John sat on the sofa and stared at his phone. It wasn't going to be an easy call, and he had to keep his voice sounding as normal as possible. Mycroft Holmes would be able to hear any abnormalities. He took a deep breath and pressed the send button.
Mycroft answered on the second ring.
"John?"
"Hi, Mycroft."
"What a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting a call from you."
John shifted in his seat, pen and paper in his hand. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"
"I haven't spoken to you since the funeral. Naturally, I have been keeping tabs on you."
"I know you have. Ever since you kidnapped me I've kept an eye on the cameras."
"Your life has been quite dull, John. Those tapes have been quite ordinary."
He smirked. Nothing had happened to him. That was about to change. "I phoned because I had a question, Mycroft."
"Right, let me guess, this has to do with my late brother."
"Sort of. I was wondering if you still had the names of my former sniper neighbors."
There was silence on the other end of the phone. "And what prompted this curiosity?"
"They've all moved out, and I was wondering what happened to them. I haven't seen or heard anything about the men who wanted to kill Sherlock."
"I suppose I could send you the files. This is just a natural curiosity?"
"I just want to know who they were. We weren't exactly neighborly when they lived here."
Mycroft chuckled. "No, neither parties were. I'll email you the list soon. Now it's my turn to be curious, John. How have you been?"
"I'm holding up."
"Your limp has come back."
"Yeah, it has."
"And you're still seeing Ella for therapy. I thought I told you when we first met that you should fire her."
"Well I did stop seeing her."
"Until my brother died."
"Until your brother died."
"You're also studying cases at the Yard in your free time. I know being a doctor can be dull, but-"
"It keeps me busy, Mycroft."
"I see."
"Look, Mycroft, I have to go. I think I hear Mrs. Hudson calling," John lied.
"Yes, of course. I'll be sure to send you the list of your former neighbors."
"Thanks."
"You're quite welcome. Goodbye, John."
"Bye, Mycroft."
He hit the end call button on his cell and picked up the pad of paper and pen. Call Mycroft for names was quickly crossed out. John grabbed his cane and limped to the kitchen. It was so clean these days; it drove him crazy. Sherlock's equipment no longer cluttered the tables, and the microwave was free of experiments. John opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of pasta leftovers from lunch. He rarely ate out anymore. There were too many stares and murmurs around him when he left the flat. John heated his dinner and moved back to the living room, surfing the channels on his telly. He settled for the news, and soon found himself hoping for a murder case. "Sherlock would be proud," he muttered. He felt his stomach knot at the memories. He finally knew what it was like to be bored in life and regretted yelling at Sherlock all of those months ago. His luck was changing, and Mycroft was the key to escaping the dull monotony that his had become.
