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The Thinker Challenge	By : marksandspence Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2251 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story is based solely on the television show Sherlock that airs on BBC1, written by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I borrow their universe to play in and do not claim any ownership or intend to make any money off of this fun hobby of m

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
Epilogue
Two years later…
Sherlock is in the lab morgue looking down a microscope when Molly comes in carrying a box.
“Would you mind helping me down to the recycling?” Molly asks, obviously struggling.
“I would, a little bit,” Sherlock responds without looking up.
“I’ve got two boxes and don’t want to have to wait for the lift twice,” Molly explains.
Sherlock sighs loudly, but gets up. She sets the box she was carrying down and walks across the hall to pick up the other one. When she returns, he is holding a large padded envelope.
“What’s this?” He asks.
“Came when I was on holiday last month, I think. Just a symposium proceedings. Don’t know how they got my address – it’s chemical engineering,” she shrugs.
Sherlock’s eyes widen.
“Where did the meeting take place?” He asks with unusual interest.
“I don’t know. Somewhere in the Middle East. I didn’t look that closely,” she answers.
“Where is the book?” He asks excitedly, flipping the empty envelope over.
“In the pile, why?”
“Can I have it?”
“I suppose. If you can find it,” she says, happy to have something of interest to him.
Sherlock starts rifling through the pile of papers until he finds the softcover book. He eagerly opens it and scans the author list. After a moment, he snaps the book shut and tucks it under his arm.
“When were you on holiday?”
“The first two weeks of this month,” she says rather dejectedly.
He flips the book open again and looks for the publication date. Frowning, he walks toward the door.
“Sorry, this absolutely cannot wait,” he says and quickly leaves.
Calling after him, “But you have to go downstairs anyway – couldn’t you just take the stupid box?” Molly says, her voice quickly trailing off.
*
Sherlock is in his dressing gown, hunched over the kitchen table of his flat, piles of paper scattered about with various scribbles on them. He has the proceedings book open and he has made marks all along the margins.
He looks up from the table to find Mrs. Hudson just coming around the corner and she starts when she sees him.
“Didn’t think you were in. Haven’t heard a peep up here in a very long time. What have you been doing?” She asks with some concern.
“What day is it?” He asks.
“Friday.”
“Is it? Time to go, then,” he says as he stands up from the table and heads directly to his bedroom to get dressed.
Mrs. Hudson looks around to find empty bags of crisps and cold cups of tea scattered about the kitchen as if he’d been sitting in the same spot for days. She shakes her head and starts cleaning up. After a few minutes, Sherlock emerges fully dressed and quickly walks toward the door.
“When can I expect you back? I think the floor could use a good scrub,” Mrs. Hudson asks.
“Probably not for a couple of days, if all goes well,” he answers with a hint of cheer in his voice.
“Aren’t you taking a bag?” She asks, confused.
“What an excellent idea. You’re a dear, Mrs. Hudson,” he says as he trots off to the spare room to grab a small bag that had already been packed and was sitting on the bed. Afterwards, he heads quickly out the door.
Sherlock travels about town doing errands as he makes his way around to John’s flat. First, a trip to the main library of University College, London. Then off to the post office to gather things from a box he’d been keeping. Next to a barber for a haircut and a shave. Finally, he arrives at John’s door and knocks.
John answers and is a bit shocked to find Sherlock standing in the doorway.
“Did we have a meeting scheduled?” John asks.
“No. Nothing.” Sherlock answers gleefully.
“Do you want to come in?” John offers.
“Not particularly, but I imagine you will need a few minutes to pack your bag,” he says as he walks into the flat.
“Pack my bag?” John says, closing the front door.
Sherlock smiles, “I need you to come to Bahrain with me.”
“Today?” John asks, incredulous.
“We should be at the airport in an hour, give or take.”
John shakes his head. “What makes you think I can just get on a plane and go to Bahrain?”
Sherlock , looking around the flat says, “Mary’s not here, so she must have taken the child somewhere – visiting a friend, perhaps? You are here, so you must be on call later this weekend so you couldn’t go with her. I’ll have you back tomorrow night. Sunday at the latest.”
John thinks a minute and quickly softens up about it.
“Why Bahrain?”
“I have to attend a trial.”
“Whose trial?”
“Unimportant. I am a surprise witness.”
“Ah.”
“It might not go well. But it might.”
“Is this for a case?”
“Something like that. Come now, go get your passport,” Sherlock says with a shooing motion.
“This doesn’t involve Irene, does it? Because the last time I ended up spending the night on a pile of dirty towels in the maid’s closet at the hotel, an experience I do not wish to repeat.”
“Well, you can never quite predict when Irene might make an appearance, but I can assure you, she has nothing to do with this case.”
Satisfied, John walks toward his bedroom. “It’ll be hot there, right?”
“As it is in the desert, I would imagine so.”
“Wouldn’t mind a bit of sun.”
John emerges a few minutes later with a small bag. As they are about to head out the door, Sherlock stops.
“Did you bring a book?”
“Why?”
“It’s a long flight.”
“What, you don’t fancy a seven hour chat with your best friend? Of course I brought a book. You’re a misery on planes.”
*
Many hours later, they arrive at the small courthouse. The trial is already underway. There is a woman in a full burka with only eyes visible on the witness stand. It is obvious that she is the defendant. Sherlock passes a note to the defense attorney, who is dressed in a western style suit.
“What is she on trial for?” John whispers to Sherlock.
“The religious term is Nushuz, meaning disobedience, disloyalty, rebellion, and/or ill conduct in a wife. But the husband has taken her to court charging fraud,” Sherlock responds reading a slip of paper that had been handed to him.
Author’s note: The proceedings take place in Arabic, of course, but as I don’t know the language, I will write it all in English J Assume that neither John nor Sherlock can understand what is being said unless otherwise noted.
The Lawyer for the defense announces, “The defendant would like to put forth that she was unaware that the laws allowing multiple marriages was limited to men. She never claimed to Mr. Al Arayyed that she was unmarried.”
There is a loud murmur in the courtroom at this. The prosecuting attorney exchanges words with his client, who is shaking his head in confusion.
The judge calls for order.
The prosecuting attorney says, “We do not understand the relevance of that statement. Can Mr. Rajab clarify for the court?”
Mr. Rajab nods and explains, “As my client was married prior to her relationship to Mr. Al Arayyed, her marriage to him is not legally valid. She was not aware that this was the case due to her misunderstanding of our marriage laws. In any case, as Mr. Al Arayyed is not her husband, he cannot, by law, charge her with Nushuz.”
The judge frowns, “Can she offer proof of this prior marriage, Mr. Rajab?”
“We can, your honor,” Mr. Rajab replies.
“Approach the bench,” the judge commands.
Mr. Rajab walks to up to the judge, is met there by the prosecuting attorney and hands over a series of documents, which they all examine. The judge dismisses them back to their tables.
“Where is this husband, then? Surely he will want to charge her with adultery,” the judge says, obviously irritated at this turn of events.
“He is present in the courtroom, your honor. As a foreign national, he wishes to bring his wife back to their home country for prosecution. He is in possession of her documents and travels with a law enforcement official to that purpose,” Mr. Rajab answers.
“Will the husband of this woman please identify himself to the court,” requests the judge.
Mr. Rajab turns around and nods. Sherlock stands up. He whispers to John, “Try to look official.”
John responds confused, “What’s going on? What kind of official?”
“Approach,” the judge says with a wave.
Sherlock walks up to the bench, beckoning for John to accompany him. John looks around nervously, but follows. The lawyers meet them there. A flurry of arguing in Arabic follows as they all discuss the development. After a few moments, Mr. Rajab whispers something into Sherlock’s ear.
He turns to the woman sitting in silence while the men all discuss her fate and says, “Bad, bad, wife. I am appalled at your behavior and you absolutely must be punished.”
Mr. Rajab frowns slightly, shaking his head. After another minute or two of discussion in Arabic, there seems to be a consensus.
“You may take her. But go quickly. I hope you have a car waiting,” Mr. Rajab says.
“Sorry, what is happening?” John asks, relieved to finally hear someone speaking English.
Mr. Rajab turns to John and says, “You may take Mr. Holmes’ wife into custody. If you have the means to get out of the country today, I would advise it.”
“You’re wife?” John says to Sherlock.
“Just go with it,” Sherlock responds.
Sherlock takes the papers from the judge and gives John a look with a nod toward the woman. Understanding, John takes a step towards her. Sherlock pushes his bag toward John, who glances down into it, seeing a pair of handcuffs. He dutifully picks them up out of the bag with another sideways glance to Sherlock and moves toward the woman. She lifts her wrists up in anticipation and John fastens the cuffs. Sherlock starts walking toward the exit; John follows holding the woman’s arm and doing his best to look “official”. You can hear the click click click of the woman’s heals as she walks along the stone floor.
Once outside the courthouse, they all briskly walk around the back to where a large car with a driver is waiting for them. The minute they turn the corner, the woman says,
“Can you please take this bloody thing off my head?”
Sherlock quickly unlocks the handcuffs and she pulls off the head-piece of the burka and tosses it into the grass.
“Sio?” John says with surprise.
“Burka’s are brilliant for hiding, don’t you think?” Sio responds.
Sherlock glances at her, “Your hair has wilted.”
“I suppose the climate doesn’t agree with me. Or maybe it was prison. Nothing like leaving it to the last possible moment,” she chastises.
“I think it worked out beautifully. So dramatic,” Sherlock counters with a pleased smirk.
“I must say, I am quite relieved that you're still alive, husband. I believe if I had been found guilty, I could have been stoned and I don’t fancy that one bit.”
“It would seem rather rude of me to go off and die while my wife was away pretending to be married to someone else for two years,” Sherlock says with mock jealousy.
Sio responds playfully, “Now, now, the ceremony with Yaz was only 20 months ago. Sadly, you need a husband to do anything in this country. And money. Yazan helpfully provided both. Of course I thought of you every day, my sweet. Perhaps every week. Certainly every month at the very least.”
“How moving,” Sherlock sneers.
“I didn’t think of John at all,” She coos.
“That’s something,” Sherlock says.
John interrupts, “So you two are actually married, then?”
Sio nods, “Try to keep up, John.”
“We need to make this believable.” Sherlock tosses her a small box.
“You bought be a ring? I’m touched,” she says with genuine surprise. She takes it out of the box and slips it on the ring finger of her left hand.
“Don’t get too excited, it was your money.”
“Is there any left?” She asks.
“A bit. I do have needs, you know.”
“I am well aware,” she smirks. “What about the small detail of my getting out of this lovely little hell hole?”
Sherlock hands her a glossy looking British passport. She opens it, quickly flipping through the pages.
She stops, “You changed my name?!?”
“There was no other way to escape Mycroft’s sporadic inquiries.”
“But first and last? Seems a bit excessive.”
“I thought it was rather clever.”
John takes the passport and flips to the ID page. Siobhan S. Holmes.
John asks, “What is your given name then?”
“Cassiopeia.”
“Ah, so your parents were hippies,” John says.
She frowns, “Stargazers, more like.”
“And you got this past Mycroft?” John asks.
“He never thought to look at marriage registries. And then enough time passed that I was able to sneak the paperwork for the passport through when he was particularly distracted with one national emergency or another. I am so looking forward to telling him,” Sherlock gloats.
“I’m going to fantasize that you instigated such emergencies just for my benefit,” Sio says looking up into the sky.
They step into the backseat of a waiting car.
“Will I have to keep it? The name -- you know, once we get rid of this nonsense?” Sio asks.
“Possibly. There’s no rush, of course,” Sherlock answers.
“I suppose not,” Sio responds with a slightly perplexed smile.
“What about your brother?” John asks with genuine concern.
“He is taken care of. I was able to get him out a few weeks ago,” Sio responds.
“But did you solve it? Were you able to communicate?” John enthuses.
Sio rolls her eyes and answers as if talking to a child. “Yes. That is why I am going back now. Otherwise, I would still be working on it.”
“Good to see you haven’t lost your ability to condescend,” John mutters.
“I wouldn’t need to condescend if you would not be so hesitant to use your brain,” Sio responds with unnecessary harshness.
“Now, now darling. John must work with what he has,” Sherlock intervenes.
Feeling chastened, “Sorry. I suppose it’s all a bit new. In a nutshell, I was able to communicate with him and he told me to leave him alone. Seems he wasn’t interested in solving the problems of the universe with me. He had created a virtual life for himself – a wife, kids, the whole lot, inside his mind. He had no interest in the real world. Said it would be too hard to start over. So I promised I’d keep his body comfortable. Still seemed keen on my going to space, though.”
“That must have been hard,” John says.
“I’d really like a cigarette. Do either of you…?”
Sherlock pulls out a fag from his pocket, gives it to her and flashes a lighter. She takes a long drag.
“Yes,” is all she can say in response to John’s concern.
“You did your best,” Sherlock offers abruptly.
“Indeed. And pretty good, too. Only took a year, once I had everything in place. We created an underground science bunker. Staffed with intellectually frustrated women, unable to work in that godforsaken country. I’ll miss them.”
“How did you hide it?” John asks.
“We had a cover. Said we were running a shelter for battered women. With a little help of a wig and a few tissues, brother made a surprisingly attractive abuse victim. Would have kept going had he not gotten so obsessed with children.”
“Who?”
“Sorry. My husband. The other one. Dragged me to a fertility clinic after the first year I didn’t get pregnant. Was able to bluff through the first couple of exams, but eventually they figured out I’d had my tubes tied. That’s when the trouble started. He found a doctor who said he could reverse it. I refused, making up some rubbish about an allergy to anesthesia. Worked for a while, or so I thought. Then one day, he drugged me, they put me under and that was that. Refused to touch him after that. Things got really ugly.”
“I brought you some clothes,” Sherlock says, handing her a small bag.
“Oh, thank God. I hate these bloody tents,” she says. Pulling the burka over her head, it is quickly revealed that she is wearing nothing underneath save for a pair of black knickers and bra. John looks away awkwardly, but his eyes are quickly drawn back. Sio is covered in bruises and cuts of various ages, some of them rather horrific. Sherlock’s face falls. She unselfconsciously continues to get dressed, pulling the sundress Sherlock had brought over her head.
Sherlock diverts his eyes, obviously disturbed by the sight of her beaten body. “I should have figured it out sooner,” he says through tight lips.
“Before you two get all chivalrous and weepy, lets remember that I brought this on myself. I was playing a long con and I lost. I couldn’t quite hold it together long enough and my mark was just clever enough to figure out how to get to me. In the end, I did get what I needed – not bad for a pretend sociopath. Now lets just get out of this country before they arrest me for assault.”
“Arrest you for assault?” John asks.
Sio shrugs, “I fought back.”
“That cut on your back looks like it might be infected,” John observes, concerned. “I should take a closer look.”
“When we are safely in the air,” she insists.
As she is pulling on some socks, she says casually, “Did you know that it is perfectly legal to beat the crap out of your wife in this country? But what really galls me is that he hired men to do it for him. If you’re going to beat your wife, have the commitment to bloody well do it yourself.”
“The irony,” Sherlock observes, thinking back to the cover for her research lab.
Sherlock tosses her a bottle of pills, which she uncharacteristically drops. Her lips pull to the sides and she closes her eyes, frustrated. John picks up the bottle and hands it to her. She nods and takes out a couple of pills and pops them into her mouth, hands shaking slightly.
“How long?” John asks.
“Things were going so well with the research. There’s no way I could leave, even if I could figure another way out,” Sio says.
The car stops. Sio is putting on her boots.
Thinking a moment, John says, “I wonder if your brother might have known. Maybe that was his way of trying to protect you.”
“What do you mean?” Sio responds, struggling with the zipper.
Sherlock quickly interrupts. “John. Lets have a word. Now.”
“What?” John asks, annoyed.
“Get out of the car,” Sherlock orders, opening the door. As they leave, Sherlock pops his head back into the car, “Take your time.” He closes the door and then gets right up in to John’s face.
“Do NOT bring that up again,” he says with force.
“I suppose it was a bit insensitive, given the timing. But I do think it’s a possibility. She needn’t give up on him entirely,” John says.
“Just drop it,” Sherlock repeats.
Taken aback by Sherlock’s insistence, John tilts his head after a moment, working something out in his mind.
“You’re not worried about her. You’re not concerned about her fragile mental state. You’re worried she might leave again.” He shakes his head in dismay, “Just when I think you’ve grown a bit…just when I…”
Sio opens the car door, effectively ending the conversation. She steps out onto the sidewalk, glancing up to see the airport departure sign. She closes her eyes and smiles before standing up fully. She strides right up to Sherlock and kisses him; after a moment she stays with her cheek touching his and whispers, ‘I had no idea how much I missed you until right now.”
Sherlock looks over at John with a rather desperate expression. John just nods with a slight frown and grabs the bags.
*
Author’s note: So this is supposed to be the end. That’s why I called it an Epilogue. But the truth is, I have mentally advanced the story a bit from here. Not sure if I will write it or not, but reserve the right to publish and an Epilogue 2. Or perhaps I will just start a new story…
Also, with regard to more “Session” chapters (with explicit sexual content), I will continue to write these – probably two or three more. As they take place within the timeline of events of the story as laid out here, I am going to mark the story as ‘complete’, even though there will be more smut! Hopefully that makes sense.
- 19
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The Thinker Challenge