if_inconvenient | (no subject)

"I can't. The only solid evidence was destroyed when we moved to Sunnydale. And the story of my life is not something that many people would be inclined to take my word for. The explanation is, if anything, more outrageously unlikely than the facts."

Bella pauses to run through her mood-zapping routine before she continues. Being annoyed is unhelpful and makes her more likely to misstep; any validity it might have is not currently relevant and can be saved to explore more thoroughly later.

When she is done, she looks (almost) perfectly calm.

"The facts," she says, "are that Maria Stark gave birth to one child seventeen years ago. Given the Starks' status as public figures and how easily information will leak out of a hospital regardless of any and all rules to the contrary, something which I've heard Charlie complain about several times because it makes his job more difficult, the act of concealing the birth of a second child would be absurdly complex. If they didn't want it or didn't want people to know about it, it would be easier to claim it died at birth, but that would also have been national news and I could find no such article.

"While it's possible for people who are not twins to look very much alike, perfectly identical cousins or strangers are a strictly fictional occurrence. You and Tony are the same age. In adolescence, even a year's difference between you would be noticeable. The least outrageous explanation I have been able to come up with for a twin who is not a twin is cloning. I doubt you could present a scenario that I could reasonably dismiss out of hand."

He smiles.

"Well, in that case, you will be pleased to hear that the least outrageous explanation is true."

. . . Bella had not been expecting that. Her eyebrows go up.

"Really," she says.

"Really. Tony cloned himself when he was twelve. I am the result. You will not find the name I was born with anywhere, because there isn't one. I decided shortly after we moved here that Sherlock Holmes suited me fine, and that was that."

. . . it fits all the facts available to Bella. In terms of simplicity, it's far more reasonable than any of the endlessly elaborate theories one might come up with. It's not unlikely that a genius of the caliber the Stark family has had to offer could invent technology lightyears ahead of what is already publicly known.

And sometimes, real life does offer up stories that sound like they belong in an indifferently written TV movie.

"But the technology doesn't exist anymore," she says, slowly, thinking about Sherlock's statement that the hard evidence had been destroyed.

"No it does not."

The kettle clicks.

That's too bad, she thinks. Technology like that, if it existed, could be tremendously useful.

She puts that aside for a moment, though. Something else to be saved for further exploration later on.

"As far as evidence goes, I suppose that doesn't matter," she admits. "I imagine identifying it would require expertise that I don't possess."

He could show her any piece of technology she wouldn't recognize and claim that it's a cloning device, and she's sure he knows that. The fact that he hasn't tried is, in a way, evidence in itself. It demonstrates a preference not to lie to corroborate his story.

"And I am hardly about to make another of me just to prove that it works, even if I could." Wryly: "One is more than enough."

Bella pauses for a moment to reflect.

"From what you've told me," she says, mostly to hear herself say it and process it, "it wouldn't necessarily be another of you. But I take your point. I certainly wouldn't ask you to."

"It would be another copy of Tony Stark's genes created just to prove it can be done," Sherlock observes. "And you see how well that turned out the first time. I am quite content with my life, but all the same, I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

Children have been born for worse reasons, Bella thinks, but she's hardly in a position to make that argument. She's still thinking it all through.

She needs an hour alone with her notebook. An hour at minimum.

"You've given me a lot to think about," she says.

Unapologetically: "I do that."

Bella smiles wryly.

"I'm starting to get that impression, yes."

"Do you still want your tea?"

She had forgotten all about the tea.

"No, thank you."

Bella goes back to the table to put her notebook back into her backpack.

"I have a process I use for thinking," she says. "I need time and privacy for it, and the sooner I get started, the better. While it's all still fresh."

She glances up at him as she slings her backpack onto her shoulder.

"Not because this is too weird and I can't deal," she says firmly, because she knows that's what it looks like and she doesn't want to leave him with the wrong impression.

On the contrary: It's too weird not to deal with.

He grins a little at that.

"Speaking of privacy," he thinks to mention, "you can assume that someone is listening to anything you say in this house."

This is Bella. He doesn't need to make an obvious gesture to the cameras, or mention explicitly that anything she does here will also be watched.

"I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow. Please do not discuss my origins with Radio Jessica."

Of course. She hadn't forgotten about the cameras, exactly. There had just been much more important things to think about. She makes a mental note to keep them front and center in her mind in the future.

"I'll try to restrain myself," she says, trying to imagine the kinds of faces Jessica would make if Bella did tell her. (Maybe she would just spontaneously combust.)

"Have a nice afternoon," she says, and she leaves.

Well.

That was... well.

"She certainly is a remarkable young lady," Jarvis says when the front door closes behind her.

"She is older than you are," Sherlock points out, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Granted. I wonder if her interest will wane when she realizes you're chronologically five and a half."

"Don't you bloody start. I get enough of that from Cal."

Speaking of whom, guess who's going to stop by to visit at around suppertime?

Couldn't imagine.

Whoever this mysterious person is, they are going to find Sherlock still in the kitchen, still drinking tea. His fifth cup since Bella left.

He's thinking, all right?