Chapter 4
Mycroft was true to his word. John had got to the room they would meet in a few minutes before 3, and Mycroft entered the room at precisely 3.
"Doctor Watson. It's been a while."
"It has, but could we skip the pleasantries? What do you want?"
John thought he caught a mild look of annoyance on Mycroft's face, and felt a little moment of satisfaction that the he wasn't just doing as the 'minor government official' wanted. Mycroft leant forwards, putting his arms onto the desk.
"I've been sent here on behalf of a... concerned party."
"Sherlock."
"I'm not going to confirm or deny that. What matters is that we've had some news you need to hear, and I wanted to do it in person rather then just send you an information leaflet."
John frowned slightly.
"What about?"
"You remember Inspector Lestrade, the police officer you worked with a few times? He received a letter two days ago, making threats against yourself, and my brother. The letter was signed with the initial M."
"Moriarty."
"That seems the most logical conclusion. As a result, it has been decided that both yourself and Sherlock should be monitored far more carefully. That could include being taken to a safe house or-"
"Whoa, wait, no. That's not happening. I'm safe here, I don't need to leave for some safe house. I dare Sherlock would feel the same."
"He does, but in his case I am not asking, i'm telling. You, I really don't mind if you take the offer or no."
"Then why did you come here? It's not just out of the goodness of your heart."
Mycroft hesitated, realising he really had no choice but to confirm John's suspicion.
"Sherlock wished me to alert you to this as well. He called me, in fact, and insisted. He also received a letter, which contained more... intimate threats, and was concerned."
John closed his eyes for a moment. The fact that Sherlock had deliberately called his brother, a man he hated asking favours from, and insisted he come and warn John was both encouraging and very painful. He looked at Mycroft again.
"Why did he want me to know?"
Mycroft gave a laugh that was intended to be light, casual, but there was a note of discomfort there.
"John, I highly doubt that Sherlock would let his worst enemy be left unwarned about such threats."
"... he doesn't know, does he?"
"Excuse me?"
"He doesn't know. You didn't tell him the truth."
"I don't believe that's any of your concern."
"Like hell it isn't, this is my l- friend we're talking about! You're intentionally keeping the truth from your own brother."
"He doesn't need to know."
"Of course he does, he believes that I left out of some selfish whim to get back to my former life, we both know that's not true."
"Watch your tone, Doctor."
"You forced me into this and you know it! Pushed me into this 'for Sherlock's and your own good'."
Mycroft's chubby face was cold now, mask-like.
"I did what I did because it was the only way. My brother had become far too attached to you and far too driven for my liking. This needed to be done."
"This is over. You know where you can stick your offer."
John got to his feet and turned, walking towards the door. As he reached it, Mycroft's voice came to him.
"Leg hurting you again, is it?"
John's head turned.
"... what?"
"You're limping. Your psychosomatic limp is coming back now, hmm?"
"Shut up, Mycroft." John murmured. His hand was clenched on the door handle, his knuckles starting to whiten.
"I guess my brother's influence was all that was keeping you up. You'll be back to your army pension and miserable existence in a few months, if that."
"I said shut up!"
John yelled the last two words. Mycroft's eyes bulged at that. He obviously wasn't used to being spoken to this way.
"You're wrong about me, and you are so wrong for how you've treated Sherlock. So you know what? Screw your offer, and screw this. I'm going back to London, whether you like it or not."
John wrenched the door open and slammed it behind him, before taking a few deep, steadying breaths to calm down outside. He knew he shouldn't have shouted, but at the same time; it felt damn good.
/
Sherlock hadn't left the house at all today, not even for a case. The fridge was bare, the room darkened, yet he hadn't noticed. Mrs Hudson had finally had enough and had tried to get him moving again, but he hadn't even snapped at her, just come out with monosyllabic responses. If this kept going, she was going to call a doctor.
Sherlock heard the sound of the phone ringing, but didn't go to answer it. Mrs Hudson came upstairs and said something along the lines of 'i'm not your maid or housekeeper'. She picked up the phone.
"221 Baker Street... yes... oh, John!" The sound of the name made Sherlock's head whip round. "Oh dear, it's lovely to hear your voice, how are you? Yes? No, it's just myself and Sherlock still." Sherlock had sat up now, was watching intently. "Of course, when will you be back? Alright. Yes, see you then. Bye, dear."
She put the phone down, looking very happy.
"That was John?" Sherlock's voice was slightly croaky, he realised he hadn't spoken for most of the day.
"Yes. He's coming back to London next week, and asked if he could have his room, unless someone else had moved in. He said to tell you hello, and that you two would... oh, what was it... sort everything out when he gets back."
"Oh... that's... that's good then, very good."
"Isn't it? Would you like some tea dear? You're getting much too thin, you know how John would react to that."
"Yes, please."
Sherlock sat up properly, watched as Mrs Hudson moved into the kitchen to get some food... and tied to hide just how pleased and relieved he felt. John was coming back... his John was coming back.
He wouldn't fully believe it until John was back here, in his old jumpers, typing up his blog and arguing against being given strange jobs to do. But... the mere thought was waking him back up.
Things were looking up.