AN: Somehow fanfiction never showed me that this chapter was published, that's why I removed it and published it again. Sorry if anyone got confused.

Mike Stamford

With a sigh Mike Stamford downed the first gulps of his pint. He should have probably waited for his companions, but chances were they would be late. As usual. As much as he hated his job it had one thing on the plus side: He had regular hours. Although in the presence of his friends it felt like character flaw. But hey, they couldn't all be Detective Inspectors, Journalists or Trauma Surgeons.

They had started their little gatherings four months ago, meeting for some pints and some talk in a pub near one of their workplaces. Well despite Bart's. It was one of their silent rules or better the only rule: Avoiding anything related to Sherlock Holmes. Admittedly that rule had been broken, several times in fact, when Stamford, Cartwright and Lestrade had talked about the Detective. But never in the presence of John Watson. They all had seen how deeply wounded the doctor had been and they all feared – in fact, knew – that he was still bleeding. There were still those moments when he looked so fragile, so vulnerable, so hurt, beyond his friends' reach that they tried their best to avoid them. Even if it meant ignoring the elephant in the room.

Usually Stamford complained about his students, Cartwright gave anecdotes of dealing with interview partners, even Lestrade managed to joke about his job, clearly avoiding anything that could lead to a certain Consulting Detective. On occasion John managed to add some stories of his own. And although the tiptoeing around John made their conversations sometimes strained, it was a common understanding that they would continue this. What had started as some kind of therapy for John, had evolved in a companionship that neither man wanted to miss.

"Hello Mike."

Nick Cartwright was the first one to arrive. Despite his normal outfit, he still seemed alert, ready to hide if needed to. Old habits die hard.

"Nick. Hello. In time today. What a nice change."

"Oh, shut up. We can not all have cosy teaching jobs, harassing innocent young kids."

"Hah, innocent kids. I could tell you stories."

"Later, first I need something to drink. Heard something from the others?"

"John should be around soon if he hasn't found himself an emergency. Greg will be probably late, some big breakthrough."

"Anything interesting?"

"Well, I may or may have not heard something about the abduction case with the ambassador's kids." Mike grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

"No way. How do you even hear such things? I work for the media, I should hear them first."

"You know, when you are really nice to people, they tell you something. You should try. It's better than your hardcore war journalist routine."

They both grinned now. Mike had always a thing with people. He didn't know why but people would tell him the most intimate things within minutes of their acquaintance. It was a bit annoying being always the shoulder to cry on and since his students did the same, he avoided them as much as he could. Their problems were always the same, they weren't interesting. The doctor preferred the company of people who could shut up or had at least fascinating problems. That's why he had genuinely liked Sherlock Holmes. The man had never spoken about himself, but had always some interesting question at hand. He really missed him.

"Did you hear anything specific?"

Mike heard the professional curiosity in Nick's voice. They had spoken at lengths about the detective, Mike being the place to go if anything new came up, to check whether it was something Holmes would have done, sharing theories. Mike wouldn't have talked to any other journalist, but they had known each other since their University days and they were both worried about John Watson.

"Something about an arrest."

"An arrest, really?" Nick looked as if he might dash to the yard, getting more information, working in his head at the next article.

"An arrest? Who was arrested?" John Watson had arrived, hearing obviously the last part of their conversation. An uncomfortable silence settled while John looked at both of them expectantly. Mike and Nick shared nervous glances.

"Ehm, an old case of Lestrade's. Just something he mentioned." Mike tried his best to sound convincingly nonchalant about this, but he could easily hear how false it sounded.

Obviously, John also could. He looked as he might insist on a more detailed answer. But then, thankfully, he changed his mind. "And here I thought, you had plotted something against your students to get rid of them."

"That's what I should do. You wouldn't believe it how stupid they were the other day." Relieved Mike started an exaggerated tale how a group of students had nearly destroyed one of St. Bart's labs. John and Nick humoured him with disbelieving exclaims while slowly emptying their pints and letting the short moment of awkwardness flow away.

They were well into their second ones, having settled on anecdotes of their University years when Lestrade arrived. He looked exhausted, but that seemed to be his default look by now as Stamford recalled. Sherlock's death had caused him a lot of trouble from what Mike heard through the grapevine. He had most of his cases reviewed, there was even talk that he might get sacked. Thank god, all cases had been waterproof. But what helped most was Sherlock being innocent in the abduction case. From what he heard the DI was gaining back the respect from his superiors, especially after he discovered the mole in the Yard.

Greg had barely time to fall in his seat and signal the waiter for a pint, when John blurted out:

"Who did you arrest?"

Lestrade startled up and looked at him. When he didn't answer, the shorter man repeated his question:

"Who did you arrest, Greg?"

"Ehm, some bloke … an old case of mine. Nothing important." He managed. Mike and Nick had gone totally still, watching the interchange with an odd mixture of curiosity and worry.

"Don't lie to me. I know it has something to do with Sherlock. Just tell me." The army doctor insisted.

"Really, John, there is nothing to tell. It was just an old ca…"

"No!" John slapped one hand vigorously on the table. "Don't you dare lying to me. He lied to me. He lied to me in his very last moments. And then he let me watch him die. I can't … Just … No more lies, please. … Please." His violent outburst turned almost into a sob. With horror his three friends watched him gaining slowly some control over his emotions.

"Please, Greg, please, just tell me." John's voice was begging now, frantic with emotion: "It's alright. I'm sorry. But I need to know. If it has something to do with him, I need to know."

"Why do you think it has something to do with Sherlock?" Nick interrupted.

What he received would have been a snarl on a normal man, but turned into another sob.

"I know you want to protect me. You all do. Don't want to hurt my feelings. That's why you never speak about Sherlock with me. But I've read your articles about him. You're investigating him. You only write about politics, military stuff and about Sherlock. So, when Mike told you about the arrest, it has to do with him. Especially given your reaction after my initial question. You didn't want to answer."

It was strange how much this little speech reminded Stamford of the Detective. Of course, they had been pretty obvious in their avoidance. And seeing how emotional John reacted now it still seemed the best course of action. But not today. Today was talking-day. Well, the better description would be grieving day. Stamford had experienced two of those break-downs with John, when the military stance couldn't keep the emotions inside any longer. He still blamed himself for the first one, having asked John to come over to Bart's and tell his students about the life of an army surgeon. He had asked John if it was okay for him, they could arrange it elsewhere since even for him it was hard walking by the spot where Sherlock had landed. And he hadn't been as close to the man as John. But the army veteran had told him it was okay. And it was. The break down came later, on their way home, when they passed Sherlock's lab, the one where the two had met for the first time.

Mike knew that John was pretty open expressing happiness or anger, but he practically never showed his pain. It had been terrifying to see this normally stoic man break apart and he had never felt so helpless. The second time started harmless enough. John had seen the picture of Sherlock blood-covered in the tube and launched into the description of their Baskerville adventure which ended in silent tears when he recalled how Sherlock had called him his only friend. He knew from Nick and Greg that they had also sat through their share of John's breakdowns with him. It didn't happen often, probably not often enough for his therapist to call it progress. But every time it was triggered by something related to Sherlock. That's why the friends avoided the topic on their pub night, that's why they never went near Bart's. They wanted to ensure that John's moments of grief only happened in private, otherwise he would be ashamed afterwards for losing his control in public. They would stir away when the topic came to close or move their location just to be safe. But Mike could see this wouldn't go well with the army doctor today.

"What do you want to know?" It seemed Greg had come to the same conclusion. Judging from the uncertainty in his features, he wasn't sure what to expect. Well, neither of them was.

"Who did you arrest?" Greg's willingness calmed John.

"An actor. Long criminal record. Nothing too major, always came out pretty soon."

"So what has he to do with Sherlock?"

"We suspect him responsible for the abduction of the ambassador's kids."

Greg must have decided that answering the questions more or less literally was the best way of action. Stamford wasn't so sure about it.

"How?"

"He hid in the building while the other children were collected."

"Damn Greg." Another outburst from John. "Can't you just explain what happened?"

Lestrade sighed.

"Apparently he had high debts on bets. He was contacted if he wanted to pay his debts by favours. First little things: Working as a messenger, hiding packages in his flat. The messages became drugs and drug money, the packages stolen goods and weapons. He was getting more and more involved. Until one day he was told to dress up as Sherlock, learning to imitate his signature. The first job as Sherlock was easy, posing as him in the bank and opening an account. The second one were the kids. He claims, the job was simply to take them and hide them in the factory. He never meant any harm."

A bitter laugh escaped John. "No harm." He shook his head. "No harm."

"And does he really look like Holmes?" Nick interfered.

"Well, not really. Not without dressing up." Greg answered. "But he showed us. With the make up and the hair done, it is pretty close. If you don't know him good enough, you would believe it. Hell, if I had seen him on the other side of the street, I certainly would believe it."

He glanced nervously at John: "I'm sorry, John. I really am. I wish we had found him sooner."

"No, don't apologise. Just … no. You were a great friend to him. Yes, you were. … Thank you … For telling me, I mean. It helps. Knowing helps."

John looked strangely calm, more balanced, despite the sadness in his eyes. But he hadn't fallen back on his army training by now.

"I just … I just wish I understood why. Why he lied to me? What Moriarty told him? Why he had to jump? ... Just why?"

His last words were merely a whisper, hardly to understand against the noise from the pub. He wouldn't break down today, Mike was sure of that. But it would take a miracle for John to heal completely. Because only the Sherlock Holmes could answer why.