Glass - A Sherlock Fan Fiction

Chapter Thirty Three

A throbbing pain pulsated down the back of Margaux's head. Her neck was stiff, shoulders aching as she rolled over on the cold tiles. She groaned as she opened her eyes and looked around the quiet kitchen through hazy vision, like a camera slowly shifting into focus. Vaughan. She couldn't hear him. Then she remembered Sherlock's voice; don't worry, he's great with kids.

"Sherlock, you bastard," she grumbled as she clambered to her feet.

She took a few hesitant steps forward as she was engulfed by a sudden wave of nausea. She forced herself to run, rushing through the hall towards the downstairs toilet where she was met by Mycroft. He was leaning over the sink splashing his face with water, the remnants of vomit still visible in the corners of his mouth. They looked at each other for a moment before Margaux dropped to her knees and threw up into the toilet.

"Where are they?" asked Mycroft between deep breaths.

"How would I know?" she replied as she sat back against the wall and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Margaux, it is imperative that you tell me what you know."

"Do you really think Sherlock would tell me anything?"

"I think there are two people he would tell. One of them has vanished, and the other is sitting in front of me on the bathroom floor."

She sighed. "He's doing what he feels he has to. He's going to save her."

"If you're referring to Magnussen then I'm afraid his attempt will be in vain. The only way Magnussen would even entertain a negotiation would be if–" He stopped suddenly.

She stared up at him, her brows sitting heavy over her watery eyes. He turned his head slowly to look at her as it began to click.

He charged for the door. She jumped up, grabbing at his jacket to pull him back but he wriggled out of her grasp. She chased him down the hall towards the kitchen but it was too late. He stood, staring blankly at the table. It was gone.

"Dear God, no," he said quietly.

Mary rushed into the room. She was groggy and unsteady on her feet.

"Where's John?" she asked in a panic.

"Mary, are you alright?" asked Margaux.

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. I just woke up in the living room with Mr and Mrs Holmes, and that Bill guy's there with Vaughan. But I can't find John."

"Vaughan! Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine..."

She hurried out of the room to find her son.

"You shouldn't have encouraged this, Margaux," Mycroft called out to her. "For two intelligent people, you have made a catastrophic misjudgement."

III

Charles Augustus Magnussen sat on his large, white leather couch sipping a glass of whiskey. He swilled it around his mouth with a slight smile as he listened to the rumbling of the helicopter approaching. He had been expecting them. The helicopter landed on the grass. Sherlock and John climbed out, allowing two security guards to escort them inside the crisp, modern white house.

They stepped out of the lift and walked towards him as he continued to sit calmly, nursing his whiskey.

"I would offer you a drink but it's very rare and expensive," said Magnussen.

Sherlock turned and sat beside him on the couch with a sigh, placing the laptop between them and crossing one leg over the other.

"Oh, it was you," he said as he looked up at a projection playing against a glass wall.