John had been working for ten hours at Bart's for the sixth day in a row and as he made his way up the stairs of 221B he was more than ready to sleep the weekend away. When he reached the top of the stairs he paused at the door that stood ajar in front of him. He was certain he had closed it when he left that morning.
John reached for the gun that always resided behind his back when he left the flat. He didn't take it out but he made sure he had a firm grip on it. Carefully he pushed the door open and took a tentative step in.
Nothing looked unusual. There was no sign that anyone had been there; but John was wary and certain that something was different. He took a few steps into the room before noticing the figure sitting motionless in John's chair. John's grip on his gun tightened and he stopped moving forward. The figure leaned forward and Mycroft looked at John with a mixture of amusement and reproof.
"I think I preferred it when you sent the car." John said wearily, releasing the grip on his gun.
"It was a bit urgent and I thought familiar surroundings would be best for our chat." Mycroft stood and looked around the room. "You haven't changed a thing here. It looks just as it did three years ago. Though perhaps a bit tidier."
John sighed and sat on the couch.
"Please don't start, Mycroft. The one thing I've always appreciated about you is that you haven't tried to talk sense into me all this time."
"Hm, yes. Well I certainly won't start now. I might as well get down to it. I'm here on a rather sensitive matter and I want your careful attention."
John didn't move. He was perfectly comfortable in his current position and saw no need to change it. Mycroft's important news was rarely as urgent as he made it seem these days and John could hear him just fine.
Mycroft watched John for a few moments until it was clear that John was not going to move.
"John there's a very simple reason why I've never tried to get you to move on: Sherlock is not dead."
For a few moments John was sure he had misheard. Surely Mycroft had not just said what he had heard. He sat forward.
"I'm sorry, it sounded as though you just said Sherlock is not dead."
"That is precisely what I said."
John stared intently at Mycroft trying to process everything. He looked for any sign that the elder Holmes man was lying or even uncertain about what he had just said. It didn't make sense. None of it did.
"How? I saw him. How could he…?" John trailed off, unable to say aloud the one thing he wished for more than anything.
"How is unimportant. What is important now is where. That's when things get a bit sticky."
John eyes Mycroft critically. He was annoyed at the dismissive answer but worried by the look Mycroft had now.
"What do you mean by sticky?"
Mycroft stood and walked to the window. The same window Sherlock had always had a habit of standing at to play his violin. John could picture Sherlock now, ignoring the world, and supposed there was a possibility he could see him again. John tried to focus back on the present as Mycroft spoke again.
"I've kept tabs on Sherlock over the last three years but two days ago he…well, he went off the grid."
"Off the grid? Is that even possible with you?" John couldn't believe it. Mycroft. Of all people how could Mycroft lose someone?
"Of course it is." Mycroft seemed offended and complimented in one. It irked John. "It just doesn't happen very often. Honestly I believe Sherlock is the only one who could do it."
John grumbled to himself. It figured. Sherlock the genius, the man who apparently faked his suicide so well would be able to slip even Mycroft.
"Why are you telling me this? Why would you tell me he's alive only to tell me he's missing, presumably only to be found when he wants to, or never…?"
John's words hung in the air as Mycroft paused. For a moment John wondered if the tall man at the window was going to say anything.
"Not never. He's still alive. He's been out chasing down Moriarty's men, every last one. He'd finished. He was done. He was coming back. Then he just…disappeared."
"How close did he get? How close to London? To 221B?" John had a sneaking suspicion he might be able to find Sherlock, and an even bigger suspicion that Mycroft had come by for that exact reason.
"He was last seen just outside of London, south side. Do you know anything about that area, John? Do you know what Sherlock might be doing there?"
John knew that lying wouldn't do much good with a Holmes so he did the best he could.
"I'm not sure, Mycroft. Sherlock was always a bit of a mystery to me and he's had three years to create new levels of mystery to begin unraveling."
Technically everything John said was true. Technically.