"I do not think it is advisable for us to return to St. Bart's. The risk that someone saw us would be too great".
"So you are going to look at the evidence on our kitchen table" Bill replied with a sigh that spoke of long suffering. "And telling you that we – well, I – prepare our food there isn't going to change anything".
"We are working on a case" John answered.
The others watched their bickering until Mike inquired, "Do you two have the same problem?"
John smiled. "As a matter of fact, Sherlock doesn't think much about hygiene or the need to keep himself – "
"You know my work is important. Everything else is just transport".
Sherlock still used his old excuse, although they were both aware it was a lie. It had been a lie for some time, probably since he'd met John. The three years he'd spent alone had taught him that, three years of loneliness he hadn't known before, three years of craving for a home he hadn't been aware he possessed until the game had ripped it from him. Now, he appreciated John's efforts to feed him and make him rest, although he still didn't see the necessity.
"Please don't start" Mike interrupted them. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his right hand and looked at John and Bill, who were still discussing whether or not to use the kitchen table for processing the evidence (despite it being clear that the consulting detective would do whatever he wanted).
"I have quite enough of that without two different versions of them having a fight".
"We are not fighting" Sherlock replied indignantly.
Mike laughed.
"Discussing, then. Just – this is complicated enough."
"We will do our best to keep our discussions to a minimum" he answered drily and looked out of the window.
John shook his head. For all his brilliance, Sherlock often acted like a five-year-old.
Mike's eyes softened at his antics, and John decided that Bill had to be prone to childish outbursts now and then too.
"So, he's a consulting detective" the other man began.
"The only one in the world" John answered automatically before correcting himself, "our world".
"And you are – "
"His best friend and flatmate. And blogger". There were other words he could have used, other descriptions that sat on the tip of his tongue: doctor, cook, babysitter, partner-in-crime. But he didn't want Mike to get the wrong impression, like so many others did when they saw him and Sherlock for the first time.
"I got that, but I meant what you did for a living".
Before Sherlock died, after he'd stopped doing locum work, this would have caused John some embarrassment. He had always loved his work, and he had felt ashamed when he accepted Mycroft's money in order to be able to run after the consulting detective at all times, instead of doing what he had been trained to do.
Then Sherlock had died and John had managed to open his own surgery, like he'd dreamed of when he had been a child.
And it hadn't been enough. Mary hadn't been enough, the life he'd built hadn't been enough.
He remembered the morning he'd woken up, next to the woman he'd discussed marriage with not a week before, and realized he was miserable and that he hadn't got better at all in the past one and a half years.
The day they broke up.
He still had his surgery after that, of course, but still he only went through the motions, living in his memories. After Sherlock returned, he wondered if he hadn't been waiting, if he hadn't unconsciously been sure that the consulting detective would return. It didn't matter, because he was back and this life was all John had ever wanted.
He still got to be a doctor. True, not in the sense he'd once thought – he wasn't treating soldiers wounded in battle, he wasn't prescribing medicine for a cold – but in the way that counted. Often enough, he and Sherlock arrived in time to save a life and he was the one to look after the victim; at other times, he had to clean his best friend's wounds; and he had to examine the bodies.
Their lives were unusual, and more often than not, they were still dependent on Mycroft's money because Sherlock took any case he considered interesting and rarely asked for payment later, but it was everything he could want.
"I used to be an army doctor. I was invalided home and met Sherlock, and now I work with him".
"In other words..." Mike trailed off, his eyes wandering to his brother, who was still trying to convince John that it was important to eat and sleep and keep their flat clean. He didn't have to finish the sentence. If John had had a better relationship with Harry, she would perhaps have been worried about him too.
"Yes" he said slowly, "but I'm happy".
He felt more than saw Sherlock glance at him. They rarely voiced that they were content with their lives; in fact, John had never told the consulting detective what he meant to him, how he had saved him, mostly because he was certain Sherlock already new.
However, it felt good to say it out loud, even if he'd only told Mycroft from a parallel universe that he was happy.
"I can see that" Mike almost whispered. "You two – you are close. He turns around when he doesn't know where you are. He looks concerned when you are angry."
It was impossible to pretend that he didn't hear Mike's unspoken fear that John didn't care as much for Bill as Sherlock for John, and he was about to protest when his best friend decided to answer in his stead.
"It's different. We aren't copies. What they have isn't what we have. But – John wouldn't live with Bill if he didn't care. Believe me".
His voice trembled a little at the end of the sentence, but by the time John turned to him after having looked into Mike's relieved face, he was already staring out the window again.
The rest of the cab ride was spent in silence, John and Bill having finally stopped bickering.
Mike got out of the car with them, and this time, no one commented on it. He was apparently determined to stay, although John, as he passed them, could hear Bill ask, "What about your job?" before he tactfully entered the building to leave them to discuss this on their own.
As he walked through the door, he nearly bumped into Sherlock, and the consulting detective quickly shoved him out again.
"What – "
Sherlock gestured towards the door, and John listened.
"Who was that?"
"A client, Mrs. Hudson. We are working on a new case..."
John continued to explain as the doctor frowned.
"Mrs. Hudson's still here, at least."
Sherlock shrugged.
"As far as I can tell, this universe doesn't follow any specific rules. Trevelyan, I imagine, has a theory on who it works, but we don't possess enough data to – "
"I understand. But do you think it's better to have you standing around here, just a few feet from Bill, than in our – in their flat? Mrs. Hudson could deal with it."
"Our Mrs. Hudson. We don't know this one" Sherlock reminded him. "And think about the cab drivers. None of them reacted to us looking the same. Ordinary people rarely spare the extraordinary more than a passing glance. It is unlikely that anyone will be shocked by us standing here, whereas Mrs. Hudson, who knows that neither John nor Bill have a relative that looks very similar to them, would undoubtedly be confused or even scared."
John recognized the slight fear in his voice as an indication that he didn't want to scare Mrs. Hudson and decided that it might be best to wait until John had sent their landlady back into her flat.
After he had come to this conclusion, he asked, "What do you think about the residue Bill found?" He knew, naturally, that Sherlock wouldn't answer him, or at least say anything different than that he didn't have enough data yet to theorize, but he wanted to distract himself from the hushed conversation of Bill and his brother.
"There are many possibilities" Sherlock replied, confirming his suspicions.
John opened the door and motioned for them to get in.
"She will bring tea in about fifteen minutes" he explained as soon as they'd closed the door of the flat behind them, "but you can simply go into one of our bedrooms while she's here".
Their landlady, despite Sherlock's doubts, didn't seem to have changed much.
John immediately went into the kitchen; a second later, the unmistakeable sound of someone handling chemistry equipment could be heard, and Sherlock joined him.
The doctor knew there was no point in joining them, and Bill wordlessly agreed with him as he let himself fall on the sofa. The doctor was surprised – didn't he work in a lab?
"That could take a while" Bill remarked; Sherlock and John started arguing about which evidence to process first, since they couldn't do both at the same time because the kitchen was too small, and John nodded.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but – "
Bill laughed.
"It's better to let him look at the evidence first. When he needs help he calls me. And I'm better with blood and DNA anyway. I guess you usually look at the bodies, like you did at Pike's?"
"Yes. Normally, I check in the morgue for anything the police might have missed, but I think that's out of the question here..."
The Secret Service had most likely already sealed off the crime scene, and the police wouldn't be involved in the investigation, if they were like the Secret Service John knew. He doubted that the lack of Mycroft Holmes' would lead to a more open disclosure policy.
"Tell us about Mycroft being the British Government" Bill prompted, either because he had followed the same thought paths as John or because he had decided that teasing his brother would be a good way to pass the time.
When Mike stared, he asked pleasantly, "Did I forget to mention that?"
John had never seen Mycroft look surprised; it was still strange to see him display his emotions so openly.
"I am what?"
Bill made no attempt to conceal his mirth at his brother's confusion and John, having decided that he might as well have some fun while the two consulting detectives were working on the evidence, explained.
"Your counterpart is the most powerful man in Britain, and according to Sherlock, the most dangerous man we've ever met. He can track us wherever we are" or he had been able to do so, John doubted he could find them in another universe "and he forces him to take cases – "
"Why?" Bill asked. He frowned.
"Why what?" John inquired, surprised.
"Why does he force Sherlock to take cases? Surely there is no need for that".
It took John a moment to figure out what he meant. Once he did, he couldn't believe he had so casually mentioned that Sherlock had to be coerced into investigating the cases his brother gave him, thereby implying that their relationship was strained.
Even worse, he couldn't explain.
He had long ago given up trying to understand Sherlock's and Mycroft's relationship, and he had no hoped of making Bill and Mike see that in some way, the brothers did care about each other, but preferred not to show it or even admit it.
"It's complicated" he eventually answered, if only to break the silence.
Mike unconsciously moved closer to his brother on the sofa.
"They don't get on?"
"It's complicated" John repeated, and Mike's eyes narrowed. He was obviously going to ask more, but Bill stopped him with a hand on his arm.
The doctor couldn't remember ever having seen Sherlock and Mycroft touch.
At this moment, he heard Mrs. Hudson step on the stairs and called out to his best friend. It was time for them to hide.
