A/N - Seeing as I haven't uploaded for ages, here's two chapters :) Sorry!
Unbalanced
Part Twelve
Mycroft and John remained at the grave for another few minutes before silently, mutually, deciding nothing was going to come from it, and then they wandered back to their waiting car together. On the way past the more popular graves, John tripped over a clump of mud that someone had kicked up and fell, only to be helped up quickly by the man who had been sitting, bowed head, next to the graves. Mycroft shot him a dirty look, but John thanked the man as he turned back.
"What's wrong?" he asked Mycroft, who then shook his head.
"I don't associate with people outside of my work, as you must know," Mycroft replied after a second, steering John in the right direction again. "I was worried for our safety momentarily." John grew cold. Could that have been the very person who would kill him? After all his cautious staying inside, he had let his guard down and luckily not paid for it.
"Oh," John said simply, unable to think of a better response. He glanced back briefly and saw the man was sitting where he had been, back to them, with his head ducked again.
"Do you want to go straight to lunch, or would you prefer to take a drive first?" Mycroft asked.
"Ah..." John thought. He had eaten so little in the last few weeks and months that he barely needed to eat now. He hardly got hungry. "A drive would be good, actually."
They stepped back into the car, John's leg aching even more than before as he did so, and the driver began on a scenic route through the city. Not that John really noticed that. He didn't tend to notice 'beauty' anymore. He had never been a huge one for going to pretty places that were of great national value. He accepted that the few he had seen were beautiful but couldn't really see why it was so important. The world wouldn't be exactly the same without them, yes, but they weren't useful, and being a doctor made him want to use what he could. John was resourceful.
Dartmoor had been beautiful, but he had hardly ever been less than terrified on the moors, so he hadn't exactly taken time to appreciate the fruits of the earth. He did, however, want to go back there one day. It would be nice to visit some of his and Sherlock's old crime scenes. He had no idea what might have changed. Was Dave, the gambling tour guide, still there? Was Katie's mum still there?
Little things like these caught his attention occasionally. The only problem was that he couldn't gather the energy or care to find out any of the answers.
"What have you been doing lately?" Mycroft asked. The car continued to thrum softly.
"Not that much," John replied. "I don't really like to go outside in case someone shoots at me or something along those lines." Mycroft nodded.
"Then you're still being careful?" he queried. John nodded fervently, grateful that Mycroft hadn't used the word 'paranoid'.
"Yes, exactly!" he exclaimed. "Nobody seems to understand that I'm being cautious anymore."
"Really?" Mycroft's eyebrows raised in surprise.
"I mean," John began, starting to laugh and shaking his head. "Ella – that's my counsellor – calls it 'paranoia'!" He laughed louder, thinking of how ridiculous some of the things she said were. Mycroft, however, didn't laugh.
"Would you go outside if you knew you were safe?" he enquired, toying with the handle of his umbrella.
"No, probably not," John acknowledged. "But there's not really anything out there, is there? Apart from buses and buildings and people... nothing." His slightly hysterical laughter died down and John's smile faded. "I'm agoraphobic now, you know." Mycroft nodded.
"Well..." he began falteringly. This caught John's attention. Mycroft Holmes was not one to falter. "I do think you should go out more often, even if it was just to exercise."
"I don't know." John replied, now irritated. Everyone said this, as well as that he was paranoid. "I'm not unhealthy lately." Mycroft acknowledged this with a nod.
"I wasn't trying to imply it; I was warning you that you may become unhealthy because of your caution." He amended.
"I know, but I'd rather be unhealthy than dead at the moment." John countered, casting his eye out of the window again.
"That is a fair point. I may have to lend you a treadmill." Mycroft replied, lapsing into silence. John almost smirked. Mycroft had more than one? He doubted it. No one was that committed to a diet, so Mycroft must be offering to buy him a treadmill, which was still quite ridiculous.
They arrived at the restaurant around ten minutes later, and to John's surprise he found that he had been there once before. It had only been briefly, and only to interrogate the boss about a murder charge, but the distinctively upper class style was unforgettable, just as was the hotel.
"Sherlock and I went here for a while once," he commented as he and Mycroft walked through the silent glass doors and onto the smart, wooden floor. "It was just to see the boss."
"Ah, yes;" Mycroft replied. "He had been related to the Jackson murder case, had he not?"
"Yes, that was it." John answered. He looked around. "Lovely place." He said.
"It's a shame my brother rarely stopped long enough to eat."Mycroft responded drily, and John chuckled.
"The first time I met him, I was still awake at... three in the morning, or something stupid." John replied. "The first day I met him! I had already run around half of London to send a text and then I ended up sh-" John had been about to tell Mycroft of how he had shot the man about to potentially murder Sherlock with a single bullet, but suddenly remembered that it had been illegal and, technically, murder on his part. Mycroft, being the government, probably wouldn't like it too much, but as it was, his only reaction was to cock a single eyebrow and continue. John got a nasty feeling that he knew what he had been about to say.
"Some people adapt to variable sleeping patterns easily," Mycroft said, as though nothing had even happened. "And unfortunately for anyone caught up with him, Sherlock was one of them."
"I didn't particularly mind, although I fell asleep at work once, which was utterly embarrassing." John reminisced. "I'd only just started working there!" Mycroft laughed as their waiter led them to a table and they sat down to look at the menus. John was worried at the costs at the side of each dish. The chef's name sounded French.
"I'll pay, if you like," he said suddenly. "You're already paying for my hotel and, apparently, a treadmill."
"That won't be necessary," replied Mycroft smiling reservedly. "I'm sure this won't make too huge a dent in the economy." John assessed his seriousness wordlessly for a moment, before shutting his mouth and concentrating on the menu.
The entire front of the restaurant was glass, but the tables were placed a discreet distance away so that nobody looking in would invade the diners' privacy. Mycroft had picked a table on the second floor up, which was near the glass front, allowing John to look down at the people passing below them. Their black car was gone now, but that was only to be expected. John gazed as a woman with fluorescent pink streaks in her hair passed, looking out of place among all of the neat, suited workers on their lunch breaks.
The buildings across the street were mainly professional-looking law firms and small boutiques, with a few prudent apartments among them. Most people had their windows open and their curtains pulled aside now, allowing John glimpses of their homes. It wasn't that interesting, really. A few sofas, one person watching something on the TV, and someone's office were visible.
One apartment had its dark curtains closed and John supposed that there was nobody there at first until he noticed that one of the windows was open. Nobody left their window open when they were out or on holiday, especially not in such a rich area of London, so either the occupant was still inside but suffering from some kind of migraine or they had forgotten to shut it, in which case, it was fairly likely that they would come home to find a few choice possessions missing.
As John watched, the curtain was pulled aside momentarily, in time for a man to lean out and close the window, kit bag slung over his shoulder, and check a phone before the curtain fell back into place.
A few minutes later, as John began to eat the pasta he had ordered, the man wandered down the street casually and then ducking into a secluded alley to check his phone again.
Message received
From: (unknown)
Message: Let him live. He's not exactly doing any harm, poor thing.
He smiled before flicking to the next text.
Message received
From: (unknown)
Message: Later.
Shrugging his bag more firmly onto his shoulder, the man came out of the other end of the alley and went on his way.
A/N – Woo, drama! A few things are starting to shift around a bit now, and as you can tell, John's not done with danger yet. That was always obvious, though. Anyway, there's some stuff now, which is exciting, isn't it? I like stuff, especially exciting stuff. Does anyone want to guess anything? There are some things to guess! I sound a bit like the eleventh Doctor now, which probably means it's time to shut up. Please review or I'll set my cat on you, which is, admittedly, a stupid threat. Worth a try, though.
Jess