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After a long day of sightseeing and traipsing around London (and being shoved unceremoniously out of their younger son’s home), Oliviera and Wendell Holmes returned to their hotel room. Oliviera winked at her husband and dropped two black objects near the doorjamb while he checked that the windows and vents were secured, and in the case of the vents, covered.
“I don’t think we’ll ever tire of this,” Wendell chuckled, sliding over towards his wife, slipping his arm around her shoulders and winding her in for a kiss.
“No. But you know we promised ourselves. We have a few more years before Sherlock is 40, and then we’ll tell him and Mycroft,” Oliviera said, smiling up at her dashing, dignified old husband. “Who do you think will overreact? Mycroft or Sherlock?”
“Mycroft. He occupies, as he says, ‘a minor position in the British government.’ Imagine his face when he realises that some of the agents he has sent out on field missions have been his very own parents!” Wendell laughed heartily, shifting back to divest himself of the two handguns strapped to his back and placing them in their cases, holding his hand out automatically as his wife placed her own gun and a sheathed machete in his hands to store away. “We’ll have to remember to set up cameras when we tell our sons that their parents are not the boring baker and financial assistant they thought we are.”
“We practically brought MI5 into the strength it is today,” Oliviera pronounced proudly. Her mirth dimmed slightly and she sighed. “I only wish our successful careers had not taken such a toll on our family.”
Wendell shrugged. “Our boys are incredibly intelligent, even if they are emotionally stunted. I’d rather be able to protect them than quit what I love doing – with you,” he smiled lovingly at her, “so we could have given them all of ourselves. An unfair trade-off, but one we had to make.”
The elderly couple moved in synchronicity telling of the years they had known each other, checking the anti-spyware technology set up at all points of the room while they prepared for bed. Oliviera, still a little troubled, said, “At least Sherlock has a friend. You could tell that man that entered before we left was someone special. Mycroft, however…perhaps he learnt our emotionless guises too well. I’ve never seen that boy make a friend. “
“Apart from Sherlock.”
“Apart from Sherlock, but they are related,” conceded Oliviera, pulling out her mobile phone to see if any cases had come up for their aliases – Sandra and Nigel Sanderson. She continued to speak as she made note of a potential assignment in Budapest. “Anyway, I believe you are correct, dearest. Sherlock will react more favourably to the information that we have been agents for MI5 since we met as rivals on the shooting range. We will become something fascinating for him to puzzle out – considering he’s never been able to deduce anything about our double life. Not to mention appreciative once we let him know we kept an eye on Moriarty's network as he was tracking them down.”
“Maybe he’ll actually call us,” Wendell pointed out, scowling.
Oliviera nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe we should move up the date when we tell them. After all, we are not the spring chickens we once were,” she said. “And I’d like to have something to talk about instead of hiding the fact I can understand exactly how they arrived at all their deductions.”
Wendell favoured his wife with a fond look. “If that’s what you want.”
“I do,” she murmured, moving onto the bed, her eyes shining with affection as she patted the bedspread next to her invitingly. Her husband followed her down, embracing her gently. Their bones were old and creaked, but as a unit they were still strong, smart, and wily. And they almost always flew in under the radar on missions due to his easygoing temperament and his wife's ability to morph into different characters - from dotty old woman to stern matriarch. As he brushed his lips over the shell of her ear, Wendell replied, "Okay. After our next three assignments we'll come up on another holiday and reveal who we are."
"Good," Oliviera smiled.