"Thank you for coming. Richard would love some visitors," The overweight nurse beamed up at Mycroft, and clasped John's hand between hers. The multi-tasking was unnecessary; Mycroft didn't look very impressed.
"Yes. We'll want to be left alone with him."
"Of course, Sir. But please, he's very weak right now; he's been in a coma for over a year. Please don't say anything that might disturb him."
"Disturbing Mr Brooke is the furthest thing from my mind," Mycroft murmured through his teeth, a polite smile in place. They waited until the nurse had left before speaking, albeit in hushed turns although the guards outside the room's door didn't look at them, except for the respectful nod in Mycroft's direction at the beginning.
"There won't be any guards in the room then?"
"No, John. I don't want to give him a reason to panic, or accidentally jog his memory."
"And what should I say? He's not going to walk off with a total stranger."
"He's more desperate than you realise. He has no one in the world that he knows. Nobody has come to see him. He'll be glad of some human company."
"Why can't you go in and see him?"
"I will meet him in due time. You can be sure of that. But right now, I want him to meet you and you only. If he sees us together and associates us as being friends, it's more likely he'll remember. And then he won't trust either of us and it'll be impossible to get any information out of him.
"Well, I'm convinced. I'd better go in and shake the bastard's hand. But what do I say, how should I introduce myself?"
"Stick to the truth as much as you can, without revealing how you really know him. But if you want to know how to introduce yourself…just say 'My name is John Watson.'" Mycroft turned and walked down the hallway, his umbrella clacking on the floor. "Good luck, John."
"Thanks," John muttered, but Mycroft had already gone. He sighed, took a breath and opened the door.
John had the uncomfortable sensation of being trapped. He was in an unlocked room with two guards only separated from him by a wall and yet he felt like he'd been directly dropped in the lion's den. He slowly eased forward, uncharacteristically quiet and graceful, so as not to attract the attention of the prone figure on the bed. When he was close enough, he was able to pick put the differences between the Moriarty from his nightmares and the Moriarty here. Moriarty was looking better, there was a slight flush to his cheeks, making him look less pallid and lifeless. His hair was longer, but then again, he had been comatose for a year so John expected that. But the biggest difference was how still he was. The Jim Moriarty who had kidnapped John had been a whirlwind of manic energy, spontaneous and wild, so animated he seemed barely human, more like a parody of insanity. The Moriarty lying in front of him was still, except for the quiet breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. He was almost silent; John had to hold his breath to hear Jim's.
Moriarty frowned in his sleep and John's eyes widened. Instinctively, he backed away a bit, but Moriarty's eyes were already opening and John couldn't show him he was scared.
"Morning," John stuttered, when Moriarty was finally fully awake.
"Morning," the man replied, voice hoarse. John supposed it was ingrained, like when you always respond with 'fine' when someone asks how you are.
John glanced around for a chair, and located one. He dragged it over, not feeling very sorry when 'Richard' winced at the harsh scrape of the chair legs on the floor.
Moriarty hauled himself into a sitting position. He'd obviously already come out of the coma, this was just him waking up from a nap, but all the same, John was impressed by how quickly he made the transition from asleep to perfectly awake.
"I don't, I don't remember anything," Richard's voice was quiet, with Moriarty's Irish accent but softer. He spoke quietly. "They've already asked me and I don't know who I am. Are you a doctor?"
John's breath caught in his throat. He knows. "What makes you think that?"
Richard shrugged. "The only people who have come in here are doctors, nurses, the occasional cleaner. Didn't even get a Get Well Soon Card,"
John's temper flared, Sherlock was six feet under while this pathetic version of Moriarty whined about his social life. "Well, I guess my card got lost in the mail." he snapped, straightening the collar of his khaki jacket in an irritated way.
Richard swallowed and looked away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful."
John breathing slowed, but he couldn't help inwardly marvelling at Richard's apology. The man really was different to the evil incarnate from before. "I am a doctor but I'm not here for that."
"So…why are you here?" Richard pulled his covers a little closer around his thin body.
"I thought because I'm a doctor, I could help you, help look after you and help you come to terms with your condition. It can be quite difficult for people to adjust to."
"I don't want to be a burden…" Richard glanced uncertainly at John, than ducked his head.
"You wouldn't be." John assured him, trying to hold onto the anger roiling around in his stomach. He couldn't help the resentment that his best friend's enemy still lived.
"But, I mean, you don't even know me from Adam, do you?"
John leant forward and Richard shrank back. Perhaps it was the intensity in John's eyes or the conviction in his voice. "Actually, Richard, I do."
More to come soon!
