The Unexpected Coincidence (9 page)

Neither government
was claiming responsibility for the group, which didn't mean one of
them or both of them were uninvolved for certain, but it did mean
Mycroft had to dig further. At moments like this he wished he could
clone himself. When he had to rely on others to hold meetings and
keep an eye on places, he ran the risk of missing a vital clue.
Only Sherlock's involvement gave him a peaceful oversight.

It took Daniels
seven minutes longer than Mycroft estimated it would to take Miss
Jones home and return to the club. One look at the chauffeur's face
let him know that his prediction wasn't inaccurate. Daniels had
talked to her about something before he left.

“I hope you didn't
say anything of consequence to Miss Jones when you dropped her
off.”

“No, sir. I wished
her well with her books and waited to make sure she was safe inside
a locked house before I left,” Daniels said, but they both knew he
hadn't said everything and Mycroft had picked up on it. “She gave
me a signed copy of the newest book, sir.”

Mycroft rolled his
eyes as he got into the car. In less than a second his senses were
hit by the smell of her perfume still lingering near the other
seat. He tried to block it out but it was no good. Four blocks from
Sherlock's he had Daniels pull over.

“I'll walk from
here. While I'm at my brother's have the car valeted. I want it to
smell of something other than Miss Jones by the time I'm done.”

Daniels nodded his
assent to the command and Mycroft walked off. He could still see
the black car in the distance when he regretted his decision.
November was cold.

Knowing he
couldn't appear indecisive, Mycroft tilted up his head and walked
as calmly as he could up to his brother's front door. After putting
the knocker straight, he walked in and made his way up the
stairs.

Sherlock opened
the door and admitted him to the warmth of the flat before Mycroft
had put his foot on the top step.

“I thought I'd be
seeing you this evening.”

“Yes, I hoped
you'd seen this couple who had their boat stolen.”

“Right, yes. I
did.” Sherlock paused and Mycroft found himself wondering why.
There was no other reason he would be visiting his brother this
late at night.

“Did you find out
anything useful?”

“The husband is a
control freak who checks up on his wife's spending habits without
her knowing. He's going to get a shock when he finds she's blown a
month's wages on jewellery.”

“And how is that
useful?”

“Not sure yet, but
I think it will be. I found this.” Sherlock handed over a small
coin. “A seven and a half, gold, ruble coin. It's genuine.”

Mycroft examined
the coin and noticed it had Czar Nicholas II on one side and the
double headed eagle of the Byzantine Empire on the other.

“These were only
made for one year.”

“Eighteen-ninety-seven,” Mycroft said, not needing his brother to
tell him. In the mint condition this coin was in, it was worth a
lot.

“He had more of
them.”

“They paid for the
boat, then.”

“It certainly
looks that way, doesn't it, brother of mine?”

Mycroft nodded and
held the coin up to the light to see it better in Sherlock's dimly
lit living room.

“Oh, that looks
pretty. Is it valuable?” Mrs Wintern asked as she brought in a tray
of tea and biscuits.

“A thousand pounds
perhaps. To the right collector, even more.”

“You'd better not
lose it, then.” With this last addition to the conversation she
left them to talk. Mycroft poured himself a cup and enjoyed the
warmth it brought. He really shouldn't have walked the last few
streets.

“I've already put
a few friends on watch at the house, but I don't know if he'll be
the best of leads. It is a little early to tell.”

“It's likely to be
a one-off purchase.”

“Of course, when
he notices he has one less, he might try to warn them.”

“Perhaps. He will
know you took it.” Mycroft didn't say this to show concern for his
brother. If Sherlock hadn't known that on stealing it, he'd be an
idiot not worth feeling concern over.

“I was hoping for
that. He's a control freak. He probably counted them twice a day.”
Sherlock grinned and flopped into the chair opposite Mycroft before
picking up his pipe.

“Anyway. I'm
between cases now. I solved Mrs Feltern's problem.”

“The cat?” Mycroft
phrased it like a question but he didn't really need to ask.

“Yes. It was
making a nest to give birth in. Seemed to think her black smalls
were the best lining.”

“Climbed up a
tree?”

“Yes, one end of
the washing line was tied to an apple tree. You worked it out as
well, then?”

“It was the only
logical result,” Mycroft said and finished his tea. He felt better
than he had since Miss Jones had shown up, and knew Daniels would
pull up outside with the car at the right moment if he walked out
now. With a smile he got up.

“Leaving already,
brother?”

“Our business is
complete, is it not?”

“It is. I just
thought you might have another reason for coming to see me.”

“What possible
other reason could I have? It's not either of our birthdays and
it's still eight weeks until Christmas. Not that either of us make
any extra effort then.”

“No, nothing like
that. I thought you'd want information on Amelia.”

“Why on earth
would I want information about
her
?” Mycroft almost spat the
last word, and did nothing to hide his disgust.

“The police
arrested a man outside her house less than two hours ago.”

“Who?”

“Some middle-aged
man who was a carer for his own mother. She died recently.”

“But he can't be
her stalker,” Mycroft said without thinking.

“No I don't think
he is, but the police arrested him. I don't know any more than
that. Amelia isn't answering her phone.”

“Then how do you
know anything?”

“Her publisher
announced it not long after it happened. I assumed you'd know
already.”

“I've been at the
club all day.” Mycroft frowned. “Good evening, brother.”

Giving Sherlock no
time to respond, Mycroft hurried from the flat and was pleased to
find Daniels waiting. In the end, Mycroft was the one who'd been
late.

“Home,” he said
once he was settled in the back of the car. He wanted to find out
what had happened to Amelia and if she was all right. The police
didn't arrest someone unless they breached laws, and that meant Guy
Thomas had broken into her flat. Or worse. And she'd been trying to
ask him for protection against the man only a few hours
earlier.

Amelia stared at
the almost empty plastic bottle in her fridge and swore. She was
running out of milk. The little left wasn't enough to have tea now
and have breakfast in the morning, and she had no fresh bread for
toast either.

It took her
another few seconds of standing with the fridge door open for her
to decide to go to the local shop. It would only take a few
minutes, and then she would be back in the warm. As she pulled on
her coat, she checked her face in a mirror. Her eyes weren't puffy
anymore, and no one else would notice all the crying she'd been
doing.

Already she'd gone
over the events of the day more times than she could count, yet her
barely bloodshot eyes were enough to remind her and start her brain
off on another loop. This time she fought it. She'd cried enough
for one day. Doing it more wouldn't help. Myron and his challenges
were in her past now. Something to be remembered for the good bits.
She could learn from the rest and discard the unpleasant
memories.

With this resolve
she stepped out the front door, pulling it shut behind her and
hearing the satisfying click of the lock engaging. A moment later
she shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, the fingers of her
right closing over her house keys and her left over her purse.

Less than ten
minutes later she walked back to her house, grasping a shopping bag
with milk, bread, eggs, bacon and mushrooms. She could start the
next day with a full English and hope it fuelled her into the new
book.

She cut across the
small patch of grass, walking near the window and past the back
garden gate, to get to her front door. Just as she was pulling her
keys out of her pocket she heard a sneeze. She froze to the spot,
looking towards the gate, where the sound had come from. A moment
later she picked up the light rustle of fabric brushing against
wood.

It took all
Amelia's control not to run screaming, but she managed to stay
where she was, half way across her front garden, standing in the
sliver of light that escaped through her curtains from the lamp
she'd accidentally left on.

Acting braver than
she felt, Amelia took a step towards the sound.

“Who's there?” she
called, pleased her voice came out calm and steady. Silence
responded. A minute later she shook her head at herself, already
assuming she must have heard something else and no one was there.
The sound of the gate latch creaking open stopped her.

She gulped as it
swung inwards and Guy Thomas stepped out. At first she gaped at
him. He didn't look at her, just wrung his hands together in that
already familiar way. Then he took a couple of steps forward.
Amelia stepped back, bringing her bag of shopping up as some kind
of shield.

“What are you
doing here?” she asked when he didn't speak.

“I needed to see
you.” He stepped forward again. “Do you think I could come in?”

“No, I don't think
that would be...”

“Are you sick? You
were so nice yesterday. I just want to talk. To tell you how I'm
feeling. You're so easy to talk to.” Guy came even closer.

“Stop,” she said,
trying to cut through his nervous talking. “I don't know what you
expect of me, but I'm not interested in what you have to say
or...”

“I thought you
cared. I just...” He wrung his hands and came closer to her again.
Not knowing what else to do, she tried to push him away. Reacting
quicker than she'd anticipated, he grabbed her arms. They grappled
back and forth as he emitted a low sort of growl.

The pair rotated
inch by inch as Amelia tried to keep him away from her. Uttering a
final loud grunt, he shoved her. She lost her balance and flew
backwards. The sound of shattering glass filled the night air and
she landed with a bump on her living room floor.

“Oh, God. I'm so
sorry,” he said, coming to his senses before she did. She could
only blink as a hot liquid trickled down from her eyebrow into her
left eye, stinging as it went.

Her vision swam as
Guy continued talking and his words blurred together. A moment
later she saw someone else appear beside him, and had no idea how
he'd got there, but he stepped gingerly through into the room.

“Amelia, isn't
it?” She tried to nod, but pain flared in so many places she
stopped. “I'm Andrew, from upstairs.”

Staring at him,
she tried to process what he'd just said.

“He pushed me,”
she eventually said, as much to let herself know what had just
happened as her neighbour.

“I gathered that
much. I'm going to call you an ambulance. Just stay still.”

She nodded and
raised her hand to try and clear her left eye, but it only made her
eyebrow hurt more.

“Don't,” Andrew
said, his phone to his ear. She stopped and shut her eyes, making
them sting even more. A minute later he dabbed at the skin around
her eyes with something damp, and then held it against her eyebrow.
It made the pain worsen at first, but then soothed it and stopped
more blood flowing into her eyes.

She listened as he
told someone on the other end of the phone call what had happened,
while Guy continued apologising in the background. Opening one eye,
she checked that he was still outside. He stood closer but still
the other side of the shattered pane of glass, staring at her.
Amelia closed her eye again so she wouldn't have to look at him and
tried not to think about what he'd just done.

Her breath still
came in ragged gasps and her chest hitched up and down, sending
little ripples of pain through her each time it did. Somehow she
had to slow it down and breathe normally, but it took all her focus
just to listen to Andrew as he spoke to her and tried to stop the
bleeding from her head.

“The ambulance
will be here in a minute or two,” he said, updating her again on
its status. At least she thought he'd told her that already. She
wasn't sure any more.

It felt like she'd
only blinked when a young male paramedic appeared at her side.
Andrew stepped back and talked to an older man in another green
jacket and then another siren drew her attention. Two policemen
leapt out of a car and came hurrying up. It didn't take them long
to realise Guy had pushed her and she watched as they arrested him
and took him off towards the car.

“Amelia?” An
insistent voice said in her ear. She winced as she turned to look
at the man. “Amelia Jones, the writer?”

“Yeah,” she
managed to say.

“I'm Gary. I need
you to focus on me, all right?”

“Sure, Gary.” As
she spoke she felt herself calming more. Guy was gone and her chest
wasn't so tight.

“You've got a lot
of cuts from the glass and some is still in there. We're going to
take you to the hospital to get it all out and, if we need to, give
you more blood. Why don't you tell me where it hurts the most?”

“My head,” she
said, trying to think about the pain even though her instincts were
doing everything they could to block it out. “I think my head hit
the window first.”

“All right. What
about your back?” Gary asked.