Disclaimer: I am not Gattis, Moffatt, or Cameron.

The man tied to the chair in the warehouse struggled to keep calm. He needed to keep his head, stay level, because otherwise? There was no guarantee that the man in front of him would leave here alive.

Considering that the man was the brother of his new friend and flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, he was quite sure that that particular situation should be avoided at all costs.

"If I wasn't absolutely certain that you mean no harm to my brother, Dr. Watson, you would be dead already."

John considered bluffing, blustering, asking what the hell he's talking about, but the man in front of him is no fool, and will get to the point fairly soon. There is a sinking feeling in John's stomach that he knows exactly what the point is.

"I will, however, need to know what series you are, what, exactly, you are doing in this country, and how you got in without our spies noticing."

Shit, thought John. Not now. Not after all these years. Not after all the lives I saved for this country. Not after this damn limp.

"Come now - I'm speaking to you first as a courtesy. It isn't as though I can't simply speak to Manticore and-"

"You can't," John interrupted. "Please. Not now. Not after- My shoulder, and the limp, and- Please don't let them know I've survived."

Mycroft considered him for a long moment, understanding swiftly crossing his face. "You're an X5. One of the ones that escaped their facility all those years ago. How did we never realize that you were here?"

John shrugged. "Mum and Dad- that is, Mr. and Mrs. Watson adopted me and brought me back here before the Pulse. Even back then I didn't like to fight much. When I joined up it was as a doctor. Take your pick. I was always defective." John trailed off with another shrug.

Sherlock's brother stared for a moment more.

"I'm not planning anything against Sherlock, you have to believe me - well, except maybe figuring out why he keeps using up the milk." He laughed lightly, self-deprecatingly. "Do you think watching me start to seize up would make him more or less likely to keep tryptophan in the flat?"

Mycroft gave a significant look to one of his associates, and the zip-ties securing John to the chair disappeared. John chafed the marks on his wrists.

"I do apologise, Dr. Watson-"

"It's fine. I'll just tell Sherlock we were having kinky sex," John said with that same wry, self-deprecating grin. "I've got a sister. I know my way around pranking one's siblings." The smile faded. "Will you tell him?"

"Did you wish me to?"

"I- I don't know. I don't particularly want to become an experiment. I definitely don't want him to become a target. I'll trust your judgement."

One considering pause.

"He'll appreciate it better if he has to deduce it for himself. Well! I'm glad we've got this unpleasantness out of the way, Doctor. Thank you for your time; the car will take you anywhere you'd like to go."

"Home," John said decidedly. "Thanks."

Max looked at the website the British man had given her. He'd told her that someone she thought she'd lost had left a message there for her, and that a certain lady would let her in. The password, of course. thebluelady let her in.

There was a video there. "Hi, Max," the man in the video said. She knew him. He was tan, and his hair was cut military style, but he was smiling and relaxed, and calling her by name, not number. He'd picked up a British accent somewhere. "Hi, everybody. I've missed you.

"First thing's first - Manticore cannot track this website. Not only is the UK out of their jurisdiction, but the people who set it up made it unbelievably secure. We're working on finding a way to get you guys out of the States if you want it; Britain is offering asylum for most of you, on very few conditions. And Max - if you want, we can help Mr. Eyes Only to broadcast outside of Seattle.

"You won't believe what I've been up to this year..."