Mary and John had their promised date and it went better than John had dared hope. Both had enjoyed Star Trek as children and they had a flirty argument over their favorite captains.
"Come on, you can't seriously like Picard better! He's a Frenchman!" John said in mock exasperation.
"Portrayed by an Englishman!" Mary said, jabbing him playfully with her elbow. "I could listen to him talk for hours!"
"Yeah, because talking was all he did! Kirk was a man of action!"
"You're just jealous of him because he got all the girls," she said, feigning indignation.
"Right now, there's only one girl I want to get," John said, and leaned over to kiss her.
After the kiss broke, Mary cooed, "I had a lovely time, John. But I've got to get going – the neighbors are with my mum and they can't stay much longer. Can we do this again next week?"
"Of course," John said.
John had to work the next day, but despite the chaos and carnage of working in Emergency, he smiled all day long. He was so happy he didn't even get annoyed with the chemist who called three times to clarify his messy prescriptions. John's smile finally faded when he returned home and saw Mycroft Holmes sitting on his couch.
"Good evening, Doctor Watson," Mycroft said.
"Evening, Mycroft. What's this all about?" John said, tiredly. Nobody could deflate a good mood like a Holmes.
Mycroft smirked. "I couldn't help but notice you had a date with the Morstan woman last night. You are, I take it, planning to see more of her?"
"Yes, not that it's any of your business," John said, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms.
"Before you get too serious about her, you might want to read this." Mycroft stood, holding out a file folder. "I would hate to see you make a terrible mistake."
John gave Mycroft such a poisonous stare that the taller man wondered if there was anti-venom for it. John shouted, "Mycroft, my love life is none of your business! I am fully devoted to clearing Sherlock's name and I will not stop until everybody knows the truth! But I cannot spend the rest of my life weeping over him! This is the first time I've actually been happy since Sherlock died and you are not getting in the way of that!"
Mycroft frowned. "You are letting your hormones get in the way of this investigation!"
"She's helping us, Mycroft! She's agreed to speak up and she's got your people all over her! What more do you want?"
"I want her to explain why she had lunch with a former Moriarty associate last June," Mycroft barked.
John shot back, "I want you to explain how she had time to become a dangerous criminal while caring for a mother with Alzheimer's and a father with terminal cancer!"
Mycroft slapped the file onto the coffee table and shouted, "Dr. Watson, you are about to sleep with the enemy! You could derail everything we've worked for!"
John gave Mycroft a look that would vaporize titanium. He growled, "I don't need a lecture on loyalty from the man who sold out his own brother to a criminal mastermind!"
Mycroft leaned in close to John and snarled, "If any other man had said that to me, he would not see another sunrise."
Silence reigned for a few minutes. Taking a deep breath, the diplomat continued softly, "Sherlock forgave me for that, in his own way. Before he jumped, he gave me this and asked me to show it to you if necessary."
John's eyes went wide as Mycroft reached into his jacket pocket and handed him an envelope. Inside was a letter written in Sherlock's spidery handwriting.
Mycroft,
I am and perhaps shall always be infuriated with you for what you have done. However, after blotting out the sentiment surrounding this issue and considering it rationally, I admit that had our roles been reversed, I may have done the same thing. Further, I recall that you were of invaluable assistance to me during some of my more difficult experiences. To judge you solely on your recent behaviour is to display an ignorance of our past.
I remain forever your baby brother,
Sherlock
Mycroft looked at John, his face a mask. John looked up at him, fighting off tears, and whispered, "For Sherlock, I will forgive you."
"Thank you," was the barely audible reply, and a minute crack materialized in the Ice King's façade. It was gone as swiftly as it appeared.
John swallowed hard and regained his composure. He stared up at Mycroft intensely and said softly, "We both know that he would want me to be happy. Out of respect for him, please let this go."
"As you wish, John. I will not bring Miss Morstan up again. But I encourage you to use the information you've been given," Mycroft said. He glided out of the flat, leaving the file on the coffee table.
On his way up to his bedroom, John threw the file in the trash. After changing into his pajamas, he pulled Sherlock's coat out of the closet and then curled up on top of the bed with the coat over him.