It took a while to pull John away from the cell bars. He'd cried, laughed, talked, and before Rob had brought him back to the hospital, he'd given Sherlock a clumsy through-the-bars kiss on the cheek.
Mycroft had sighed, watching it all unfold from the doorway. I still don't quite understand why no one has told John that he's not Sherlock's partner. It just… doesn't add up. He looked over at his little brother, who'd been curled up suking in the corner ever since John had left.
"Hey, umbrella guy," Sebastian called.
"Yes?" Mycroft answered, taking a few steps closer to the cell so the assassin wouldn't talk so loudly.
Sebastian sighed. "I know we're supposed to be the bad guys, but look what this is doing to Sherlock." He gestured.
The consulting detective sat, motionless, facing the wall.
"And I don't know about you, but when I think about it, I know that John needs us right now and because of you we can't be there for him," continued Sebastian.
Mycroft didn't speak. He's completely utterly right. I wish I could let them out, I really do. But the consequences are too great.
Sebastian gave a defeated sigh. "I mean, I know I'm in no position to be saying any of this, but it really hurts me to see one of my best friends like that, unable to remember anything, and I can't help him at all."
"I know," Mycroft finally replied.
"And I know you still hate me and have every reason to, but I want you to know that Sherlock and John have helped me a lot, and I only want to be able to help them back," Sebastian said firmly. "Alright. I'm done."
"Good." Mycroft turned on his heel and strode out of the building. God, what have I become? Sebastian Moran's making more sense than I am now. And Sherlock won't even talk at all. I wish I knew what the hell was going on and how to control it.
"So, how do you like them?" asked Rob.
John sat at the end of the bed and swung his feet. "How long do I have to stay here?"
"Well, I-" Rob began.
"I want to go home," John said firmly.
"No one will be there," Rob replied.
"Oh." John sighed. "Where do I live?"
Rob put his head in his hands. This is the most difficult thing I've ever done. "You live on Baker Street."
"Is is nice there?"
"It's plenty nice," Rob assured. "I need you to tell me, how did you like your friends?"
"They're nice friends," John replied. "Sebastian seems very kind."
Rob nodded, scribbling in a notebook. "What about Sherlock?"
"I care about him very much," John answered. "I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. He's tall, which is good because he can protect me; and he always knows the right thing to say to me. Although he didn't seem to like the man with the umbrella."
"No, that's his brother," Rob replied.
"Why wasn't the brother trying to get him out, if he didn't do anything wrong?" asked John, confused.
Rob bit his lip. "Well, it was Mycroft, his brother, that put him there in the first place."
"How dare he?" John whispered. "He imprisoned an innocent man!"
Rob almost smiled. It was good to see some of John's old fire and loyalty flare back up in his eyes. "I know. There's nothing we can do about that now, but-"
"Yes there is," interrupted John.
"What?" Rob tilted his head questioningly to one side.
"There is something we can do about it," John repeated.
"And what's that?" Rob asked, leaning forward.
"We've got to-" John began, but was cut off by the opening of the door.
In the doorway, a tall and muscled figure stood. Clad in a black suit and gloves, a gold earring sparkled in one ear. "Hello, sirs."
"Hello," Rob replied, standing up.
John waved. "Do I know you?" I wonder if this man is one of my friends. He doesn't look that friendly. Why is he here?
"No, Mr. Watson. But I know you," replied the man. An accent that was almost Southern tainted his words.
"Did Mycroft send you?" asked Rob, getting nervous.
The man nodded. "Get out of the way."
"What?" Rob was confused.
The Mycroft agent swept Rob aside with one enormous hand and grabbed John's arm. "Mr. Watson, you're coming with me."
"No, I don't want to," John said firmly, digging his heels into the carpet as he was easily dragged away. "Please, stop. I have to help Sherlock."
"That was what I was afraid of," muttered the agent, tugging harder.
"Let go!" John exclaimed, twisting away and out of the agent's grasp.
Rob sidled out the door, wanting to help but being too cowardly to interfere with a government agent.
John wanted to get out, but he found himself pressed up against the wall. He looked up at the agent, who towered nearly a foot taller than him, and glared, a fire of anger and fear lighting up his eyes. "Don't touch me."
"I had hoped we wouldn't have to do this the hard way," the agent said.
"What hard way?" John asked, but he didn't have time to react before the agent whipped out a gun and slammed the butt of it into his temple. He lost consciousness before he fell into the agent's outstretched arms.