John marveled at finding himself once again in the posh sitting room at the Diogenes club. This time however, it was just the two of them. Mycroft had waved away his usual bodyguards and invited John in to sit down in order to talk like two gentlemen.
"I realize the significance of this particular location," Mycroft began. "I wanted you to know, I've given my actions of two years ago a great deal of thought. I have concluded that I am solely responsible for Sherlock's demise. I hope I can atone for my involvement somehow, someday. I also hope I can have your forgiveness as well. I know I don't deserve it, but I hope…" and here he paused.
John simply stared back at the man. What did he expect him to say?
So instead, he said nothing. John could think of no real words of comfort for Mycroft as he kept seeing the words "You forgot the tea," running across his vision. Sherlock wasn't dead. He felt at quite a loss here.
He'd acted totally on autopilot as he'd gotten into the car in front of this mother's house and found Mycroft himself waiting for him in the backseat. Mycroft wished him away to the Diogenes and John had not batted an eye at the location.
Now that they were here, Mycroft Holmes seemed to be having an actual emotional moment with him. The usually stiff exterior seemed to crumble right in front of him as John watched one of the only men in the world who had more power than the Queen of England come apart still holding a fragrantly filled teacup of bone china in his hand.
Mycroft sighed and set the cup down before he spilled any tea and just sat in front of John. The only real sign he was in distress came from the tiny quiver in his bottom lip as he sat stiffly. John waited patiently for Sherlock's usually unruffled older brother to finally get to the point. The emotional moment passed; Mycroft took a deep breath and composed himself.
"I have information about our old friend, Moriarty," Mycroft began.
"Oh?" John answered neutrally. He waited a couple of beats allowing the other man to continue at his own pace.
"We believe he survived the warehouse battle where you were held, and escaped to Eastern Europe. He's been seen again in Paris and here in London as recently as last month. We believe he's re-enlisted some of his former contacts and is now doing business stronger than ever."
John shifted uncomfortably in his seat at this news. "What does that have to do with me?" he asked.
"Once again, we have to call on your unique services to help our country," Mycroft intoned regaining some of his stiff upper lip.
"My services?" John pondered what Mycroft might possibly mean. The last time he'd heard those words, he ended up wearing an explosive collar with the direct command he provide sexual services to his best friend. He had a particularly bad feeling about what was coming.
"We'd like you to make contact with an old friend," Mycroft said.
For a second John was sure Mycroft meant Sherlock. His eyes widened and he wondered if Mycroft knew the truth about the faked death. But, the confusion didn't last long because Mycroft passed him a tablet with the face of someone he hadn't thought of in over two years, Trevor, the man who had betrayed him.
Whoever had managed to take this photo had captured a radically changed Trevor, all gaunt cheeks, and hollow eyes. He looked like a pale copy of his once vibrant self. John now saw in his former army buddy a man who looked beaten down and on his last wind. He looked like a man who'd had to fight for every scrap of food he'd eaten in the past two years, a man who rarely saw the inside of a shower, and a man who looked more hunted than hunter. The desperation shone through his eyes and straight into John's soul. John's burning resentment for the man began to weaken as he scrolled through several other shots of his former friend. His wasted, filthy body generated only pity in John. Even though the man had screwed him over, he had ultimately been the means for his escape from London two years earlier. John felt some gratitude towards Trevor in light of the modest help he'd given him with the collar, and the sight of him in such poor condition did something to his guts.
"Is he still in prison?" John asked tracing a finger over Trevor's gaunt face. "He looks like shite!"
"Oh yes," Mycroft said and John felt a chill at the icy tone he used. "He crossed me once too often. If I had my way, he'd rot there for the rest of his life. But, I need to make a deal with him. Actually, you need to make a deal with him."
John looked up at Mycroft and encountered a stoic face, pursed lips and an arched brow. "It has come to my attention that he has vital intel regarding Moriarty's current whereabouts. You will infiltrate the prison currently holding the vile worm, and get him to tell me where I can find Moriarty's right hand man."
"You want to send me to the same place that did this to Trevor? This is a South American prison, Mycroft. I've heard horror stories about places like these. If a battle hardened fighter like Trevor is in this condition, I doubt I'd last very long. I've definitely gotten a bit soft living in the States."
"We're sending you in under cover. You are the only person he might trust at this point. We know he won't make a deal with me or any of my people. Even as beaten as he is, he still has some sliver of self-preservation. We believe he'll talk to you if he thinks you've been incarcerated in with him. You'll have to make him believe it. We've bribed the warden and he's going to house you in the same cell as our friend. You will get special treatment and some protection. We're authorized to offer Trevor a plea bargain for telling us where we can find Sebastian Moran and Moriarty. If he tells us where to find him, we'll get you both out."
"What if he doesn't want to talk? What if he doesn't give up Jim?" John asked.
"You'll have to convince him, John. Do you really think you'll ever be able to live in London as a free man with James Moriarty free? The only reason he hasn't come after you is that you've been under my protection since you've set foot on British soil."
"You've been….protecting me?" John asked. He'd barely had time to process the fact that Sherlock seemed to be stalking him, and now Mycroft had been looking over his shoulder the whole time he'd been back. He wondered if he would he ever be free of these infernal Holmes brothers.
"When he tells us where to find him, we'll get you both out," Mycroft said. "You will offer him his freedom and even protection. He'll take the deal."
"What if he doesn't want to talk? What if he doesn't give up Jim?" John asked.
"You'll have to convince him, John. Do you really think you'll ever be able to live in London as a free man with James Moriarty out there? The only reason he hasn't come after you is that you've been under my protection since you've set foot on British soil."
"You've been….protecting me?"
"I've had you under 24 hour surveillance since the day you arrived. I know everything you've been up to since you arrived."
Except a couple of interesting text messages, John thought.
" I believe that even after Sherlock's… Even after you escaped from him two years ago, Moriarty would still love nothing more than to sink his claws into you."
"Why am I so important to him or to you? Without Sherlock I'm a nobody, a washed up ex-solider turned family physician. I couldn't even get a ready-made family to work out in the States. I only came back for my mother and maybe a new start. Why am I so bloody important to a megalomaniac and …you!" John said hearing his voice rise. He knew he was inviting all the old frustration to rush back and wash over him. Perhaps he'd been a fool to think he'd ever really be free of it.
"You've always been important, Dr. Watson. Ever since you threw in your lot with Sherlock, you changed your destiny in ways that are still playing out even today. I knew this wasn't finished, and I knew you still had a part to play. I will find and destroy Moriarty. I'd like, this time, to ask for your help. I believe my fatal mistake last time was forcing you to conform to my demands. This time I'd like to appeal to your sense of justice and duty. More importantly, I'd like to offer you a chance to really start over. I can promise you a clean slate. I'd reinstate your medical license here in the UK. I can offer you a position of your choice at any medical facility you'd like to work in, and I'd pay you 500,000 pounds to restart your life in exchange for a few days of your time, maybe a week. Get me the information I need about Moriarty's whereabouts, and I'll cut you loose. I'll promise to leave you alone to live your life as you see fit, I give you my word."
"I'm not sure I trust your word, Mycroft," John said evenly. "I'm going to need a guarantee."