I couldn't help but wring my hands together during the helicopter ride to Appledore. Just what did Sherlock talk with Magnussen about that required Mycroft's laptop? Did he even know what he was doing? He has to; otherwise he wouldn't be doing this.

I'd put trust into Sherlock before, but this was questionable.

Appledore was stunning. It looked like a place a celebrity would own. I couldn't imagine how much money it took to build just the structure. The inside I really wanted to see.

Once the helicopter landed, one of Magnussen's securities came to intercept us. We all clambered out, heading for Appledore while the helicopter took off once again. Now how will we get away from here once this is said and done? I had no doubt we were going to come out of this visit alive; Magnussen didn't seem like the violent type. That's what made him slightly better than Moriarty. But no matter what, he was still vile.

The security man led our trio towards Appledore while another one picked up the rear. I was trying to guess how many rooms the place had once we got inside. It also made me wonder if Magnussen had cameras hidden in every room of his place.

The guard led us through an area with very exotic-looking plant life, giving off a jungle vibe.

If I had any qualms about coming to Appledore, I left them outside. I brought myself into this, insisting that I wanted to be here. I wasn't about ready to turn around and chicken out. I couldn't between Magnussen's security and the fact I had no way to get away from Appledore. I wouldn't get very far running or walking.

Another few minutes later, we were met with the sight of Charles Magnussen lounged comfortably in an expensive-looking couch, holding a glass. I kept the farthest from Magnussen, close to my dad. Once the presence of Magnussen's men disappeared, I felt slightly better.

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

Must be just like everything else in this house. I looked around, seeing how plain the interior was. But it had a rich quality to it.

I scooted closer to Dad as Sherlock took a seat a few feet from Magnussen on the couch as the shark took a drink from his glass. Sherlock put the laptop between himself and Magnussen before crossing his legs and putting his hands together in his lap.

"Oh," Sherlock said calmly. "It was you."

Dad and I turned to see a video projected across the room on the wall opposite where the two were sitting.

"Yes, of course," Magnussen replied. "Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr. Holmes." Dad and I crept to the footage. "The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?"

It took me a few minutes before I realized what I was watching.

When Sherlock had come back from the dead, the day after the media broke the news, I'd talked to Dad, and Sherlock had told me that Dad had been abducted and thrown into a bonfire. What I was witnessing now was the rescue mission, seeing Sherlock sprint for the burning pile, tearing it apart only to pull Dad out. Mary was towards the background, screaming Dad's name and watching in horror.

I breathed through my nostrils evenly. My hands went into fists. Magnussen was the one responsible for nearly cooking my dad. I shook slightly, infuriated.

"But look how you care about John Watson," Magnussen continued. Dad and I could only stare at the looped video, seeing the same thing over and over again. "Your damsel in distress."

Dad and I spun around at the same time, facing Magnussen. A rage burned inside me. That man was the reason Dad was nearly burnt to a crisp.

"You," Dad said tightly, "put me in a fire...for leverage?"

Despite my anger, I touched Dad's arm, trying to calm him.

"Oh, I'd never let you burn, Doctor Watson," Magnussen said. He sat up, placing his glass on the table. "I had people standing by. I'm not a murderer...unlike your wife."

I shrunk away from Magnussen, who took more time than necessary to look me over as he got up and walked to the looped video. He better turn that off. We get the picture.

"Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson. For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well...apart from me. Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock." He crossed back to the couch, where Sherlock still remained. "And Sherlock's pressure point is his best friend, John Watson. John Watson's pressure point is his wife as is his daughter."

I stiffened. Magnussen knew.

He smiled grimly. "And I know her pressure points as well. Nothing gets past me, Ms. Watson. I hope you realize that."

"Noted," I said thickly. How could Magnussen know about my bloodline? Did that mean he knew about Moriarty? Bayley too? Did he somehow know of the fake affair? I blanched, my stomach knotted. Regret settled in my heart.

Why did I think this was a good idea? Why did I have to be so stubborn and come along on this trip?

"I own John Watson's wife and daughter, I own Mycroft. He's what I'm getting for Christmas." Magnussen sat back down.

Sherlock, without so much as looking at Magnussen, shoved the laptop across the couch. "It's an exchange, not a gift." He removed himself from the couch.

Magnussen took the laptop. "Forgive me but, I already seem to have it," the shark whispered.

How could Magnussen possibly have all the information on that laptop beforehand? Was he a hacker now too on top of a blackmailer?

"It's password protected. In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson."

"Oh, she's bad that one. So many dead people. You should see what I've seen."

"I don't need to see it," Dad said.

"You might enjoy it, though. I enjoy it."

"Then why don't you show us?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

"Show you Appledore?" Magnussen set the laptop beside him on the couch. "The secret vaults? Is that what you want?"

"I want everything you've got on Mary."

Magnussen started chuckling, which only fueled my anger more. He stopped soon after, patting the laptop. "You know, I honestly expected something good," he stated.

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop—" Sherlock began.

"Include a GPS locator. By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived, they'll find top secret information in my hands," Magnussen picked up his glass, "and have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind, and I'll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mr. and Mrs. Psychopath." Magnussen had his glass closer to his mouth. "Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He'll be a very, very proud big brother." He emptied his glass.

"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it," Sherlock pointed out.

"Then why am I smiling?" Magnussen had the smallest grin; it made me want to vomit on his nice floor. "Ask me."

I decided to play along. "Why are you smiling?"

"Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and everything he holds dear." Magnussen slowly got to his feet. "Let me show you the Appledore vaults."

With Magnussen leading us, he took us across the room, through open glass doors. He led us to a pair of wooden doors at the side of the room. I could already picture the vaults: miles and miles of documents, thousands of filing cabinets. I bet it was awfully messy in there too.

"The entrance to my vaults," he announced. "This is where I keep you all."

Magnussen pulled open the doors, and immediately I was confused. What we were seeing and what I expected didn't match up. The main reason: the room was empty except for a chair.

Literally, Magnussen's "vaults" was a blinding white room with a chair in it.

"Okay," I said slowly, "so where are the vaults?"

"Vaults?" Magnussen looked at me as though I was the village idiot. "What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building." He went to go sit in the chair. He was the big contrast in the room aside from the chair he sat in. "They're all in here." He touched his temple. "The Appledore Vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock?"

While Sherlock, Magnussen, and maybe even my dad knew about the said Mind Palaces, I was completely clueless.

"How to store information so you never forget it—by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes," Magnussen did so, lowering his head, "and down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults, my memories."

Magnussen's explanation helped me slightly. I didn't know such a thing existed, and I didn't know Sherlock had one. Dad failed to mention that to me, as did Sherlock. I guess it wasn't important for me to know.

Magnussen turned his head from side to side, with his eyes still closed. I could only imagine what his Mind Palace was like: elaborate, full. He lifted his right hand, reaching in front of him.

"I'll look at the files on Mrs. Watson." Magnussen had both hands in the air, fingers flicking through imaginary files. He looked to be plucking a folder. "Mmm, ah. This is one of my favorites." He sat back in the chair. "Oh, it's so exciting." He moved his hand, as though he were turning real pages. "All those wet jobs for the CIA. Ooh! She's gone a bit...freelance now. Bad girl. Ah, she is so wicked." Magnussen put back the invisible file. "I can really see why you like her." Finally, Magnussen opened his eyes, ending the freak show we'd all just witnessed. "You see?" he asked.

"So there are no documents," Dad said. "You don't actually have anything here."

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something," he stole a glance on the watch on his wrist, "if I really need it, but mostly I just remember it all."

"I don't understand."

"You should have that on a t-shirt."

"You just remember it all?"

"It's all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning."

"But if you just know it, then you don't have proof."

"Proof? What would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it—I just have to print it." Magnussen stood up, brushing himself off. "Speaking of news, you'll be heavily featured tomorrow—trying to sell state secrets to me." He tutted, looking at his watch again. "Let's go outside. They'll be here shortly." He slipped out of the room. "Can't wait to see you arrested."

What was going to become of me? Just what would Magnussen put my name with? My heart galloped in my chest. I really regretted coming here now. I looked to Sherlock, who looked like he was in his own world at the moment.

"Sherlock, do we have a plan?" Dad asked. Sherlock didn't answer. "Sherlock."

Again, the consulting detective didn't answer. Dad stormed off, I followed right behind him. Did Sherlock's plan, whatever it was, fail? Was he trying to figure out a way out of this? If anyone could, he could.

Dad and I followed Magnussen out to a patio that connected itself to the room we'd just been in earlier. How long have we been inside Appledore? The sky was beginning to darken. I lingered towards the glass doors, waiting for Sherlock to come out. Dad was with Magnussen. I felt uneasy seeing him so close to that shark.

"They're taking their time, aren't they?" Magnussen mused.

"I still don't understand," Dad said.

Magnussen looked up at the sky. "And there's the back of the t-shirt."

"You just know things. How does that work?"

Magnussen turned to face my dad just as Sherlock finally joined us. He stood beside me.

"I just love your little soldier face," Magnussen said. "I'd like to punch it. Bring it over here a minute." Dad threw a glance our way. "Come on."

My lips parted in horror as Sherlock nodded to my dad to go through with it. What was he thinking?

Dad cleared his throat, taking two steps closer to Magnussen. Magnussen leaned down to my dad.

"Lean forward a bit and stick your face out," he commanded. He smirked. "Please?" He leaned in closer, chuckling. "Now, can I flick it? Can I flick your face?"

I was paralyzed with disbelief as Dad leaned forward. I flinched as Magnussen flicked his face, slapping his middle finger against Dad's left cheek. Magnussen was getting some fun out of it, he was chuckling again.

"I just love doing this," he purred. "I could do it all day." He chuckled again.

Enough of this. I tried to jump in to intervene, but Sherlock put his arm out to stop me. He only shook his head sharply at me. I scowled at him, accusing him with my eyes.

"It works like this, John," Magnussen started. "I know who Mary hurt and killed." Another flick to my dad's face. "I know where to find people who hate her." Another few hits. "I know where they live, I know their phone numbers." Another two flicks. "All in my Mind Palace—all of it. I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down—and I will unless you let me flick your face."

I trembled as Magnussen continued to reduce my dad to nothing with flicks to the face. I couldn't stand this. Sherlock needed to let me get in between them. Sherlock needed to do something.

"This is what I do to people," Magnussen boasted. "This is what I do to whole countries just because I know. Can I do your eye now? See if you can keep it open, hmm?" He flicked Dad's left eyebrow. Magnussen snickered, flicking there again. "Come on. For Mary. Keep it open."

"Sherlock?" Dad and I growled in unison.

"Let him," Sherlock said quietly, apologetically. "I'm sorry. Just...let him."

"Come on. Eye open," Magnussen said.

Hot tears threatened to come out of my eyes as I stood helplessly watching Dad be flicked in the eye by Magnussen.

"It's difficult, isn't it?" Magnussen asked cheerily. "Janine managed it once." He looked our way. "She makes the funniest noises."

In the distance, the familiar sound of an approaching helicopter pierced the air. I smiled. Help was finally on the way.

This was going to end once and for all.