CHAPTER 1. THE FAMILY DOCTOR

Mycroft took the incoming call recognizing the number flashing on his mobile. The British Government kept a steady gaze on his brother, now perched on a chair a rather expensive high backed leather chair in his office at the Diogenes Club. He started to scold his brother, really those shoes were muddy, the leather would be ruined.

A very wild eyed Sherlock Holmes searched the pictures of the recent murders all laid out on the expensive oriental carpet around the dark chair the consulting detective crouched in, stock still, without a blink he was searching for a clue, a lead, a something.

The younger Holmes made no sounds, in his hands he clutched a bent hospital badge, occasionally he risked a quick look at it, and then back to the gruesome photographs.

Mycroft had always wondered how it was that such a man like John Watson, would find himself befriending the obsessive and erratic younger Holmes. Sherlock Holmes, impatient, prone to tantrums and bouts of highly irritating rants and insults flung so indelicately at everyone in his presence.

The older Holmes often found himself trying to work out the puzzle that was John Watson. A soldier his file had said. Served his queen and country, would have climbed up rather quickly if that bullet had not retired the younger man.

At first Mycroft thought of him unworthy of too much thought, John H. Watson wasn't very tall, he had sandy blond hair, an average build, well at their first encounter the Doctor had been thin still recovering from his war wound, now he had gained his muscle back.

It was on that first meeting the older Holmes would receive the first small peek of just how ordinary the Doctor wasn't.

After studying the good Doctor over the years Mycroft noted how easy it was to read John's expressions. John was always so inquisitive or just passive no matter what mood Sherlock was in. Even when Mycroft's annoying little brother hurled thoughtless insults at the patient doctor, John wouldn't flinch he would only stand there almost as if at attention. Then he'd give a polite grin, it was his eyes, Mycroft discovered, that's where the secret of John's true moods were hidden.

Yes, John Watson, Doctor John Watson that is, was easy to read but if you really looked into those sky blue eyes one would see so much more.

Those eyes staid focused when Sherlock spouted out deductions, the detective unaware that those in the room couldn't keep up, leaving John to translate what was just said.

Warmth shone like summer morning through window blinds when looking upon a neglectful Sherlock, involving his nutritional needs or in a dark mood. And at times when Sherlock was being his usual obnoxious self there was a laughter not anger dancing in the debts of John's eyes. Sometimes Sherlock caught this and those around him where rewarded with a rarely seen smile one that reached the detectives eyes or a laugh. John could always make Sherlock laugh, even without trying.

These simple facts made it very clear, Doctor John H. Watson, was far from ordinary, or average.

And to Mycroft's relief and sometimes disbelief, the man chose to stay with Sherlock, to live in the chaos of Sherlock's life, and that was their friendship in a nutshell really. The steadfast soldier, loyal, understanding, not at all slow, though not on the same level as either of the Holmes brothers, always managing to keep up or catch.

Impressive really, come to think of it, John Watson kept the shared flat in some kind of organized working order. If Mycroft was a gambling man, he would bet that John's bed sheets were tucked to regulation, and his room spotless everything in its place. Yes, John was the perfect balance to Sherlock, keeping the self proclaimed sociopath anchored. And now without his anchor Mycroft feared his brother would be lost.

More than once that John Watson, had saved Sherlock from outside forces and on occasion from his self destructive tendencies.

No, never ordinary, that was for sure. This brought another sharp pang to the British Government's abdomen making him wonder over the feeling in the pit of his stomach, it could be the beginnings of another ulcer, instead of the heavy feeling of uncertainty over the missing Doctor.(surely it was another ulcer) He would have to have his Doctor-well he would speak to John when he was back on his feet. Mycroft had grown accustomed to the Doctor's sometimes abrasive bedside manner wen it came to taking care of oneself, even if a Doctor's opinion wasn't asked, John gave it. The Doctor could diagnose a man in a frighteningly similar way Sherlock made rapid deductive observations.

The man was unsettling when he went into Doctor mode, he could be kind and warm, Mycroft had the flu a few months past and John had shown up unannounced and went to work. The Government official was often too busy and never kept regular hours so making an appointment for stomach pain or just routine blood work wasn't in his schedule. Having a self appointed family Doctor around at all hours actually proved to be an advantage. Sure the government could afford the most expensive doctor's in any respective field, but John was the best and refused to be intimidated by the older Holmes, also disconcerting.

Despite what his dear little brother had accused, Mycroft was sure to put his best men on this, making the Doctor's abduction high priority. The John was to be recovered alive, there was no other option.

"The Doctors are linked, except John. John was convenient, walking home caught off guard they were desperate." Sherlock was mumbling to himself. H, a smear of blood on the Hthe sides of the name tag bent down, so the words on the name badge not bent was the H for Hamish his middle name and the tittle under it Doctor. John was clever, the murder case he'd told Lestrade that wasn't interesting enough, the two men found were doctors, seeming unlinked but that was because it was the first man that was the key. He was the Mafia Doctor, and the second doctor was as it turned out a gambling man with debts to the same mob that the other doctor had been known to work for. Patching up the injured gang members so not to arise suspicion. The third body only confirmed this, all three were in debt to the Capricio family. Not, good. Sherlock squeezed the name badge.

Then his ears perked up, his brothers voice had dropped to a barely audible and the ginger haired man had turned his back to avoid drawing more attention to his phone conversation, shoulders seemed to tense, in fact the whole of Mycroft stiffened.

"Where." Sherlock stood up now moving quickly in front of his brother, unable to think let alone produce a deduction. Instead the consulting detective's mind kept flashing images of the photographs depicting exactly how the Capricio family took care of those no longer of use to them.

"I had all known properties and clubs of the Capricio family in London searched, word was that several of the family members were shot in a weapons deal gone wrong, hence they needed a doctor seeing as the head of the family was wanted in 12 different countries as well as ours, he couldn't procure a doctor by normal methods. The first three deceased doctors we found couldn't keep those injured alive and the head of the family a rather cold man goes by the nick name of Don Macellaio."

"The butcher." Sherlock felt sick.

"Our good doctor has some bad luck of all the people to kidnap him,-" Mycroft was glad he hadn't eaten yet, his stomach was threatening to make a scene.

"No, we will find John before-What there's more, what are you not telling me Mycroft?" Sherlock was on his feet standing inches from his brother, dark grey eyes narrowed.

"There is a mole in our department one in which we have just discovered and neutralized. " Mycroft met his brother's accusing eyes, maintaining an expression of detached boredom.

"They know we are looking for him." Color drained from Sherlock's face, and Mycroft only nodded in reply to this statement.

"Where?"

"They found his body in an alley not far from the docks, he took out two of his would be executioners before-"

Sherlock went to collect his coat and scarf.

"There's a car ready to-"

"Which hospital did they take him?"

"Barts-" Sherlock was already halfway out of the room, Mycroft maintaining a steady pace at his side.