John sat in the hospital room having been poked and prodded he was ready to return to his son. Moran was still out there the sniper was a threat and John hated this waiting around.
John huffed, his friend had used the excuse that John needed privacy to dress as a way to exit quickly. The soldier knew his friend was avoiding the inevitable yelling and lecture that was going to happen, even if John had to sit on the damn bastard. Sherlock Holmes was not getting off easily, of all the bloody schemes he's pulled this was-well…Brilliant.
Bastard for all his lying and deceit, John understood Sherlock's reasoning. He didn't agree with it, but he knew that the idiot had thought he was doing everyone a favor. Damn him, Sherlock should know by now he didn't have to do things on his own. That's what friends were for, to carry the burden and offer support. Friends protect each other.
Well Doctor Watson straightened his button up shirt, tucking it in slowly, careful of his broken ribs and various bruises. Well, he wouldn't let the bastard out of his sight ever again. Of all the ill chosen-John sighed rubbing the back of his head, he did need some tea and he needed his son. He wanted to get the hell out of this blasted hospital.
He glared at the doctor giving him instructions on wound care. John was a doctor he did go to medical school. This didn't help his temper, no he would need several cups of tea before he could speak politely again.
Anthea had shown her face sometime after the annoyingly condescending doctor had left to bring in discharge papers.
"Doctor Watson."
"Hamish?" John asked right away, his dark mood forgotten.
"He's alright sir. Mr. Holmes removed him from the house and he's been placed with a hand picked security team. He's in Cornwall. " John had a flash of the ocean and of a warm summer spent running on a sandy beach.
"Portschapel Beach?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes thought it would be best for Hamish. I've made the arrangements for you to join him there. Of course when you're ready."
John sighed, same old Mycroft just as bad as his little brother. "I suppose the man is too tied up to deliver this message himself." John didn't mean to sound ungrateful but damn that infuriating man and his brother. They weren't fooling him not one bit. Mycroft Holmes for all his power and smug intelligence was a coward.
Yes, when it came to discussions of feelings and anything involving sentiment these Holmes brothers were chickens. The older Holmes could stare down dictators and corrupt politicians but one angry ex-army doctor ready to give a dressing down and the man retreats.
Anthea kept her face expressionless and continued to read the incoming texts on her blackberry. Sometimes John wondered if she were playing angry birds or Tetres just to avoid answering his questions.
"Mr. Holmes regrets the security breach. Hamish was uninjured and the men responsible have been neutralized. He is dealing with the loose ends personally and will be ready to meet with you as soon as his business is completed."
"Tell Mr. Holmes I don't expect his business to take long and to stop avoiding me." Anthea didn't reply she only turned on her sharp heels and John quickly added. "Oh, and tell him thank you. For taking care of Hamish." Anthea looked up from her phone and gave a polite smile.
"Yes, of course."
John glanced around the room spotting his black jacket, relief and exhaustion started to sink in. Hamish was safe, John smiled to himself, safe and surrounded by Mycroft's security. Something Sherlock would have found annoying but knowing Hamish he was driving the agents mad with his questions.
His son would find the ordeal exciting and John looked forward to hearing Hamish describe the days events.
John also knew he couldn't rest easily until Moran was captured and locked away. The psychopath was out for blood and he wanted Sherlock dead by extension Hamish and John. John cursed the drumming in his head, he didn't understand the mad man's reasoning. How could anyone pledge such loyalty to Moriarty that even though the sociopath was dead (and he most certainly was), Moran was willing to continue with the plan.
Sherlock wasn't safe with Moran out there, neither was Hamish or Mycroft. They needed to find the sniper before he had time to disappear.
John needed to focus on one thing at a time, once this was all sorted he could join Hamish at the beach. And John would drag Sherlock with him, the Doctor didn't care what kind of fight his friend put up. Sherlock Holmes would not be let out of John's sight that and he looked forward to Hamish getting to know his uncle. Yeah, because Hamish thought of Mycroft as an uncle, speaking of the devil. Mycroft was probably hiding thinking John was so furious about the deception that he'd keep his son from the British Government. These Holmes, seriously always got it wrong when it came to the human heart . They may be experts on the brain but beyond that their logic was muddied and faulty.
John approached the door, he needed air, and Sherlock was still arguing with Lestrade. John would give them their space, Greg was most likely enjoying the return to normal. The DI had taken Sherlock's fall hard, it wasn't just the threat his superiors put on his job but the loss of a good friend.
Greg was a good man, he wasn't so suffocating as Mycroft or involved as John, but he did care for Sherlock. The DI was like the father Sherlock never had or wanted for that matter.
John decided to go up to the roof, Sherlock could text when he was ready, if he still had John's number that is.
Greg's voice carried down the hall "-and dammit Sherlock you will not go off on your own! I don't care what you thought! Next time you bloody will call me!"
John found the stairs and slowly started up, his bruises becoming more and more apparent. The young doctor hadn't felt so old in his life, these last few years had been hard.
First losing Sherlock then Mary and having to raise Hamish. Well at least he hadn't been alone in that. John pushed the door leading to the rooftop open, the blast of cold air was sobering.
He thought of the days after Sherlock's funeral, how things seemed so dark and no one came around except Mrs. Hudson and Mary. Sweet Mary, she would never know the consulting detective. Thankfully she'd taken John's word over the paper, Sherlock was a genius he wasn't a fake.
She'd sat with him in the darkness and made him eat and get out of bed. He thought of all the women he'd introduced Sherlock to, Mary would have been the one to stand the test of scrutiny.
Then she was pregnant and John felt the rug being pulled out from under him. He could read the fear in her eyes that he John Watson would be angry or feel tricked some how.
No, John wasn't angry at her but he was terrified. What did he know about raising a child, about being a father or a husband. He'd asked Mary to marry him because he was indeed a bit old fashion and he truly loved the woman. She was funny, smart and strong.
Then she died, he'd kissed her that morning and rushed off to the conference. He closed his eyes, trying to pin point anything that could have indicated something was wrong. How cruel was it that he was a doctor and all the ones he loved and held dear he was unable to heal. His sister, Sherlock and Mary. Well Not Sherlock now, no but unlike Sherlock Mary would never be returning.
If Mycroft hadn't been there, John took another slow breath of cold air leaning against the door he'd just came out of. If Mycroft hadn't helped him he would have become his father, lost to depression and bitter.
Mycroft. John held back a laugh, telling his friend's older brother that Mary was pregnant had been awkward and uncomfortable. Not that he was ashamed of Mary, no nothing like that. He loved her it was clear that by the end of the year he would have asked her.
No, it was something else that had John sweating in his checkered shirt and brown cardigan. He hadn't told Harriet yet, but he was going to send her a text, for some reason he felt he needed to tell Mycroft first. Odd, as it sounded he actually was concerned over what the older Holmes would say.