August 1914
The first lists of men who had volunteered in the British Armed Forces came across Mycroft's desk that morning. He looked at them dispassionately; he had never found it easy to empathize with those he did not know, but what was likely to take place over the next few years was staggering even to him. The technological developments alone, many of which he had approved for military use over his long career, would mean carnage the likes of which had never seen before. He sat back, his mind doing the calculations involuntarily. The sheer number of men enlisted, combined with the number of soldiers from other countries, and the capacity each nation had for warfare meant the cost was going to be high, in every way it could be. Statistics was something Mycroft did understand, and the result of his preliminary calculations was enough to make him wish he had been able to retire before any of this started.
Shaking his head of these dark thoughts, he turned back to the list, forcing himself to read through each name. The Secretary of War was waiting for his estimations, how many men they would need in each branch of the service. Entirely unofficial, of course, but then everything Mycroft had ever done was unofficial. He made his way down the list, until he reached a name he never expected to see.
John H. Watson, M.D.
Dr. Watson was sixty-two years old; he could not possibly mean to re-enlist? The poor man had done enough for his country, and Mycroft was about to send for him to tell him so when his secretary knocked on his door.
"Mr. Holmes, sir? I have a message from your brother. He wants to come and see you as soon as possible."
Sherlock was here in London? "Tell him I'm waiting."
A few minutes later, Sherlock came striding into Mycroft's office, sporting a new goatee. He was thinner than ever, but his step was jaunty. "Good to see you, Mycroft!"
Mycroft winced at the obvious Americanisms that had crept into his brother's speech, "You as well, Sherlock. I take it the assignment is complete?"
"Just about," Sherlock said, sitting in the chair opposite Mycroft's desk. "I have arranged to meet Von Bork tonight to give him one last piece of intelligence before he returns to Germany. I convinced him it was of the utmost importance so he could not leave without it." He pulled a folder out of his coat, "And here is the latest information I have learned from him."
"Thank you," Mycroft said, taking it. "After tonight, then, Von Bork will be in our custody, and we will be able to get whatever we want out of him. You will be free to retire once more."
Sherlock smiled, "I am glad of that. This has been a harrowing two years. There is only one thing. I told Von Bork I would have a driver."
"Then you shall have one," Mycroft said, preparing to ring for a chauffeur. Sherlock stopped him with a wave of his hand.
"I have one already in mind, Mycroft. Would you mind sending for him?"
"Who – oh, you mean Dr. Watson. Does he have one of those motorcars?"
"The last time we spoke he said he was getting one," Sherlock said. "And I took the liberty of scoping out – forgive me, Mycroft, I spent far too long in America - his practice, and there is a car parked in the front."
Mycroft sent his secretary to find Dr. Watson, then turned to Sherlock, who fidgeted slightly before asking, "How is Watson, by the way? I take it you were watching out for him."
"Always, Sherlock. He appears to be fine. His practice is a busy one, and he maintained friendships with many of the Scotland Yarders. He even dropped by the Diogenes every so often. I think he suspected something; he always asked after you, although of course I could tell him nothing." Mycroft stopped. "Sherlock, I think it best you have some warning." He handed his brother the list of soldiers.
"A list of soldiers for the war?" Sherlock asked, his expression quizzical. "This will be a war to end all wars, brother. Many of these names will not make it home."
"There is one name there you will recognize," Mycroft said heavily. Sherlock read over the page, then stopped. His eyes widened as he reached Dr. Watson's name, first in shock and then in fear.
"Mycroft! How could he enlist again? He is two years older than I – there must be something you can do to stop this, or to ease his service!" Sherlock's expression was wild, desperate. Mycroft could not help feeling some sympathy. For the second time in his life Sherlock had spent years away from the only person he had ever felt a connection with, and now on his return, that man was leaving to fight in a war that could very well mean his death.
"I will try, Sherlock, but perhaps you will have better luck than I," Mycroft said, gesturing toward the door, where Dr. Watson was standing shyly.
"I received your telegram Mr. – Holmes!" The doctor's face broke into a wide smile when he recognized his friend. "I had no idea you were back. In fact, I had no idea where you were. Your brother was most uninformative." He threw Mycroft a dark look as Sherlock laughed.
"My dear Watson, we have very little time, so let us get down to it. You have a motorcar, correct?" When Dr. Watson confirmed that he did, Sherlock smiled.
"Good. You must drive me down to this suburb of London tonight, and be prepared for danger."
"After years of living with you, Holmes, I am always prepared for danger," Dr. Watson said dryly, and Sherlock laughed.
"There is that pawky sense of humor. Come, there isn't a moment to lose!" He all but ran out of the room, and Dr. Watson turned to follow him.
"Dr. Watson? May I speak with you, please?" Mycroft asked. Dr. Watson looked out the door after his friend, but the elder Holmes held up a hand, "He will wait. I have just received the names of the men who have enlisted for the Armed Forces. Your name was among them."
"Yes, I am signing up as an Army Doctor again," Dr. Watson answered. "What of it?"
Mycroft struggled to find the words, "Don't you think that you have done enough for Great Britain, Doctor? After all, you fought for our country in your time, and you have assisted in many a case of national importance alongside my brother."
Dr. Watson's eyes narrowed, "That is true, but I cannot simply watch other, younger men go to war while I have the skills needed as well. They can learn from my experience, and," his expression become sad, "they have families waiting. I have no one who will miss me. Surely it is better that I take one of their places?"
"You are wrong about that, Doctor," Mycroft said sternly. "I know of one person who will miss you very much indeed. "
Dr. Watson's expression softened, "I did not realize he would be back. I had no idea where he even was these last two years." He looked around Mycroft's office. "I take it he was doing something related to the war effort. Something preemptive?"
Mycroft smiled, "You do yourself a disservice in those stories, Doctor. You are quite quick-witted enough to keep up with him." Not necessarily with Mycroft, but after so many years, definitely with Sherlock.
Dr. Watson shrugged, "It wasn't a difficult deduction. I have not seen him for two years, and suddenly he returns, clearly changed and making a report in your office?" He looked shrewdly up at Mycroft, "I am not angry; I doubt anything he does could surprise me anymore. On the contrary, I am glad the Crown could count on his skills. God knows we could use all the help we can get." His expression grew mournful, no doubt thinking of all the young men who not make it home.
"But not necessarily yours, Doctor," Mycroft said. "I can have you serve your term out here, in England. Training doctors, or something of that sort."
"Mr. Holmes, if your brother can come out of retirement and give his all to this cause, how can I do any less?" Dr. Watson asked, and Mycroft was instantly ashamed. It wasn't a feeling he was used to.
"I will see to it that all your letters reach home without censorship," Mycroft finally said. There was nothing else to be done. Sherlock entered the office again, looking questioningly at them both. Mycroft shook his head slightly over Dr. Watson's shoulder as they shook hands, and his brother's face fell.
"Good luck to you both, tonight and in the future," Mycroft said, as Sherlock rallied himself for the chase and he and Dr. Watson left. Mycroft turned back to the list of servicemen, looked it over for another minute, then turned around and threw it in the fire.
Damn this war, he thought. And everyone who caused it.