A/N: Do a prologue have to be short? I sincerely hope not. I want this to be a prologue because it will be a jump in time between this chapter and the next. This has not been brit-picked or betaed. Still, I hope you enjoy.

I owe nothing.

Prologue

The Job Interview

Why was everything so bright? The sun was so intense, making everything white and blurry at the edges. John knew it was because he had been sitting inside in the dark flat for three weeks, but seriously. How could it be so bright? It should be raining, a storm should be raging, the wind should be howling. But no, people was wearing shorts and basking in the sun. It was all just wrong. How could the world go on like nothing had happened at all? How could they all just go on with their lives without feeling the impact of the world most extraordinary human being obliterated from the face of the earth? John realized he hated them for being happy. The worst of the media hassle was over so people didn't care anymore. He would have screamed at them, but he was too tired right now.

For 23 days… No. He had promised himself not to count days. It wasn't healthy. For three weeks, he corrected himself, Mrs. Hudson had done his shopping and made him food. For three weeks John had been lying on the couch, only getting up to pluck at his food and turn off the light when Mrs. Hudson turned it on. Today she told him that he could go out to get the groceries himself. The media wouldn't harass him anymore and she was after all not his housekeeper. He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to get him back to society, and she had realized that fussing any more over him would be counterproductive to his health. She was a good woman. God, John hated her. He would have told her to stay away, but he was too tired.

John's leg was hurting from the walking and he clutched his cane. He would have gotten a cab, but the thought of having to be in such a small space together with another human made him nauseous. The thought of having to enter Tesco's and push around all the people made him even more nauseous.

It was then the black car pulled up next to him. The dark windows were gleaming in the light as if to mock him. If there was someone John hated most of all, then it was Mycroft. That self-pompous, egocentric… John's blood was boiling just at the thought. Mostly because he knew he couldn't blame him for what had happened. He wanted to blame Mycroft so much that it hurt, but he had seen the man's eyes at the funeral. John had wanted so dearly to yell at him, scream, but he could see in his eyes that Mycroft was punishing himself more than enough. He couldn't bring himself to yell, and he knew he would have to forgive Mycroft someday. Still, that day was not today. John gave the tire of the car a good kick and walked off to peoples' amazed stares.

The car didn't follow him, but now the phone boots along his way started ringing. It was strange, really. It wasn't like Mycroft to pull the same trick twice. He reached Tesco's, but couldn't stand to enter because of the nauseous feeling. He kept walking, but had to stop at a light crossing. The black car stopped conveniently next to him at the exact moment he received a text.

Get in the car, Dr. Watson. I can do this the whole day. You can of course just go home, unless you don't want the power to come and go every fifth minute for the next week. –MH

John had to roll his eyes. For someone who preferred calling, that was a long text. It wasn't like he would notice if the power went out anyway. He didn't cook and didn't turn on the lights. Still, he sighed in defeat and got in the car. He was just too tired to fight right now. At another time he would have given Mycroft a run for his money, he told himself, but not today. Anthea was in the car, but John didn't look at her as he settled down, and she didn't look at him.

Relief washed over him when he realized they were going to Mycroft's office in parliament, and not the Diagonese club. The memories from the club were still too raw. John didn't really register the walk through the heavy security corridors before he was standing in Mycroft's office and the man looked up at him from some important looking papers. The eyes were observing him, taking in all the clues as to where John had been and what he had been doing. It felt almost refreshing before the rage took hold of him again. He would have punched Mycroft in the face, yes, that's what he would have done. Then he would have yelled at the stupid man just what he thought about him and slammed the door before he left. But not today. Today he was too tired. Instead he sat down in the chair in front of Mycroft's desk.

"I'm so glad you took time out of your busy schedule to come see me, Dr. Watson," Mycroft said in his most pretentious polite tone while pretend tiding his already tidy desk. John just rolled his eyes. Everyone today seemed to try to make him take a grip at himself. But then he registered the bitterness in Mycroft's voice. Could it be that Mycroft was… jealous? Jealous that John had the possibility to mourn properly, call the surgery and say he wouldn't be coming in for some days (weeks), lay on the couch in the dark and ignore everyone? John narrowed his eyes at the man, trying to imagine him doing these things.

"I'll cut strait to the point, Doctor," Mycroft said in a businesslike tone while folding his hands on the desk. The bitterness was now untraceable, but his eyes where still cold. "I want to offer you a job."

John snorted.

"Are you that worried about me, Mycroft?" he asked mockingly. Of course Mycroft would begin a job interview with a kidnapping.

"Of course not," Mycroft answered while he rose from his desk and walked over to the window. "You no longer have any connection to anyone of importance. I have no reason to watch over you or to be concerned of your well-being." Mycroft stood with his back to John, looking out of the window. John knew this was the closest he would get to hearing Mycroft say he missed his brother.

"However, I would be a fool to turn a blind eye when I see a man with the trait I want most in my employs, especially when he shows it in such great amounts." Mycroft turned and bore his eyes into John, scrutinizing, analyzing. John didn't flinch.

"And what 'trait' would that be?" John asked suspiciously and crossed his arms over his chest. He could feel some of his fight returning.

"Loyalty, Dr. Watson." Mycroft even had the insolence to smirk.

Something snapped inside John, a floodgate most likely, because all the rage from the previous days came flooding in great waves. He stood so the chair fell over and slammed his palms at the desk. The cane was forgotten.

"Loyalty?! I had loyalty to him, not to you, you traitorous bastard! I will never be loyal to you! How dare you?" He felt his hands starting to shake. "And anyway, if I had loyalty 'in such great amounts' then I would have been on the roof together with him, not yelling at him and slam the door at him when he needed me the most! We would have fought Moriarty togeth-er." John felt his voice crack towards the end. God, he hated himself. He hated himself so intensely that it burned in his veins. No, there was nothing Mycroft could have done to prevent what happened, he wasn't to blame. There were lots of things John could have done, though, if he just hadn't been so stupid and blind.

Mycroft, however, looked unfazed, almost like he had expected this to happen. He sat down in his chair again and folded his hands in his business manner.

"Do you want to know what I think happened at the roof that day, Dr. Watson?" He continued without waiting for a response. "I think he sent you away, pissed you off more likely from what you're saying, and went up to meet Moriarty on the roof. Apparently Moriarty shot himself, and there is no reason to think Sherlock modified the scene. I don't know about Moriarty, but I know Sherlock wasn't suicidal. Some kind of game took place on that roof. There is no way Sherlock would have jumped to the promise of Moriarty killing himself, and why would Moriarty commit suicide after Sherlock had jumped? Based on this I'm fairly certain Moriarty died while Sherlock was still on the roof. Moriarty tried to make Sherlock jump, but apparently Sherlock found a way which he could use to get out of it. Maybe use Moriarty as hostage? But Moriarty killed himself to make certain Sherlock had to jump. He was crazy enough to do such a thing, I would know. So why did Sherlock have to jump when Moriarty was dead?"

Mycroft paused to look up at John who was still standing, expression blank, hands shaking lightly. It seemed like Mycroft was waiting to see if John could draw the conclusion himself. When nothing was said Mycroft continued.

"I think he threatened to kill you, Dr. Watson. And the only way to stop it was if Sherlock jumped." He waited some seconds to let the words sink in. "At least that's what I think happened. The only logical explanation I can come with. I could be wrong of course."

Slowly John bent down and pulled up the chair so he could sit down in it again. He held his head down the entire time so Mycroft couldn't see his eyes. His mind was blank, his thoughts blessedly still, with just a buzzing in the background. A buzzing he knew would be loud and agonizing when eventually went to sleep that night.

"Again, this proves that caring is not an advantage. But your loyalty isn't at fault here," Mycroft stated simply before pressing the intercom. "Anthea, could you be as kind as to bring us some tea. I think Dr. Watson needs some."

"What…" The voice was so low that Mycroft almost didn't hear it at first. "What kind of job are you offering me exactly?" John's voice was building slowly in strength until it was normal volume, but he still held his head low. "I don't have the training to be CIA or MI5 or anything. And right now I'm only a man with a tremor in his hand and a cane."

"Obviously I wouldn't make you a CIA agent. You would be working for me personally. I would offer you to be my… assistant," Mycroft said smugly. John raised his gaze and glared at him. At that moment Anthea entered with the tea. That would mean, tray with tea in one hand and phone in the other. Needless to say she was looking at the phone and not the tray as she walked. She must have had it ready before the call.

"Ah, Anthea. What would you say is your responsibilities as my assistant?" Mycroft asked her smoothly.

"I don't know. Making tea?" she answered while putting the tray at the desk, typing away at her phone at the same time.

"I mean more like…," he gestured with his hand to make her go on, "more like, how many men have you killed while in my employ?"

"Six," was the instant reply while she still typed. "Not counting the two who survived."

Mycroft turned smugly to John who's eyes were big as saucers.

"You see, my 'assistants' have many responsibilities. Of course I'll give you some time to think it over. You could come in tomorrow if convenient. But I have to warn you, I could be dangerous."

John's eyes got even larger if possible. That manipulating bastard! That was why Mycroft had kidnapped him for this 'interview' and even made the phone boots ring. He was trying to make John remember his first case with Sherlock and make him sentimental. He was trying to make him remember the night he got a purpose again after his return from Afghanistan. John rose again, but without knocking the chair over this time.

"You manipulating, crazy… freak! I told you I will never be loyal to you! Go fuck yourself with your umbrella!"

"You're saying Sherlock never tried to manipulate you?" Mycroft asked in his posh voice.

"That's it! I'm done here!" He marched out and even slammed the door like he had planned earlier. It was a satisfying sound.

The silence that followed was almost deafening.

"That didn't go overly well," Anthea stated after the room had gone quiet after John's departure.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so overly sure was I you." Mycroft's eyes fell on the forgotten cane that had fell to the floor.

A/N: In this story Mycroft doesn't know that Sherlock is alive. I always found it unfair that he should tell Mycroft and not John. There is a shift in point of view in this story. Did anyone find it strange? Reviews are always welcome.