I've told you before
My mind was thrashing questions around. I couldn't believe it. Who the hell was that? How did they know about Moriarty? What exactly was going on? I mean, the impossible and the probable didn't make sense anymore and instead intertwined, making things hard to examine and decipher. It had to be some kind of hoax. I shook myself. Just a joke. Maybe someone who works for Mycroft saw in some hidden camera that I was having a bad dream and told him about it? Who knows? But for now, I needed tea. Tea and a tall consulting detective. I had already spent fifteen minutes frantically worrying, I needed to keep calm.
After throwing a dressing gown on quickly, I made my way to the kitchen. Glancing into the living room I saw the man who I needed, poised comfortably in his armchair and then I saw Mycroft in my chair, sat in exactly the same way. I didn't want to disturb them so I put the kettle on to boil, being exceedingly quiet. Until I knocked a bowl of what looked like pickled fingers over on the floor. It hadn't taken him too long to start his bloody experiments again then! I didn't even know how to clear them up, I just froze. It was too much. Every little stress was piling on top of me. I thought that I had reached my optimum peak in both emotional and physical strength after all of the woes of Sherlock but my subconscious was clearly still battered, that text really had unnerved me. I looked back down at the small fingers that were scattered on the kitchen floor, feeling a little sick.
"Leave the fingers John." Sherlock spoke flatly.
I stepped over them, wondering what experiment could possibly require pickled fingers, but this was Sherlock, so it could've been bloody anything!
"John." Mycroft smiled, greeting me politely before resuming whatever heated conversation he was having. I perched myself on the sofa, observing Holmes the elder and younger quarrel about something I'd missed.
"It's the safest facility in the country!" Mycroft argued, his tone slightly impatient. That was to be expected, of all the difficult tasks he had to carry out, the most difficult one was definitely his younger brother, who always appeared broody in his brother's company.
"It's no safer than here." Sherlock said stubbornly.
"Sherlock, for heaven's sake, grow up! I'm offering the best possible prote-"
"And we decline!"
I didn't quite understnad what they were going on about, but I knew that my part of the conversation had been taken by Sherlock who appeared to be answering for the both of us.
"And if I were to ask the delightful Mr Watson here?" Mycroft smiled after saying that and Sherlock tensed a little. I could see the age-old sibling rivalry constantly changing the context of their conversations- it was always a competition.
"Um- ask me what?" Both men turned abruptly to look at me, as though they'd forgotten I was even present. The looks on their faces were polar-opposites. Mycroft had a mischevious smile upon his face, while Sherlock looked pissed off to say the least. Bit not good.
"I said no, Mycroft." Sherlock looked positively menacing, there would be no changing his mind and I think Mycroft knew that. He stood up, giving Sherlock a cold glance and then walking towards me, "John" he shook my hand and set off for the door. I watched as the man who practically ran the British Government completely disappeared.
"What was all that about?" I asked, my voice sounding vaguely innocent. I didn't want to be too forthright with Sherlock, his moods after Mycroft's visits could be particularly foul.
"He wanted us to leave 221B and remain idle in some protection facility in Yorkshire while they chased up your attacker."
"Okay.. so why can't we go?"
Sherlock gave me a look that silenced me instantly. His blue/grey eyes were gleaming with supressed rage that was being focused on me. He didn't even speak, he didn't speak for hours. He didn't move either. He just stayed in his armchair refusing to do anything. For a while I just sat and waited for some kind of answer, but I knew it wasn't coming. So I got dressed, I made tea and I proceeded to write in my blog- well, I didn't manage to achieve anything as the sound of typing clearly rattled the detective and he gave me another cold look. For someone who tries to convince the world he doesn't care for the trivial and pathetic drabbles of average people's lives, he was a wee bit of a hypocrite. He kept re-living a childish feud and he was giving me the silent treatment and not explaining the actual cause. That was pretty average to me. Finally, after nearly 4hours he spoke.
"I've told you before John, you don't need uniforms to keep you safe. You've got me." He said sternly, almost dismissively. From my own observation, I'd say that this mood was brought on by Mycroft, not me questioning his decision.
"I know."