Playing the Fool

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Chapter Two

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John sat in the lobby of the Diogenes club for an hour before he happened to run into Mycroft on his way to some important political affair. The pair of them spotted each other immediately and both of them adopted serious expressions that made onlookers shudder. Mycroft waved off two of his associates with only a passing word before approaching the patient doctor and raising an eyebrow.

"What can I do for you John?"

"You can stop meddling for once. Are little old ladies on your payroll now, or did this one just owe you a favor?" John held up the business card Hilda Spencer had given him. It was slightly bent now that it had been in his pocket for some time.

The look on Mycroft's face was unreadable, but there was some hesitation in his movements as he plucked the paper from John's hand. He flipped it over and examined the ink on the back. Dark eyes traced every curve of every letter before holding the card up to the light and repeating the process. He offered it back to the doctor with the same amount of hesitation he had when taking it.

"This wasn't my doing."

John scoffed and stood up from his well warmed spot on the lobby bench. "You're telling me you had nothing to do with this? Nothing at all?"

"I don't even know the context in which you received this. Obviously it had to be disconcerting if you're pointing fingers my way. What did Dr. Spencer say to you?" The tone of voice Mycroft used was equal parts curiosity and concern.

"His mother was the one doing the talking… and it was just…" John shook his head; this was not what he expected to get out of his trip to visit the elder Holmes. "I don't understand. She knew my name and she must have had the card ready before she sat down to talk to me..." Unless he had zoned out like he was prone to doing these days and was making an ordeal out of nothing at all.

Mycroft put a hand on John's shoulder. "Very peculiar. I suggest you get to the bottom of this mystery John."

"I'm not one for mysteries Mycroft…"

"Neither am I, but I do say we've both had our fair share." He removed his hand from John's shoulder and turned to enter one of the grand rooms that opened off the lobby. "Do tell me if you find anything interesting."

John watched him leave, exasperated that he had wasted his time. The only thing left to do now was give Doctor Samuel Spencer a call and see if he could glean how his mother had managed to arrange their conversation.

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John didn't know exactly how it happened, but he found himself sitting in a quaint living room that smelled of hyacinths, sipping tea while waiting for young Mrs. Spencer to finish organizing a platter of baked goods. Across from him sat a cheerful Mr. Spencer (who pleaded with John to just call him Sam) who was eyeing him with glee.

"I've been wanting to meet you for some time Mr. Watson. That blog of your is something special. My mother should have told you outright that we were fans of yours, instead of making you fret for days about that business card. When my mother spotted you across the park she got a little ahead of herself. "His light-heartedness was rather contagious and John found he could relax easily in this man's company. There was openness in the way he talked and moved that was very refreshing.

Mrs. Spencer, whom Sam had introduced as Matilda, came in and set a silver dish full of goodies on the coffee table whilst smiling brightly. Her shoulder length hair was nut-brown and pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck. She also wore a knitted sweater and slacks, which reminded John of the garments house-wives you'd see on TV would wear - except Matilda had about fifty more pounds then most the actresses. The weight suited her somehow.

"There you are gents! The fruit of a day's labour!"

"I hope you didn't bake all this on my account…" John said suddenly as he took in the sight of a dozen different types of pastries, scones, cookies and cakes.

"She's gone mad. I know, it's dreadful. Yesterday she made thirty different types of pierogi. How many pierogi can one man handle? I'll tell you how many – 52 before one vomits on one's self." Samuel said with a teasing smirk before Matilda came over and pushed at his shoulder playfully.

"I'm practicing my domestic skills. I need improvement, and John here gave me good reason to work on my baking." She turned to the military doctor and gestured to the platter. "Try a bit of everything and don't be afraid to tell me if it's awful. Sam does all the time and I haven't murdered him yet."

John watched the two interact in silence. It was obvious that they were very much in love and it repelled the part of him that wanted to believe that everything good in the world died with Sherlock. Yet, his mouth curled slightly upwards at the corners as he sipped his tea. These people weren't waiting for him to explode, or to roll over and die from grief. It was a nice change.

"So, have you given my mum's offer any thought? We could use a hand at the clinic… I'm afraid I've bitten off more than I can chew – and you have a knack for solving people's problems." He ran a hand through his short tawny hair before pouring himself another cup of tea. He took four lumps of sugar. John suddenly wondered who his dentist was.

"That was more Sherlock's forte than mine…"

Sam scoffed and flapped a hand at the doctor, "Naw! You can't believe that! There is far more to you than meets the eye John, Sherlock saw that."

The name didn't hurt so much when Samuel said it. It scared John a little, since he wasn't sure he was ready for it not to.

"I still have things to sort out."

"Of course! Come round to have a chat when you're good and ready and we'll sign some paperwork and talk some things out. Your resume is practically online, and it would be nice to have a local celebrity around the place."

It was like Doctor Spencer knew nothing of the latest news. John was more of a laughing stock than a celebrity. Something in his face must have shown because the brightness in Samuel's eyes diminished slightly. "There are many who do not believe everything the media jumps on John. I went to university with Sherlock, though he was two years ahead of me. He was the most brilliant man I have ever met - if a bit rude. I've seen him work out things that shouldn't have been possible. Tricks might explain much, but it can't explain everything. Besides, if he were making up cases I doubt he'd let you publish the ones he couldn't solve."

"True. He was far too arrogant…" John gave a shady grin. He recalled reading the annoyance in Sherlock's expression when the detective read the post about the man in the car boot in Surrey. "He wanted people to think he was infallible."

"You knew better though." Samuel winked and took one of his wife's cookies. "Oh, that reminds me, Matty and I were wondering if you played poker. Some chaps are coming round tonight for a game, but we're missing two and I was hoping to get at least four."

John politely declined and gave all the appropriate signs that he was planning on slipping out soon. He was still feeling a little dazed at how friendly the Spencer's were and how easily he let them seep under his skin. Entering their house felt like physiotherapy for the soul. Perhaps it was because there was absolutely nothing to remind him about Sherlock there. Also, whenever his mind began to wander towards anything depressing, Samuel would pull him into a conversation about football, new medical practices, politics or something similar.

When John got up to leave, Matilda made sure he went with a brown bag full of her baking.

"Take care, and come by anytime after seven if you wish. Samuel is desperate for help…"

"I'll see what I can do. Thank-you for everything." He was surprised that he meant it whole-heartedly. He zipped up his coat and shimmied on his shoes.

"It was my pleasure. Good bye John."

"Goodbye John."

His mind echoed Matilda in Sherlock's voice and made him freeze. By the time he snapped out of it he found himself staring at the Spencer's door closing before him with a soft snap. Leisurely he thought that perhaps he should stay. Perhaps he was moving on?

"Goodbye…" John whispered to no one, feeling a little juvenile as he did so. It didn't sound right in the open air. He wondered why he did it, yet a fragment of his consciousness already knew the reason; he never really said goodbye to Sherlock. He was always waiting for the moment the detective would walk out from behind a tree and magically turn everything back the way it was.

The doctor made up his mind and walked back to the door. He had played poker many times over seas and was rather good at it. After all, there was nothing to go home to. Not anymore.

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Author's Notes:

Not much plot development, sorry. Needed to do some set-up for the next chapter which is when things really kick off. I'm hoping the Spencer's get well recieved, they're going to be what get John out of his angst world and back into working again. I think that's what makes ACD's reunion so emotional... or for that matter, any hopeless reunion so powerful - the fact that the loss cuts deep, gets properly bandaged, then the reader is left wondering if there is a scar or an open wound festering beneath. You don't know till the bandaid comes off. The Spencer's are the bandaid.

Also, sorry if my fics are fraught with metaphors and similes. I breathe those suckers. Review if you can!I need feedback in all forms! This chapter wasn't proof-read (it's 3am, and I work tomorrow) so point and laugh at my mistakes or tell me something that you like. Love!

- GinTsuki