CHAPTER TWO. THE PECULIARITIES OF FRIENDSHIP
( A week before The Train Yard)
"Sir the reports you asked for." The brunette in her usual black suit skirt waited patiently holding out a thick file folder, marked confidential, in her other hand she held a blackberry and continued to use her thumb to text replies to the many contacts that were feeding her information, and of course requests.
When the file hadn't been taken she looked up surprised "Sir?" her usually prompt and stoic boss wasn't in fact paying attention, his face was turned to a computer screen, and he was smiling? An unusual smile a grin almost.
Normally one would be frightened by such an act; obviously someone was about to cease all existence on paper, on computer and well in any form really. Oh dear, more paperwork and overtime, but no-maybe not. She leaned over slightly to see what Mr. Holmes was doing, odd, he was watching something.
Her eyes shot over to another screen his laptop, looked like the bloggers web site, yes that Captain John H. Watson a Doctor, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Another screen held a real time image.
What could be so funny, that it captures the boss' attention and draws out a smile?
Mycroft didn't hear his assistant when she'd entered, his eyes stayed glued to the computer screen where two images where having an interesting conversation. Mycroft felt like an eavesdropper but he couldn't tear himself away from reading the lips of the two men, he'd wished for sound but all listening devices his brother had already found and this was one of three hidden camera's that his brother was yet to find.
"John who says that he cant be the murderer the clues are all there even a child could make the simple deduction-"
"Sherlock! THERE IS NO WAY THE VICTIM CAN BE THE MURDERER!"
"Why not?" Sherlock is crossing his arms over his chest, perching with his feet under him frowning down at the Cluedo board.
"It's the rules!" John is shaking his head moving now from his chair into the kitchen.
"The rules are wrong then John. Clearly." Exasperated Sherlock shakes his head as if trying to explain simple arithmetic to a child. "It all makes sense John, just listen-"
"Sherlock, I don't care how many times you explain it, you're wrong." The shorter man hands his flatmate a cup of hot tea. "Two sugars."
Sherlock smiled taking the cup the game board temporarily forgotten, "Mrs. Hudson brought up some fresh biscuits." John placed a plate on the Cluedo board, he turned away smiling to himself, argument averted with Tea and biscuits, thank you Mrs, Hudson.
Mycroft chuckled despite himself, how did the Doctor do it, not only was the man patient beyond Sainthood, but he could also divert his brother like a nanny would a boisterous child. Who was this man? Why did he care?
Of course Mycroft could see John Watson did in fact care, he'd proven himself beyond a doubt that Sherlock was his friend. Mycroft doubted his own brother's feelings towards the other man, although after reviewing these tapes he found himself questioning his primary observation.
"John!" Sherlock watched as his friend wrestled a suspect, a very large criminal street name the Mule. Sherlock had chased the Mule, into the dead end of the alley expecting him to give up seeing the consulting detective had a gun and blocked the only exit, but he hadn't anticipated the brute to charge forward knocking him hard against the dirty cement, the gun flying out of his hand. Before he could even think to strike a hard fist caught him square in the abdomen, the thin detective gasped for air, grunting in pain. He readied himself for another hammy fist but it never came, opening his eyes he realized the heavy weight of the Mule had been relieved.
John Watson had tackled the man with the skill of a uni rugby player. To Sherlock's surprise and later Mycrofts, the smaller man held the suspect in a tight choke hold, the Mule was trying to fling John from him, but the doctor held tight, refusing to release him even as the big brute threw himself back against the ruff brick of the alleys wall.
Sherlock coughed, then wincing at the sound Johns back made hitting the unyielding surface. But the ex army soldier held firm, finally after two more attempts at crushing the smaller man, the Mule started to turn red in the face and his eyes rolled up.
"Goodnight" John grunted only releasing the man when he fell face first onto the garbage littered alley floor. John pulled handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed the beefy armed assailant. Then he moved to the winded consulting detective his movement's stiff and Sherlock caught his friends sudden wince, but just as quickly John covered it up with a stern expression. "Sherlock? You alright?" Sherlock grimaced as his shorter friend checked his face for injury.
"John your head is bleeding." Sherlock stated, his flatemate didn't reply to this instead in the perfect Doctor 's no nonsense voice,( reserved for unruly sick children) John asked;
"Do you feel dizzy or nauseas? Any headache?" Sherlock shook his head.
"I'm fine- John your head."
"Its fine. I'm fine. You scared the hell out of me. What did I say? Don't go off without me!" He started to scold the taller man, halting suddenly. Sherlock watched his friend go white and he'd put a hand to the back of his skull, his fingers coming away sticky. "Damn when'd that happen-" the blond mumbled.
"John?" Sherlock caught his friend before he fell to his knees, definitely a concussion. By then DI Lestrade had arrived, and closely at his heels an aggravated Donovan, she was making herself useful by calling an ambulance.
"John, you a'right mate?" Lestrade kept his gun trained on the snoring criminal, his face turned to the doctor.
"Fine. I'm fine. As for you-" turning back to Sherlock, " I thought you were a gonner for sure." John muttered feeling sick. "What were you thinking Sherlock you of all people deduced he was a killer, thrilled in strangling, this is his territory. He'd of easily snapped your neck."
"John? You need to calm down. The case solved and the killer apprehended." Sherlock tried to lead his friend to the side of the road.
"You twat! You could have been killed. Scared the hell out of me!" Sherlock couldn't say anything but
"John-I think you might wish to see the paramedics. I do believe you've injured your shoulder. And your head is bleeding." The Doctor swore under his breath.
"Damn my head and shoulder-" But he didn't get any further before the consulting detective cut him off.
"I'm uh sorry. I was just caught up in the chase-" he noted the fight go out of the doctor.
"Sherlock I think I do need to see the paramedics after all."
"John?" concern now more prominent.
"I thought I heard you apologize, now I know I hit my head."
Mycroft smiled again to himself, he'd kept all of these small recordings for data of course nothing else.
One Morning:
Sherlock stood up from his experiment glancing over at the time, 3 am, moving now quickly he removed his latex gloves tossing them in an overfilling wastebasket near the window.
Mycroft had watched the surveillance footage as his brother kept glancing up at the ceiling, it didn't take a genius to deduce what he was hearing even without sound.
Mycroft had read the file on Dr. Watson, PTSD, nightmares and occasionally this would lead to insomnia and more noticeable hand tremors. The interesting fact that the older Holmes caught on to, was his little brother during such occurrences, when these nights kept the Doctor thrashing in his bed maybe even calling out loudly. Sherlock would take up his violin, tune and tighten the strings, and he would-he would play. Indeed, Mycroft knew that it was something structured and calming. From the position of Sherlock's slender fingers and slow but crisp bow movements, it was no doubt something soft, soothing- Bach perhaps; Mycroft imagined the melodies spilling out from his brother's expert fingers.
And the oddest thing of all, Sherlock Holmes, the self diagnosed sociopath, would then move from the window to the bottom of the stairs leading to his flatmate's room. He'd play for twenty minutes several slow, comforting tunes and then he'd pause his head turned up towards the stairs straining to hear something, straightening his shoulders as if confident of a successful outcome he'd return to his microscope violin forgotten in the corner once more.
Mycroft realized, that his usually indifferent little brother, was playing for the restless Doctor, but the reason evaded him. Why would his brother care if the Doctor was having a night terror, maybe it interrupted his thought process? Then again Sherlock was an expert at blocking the world out and the fact that such restlessness upstairs would draw the arrogant young man out of his own musings, this startled Mycroft. How unusual, could it be his brother had a friend?
Returning again to the footage on his screen he couldnt help but laugh out loud the scene unfolding in front of him, his brother tearing up the recently tidied flat, how did the Doctor, a man of military orderliness, put up with such a slovenly flatmate.
"John! I KNOW THEY ARE HERE! Where are they?"
"Hmm, what?" said uninterested from over his newspaper.
Mycroft knew exactly what his brother was looking for having spied earlier the fact that John had come across a pack of cigarettes in his cleaning up of the cluttered living area.
The blond man had shaken his head, looked around cautiously and then with the stealth and quick vigilance of a soldier moved to hide the pack. Yes, it wasn't easy a task to hide things from a great mind of deduction like Sherlock but John always managed to come up with interesting hiding places, now why couldn't the man figure out a better password for his laptop, really the first level interns could crack it within a half minute.
Still this man took a plastic tupperware from the freezer clearly marked food placed the pack in it, pushing the container carefully behind the other food containers in the freezer just to the side of what one would guess was a severed arm and maybe a foot.
Now its hours later and Sherlock continued to plead, threaten and whine finally giving up he stomped over to the leather sofa and threw himself down. The good Doctor took a package of nicotine patches from the table next to his chair and tossed them over to his sulking friend.
Mycroft enjoyed these scenes, remembering as children how a young Sherlock would hide his favorite umbrella or stealing his wallet. Now, it seemed his dear little brother had met his match. Yes, and this fairly common looking man, was one not to be taken for granted.
"Sir?" his assistants voice cut through his thoughts, he quickly hit a few buttons his computer screen and laptop going back to reports of a more world political nature.
"Oh, yes thank you." He took the folder he'd requested moments ago clearing his throat, the brunette sighed as she continued to send out rapid texts.
"Anything else you need sir?" Mycroft turned back to his computer, shaking his head.
"No, that will be all."
"Yes sir." She took her leave and Mycroft Holmes found himself grinning once more. Having seen this footage more than once over the past couple years he only saved it once again not having the heart to delete the old file. Especially after his brothers three year hiatus he guessed that the two men would go their separate ways, but that Doctor fellow was full of surprises.
And that friendship after all had been the motivation needed for Sherlock to take the fall. To work with the British government in bringing down Moriarty's criminal web. All in thanks to an unlikely friendship. How peculiar friendship could be. It made men do the most of unlikely things, a dangerous thing friendship was, he himself hadn't really ever seen a practical use for it but it had been the advantage he needed in recruiting his unruly brother.