Sherlock was alive.
No that couldn't be correct, his brain spat at him. This had to be one of his dreams.
John instantly knew that wasn't the case. All of his dreams about Sherlock ended the same way. Never happy, always with blood strewn everywhere on the pavement below that horrifically tall building he had seemingly flown off of. Always with John flung awake with screams.
Sherlock was alive.
The doctor again shoved his head in his hands, but this time squeezed in a bout of rage. He was still livid at his friend for everything. Didn't Sherlock know how torturous these last 9 months had been? Of course he didn't, he was Sherlock and didn't care about anyone but himself.
Sherlock was alive.
He bit his tongue and took a steadying breath. That last thought wasn't fair he realized. Sherlock must have his reasons for what he did and John just didn't understand them at the present moment.
But what were they? Who in their right mind would ever consent to having a partner like Moriarty? It hit the doctor then that Sherlock might be under the influence of something. He thought back to the man's appearance in the apartment. Sherlock looked well enough, albeit a bit skinnier than usual. The man had always been small, and John didn't know how it was possible that he was even tinier now. But other than that detail, he seemed healthy and not in distress at all.
Sherlock was alive.
John had to swallow the lump in his throat that was threatening to burst out of him. The thought that the greatest detective in the world, that his friend had in fact survived was too overwhelming to bear.
He had been in the flat. He had played the violin. He had grasped his hand.
John felt queasy again and dizzy as though he hadn't eaten in days. When was the last time he had eaten anyways? He thought about his own weight that had been plummeting. It was an amusing conclusion that the two men were fat and happy only when they were together.
It was at this moment that Mrs. Hudson rapped on his door and let herself into the room.
"Got a bit of tea and a sandwich here for you dear."
Mrs. Hudson was constantly checking on the withering man, trying everything in her power to lend her support to the doctor. She knew her attempt at a snack would prove fruitless, but much to her excitement, John immediately snatched up a sandwich half and started munching.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." he said appreciatively with his mouth full.
Beaming, she left the room feeling quite victorious.
Sherlock was alive.
Just as John was finishing the much needed nourishment, Mrs. Hudson reappeared looking more concerned than before.
"John, there's someone here to see you. Asked me to come fetch you for him."
"A client?" John wondered aloud. Everyone knew that Sherlock was dead and the team was disbanded. John was only a doctor now.
She shrugged and started to grab the food tray next to him. John pulled on his jacket and walked down the stairs.
He should have known. At the curb of 221b was a little black sedan with an unfamiliar looking fellow instantly opening one of the rear doors as John came into view.
This could only mean one thing. Mycroft requested his presence.
Demanded it really. John remembered a time where he had tried to avoid the audacious man, only to end up meeting him at his destination anyways. There was no dodging it. The doctor reluctantly slipped into the back seat of the car as the door shut quietly behind him.
Sherlock was alive.
Usually Mycroft liked to meet in strange secluded places, but this time the vehicle headed in the direction of Pall Mall. John of course had been there on a few occasions, but it always was very uncomfortable to be in pure Mycroft territory.
The doctor was already uneasy as it was. It had to be absolute coincidence that he had been summoned on the same day that Sherlock had revealed himself to him. It had to be.
John hadn't seen Mycroft since Sherlock's service. He resented the man for not doing more. He always seemed to have every aspect of the British government at his disposal, but somehow hadn't intervened when it came to the fate of his little brother.
For a man who so valued his work and not his family, it wasn't surprising that Mycroft didn't even appear the least bit haunted at the service. Still, that comprehension punched hard at John's gut. Sherlock had always held Mycroft in the highest regard. This wasn't outwardly apparent of course, but the observant doctor could plainly see it. Mycroft could do no wrong in the detective's eyes, and John surmised that Sherlock had looked up to him greatly as his idol.
Even after everything that John and Sherlock had accomplished and aided the British government with, Mycroft had brushed it off as only duty. Mycroft had never once shown appreciation or any sign of attachment at all to his brother. The man was almost a machine.
Sherlock was alive.
The opening of the sedan's door startled John from his thoughts. Breathing deeply, he pulled himself out of the vehicle and followed the man into the building. The stiff associate opened the double doors to Mycroft's office and shooed the doctor into the room.
There he stood. Erect and very jerky-like in his movements. Machine John thought again.
"Ah, Doctor Watson! Come in, have a seat."
John shook his head as the double doors were closed behind him. "Why am I here?"
Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the statement.
"You're here because I want you to be."
Typical, the doctor thought. The world revolves around Mycroft and he always gets what he wants.
"Sherlock is alive, as you now know."
John looked as if Mycroft had murdered his puppy. It couldn't be true. "You… you knew?"
"My dear doctor, of course I knew. I know everything."
John did sit down now, if only to keep from hitting a second Holmes sibling in the same day.
"We had been for some time working on a plan to bring Moriarty down, which included giving Moriarty control of the situation, and which we agreed that you would have to be kept out of for reasons of discretion" the elder Holmes brother said matter-of-factly.
It was as if Mycroft had stabbed the doctor, and now he was twisting the blade with every word he spoke. John couldn't bring himself to respond. Once again he felt utterly wounded by his best friend.
Mycroft sensed John's hesitation.
"John, it was the only means necessary. Don't take it personally and let your ego rule the day. Remember there is one thing that matters."
Sherlock is alive.
The words rang in his head a million times. He knew that his life had just been thrown upside down once again by the reappearance of the detective, of his friend.
"And we need your help." Mycroft said.
[END Chapter 3]
It's been awhile! Hope you enjoy. And as always, sadly I do not own Sherlock.