Quite a nice little break, here's a new update as I procrastinate Organic Chemistry… Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of BBC,CBS, or Doyle's Sherlock characters and/or plot(s) (that will be lauded to.) All I own are simply the ideas weaving them together.
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John lost track of where exactly he was being driven, though they must have been driving for less than twenty minutes before the car stopped outside of what appeared to be a very expensive loft complex. He was led through a very ornate lobby to a glass elevator where his silent companion took him to the top floor where a sharply dressed woman awaited them. She finished whatever she had been texting on her Blackberry before lifting her head to lock eyes with John.
"Doctor Watson," She greeted formally. "This way, if you'll follow me." Then without waiting for any sort of response, she turned and began a brisk pace down the hall.
John hastened to catch up with her, hoping for some answers as to why he was there. "Um, any chance you can tell me what this is all about?"
"I'm afraid not." She shook her head as they turned a corner.
"How about your name then?" He tried.
"Um," she paused for a moment, "Anthea."
John raised a brow at the response. "That's not your real name is it?"
She stopped outside a set of double doors; hand on the handle as she turned to look at him. "No." She smiled. "Here, Mr. Holmes will see you now."
"Mr. Holmes?" But John didn't have enough time to even formulate a response as the door opened and he was ushered inside where the door was promptly shut behind him. His gaze went around the polished white office space before landing on a figure that sat causally at the desk ahead of him.
John didn't know what he was expecting, but this man, somehow related to Sherlock, was definitely a striking contrast to his flatmate. Even from behind the desk, the man was tall, but he was definitely older; already he was losing hair, and his expensive suit seemed to hang a little loose off his body as if he'd recently lost weight. However he differed from Sherlock, John could definitely see the resemblance in the eyes: they were cold and calculating as the analyzed John whilst he too observed the other. Then, the man smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Dr. Watson." It was the same voice from the payphone. "So nice of you to join me this evening despite the busy case you and my brother are involved in."
"Ah, that's it. Brother. Makes sense there I suppose." John carefully made his way over to stand in front of the elder Holmes brother. "Not like you left me with much of a choice."
"Mycroft Holmes, at your service." He offered his hand to John, which he took warily. "Please, have a seat John."
John shook his head. "I'm good, thanks. But, you know, if you were in town you could have just phoned Sherlock. Why the secrecy?"
"You'll find that when dealing with him, one learns to be discrete. Also, I don't think a call would do, as we are not on such good terms at the moment.
"Oh, I'd never guess." John frowned. "So what does this have to do with me?"
"You've recently taken up living with Sherlock, correct?" Mycroft suddenly asked.
"Yes."
"And you've quit your medical occupation to work with him as well I see?"
"I'm taking a break." John corrected quickly before frowning. "And how do you know all this anyway?"
"I'm sure you can guess from your time so far I am not an average salary man, John. It is my business to be informed on all matters. As to why you are here I was hoping you could be of help to me, and me to you."
John looked at him skeptically. "Oh? And how's that?"
"I see that you're struggling with your monetary situation at the moment," he told him as he glanced over paperwork in front oh him. "What I'm suggesting is a bit of a trade; I would like for you too keep watch over Sherlock, just updates on his comings and goings or his recent involvements. Nothing strange or unorthodox I assure you, and for your efforts I would of course pay you for your troubles.
John bristled at the suggestion; he wanted him to spy on Sherlock for money?
"No," came his immediate answer.
Mycroft frowned. "But I haven't offered a figure yet."
John shook his head. "Nope, doesn't matter, sorry. I will not do that. If you want to know what your brother is up too, try asking him yourself."
"Your very loyal, very quickly it seems." Mycroft raised a delicate brow. "Trust issues, this says." He pointed to his notes. "Looks like your therapist is wrong."
"Who says I trust him? I've only just met him." John countered defensively. But the man had a point. He had known Sherlock for only a short amount of time, and deep down John felt that he did, in a way, trust the mad detective.
"Because you've seen it, the battlefield." Mycroft spoke, standing from his chair to walk around the desk. "Ordinary people walk these streets with no other thoughts or care in the world, but when your with Sherlock its different, isn't it doctor?"
John tensed as Mycroft drew near, but the other man held his position gazing down at John.
"If that's all," John spoke up, "I think I—."
"No, there is one thing I need you to do, if not for me, than for Sherlock, John." Mycroft sighed as he turned to lean against the desk. All of the effort going towards intimidating John seemed to vanish, leaving a very tired and aged man. Curious about the sudden change in atmosphere, John paused to hear him out.
"I take it he hasn't told you anything about why he's here in New York, rather than London?"
John shook his head, remembering Sherlock's lack of interest to broach the subject.
"I wouldn't normally trouble myself with this leg work, but I needed to make sure this was seen to. Now John, you seem to me like a good man, one that could be the making of my brother, or at least someone who could stop him from becoming his own undoing."
"What do you mean?"
"To put it plainly John, my brother is a recovering addict." Mycroft paused to see John's reaction, though John kept his face neutral as he digested the new information.
I of all people should know an addict when I see them.
"So that's what that was about then." John realized.
"How long ago?" John needed to know.
"He's been sober for the last eight months, though with the recent cases he's been dealing with I'm not sure if it'll last." Mycroft told him grimly. "My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. While in London he consulted with the Yard until events terminated my brother's position of consultant which led to his other…recreational activities."
"What events would that be?" John asked.
"I'm afraid it's not my place to say. All I am concerned with is that Sherlock stays on his current path. He needs casework to keep himself occupied, but if he falls into old habits he'll no longer have any sort of position here in The City as well. That is why I'm asking you doctor, keep a wary eye on my brother, if you would be so kind."
John mulled over this bit of information, but he had already decided that whatever past Sherlock had was just that: in the past. For whatever was to come, John would be here to help him through it, and not just because Mycroft Holmes asked him to.
"Right, well now that this is all sorted, I really think I should be getting back now. Nice meeting you." John nodded in Mycroft's direction before turning around to walk from the room, missing the sly grin that spread across the politician's face.
"Definitely not your average doctor." Mycroft decided, though whether this was good or bad was yet to be determined.
When John opened the door to the hallway, the assistant, Anthea was waiting as she texted away on her phone. "I'm to take you back now." Was all she told him before leading him back down the hall.
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
"Shit, I forgot the coffee." John groaned aloud. But he had already been returned to the department headquarters and was almost to the conference room. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice, but of course he highly doubted. He walked into the room to find Sherlock perched in chair, his black coat throw haphazardly over the chair and leaving him in only his fitted, purple shirt. The brunette's eyes were closed as he sat with his arms folded over his knees, his hands together under his chin.
"You were gone for almost an hour, I doubt the line for coffee was that arduous." He spoke, eyes still closed.
"That's because I didn't get the coffee, sorry. I was too busy being picked up by your brother and it must have slipped my mind in the process." John said casually as he shut the door behind him.
Sherlock's eyes opened and locked with John's. "He offered you money to spy on me?"
"Right as usual." John nodded, sitting down in the chair across from Sherlock before reaching for an unexamined personnel file.
"Did you take it?"
"Nope." John shook his head, and was amused to see the put out expression cross Sherlock's face.
"We could have split the fee, think it through next time." He chastised before pausing a moment to drop his hands only to then bring them around to hug his knees, his chin now resting on top of his knees. "He told you, didn't he? About my old habit?"
John nodded. "He did."
"Well?" Sherlock was looking at him, as if expecting some sort of reaction other than John's causal attitude.
"Well what?"
"It doesn't bother you? Especially with these last cases. I know that's why Mycroft's come—he's worried I'll relapse, though I can assure you that it will not happen, as my sobriety is far to valuable for casework to comprise it now."
"Sherlock, listen it's fine. Really, it's all fine. It doesn't bother me." John assured him with a small grin. "You say your done with that time, than I believe you. Enough said."
John noticed something change in Sherlock's eyes—was that appreciation? Respect? Whatever it was, it was soon replaced by that gleam that John has come to recognize as Sherlock grinned widely at him before unfolding himself from his perch.
"Brilliant, now on the bright side I have made an important discovery." He spoke quickly, reaching for an open file on the table to hand to John. John dropped the file he had selected in order to accept it and the change in topic.
John glanced over it, not noticing anything special standing out to him. "It's a consent form, from the Angel's 5th victim, what of it?"
"No, look even closer John." Sherlock gestured again to the form. "Note the handwriting, or really, the handwritings."
"Oh," John quickly spotted the difference. "The patient put her name and signed it, but someone else filled out the rest of the form."
"Exactly! The same nurse who initialed her, A.J. It stands for Anichka Jones, Jones I'm assuming is a married name as Anichka is as Ukrainian as it gets. Which is why he would fill out the form, seeing as the 5th victim was also from the Ukraine and most likely didn't speak enough English to fill out the rest of her form."
John nodded slowly, "Okay, so where does this lead us?"
"We know our angel liked to converse with his victims, and getting to know them was clearly part of the process."
John's eyes widen in understanding. "And he could only have gotten to know her if he spoke Ukrainian. So all we need to do is check the personnel records for a doctor who knows it."
Sherlock nodded before holding up a steady hand, halting John's process. "Yes, but I have already checked." He grinned. "None of the doctors here speak it."
John looked baffled as he tried to reconcile his partner's cheery disposition and the bad news. "Why are you smiling? That doesn't exactly help us."
"Because John, as you now well know, not all doctors stay doctors. "
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
"Chandler Memorial Hospital was rocked by a scandal for the second time in two days when Dr. Mason Baldwin was arrested for his role in one of confessed Angel of Death Danilo Gura's victims." The news anchor was reporting as John walked in from the kitchen with a cup of much deserved tea.
"Let me guess, your favorite part?" He grinned watching Sherlock rewind the news report to see the doctor being shoved into the back of a police car.
"Another case solved, John." The lanky detective answered. "The next one can't come soon enough."
John gazed tiredly at him before rolling his eyes. "Well, I'm exhausted. So hopefully the next one doesn't come within the next eight hours." He ignored Sherlock's aghast look, as he turned to head upstairs. "Night."
As he climbed the stairs, he heard Sherlock call to him. "Yes?" He leaned over the railing to listen.
"I did enjoy catching a glimpse of you in your former element today, you are still quite the doctor." He told him.
"I have my moments." John shrugged.
"Though, your detecting skills can use a bit of polishing up." John could hear the humor in the others voice as he said it.
"Oi! Don't ruin a good moment you mad man." He laughed before continuing up the stairs. If Sherlock replied, he didn't hear it.
Once he was settled in bed, he suddenly felt the tired haze ebb away as his racing mind began to replay the recent events of his life. If someone had told him a month ago that he would be partnering with a consultant detective and working with the police, well, he would have laughed at the sheer insanity of the claim. Though, he realized, he also had no regrets over the recent events of his life either. He saw his laptop lying on his night stand and, on a whim, found himself opening it up to a familiar empty blog page.
Just try it John, you never know what might happen.
He stared at the webpage for a few more moments, slowly an idea weaving its way into his wind. "Angel of Death, huh?" He mused. Afterwards all thought of sleep was abandoned as John Watson M.D., now consulting detective in training, set out on a new battlefront: the world of online blogging.
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Thanks for reading and I hoped you enjoyed! And if you did don't be afraid to drop off a review- your input is still very important to me!
Until next time, where we begin (at least I hope we do) to see the plot thickening.
~Ciao~