What about his heart? It had became clear that something extraordinary had been done to it, since it had survived a two straight impacts of bullets, and seemed to be the cause for all that was circling around him. He hadn't seen Sherlock again; actually he hadn't seen anyone after he had fallen into emotional coma. Once his brains had started to work again, handling all the shock more or less successfully, he had wondered around his newly created apartment, trying to spot things that wouldn't add up, and just to enjoy all the colours and shaped he had missed so much while being kept in that white cage.
Putting aside stuff that were obviously Sherlock's, there really wasn't anything that would give in he difference between this, and the real one. Eventually he gave in, and forced himself to relax, it wasn't as hard as he had supposed. He poured himself a nice cup of tea and sat down into his favourite armchair, that Sherlock had violated, and picked up one book from the shelf, and damn that he felt good for being able to do that. When he was in the middle of the book, that really wasn't that interesting, and that he faintly remembered reading once before, back until he had died, he started to feel really tired, and he gave into it with out a fight. His bedroom looked exactly like he remembered it, everything was on its place, and everything was familiar.
He assumed he fell asleep before his head hit the pillow. He must have seen dreams, and most likely nightmares, but he didn't remember them in the morning. It was just sleep, deep and calm. "Yes, I am still sure of my decision. Please, stop questioning me before you start sounding like Andersson, one of him is enough to deal with for the life time, and I will cut my ties with you if you keep that up, cause two of the same kind would definitely lower the IQ of the personnel in whole building and that would be for good." Sherlock talked to the phone, sounding really bored. "You interfered with my subject, and just look at what it lead into. Let me handle this, like we originally agreed." He had hard time to get down to listen what the person in the other end of the call had to say. He disassembled his frustration into walking in circle.
Now that he tough about it the third time today, he really did like the way this apartment had come together. "No, I haven't told him much more than you did when you visited him with that file. Yes, They'll meet tomorrow then, why do you feel need to tell me unimportant things? "Blue eye's were rolled, in a simple gesture of questioning his brothers brain function again, before lids closed on them. "What ever. I do not care as long as your doings do not come on the way of my research. Goodbye Mycroft." He hung up before another word was received from the speaker.
He opened his eyes, and turned around to stare at the door, behind which, his subject was now sleeping. Everyone in the building were still amazed by this achievement, it had almost surprised himself as well. The power of the god, in his head and hands. A power to resurrect those, who death has taken as it's own. He wanted to think that he had surpassed HIM with this; in ways he had, but not quite, not yet. If he could still have proves to support his impossible theory, then, then surpassing wouldn't be questioned.
He called back the moment, the exact second he had seen the body of this man for the first time. When the life of John Watson had been unlocked by his eye's, by the science of deduction, he had known, with out a doubt. He had found the heart, the one. Sherlock reached his fingers toward the door, and then it happened first time in a long time. Ghost of pain danced trough his nerves, making his hand flinch, like he had touched something hot, and he glared at his hand. An hour might already be later that what he had thought...
John woke up to the noise from behind his bedroom door. He didn't have that moment of confusion. Right after the dream is broke, when you don't know what had happened, or where you were. He was crystal clear, and now, that he had calmed down and had some good night sleep on top of that, he had realised that he really had plenty of questions, demanding to get some answers.
He was, again, bitted in the ass by surprise, when he realised just who was he seeing in the middle of his, and currently apparently Sherlock's, living room when he opened the door. It was his old landlady, back from the original bakers street. Mrs Hudson. John was forced to blink his eyes more than twice. Before he was able to accept that he had really woken up. Older woman lifted her head from papers in her hands and looked at him.
She didn't seem surprised at all. "Good morning dear, did you sleep well?" She asked, like two years hadn't passed, and like he just hasn't walked back from death. Well, maybe she looked happier to see him that she would have if this had been just any typical day from back then. Sherlock, who laid on the couch, relaxed like a pleased cat, lifted his head from the magazine that he had been reading, John didn't even bother to wonder where it had came from, or when the other man had came back. Their eye's met, and Sherlock made a look that was clearly accusing john of being rude to the older woman. John didn't know how was he expected to react, so he did the thing that felt most natural.
"Good Morning, I slept like a newborn baby, thanks for asking." He replied, receiving a approving, almost smile from the other man. John noticed that his gaze was totally stolen by Sherlock, so he purposely forced it to face the woman instead. Mrs, Hudson hadn't changed a day. She had the same, short, curly, reddish hair that had been little worn out by the years, and same, kind face. "So.. Why are you cleaning my room?" Yes, that was the most important thing to ask.
For some reason he felt little embarrassed, and annoyed at the same time, when Sherlock seemed to be amused by his actions. And then he realised that he was staring at the blue eye's man, again. Woman made this little gesture with her hands, like she always did when she wasn't quite pleased with something, but not actually mad either." It's this Sherlock; he is such a messy boy. You should tell him to keep things in better order John." She chatted cheerfully. She hassled like a mother around his precious boy, John couldn't help wondering when had that happened, and there came more questions into his list. "Well you are my housekeeper." Sherlock said when John claret at him.
And the man had a nerve to look at him disapproving, when he was the one laying on the couch all spoiled, and let the older woman clean after his messes. "I am not your housekeeper, dear." Mrs Hudson corrected but despite her words she kept setting things straight. "John you have a meeting in ten minutes, you should maybe consider getting more decent." Sherlock said, surprising him with at straight gaze right at his eyes. John was suddenly dazzled, mesmerized by that blue, the Sherlock broke the spell by lifting the magazine up to cover his face.
John was still so stunned that it took him a moment to realise what the annoying flatmate want to be had actually said. "Excuse me, what? A meeting, with whom? When?" "You, meeting, ten minutes, didn't you hear me?" was the answered he get from behind the magazine. Now that he looked at it, he realised it was new. And the year really seemed to be 2012. That could be fake but...The line just above Sherlock slender fingers caught his attention. Horrifying cases of Brutal suicides might have a new turn. In the light of new evidence they might be investigated as murders...? "Well dear, I think you can't quite meet important government man in your underwear, right?" Mrs Hudson said interrupting his thoughts, and making him embarrassed for spacing out again.
"Yeah, umh.. I guess you are right." John muttered and backed up into his room. There was something really strange about that man. Something in his eye's, that suggested you back the hell of. He was the one who had called him subject. "What is it with you, and your attraction of danger John Watson?" He questioned from himself. He should just dislike the guy, not be dazzled by him. When he got out of his room, fully dressed in clothes that were his, from his old apartment, feeling kind of violated somehow, there was a strange man in their doorway. Sherlock stood in front of him, and they were obviously in the middle of conversation. John didn't want to intrude so he stayed back and gazed at the new man.
He was tall, about the same height as Sherlock, he had that kind of an face that made him look reliable, and the slight greyness in his short hair added hint of dignity, and he knew how to carry himself. John felt almost immediate relate to the man somehow. There was a flinch in the corner of Sherlock's eye's that told John that Sherlock had registered his presence.
"We won't be drinking tea Mrs. Hudson, but I might need something to eat when I get back." Sherlock said. "Not your housekeeper." woman replied, which made Sherlock just say, that something cold would do. He pulled on a black jacket, making john wonder where he might be going. "Lestrad, meet John. I trust you are able to HANDLE it from here." Sherlock called out on his way out to the door. He had the kind of tone in his voice that made John think that he had just missed good joke, which he should have unknown man turned, looked at him after Sherlock had disappeared and smiled, greeting offering his hand for a shake.
"Greg Lestrad, nice to meet you." John took his hand feeling a bit uneasy, but that melted away quite fast. Lestrad didn't look at him like he was something violating the laws of nature, he had the feeling he would like this man. "This must feel like quite a circus, don't worry, it definitely won't get any easier, but you kind of get used to it."
Before he really even noticed he was sitting in some, quite fancy looking room, with Mycroft Holmes and another person he hadn't met before. Tall woman with a good posture on Mycroft's left caught his attention. She was quite pretty, with her fair, dark skin and tight curls that reached her shoulders. Her hair colour reminded John of coffee. Lestrad had taken a stand behind him, by the door. "I'd like to assume that you know why you are here John, but knowing my brother I ought to know better." Mycroft started, breaking the silence.
John hadn't really paid attention, but he guessed he should have noticed that the man before him and Sherlock were siblings. Now that he really thought about it, they had the same way to elongate the words. John almost blushed when he realised there had been a question directed to him in that sentence.
"No. I don't know why I'm here..." When the words were out of his mouth, he suddenly had a feeling that his "flatmate" might have said something that should ring the bells, but Mycroft was already in the middle of sighing and starting to explain, so he felt no need to correct his words."Your body has been property of this department for two years, the fact that you are now alive does not change the fact, but it demands some new actions from us. In other words, you need someone to supervise you." John listened quietly, and he didn't like it. And yes, now he did remember Sherlock mention this yesterday. Since the only woman in the room was the one he had been eyeing before, he had to assume she would be his handler. And he was also aware of the fact that fighting against this, would be in vain. They were right, he had nothing out there in the real world. His family had said their goodbyes to him, there he was death. He was alive here, but that "error" could be corrected if it was found as a disturbance he was sure of that, and no one would miss him.
So, John tried to get a smile on his lips when he offered his hand toward the woman. "Nice to meet you, my name is subject 01, but I would much appreciate if you'd call me John. "He wasn't sure if sarcasm was a wise move, but hey, he was only human. Mycroft looked very pleased, when he said, "I see you are quick in your head, that is a good feature. "He nodded to the woman, which had just stared at John's hand up until now.
When received permission she took a firm hold of Johns hand, it was a good handshake. John wanted to believe he would be able to get along with her. "Sally Donovan." He observed the situation, staying quiet, when all other in the room had conversation about details of his handling. He received few pieces of information at least; like that Greg Lestrad seemed to be Sally's supervisor or something like that.
And apparently they were in London, and Elizabeth was still their queen. Small things that somehow made him feel better and worse at the same time. When he stood up from his chair, to Follow Sally that had been asked to move out with Lestrad, assuming he should follow them. Miss Donovan stopped him, by pressing him back on his seat by the shoulder. They were left alone in that room, with was somehow intimating. Mycroft leaned against the table to gaze at him, and John suddenly felt very naked. "I understand why my brother chose you as his subject, he has his way with the words, I'm sure you will notice if you haven't by now." John kept quiet, cause he really didn't now more proper way to act in this situation. "What I don't understand is his interest in you. As you might have noticed, you have quite fast been moved into quite, shall we say, intimate part of his live.
Because of his request I will allow you to live with him, and don't lock you up like I should. Be worth of my trust, will you?" Man said, and the seriousness in his eyes was unmistakeable. John nodded again; it seemed to be right kind of reply with this man. Mycroft smiled again.
"I really think I might like you. I have an offer for you, keep an eye on him for me would you, that could make your being here much more pleasant. Cause you see, he makes me worry about him, constantly." John nodded again, and kept his mouth shut. "A man more easily fooled, might lead to think that you respect me for the fear, but danger does not alarm you. I can see that you are perfectly calm, even if your situation must be more, than stressful." Mycroft suddenly leaned even closer toward him over the table, John wasn't quite following the way his mind moved, but he was sure it was on it's way to some clear point.
"You miss it, the war that killed you. It got into your bones, and your blood, it's part of your being now." When he heard the words it made sense, the way he had been able to kind of adapt to all that was going on, his mind was still on the battlefield. "I guess you can see it in his eye's, and it attracts you." Yes, yes it did. Lestrad stayed with Mycroft when Sally came to get John and walked him out. "This is a huge opportunity to me, and I hope to get along with you, cause that will make things easier for the both of us. But, that isn't necessary, I can also, not, get along with you, and I promise that won't be pleasant." Woman said as soon as they were private enough for no one to hear. Her words weren't a threat; it was like simple statement of facts.
John just nodded, and they understood each other. "You may call me Sally, John." Those words made John think that she really wasn't that bad.
* * * "Booored. Can we just say that I am perfectly healthy with my abnormal intelligence? We have gone this trough hundred times over the years, really why bother?" Sherlock muttered, seemingly sulking and rolled around with his chair. Andersson, the man with sly face that hold few kind of fox like features sighed, placing his hands on the table in front of him. "Sherlock I hope that you would even try. You are making this very unpleasant for the both of us." He tried, with disgustingly sweet voice, which always made Sherlock frown. His answer was, "no thank you." He had never seen the point of why Mycroft forced him to come, and pretend that he could ever have even a half of real conversation with this annoying behaviour psychologist, with so ridiculously slow brain function that it really wasn't even funny anymore. Then again, he and Mycroft had never shared the same sense of humour. Now that he though about it, that twisted sense of humour might have been the exact reason for his archenemy to choose Sally as his subjects handler. He had tried to behave, but since Andresson seemed to show off his doings.. "You know, I do have something I need you to sort out with me." Sherlock said, getting Andersson interest. "I have tried and tried, but I can't figure it out. "He kept going, making a troubled expression on his face.
The man on the other side of the table smiled, like he really would have wanted to help. "Do tell, "He encouraged. "I help the best I can, that is why I'm here." Sherlock almost slipped out of his role right there, really, who could be that dump?Easily lead by the nose, like a bull after castration.
"Why won't you just leave your wife? I bet even she knows what is going on with Donovan. Cause you two really can't hide our doings, I am not even sure are you trying." Sally had almost placed her hand on the door handle, still explaining about the simple behaviour test that Mycroft had demanded just for the sake of his goodnight sleep.
When it opened and Sherlock stood in front of them. Now John was confused. Was Sherlock the psychologist? "Well hello freak" Sally said with a sour shade in her voice. "Always lovely to see you sally. Would you mind cheering Adrresson up a little, he seemed to get little down when I mentioned you, in almost same sentence with his wife." Sherlock lifted his gaze from sally's face and winked his eye at John, again, dazzling him for a moment. "I see you at our flat, I might have need for the doctor in you, if you are interested of course." Man said to him as he passed by.
John really tried not to look after him, but he failed miserable."Always the same, no matter what is tried for his shake, he just throws it away. He isn't normal, and someday he will just snap, marks my words. "His handler muttered. John looked back at Sally; irritation was so clear on her face that it almost humoured John, which made no sense. "I don't think that..." There was clear pause, which in Sally most likely decided to call the man by his last name. "Andresson is in a right state of mind to take in patience now. You can go." When John turned around to leave, Sally called after him. "I say this, even if it is probably too late by now, but stay as far away from Sherlock Holmes as you possible can." It probably made more than just sense. Now that he tough about it, everyone he had met had been seemingly normal despite the situation they had got to know each other, even Mycroft, but Sherlock seemed different from them. Still, John found him fascinating, maybe it was the same instinct that pulled owlet moths toward the flame. He should stay away from Sherlock Holmes, but he was quite sure he wouldn't be able to do that, and if he even wanted to try. It couldn't have been more that few minutes ago when Sherlock had disappeared behind the corner, but John wasn't able to get even a tiniest limp of the man, no matter how hard he gazed to every possible direction.
Cursing those freakishly long legs of the other man, that were clearly the cause of this mystical disappearance, John headed to the there where he tough remembered coming from. After almost an hour of headless wondering hunting down tails of direction, John was forced to admit that this place was annoyingly over exaggerated, and that he was more or less, lost. His ability to navigate toward destination almost unmistakeable accuratedly, by using landmarks or stars on the side of the compass, was good for nothing skill here. He couldn't quite understand why Sally had left him wonder in here alone. Not that he could escape or something, all the door he figured led even on the way of outside, and most of the others were protected by a pass code. Maybe she had been so upset together with that Andresson person, that she hadn't really paid attention.
Now that he was walking anyway, he had some time to think again. All of this still made no sense, even if he tried to ensure himself that it kind of did. He didn't know a thing about people, or what was going on here, Only things he had been told were, that he was some freaking subject with no human rights, and that he would be living with Sherlock Holmes. And what exactly was Sherlock here? Since his brother was in charge of this place, he must be important.
John assumed he was also a doctor, surgeon most likely judging by his hands, they looked like the hands of surgeon. And he had that intelligent brightness in his eyes. So a researcher? Since he lived in a same flat with he subject, which still made no sense to him. His fingers were again wiping over the end of the scar, the doctor in him was highly interested in this operation, he felt like med student again, when everything about medicines had been great, important and big.
He was curious, and even the parts he really didn't want to know about, demanded answers, so John decided, he would pull the information out of that skinny, strange fellow, and he would do it nicely or he could even risk it a little and be... Not nice. But first of all he needed to find the freaking flat. He finally gave in, and picked up the phone Sally had gave him, it had a secured line, and every call he'd made would go trough their own system, so he wouldn't be able to call to someone they didn't want to allow him to get in touch with. But he figured he would be quite able to reach his handler, and ask for instructions.