[In which John discovers that Donovan's an idiot]
John almost declined, but he refused to shirk away from anyone, least of all them, so instead he agreed to meeting at the Yard before his and Greg's lunch – a semi-regular occurrence that began as a thank you for convincing the Chief Superintendent to drop the assault charges- which was why he found himself sitting in Greg's office with Donovan hovering in the doorway. She was unusually silent, possibly in deference to his haggard appearance. Never one to accept pity, he twisted in his chair and fixed his gaze upon her in a steady stare rather like the one he had been used to receiving from Sherlock.
"What?" she asked, shifting guiltily.
He said nothing, letting her make her own deductions. He watched the rapid change in her body language, shifting from hesitance and false-compassion to standing straight backed with a tensed jaw to her normal expression of superiority heightened by an inner glee, and he realized that Donovan still believed that she had been right. She was just petty enough to stand there gloating at him when his best friend was…
John laughed, shaking his head. He turned away from her dismissively, pretending to peruse the upside-down writing on the paperwork scattered across Greg's desk.
"What?" she asked, again. He could hear the thread of anger and underlying confusion woven through her voice.
"You're an even bigger idiot than he ever thought you were, if you believed even for a moment that Sherlock was a fake."
She let out a huff of air and he knew without looking that she was crossing her arms.
"You're a fool, John Watson," she said with as much disdain as she could manage. Her steps practically stomped in anger as she left the office.
John let out a snort. He stretched his legs out in front of him feeling thoroughly amused; it was hard to believe that a fully-grown, well-employed adult could be so utterly stupid.
"You all right, then?" asked Greg, poking his head back into his office. He looked concerned, which was his normal expression of late, at least towards John, but today he looked abnormally so; he must have seen Donovan leaving.
"I'm fine," reassured John, quirking his lips into something resembling a smile. He propelled himself to feet, hiding the creaking from stiff joints and old wounds.
"So, are you hungry?" Greg rested his hand on John's shoulder. John closed his eyes at the heavy, warm sensation; still hypersensitive from his conversation with Donovan, John could read a thousand things in the simple gesture, most of which could be summarized as: "You are not alone."
"Starved," replied John. This time his smile was genuine.