The driver got out and, as per usual, opened the door for John, silently waiting. John stared back and forth between the driver and the open door for a moment before he scoffed. "Right, that's going to happen," He scoffed bitterly, sarcastically, as he turned and walked away.
Less than a minute later, his phone was ringing. The screen told him that it was exactly who he expected it to be. He considered not answering, but knew that that would just irritate Mycroft, who would surely proceed to do whatever he could to get John's attention.
And John wanted answers.
He didn't even greet the voice on the end. "Is he alive?" His voice was demanding. Not that he cared by that point.
"John. Hello to you, too."
"Mycroft." John's tone was quickly changing to one of warning.
"I'm sure I don't understand what it is that you're asking me."
John felt his pace quicken. It felt like he was racing through the streets by that point, his agitation showing in his walk. "Don't play dumb with me, Mycroft. Now tell me- Is. He. Alive?"
"Ah," His voice was full of false realization. "I take it that you are referring to Sherlock?"
"Yes," John answered tersely.
"No, he isn't. I've no idea why you would think such a ridiculous thing."
"Oh, I don't know, maybe because someone claiming to be him has been texting me?"
"And you thought to automatically jump to the conclusion that it must be Sherlock, did you? You are so quick to believe he's back from the dead?"
John was not in the mood to be belittled. "I didn't jump to conclusions. He texted me, warning I'm in danger. He then threatened to sic you on me. Within five minutes, a car of yours is here to pick me up. It doesn't take a Holmes brother to deduce that."
There was a beat of silence. "You do understand how many people the two of you angered? There are many who would want to get to you in any way possible, I am sure."
"So that's it? You think this is just a prank?"
"A prank? Oh, not at all, Doctor Watson. I'd say something much more dangerous."
Dangerous. It was a word that had once meant everything to John. It used to hold intrigue and the promise of a thrill.
Now it was just a word.
John thought on it for a moment. "One of the texts said I was in danger. Why would they warn me?"
"Perhaps it's a helpful warning. Perhaps it is indeed a warning, but one of a more sinister nature. I have reason to believe that that may be the case. We've been keeping surveillance on you-"
"What a surprise," John muttered dryly. He wasn't even offended anymore, wasn't even annoyed. He had long ago surpassed the point of feeling invaded of privacy.
John could predict Mycroft's exasperated sigh seconds before it actually happened. "Why must you always insist on acting like a child?"
"Why do you treat me like one?"
Another sigh. "Would you like me to fill you in on everything, John? I can, but you may not like the answers. Do not forget, we've been through a conversation very similar to this one; You pried, I warned you, and it was horribly inconvenient for you, in the end."
"In-inconvenient? Is that what you're calling grief? Is that what you call caring about someone?"
"Is that so hard to believe? Caring is not an advantage, John."
John scoffed. "So I've heard." He chuckled bitterly for a moment before allowing a miniscule wave of calm settle over him. "Fine. I don't want to know details. Except for one. Is Sherl-"
"No, of course he's not alive. You must stop holding onto false hope. He's gone- come to terms or expect to continue suffering as you have been. The choice, Doctor Watson, is all yours."
"Bye Mycroft." His voice was flat. He didn't wait for Mycroft to respond before hanging up on him. Once again, he was left with a feeling of loss. How could he keep ending up in the position of losing the same man over and over again? When would he manage to just shut it all down? And why did it seem like every single time he was managing just fine, something new popped up to attempt to destroy him?
His jaw began to ache, and he realized he had been clenching and unclenching it for a while. He couldn't decide who he was more angry at- Mycroft, for his callousness, or himself, for... for what, exactly? For getting his hopes up? How could he help it when-
His phone chimed, interrupting his inner turmoil.
You shook him that easily? Impressive. -SH
Before he even had the chance to decide whether or not he wanted to respond to that one, another two texts flashed up on his screen.
Impressive, but disappointing. And predictable. You're warned of danger, yet you disregard it. -SH
And I see that the hint of your returned limp is gone entirely. -SH
John spun around at the last text, heart racing, mind racing, eyes darting wildly across the landscape before him. Where could this person possibly be hiding? Parked car? One of the shops that lined the street? There was no way someone could have seen him walking down the sidewalk this whole way. Someone had to have been following...
It was at that moment that he noticed the cameras. The cameras that he knew Mycroft had access to. And if Mycroft had access... his conniving little brother most certainly could find a way to them, as well. Sherlock had proved on multiple occasions that he was not above stealing his brother's credentials to gain access. John didn't hesitate to try calling the number, but as he opened up the info, he saw, much to his dismay, that it was a restricted number.
Of course it was. Who would be thick enough to not block their number?
John rubbed his hand over his face and finally decided it was time to respond to whoever it was. Sherlock or not.
Who is this? You can answer me anytime now.
It didn't surprise John when, once again, he didn't receive a followup text straight away.
Alright then, suit yourself. We'll do this the hard way. You obviously want to be secretive. Be secretive. I'll just have your number traced.
It was a bluff. John didn't think that Lestrade- or anyone else at the Yard, for that matter- would help him with such a seemingly trivial task. His phone chimed only a minute or two after he hit the send button. He smirked into the nearest camera before turning and walking away, heading back home, pointedly not even checking the phone. He wanted to get the message across that he was not easily intimidated, and he refused to not have the upper hand. If it was someone trying to harm him, then his best bet was to make a point that he wasn't scared, and wasn't going to be taken down easily.
If it was...
God help him, he couldn't even think it.
If it was Sherlock, then... well, hopefully he could take the hint that John would find him.