Chapter 6 – Same time

"What do you mean Sherlock sent for you?" he asked almost a touch of panic in his voice and his face was slightly pale. He wondered if he was going to be sick.

"I'm sorry John. I didn't really mean to imply anything," Mary sounded sad and seemed genuinely sorry.

"It's ok. You just took me by surprise, especially after last night…"

"What about last night?" She sounded curious, but John shook his head.

"I'll tell you when you're finished. I want to hear about how Sherlock was able to get you to London."

She nodded her head slowly and took another sip of tea, thinking.

"There isn't too much more to tell. I got a message from Sherlock, a note really asking me to come and watch over you in case something happened to him. He was afraid that you were going to be in some sort of danger. Or at least the note implied that."

"Wait, you said something earlier, before you told me how you met Sherlock. You said you've been following me around for almost two months. When did Sherlock send this note?" John was beginning to feel anxious. He didn't think he was going to like her answer.

She was watching him carefully. "I got it about two months before he… before he jumped."

John went white with shock and then red with anger.

"Two...two months…he…he sent…to you…two months before…?"

His voice dropped to an angry whisper. "Are you trying to say that that arrogant, selfish bastard knew two months before that he was going to jump!" John crossed his arms. His eyes were smarting with unshed tears. How long had Sherlock been planning this, playing him for the fool?

Mary sat up, put down her cup and leaned in close to John. She placed a cautious hand on his arm.

"No John," she talked to him in a low and gentle voice. "I don't think he was planning on killing himself, not then. He was afraid someone was going to hurt him or worse hurt you. I think he was worried that he was going to die. I think he was afraid that you were going to die. He was asking me to watch your back in case he couldn't be there for you." Her voice was thick with unshed tears. John looked at her and remembered that Sherlock was her friend as much as he was his. He wiped his eyes with an impatient hand and nodded slowly. She kept her hand on his arm and continued speaking to him in a quiet voice.

"After he died, Mycroft sent me more information. He didn't tell me everything until I got to England. He didn't fill me in about Moriarty until I got here. I read some of the newspaper accounts on the internet." Both John and Mary looked angry when she mentioned Moriarty and the newspapers. "Mycroft was not happy Sherlock had involved me, but he told me he was willing to work with me as a finally request to Sherlock. I guess he figured if I was good enough for Sherlock…" she shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Neither one of us trusts the other, but for Sherlock we'll work together. With Mycroft's assistance I've been following you around. There hadn't been much of anything going on until yesterday, although Mycroft told me that he was getting reports that someone was asking questions about you. I think he was worried that the threat of someone trying to kill you was becoming greater. He didn't really tell me more than that. I was following you last night when those walking trees set upon you." She paused again, swallowing hard and her voice was bitter when she spoke.

"It's worse though than just some idiots trying to beat the crap out of you. I tried calling for back up but couldn't contact anyone. Turns out the back up team had been killed, probably by a sniper. When I was finally able to contact Mycroft he said he knew something was going on because we hadn't checked in. He was able to figure out approximately where we were because someone had knocked out all the CCTV feeds in that area. He's furious about that. He thought he had control over them. This is big. Someone must have been planning this. I don't know if you remember, but the one said he had questions for you."

John looked at her. He didn't care that Mycroft was worried. He didn't care that Mycroft was angry about his precious cameras. John was angry. He was angry with Sherlock for keeping him in the dark again and for not telling him what had been going on in his head. He was very angry with Mycroft. Mycroft, who followed his own agenda, who let Moriarty know all those things about Sherlock, all his secrets and then used them to bring Sherlock down. Mycroft, who acted as if the ends justified the means.

John wasn't saying anything and Mary could tell he was still upset. There was a question she had for him, but she wasn't sure if this was a good time. She shifted in her seat. John looked at her and could tell there was something she wanted to ask. He sighed.

'What is it? I'm not going to bite." He huffed.

"Why did you go that way last night? We were told you were going out with Dr. Sawyer. But you went in the opposite direction and in a hurry? What happened?"

John shouldn't have been surprised that she knew he was seeing Sarah for dinner, but it was one more thing to be annoyed about. And he was reluctant to tell her about the note he had been sure was from Sherlock, but she had been honest with him.

"Someone bumped into me and put a note in my pocket. I thought, well I thought it might be from Sherlock and I thought he might be back at Baker Street. So I was going there to see if, well to see if he was there." He said the last part in a rush of embarrassment. He looked at Mary hoping she wasn't thinking he was completely daft. But she was just looking at him, not giving anything away.

"Can I see the note?" she asked.

He nodded. "It's in my coat pocket." John's coat was hanging in the closet. Mary went to get it and pulled the note out of the pocket. She looked at it as she started walking towards John, but then stopped and frowned.

"You're sure this is Sherlock's hand writing?"

"Yes. Definitely," John said confused. "Why?"

In answer Mary pulled her mobile out of her pocket and open something on the phone. As she got closer he could tell it was a photograph of something.

"I took pictures of all the information I was sent, including the note from Sherlock. Can you look at the note and tell me if Sherlock wrote it?" her voice sounded shaky.

Still confused he watched as she pinched and zoomed on the photo bringing the image in closer. He took the phone out of her hand and looked at the writing in the note. Now he frowned.

"It's not Sherlock's," he said. Something weird was going on and he didn't like it.

"Do you recognize the writing?" she asked, trying and not succeeding to keep her voice steady.

"Yes," said John. "It's Mycroft's!"