"So, Jim Moriarty spent ten years pretending to be someone else?" John was flabbergasted; completely overwhelmed by the information that Mycroft had shared with him. "But why? Why would he do that? What could he possibly hope to gain?"
Mycroft let out a long breath and leaned forwards to mirror John's position. It was a question he had asked himself a thousand times or more over the past ten years. It was quite astounding how powerful a motivator love could be.
"Revenge." he finally answered simply. "Revenge for his father's death for which he blamed our father. He simply waited for the most opportune moment to make his move, and unfortunately, Sherlock gave him that perfect opportunity when he killed our father."
John puffed out a loud breath. "Fuck." he exclaimed, still unsure whether Mycroft was in need of comfort or just an sympathetic ear, "How fucking screwed up."
"Quite." Mycroft grimaced a forced smile and leaned back in the chair again, giving John the cue to relax a little back into his own.
John frowned a little, and Mycroft could see that he was processing the information he had been given. It was a lot to take in. John had thought he knew a lot about his flatmate, but it turned out that he really knew very little at all.
The doctor cocked his head to the side as he thought.
"So, " he eventually said, his voice sounding as exhausted as both men now looked, "what exactly does Jim have on you then? I mean, actual evidence or leverage?"
Mycroft closed his eyes and forced himself back to that night and every time either of the brothers had encountered the man since then.
"He knows everything." he whispered quietly, not entirely sure how that clarified anything, "he knows... everything."
"OK, so he knows because you told him. He knows that Sherlock killed your father- that it wasn't a tragic accident. But... really... what proof does he have? It was 10 years ago. TEN years, Mycroft. Just think about that for a moment, will you?"
Mycroft pursed his lips and looked straight at John. Maybe the doctor was right. Ten years was a long time, and Jim didn't actually have any concrete evidence of any kind. Nothing that would stand up against what had already been recorded in the reports anyway. But then Mycroft knew there was more to it than that. Jim also knew about his relationship with Sherlock and proof or no proof, the accusations alone could be damaging to the two Holmes Brothers. He couldn't tell John that though, of course. Better he didn't know. Mycroft also knew that he had been careful not to leave any potential evidence of his covering-up over the years. Could Jim actually prove anything? About anything?
"Fuck." the elder Holmes whispered, more to himself that anything else, but just audibly enough for John to hear and raise an eyebrow. Mycroft never swore.
"Quite." John responded in an echo of the previous comeback, and the two men sat in silence for several long minutes.
"I can track my brother's movements." Mycroft finally spoke, his voice shaky but convincing. "He is fitted with a..." Mycroft briefly wondered whether he should be sharing this information but quickly decided it was for the best, "... he is fitted with a tracking device under his skin."
John's eyebrows rose as Mycroft spoke. Sherlock was bugged?
"Sherlock knows, of course." Mycroft clarified, feeling it was necessary, "It is something that we both discussed and decided to do after the first time that Jim..." Mycroft didn't finish as John raised his hand to stop him, nodding his understanding.
"So..." John started, standing and walking over to the living room window, looking down at the few people and cars which were still outside on this chilly evening, "You know exactly where Sherlock is right now then?"
For a moment, Mycroft seemed as though he hadn't heard the doctor, not responding in any way for what felt like hours to John.
"I do." he eventually replied, raising himself up and crossing the room to stand next to his brother's flatmate.
John frowned again, his face reddening slightly as his temper began to flare.
"So why the FUCK, Mycroft, are we still here and not trying to help him?"
"That's a good question, John." Mycroft kept his voice low and calm, the complete opposite of how both he and John felt. "But you have to remember that, until just moments ago, I was under the mistaken impression that this what how things had to be. Both Sherlock and I have had many years to deal with our... 'situation'... and neither of have ever, until now, given any consideration to the idea that, in fact, we may indeed have a stronger hand to play than we thought."
John nodded and clenched his fists again. That damn Jim Moriarty. The man got his claws into everything. Bad enough that he had threatened both John and Sherlock at the pool, and numerous other people through his other nefarious schemes and plots but this... this was a step too fucking far in John's eyes.
"Right then." John announced, clapping his hands together once in a decisive move, "I think it's about time we fetched your brother back then and showed Jim Moriarty once and for all that the Holmes brothers will no longer be dancing to his merry tune... don't you?"