Richard blinked, bewildered, at his visitor, but then he remembered his manners and he pasted on a smile. "Of course, can I get you anything? Tea, coffee?"

"No thank you. I shan't be staying long." The man stepped past Richard, striding up the stairs, umbrella swinging. Richard looked on in bemusement and shook his head, quickly following the man. When he got back in the living room, the man was sitting in the green armchair with apparent ease and a thin smile. He looked like a quintessential gentleman, sitting with one leg neatly crossed over the other. He looked up as Richard entered and nodded smartly, gesturing to the chair opposite. "Take a seat, Richard," His smile widened. "I don't bite."

Richard made his way over, gripping the back of the armchair but not sitting down. He held on to the chair, needing that anchor because right now, he felt like he'd lost entire control of the situation.

"Who are you? How did you know my name? You can't boss me around in my own home!"

The man inclined his head delicately in a bashful way that didn't seem convincing. "Forgive me, Mr Brook, but I was not aware you had discussed your accommodation arrangements with the lady who owns this building? Now please, sit down. You look faint."

Richard hotly flushed. The smarmy bastard had him right where he wanted him. He sat down.

"Thank you, Mr Brook. I trust you're looking after yourself, and John is making you feel at home?"

Richard nodded, clasping his hands together in his lap. Something about this man was intimidating, his quiet manner and soft voice belied the shining malice glittering in his eyes as he watched Richard fidget.

"And there haven't been any, ah, memories surfacing?"

Richard shook his head defiantly, although he couldn't meet this man's eyes. He wasn't tempted to tell him about the memory he'd had, not for one second. Instinctively, he hated this man, he was more sure of this the longer he looked at him. He was sure they must have met before.

"Curious. I'm sure this seems discouraging but I suggest you put it out of your mind." And then he said something that completely disarmed Richard. "And how is John?"

Richard wasn't sure how to respond. He wanted to lie or tell his visitor that it was none of his business, simply to irk him, but as the penetrating gaze swept over his face and his skin prickled uncomfortably as the silence dragged on, he felt compelled to reply. "He's…fine. I don't know him so I can't compare…but he's doing ok."

The man leant forward, leaning on his umbrella. "Are you sure?"

"I- um, not really. I haven't known him for long, I mean, since the coma, but he- he snaps sometimes and he's got all this stuff, his dead friend's stuff. But he's never even told me the bloke's name, and it's even all in my room-" He could have sworn the man flinched, the moment he referred to John's deceased friend. But it could have been a trick of the afternoon light pouring in through the open window.

"Thank you. It's not heartening to hear, but it's what I was expecting." To his surprise, the man stood up and extended his hand. "It was good to finally meet you, Mr Brook."

"Um, you too…" Richard awkwardly took the hand the man offered, feeling the long fingers wrap firmly around his wrist.

"The last time John and I spoke, we exchanged bitter words. We were both hurt and we acted childishly. If you could tell him I visited and that I am interested in making amends, I would be grateful."

"Of course, who should I say visited?"

The ma hesitated for a second, his eyes flashing over to the skull. "Mycroft."

"Mycroft? Just Mycroft?"

"Just Mycroft. Thank you, Richard. I'll show myself out." He swept past Richard, his umbrella leading the way. "Oh and Richard?" he called as he was by the door. "I should keep myself busy, if I were you. Your past is gone but you can still have a pleasant future. Get a job, socialise. After all, the devil makes work for idle hands."

Richard sank onto the sofa when he heard the door click shut. The day had barely started for him and already it was becoming increasingly bizarre.

John came in later, disgruntled, flustered and smelling strongly of disinfectant. He kept up a rapid description of his day as he discarded his coat, deposited his keys to the mantelpiece and gesticulated with frustration at his misfortune at work. "Some kid was sick all over me at the clinic today. He handled it better than the mother though, she was convinced her darling offspring had cancer. I told her 'Your son vomited because you're overfeeding him and letting him eat anything he wants. Why look, he's scarfing a Kit Kat right now!' It was a hellish day. I stopped off at Criterion's, got a couple of coffees. Hey, are you alright?"

Richard blinked at the cardboard offering placed in front of him. He mindlessly took the cup, staring down into the brown liquid. "Thanks."

"Richard," John sat opposite him, his brown eyes staring earnestly into Richard's. "You can tell me anything, you know? And I can tell, you're upset."

"Just some guy came round today. Mycroft? He's worried about you, John."

John had sworn softly under his breath the moment Richard said the name, and now he was scowling at his cardboard cup. "Ok. Fine. Should have seen that coming. Did he, er, say anything else?"

"He asked if I was ok, and if I had any new memories. I told him no. John- I – I want to get a job."

"Oh. Ok." Clearly John was still musing on Richard's encounter so would be not much use to the conversation right now.

"I'm grateful for what you're doing for me, and this is my way of paying you back. I owe you, John."

Suddenly, John jerked his head up, alarm flashing over his face. "What?"

"I'm sorry? I was just saying- I want to help with the rent, I owe you-" Richard felt a niggling irritation in his brain, a feeling that he was missing something. But the living room door creaked open and a wrinkled, elfin face, framed with feathery hair peeked around the door.

"John, sweetheart, I- AAAARGH! It's, it's him-" And the old lady fell into the room, crashing to the carpet in a dead faint.