I owe you a £100...
Sherlock smirked and shut off his phone, as he stared out the window of Mycroft's home into the darkness of the night, curled up in a chair. He had missed the sound of John's voice these past weeks, and his dry sense of humor. He heard Mycroft's footfalls as he entered the library carrying a tray.
"I take it mother was per the usual at my funeral?"
"Yes, in rare form. I don't believe she fully appreciated the doctor's overly sentimental tribute, you know how she gets," as he settled the tea onto the table between the two chairs.
Sherlock hummed in agreement as he watched Mycroft pour the tea out and slowly stir in sugar before handing it over. Sherlock raised cup to his lips as a vibrating sound came from his suit jacket pocket.
"Is that..?"
"Yes, I'm sure it is." Sherlock said shortly as he set the cup back down.
"How many since yesterday?"
"One last night, and three in the past hour. I believe John may be on a bit of a bender this evening."
"Shall I have someone check on him?"
Sherlock took a moment to consider and then gave a slow nod. Mycroft silently pulled out his mobile and sent off a short text, which received a quick response.
"He's been home from the pub for the past hour" Mycroft said as he glanced at the time, nearly midnight. "Shall I contact Harry to check on John?"
Sherlock sipped his tea, shook his head and gave a sideways glance towards his elder brother. Mycroft had been quite solicitous since Sherlock had returned yesterday. Feeling guilty perhaps, for all he told the consulting criminal about Sherlock. Although, they did share a common goal in this endeavor.
Moriarty may have killed himself on that rooftop, but the network lived on, perhaps now in chaos without a leader. Still, plans were in place and threats against everything Sherlock cared about. And Moriarty had demonstrated to Mycroft how truly dangerous his criminal network is when he had undermined the Bond Air plans and infiltrated the three most secure locations in London. The network must be destroyed before any heir apparent could get things back under control.
Sherlock took another sip of his tea, put his cup down, and then steepled his fingers in front of his chin. He slowly closed his eyes. Mycroft could feel the mental push from Sherlock, and he stood to take his leave. He paused for the briefest of moments at the doorway to marvel at his brother, alive sitting in a chair, before he walked off to bed.
Sherlock began to gather the information he had on Moriarty, to sort it in his mind. He needed a plan. Mycroft would bring his resources to bear, but they would need a careful and surgical plan, that could start to...Why was John at the pub tonight, on a Tuesday? That was out of the norm for the doctor. He reached into his jacket for his mobile, and played the most recent message.
"I knoooow I called before, and then again, af-after that" John slurred his words, clearly quite intoxicated. "Just forget allllll a-boot that, don't listen to it. De-leeete it. Because I'm only sayin' it because I'm lonely and you're dead. HA! That's right! You won't get this message because you are dead! So, then I suppooose that's alright then, since someday I'll be dead and I can just tell you then. So, Good Night Sherlock..."
Sherlock snapped his eyes closed and inhaled sharply. Surely this is normal for mourning a friend a few weeks later and turning to drink for a bit of comfort was a salve of sorts for the pain. Sherlock thought to listen to the earlier messages, but somehow it felt wrong since John just told him not to. It all felt wrong, and Sherlock wondered...
He quickly stood and strode out of the room towards the front closet. He rummaged through Mycroft's coats until he found one suitable, and a hat. He grabbed one of the umbrellas as well and went out the door. He was immediately met by two armed body guards. He texted to Mycroft
Let me go
Sherlock watched from across the street, looking for signs of activity in Harry's house. The windows were dark and it seemed all was quiet. He circled the block to come to the back of the house and then scaled the small fence. Sherlock peeked into the windows again, but nothing was moving. He tried the door and luckily it was not locked.
Sherlock had been to Harry's home once, so he knew the layout and where John would be sleeping. He just wanted to see for himself, make sure that John was alright. Sherlock crept through the living room, where Harry had left the telly on and she was passed out on the sofa. He cautiously made his way to John's bedroom and pressed his ear to the door, no sound at all. Sherlock turned the knob and eased his way in.
John was asleep in his clothes on top of the blankets. His phone was still cradled in his hand. More concerning to Sherlock was that John's gun rested in the other hand.
Sherlock moved swiftly to the side of the bed. He would end this charade now, he had to protect John. He couldn't allow John's grief to push him to...this.
He was just about to rouse John when he his eyes fell upon the butt end of the gun; where the clip should be, just a hollow space. He flicked his eyes around the room for the clip, but found nothing. He slowly eased the gun from John's hand and quietly checked the chamber; it too was empty and Sherlock carefully laid the gun back down onto the bed. Sherlock softly released the breathe he had been holding. John had clearly anticipated this and done something with the ammunition to his Browning.
Sherlock stood relieved, staring down at John. There was a beam of light coming through the windows, the street lamp throwing shadows across the room and illuminating John's features. His face was tight and worn. It was the same expression he had when they had first met. The John Sherlock had met in the lab at St. Bart's was a little bit broken and sad. And so it seemed, John was feeling that way again. John's hair was mussed and he reeked of alcohol. He'd need to have Mycroft do...something, to help John with this.
Sherlock carefully untied the laces and pulled John's shoes off. He reached towards the foot of the bed for the duvet that was folded down. He slowly pulled it over John's body. He grabbed the empty glass by the bed side and went into the en suite, where he filled water from the sink, took a few paracetamol out of the cabinet and walked back into the bedroom.
Sherlock placed the pills and water down on the table by the bed and then eased himself into the small chair in the corner of the room. He knew John would assume Harry had put the pills and water there, and he'd be too embarassed in the morning to even mention it.
Sherlock watched over his best friend as he slept fitfully. He thought if he could just see John, check up on him, his mind would clear away the worry and pain, and he could focus on destroying Moriaty's network. But seeing John only intensified those feelings. This was definitely not good.
Mycroft sat in the library awaiting Sherlock's return. He was torn; part of him was deeply disappointed that Sherlock was allowing his feelings to dictate his life, to respond without thinking and follow his heart, Sherlock took a great risk to just to see John. On the other hand, it was a great relief to know that Sherlock was capable of caring and able to have such a deep connection to another human being.
Myroft knew what he should do, and he set off a text to his assistant.
As Sherlock walked back into Mycroft's house, he could see that the lights remained on in the library and he knew that Mycroft must have waited up for him in order to chide him for being foolish. And that was fine, he needed to talk to Mycroft about keeping better track of John's movements.
Sherlock walked into the library and unceremoniously plopped himself down into the chair next to Mycroft, who sat in his pajamas and robe.
Mycroft started to speak, but Sherlock started first.
"I want 24 hour surveillance on John. Cameras, microphones at work and home - all of it"
"Agreed, consider it done brother"
Sherlock gave Mycroft a nod and made a move to stand when Mycroft gave a raise of the eyebrows that asked Sherlock to sit back down.
"I know you wanted to ease your mind Sherlock, but that was an unnecessary risk. You cannot do that again" Mycroft chided.
Sherlock just rolled his eyes and sunk further into the chair. He was tired, just so tired, and he had only just began this war with Moriarty's network. He had to protect John, and doing this alone protected John. But the absence of John was distracting to say the least.
Mycroft cleared his throat. "While you were out, I thought about what would ease your mind, aside from breaking and entering Harriet Watson's home" as he reached into the pocket of his robe and took out a phone.
"I've put the good doctor's voicemail greeting on this. I'll make sure it remains charged. Perhaps it's time for you to start responding to some of John's messages with your own. When the time comes to explain all this, it could ease the way with John and make him understand why you had to do what you did and that you were thinking of him" Mycroft said softly. "I've texted you the number."
Sherlock stared at his brother, his face betraying the emotion that was building inside of him. He felt awe that his brother would even take into consideration Sherlock's feelings. He felt surprised that Mycroft had realized what Sherlock needed. And he felt such a relief to know that he could at least talk to John, in some small way.
Mycroft stood and slowly made his way out of the library. Sherlock took out his mobile and stared down at the new number in the text that Mycroft had sent. He turned and looked at his brother's back as he was walking away, and Sherlock quietly said, "Thank you brother"
Mycroft paused at Sherlock words and turned his head slightly to the side, "You're welcome Sherlock," and then walked out.
Sherlock didn't think through what it was he wanted to say, just dialed the phone.
You've reached the voicemail box for Dr. John Watson. I am sorry I missed your call. Please leave me your name, number, and a brief message, and I shall return your call as soon as possible. Thank you and good day.
"John, it's me, um, Sherlock. If you're hearing this, then this whole ordeal must be over with and ended with either my death or success. Well, I suppose both could be possible. I do plan on being alive at the end of this, but sometimes things don't go the way I plan, so perhaps it's best if I tell you now. John, I am truly sorry for putting you through this, to have deceived you. There's nothing I wouldn't do to protect you, even kill myself, which it turns out was what I had to do. I miss you John," Sherlock paused a moment,
"I'll talk to you later John, Good Night"
