Doctor John Watson had always been an extraordinarily careful man. It was how he had gotten so far in his career, until he wasn't quite careful enough and a bullet had stopped his usefulness. When his next chance came along he grabbed it and never looked back. It was for the best. So when even that career was ended, ironically also by a bullet, he had no life to go back to. He had been too careful, avoiding attachments like the plague. Sure he had made some friends, he was a sociable person and it was part of his job description to be good at getting close to people, but he had always maintained a far enough distance to be instantly forgettable.
So, here he was, back in London with no one to talk to beside past work acquaintances who would ask too many questions. That was how this had all started, he supposed. With him going too deep into his cover and not allowing himself to use the rather large amount of money he had stored in several bank accounts around the world he couldn't afford to stay in London. He was musing about this coming back from his incompetent therapist when his world changed. It might actually have been more accurate to say that it changed with the simple words of "Afganistan or Iraq?" He had seen people do these things before, of course, but that was in another life. One he actively tried to avoid. No, the real start of his life, this life at least, was when he met Sherlock Holmes. And this life was pretty brilliant. With some minor faults, that he always pretended to be much more upset about than he actually was, Sherlock was the perfect partner in crime. He had basically thrown all of his rules about getting close with people out of the window. For the first time in his life he had actual friends, and close ones at that, a caring mother-like figure, and someone that was something so close to a soul mate John wasn't sure if they weren't in a relationship. All of this was put at jeopardy one day when the city of London shut down. Sherlock was in between cases, which was surprising due to the unexpected attention his blog was receiving, and had finally gone to his room to do God knows what when John heard a knock on the door to his room upstairs. He grabbed his gun and put it to the door.
"Who's there?" He asked amiably, purposely making himself sound tired.
"John. It's me. They sold my flat, put my stuff into storage, and sealed my bank account. I need a place to stay." That couldn't be. He carefully put his gun down and swung open his door. It was him. The man John considered for all intents and purposes to be his brother. His dead brother. John slugged him. He staggered back slightly before smiling a little smile, his little smile.
"God, man. I'm going to kill you. Now, get in here before my flatmate hears, I'll never maintain my cover." John said, pulling his brother inside. "Shower's through there. You can sleep on my bed. I'll go downstairs and pretend to work myself to sleep. I do that a fair bit. It's good to see you. I'd thought… well, yeah. Sorry. Got all emotional when you were away. No one to correct me, I suppose." His brother smiled.
"If we had corrected each other on emotions I wouldn't trust you enough to come here for help." John smiled back, before going downstairs and doing what he had said. When he woke up he saw what had brought his brother back. Sherlock had broken the tele, but the newspapers all covered the explosions. And the newspaper obituary told John even more. The double O program went all the way to ten, although the numbers after 7 were formalities and were used for desk riders. Out of all of the double O agents from 1 to 7 that existed only two were left after the explosion. It couldn't be a coincidence.
"Oh, shit." John said out loud, as he realized a more personal and pertinent detail. Sherlock looked up from his composition, startled.
"What? Why did you say that?" Sherlock said suddenly, putting down his violin. John wiped his face clean of emotion.
"Did you hear about these bombings? Terrible business. Any ideas?" He asked, this tactic had gotten Sherlock off his arse before…
"Yes. Horrible. But you're looking at the obits. Makes sense, you might have had friends in the intelligence community. But the way you just said that… That wasn't sad. It was upset, and in a personal way. It was an annoyed tone of voice. Why would you be annoyed about the obituary page after an explosion in MI6?" Sherlock had already started deducing, this was bad.
"I just realized we need milk?" John asked a bit weakly, as the door downstairs opened.
"John, there are some men here for you!" Mrs. Hudson shouted, coming up the stairs.
"Shit. Don't let them in, Mrs. Hudson!" John shouted down, running upstairs to his room. He came back down with, as far as Sherlock could see, at least five concealed weapons and a full pack.
"They're insisting, John!" Mrs. Hudson yelled up the stairs, sounding frustrated. "They're from MI6! Official and everything, I've checked!"
"I know that, Mrs. Hudson! Please stall them!" John replied, starting to climb out the window.
"They're coming up!" Mrs. Hudson yelled at the top of her lungs, sounding completely flustered.
"Shit." John said under his breath, hanging onto the ledge and carefully going hand over hand until he got to the fire escape. The agents got up to the flat and saw Sherlock standing there looking as confused as he'd ever been.
"Ah… He left." Sherlock said, getting back his equilibrium. The agents just looked at him unamused.
"Double O four!" One of them yelled out the window. "We have a driver outside who can see you, you know." John's head popped up from the window opposite where the agent was sticking his head out.
"I know. Figured that out when I sent a rock flying into the alleyway and he followed. Only three agents? MI6 must think I'm getting rusty." John said all of this, before swinging himself into the flat with a small grunt.
"The entire block is surrounded." The agent who stayed in the apartment came forward. "Nice to see you again, John."
"You too, Phil. Wish it was under better circumstances. How'd you all find me?" John asked, grabbing his coat and pulling it on. "Wait! Are these agents in view of the CCTV network?"
"Yes, why?" Phil replied. John sighed, hanging his head as he heard a car door closing outside the flat.
"This is why." John replied quickly before Mycroft Holmes strode through the door radiating chill.
"What, exactly, do you think you are doing, agents?" He said with venom.
"Acquiring an Asset, sir." Phil replied steadily, saluting.
"My little brother is not an asset that MI6 may use, agent. And you may relay that to your superiors." Mycroft stated with a promise.
"Of course, sir!" Phil promptly saluted. "John, all ready to go?"
"Sure thing, Phil. Time line?" John replied quickly, causing Mycroft Holmes to come the closest to a blanch John, or for that matter Sherlock, had ever seen.
"You'll be back by five tonight. Might want to bring back whatever toys you managed to steal last time. New quartermaster. Old Q died in the explosion. And tech has come pretty far since you left."
"Damn. I liked Q. And an exploding pen is an exploding pen. Fun for the whole family. I'm guessing my little brother told you where I was? Damn bastard thinks he can come back from the dead and sell me out?" John said, gesturing towards the door. Phil nodded to the other agent who went first. John was about to leave when his path was cut by an umbrella.
"Doctor Watson? I believe I have been more than patient, what is going on here?" Mycroft said calmly.
"Oh, nothing to worry about. Just worked with MI6 some in Afganistan. Ended interestingly and all that jazz. I have some skill sets that I imagine they might find useful in this time." John lied smoothly. Mycroft dropped his umbrella, this explanation making sense.
"What skill set?" Mycroft asked, thinking it might be useful.
"Explosives Analysis." Nothing exciting. Sounded good. Mycroft nodded.
"Then why did they call you-"
"Bye, Sherlock!" John cut him off, hurrying towards the exit. He was about to shut the door of the transport they had provided when he thought of something utterly brilliant. He looked directly at the nearest CCTV, and winked.