A/N: I don't know the exact procedures for police interrogations, so sorry if I messed anything up. I love to hear your thoughts, so do share if you can:) Enjoy!
John froze in place, his fist still suspended in midair. To his credit, Mycroft gave a barely imperceptible wince before calmly reaching for his handkerchief and holding it to his bleeding nose.
John was feeling a mixture of horror at having physically attacked the British Government himself, and the rush of euphoria that came with the release of his rage. He slowly put his fist down, and then stared mutinously at Mycroft, daring him to respond in kind.
What he found in the Iceman's gaze left him surprised him and terrified him. Instead of the expected fury and loathing, he found only pity, and even a hint of compassion. Coming from Mycroft, that was terrifying, indeed.
"Dr. Watson," the government worker said quietly, his voice softened with a strange kind of concern. "This isn't war. We are all on the same side. I would have hoped you could understand that."
Only Mycroft Holmes could sound so officious while clutching a handkerchief to a bleeding nose, John thought, then nearly snorted out loud. I bet Sherlock could do it, too. And then all humor disappeared, and a wave of fear nearly engulfed him.
"Why did you do it?" he asked the bleeding man plaintively, feeling his voice catch. "Couldn't you leave me the one thing I still had? Was it too much for you to contemplate someone else's contentment, or was it deliberate?"
Mycroft was shaking his head slowly. "Dr. Watson, I've learnt my lesson about keeping secrets from my brother. It backfires. He would have found out at a later point, and the fallout would have been worse."
"I don't understand why this had to be brought up at all." The doctor's voice had turned harder, accusatory.
"The cases, Dr. Watson. Sherlock needs his cases, and it was inevitable that he would find out that you won't be working on all of them with him."
"What I want to know," the doctor said flatly, "is how you convinced Lestrade not to let me work on cases anymore."
Mycroft's voice was now genuinely compassionate, and John knew that he was done for. "It was the other way around, actually. And Dr. Watson, I wish it weren't that way. You have done for my brother more than I ever could, and I don't wish to see any complications between you two."
Through his still smoldering anger, John acknowledged that Mycroft had cut to the heart of the matter; his fear of losing Sherlock once again. That overwhelming fear was the driving force behind his actions today, though there were other factors fueling him.
Ever the soldier, he knew when to retreat from a losing battle. "I will be speaking to Lestrade."
"That is a good plan, indeed," Mycroft agreed amiably. He strode over to his chair and sat down heavily, clasping his hands beneath his chin. Staring at the wall, he added softly, "One thing I have learned, Dr. Watson, is that our actions have consequences. I have made many decisions over the years, some which I stand by, some which I regret, and some of which I'm not sure about. Every one of them has produced consequences, which I needed to accept and live by, even if I might have wished otherwise." He sighed softly.
John merely looked at him, and then subconsciously rubbed his bruised knuckles.
"I do hope I won't hear of any incidents occurring at Scotland Yard," Mycroft added blandly, his expression and tone instantly changing into the persona he had played at their first meeting. For the first time, John grasped what Sherlock had meant to relay when he referred to Mycroft as "the most dangerous man you will ever meet."
He left the room without another word.
They were waiting outside of Lestrade's office at Scotland Yard.
Sherlock had taken one look at John and quietly told him, "My brother isn't me, John. He doesn't respond to the same methods."
Although John had hidden his hands in his pockets, it was obvious that Sherlock had deduced what happened- and didn't approve.
"I've realized that," John responded dryly, and then all but dragged Sherlock to NSY, where he hoped lay the key to to the resolution of their impediments.
"Are you sure you want to do this, John?" Lestrade asked him again, when he readied himself to pull up the recording.
"Absolutely. I want Sherlock to judge for himself whether you're making a mountain out of a molehill. Which I am confident he will do when he hears it."
"Your choice, mate," Greg shrugged, not sounding too pleased.
Minutes later, Lestrade's voice echoed through the room.
I keep wondering if we should have seen it coming.
Then John's voice filtered through the recorder, nevertheless clearly identifiable.
Not long ago, he shot Charles Magnussen in the face. We did see it coming. We always saw it coming. But it was fun.
Greg clicked the recording off and folded his hands over his desk. John was observing Sherlock's reaction. The man's face could be carved from stone, as his expression didn't even twitch.
"That's it?" Sherlock asked abruptly.
"That's it," the DI confirmed, and the two men exchanged a long glance.
"So," John spoke up, their silent conversation making him uneasy. "Can you do anything about this, Sherlock? It just sort of slipped out, with all that was going on. And it was only Greg. You trust Greg too, don't you?" he turned to his friend expectantly.
Sherlock didn't respond, nor did he turn to face him.
Lestrade broke the silence by slapping a hand on the desk, forcefully. "You don't understand, John, do you? This was an official police interview. We weren't alone. The Chief Inspector was at the other side of the two-way mirror, as he was very wary of the DI who worked with Sherlock, who was then a suspect. And don't forget the policeman at the door. And what about me? Do you think I really wanted to hear this information?"
"But, but I thought you knew!" John whispered, the blood leaving his face.
"I knew Magnussen was shot in an operation, and that Sherlock was somehow involved. That's it. I'm a DI for Scotland Yard, and I don't need, nor do I want, to have extra information that doesn't pertain to my work here. Do you understand that?"
"I'm sorry," John said contritely.
"Are you really? Do you know what I had to go through to get the Chief to sit on this? You ,ight want to ask Mycroft Holmes how much effort he put into convincing him that this was a classified MI5 operation, and not a scandalous cover up. And convincing the policeman who overheard of the same. Do you realize what could have happened had this been uncovered?" Lestrade was practically fuming at this point.
"Please, Greg, he didn't know," Sherlock spoke up suddenly.
"I'm sorry, John. I don't mean to be harsh. I just want you to understand the gravity of what you did. Every single person involved in this situation would have paid harsh penalties. Mycroft, and the other government officials involved, would have lost there positions, or worse. And Sherlock... well, you can imagine. I confronted Mycroft about this, and he felt he had no choice but to tell me everything. Sherlock did a very brave but foolish thing, and it's best if it never gets discussed again. Understood?"
"Understood," John nodded shakily.
"Please, John," Greg added, in a gentler voice. "We've been mates for a long time. I want to continue working with you, I really do. But perhaps you need to take a break for a bit, figure out how to make yourself better and stronger, hmm?"
"Thank you, Greg," Sherlock answered in John's stead. "We have some things to discuss. We'll be in touch."
They refused offers of tea and left quietly.
At Baker Street, Sherlock addressed his best friend, in gentle tones. "You are not to blame, John. You weren't quite as aware of your surroundings, and you were worked up. You didn't even realize that you let the secret slip."
"I'm sorry, Sherlock."
His friend nodded in acceptance. Then he added, in nearly a whisper. "There's something else I don't understand."
John looked at his friend, whose face now portrayed bewilderment, and was that hurt?
"You shot that cabbie for me, John. You saved my life. I shot Magnussen to save you. I thought that's what friends do. I thought you understood that."