Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or any of it's characters.
Listen. What I said before, John, I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one.
Right.
John is in the supermarket picking out bananas with Mary when he sees him, a tall figure dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit and a boring tie, swinging a tightly furled black umbrella by his side, walking briskly down the center aisle of the store, and heading straight for the fruit and vegetable section.
Did he offer you money to spy on me?
Yes.
Did you take it?
No.
Pity, we could've split the fee. Think it through next time.
John jerks the supermarket trolley from Mary's hands and quickly steers her into the cereal aisle. "John, what—" she says, still holding a bunch of bananas.
He holds a finger to lips and pulls her through the store until they reach the head of the pasta aisle. From there he can see the exit; all he has to do is go down an aisle and he'll escape. He can do this.
As they reach the vermicelli noodles, Mycroft turns the corner in front of them. John wonders if he had them watched from the supermarket security cameras.
"John," Mycroft says pleasantly, as if it hadn't been two and a half years since they had last seen each other, "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"Mycroft," says John rather formally, nodding his head. There is a silence in which Mycroft pretends he doesn't know that John was trying to run out of the store to avoid him and nobody mentions Sherlock. John's jacket suddenly seems much too warm, and so he takes it off and folds it over his arm.
"I don't believe we've met," Mary says to Mycroft suddenly, holding out a hand for him to shake, "I'm Mary Morstan, John's—"
"—fiancée, yes" says Mycroft, pointing at her engagement ring and smiling enigmatically. Mycroft doesn't make any attempt to voice any other deductions he may have made, and John is grateful for it. "I am Mycroft Holmes. John and I are old acquaintances."
John closes his eyes for a moment and remembers all of the nights at 221B spent sitting in his chair and listening to Mycroft and Sherlock trade barbs over tea.
"Holmes," says Mary slowly. "Holmes…wasn't that the last name of your old flatmate, John?"
Sherlock used to like to stand by the window and play the violin after Mycroft left, scraping out improvised melodies.
"Yeah, this is his brother," says John. He glances at Mycroft, whose blandly pleasant expression sharpened slightly as Mary asked about Sherlock. John can practically see the gears whirring in Mycroft's brain.
"Well, John, how have you been?" says Mycroft after a few moments, now looking slightly amused. He's deduced rather a lot, then. Mycroft's expression is so nostalgically familiar that it annoys John to no end.
"Fine," he says shortly. Mary inconspicuously nudges him in the ribs, and it hurts. "And you?" he adds.
Mycroft leans on his umbrella. "I've been keeping well. And Mrs. Hudson? Do you see her regularly?"
John is positive Mycroft already knows the answer. "Occasionally."
Mrs. Hudson and John don't talk about Sherlock anymore, although she has kept his skull and has set it on top of the refrigerator in her kitchen. It stares at John when he eats dinner with her.
"Have you had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Hudson?" Mycroft asks Mary. "She used to care for my brother and your fiancée when they lived on Baker Street."
Mrs. Hudson, leave Baker Street? England would fall!
"No, not yet," says Mary. "But we've invited her to the wedding."
"Ah, I'm sure she'll enjoy that," says Mycroft, smiling. Abruptly, he straightens and nods to Mary. He holds out his hand to John, who shakes it. "Nice to see you again John," he says. "I'm sure we'll see each other again, sooner than you think." And with that, he turns and leaves the store.
Mary looks down at her hands and seems to realize that she is still holding the bananas. Absently, she turns and places them on a shelf next to a box of pasta. "What an odd man," she says to John. "He didn't even buy anything."
Mary leads John back to the fruit and vegetable section, where their trolley is waiting. "Oh," she says. "I shouldn't have left the bananas. They were the only good ones." John sets off to retrieve them, pulling his jacket back on as he goes.
He tries to puzzle out Mycroft's motives for coming to find him; even after two and a half years he can still remember all too well that Mycroft always has a hidden agenda. John's mind draws a blank: he can think of nothing that would possibly cause Mycroft to search him out in a supermarket.
And what to make of the questions Mycroft had asked? It was as if Mycroft had simply wished to check up on him. And Mrs. Hudson? Well, John, how have you been? John snorts, but it isn't really funny.
John walks down the pasta aisle. He wishes he hadn't seen Mycroft. Meeting Mary, an American who had never heard of Sherlock or the controversy surrounding his death, had been the start of his second life, his chance to forget about stupid, idiotic, moronic Sherlock Holmes—who got himself killed, and left John all alone not to live, but to simply exist with no purpose—and move on, and Mycroft is simply a reminder of what once was, and what will never be again.
Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?
We solve crimes. I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold out too much hope.
John feels a prickle. He looks up, through the large plate-glass window of the store, and there is a small pinpoint of warm light. Mycroft is standing outside in the dark, smoking a cigarette and staring at him. I'm sure we'll see each other again, sooner than you think.
John stares back at him. Mycroft looks down for a moment, then his face is illuminated by the blueish glow from a mobile phone. He's texting someone. John momentarily wonders whom it might be, before firmly reminding himself that that life is over, and that he shouldn't care. And yet it is several more seconds before he picks up the bananas, turns around, and goes to find Mary.
When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You're not haunted by the war. You miss it.
Authors Note: I hope you enjoyed the story. I am seriously considering turning this fic into a series, which would eventually be Sherlock/John. If you're interested, just review or send me a message to let me know!
My eternal gratitude to the lovely Kiana ( ) for betaing. You are awesome. Seriously.
Please review, but be kind with the criticism. Thanks for reading!
EDIT: I will continue the story! However, the series will end when Sherlock returns. Sherlock will only make a brief appearance at the end of this fic, whenever that may be.