His phone beeped with the text tone distinct to Mycroft. John checked it and groaned.
"I'm sorry about this, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to dash off."
James looked up from where he was checking his own phone. "No worries," he replied. "Me too, actually."
John glanced about and noted that the roof top had been cleared of the few other customers in the café. The tables had been moved back, and he noted the distinct throb of a chopper approaching. He glanced up as it drew near, and could just make out Mycroft as one of the passengers.
"Well," he said with a grin. "I think that's my ride."
James looked at him strangely. "Good one mate. I'm fairly certain it's for me, actually."
John laughed, and raised his voice over the rushing wind as the chopper landed.
"I'm fairly certain it's not." He raised a hand to greet Mycroft, who raised one in return.
"Is that Mycroft Holmes?" James hissed.
"Yeah, he's a right git," John replied. "You know him?"
James snorted and shook his head. "Never mind."
John strode forward to greet Mycroft, who was waiting patiently for him, both hands curled around the handle of his umbrella.
"I usually can't stand to ride in these blasted things. But needs must," Mycroft said. "John, I would say it's a delight, but we don't have time for pleasantries."
"What's he done this time?"
Mycroft shook his head. "It's not Sherlock. It's worse." He turned to James. "007, your transport will be arriving shortly."
"Yes sir," James said, glancing with wild eyes at John. John shrugged at him.
"We'll have to have a proper catch up some time," John said. "Stay safe, James."
He followed Mycroft into the chopper, and strapped in as it started taking off.
"Now," Mycroft said, handing John a file several centimetres thick. "Here's what you need to know."