A/N: I got this finished rather sooner than I expected. I'll be sure to start something about the next chapter soon. I rather didn't like this chapter in the beginning, but it got interesting to me towards the end so I put a bit more in than I'm used to writing. Yay! Well, here it is. Chapter 4.
John tapped his fingers rhythmically against the mahogany table as he stared at Mycroft with an icy glare. Mycroft sat prim and proper as he gave a small smile. He was encouraging John to eat the treats he had laid out for the meeting, but John was smarter than that. He wasn't going to give in. Not to Mycroft bloody Holmes.
"It is wonderful to see you John." Mycroft uttered rather cheerily, but John's intent expression did not falter. He simply sighed and changed his angle. "I'm sure there is something you want to ask me. I can see it all over your face and after all, you haven't spoken to me since Sherlock." He dared not say anything of the situation in front of the army-doctor. Wouldn't like to cause a scene and end up with one of them hurt.
"You took it." John simply stated. Mycroft tilted his head, sipping his tea. "Oh don't give me that confused puppy look. You know exactly of what I'm talking about, Mycroft." Once again, Mycroft failed to comply and simply leaned his head forward onto fingers that were weaved together.
"Whatever do you mean, Doctor Watson?" That bloody formal tone of his. John knew it well. He simply wanted the army-doctor to elaborate on his point. John refused to speak, only irritating the man before he huffed in defeat. "Spoil the fun, why don't you?" Mycroft muttered between his teeth. "You're talking of the violin, I assume."
"Of course I'm talking about the violin! You took it without permission!" John was nearly shouting, but not much so. Mycroft leaned back into the chair.
"I did not require permission. It was my brother's violin. I have my rights." He barked.
"Not when the will clearly states that it was mine." The final word was laced with venom. Even Mycroft couldn't help but flinch a bit at the sound. The man may have been angry with him before, but never that much so. Mycroft never really thought John could be that angry.
Sighing, the man pulled out his blackberry before silently typing in something that John most definitely couldn't make out. As he placed it down on the table, he brought down his arms and licked his lips – now – habitually. He had begun doing that since the whole faked suicide. "Anthea will bring it to you before you leave."
"And that's to happen now." John stood from his seat. It slid across the wood floor with a silence breaking screech before grabbing his cane from the table. Mycroft didn't make a move to look up at him. It was sort of painful for him to see John while Sherlock couldn't and he knew how much that was tearing Sherlock apart. "Have a nice day Mycroft." John called, rounding the corner swiftly before slamming the door shut. It was a grueling 5 minutes before the sound of the limo has disappeared.
"I know you're there, Sherlock." Mycroft muttered, placing his head in his hands. Sherlock slipped out from the shadows. He was leaning against the door, listening in on the conversation and stealing glimpses of John whenever possible. Sherlock walked over to the window and leaned against the window sill, watching the car fade away in the distance.
"You look like a lost puppy, Sherlock. It's really not befitting of you." Sherlock hissed before lifting himself from the uncomfortable position and paced. "You're done Sherlock. You've accomplished your goal. Can you please just do something about him? I won't be your medium for much longer."
"But it isn't that simple Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted. "John is so confusing. Who knows what he would do if I simply walked up to him in the middle of the road and asked him, 'Hey, let's go back to 221B and continue on. I'm sure Lestrade has plenty of cases to attend to!' no, John has a different mindset. Knowing him, he would do something drastic to prove that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. Like jump in front of a bus or something! I don't know!" he plopped down onto a chair in frustration. "I'll need everyone's help in this."
xoxoxox
He tried to take your violin today. I wouldn't let him. –JW
xoxoxox
John stared at the phone momentarily before shoving it back in his pocket and placing the violin case neatly where it belonged. It felt as though a piece of Sherlock was gained, something that made the area feel more warm and cozy. Without it, the room was cold and empty… As if slowly Sherlock was slipping from his grasp. He wanted to hold onto that memory.
A knock on his door signaled that Mrs. Hudson was waiting to talk to him. It was probably about the mail that he failed to get himself. Limping over towards the door, he gently swung it open to see the usually chipper old landlady with a thin line on her face. He was rather struck at the look as it wasn't normal for her, but she pushed her way into the flat. "John, I'd like to speak to you." Something in his stomach dropped and he felt a shiver down his spine. "I want to speak to you about your girlfriend." And instantly the feeling disappeared. He didn't understand why, but he went with it anyway.
"What about her?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. What would Mrs. Hudson want with his girlfriend? She's only ever met Molly once or twice. The Christmas party and a few other times when John brought her back to the flat, otherwise John had no recollection where she had any interaction with Molly. Did he do something wrong? Maybe Mrs. Hudson simply worried for her?
"John, dear, there's something off about her." She nodded, but John simply gave her a confused stare. "You don't see it, do you?" She sighed. "I can understand why. I'd assume that you wouldn't be able to see such a thing. I mean after all, she is your girlfriend. It's never easy for them to see it since they're so attached. Oh dear." As she turned her back to John, she flashed a small smirk. "Good thing you have me, love. I can see it in her eyes. That predatory glance. The same one Sherlock gave you whenever you ran off with him."
John let his gaze fall. He said nothing to the landlady, but gestured for her to take a seat. "Do continue Mrs. Hudson. I'd like to know more of what you're seeing." He muttered, taking a sip of the tea that he had prepared upon returning to the flat. He gave made her a cup as well as she sat down in Sherlock's chair with a rather formal sitting.
"Sherlock used to give you that glance all the time. It was dreadfully obvious. You do know that he talked about you a lot, yes?" Mrs. Hudson pointed towards him with a flick of her index finger.
John shook his head. "Not that I do, ma'am. No one's mentioned it."
"He talked about you quite often. Always asking around to make sure you were alright. Especially when you went out places. He would stare out the window for hours before he realized you weren't within sight." She tsked before taking a sip. "Then during your little dates, when he was sure the time was right, he'd ask for you so he could get your attention."
John furrowed his eyebrows. "Now why would he do that?"
"Because you're the first one to care, of course." Her tone basically screamed the fact that she thought he knew that. "He's only ever gotten negativity from his abilities. You're the first to take an interest. If I were him, I'd want to keep you around as well.
"Dear, even Sherlock's mother doesn't take a keen interest in his abilities. Sure, she loves him very much, but he can often come off as offensive and it's a rather bad first impression. He's never once gotten a response like yours. He was rather giddy for weeks before he finally calmed down. You're a once in a lifetime catch, John. A chance that he's never had the privilege of having until then."
"Then I sure owe Mike another thank you for introducing us. It seems I've made a rather large impact in his life, yeah?" John looked away, a smile tugging at his lips.
"You have no idea." Mrs. Hudson muttered under her breath.
"I'm sorry? I didn't catch you there?" He shifted in his seat.
"Oh, nothing love. But I would like to warn you, you might want to get rid of Molly now before something bad comes to her. You're a magnet for danger now that you've met Sherlock." John furrowed his brows once more.
"But whatever for?"
"I only worry for her John. If you want to save her now, you need to distance yourself from her while you still can." Mrs. Hudson stood, placing the tea cup on its saucer. "Well, I must be going now. I'm going to visit Mrs. Turner for a bit." She straightened out her skirt and then flashed a smile. "It was wonderful talking to you dear. I do hope you heed my warning though."
"Yes Mrs. Hudson." John drew his words out a bit unsurely, but it passed her as she walked out into the stairway and John closed the door. Now what the hell just happened? John sighed. It seemed that everyone knew something about Sherlock that he didn't and they weren't letting him on indefinitely. He was hoping that at some point in time that maybe he could squeeze the information out of them, but he didn't know who to do so from. He cared about everyone that was doing that weird little 'I know something but I won't tell you' act. It was like they were hiding some bloody marriage proposal.
He had to sit down and think about it though. Mrs. Hudson had told him that something was going to happen to her. Although everything seemed to be connected to Sherlock. What were they hiding?
xoxoxox
Molly treaded carefully down the sidewalk, passing many shops by before hearing her phone beep. She stopped momentarily and took a look at the screen to see that it was a message from an unknown number.
Don't be alarmed. -?
Her breath caught in her throat as two cold hands wrapped around her. One at her mouth and one at the eyes. She was pulled into the alley she happened to stop next to and around the corner where an intersection between buildings happened to be. It was a spot that no alleyway could be seen from the road.
"Promise you won't scream." A deep baritone voice muttered into her ear. It was oddly familiar, but she couldn't place it. Molly nodded hesitantly as the hand slowly retracted from her mouth. She knew better than to actually scream. Not with this person's precision.
"I am not going to hurt you, but I ask of you to please hold out your hand." The man instructed. She brought her hand up from her purse strap, uncurling her fingers. Something small and light was placed onto her palm and the man forced her hand shut gently. It was a letter.
"You have one task to complete. Deliver this letter to John Watson. Do not tell him how you received it. On top of this letter is a number. I would like you to save it labeled at 'Service' as I will message you the next time I will have you deliver a message to him. Speak nothing of this occurrence and how you acquired the letter. If he asks, tell him that you received it in your mail with detailed instructions. Do you understand?" Molly whimpered.
"Y-Yes sir. Can I please go now?" She asked. Her voice was lined with the sound of near crying. Instead, the man turned her around.
"Close your eyes and place your palms tightly against them. Count to ten, then proceed with your usual day." She did as she was told, the man slipping his hand from her. He seemed to trust her enough to not look, not that she would. She was too afraid that he would shoot her or something if she did. Instead, she heard the sound of running footsteps slowly disappear around the corner as she counted to ten. Upon taking a look around, the man was nowhere to be found.
Molly looked down at the letter. It was a vanilla cream colored envelope with a red seal. The addressing on the front was tidy and free of flaws. Written in a blue fountain pen with almost unreadable cursive that was sloppy yet extremely neat. There were no creases or markings on the letter. Mint condition. Whoever it was that wanted her to deliver this letter took great strain in keeping it safe. Molly tucked it neatly into a file that was in her purse as she looked at the second piece of paper. The number.
Quickly she entered it into her phone and saved it. Now all she had to do was deliver the letter without suspicion.