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swissmargTitle: Cracks in the In-Between Places
Author:
swissmarg
Beta readers:
ruth0007, billiethepoet
Rating: PG-13
Relationship: John/Sherlock
Word count: ca. 93,500 when complete, this chapter 4,416 words
Summary: AU set in the universe ofnox_candida's Getting Better. John and Sherlock work together to flush out Mary's killers, and Tristram has to come to terms with what his father's new friend means for him. No series 3 spoilers (or series 1 or 2, for that matter).
See chapter one for the complete header with warnings, acknowledgments, disclaimers, and notes.
Chapter 20 on AO3
Chapter Twenty
Tristram hears voices before he's fully awake. It only takes him a few seconds to identify them as Father and Uncle Mycroft. He knows he hasn't a chance of fooling either of them, but he keeps his eyes closed, just to see if they will say anything interesting.
"… AMA, Sherlock," Uncle Mycroft is saying, "that's not-"
"I'm perfectly aware of the circumstances, and he's fine!" Father snaps back.
"I'm not entirely certain which definition of 'fine' you're availing yourself of," Uncle Mycroft says coolly.
"Mine! I am his father, and he is fine! Better than he would be vegetating in that room for one minute longer, at any rate. You know how much he hates hospitals."
"I know how much you hate them," Uncle Mycroft corrects him.
"You didn't see him when I told him we were leaving," Father says smugly. "Go on, tell him, Tristram."
Tristram knew it wouldn't work. He opens his eyes.
Father and Uncle Mycroft are standing across the living room by the mantel, Father with his violin dangling from his hand. Was he playing? Tristram didn't hear either the violin or Uncle Mycroft's entrance. He must have been asleep quite soundly.
"I hate hospitals," he tells Uncle Mycroft obediently. Although 'hate' is perhaps a bit strong, he really was happy to leave.
Uncle Mycroft gives him one of his fake little smiles. "Tristram. How is your hand?"
He tenses it experimentally inside the cast. It hurts, but he sees he's going to have to choose a side here. "Fine," he says.
Uncle Mycroft gives Father a triumphant look. Father scoffs. "It's healing."
"And your back?" Uncle Mycroft presses.
Tristram shifts a bit, then sits up. The bandages catch on a couple of spots, but overall it actually does feel better. "Better," he confirms, trying to be as convincing as possible.
Now it's Father's turn with the triumphant look, accompanied by a quick riff on the violin.
Uncle Mycroft sighs. "Fine, I can see there's no point in belabouring it, but I must register my most strenuous objections to any travel right now."
Father lays his violin and bow carefully in the case on the table. "We will have a doctor with us." He presents it as a statement, but Tristram can hear the question at the core. He also hears the 'we'. Are they going back to Grandmother's? He and Father and Doctor Watson (the only doctor Tristram can imagine might be accompanying them) and thus, probably Emily too? It seems like it's been forever since he's seen her, even though he knows it's only been a few days. Does this mean that Doctor Watson and Father have patched up their row? If they even had a row in the first place.
Uncle Mycroft lets the suspense build while Father fusses with his violin.
"I know he said yes, Mycroft," Father says testily as he snaps the case shut. "You're not going to get any declarations out of me, or whatever it is you're fishing for."
Uncle Mycroft, with a sour look, pulls out a thick envelope from inside his suit jacket. Father snatches it greedily and rips it open.
"I do wish you'd listen to reason on the wisdom of all four of you travelling together," Uncle Mycroft says. "You might as well not bother with false identities at all."
"Not negotiable," Father says as he sorts through the contents of the envelope. Tristram sees what looks like a passport, as well as some other papers.
"You can indulge in your little dalliance once Moran's gang has been rounded up."
Father dumps everything back into the envelope. "Thank you," he says curtly and brushes past Uncle Mycroft to the door, which he holds pointedly open. "We'll be sure to send a postcard."
Uncle Mycroft gathers his umbrella from where it's leaning against one of the armchairs. He frowns down at it. "Sherlock..." He glances at Tristram. It's clear he wants to say something more, but doesn't think it appropriate for Tristram to hear. Finally, he sighs and says simply, "Good luck."
"Luck will have nothing to do with it. Good-bye." Father inclines his head toward the exit in a silent nudge.
Uncle Mycroft takes the hint and goes to the door. He pauses before crossing the threshhold and turns to Tristram. "Take good care of your father," he tells him.
Tristram always does. He nods anyway. "Okay."
Uncle Mycroft nods back, then goes down the stairs.
&&&&&&
It develops that they are not going to Grandmother's at all. They are going to Switzerland. Switzerland! Tristram's only reference point is a chocolate advert that ran a couple of years ago. It showed a lot of cows and mountains and grass. Tristram also knows that Switzerland is famous for making pocket-knives. Father has two, with lots of hidden attachments. That is the sum total of Tristram's knowledge on Switzerland. He's not even sure what language they speak there, although he knows it's not English. Possibly French. Grandmother has lamented on occasion that Father and Mycroft never taught Tristram French. Not that she ever did, either. (It was her first language, apparently, but she gave it up along with Edith).
The trip is officially a holiday, but Tristram understands from what Uncle Mycroft said about 'Moran's gang' (as well as other whispered hints and references) that they are running away. He and Father and Doctor Watson and Emily, all together. It's like the 'safe house' that Doctor Watson and Emily went to, only this time it will be an entire 'safe country'.
Tristram is worried about missing more school, but Father told him everything has been taken care of. It's not as if he could complete his assignments now anyway, considering that he can't write. And even if they weren't going away, he'd still be staying home at least another week because of his back. Maybe they'll be back by then anyway.
The most exciting part is, though, they're not going as Sherlock and Tristram Holmes, and John and Emily Watson. He and Father are now Basil and Terris Rathbone, and the Watsons are Henry and Emily Brown. Father explained that Emily has to have the same first name because she's not used to playing pretend for days and days on end, and she'd forget otherwise and make a mistake. Tristram's new name is based on a similar principle: said quickly, it sounds like "Tris", so they can get away with using his actual nickname. Not, Father assured him, that anyone doubts Tristram's ability to remember and answer to a new name (which he proved himself able to do for weeks at a time that one summer at Grandmother's, when he was attempting to adopt a new name the way she did). But it's easier for Emily to continue calling him 'Tris'. And Father is still 'Father' to him either way, the same as Doctor Watson is 'Dad' for Emily. Emily and Tristram rarely have cause to address each other's fathers directly, so there is little chance of a slip-up there. Still, Tristram makes sure to firmly overwrite 'Doctor Watson' with 'Mister Brown' in his mental index.
Tristram hasn't seen Doctor Watson and Emily since the night he was shot. They're still in the secret, safe place that Uncle Mycroft arranged for them. They're not allowed to telephone, and Emily hasn't sent any more letters. Or at least there haven't been any more delivered. Father hasn't had any contact with them either, which is driving him spare. He's bemoaned the fact loudly and at length several times since they got home last night, between intense sessions poring over the samples left for him on Tristram's dinner tray. Tristram suggests that he could write a letter, the same way he and Emily did, but apparently that is 'medieval'. Tristram doesn't think Father really finds letter-writing evil; he simply doesn't have the patience for it. And anyway, they will see them tonight at the airport.
The car is arriving to pick them up in half an hour, so Tristram's been sent upstairs to pack. He's only allowed one small suitcase and one backpack, because he has to be able to carry everything himself. It's almost December, and the Alps will now be covered with snow, so he's packed warm things. Tristram knows both what the Swiss mountains are called and that they have snow on them from the relief globe in Uncle Mycroft's study. He doesn't know how long they'll be gone for, so he just stuffs everything he can into his suitcase. That leaves his backpack. Beyond clothing and bathroom items - and his phone, which is already in his trouser pocket - Tristram isn't sure what to bring. It might be a good idea to have a few books along to read, but they are heavy. He wishes he'd thought to take the e-reader from the hospital. The promised delivery of the rest of his things has yet to arrive. He decides just to take the Harry Potter book he and Emily were reading. Maybe Father will read some more to them. And if not, Doc- 'Mister Brown' surely will.
As Tristram retrieves the book from where it's lying on top of the dresser, something catches his eye under the field bed, which is still set up from when Emily stayed there. He bends down and finds the glued-together collection of cardboard and tinfoil and odd bits of plastic that represents his and Emily's time machine. Her father must have forgot to pack it when he took her things, or maybe he just didn't see it, or didn't realise it belonged with Emily. Although it's just as much Tristram's time machine as it is Emily's, come to think of it. Tristram holds it in his hand, considering. He has lots of room in his backpack, and it's pretty light. Much lighter than a book. He has lots of fond memories of working on this project with Emily, and somehow he doesn't want to leave it here. Even though he knows they'll be coming back soon. Possibly even by next week. And maybe Emily has been wondering where it is. He holds his backpack open with his clumsy right hand and slides in the time machine and the book.
"Tristram!" his father calls up the stairs.
"Coming!" He zips the backpack with his left hand and teeth and slings it over his shoulder, then picks up his suitcase and goes down to join his father.
&&&&&&
Father is not in a good mood. He's done nothing since they got in the car but stare out the window, clutching his gloves in his lap. He hasn't corrected the driver's route so much as once, despite the fact that even Tristram could have chosen less busy thoroughfares. If he didn't know better, he'd think Father didn't want to go on this trip after all. But it was Uncle Mycroft who didn't want them to go, and Father who insisted, so it must be something else.
They are now driving slowly along a street lined with what look like brand-new houses all in pink brick with white trim. The gardens are dull patches of mud and scraggly things and piles of rubble that no one's bothered to clear away yet. They drive all the way to the end of the street, which ends in a circle that loops back on itself, but instead of turning around, they keep going up the driveway of the house there. The garage door lifts, and they drive straight in. The garage is spotless and completely empty. It doesn't look like anyone lives here.
The driver turns the engine off and tells Father and Tristram to 'wait here'. Father pulls the handle on his door anyway, but it is locked. He scowls and slumps back. The driver goes to the inside door that leads to the house. There is a thumbprint scanner mounted on the wall, but he doesn't activate it. Instead, he pushes a button on the panel below it and waits. Several seconds later, the door opens and Emily and Doctor Watson come out, both with big grins as they try to peer through the tinted windows of the car. The driver unlocks the back door with his key, and then Emily bounces into the car, practically landing on Tristram, and flings her arms around him.
Doctor Watson ducks his head in. "Hiya, Basil." If possible, his smile gets even bigger.
Tristram, all but smothered by Emily, hears his father say, "Henry." His voice comes out kind of funny and he has to clear his throat.
"Hey, Em, watch his hand," Doctor Watson warns her, still grinning.
She sucks in a breath and pulls back a bit. "Sorry," she says, looking down at the cast resting in Tristram's lap. "Does it still hurt?"
"Sometimes. Not now," he tells her. She didn't really jostle it much.
"What did it feel like?" she wants to know. "Was there a hole right through your hand?"
It's weird, but Tristram doesn't actually remember now how it felt. He remembers his back hurting a lot more, and worrying about his father. "It hurt, I guess," he says. "It was bleeding a lot and your father covered it up so I couldn't see it."
"It's really good he was there," she says.
Tristram is a bit surprised by that statement. Doesn't she know...? But looking at her entirely sincere expression, he realises she doesn't. No one's told her that the bullet was meant for her father, and that if he hadn't come over, no one would have been shot at all. Or at least not then and there. On the other hand, maybe it was good that Doctor Watson was there, so that Tristram could push him out of the way. He doesn't think that's what she means, though, and he understands without being told that Emily can never be allowed to know the truth. So he says, "Yeah, it was."
Emily is pushing against Tristram pretty hard with her hip now, but it takes him a moment to understand she means for him to move over to make room for her father to get in. He tries to accommodate her by pressing closer to his own father, but four across is going to be a tight squeeze no matter what.
Doctor Watson recognises this too. "I'll sit in front," he says.
The driver has finished loading their bags into the boot and comes around to unlock the door for Doctor Watson. They end up with Emily behind her father, Tristram in the middle, and Father behind the driver.
Doctor Watson buckles himself in and turns in his seat so he can see Father and Tristram. "The two of you are certainly a sight for sore eyes," he says. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you doing so well, Tris." He reaches between the gap in the front seats to pat Tristram's knee.
Tristram's happy to see Doctor Watson too, but he feels funny about saying that, so he just says, "Thank you."
"Hey, no one's signed your cast yet!" Emily exclaims.
Tristram looks at his hand. Sign his cast? His lack of understanding must show on his face, because Doctor Watson explains, "It's traditional for people to write something on your cast, to wish you a speedy recovery. I don't have a pen right now, but I'll sign it for you when we get to the airport."
"Here." Father has miraculously - or not, given the assortment of oddities he tends to carry around with him - produced a felt-tip pen and is holding it under Tristram's nose.
Doctor Watson grins. "Still a bit hard for me to reach from here. But Ems, you go ahead."
Before giving the pen to Emily, however, Father leans over and scribbles something on Tristram's cast. Once he's done, Tristram lifts his hand to see what he wrote. 'Remember our agreement. Angelo's after.' Tristram does remember: Father is going to find whoever hurt Tristram, and make them pay, and Tristram is going to get better. He looks up. Father is watching him, hard, like he's making sure that Tristram knows he's serious.
Tristram squares his jaw and nods. "I know," he says firmly. "I remember."
The driver has backed the car out of the garage, and they are on their way out of the subdivision. Emily has arranged his arm on her lap so she can write on the cast too. Tristram watches as she settles in for what looks like an extensive doodle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something else, too. Doctor Watson's hand has migrated from Tristram's leg to Father's. It's just resting there, gripping Father's knee. Doctor Watson is still half turned so his arm can reach back between the seats, but he has his eyes ahead, watching the road. Father is looking out the side window again, just like he was on the way here. Tristram keeps his head angled exactly so that it looks like he's watching Emily. She's drawing what looks like some kind of cartoon mouse with unnaturally large ears and teeth. Beside him, Father lifts his hand from the seat and places it over Doctor Watson's on his leg. He doesn't move it until they get to the airport.
&&&&&&
It's crowded, even at the business-class desk. Although they already have their boarding passes, they have to queue up to check their suitcases, which they have all piled together onto a trolley in front of them. There are still three people ahead of them. Emily wants to go snowboarding when they get there. For the first time, Tristram is glad for his injuries; he has absolutely no inclination whatsoever to attempt snowboarding, and this way he has a convenient excuse not to go.
He looks again at his cast. He likes seeing his father's promise there, and being able to carry it around with him and read it whenever he likes. Next to that is Emily's mouse, with a speech bubble coming out of its mouth. It says, 'Get well soon! Love, Emily.'
And then around on the inside of his arm - because Father's and Emily's messages already took up so much room on the front side - is what Doctor Watson wrote: 'You are incredibly brave. Thank you. -John'. That message makes Tristram feel all mixed-up inside. It's embarrassing, for some reason, to have Doctor Watson express gratitude, as if Tristram has done something that he - Doctor Watson - couldn't have, which isn't true at all. Logically, of course, he did Doctor Watson a favour, but Tristram doesn't really feel like he deserves any praise for it. He also doesn't find he was particularly brave. He was terrified, in fact. If he'd been able to shout, to warn Doctor Watson, then he would have been able to get out of the way himself, and Tristram wouldn't have been hurt. And finally, there's the fact that he signed it with his first name, and not as 'Dr Watson'. Tristram doesn't know what to make of that at all.
But oddly, despite Tristram's discomfort when he considers each individual part of the message, as a whole it's secretly his favourite of the three. Secretly because it feels disloyal not to like his father's message best. And he loves his father's message. He's already read it what seems like dozens of times. He has to turn his arm over to see Doctor Watson's message, but then it's like that surprised and delighted feeling you get when you open a drawer you haven't looked in for a while, and find something you were looking for forever and thought was lost. 'You are incredibly brave. Thank you. -John.' Tristram turns his arm back over and the message is hidden.
He checks the queue. Still two people in front of them. He looks around the rest of the check-in hall. It seems like the entire airport is made of windows, which makes Tristram feel exposed, but there are lots of people between him and those windows, so that helps a bit. There are also security guards - or maybe they are policemen, Tristram isn't sure - walking around, some with dogs who sniff at the baggage people have piled up on their trolleys. Up above, there is an open gallery with shops and restaurants. A security guard is standing there, too, at the railing, keeping an eye on the lower level. He has on a black bullet-proof vest over a white shirt, and a flat hat with a black-and-white-check pattern over the visor, which almost but not quite hides his eyes. He also has a big rifle that he's holding securely across his chest. His gaze sweeps the crowd, slowly, steadily. When he passes over their area, his eyes stutter, just for the briefest moment, before continuing on, but Tristram notices. He also notices something else.
"Father..." His voice doesn't come out any louder than a whisper. No one can hear him; there's too much other noise. Something tells him not to shout and draw attention to himself, though.
Tristram backs up, even though he knows that won't do any good. Half a metre won't make a difference. The guard is still looking the other way. At least it looks like he's looking the other way, but Tristram knows that trick all too well. Tristram bumps into someone behind him. Hands immediately grasp his shoulders. Tristram jerks around. It's Father, steadying him. Tristram tries to tell him, but his heart feels like it's leaping into his throat such that he can hardly get the words out. "The bodyguard..."
Father's attention is immediately focused on Tristram. "What is it? What have you seen?" This is one of those times Tristram wishes his father could really see into his head.
Tristram reminds himself of Gents. He reminds himself that he ripped out the IV line with his teeth. He sees Doctor Watson's words in his mind's eye: 'You are incredibly brave.'
"The bodyguard," he says, pleased with how steadily his voice comes out, "the one who wasn't really a bodyguard, he's here."
Father's eyes do not flicker away from his for even a fraction of a second. "Don't look around. Don't move. Tell me," he says.
"Behind me," Tristram tells him. "Up by the shops. He has a gun."
Father slowly, casually, rotates Tristram so that he is now standing between Tristram and the upper gallery. "Henry..." he says, lightly, as if he's about to ask for a pen.
Doctor Watson holds a hand up to Emily to stop her chatter for a moment. "Yeah?" He looks over, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Would you please check the upper level? The person of interest will have a dark complexion, muscular build, carrying a firearm of some sort."
Doctor Watson's expression shifts immediately from relaxed holidaymaker to keen-eyed lookout. "Spotted. Yeah, it's a submachine gun, but he's airport security. There are a couple up there. Down here too, for that matter."
"Are you certain it's him?" Tristram's father asks Tristram.
Tristram knows this is very important. He is the only witness who can identify the man, and it could be bad if he's wrong. "Yes," he says. He is. Even at this distance. "He saw us too. His eyes sort of jumped when he looked this way."
"All right." Father squeezes his eyes shut. He's thinking. "All right... He's not going to start shooting randomly into the crowd. He'd need a reason, some provocation..." He pops his eyes open and stands on his toes, looking for something. He still has his hands on Tristram's shoulders, steadying himself.
"You think they have someone planted with the right kind of reason?" Doctor Watson asks. He's looking deliberately in another direction now too, but Tristram is certain he hasn't let the man out of his sight.
"Yes, and it will be someone near by, near enough that missing by a couple of metres will be unfortunate but excusable. But who?" Tristram can hear the frustration in Father's voice. "This wasn't supposed to happen!"
"Fuck, he's looking over here, he's spotted something-" Doctor Watson is already in motion, reaching down toward Emily.
"Get Tristram and Emily to cover. Now!" Father shoves Tristram at Doctor Watson, and then Tristram can't follow what's happening very well. All he knows is that Doctor Watson's picked him up under one arm and Emily under the other and dives with them behind the check-in desk.
Tristram lands hard, sending a stab of pain through his hand. People start screaming. Tristram hears Emily's shrieks beside him. They're both lying on the floor, face-down, with Doctor Watson covering them with his body. Tristram's hand is wedged in underneath him. He struggles against Doctor Watson's weight, trying to get his hand free. Tristram hears Doctor Watson's voice in his ear, telling them to stay down, that everything's going to be all right. Then he hears his father's voice, roaring above all the other cries and sounds of panic, saying something about a device. Is there another fake bomb? Or is it a real bomb this time? There's more shouting, and Tristram finally manages to peek out from under Doctor Watson's arm, but what he sees doesn't make any sense.
His father is standing there, holding the time machine up over his head with both hands. He's surrounded by knocked-over trolleys and abandoned baggage. Where has everyone gone? What is Father doing with the time machine? Does it really work? Has he sent everyone away? Tristram's mind reels.
Then there is more shouting - Tristram can't see from where - and Father lowers the time machine, very slowly and carefully, and sets it on the floor, then kicks it away. Then, also very slowly, keeping his hands up over his head, he lays down flat on the floor. And then there are men with guns all over him.
"Father!" Tristram screams and thrashes under Doctor Watson.
"No, Tris, don't, it's okay!" Doctor Watson holds Tristram down, but Tristram won't stop screaming. They're going to kill him, they're going to kill his father, and Doctor Watson's just going to let them!
Tristram screams and screams until he can't see anything through the tears, and all the time Doctor Watson is holding him tight and telling him it's going to be all right. Tristram has never felt so betrayed in his life.
Go to chapter twenty-one
Author:
Beta readers:
ruth0007, billiethepoetRating: PG-13
Relationship: John/Sherlock
Word count: ca. 93,500 when complete, this chapter 4,416 words
Summary: AU set in the universe of
nox_candida's Getting Better. John and Sherlock work together to flush out Mary's killers, and Tristram has to come to terms with what his father's new friend means for him. No series 3 spoilers (or series 1 or 2, for that matter).See chapter one for the complete header with warnings, acknowledgments, disclaimers, and notes.
Chapter 20 on AO3
Chapter Twenty
Tristram hears voices before he's fully awake. It only takes him a few seconds to identify them as Father and Uncle Mycroft. He knows he hasn't a chance of fooling either of them, but he keeps his eyes closed, just to see if they will say anything interesting.
"… AMA, Sherlock," Uncle Mycroft is saying, "that's not-"
"I'm perfectly aware of the circumstances, and he's fine!" Father snaps back.
"I'm not entirely certain which definition of 'fine' you're availing yourself of," Uncle Mycroft says coolly.
"Mine! I am his father, and he is fine! Better than he would be vegetating in that room for one minute longer, at any rate. You know how much he hates hospitals."
"I know how much you hate them," Uncle Mycroft corrects him.
"You didn't see him when I told him we were leaving," Father says smugly. "Go on, tell him, Tristram."
Tristram knew it wouldn't work. He opens his eyes.
Father and Uncle Mycroft are standing across the living room by the mantel, Father with his violin dangling from his hand. Was he playing? Tristram didn't hear either the violin or Uncle Mycroft's entrance. He must have been asleep quite soundly.
"I hate hospitals," he tells Uncle Mycroft obediently. Although 'hate' is perhaps a bit strong, he really was happy to leave.
Uncle Mycroft gives him one of his fake little smiles. "Tristram. How is your hand?"
He tenses it experimentally inside the cast. It hurts, but he sees he's going to have to choose a side here. "Fine," he says.
Uncle Mycroft gives Father a triumphant look. Father scoffs. "It's healing."
"And your back?" Uncle Mycroft presses.
Tristram shifts a bit, then sits up. The bandages catch on a couple of spots, but overall it actually does feel better. "Better," he confirms, trying to be as convincing as possible.
Now it's Father's turn with the triumphant look, accompanied by a quick riff on the violin.
Uncle Mycroft sighs. "Fine, I can see there's no point in belabouring it, but I must register my most strenuous objections to any travel right now."
Father lays his violin and bow carefully in the case on the table. "We will have a doctor with us." He presents it as a statement, but Tristram can hear the question at the core. He also hears the 'we'. Are they going back to Grandmother's? He and Father and Doctor Watson (the only doctor Tristram can imagine might be accompanying them) and thus, probably Emily too? It seems like it's been forever since he's seen her, even though he knows it's only been a few days. Does this mean that Doctor Watson and Father have patched up their row? If they even had a row in the first place.
Uncle Mycroft lets the suspense build while Father fusses with his violin.
"I know he said yes, Mycroft," Father says testily as he snaps the case shut. "You're not going to get any declarations out of me, or whatever it is you're fishing for."
Uncle Mycroft, with a sour look, pulls out a thick envelope from inside his suit jacket. Father snatches it greedily and rips it open.
"I do wish you'd listen to reason on the wisdom of all four of you travelling together," Uncle Mycroft says. "You might as well not bother with false identities at all."
"Not negotiable," Father says as he sorts through the contents of the envelope. Tristram sees what looks like a passport, as well as some other papers.
"You can indulge in your little dalliance once Moran's gang has been rounded up."
Father dumps everything back into the envelope. "Thank you," he says curtly and brushes past Uncle Mycroft to the door, which he holds pointedly open. "We'll be sure to send a postcard."
Uncle Mycroft gathers his umbrella from where it's leaning against one of the armchairs. He frowns down at it. "Sherlock..." He glances at Tristram. It's clear he wants to say something more, but doesn't think it appropriate for Tristram to hear. Finally, he sighs and says simply, "Good luck."
"Luck will have nothing to do with it. Good-bye." Father inclines his head toward the exit in a silent nudge.
Uncle Mycroft takes the hint and goes to the door. He pauses before crossing the threshhold and turns to Tristram. "Take good care of your father," he tells him.
Tristram always does. He nods anyway. "Okay."
Uncle Mycroft nods back, then goes down the stairs.
&&&&&&
It develops that they are not going to Grandmother's at all. They are going to Switzerland. Switzerland! Tristram's only reference point is a chocolate advert that ran a couple of years ago. It showed a lot of cows and mountains and grass. Tristram also knows that Switzerland is famous for making pocket-knives. Father has two, with lots of hidden attachments. That is the sum total of Tristram's knowledge on Switzerland. He's not even sure what language they speak there, although he knows it's not English. Possibly French. Grandmother has lamented on occasion that Father and Mycroft never taught Tristram French. Not that she ever did, either. (It was her first language, apparently, but she gave it up along with Edith).
The trip is officially a holiday, but Tristram understands from what Uncle Mycroft said about 'Moran's gang' (as well as other whispered hints and references) that they are running away. He and Father and Doctor Watson and Emily, all together. It's like the 'safe house' that Doctor Watson and Emily went to, only this time it will be an entire 'safe country'.
Tristram is worried about missing more school, but Father told him everything has been taken care of. It's not as if he could complete his assignments now anyway, considering that he can't write. And even if they weren't going away, he'd still be staying home at least another week because of his back. Maybe they'll be back by then anyway.
The most exciting part is, though, they're not going as Sherlock and Tristram Holmes, and John and Emily Watson. He and Father are now Basil and Terris Rathbone, and the Watsons are Henry and Emily Brown. Father explained that Emily has to have the same first name because she's not used to playing pretend for days and days on end, and she'd forget otherwise and make a mistake. Tristram's new name is based on a similar principle: said quickly, it sounds like "Tris", so they can get away with using his actual nickname. Not, Father assured him, that anyone doubts Tristram's ability to remember and answer to a new name (which he proved himself able to do for weeks at a time that one summer at Grandmother's, when he was attempting to adopt a new name the way she did). But it's easier for Emily to continue calling him 'Tris'. And Father is still 'Father' to him either way, the same as Doctor Watson is 'Dad' for Emily. Emily and Tristram rarely have cause to address each other's fathers directly, so there is little chance of a slip-up there. Still, Tristram makes sure to firmly overwrite 'Doctor Watson' with 'Mister Brown' in his mental index.
Tristram hasn't seen Doctor Watson and Emily since the night he was shot. They're still in the secret, safe place that Uncle Mycroft arranged for them. They're not allowed to telephone, and Emily hasn't sent any more letters. Or at least there haven't been any more delivered. Father hasn't had any contact with them either, which is driving him spare. He's bemoaned the fact loudly and at length several times since they got home last night, between intense sessions poring over the samples left for him on Tristram's dinner tray. Tristram suggests that he could write a letter, the same way he and Emily did, but apparently that is 'medieval'. Tristram doesn't think Father really finds letter-writing evil; he simply doesn't have the patience for it. And anyway, they will see them tonight at the airport.
The car is arriving to pick them up in half an hour, so Tristram's been sent upstairs to pack. He's only allowed one small suitcase and one backpack, because he has to be able to carry everything himself. It's almost December, and the Alps will now be covered with snow, so he's packed warm things. Tristram knows both what the Swiss mountains are called and that they have snow on them from the relief globe in Uncle Mycroft's study. He doesn't know how long they'll be gone for, so he just stuffs everything he can into his suitcase. That leaves his backpack. Beyond clothing and bathroom items - and his phone, which is already in his trouser pocket - Tristram isn't sure what to bring. It might be a good idea to have a few books along to read, but they are heavy. He wishes he'd thought to take the e-reader from the hospital. The promised delivery of the rest of his things has yet to arrive. He decides just to take the Harry Potter book he and Emily were reading. Maybe Father will read some more to them. And if not, Doc- 'Mister Brown' surely will.
As Tristram retrieves the book from where it's lying on top of the dresser, something catches his eye under the field bed, which is still set up from when Emily stayed there. He bends down and finds the glued-together collection of cardboard and tinfoil and odd bits of plastic that represents his and Emily's time machine. Her father must have forgot to pack it when he took her things, or maybe he just didn't see it, or didn't realise it belonged with Emily. Although it's just as much Tristram's time machine as it is Emily's, come to think of it. Tristram holds it in his hand, considering. He has lots of room in his backpack, and it's pretty light. Much lighter than a book. He has lots of fond memories of working on this project with Emily, and somehow he doesn't want to leave it here. Even though he knows they'll be coming back soon. Possibly even by next week. And maybe Emily has been wondering where it is. He holds his backpack open with his clumsy right hand and slides in the time machine and the book.
"Tristram!" his father calls up the stairs.
"Coming!" He zips the backpack with his left hand and teeth and slings it over his shoulder, then picks up his suitcase and goes down to join his father.
&&&&&&
Father is not in a good mood. He's done nothing since they got in the car but stare out the window, clutching his gloves in his lap. He hasn't corrected the driver's route so much as once, despite the fact that even Tristram could have chosen less busy thoroughfares. If he didn't know better, he'd think Father didn't want to go on this trip after all. But it was Uncle Mycroft who didn't want them to go, and Father who insisted, so it must be something else.
They are now driving slowly along a street lined with what look like brand-new houses all in pink brick with white trim. The gardens are dull patches of mud and scraggly things and piles of rubble that no one's bothered to clear away yet. They drive all the way to the end of the street, which ends in a circle that loops back on itself, but instead of turning around, they keep going up the driveway of the house there. The garage door lifts, and they drive straight in. The garage is spotless and completely empty. It doesn't look like anyone lives here.
The driver turns the engine off and tells Father and Tristram to 'wait here'. Father pulls the handle on his door anyway, but it is locked. He scowls and slumps back. The driver goes to the inside door that leads to the house. There is a thumbprint scanner mounted on the wall, but he doesn't activate it. Instead, he pushes a button on the panel below it and waits. Several seconds later, the door opens and Emily and Doctor Watson come out, both with big grins as they try to peer through the tinted windows of the car. The driver unlocks the back door with his key, and then Emily bounces into the car, practically landing on Tristram, and flings her arms around him.
Doctor Watson ducks his head in. "Hiya, Basil." If possible, his smile gets even bigger.
Tristram, all but smothered by Emily, hears his father say, "Henry." His voice comes out kind of funny and he has to clear his throat.
"Hey, Em, watch his hand," Doctor Watson warns her, still grinning.
She sucks in a breath and pulls back a bit. "Sorry," she says, looking down at the cast resting in Tristram's lap. "Does it still hurt?"
"Sometimes. Not now," he tells her. She didn't really jostle it much.
"What did it feel like?" she wants to know. "Was there a hole right through your hand?"
It's weird, but Tristram doesn't actually remember now how it felt. He remembers his back hurting a lot more, and worrying about his father. "It hurt, I guess," he says. "It was bleeding a lot and your father covered it up so I couldn't see it."
"It's really good he was there," she says.
Tristram is a bit surprised by that statement. Doesn't she know...? But looking at her entirely sincere expression, he realises she doesn't. No one's told her that the bullet was meant for her father, and that if he hadn't come over, no one would have been shot at all. Or at least not then and there. On the other hand, maybe it was good that Doctor Watson was there, so that Tristram could push him out of the way. He doesn't think that's what she means, though, and he understands without being told that Emily can never be allowed to know the truth. So he says, "Yeah, it was."
Emily is pushing against Tristram pretty hard with her hip now, but it takes him a moment to understand she means for him to move over to make room for her father to get in. He tries to accommodate her by pressing closer to his own father, but four across is going to be a tight squeeze no matter what.
Doctor Watson recognises this too. "I'll sit in front," he says.
The driver has finished loading their bags into the boot and comes around to unlock the door for Doctor Watson. They end up with Emily behind her father, Tristram in the middle, and Father behind the driver.
Doctor Watson buckles himself in and turns in his seat so he can see Father and Tristram. "The two of you are certainly a sight for sore eyes," he says. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you doing so well, Tris." He reaches between the gap in the front seats to pat Tristram's knee.
Tristram's happy to see Doctor Watson too, but he feels funny about saying that, so he just says, "Thank you."
"Hey, no one's signed your cast yet!" Emily exclaims.
Tristram looks at his hand. Sign his cast? His lack of understanding must show on his face, because Doctor Watson explains, "It's traditional for people to write something on your cast, to wish you a speedy recovery. I don't have a pen right now, but I'll sign it for you when we get to the airport."
"Here." Father has miraculously - or not, given the assortment of oddities he tends to carry around with him - produced a felt-tip pen and is holding it under Tristram's nose.
Doctor Watson grins. "Still a bit hard for me to reach from here. But Ems, you go ahead."
Before giving the pen to Emily, however, Father leans over and scribbles something on Tristram's cast. Once he's done, Tristram lifts his hand to see what he wrote. 'Remember our agreement. Angelo's after.' Tristram does remember: Father is going to find whoever hurt Tristram, and make them pay, and Tristram is going to get better. He looks up. Father is watching him, hard, like he's making sure that Tristram knows he's serious.
Tristram squares his jaw and nods. "I know," he says firmly. "I remember."
The driver has backed the car out of the garage, and they are on their way out of the subdivision. Emily has arranged his arm on her lap so she can write on the cast too. Tristram watches as she settles in for what looks like an extensive doodle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something else, too. Doctor Watson's hand has migrated from Tristram's leg to Father's. It's just resting there, gripping Father's knee. Doctor Watson is still half turned so his arm can reach back between the seats, but he has his eyes ahead, watching the road. Father is looking out the side window again, just like he was on the way here. Tristram keeps his head angled exactly so that it looks like he's watching Emily. She's drawing what looks like some kind of cartoon mouse with unnaturally large ears and teeth. Beside him, Father lifts his hand from the seat and places it over Doctor Watson's on his leg. He doesn't move it until they get to the airport.
&&&&&&
It's crowded, even at the business-class desk. Although they already have their boarding passes, they have to queue up to check their suitcases, which they have all piled together onto a trolley in front of them. There are still three people ahead of them. Emily wants to go snowboarding when they get there. For the first time, Tristram is glad for his injuries; he has absolutely no inclination whatsoever to attempt snowboarding, and this way he has a convenient excuse not to go.
He looks again at his cast. He likes seeing his father's promise there, and being able to carry it around with him and read it whenever he likes. Next to that is Emily's mouse, with a speech bubble coming out of its mouth. It says, 'Get well soon! Love, Emily.'
And then around on the inside of his arm - because Father's and Emily's messages already took up so much room on the front side - is what Doctor Watson wrote: 'You are incredibly brave. Thank you. -John'. That message makes Tristram feel all mixed-up inside. It's embarrassing, for some reason, to have Doctor Watson express gratitude, as if Tristram has done something that he - Doctor Watson - couldn't have, which isn't true at all. Logically, of course, he did Doctor Watson a favour, but Tristram doesn't really feel like he deserves any praise for it. He also doesn't find he was particularly brave. He was terrified, in fact. If he'd been able to shout, to warn Doctor Watson, then he would have been able to get out of the way himself, and Tristram wouldn't have been hurt. And finally, there's the fact that he signed it with his first name, and not as 'Dr Watson'. Tristram doesn't know what to make of that at all.
But oddly, despite Tristram's discomfort when he considers each individual part of the message, as a whole it's secretly his favourite of the three. Secretly because it feels disloyal not to like his father's message best. And he loves his father's message. He's already read it what seems like dozens of times. He has to turn his arm over to see Doctor Watson's message, but then it's like that surprised and delighted feeling you get when you open a drawer you haven't looked in for a while, and find something you were looking for forever and thought was lost. 'You are incredibly brave. Thank you. -John.' Tristram turns his arm back over and the message is hidden.
He checks the queue. Still two people in front of them. He looks around the rest of the check-in hall. It seems like the entire airport is made of windows, which makes Tristram feel exposed, but there are lots of people between him and those windows, so that helps a bit. There are also security guards - or maybe they are policemen, Tristram isn't sure - walking around, some with dogs who sniff at the baggage people have piled up on their trolleys. Up above, there is an open gallery with shops and restaurants. A security guard is standing there, too, at the railing, keeping an eye on the lower level. He has on a black bullet-proof vest over a white shirt, and a flat hat with a black-and-white-check pattern over the visor, which almost but not quite hides his eyes. He also has a big rifle that he's holding securely across his chest. His gaze sweeps the crowd, slowly, steadily. When he passes over their area, his eyes stutter, just for the briefest moment, before continuing on, but Tristram notices. He also notices something else.
"Father..." His voice doesn't come out any louder than a whisper. No one can hear him; there's too much other noise. Something tells him not to shout and draw attention to himself, though.
Tristram backs up, even though he knows that won't do any good. Half a metre won't make a difference. The guard is still looking the other way. At least it looks like he's looking the other way, but Tristram knows that trick all too well. Tristram bumps into someone behind him. Hands immediately grasp his shoulders. Tristram jerks around. It's Father, steadying him. Tristram tries to tell him, but his heart feels like it's leaping into his throat such that he can hardly get the words out. "The bodyguard..."
Father's attention is immediately focused on Tristram. "What is it? What have you seen?" This is one of those times Tristram wishes his father could really see into his head.
Tristram reminds himself of Gents. He reminds himself that he ripped out the IV line with his teeth. He sees Doctor Watson's words in his mind's eye: 'You are incredibly brave.'
"The bodyguard," he says, pleased with how steadily his voice comes out, "the one who wasn't really a bodyguard, he's here."
Father's eyes do not flicker away from his for even a fraction of a second. "Don't look around. Don't move. Tell me," he says.
"Behind me," Tristram tells him. "Up by the shops. He has a gun."
Father slowly, casually, rotates Tristram so that he is now standing between Tristram and the upper gallery. "Henry..." he says, lightly, as if he's about to ask for a pen.
Doctor Watson holds a hand up to Emily to stop her chatter for a moment. "Yeah?" He looks over, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Would you please check the upper level? The person of interest will have a dark complexion, muscular build, carrying a firearm of some sort."
Doctor Watson's expression shifts immediately from relaxed holidaymaker to keen-eyed lookout. "Spotted. Yeah, it's a submachine gun, but he's airport security. There are a couple up there. Down here too, for that matter."
"Are you certain it's him?" Tristram's father asks Tristram.
Tristram knows this is very important. He is the only witness who can identify the man, and it could be bad if he's wrong. "Yes," he says. He is. Even at this distance. "He saw us too. His eyes sort of jumped when he looked this way."
"All right." Father squeezes his eyes shut. He's thinking. "All right... He's not going to start shooting randomly into the crowd. He'd need a reason, some provocation..." He pops his eyes open and stands on his toes, looking for something. He still has his hands on Tristram's shoulders, steadying himself.
"You think they have someone planted with the right kind of reason?" Doctor Watson asks. He's looking deliberately in another direction now too, but Tristram is certain he hasn't let the man out of his sight.
"Yes, and it will be someone near by, near enough that missing by a couple of metres will be unfortunate but excusable. But who?" Tristram can hear the frustration in Father's voice. "This wasn't supposed to happen!"
"Fuck, he's looking over here, he's spotted something-" Doctor Watson is already in motion, reaching down toward Emily.
"Get Tristram and Emily to cover. Now!" Father shoves Tristram at Doctor Watson, and then Tristram can't follow what's happening very well. All he knows is that Doctor Watson's picked him up under one arm and Emily under the other and dives with them behind the check-in desk.
Tristram lands hard, sending a stab of pain through his hand. People start screaming. Tristram hears Emily's shrieks beside him. They're both lying on the floor, face-down, with Doctor Watson covering them with his body. Tristram's hand is wedged in underneath him. He struggles against Doctor Watson's weight, trying to get his hand free. Tristram hears Doctor Watson's voice in his ear, telling them to stay down, that everything's going to be all right. Then he hears his father's voice, roaring above all the other cries and sounds of panic, saying something about a device. Is there another fake bomb? Or is it a real bomb this time? There's more shouting, and Tristram finally manages to peek out from under Doctor Watson's arm, but what he sees doesn't make any sense.
His father is standing there, holding the time machine up over his head with both hands. He's surrounded by knocked-over trolleys and abandoned baggage. Where has everyone gone? What is Father doing with the time machine? Does it really work? Has he sent everyone away? Tristram's mind reels.
Then there is more shouting - Tristram can't see from where - and Father lowers the time machine, very slowly and carefully, and sets it on the floor, then kicks it away. Then, also very slowly, keeping his hands up over his head, he lays down flat on the floor. And then there are men with guns all over him.
"Father!" Tristram screams and thrashes under Doctor Watson.
"No, Tris, don't, it's okay!" Doctor Watson holds Tristram down, but Tristram won't stop screaming. They're going to kill him, they're going to kill his father, and Doctor Watson's just going to let them!
Tristram screams and screams until he can't see anything through the tears, and all the time Doctor Watson is holding him tight and telling him it's going to be all right. Tristram has never felt so betrayed in his life.
&&&&&&
Go to chapter twenty-one
