Mycroft didn't go back up to visit with his brother while the Doctor looked over the bullet wound. This Doctor was employed by the agency for his discretion, the newer house staff had been sent home, except for Hilda the made that doubled as a nanny when Mycroft couldn't entertain Hamish. Everyone was trustworthy but the less who knew of Sherlock's return the better.
Hamish had made his way down stairs shortly after Hilda caught him sneaking from Sherlock's room. The boy just hated naps and Mycroft didn't feel like pushing this. He knew that as soon as John found out about Sherlock's return that it was a very big possibility no-a certainty that the ex soldier would want nothing to do with either of them.
The older Holmes felt a pang over the idea of losing his only nephew, but John would be in the right. For that reason Mycroft decided to allow the boy to skip his nap and Hamish was now laying on his stomach quietly coloring a picture with his crayons. Indeed father would have had a coronary at the idea of a young boy scattering his crayons and markers over the antique oriental carpet.
Ian happily nibbled on his peanut butter sandwich, Mycroft watched him fondly before his mobile rang.
~0~
John blinked past the darkness and the throbbing pain at the back of his skull, he glanced around trying to adjust to the light or lack there of.
Trying to bring his hands up he realized with sinking certainty he was tied to a chair, and locked in some cellar or storage room.
The disorientated doctor tried to recall how he got here, but the last thing he could remember was leaving the hotel to go to lunch. He remembered hailing a taxi and that was all he could recall.
Well this was different, at least he didn't have a vest of explosives strapped to his chest. He looked down just in case, relieved to find he was correct in this assumption. Still the last time he experienced a situation like this was back in the Moriarty days, in a darkened pool.
"Oh good Doctor Watson you're awake. I worried I'd hit you too hard." The unfamiliar voice broke through the silence and the jumble of John's thoughts.
"Who the bloody hell are you then?" John tried to pull on his wrists without luck.
"Sorry, here, how about a bit of light." The stranger switched on a light somewhere and the storage room lit up, the dim lighting was to bright for John's sensitive eyes. "Oh, sorry, you'll get used to it. The headache isn't much help I see."
"No, it's not but I've had worse."
"Yeah, how's the shoulder it still bother you these days?"
"Not particularly. Listen mate I hate being rude but can we cut the small talk and you tell me what the hell I'm doing here."
"Don't you know Doctor? "
John made a face closing his eyes he swallowed back rising bile, his headache was making him want to be sick. "Cut the shit Captain. You know why I'm here. I see you had your brat moved to the country under the protection of big brother Mycroft. Must be nice having friends in such high places. But I have powerful friends too. No worries, we're going to have a nice little family reunion."
"What the hell are you going on about?" John blinked past the pain and made out the blurry figure, finally his eyes adjusted to the light and he could see a tall blond man with cold piercing eyes. He wore a pair of green cargo pants and a black t-shirt. John didn't recognize him. However the amount of hatred and loathing the other man was emitting John could see this stranger knew exactly who he was.
"Come now Doc, it hurts that you can't recall such a pretty face. Although the last times we bumped into each other you were a bit preoccupied, well the first time you dug out shrapnel from my leg. Nice work by the way you can barely notice my limp and the second I was drugging you and strapping a vest to you. I guess you wouldn't have noticed me in the rafters but you would have remembered my sniper's little red dot."
"You worked for Moriarty? Well, hate to tell you this friend but you're a little late to the party. The psychopath is dead."
"Yeah? No shit! He's dead because Sherlock Holmes your little brother killed mine! He killed James! And now I'm going to finish what James started. I'll kill everything that has meaning-"
"Are you fucking mad! Moriarty is dead. Dead! There's no reason for you to do anything. He took my friend from me-"
"No, no no. Stop with the lies! I'm not an idiot Watson! I know! He's back! He's been hunting me for the past four years! I had my suspicions but it wasn't until earlier this week when they were confirmed. You think by having him move out of the flat that everyone's going to believe he's gone? I saw him, hell I took a good chunk out of his side with my 9mm. He's far from dead! It's fine. It's fine!" The taller man started to pace.
"Listen-Sherlock Holmes is fucking dead. He died, killed himself. Because somehow that twisted fuck Moriarty convinced him to. "
"That's what he wanted me to think! But all Jim's hard work everything has crumbled. Crumbled! And I saw him with my own eyes!"
"He's dead. You broke into my flat just because you thought what? We were hiding him in the closet?" John clasped his eyes shut.
"Well fine. Say what you want but soon I'll have you and your precious little Hamish here. We'll make it a party, he'll come then. And then I'm going to kill you and your son in front of him. I want him to know what it feels like to watch."
"Stay away from my son! You lunatic! Sherlock Holmes is dead!" John growled trying to pull his hands free, the strain on his shoulder was louder and more sharp but he ignored it. He had to keep Hamish safe, had to get out of here somehow.
"No, you see James told him he had to kill himself. He was supposed to die, and with his death the cop, the old lady and you were free to go on with your boring pathetic little lives. However he squelched on the deal. Now, it's time to call in the debt. You, the cop and the little old lady, but first I'll take pleasure in watching him shatter when I shoot you and your kid."
"My son has nothing to do with any of this! And you're wrong Sherlock Holmes is dead! He's dead you bastard!" The words still stung but John had to get his point across, his friend was gone.
Moriarty's henchman frowned briefly then a sadness replaced his cold glare, "You poor bastard you really believe that don't you?"
"It's the truth, now lets drop all this and-"
"I see, well it's a good thing I arranged this reunion, seems like he owes both of us."
John gave up talking to the madman, which was good because the other decided to leave the room without another word he switched off the light leaving John in darkness.
Well maybe if he was lucky Mycroft would think it odd that John hadn't checked in with Hamish. It's not like the British Government had any kind of security detail on him well not after Sherlock died. There was really no reason.
Hamish was safe, John knew this. Mycroft would never let anything happen to the boy. The ex soldier knew if he didn't make it out of this predicament that Hamish would be well cared for. Hell Mycroft had already set up a University fund despite John's protests.
It was interesting to see Mycroft and Hamish together, John could understand the ease in which Mycroft took with the young boy. The older Holmes had played the role of older brother and father to a very unwilling little brother. Sherlock needed a father and a mother but Mycroft was stretched so thin playing all roles that it ended in resentment between the brothers.
It seemed Hamish was the man's second chance at making things right. John remembered the good times he'd had at the Holmes estate. Mycroft had tried and in Sherlock's defense it wasn't his fault entirely either. Sherlock's father wasn't an easy man and he never truly got Sherlock. Mycroft was just a better actor at hiding his eccentricities than Sherlock.
It helped that Hamish loved and adored his uncle. John couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had lived how things would have turned out. What kind of uncle would Sherlock make? He smiled knowing that the younger Holmes would no doubt compete for his nephews attention.
Hamish would have loved both Uncles equally the boy got on with everyone. He was a lot like Mary in that way.
Still, John wouldn't go down without a fight! Obviously this man was off his rocker, Sherlock was dead, John had seen the body. The ex soldier needed to get free and warn Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. Had that last part been true? Was that the reason his friend jumped? Well if it was, then John wouldn't let his friend down, he would make sure they were safe. It was the least he could do, now if he could only get out of this damn chair.