"I just got him back."
John says the words softly to himself in a hollow voice. Mycroft raises his eyes to study him for a moment; the inaudible remark didn't reach him but as he gazes at his companion he catches a glimpse of the broken man he once knew and immediately understands. Then raising his chin he averts his gaze and trains his focus on the streets below.
"And now you're telling me that he is about to be killed. Again."
His annoyed, exasperated tone returns as he quickly adjusts to Mycroft's unwelcome news, the ghost of a memory fading from his eyes. It seems to John like they only share these cosy little chats when Mycroft has some unpleasant burden to bring him and every time a solution is found eventually. Not always promptly but eventually.
"What can I say? My dear brother does have a loyal circle of enemies."
Despite his quip Mycroft's expression remains a stiff one which produces a snort of laughter from John. Sherlock was rarely challenged by anyone he couldn't outwit and now Moriarty was gone he felt safe in the knowledge that Sherlock could deal with anyone the seedy underbelly of London threw at him. This reaction made Mycroft's brow crease with tension, he lightly touched it wishing to release the pressure of his uneasy mind whilst simultaneously not wishing to apply more pressure to the man whom he had already pushed so far. For John had still not forgiven him.
"You may not comprehend the magnitude of the danger that Sherlock is in but you cannot deny how his mind works. When he discovers this threat is aimed for him he will shut you out entirely and then neither of us will be able to intervene."
"No. You're wrong. We work together."
"Oh?" Mycroft raises an exaggerated eyebrow.
"So he tells you everything? Each and every case you solve together in a strictly… professional capacity?"
John clenched his jaw with quiet contempt. He could not say anything though as his doubts cut at him hindering any response. Sherlock had been different since he returned there was no denying it. Their domestic life was the same chaotic mess as it had ever been; quiet nights in screaming at the television, brunch at the café due to a certain toxic experimentation in the kitchen and 'accidentally' sabotaged dates whenever John was foolish enough to try to bring any girl back to 221B. However their work life had disintegrated. Sherlock kept John at arm's length whenever working on a case with any potentially dangerous aspects and would frequently go to Bart's alone in order to search for answers within his 'mind palace'. Naturally John's blog had been abandoned, as Sherlock's living status had to remain under the radar so John had simply watched Sherlock slowly revert back into his old solitary ways but remained silent as he was just happy to have his old roommate back in his life. However John Watson had also reverted, returning to that old life of feeling empty and useless.
"You're not his co-worker now, you're his ..pet."
Mycroft would never be close with his brother but he understood him better than most. For it was true, Sherlock could never risk losing John again. He had rebuilt those walls, initially believing it was best to remain dead in John's mind but he could see him struggling and watching him from afar only made his struggle worsen too. So the next logical step in Sherlock's mind was a simple separation between his worlds as he now believes he had been a fool to ever try to mix his work and home life.
"You absolute-" John swallows his insult. Letting the curse die within his throat but tightens his fist, still not releasing anger. "What do you want from me Mycroft?"
Mycroft raises his wrist and glances at the clock face for a prolonged moment, leaving John's question hanging between them. Then to John's utmost surprise Mycroft pulls earphones from his inner coat pocket and proceeds to listen to a rather loud classical piece, completely ignoring John's presence. Following this strange display the bells behind them begin to chime, Big Ben's special song alerting London of the eleventh hour. However due to their proximity it sounds more like a booming to John's ears.
'WHY DID WE HAVE TO MEET HERE?' John mimes over the bells trying his best to convey his agitation as Mycroft acts like he can neither see nor hear him.
They begin to cease and Mycroft removes his earphones.
"He doesn't follow me everywhere you know."
"Oh yes he does, but that is rather not the point I'm afraid."
"Then what-"
"So what do you say John?" He holds out a leather binder to John expectantly, revealing the entire purpose of the curious meeting.
"Sod off." Ignoring the request John walks straight past Mycroft to the stairwell, this reaction was clearly unanticipated as Anthea appears so shocked her eyes break contact with her blackberry.
"What use exactly are you, then?"
John stops, his stride broken.
Words only hold weight when we have already spoken them silently, to ourselves.
John slowly turned and walked back to his place, before Mycroft.
"I'm not doing this for you." He clarified, staring Mycroft down. John wasn't a proud person, he wasn't Sherlock Holmes. But his self-worth was diminishing and he felt he had to prove himself; he had to show that he was valid.
John tucked the binder under his arm and followed Anthea towards the exit, his leg felt strangely sore as a dull pain dragged at his muscles slowing his pace. Anthea had already gone; her brisk strides in those clipping heels had probably made it halfway down the spiral staircase by now. John had now stopped completely as his leg was tugging at him, tying him down to this single spot. But just as he began to test a step forward a sudden whooshing noise from behind made his body instinctively return to face Mycroft. And there it was: a magnificent blue box standing free in the open air. John couldn't begin to fathom where it had appeared from nor its purpose for being there. All he was sure of was that it did not belong.
"No John today then?"
"No Molly."
Sherlock had grown tired of the question, as she pressed him every day without fail. He was certain this tedious affair had become a habit of hers as no one could be so truly dense to have not noticed the chair which lay empty for so many months now.
"Not today."
"Well do you know I-"
"Yes." Sherlock hissed, whilst trying focus on his slide. "Lens. Molly. Please."
She darts round the room in a sudden fit of energy as Sherlock stares longingly at the lens only a few inches away from him.
"I ran into him at the shops the other day there and-"
She reaches a cabinet at the far end of the room and stands on a chair to reach the upper shelves. Meanwhile Sherlock has already adjusted the appropriate lens onto his microscope ignoring Molly as she wobbles frantically on the chair then performs an ungraceful little hop back to ground level.
"-he was saying that he's looking for a full time job which well you know I -"
"Yes, Molly. I do know." Sherlock snaps.
The effect his words have had is apparent as her face drops. He discreetly unscrews the lens and hides it within his pocket.
"Here." She places it into his outreached palm.
Behind Molly the door swings open to reveal a rather tired looking John Watson. Warmth radiates from Sherlock's face as although he did not want him here, he cannot disguise his pleasure at this surprise visit.
"Molly, thank you." Despite his eyes still being locked onto John, Molly assumes his expression is directed at her and smiles widely in response.
Ever since his fall Sherlock had been more tolerant of Molly Hooper for she had been there in his time of need and it was a moment he would not soon forget. As John began to take a smaller role in his life Molly had stepped up and assisted him not only in the lab but occasionally running errands around London for him too. She understood the reason for the separation but was most definitely not in favour of it, her opinion though was not always appreciated. Although one fact was undeniable, Sherlock always shined brightest with John around.
"Sherlock." Molly spins around recognising his voice giddy with excitement. Sherlock could see that John's face was troubled, it was obvious he had news otherwise he not have come here, he stopped coming to Bart's when Sherlock started slipping out in the early mornings to work on cases in private. John felt like he was no longer needed, so he kept out of the way. But it was more than this and Sherlock could tell something was plaguing his mind.
"How was your trip to Big Ben?" Sherlock eyes John, relishing in his somewhat startled expression and then returns nonchalantly to his work. "I do hope you brought me back something."
"How? " John asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.
"Your shirt is drenched with the plight of a man who has just climbed 334 steps above parliament."
He grins at his microscope and the room is then filled with the sound of their gentle laughter. Molly watches the pair and feels her heart lighten, perhaps things were truly returning to normality. But as the laughter eased, John was reminded of how this familiar room had become foreign territory to him and he felt his presence needed to be justified.
"Uh hello Molly, you wouldn't perhaps mind giving us a moment?"
"Oh no. No of course!" She gathered her things in a flurry of movement and made her way out the door with as many books as she could carry. "Let me know if you need any more help with that ca- um thing Sherlock." Her cringe was hidden behind her stack of books; silently she cursed herself for almost mentioning a case in front of John, a case in which she knew he had had no part in. And with that she was gone.
John hangs his head. He knew he shouldn't have come here.
"So you already have a new case, you must be very busy at the moment."
"John." Sherlock couldn't quite grasp why the atmosphere had suddenly turned sour but John's bitterness unsettled him nonetheless.
"Well here, you might not have time for this one at the moment but I thought you might want to at least look at it." With that John sat the files from Mycroft on his desk and limped out of the lab leaving Sherlock to simply watch him go. After Sherlock's fall John's limp had returned and ever since their reunion Sherlock was hoping it would fade away with the memory of those dark lonely days: but it hadn't.
Stubbornness prevented Sherlock from picking up the file until after John's footsteps faded down the corridor, then curiosity took hold and he scanned the document in mere moments. Sherlock furrowing his brow retrieved his phone from the inner pocket of his coat.
Since when was John your new P.A? –SH
So you got the file. I trust it shall be solved by supper then. –MH
Don't bait me Mycroft, you know I don't adopt these sorts of cases. That's what you have your lapdogs down at Torchwood for. –SH
He spins the phone, flipping it into the air and catching it blindly but with utmost precision. Frustrated he types another message.
And don't tell me this is a matter of trust because frankly brother you should no longer trust me. -SH