relieved to see she no longer shivered. The
farm kitchen was warm and dry.
“Are you in pain?”
he asked. She shook her head but didn't open her mouth to speak
until the farmer came over with a large mug of tea for her. She
took it in both hands and cradled it to her.
“Thank you,” she
said, barely above a whisper. Mycroft noticed the slight shake in
her voice but doubted the guy had. He accepted the second cup the
farmer had made and sat down at the table beside her.
“I'll go make
myself decent, if you'll both be all right for a few minutes?”
Mycroft nodded at
the man's sense. Very soon his house would be inundated with police
and hopefully a doctor to check Amelia over. While they were alone
together Mycroft did just that, although he remained seated and she
didn't notice. He started with her hands, noticing the blood had
been washed off her fingernails and none of them looked to be worse
off than a few chips here and there. All of them were firmly
attached.
His gaze then
moved to Amelia's wrists. The sea water had washed them as well,
but rather than cleaning them off, they were now swollen and red,
especially where the ropes had rubbed her skin so badly she'd bled.
He suspected she'd lied when she said she was in no pain.
From his seat
beside her he couldn't see the soles of her feet, but noticed no
drops of blood on the floor. Her thin tights were ripped and he
could see the smears of blood on the tattered heals. They would
need cleaning and she would struggle to walk for a day or two, but
he doubted it would be any worse.
“What now?” she
said as she put her empty mug down on the table. When he didn't
respond she finally looked at him. Every feature was as calm as
usual.
“The police will
be here soon and then you need medical attention,” he explained,
assuming she hadn't heard the phone calls he'd made. Considering
the blunder he'd made with his brother's name, he was pleased to
find she'd not been paying attention.
“After that, are
we going back to London to try to stop them again?”
“My driver will
take us back, yes, unless you want to go home to Bath?”
“No,” she replied
before he'd even finished saying her home city's name. “I'd rather
come to London. I can still help.”
“You can barely
walk.” Although he admired her determination he knew she couldn't
be allowed to risk her life any more. He'd already exposed her too
much.
“I know, but I'd
still like to do what I can to help, even if I have to do so from a
chair.”
“Let's start with
getting back to London, shall we? By the time we get there, my
brother may have already found the culprits and solved everything.”
He gave her his usual smile. A part of him hoped his brother wasn't
quite so efficient, while the rest of him hoped Sherlock was.
Amelia had been through enough. Until he could be sure she wasn't
going to break down, he had to ensure she was unexposed to more
danger.
He didn't have a
chance to find out whether Amelia understood his reasons or not.
The farmer came back downstairs with jeans and a short sleeved
shirt on and less than a minute later the police showed up. Behind
them came two paramedics. They homed in on Amelia right away,
allowing Mycroft to talk in a low voice with the police and tell
them the events they needed to know.
The Commissioner
had already passed on a small amount of information and with the
other details Mycroft added, he convinced the police to give him
and Amelia some space and just keep an eye on the area in case the
Russians did manage to track them to the farmhouse. With that done,
he could go back to Amelia.
Already the
paramedics had cleaned and assessed the damage to her feet. The
younger, female paramedic was bandaging them while her older
colleague washed and checked over the rope burns on Amelia's
wrists. Amelia gave Mycroft a brief smile when he sat back down
beside her.
“There, all
patched up. You shouldn't walk too much for a day or two and keep
everything clean
farm kitchen was warm and dry.
“Are you in pain?”
he asked. She shook her head but didn't open her mouth to speak
until the farmer came over with a large mug of tea for her. She
took it in both hands and cradled it to her.
“Thank you,” she
said, barely above a whisper. Mycroft noticed the slight shake in
her voice but doubted the guy had. He accepted the second cup the
farmer had made and sat down at the table beside her.
“I'll go make
myself decent, if you'll both be all right for a few minutes?”
Mycroft nodded at
the man's sense. Very soon his house would be inundated with police
and hopefully a doctor to check Amelia over. While they were alone
together Mycroft did just that, although he remained seated and she
didn't notice. He started with her hands, noticing the blood had
been washed off her fingernails and none of them looked to be worse
off than a few chips here and there. All of them were firmly
attached.
His gaze then
moved to Amelia's wrists. The sea water had washed them as well,
but rather than cleaning them off, they were now swollen and red,
especially where the ropes had rubbed her skin so badly she'd bled.
He suspected she'd lied when she said she was in no pain.
From his seat
beside her he couldn't see the soles of her feet, but noticed no
drops of blood on the floor. Her thin tights were ripped and he
could see the smears of blood on the tattered heals. They would
need cleaning and she would struggle to walk for a day or two, but
he doubted it would be any worse.
“What now?” she
said as she put her empty mug down on the table. When he didn't
respond she finally looked at him. Every feature was as calm as
usual.
“The police will
be here soon and then you need medical attention,” he explained,
assuming she hadn't heard the phone calls he'd made. Considering
the blunder he'd made with his brother's name, he was pleased to
find she'd not been paying attention.
“After that, are
we going back to London to try to stop them again?”
“My driver will
take us back, yes, unless you want to go home to Bath?”
“No,” she replied
before he'd even finished saying her home city's name. “I'd rather
come to London. I can still help.”
“You can barely
walk.” Although he admired her determination he knew she couldn't
be allowed to risk her life any more. He'd already exposed her too
much.
“I know, but I'd
still like to do what I can to help, even if I have to do so from a
chair.”
“Let's start with
getting back to London, shall we? By the time we get there, my
brother may have already found the culprits and solved everything.”
He gave her his usual smile. A part of him hoped his brother wasn't
quite so efficient, while the rest of him hoped Sherlock was.
Amelia had been through enough. Until he could be sure she wasn't
going to break down, he had to ensure she was unexposed to more
danger.
He didn't have a
chance to find out whether Amelia understood his reasons or not.
The farmer came back downstairs with jeans and a short sleeved
shirt on and less than a minute later the police showed up. Behind
them came two paramedics. They homed in on Amelia right away,
allowing Mycroft to talk in a low voice with the police and tell
them the events they needed to know.
The Commissioner
had already passed on a small amount of information and with the
other details Mycroft added, he convinced the police to give him
and Amelia some space and just keep an eye on the area in case the
Russians did manage to track them to the farmhouse. With that done,
he could go back to Amelia.
Already the
paramedics had cleaned and assessed the damage to her feet. The
younger, female paramedic was bandaging them while her older
colleague washed and checked over the rope burns on Amelia's
wrists. Amelia gave Mycroft a brief smile when he sat back down
beside her.
“There, all
patched up. You shouldn't walk too much for a day or two and keep
everything clean
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