Three hours after Mycroft's visit, John sat on a park bench with David Hamilton. David, a fortysomething man with a receding hairline, was wearing a dingy fleece pullover and rumpled khakis. He kept looking over his shoulder as if he expected something horrible to sneak up on them.
"So do you recognize this article?" John handed him the clipping about Rich Brook.
"Yeah, I recognize it. Didn't write it, though," David said, bouncing his right leg up and down like a piston.
"Did you try asking the Gazette to print a retraction?"
"Yeah. E-mailed, called, wrote letters, nothing. I wanted to sue them but I couldn't get anybody to take the case." David's leg bounced so vigorously that it reminded John of a jackhammer.
John cocked an eyebrow. "You mean you don't want to sue them now?"
"Journalism's a small world. If I go round suing everybody who slights me, I could ruin my reputation. It's probably just as well nobody would take the case."
Trying a new tactic, John said, "So do you know who wrote the article?"
"A guy named Mark Jessop," David said, still looking around anxiously.
"Do you know how I could contact him?" John asked as he wrote down the name.
David gave John a strange look then said, "Try a seance."
"Come again?"
"Jessop's body washed up on the bank of the Thames two days ago. Police said he jumped, but…" David gave a slightly longer glance than usual off to his right, then quickly focused his attention back on John. "Listen, Dr. Watson, I'm sorry about your boyfriend, but I think you should let this go."
David was gone before John could say, "He's not my boyfriend." Someone definitely didn't want him to talk to me, John thought as he hailed a cab. The question is, who? And why?
Angela White was a bit more helpful. She met John at a coffee shop and was decidedly calmer and more collected than David had been. She'd produced The Storyteller for the final five years of its run and confirmed that Rich Brook had never hosted the show.
"Who was the host?"
"On the show he went by Grandfather Tim, but his real name was Arthur Morstan. It was a joy to work with him."
John scribbled down the name. "Why didn't he speak up when Rich Brook claimed to have starred in his show?"
Angela shook her head sadly. "I'm sure he would have if he'd been healthy. He was diagnosed with lung cancer in January and passed away at the end of June. His daughter, Mary, is the executrix of his estate. Now that everything's settled down, maybe she'd be willing to help you get the truth out."
"I'm terribly sorry for your loss," John said in his doctor voice, "But," he said, losing control, "Why didn't anyone else speak up? Why did you just let Moriarty walk all over you?" Why did you let Sherlock jump?
Angela looked down at her coffee, remorseful. "I'm so sorry, John. Mary insisted that we keep quiet. Her dad was in no shape for media scrutiny and her mum's not well either; she was afraid that the media firestorm would've killed them both." Angela paused, dropping her head to her hands. "If I'd had any idea that Sherlock Holmes would… well, I don't have many regrets in life, but this is one."
As it should be, John thought. If he were the sort of man who hit women, he'd be tempted to slap Angela. Instead, he took a deep breath and pretended he was dealing with a subordinate who'd made a mistake. In a voice both compassionate and firm, he said, "You can help me fix this by getting me in touch with Mary."
After obtaining Mary Morstan's contact information and graciously thanking Angela White, John returned to 221B Baker Street. He typed up his notes from his interviews, and then pulled out his phone. I have done three tours in Afghanistan, I have been shot, I have run through the streets of London tracking serial killers, and I have survived 18 months as the flatmate of Sherlock Holmes. Why the hell do I still get nervous before I call a woman?
"Hello, may I speak with Mary... Mary, my name's John Watson… yes, that John Watson… if it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if I could meet with you some time and discuss The Storyteller? Yes, next Wednesday would be grand. Luigi's at noon? See you then!"
When he hung up the phone, John was grinning like a schoolboy.
A/N: Thank you to KrisEleven for beta reading this chapter!