"Mycroft!" John commanded as he strutted into the warm sitting room.
"John, please, sit." Mycroft motioned to the armchair opposite of his. John reluctantly sat down, noting how comfy the chair looked and how the blazing fire would be a comfort to his blasted leg.
"Why can't you just call," John complained as he settled himself, "I was busy!"
"Yes, I know. With a little lady called Mariel." Mycroft mustered a smile on her name, looking at John over his giant ego.
"How do you...never mind." Mycroft smiled, a real smile. "You don't think I've stopped keeping up with the clinical doctor John Watson?"
"Well I wish you wouldn't," John huffed.
"You are displeased," Mycroft said calmly as he handed a cup of tea to John from the near by tray before pouring one for himself.
"I am bloody upset!"
"I can see that."
"I am upset with you, Mycroft."
"For tearing you away from your peaceful evening walk? Did it calm your tremor?" John glared at Mycroft, "Have your intern text it to you." Mycroft's battle smile slowly crept across his pale face, balanced with the flickering fire light made John shiver in his cable knit sweater.
"My assistant has more important matters to attend to. I invited you here to inquire about your health. And," Mycroft's true grouchiness appeared as he stared at John over his tea, "I think you may be interested in some unveiled evidence my men have come across."
"You don't mean...evidence regarding-" John cleared his throat, physically unable to say his name made him embarrassed.
"Yes, regarding my late brother."
"You don't think-" John stammered, "he's alive?"
"I did tell you once, John, that if anyone could fool me, it would be my brother."
"I know, but, how? I was there, I saw the blood, his blood, I watched him," John's voice cracked and he took a deep breath before quietly saying, "I saw him die."
"John, what we've been able to unravel is that Sherlock isn't a fake. Moriarty was real." John's face snapped back to composure as he met Mycroft's eyes, "Yes I know! I've been saying that for three years!"
"John, we've found out that Moriarty had control over three gunmen with specific jobs to carry out, in the case that Sherlock did not jump."
"What do you mean?"
"Three gunmen. Three people who revolved their lives around Sherlock, who believed in him."
"You mean, a gunman was pointed at me? At the hospital?"
"Yes, and Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade."
John set down his abandoned tea and brought his hands up to his face.