Mrs. Hudson shook her head as she watched Mycroft leave. She hadn't heard what he said to John, but she knew how brusque he could be, and John was fragile right now. He was so lost without Sherlock, and then two days after the funeral, he'd been sacked! It was indecent! In the week and a half since he lost his job, he'd hardly spoken, hardly eaten, and only left the flat to fetch more liquor. Mrs. Hudson decided she'd best check on John.
As she started up the stairs, she heard a sound that took her by surprise: for the first time in several days, the shower was running in 221B. The old lady smiled quietly to herself and went back downstairs. John Watson was ready to rejoin the land of the living, and Mrs. Hudson could think of no better way to welcome him back than tea and scones.
By the time the tea and scones were prepared, the shower had turned off and Mrs. Hudson figured that John had had ample time to get dressed. Finding 221B still unlocked, Mrs. Hudson called out to John as she entered.
"I'm in the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson!"
The old lady was dumbstruck by what she saw. Twenty-four hours ago, John Watson had looked at her with bloodshot eyes and been wearing the same clothes for three days. Now he looked like a new man: clean jeans, a tucked in button-down (ironed, even!), and… oh no. Was he holding a bottle of vodka?
John watched his landlady's expression change from horror to relief as he said, "I was just pouring these out."
"Let me help," she said. She gently placed the tray on the kitchen table and then rushed over to John, kissing him on the cheek. John smiled in spite of himself.
With the liquor gone, the two of them sat down at the kitchen table. John's stomach rebelled a bit against the scones, but nothing had ever tasted as good as that tea. John explained the challenge Mycroft had issued him, and the opening at Royal London Hospital.
"Are you going to apply?"
John pondered it for a moment. "Yes. Without… the cases I've not got much to do, and it'll be good to feel useful again."
"Good. Besides, you can't depend on your landlady's kindness forever," she said with a wink.
After Mrs. Hudson left, John updated his CV and sent both printed and electronic copies to the contact on Royal London Hospital's website. Then he cleaned the flat from top to bottom. Molly Hooper had taken most of Sherlock's experiments after the funeral, bless her, but there were still papers and equipment to store, not to mention the detritus that had accumulated while John had been too drunk to see it.
And then there was the coat, sprawled out on the couch almost the way Sherlock himself used to. Where could John put it? Not Sherlock's room; he still couldn't handle the thought of going in there. The coat rack? Seemed obvious, but visitors might be unnerved by the presence of a dead man's coat. My bedroom? Well, it's not as if I'll be having a woman up there any time soon… and if I do, I can hide it before she comes over. John carried the coat upstairs and gently hung it on the hook inside his closet door.
As promised, Mycroft returned to 221B the following morning. He raised his eyebrow slightly at the sight of John sitting at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs and drinking out of a teacup that actually contained tea.
"My, what a difference a day makes," Mycroft said smugly.
John smirked. "Nice to see you too, Mycroft. Eggs?" John gestured to the frying pan. Halfway through cooking, John realized he'd cracked enough eggs for two.
"No thank you, watching my cholesterol," Mycroft said, taking a seat across from John.
John imagined Sherlock making a cutting reply and had to stifle a grin. "Yesterday you said we had more to discuss. Exactly what are you referring to?"
Mycroft retrieved a stack of papers and several flash drives from his briefcase. "This," he said, placing the items on the kitchen table. "These files contain all the information we have on Moriarty, 'Rich Brook,' and Kitty Riley." Mycroft spat out the last name as if it were poison. "I believe that with a thorough examination of the files, we can clear my brother's name."
John blinked. "And you're entrusting this to me? I want him cleared just as badly as you do, but I would think you'd prefer to do this yourself. Or assign Anthea or one of your other well-dressed minons."
Mycroft frowned. "If I were to attempt this on my own, it would be too conspicuous. My 'minons' are most trustworthy in issues of national security, but I prefer not to entangle them in my family affairs. Furthermore, as my brother's assistant you have access to all his case files in addition to this data. You alone have all the pieces of the puzzle, and you alone can put it together."
John surveyed everything Mycroft had given him. Several hundred pages, plus 5 flash drives holding 20 GB each… this is going to take awhile.
"Fear not, John," Mycroft said, taking in the shorter man's expression. "While my brother may have been your master in intelligence, in the area of tenacity, you are at least his equal."
With that, Mycroft sauntered out. Still picking at his eggs, John opened the first of Mycroft's files.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone!