17There was, of course, the possibility that Mycroft had arrived in the midst of Sherlock's cardiac arrest, and he was about to ask her his condition, but that faint hope was erased with his next words.
"My car is out front," Mycroft continued. "I think privacy is called for, don't you?"
She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward Sherlock's room.
"Oh, come now, Mrs. Watson. You don't seriously believe that I would spirit you off. I simply want to talk."
She squared her shoulders. There seemed no question now that he knew, and she wanted this conversation to take place as far from John as possible. "I'll come with you."
Mycroft's black Mercedes was idling at the kerb. His driver was standing with his gloved hand on the passenger door handle.
"I thought we were going to talk *here*." She stopped a few steps from the car.
Mycroft turned to the driver. "That will be all for now."
The driver touched the brim of his hat and walked away.
"There, you see? We're not going anywhere." He opened the door and motioned for her to enter.
"If John comes looking for me and finds me sitting in the back of your car, he's going to have questions."
"Please get in."
She complied, and Mycroft joined her, then pulled the door shut and pressed a button on the armrest that locked them in.
He held out his hand. "Your purse, please."
"Why?" she asked, but Mycroft just held her gaze. She took the strap from her shoulder and gave him the bag.
He searched it thoroughly and handed it back. "I must say I'm relieved that you're not wasting my time pretending you have no idea what this is about."
"I think you may be reading too much into my coming with you."
Mycroft studied her face for a moment. "Very well. Then I'll just come straight to the point. I know that you shot my brother, and I find myself faced with an array of options, one of which is to eliminate you in the most unpleasant way I can devise." He folded his hands in his lap. "But before I make any decision, I require facts. I believe I know why you shot him, but I would like to hear your version."
She had been prepared for anything but an overt threat. "If I told you it was a dreadful mistake, that I panicked and made the worst possible choice, what difference would it make?"
"It might make a great deal of difference, if I believed you. But knowing who and what you are, I find it difficult to accept panic as an excuse."
"But that's what happened." She hated the plea in her voice, but the simple fact was that she had put herself in this position. Mycroft Holmes was far more dangerous than the people she had gone to such lengths to escape, and she had nearly killed the only person that mattered to him. She was frankly surprised to be alive. "I lost control. Sherlock would not have told John I was there, I know that now. I knew it then. When he got over the shock of seeing me, all he wanted was to help me stop Magnusson. I don't *know* why I shot him, but I swear on John's life, I never meant to kill him."
Mycroft's expression was unreadable. "I believe you didn't intend to kill him, because it would have gained you nothing, and it stands to cost you a great deal."
"If you believe me, then what are we doing here?"
"I thought I had made that fairly clear. You have a past that you want desperately to keep hidden. We're negotiating your future."
"How long have you known who I was?"
"Who you *are*, Mrs. Watson. I've known who you are since shortly after you took up with John Watson. It was part of a promise I made to Sherlock, the circumstances of which are not relevant to this discussion. I had John under surveillance, and when you came into his life, your background was checked as a matter of routine. I found that you were a CIA operative who had gone off grid for reasons which are also not relevant."
"Why didn't you tell John as soon as you found out? Why did Sherlock keep letting me believe *he* didn't know?" Mycroft's implacable expression shifted. It was very brief, but she was very good, and she realized that she had just stumbled onto a key piece of the puzzle. "Sherlock didn't know. You didn't tell him about me. Why?"
"I didn't tell John because you posed no threat to him. When Sherlock returned to London, I didn't tell him for the same reason." He paused. "I made a mistake, and now I'm controlling the damage."
"Controlling it how?" She had not brought a weapon, a fact that Mycroft had established by searching her purse. It was beginning to look as if that might prove to be her final mistake. "Have you devised an appropriately unpleasant way to get rid of me, then? Because of what I did, or because I'm proof that you're as fallible as the rest of us?"
"You might want to tread more carefully. Poking the bear isn't courageous, it's stupid, and you are anything but stupid. I will agree to keep your secret from your husband, if you will agree to my terms. I intend to make you an asset."
Blackmail. She looked at him with an entirely new perspective. "You think you're going to threaten me into killing for you? You're worse than Magnusson. I went there to kill him for just telling me what he knew."
"But you failed. Magnusson is still very much alive, while my brother..." He stopped and cleared his throat. "Let's not waste time dancing, shall we? You don't want me to tell John that you shot his best friend, and you certainly don't want me to tell him why. I am willing to keep that information to myself in exchange for your help. I would call that an equitable trade."
"What kind of help?"
"My brother has no sense of self-preservation, and he steadfastly refuses my protection. I tried to buy your husband's cooperation when he first entered the picture, but that was before I understood what kind of man he is. John Watson would not hesitate to offer his own life to protect my brother. He's already done it more than once. But Sherlock needs more than a courageous soldier watching his back. He needs someone with the same training and skills as the people who are threatening him. Someone in his inner circle who will know when he's crossing the line. That person, Mrs. Watson, is you."
She wasn't easily surprised, yet Mycroft had managed to do it twice in a single conversation. "You're willing to overlook my indiscretions if I promise to help you protect Sherlock."
"Euphemistically put, yes. Your *indiscretions* will be forgiven, in exchange for your word that you will protect my brother with your life."
Sherlock would keep her secret to protect John. Mycroft would keep silent because he needed her. But Magnusson was still a problem. "Magnusson told me why he found me useful, by the way. He said he was working his way up to you. He planned to use me to control John, and John to control Sherlock. That would give him direct access to you. It still does."
"Yes, I'm quite aware of his intentions. Let me take care of Magnusson."
"How will you prevent him telling John about me?"
Mycroft met her gaze levelly. "Let's just say everyone has a pressure point. That includes Magnusson."
And if anyone could find Magnusson's pressure point, it would be Mycroft Holmes. "If I agree to your terms, and something happens to Sherlock that I'm unable to prevent, where does that leave me?"
"I have been looking out for my brother his entire life. It's far from an easy task. I would not hold you responsible unless it was actually your fault. In that determination, however, I will be the sole judge."
What choice did she have? "John must never know, or the deal is off."
Mycroft's entire demeanor changed, and his voice grew deadly calm. "If my brother does not recover, our deal will no longer exist, and what John knows or doesn't know will be the least of your problems. On that, you have my word."
He pressed the button and unlocked her door. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'm late for an appointment."
She got out of the car and watched him pull away. If Sherlock didn't recover, she would be able to measure her future in minutes. Of that, she had no doubt.
When she returned to Sherlock's room, she found John asleep in the chair, still holding Sherlock's hand. Sherlock was awake, and he must have tensed when he saw her because John woke suddenly and got up to check on him. Then he saw Mary. He glanced at his watch.
"You were gone a long time." He noticed her empty hands. "You were serious about cutting me off caffeine, I see." He smiled.
"You can't have any unless you share." Sherlock's voice was soft but it was the first full sentence she had heard him utter.
The transformation in her husband was amazing. He looked ten years younger than he had when she left.
"A whole sentence," he practically giggled. "Pretty impressive." He turned to Mary, still smiling. "Really, where were you all this time?"
"I, um, ran into Mycroft on my way to the cafeteria and we talked for a bit." She looked at Sherlock and easily read his reaction. John was too beside himself with relief to notice.
Sherlock met her gaze with one so intense that she couldn't mistake his message. *Don't tell John.* Ironically, it was the same warning she'd given him.
"Is he coming up, then?" John asked her.
She kept her focus on Sherlock. "He said he'll come by later. He had something he had to do first." She saw the moment he read the promise in her eyes.
End of Damage Control
Author's Notes: It bothered me that Mycroft seemed to bear no ill will toward Mary Watson in HLV. He had to know who she was, and that she shot his brother. Mycroft being Mycroft, why didn't he kill her? This chapter is one possible explanation. I'd love to hear what you thought. -GW
