Chapter 2 – Arcade

A broken heart is all that's left
I'm still fixing all the cracks
Lost a couple of pieces when
I carried it, carried it, carried it home

Arcade - Duncan Laurence

It was quiet around the house of John and Mary.

Mary was asleep, the final stage of her pregnancy made her more tired than usual. John sat at the dining table and did the crossword puzzle from the newspaper. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. John and Mary had put the finishing touches to the nursery earlier that day and went for a little walk afterwards. A perfect interpretation for this lazy Sunday, according to John.

A few weeks ago, John and Mary had been standing at the airport and watched as the little white private jet took off. It didn't even feel crazy. They had said goodbye to each other. Not in so many words, but John knew what "who knows" meant. He would not come back. It was more likely that he was going to get killed on his mission in Eastern Europe. That was the indication Mycroft Holmes had given his brother.

And yet there was something that kept John going, something that made this goodbye not so hard. Maybe it was because he did have the chance to say goodbye this time. Maybe it was because they didn't say their final goodbye with so many words. Maybe it was because John felt that they had not finished talking, not yet. But there was something else. Hope? Maybe. Desire?

A dark shadow removed the light from the window in the living room and John looked up. There was a large, black car that he knew all too well. John saw Mycroft Holmes step from the backseat of the car and John stood up to walk to the door. He didn't want Mary to wake up.

John had agreed with Mycroft that he would receive an update once a month on the status in Eastern Europe. Well, agreed ... John had forced it. Mycroft didn't think it was a good idea at first. According to him, it was "for John's own good" that he knew as little as possible about the situation. After all, he had a family to focus on.

Somehow, Mycroft was probably right. John knew he eventually had to distance himself from his old life, but he couldn't let go, not yet.

An unsettling feeling crept up. What if this was the only update he would receive? What if it was already over, what if he already died? Then the hope that had kept him going would have been for nothing, an illusion. He quickly pushed away his thoughts. He could and would not think about that scenario.

John put out his hand. "Mycroft," he said with a short nod.

"John," Mycroft greeted and shook his hand. "How's Mary?"

"Fine," John answered briefly. "Asleep."

Mycroft nodded understandably. "I will keep it short. I am here to give you our agreed update. "

John said nothing. He looked at Mycrofts' face, but there was no hint emotion in it. Of course not. It was a Holmes. Both brothers were extremely good in hiding their emotions.

Mycroft cleared his voice. "The situation in Eastern Europe seems stable, for now. Our networks report few suspicious activities. We expect this to be a precursor, that plans and strategies are being discussed but not yet implemented. "

John stared at him, waiting for more detailed information. "That's it?" He asked after seconds.

Mycroft nodded and turned away to get back to his car.

"And what about Sherlock?" John called after him.

Mycroft stopped in the middle of the path, his back turned to John. Immediately John felt the uncomfortable, unsettling feeling again. This was not a good sign.

After seconds, Mycroft turned around. "Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?" John walked towards him. "Where's your brother, Mycroft? Tell me. Now. "

"I can't."

John was startled for a moment. He couldn't read the expression on Mycrofts' face. What did he mean? He saw a small flicker of emotion, a hint of pain, but it was just there for a second. After that brief moment, Mycrofts' face had formed his neutral, blank mask again. But John had seen it, didn't he?

"I thought we had an agreement, Mycroft," John reminded him, trying to sound as controlled as he could be. He was not going to show his unease in front of Mycroft Holmes.

"We do," Mycroft replied sharply. "But I can't tell you anything about Sherlock."

John started to lose his patience. "And why's that? Is this, once again, one of your little plans to keep me in the dark?"

Mycroft frowned and looked down at John. "Dr. Watson, I can't tell you anything about him because we don't know where he is."

John awoke abruptly, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a shaky breath, trying to calm down a bit.

The dream did not surprise him, given his short meeting with Anthea yesterday. For the rest of that day, he had tried not to linger his thoughts for too long. It was too painful to think of his friends' death. To think about his upcoming funeral, if there was going to be one, again. To think what he should and should not say if, no when, they were going to ask to speech. To think about if he would attend the funeral at all. But of course, his subconscious mind had to betray him at night.

He looked at his alarm clock and decided to get up and take an early morning walk at the cliffs so he could clear his head before work.

The Harold Road surgery was situated in a large, old mansion at the end of one of the main roads of the little village. The building was opened in 1920 and has since served as the general practice of Fairlight Cove. John ran the services together with four other colleagues.
He enjoyed working there. It might took a while before he was used to the personal approach that was required for working in such a small village, but after a while he knew his patients and they knew him. It wasn't always as busy as he would like, but that didn't matter. He could do what he was good at, which was his point of working there.

When John entered the surgery that morning, he was greeted warmly by his assistant.

"Goodmorning, dr. Watson, how was your weekend?" she asked and gave him a small smile.

"Goodmorning Holly. It was fine, thanks," he replied and tried to suppress a yawn.

Holly grinned at him. "It looks like you didn't had the best nights' sleep. Would you like to have some coffee?"

Before he could answer, Holly stood up and walked through the door behind the reception. A moment later, she came back with a mug of steaming, hot coffee, handing it to John.

"Uhm, thanks," John replied. "What's on the schedule today?"

Holly looked at her computer screen. "Appointments until 12, and two house visits after that. Mr. Miller called this morning to ask if you could drop by to take a look at Stephen again. His coughing doesn't seem to get better. And Mrs. Kennard threw her back out, again. Oh, and there's already someone waiting for you in the waiting room, but he doesn't have an appointment. I told him you have back to back appointments, but he didn't mind waiting. There you go," she handed John his schedule on paper.

John frowned, looking at his schedule. "Then I'm afraid he has to wait for a long time, as far as I can see. Send him home Holly, let him make an appointment for tomorrow."

And with that, John walked towards his office, ready to start his workday.

It was a busy morning. John had seen five flu cases, two patients with headaches, one nasty sprain, a patient with a deep cut in his foot, and three patients who needed an exam. By the end of the appointments, he desperately was in need of a second cup of coffee and his 15 minute break. He was just about to walk to the kitchen, when his phone rang.

"Dr. Watson,' Holly started, "there is still one patient left. The man from this morning didn't want to leave. I'm sorry," she added, hearing John sigh.

"I just want a cup of coffee and a 15 minute break," he muttered. "Okay, send him in then."

A moment later, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," John replied, not looking up from his computer screen. "With you in a moment. Have a seat."

"So this is where the famous dr. John Watson works nowadays? How ordinary."

John looked up and froze. There, in the middle of his office, stood Mycroft Holmes.