Welcome to Baker Street

32. Distress call

MI6 Headquarters

Almost at the same time

Mycroft is absorbed in reading a top-secret file when his phone rings. He glances at the screen and cocks a brow at the caller: New Scotland Yard.

He picks up with a circumspect tone. "Hello?"

"Good evening, Mr Hol—I mean, Mycroft. It's Giulia, Sherlock's flatmate."

He immediately recognises her voice and notices that she lacks her usual light-heartedness; there's an anxious note in her voice.

At that precise moment, inside the police station, Giulia is whispering in the receiver of a phone hung on the wall while stealing furtive glances around: Sergeant Donovan has walked away, and Detective Inspector Lestrade is making a call some feet away from her. She constantly looks over her shoulder to make sure that he doesn't overhear her conversation.

"Yes, Giulia. Your call comes unexpectedly." Mycroft clears his throat to mask his surprise about the ID caller.

She looks down at the note in her hands that she always keeps in the pocket of her jeans.

As per your instructions, you are on your own now.

Whatever you may need, don't hesitate to contact me on this number.

M.

It's the same piece of paper she found on the floor next to the door of her hotel bedroom, on her second day in London. It's the note that Mycroft left her to mark the beginning of her new life; she has kept it on herself since then, imagining that one day it would come in handy. That day has come.

"When you settled me in England, you wrote I could contact you for any need. Is this a bad time?" She fakes an indifferent tone.

He smiles at her unfaltering politeness.

"Don't worry. I'm just dealing with foreign affairs, international crises, a coup: the usual stuff. But please, speak freely: I am eager to hear what this is about."

"I am not quite sure how to say this," she stutters, biting down on her lip.

"I don't have all day, dear," Mycroft urges her, thumbing through the report on his desk.

She takes a deep breath then lets out, "I've been arrested."

Standing in the corridor of New Scotland Yard, she cannot hear any sound coming from the other side of the line: Mycroft doesn't even breathe in the receiver. After several seconds, he gulps nervously and tries to regain his composure.

"That's impossible," he affirms in a stentorian voice.

"I assure you it's more than realistic," she mutters sarcastically, lowering her eyes to her cuffed wrists. The annoying twang of the handcuffs accompanies her every movement.

"On what charges?" His tone is resolute again.

"Manslaughter against Michael Chadley," she says in a bored voice.

He exhales, enraged. "Those bunglers at Scotland Yard couldn't find the killer and locked up a defenceless woman, didn't they?"

"I'm not a defenceless woman," she retorts, clenching her fist.

"Obviously, but that's what they think," he scoffs, deploring every human being with an I.Q. lower than his—which includes 99% of the world's population. "But it's quite clear that you are running low on resources, otherwise, you wouldn't be calling me," he patronises her.

Even though she cannot see him, she would swear that he was smirking boastfully right now.

"Yeah, well, I was counting on your brother to solve the murder, but I'm afraid he won't be able to handle this situation all by himself. Besides, you haven't helped him at all after he explicitly asked for your assistance," she reproaches him.

"I've been busy," he snaps back defensively.

"Fine. But this is me asking you now. I need your help. You are my last resort," she pleads.

"You must be very desperate." There isn't any conceit in his words this time. He sounds sincerely concerned about her.

She clutches the handset tightly. "I am. This is my S.O.S."

"Very well, Miss Giulia. I cannot guarantee you the salvation of your soul," he jokes with the meaning of the acronym she chose, "but I will ensure that your person stays out of prison. I will keep you up-to-date on my progress."

"How? I'm in custody right now." Her voice drops to a whisper as she catches sight of Lestrade coming towards her.

"I'll find a way."

She smiles gratefully and murmurs into the receiver. "Thank you, Mycroft."

"My pleasure."