Sherlock was watching the video feed from the flat again. It was getting late and Mycroft hoped he would simply go to sleep and forget what day it was. A tiny John Watson was just getting up from his chair on the screen, probably to go to bed.
"It's two weeks today." Sherlock remarked without looking up.
Mycroft sighed, hand on the door. He'd been just about to slip out of the room. Of course Sherlock wouldn't have forgotten.
"Yes. It is. Are you sure you're up to-?"
"Yes." Sherlock interrupted him immediately. "Can I borrow your phone?" Mycroft handed it over.
The tiny figure on the screen stopped halfway up the stairs, pulling something out of its pocket and examined it. Then it put it away without answering.
"Hmm... Seems he's still just as fond of you as ever. He won't even answer your number."
"Do shut up and get on with your phone call."
"He won't listen even if I leave him a message."
"Likely not."
"I have an idea." He hung up, though the call had already gone to voicemail. He was certain John would just delete it anyways.
He waited until John had left the apartment and tracked the cab until it reached the cemetery. (Spy networks could be handy, if lazy. He began to understand why Mycroft used them so heavily.)
"Your plan is to annoy him into answering the phone?" Mycroft Holmes stared at his brother incredulously. "Honestly?"
"Well since someone didn't think to get my mobile back from Lestrade until he'd already handed it over to John, I haven't got much choice have I?" Sherlock thumbed through his brother's contacts down to 'Watson'. "If I use a number he's not familiar with, he'll assume I'm press and he won't answer that either. He never takes calls when he's visiting 'me'. If he thinks you're pestering him on a visiting day, he'll at least answer to shout at you."
Mycroft rolled his eyes. It had been a hard fought battle just to convince Sherlock to phone his friend and give him some warning rather than simply showing up. John was likely to react poorly to the shock and Sherlock's latest injuries simply weren't recovered enough to stand up to being punched yet.
He called several times, as apparently the signal in the cemetery was awful, and connected twice. Both times the call was ignored. He dialed twice more without getting through before Mycroft snatched the phone out of his hands and typed out a message.
"For the love of god, just talk to him, he's driving me up the wall –MH"
He took the liberty of hitting the re-dial button as he handed the phone back. Sherlock heard a small click as the call picked up.
"-Hello?" God it was good to actually hear his voice again…
"Hello John." Sherlock took a deep breath, savoring the knowledge that he was finally, finally going to see John again soon. "I've missed you too."
"-…Sherlock?" John sounded like he was going to faint.
"We've got a lot talk about, but I'll be back on Baker Street this afternoon." Sherlock eyed his brother pointedly. Even if I have to steal my brother's damned bloody car to do it. "Dinner?"
There was silence on the other end of the phone. He felt a shiver of fear. Would John even want to see him again?
"John?"
"Yes… Yes. Starved."