The test had been passed. Now to make sure Dr. John Watson didn't end up a waterlogged corpse in the Thames.
Standing in the damp, fluorescent-patched shadows of the chilly warehouse and awaiting the arrival of his own car home, Mycroft thought hard about the man who'd just dismissed himself from his presence.
Few people had ever successfully run the gauntlet of Mycroft's watchful eye over his little brother. He had offered money to "ease the way" of everyone who came close to Sherlock. Most had been stupid enough to accept it. Generally, they disappeared from Sherlock's life when that happened.
Some of them disappeared altogether.
There were a few notable exceptions to the pattern, of course. That Lestrade fellow from Scotland Yard had told Mycroft exactly what he could do with his money, in even stronger terms than John Watson had. I don't take bribes. Martha Hudson had been angry, and told Mycroft he should be ashamed of himself and if he were her son, she'd put him over her knee well-and-proper. And then there had been Miss Hooper, that timid little pathologist from the hospital. She'd staunchly shook her head - and then burst into such a violent fit of crying that he'd offered her a sour but well-meant, "well, there's no need to cry about it," and told her who he really was.
Remarkable reactions, really, from some very ordinary people.
And now, Dr. John Watson. Born in Chelmsford, Essex. Twin sister named Harriet. Studied at King's College and trained at Barts. Formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, and had nearly made out an entire second year of duty in Afghanistan before being wounded and sent home. PTSD. Had a very pliable therapist. A pleasant-looking, though noticably small man, in a profession where such things mattered.
And he had not yielded one inch to Mycroft Holmes.
Very loyal, very quickly.
Sherlock had taken him to a crime scene that night- Sherlock, who did not play nicely with others and preferred to work alone. Sherlock, who had promptly left Dr. Watson at the crime scene and given him every reason in the world to divulge discreet details to the first rich, well-dressed, vaguely threatening personage who kidnapped him, took him out to a warehouse in Bermondsey and offered him a guaranteed month of food and rent.
Dr. Watson was a person of importance to Sherlock Holmes, so much was clear. And it therefore followed that he was now a person of interest to Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft's phone bleeped out a text alert. Fishing into the pocket of his suit and drawing it out, he saw that it was from the girl he'd named Anthea, and whose real name he couldn't be bothered to remember.
He asked to be taken to Baker Street.
Thumbing the keypad a little awkwardly, Mycroft sent the response.
Take him. Make sure he arrives safely.
A/N- Since there's been some confusion between ACD verse and BBC verse re: John's history, I'll clarify my sources :) In The Blind Banker, we see a glimpse of John's resume. His first hospital work was in Chelmsford, Essex, making it plausible that he was living local and perhaps brought up in the area- no other information for his place of birth is given in-episode or in any of the blogs as yet (end of season 3). That Harry is his twin is something I got from the fact that in a March entry to his blog, he snarks that Harry should grow up because she's "36", and six months later, a Belgravia newspaper article claims John is 37, making him very slightly older or a twin. King's College is on his resume in The Blind Banker.