Chapter Text
If someone would have told her, back when she was 15 and first met Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, that everything would have turned out this way, she might have run in the other direction as fast as she could. These were not boys to be toyed with; they were intelligent to the point of dangerous. She of all people should know, as her brother was a charismatic nightmare. So yeah, she might have run away. More likely, she would have run right into Sherlock’s arms like they were where she belonged. It’s what she did the first time, and dear God, was he worth it. He would always be worth it.
Scarlette was used to watching from a distance at this point. Watching him age and move on without her. Watching him figure out his place in the world without her. The idea that she should have been there with him was as ever-present as the diamond ring resting on her collarbone. Over a decade had passed since it last rest on her finger, and many a lover had commented on it, though a sharp glare ceased most questions quickly enough. Mycroft had wanted to take it from her originally.
She stood in front of his desk, eyes meeting his. It was hard to be intimidated by a man after catching him being yelled at by his mother. At least this time he had the good sense to look ashamed.
“I truly am sorry, my dear, but I’m sure you understand.” Mycroft Holmes did not speak kindly to people. He was always brief and cold. Overly emotional language was something Scarlette had seen him roll his eyes at many times. And he did not apologize to anyone. Ever.
“Understand. Of course I understand. Crazy genius brothers who would destroy each other if they ever met. Yeah, I get it,” she said, watching his fingers tense slightly. She was angry and emotional and he could deal with it. She was still doing as he asked, despite it all. Her own fingers were toying with the ring on her left hand, a habit that took only a few minutes to develop after it was put there.
It had been said, many times, that Mycroft did not have a heart. In most cases, this was true. Individual people did not matter to him. At best they were merely stupid, at worst distractions from the much more important task of keeping the majority of them at least passably safe. This girl was not most cases. His little brother’s chosen companion. Moderately clever, loyal. Willing to do whatever it takes to protect what she loved. He liked this girl.
“Sentiment is often kept in the form of physical objects. It might be easier if you relinquished that to me for the time being,” he said, trying to keep his tone gentle. He found it came surprisingly easy when he actually meant it.
She let herself look at the ring. Before it had been slid onto her finger, she had thought she wanted something simple, understated. She hadn’t wanted dramatic‒wasn’t one outlandish child enough for any parents—until she saw it resting on her hand. The Holmes boys always did have a sense of humor, at least hers did. The diamond itself wasn’t anything too special, more of a gentle nod to tradition than the focal point of the ring, but the band was covered in sapphires so blue if you stared at them long enough it felt like you were falling into nothingness. She loved it instantly and loved how well he knew her. Not one for dramatic. Yeah, right.
“No,” she whispered, “don’t make me. Please.”
If she had screamed and shouted, he would have been able to insist that she hand it over. His brother had published a picture of it in as many newspapers as he could the moment she had said yes. It would be too easy for anyone with half a brain to realize who it came from. But he had prepared for her to fight back. He was not prepared for her to beg. He found himself letting out a sigh and opening a drawer in his desk few would have believed was there. He pulled out a simple gold chain necklace. It had belonged to his grandmother, and he could not bear to part with it until now, though she didn’t need to know that.The wood of his chair creaked as he stood and walked over to her.
“May I?” He asked, holding out his hand. She gently twisted the ring off her finger, hesitated for just a moment before she placed it in his palm. He spoke as he brought it closer to his face. “It’s still strange to think that my brother chose this. It is beautiful, the foolish romantic child.” Scarlette glared up at him, to which he rolled his eyes. “Still, it would be a shame to hide it away from the world,” he said as he let it slide onto the chain.
Mycroft Holmes was not a kind man, but nor was he needlessly cruel, she thought as he placed a hand on her shoulder to turn her gently. He fastened the necklace behind her. Her fingers found the ring in seconds as her eyes found his once again.
“Perhaps one day, when all this is over, you may wear it again. Until then, sister mine, back to business?”
A smile found its way onto her face, thinking back. But now was not the time for smiles and it was not the time for watching. The man she loved was laying in the hospital of a gunshot wound given by one of her closest friends. She was angry and emotional and did not care who had to deal with it. Her feet tapped to the beat of the music in the elevator as she waited for the door to open. When it did, she walked right up to Mycroft and tugged on his sleeve, as she had when they were kids.
“My dear, why are you here?” For once, he could not hide his shock. Mary glanced in her direction but did not dare to meet her eyes. John looked at her in confusion, the only one in the room who did not know who she was
“Let me see him.” It was a simple sentence, but one that hardened his gaze.
“No.” was all that he said. She tilted her head and moved. Had John not witnessed it, he would not have believed how fast Mycroft reacted in that moment, because Scarlette’s hand was on the knob and Mycroft’s umbrella was lying on her wrist.
“Let. Me. See. Him.” John took a moment to really look at this girl who was facing down one of the most dangerous men in the world like it was nothing. She was pretty enough, he supposed, though not someone who would have caught his eye. Brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and choppy bangs. She was shorter than Mary, though not by much.
“Have you not learned your lesson, my dear?” Mycroft said. Scarlette rolled her eyes.
“Yes, keep pretending you don't care. But look around you. No one here believes it. Now, I'm getting in that room one way or another and we both know it.”
“I'm sorry, but who the hell are you,” John asked, reminding Mycroft that his brother's friend was there. In the corner of his eye, he saw Scarlette grin. He let out a sign.
“ I suppose introductions are in order. Dr. John Watson, this is Scarlette Moriarty. She's an old friend of Sherlock's.” The moment he said her last name, John moved in front of the door.
“If you think I'm letting anyone with that name near him you're just stupid,” he spat out. Scarlette sighed.
“Yes, yes, I'm sure my brother traumatized you and all that. But he's dead. I held his husband as he cried then killed him myself, which fucking sucked by the way. I've officially no family left, in the name of protecting Sherlock Holmes.”
“No one has hurt him more than you, my dear.” Mycroft felt the need to add.
“Pot, meet kettle. I left on your orders. Now, Dr. Watson, please let me in before I cause significant damage to this facility.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife sigh. If he didn’t know better he’d say that Mary knew the woman trying to break into his best friend’s hospital room.
“She is being quite serious, I’m afraid. Step aside. I don’t have the time to deal with fixing this if her anger goes unchecked. He will want to see her if that matters to you at all.” Though it was all said with the same monotone voice Mycroft said everything in, it was almost as though he was defeated. Scarlette smiled at him.
“Thank you, dear. John?” He was tense, though that was fair enough. He didn’t know her and his best friend had almost died. Again. Scarlette watched as Mary grabbed her husband’s wrist and pulled him to the side. She reached once more for the door handle.
“Ring,” Mycroft said, drawing John’s attention once more.
“What? What ring?” Scarlette looked down at the floor, pulling the necklace out from under her shirt.
“This ring.” She said, meeting Mary’s eyes for the first time. If she had been paying attention, she would have seen John frantically try to put together the pieces. She would have seen him flailing his arms around in thought and how his face changed from angry to confused to shock in a matter of seconds. And she would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it. But it wasn’t John that she was paying attention to. Mary smiled slightly at her. Then took a step back, realizing what it was that she had done.
“Oh, Scarlette. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” She said.
“I’m sure,” Scarlette said, slipping the ring off the chain and onto her finger. It still looked as at home there as it did years ago.
“She’s wearing an engagement ring. She’s wearing an engagement ring going to see Sherlock Holmes. A ring Mycroft knew about…” was all she heard as she opened the door to the room.