped several times to check for signs of wildlife.
"Another five hundred yards," he grunted out. Orange leaves wooshed beneath their feet as they walked. "Stop texting."
"I'm not texting. I haven't even got a phone in my hand," Ari pointed out.
Seb looked back. He could've sworn... He shook off the strangeness, heading for his tree house. He wasn't entirely certain Mary had been there. He knew of Sherlock's little cove that had been dug out for a fire pit, but the tree house was a little shack, sniper shack. It was Seb's home away from home.
He brushed away the vines and mess hiding the ladder.
"Up ya git," he said, gesturing for her to go up first.
Her little body shimmied up the ladder, jeans clinging to a firm behind. A few strands of hair pulled loose. "This is a sweet place."
"Mmhmm," Seb agreed, closing the hatch. "Have to keep the birds out in spring." He reached up into a shelf, pulling down two soft blankets and a mat from overhead. "Make yourself comfortable. It's easier to hide up here and wait for them to come to us. At least this early in the day." He pulled open the sliding window, slitted like a sniper's keep.
[We're actually hunting. We're actually hunting right now. - Ari]
She settled down on the mat, looking up at him with big eyes. "Sounds pretty. Have you ever thought of taking up bird watching? Instead of shooting things, I mean."
Seb raised an eyebrow at her, long gone white and grey. He kept his hair shorn military short still, a bit longer on the top. "I like shooting things," he said. "I liked raising things too. My daughter grew up."
"She did, according to the kind lady at your house. Freya, was it?" Ari said. "She's having a child and everything. That sounds very exciting. You must be happy."
"You know who Freya is, don't play games," Sebastian said, setting up his gun in the window. "And she isn't kind. She's a little bitch with a sharper bite than her bark. I like her."
"So do I," Ari said. "Sebastian-"
Seb sat on the mat, back leaning against the wood of the tree house. "I'm old, Mary. I'm old, and I've buried the only two people I've ever loved. If you've come to taunt us, you've won. If you've come for something else, I'm not your detective, I'm not a blind follower. I'm your husband, the father of your child, and I want to know if it's really you."
"I know how old you are, Sebastian. That doesn't bother me," Mary said, scooting closer. "I didn't mean to die. It wasn't how I planned it, at all. I don't want to taunt or torture you. I told Jack if you wanted I would go, but there is no point to being alive without you. You're the love of my life. I know all that bit about Sherlock being my favorite, but even he used to agree, that you were what kept me going."
[He's hunting something. It's not game - Jack]
"I put you in the ground," Seb said, eyes red as he watched her. "You weren't meant to go alone."
"You buried me. Heart something, by the way. Broken valve or something- not a stroke. If the brain had been damaged further I wouldn't be here now," Mary told him, her voice cracking. "I'm exactly the same as I was, only stronger. Do appearances mean so much to you? Am I hurting you so much more by being here?"
Seb made a wordless gesture, opening his arms as he stretched his legs the length of the mat. Mary curled into his embrace, settling against him. Seb's chest shook as he breathed.
"I can't keep you like this," he croaked out. "What would the children say?"
"Are you going to make me leave?" Mary whispered. "What does it matter what they say? Do you want to be apart?"
"Never, never again," Seb panted, hand shaking as he cupped Mary's cheek. "You're really in there?"
"The harvested my brain, and put it in a machine that made it alive again, and then mapped the neurokinetics or something and downloaded me into a fresh body. I have every feeling, every memory, every wish and dream- although they claim we don't dream, I do- that she had. I'm her," the girl told him, tears sliding over her cheeks. All water reservoirs had been prepped for this moment, so she could prove it to him. "Please? Can't I come home?"
"Are you- human?" Seb asked, touching her cheek. It felt warm, it felt like - skin and tears. He brought a tear to his lips.
"I feel human. But the body, that's different," Mary said, blushing. "I have very human responses. There is little that I do not do or feel."
Seb pulled her closer, urging her to straddle his lap. He leaned up, pressing his lips to hers. "It's very real," he said.
"I suddenly know how Pinocchio felt," Mary teased, kissing back, her lithe young body pressed close to his. She brushed her hands over his chest. "You're so beautiful. The process took ages, and I missed you, so very much, Sebastian, I love you, I love you, I never got to tell you enough-"
Seb silenced her with another kiss. "You never had to say a word, Mary," he murmured. "Not a word. I knew. I always knew. I loved you when you were Jim's, I loved you when you were John's, I loved you when you were yours."
"I'll always love you," Mary promised. She pressed her fingers to his cheek, looking sly. "I couldn't talk you into letting me keep you, could I?"
Seb blinked, feel heat rise on his cheeks. "No one would want to put the work into a broken down soldier-" he said, looking away.
"I would. Think it over, don't spoil this, not right now. I sold my first time, you know. Never had it with someone who loved me, who knew what I like," Mary kissed him again. "Seb. Show me."
Seb brows raised. "Here? With me, like this?" he asked, ashamed of his age. His muscles gone softer despite continuing to work to keep in shape. Running, lifting, sparring with John and Jack. There was only so much one could do.
"Does it matter where? We've not been apart in thirty years and I haven't seen you for five weeks. Two of which I was dead for, and let me tell you, that's not comfortable. Did you want to come back to the cottage with me?" Mary asked. She kissed him, not trusting her own words.
"No, no, here," Seb said, hands curling around her back. Inside the hutch, it was dimmer. He had his weapons and it was safe. Colder, but safe. No possibility of cameras or interruptions. This was his space. The only person he ever shared everything with was Mary. He kissed her again, aching with the sweetness of it. Her body was so warm and soft.
"Tiger. My sweet tiger," Mary whispered, caressing his jaw. She tugged at the buttons on his coat. "You aren't too cold?"
Seb reached out to close the opened window. "Russia was worse," he hummed. He unzipped her jacket, pushing it from her shoulders. He grazed his teeth over her neck. "If I damaged you, would you bleed?"
"Sort of," Mary shrugged. "I don't really know. Haven't tried yet." She shivered, the sweet pain-pleasure of his bite. Her hair was pulling loose from it's braid, curling around to frame her face. "Let's find out."
"Want to see you first," Seb said. "Will you be cold?"
"Only a little. Not like you," Mary told him, worrying with every syllable that the spell would be broken.
"Undress for me then," Seb breathed. "Store your things up there. It's clean. Let me get off my boots." It was quickly growing warm simply from their body heat and the wool blankets. He'd made the tree house with insulation too. He'd intended to hunt in deep winter.
Mary stood and slid her soft blouse over her creamy shoulders without a bra to cover her perfectly formed breasts. She toyed with the button on her jeans shyly. Seb had unzipped army surplus boots and moved to put them on the shelf. His breath hitched.
"Good lord," he breathed, turning back to her. He reached out - just to touch. Mary touched him back, too, a gorgeous dance building between them. She cupped his jaw, her signature move.
"Sebastian," she breathed. Seb surged up to kiss her, thumbs stroking across her nipples to feel them tighten - his cock jumped in his jeans. Horrid thoughts sprung to mind until his sliced Mary's lip with the edge of his sharp canine. Copper tang released beneath it. He gasped.
"Ah, that's my Tiger. My brute, as Freya calls you," Mary said, dabbing at the tiny cut oozing reddish liquid. She kissed him again, letting the fluid mingle in their kiss. "Love you, Tiger."
"Mary, boss - you're back," Seb said, heart soaring. He pushed her back, down onto the mat, covering her with kisses. He nipped and sucked and popped the button on her jeans with deft fingers. She was primed with anticipation, her pleasure centers firing in her brain.
"I'm back," she whispered, fingers in his short hair, curling up to kiss his head.
"I hope you aren't in a hurry," Seb murmured. "These things take time with older men. Are you certain, my heart?"
"Take all the time you need. I have it," Mary said, wishing she could just curl up and crawl inside him and live in his heart forever. "I've never been more certain."
Seb leaned down, kissing her body. If he ever worshiped anything, it would be Mary. Her body. Her love. Her mind. He spent hours making love to her, finding his Mary in all the little places in between. Sated and exhausted, he curled around her, stroking her hair.
"When I die," Seb murmured. "If it pleases you. Do whatever you wish with me. I'm yours."
"Good. Because life without you is nothing," Mary told him. "Nothing but torture." She drew sweet little doodles over his chest, the grey-blond hair tickling the pad of her finger. Seb sighed, dozing.
"Don't leave me, Mary," he whispered, eyes closed. "Not again."
When she opened it, her long red hair had been bound in a loose braid, hanging over her shoulder. She wore jeans, but her shirt was blousy and had gentle flowers over it. Her feet were bare. And her lips tilted up in the sweetest smile when she saw his face. "Hello, Mr. Moran."
"Miss Holmes," Seb said, nodding. He had a few guns strapped visibly onto his person. "Weather's a bit cold. I reckon you might want something a little warmer for hunting." He looked at her feet.
"Oh, of course. I was only just finishing getting ready," Ari said, moving to the side so he could come inside. "Won't you come in?"
Seb stepped inside, feeling much too tall for the cozy cottage.
"Ours looked like this before," he murmured.
"I'm sorry, would you rather wait outside? I wouldn't like to cause you pain, Lord but you're large," the small woman said, looking up at him. Without the high ceilings of his own cottage, he did look especially big. She sat down on a soft sofa, tugging on polka dotted socks and leather boots. "I shouldn't like to cause you any pain."
"No, it's comfortable," Seb murmured. "Simple. Not a massive thing that grew and grew to accommodate the merging of three families. Hardly a cottage anymore, is it?"
"You mean the place where you live? No, I'm sure there are many who would agree that it's no cottage," the girl told him, grinning up. She pushed herself to her feet. "Let me just fetch a coat."
"I've got a permit, too. In case we find a buck," Seb added. "No shootin' does this time of year, but well, I know a few good things to do with a bit of deer meat. Got a deep freezer too, which you're welcome to keep meat in."
"You are most accommodating, Mr. Moran," Ari told him, sliding a thin jacket over her arms. "I'm glad to be spending time with you. If it's not too painful, perhaps you can regale me with stories of my mother. I would like to- Oh, do I have to with you? Jack said you figured it out, didn't you?"
"Pretend if you like, but it's not necessary," Sebastian murmured. "There were only three people in that Russian cottage. Two of whom are dead."
"Are you very cross with me?" Mary asked, stepping towards him.
"Depends on what the truth is," Seb said. His guns clinked as he shifted. He was uncertain. She was so- small. She's always been small, but after her surgery, she's gained muscle and weight again. She's grown larger than her physical self. "Will you tell me?"
"Jack begged me not to tell him, but you want to know. What if you don't agree with him when I'm finished? What if you say I'm not her?" The girl asked, ceasing her movement. Like a deer caught in sights, she held perfectly still.
"Wouldn't it still be pretending if you didn't know for certain?" Seb asked.
"Perhaps. Perhaps you're right, Mr. Moran. I'll just be Ari instead, and we'll go out to the forest and you can teach me. And I'll follow you this time," the girl said, tilting her chin down, her eyes away.
"As you say," Seb agreed. "Do you have your own weapons?"
"Do handguns count?" the girl answered sweetly.
Seb snorted. "For bigger game." He pulled a pellet shooter out. "For smaller ones. I don't fancy pulling a .45 out of rabbit's eye. Come along, kid." He headed for the door. Seb spent a lot more time in the woods after they moved out here. The garden was fine, but they'd truly purchased several acres of wild woods. "These woods are ours. No one else should be hunting in them. If you fancy it, you'll come to the house and get Jack or me."
"Yes, sir," Mary-Ari replied with a sweet time. Without taking out a phone, she sent a text message.
[Jack. He's decided not to play along without me telling him everything. I'm still Ari. He just called me Kid. This is problematic. :-( -- Ari]
[Give him time. A sniper never does anything in a hurry - Jack]
"We've got a shooting range set up aways out, too," Seb continued. "But I hunt further. Think you can keep up, princess?"
"I certainly think so, old man," Mary poked, skipping beside him. She wasn't even breathing hard. "It's a very pretty day out."
[He doesn't look as happy as he did last night. If I end up with bullet wounds I will be very put out we didn't shag first. Of all the things, to die a virgin. -
[love you - Jack]
Seb walked silently, watching. He stopped several times to check for signs of wildlife.
"Another five hundred yards," he grunted out. Orange leaves wooshed beneath their feet as they walked. "Stop texting."
"I'm not texting. I haven't even got a phone in my hand," Ari pointed out.
Seb looked back. He could've sworn... He shook off the strangeness, heading for his tree house. He wasn't entirely certain Mary had been there. He knew of Sherlock's little cove that had been dug out for a fire pit, but the tree house was a little shack, sniper shack. It was Seb's home away from home.
He brushed away the vines and mess hiding the ladder.
"Up ya git," he said, gesturing for her to go up first.
Her little body shimmied up the ladder, jeans clinging to a firm behind. A few strands of hair pulled loose. "This is a sweet place."
"Mmhmm," Seb agreed, closing the hatch. "Have to keep the birds out in spring." He reached up into a shelf, pulling down two soft blankets and a mat from overhead. "Make yourself comfortable. It's easier to hide up here and wait for them to come to us. At least this early in the day." He pulled open the sliding window, slitted like a sniper's keep.
[We're actually hunting. We're actually hunting right now. - Ari]
She settled down on the mat, looking up at him with big eyes. "Sounds pretty. Have you ever thought of taking up bird watching? Instead of shooting things, I mean."
Seb raised an eyebrow at her, long gone white and grey. He kept his hair shorn military short still, a bit longer on the top. "I like shooting things," he said. "I liked raising things too. My daughter grew up."
"She did, according to the kind lady at your house. Freya, was it?" Ari said. "She's having a child and everything. That sounds very exciting. You must be happy."
"You know who Freya is, don't play games," Sebastian said, setting up his gun in the window. "And she isn't kind. She's a little bitch with a sharper bite than her bark. I like her."
"So do I," Ari said. "Sebastian-"
Seb sat on the mat, back leaning against the wood of the tree house. "I'm old, Mary. I'm old, and I've buried the only two people I've ever loved. If you've come to taunt us, you've won. If you've come for something else, I'm not your detective, I'm not a blind follower. I'm your husband, the father of your child, and I want to know if it's really you."
"I know how old you are, Sebastian. That doesn't bother me," Mary said, scooting closer. "I didn't mean to die. It wasn't how I planned it, at all. I don't want to taunt or torture you. I told Jack if you wanted I would go, but there is no point to being alive without you. You're the love of my life. I know all that bit about Sherlock being my favorite, but even he used to agree, that you were what kept me going."
[He's hunting something. It's not game - Jack]
"I put you in the ground," Seb said, eyes red as he watched her. "You weren't meant to go alone."
"You buried me. Heart something, by the way. Broken valve or something- not a stroke. If the brain had been damaged further I wouldn't be here now," Mary told him, her voice cracking. "I'm exactly the same as I was, only stronger. Do appearances mean so much to you? Am I hurting you so much more by being here?"
Seb made a wordless gesture, opening his arms as he stretched his legs the length of the mat. Mary curled into his embrace, settling against him. Seb's chest shook as he breathed.
"I can't keep you like this," he croaked out. "What would the children say?"
"Are you going to make me leave?" Mary whispered. "What does it matter what they say? Do you want to be apart?"
"Never, never again," Seb panted, hand shaking as he cupped Mary's cheek. "You're really in there?"
"The harvested my brain, and put it in a machine that made it alive again, and then mapped the neurokinetics or something and downloaded me into a fresh body. I have every feeling, every memory, every wish and dream- although they claim we don't dream, I do- that she had. I'm her," the girl told him, tears sliding over her cheeks. All water reservoirs had been prepped for this moment, so she could prove it to him. "Please? Can't I come home?"
"Are you- human?" Seb asked, touching her cheek. It felt warm, it felt like - skin and tears. He brought a tear to his lips.
"I feel human. But the body, that's different," Mary said, blushing. "I have very human responses. There is little that I do not do or feel."
Seb pulled her closer, urging her to straddle his lap. He leaned up, pressing his lips to hers. "It's very real," he said.
"I suddenly know how Pinocchio felt," Mary teased, kissing back, her lithe young body pressed close to his. She brushed her hands over his chest. "You're so beautiful. The process took ages, and I missed you, so very much, Sebastian, I love you, I love you, I never got to tell you enough-"
Seb silenced her with another kiss. "You never had to say a word, Mary," he murmured. "Not a word. I knew. I always knew. I loved you when you were Jim's, I loved you when you were John's, I loved you when you were yours."
"I'll always love you," Mary promised. She pressed her fingers to his cheek, looking sly. "I couldn't talk you into letting me keep you, could I?"
Seb blinked, feel heat rise on his cheeks. "No one would want to put the work into a broken down soldier-" he said, looking away.
"I would. Think it over, don't spoil this, not right now. I sold my first time, you know. Never had it with someone who loved me, who knew what I like," Mary kissed him again. "Seb. Show me."
Seb brows raised. "Here? With me, like this?" he asked, ashamed of his age. His muscles gone softer despite continuing to work to keep in shape. Running, lifting, sparring with John and Jack. There was only so much one could do.
"Does it matter where? We've not been apart in thirty years and I haven't seen you for five weeks. Two of which I was dead for, and let me tell you, that's not comfortable. Did you want to come back to the cottage with me?" Mary asked. She kissed him, not trusting her own words.
"No, no, here," Seb said, hands curling around her back. Inside the hutch, it was dimmer. He had his weapons and it was safe. Colder, but safe. No possibility of cameras or interruptions. This was his space. The only person he ever shared everything with was Mary. He kissed her again, aching with the sweetness of it. Her body was so warm and soft.
"Tiger. My sweet tiger," Mary whispered, caressing his jaw. She tugged at the buttons on his coat. "You aren't too cold?"
Seb reached out to close the opened window. "Russia was worse," he hummed. He unzipped her jacket, pushing it from her shoulders. He grazed his teeth over her neck. "If I damaged you, would you bleed?"
"Sort of," Mary shrugged. "I don't really know. Haven't tried yet." She shivered, the sweet pain-pleasure of his bite. Her hair was pulling loose from it's braid, curling around to frame her face. "Let's find out."
"Want to see you first," Seb said. "Will you be cold?"
"Only a little. Not like you," Mary told him, worrying with every syllable that the spell would be broken.
"Undress for me then," Seb breathed. "Store your things up there. It's clean. Let me get off my boots." It was quickly growing warm simply from their body heat and the wool blankets. He'd made the tree house with insulation too. He'd intended to hunt in deep winter.
Mary stood and slid her soft blouse over her creamy shoulders without a bra to cover her perfectly formed breasts. She toyed with the button on her jeans shyly. Seb had unzipped army surplus boots and moved to put them on the shelf. His breath hitched.
"Good lord," he breathed, turning back to her. He reached out - just to touch. Mary touched him back, too, a gorgeous dance building between them. She cupped his jaw, her signature move.
"Sebastian," she breathed. Seb surged up to kiss her, thumbs stroking across her nipples to feel them tighten - his cock jumped in his jeans. Horrid thoughts sprung to mind until his sliced Mary's lip with the edge of his sharp canine. Copper tang released beneath it. He gasped.
"Ah, that's my Tiger. My brute, as Freya calls you," Mary said, dabbing at the tiny cut oozing reddish liquid. She kissed him again, letting the fluid mingle in their kiss. "Love you, Tiger."
"Mary, boss - you're back," Seb said, heart soaring. He pushed her back, down onto the mat, covering her with kisses. He nipped and sucked and popped the button on her jeans with deft fingers. She was primed with anticipation, her pleasure centers firing in her brain.
"I'm back," she whispered, fingers in his short hair, curling up to kiss his head.
"I hope you aren't in a hurry," Seb murmured. "These things take time with older men. Are you certain, my heart?"
"Take all the time you need. I have it," Mary said, wishing she could just curl up and crawl inside him and live in his heart forever. "I've never been more certain."
Seb leaned down, kissing her body. If he ever worshiped anything, it would be Mary. Her body. Her love. Her mind. He spent hours making love to her, finding his Mary in all the little places in between. Sated and exhausted, he curled around her, stroking her hair.
"When I die," Seb murmured. "If it pleases you. Do whatever you wish with me. I'm yours."
"Good. Because life without you is nothing," Mary told him. "Nothing but torture." She drew sweet little doodles over his chest, the grey-blond hair tickling the pad of her finger. Seb sighed, dozing.
"Don't leave me, Mary," he whispered, eyes closed. "Not again."
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