"Let me guess," John sighed, not even giving Mycroft a chance to sit down. "You need me to make a phone call?"
John was sitting on the edge of his bed, which was made in military fashion, and had apparently changed into the spare outfit Mycroft had had delivered. Certainly an improvement on yesterday. Though his self-appointed guardian couldn't decide if the camera's abrupt displacement from inside the room to behind his gun safe was more relieving or worrying, given none of his security cameras had caught him at it.
"Yes." Mycroft decided short and to the point was wiser than mentioning his deductions.
"What happened?"
"Lestrade has been unable to gain assistance from Scotland Yard and is still investigating on his own. Unfortunately, I'm afraid Mrs. Hudson won't be so discrete."
"She came home early," John sighed. He suddenly winced. "She saw the flat, didn't she."
Mycroft looked at him, his face clearly displaying his disbelief that John even had to ask.
"Of course she did," the doctor sighed. "Right. I'm assuming you have a phone you want me to use?"
"Indeed. I had one of my operatives retrieve your phone, actually."
John's lips quirked up in what threatened to be a smile before he controlled them. "Right then, I'll call her. On my phone."
The miniscule quip gave the elder Holmes hope that John might, at some point, be willing to tolerate his presence in his life once again.