John leapt into action the minute the woman fell. Richard watched on helplessly as John picked her up, hefting her body to the sofa, carefully placing her down, and checking to see she hadn't bumped her head. Richard busied himself with fetching a jug of water and a glass but already she was stirring, and John was frowning accusingly at Richard as if her scare had been his fault. Well, maybe it had. She'd seen Richard and collapsed. Richard recalled the pure, raw fear on her face as she'd spotted him- and he shivered. He couldn't stay in the room with John coolly ignoring him, the doctor attentively checking the old bint's pulse and murmuring soft reassurances to her. He slammed the door on his way out.
Richard hugged his knees to his chest, sitting on the steps that lead to his and John's set of rooms. The front door was right there- what would John say if he left right now? Would he look for him? Or would he feel better off without him? Maybe Richard was just a complication to him, another thing to worry about, like the rent, Mrs Hudson, that strange man Mycroft…
He stood up with a start, feeling suddenly very foolish. He could find out why Mrs Hudson (if that was who the old lady was) had reacted so badly to seeing him! All he had to do was listen outside the living room door. It wasn't a nice thing to do, eavesdropping, but Richard was unable to shake the feeling that John was keeping secrets from him, and the encounter with the old lady had only reinforced that lingering doubt. Now it was a fully-formed thought that couldn't be erased. He tiptoed up the stairs, keeping close to the wall and pressed his ear against the door. He inwardly cursed for not thinking of this earlier.
The voices were muffled, but not inaudible. They wavered, growing fainter and louder as the two people moved around the room.
"I'm just a foolish old woman, John…"
"No, no, you're not…"
"I am, I shouldn't have reacted like that. It's just- that face! John, that face!" He heard a sniffling sound. Was she crying?
"That face, that awful face!"
Although he could hear fragments of their speech, he couldn't make much sense of it.
"It's alright, I won't let anything happen to us…"
"I believe you, John…"
"We're safe…I guarantee…"
"Oh, John," he heard Mrs Hudson sigh, accompanied by John's sympathetic sounds.
"Shh, it's alright, I'm here."
"Oh, but John- what would our Sherlock say? He'd be heartbroken…"
Richard had heard enough. He ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, not caring if John heard him, in fact, almost wanting him to. That rebellious thought was chased away when he heard John racing down the stairs after him, and he spun around, readying himself for John's anger at the eavesdropping.
"How much did you hear?" John was panting slightly. He didn't look as angry as Richard had imagined, which was encouraging. Richard stepped closer, tilting his chin up bravely.
"Enough to know you didn't take me under your wing out of the goodness of your heart. John Watson: you've got an objective. Haven't you?"
John pursed his lips, an unmovable wall against Richard's barbs. He firmly shook his head. "I'm not saying a word."
"Don't lie to me, John-I'm not a child!"
"Then stop acting like one."
He could take it no longer. He had to know. He got as close as he could to John, until he could see himself reflected in John's eyes, could pick out each individual eyelash, golden-brown on tanned skin. "John," Richard breathed, his uncertainty and sincerity so clear in his hushed voice. "What sort of man was I? Tell me."
"I can't. I wish I could be honest with you but I can't. Too much has happened and- would you believe me if I said I had your best interests at heart? Because I do, Richard. I do." John clasped Richard's limp hand , his eyes silently pleading for Richard to let the matter rest.
"Tell me,"
"Never. You don't realise but I'm doing you a kindness. Can you please, please just trust me?"
Richard's eyes, pained and wide from hurt, narrowed at the last few words. "Trust," he spat. "Can I trust you? You've not given me a choice, John Watson. From day one. I listened to you, tried to be nice to you, and you whisper with that old crone about me, behind my back. No, I've had it with you. Is Richard Brook even my real name?"
"Why are you so caught up with who you were? It's who you are now that matters. And I like you, Richard, I really like you."
Richard wavered, his eyes pricking with tears. John's face was so expressive and emotive, the pain and uncertainty evident on his face, but there was something else. The way his gaze skipped from Richard's inquisitive eyes, shame, guilt making him hesitant. Richard had every right to be suspicious. John was hiding something from him. Was there nobody left to trust?
He took a deep breath and made for the front door. He was almost expecting John to try and physically stop him, he knew the army doctor could if he wanted. But John seemed confused, gaping like a goldfish. "Where- where are you going? You don't have anywhere to go!"
"Out. Anywhere that isn't here. Away from you, from her-" He jerked his head in the direction of the ceiling, to indicate Mrs Hudson but stopped when John drew him into an elaborate hug. He hugged him back, his senses assaulted with the smell of soap and tea, the feeling of the wool of John's jumper under his fingers, and the warm bulkiness of a man pressed so close to him.
"I'll let you go," John murmured, staring resolutely ahead at the drab wallpaper, although his arms tightened around Richard's waist. "You don't know how dangerous it is out there, you don't know-"
"It's London," Richard muttered, extracting himself somewhat reluctantly, from John's embrace.
"It's a battlefield. See you soon, maybe."
"Yeah, Maybe."
Richard glanced over his shoulder as he left, but John had a faraway look in his eyes and didn't notice.
