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John's POV
Instead of getting Jim out of his room the day before the prior to the funeral, they had removed him in the middle of the night right before the funeral. The original specialist who was supposed to watch over the transfer and take care of the genius while he was unable to due to having a heart attack and ending up in the hospital. Finding another specialist who could be trusted took time. So it was really early at night, or extremely early in the morning, when he was finally taken out of the flat and to his country estate.
It had taken him a few hours after they left to unwind enough to sleep, an even then his dreams had been plagued by thoughts of Sherlock and Jim, both positive and negative, leaving him a bit unsettled when he wakes up.
After taking a hot shower, he makes himself a tea and settles into his armchair, staring at the chair across from him. He can feel the emotions bubbling up and he ruthlessly pushes them down. Now is not the time for them to be coming to the surface, he has to deal with the funeral first and getting himself installed at the country estate so he can take care of Jim. After his insane genius is working on waking up he will deal with his emotions, not before.
Finishing his tea, he gets up and goes to prepare for the funeral, slipping into the suit he keeps just for that purpose. It has been worn to many different funerals over the years, including his fathers, grandparents, a few school friends who died in a car accident because they were being foolish, and a professor he had gotten along great with. Now he was wearing it again to a friend's funeral. This time the most important friend he has ever had beside's Jim.
Once more he forces his emotions to the back, focusing on getting through the day.
One thing he is happy for is the fact that he is good at compartmentalizing his emotions. It served him well in the war zone and it was going to serve him well today.
Glancing at the clock, he heads downstairs to meet with Mrs. Hudson so that they can head to the funeral. The cab ride there is quiet as they both contemplate the man they lost. At the funeral the only people there are himself, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Greg, and Mycroft besides the cleric doing the service. Through the entire thing he stays in military at ease, eyes completely dry as he observes the ceremony.
When it is done, after everyone else has walked away, he bows his head silently for a moment before murmuring, "I will come back to grieve Sherlock, not today, there is too many people, but I will. You are the best friend I could have ever asked for."
Straightening his head, he turns to rejoin Mrs. Hudson to flag down a cab.
"Doctor Watson, a word," Mycroft intones as he steps over to him, moving away from his sleek black car.
He bites the inside of his cheek as he turns to face the older man, head held up as he falls into parade rest.
"I will continue to pay for Sherlock's portion of the rent since you are not a wealthy man and that is what he would want." The politician states haughtily.
Turning on his heel, he goes to walk away when the taller man continues, "There is nothing you could have done to stop the events as they unfolded."
Growling low in his throat, he turns and punches without thinking about it. His fist connects with the taller man's jaw, staggering him, and he snarls, "The one who could have stopped it was you, had you acted like a brother rather than a bureaucrat. I'll find a way to pay for Baker Street. I don't want your damned charity Mycroft. Fuck off."
Two men in black suits move towards him only to be waved away by the taller man who is eyeing him speculatively. Nothing more is said between the two of them, but the fury crackles in the air between them. A single nod is all he gets out of the older man before he returns to his car and slides in.
"John, are you all right?" His landlady inquires, hurrying over to his side to glance at his hand.
"I'll be fine, sometime tonight or tomorrow I will be leaving for that job I told you about. I have already put my notice in with the clinic. I'll see if I can get an advance on my first check so I can pay you before I go." He replies, anger still strumming through his veins.
"Oh John," she sighs in response, looping her arm with his.
They catch a cab back to the flat, and he packs his military duffle, closing his eyes and forcing the grief away. Once he is all packed and ready to go, he cleans the fridge and kitchen up. Trashing everything that could go bad from the experiments and tucking the equipment away after carefully cleaning it. The food that is good he offers to Mrs. Hudson, what she doesn't take he makes arrangements for the nearest homeless shelter to pick up. After all of that is ready, he gets his phone out and calls the sniper.
"Moran," the older man answers on the second ring.
"It's John, is there any way we can pay Mrs. Hudson in advance for the flat? I don't want him paying my bills." He knows the sniper will understand who he is talking about despite the fact he did not say a name.
"Of course, I'll get the money for the entire year. You can give it to her when I get there with the car. That will be at 10 pm." The sniper replies, "Hell if you wanted, I am sure he would love to let you purchase the entire thing."
He gives a small shake of his head, then remembers they are on the phone, "You know I won't accept that. As it is I hate asking for what is being paid for."
"It's a sure thing you will earn it, he is a pain in the ass worse than any I have ever met when injured. I do not envy you the task of taking care of him. The specialist gave me a list of things needed, if there is anything more you think we will need I will make sure we get it." The strawberry-blonde states seriously.
"Will do, I will be ready at ten." He replies with a smile at the wall. Those two always had preferred to use money in order to deal with situations when they could. "One thing sniper."
"Yeah?"
"No more terrorist ties, the rest I don't really care about, but none of that, that's my one condition." He states softly but firmly.
"Agreed, and I will let you tell him when he wakes up."
"That's fine, alright, definitely doable," he answers with a wiry smile, dealing with Jim is something he can do and in fact is looking forward to doing.
A moment later the phone line goes dead as the sniper hangs up.
The time between when he gets off the phone and when the sniper arrives he completely cleans the flat, hands off the food to the representative who comes for it, has dinner with Mrs. Hudson, and sits in his chair staring at the empty one across from him. He is relieved when he hears the doorbell, and heads downstairs to check, opening it up to find the sniper waiting on the other side.
"John," the older man greets him with a nod, holding out an envelope.
"'Bastian," he replies, "Just let me grab my bag and pass this on and I will be ready."
Nodding one more time, the strawberry-blonde steps within the door, closing it behind him and leaning against it.
Trotting up the steps, he grabs his duffle and carries it downstairs, locking the door behind himself. Setting the bag by the steps, he goes to Mrs. Hudson's door, knocking twice. A moment later she opens the door, her eyes full of emotion.
"You take care of yourself John, keep in touch," she orders him, hugging him tightly.
He hugs her back then offers the envelope, "This should cover the rest of the year and then some. I borrowed some money from a friend so I wouldn't have to worry about it. Please keep the flat for me."
She nods, "Alright John, take care."
He hugs her one more time before stepping away from the door to grab his bag before nodding to the sniper. Straightening, the taller man opens the door and they slip out. He does not know when he will be back, but this has been his home so he will return.
So this chapter has wanted me to write it for the last forty-eight hours or so, mostly because John wanted to slug Mycroft, now back to finishing Adjustments