"I don't understand what you're asking me, I had nothing to do with my husband's murder," the small teary woman choked out. She sat uncomfortably across a hard cold desk from Mary. Mary was studying her face, watching her movements. If there was one thing that could take Mary's mind off of the horror show that had become her life, it was delving into the horror show that was her job. Anderson stood behind them, leaning against the furthest wall with his arms crossed like a child, obviously annoyed with Mary taking some much needed control of the interrogation.

"Do you see what you're hands are doing right now?" She asked the woman.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You've rubbed your thumb over your hand you spoke, it's something we call a self-comforting gesture; it's an unconscious movement, made to reassure yourself that what you're saying is true. Now during this entire interview, you've done that about four times, each time you've done it you did not break eye contact with me. It's funny though, because when you were talking about actual memories your daughter confirmed, neither of those two happened. You showed no signs of lying. Ah," she continued, leaning in and studying the older woman's face, "see now you're showing contempt and anxiety, which only confirms what I've just gathered. Now please, Mrs. Knowles, it was a simple question, don't deflect it. How close were you with the gardener?"

John stood on the other side of the glass interrogation wall, watching as his fiancé do her thing. It was very interesting work she did- more than slightly less impressive than the deductions he had grown so familiar in his past- but definitely commendable. Unlike his previous partner, Mary's profession wasn't one of a kind, her field of study a growing area in forensic science. Lestrade stood next to him, with his hands in his pockets watching his colleague interview their prime suspect in the current homicide case. They were both waiting for Mary to finish up- Lestrade so that they could arrest the woman and John so that he could go home. As much as John appreciated Mary's work, hanging out in Scotland Yard still rubbed against raw wounds.

Anderson, realizing he was of no use any longer, left the interrogation room with a huff and joined the two men on the other side of the glass.

"She's a real looker there, John," he said , trying to make conversation. Although the two had never really spoken during the course of knowing each other, John had developed his previous flatmate's hostile opinion on the man.

"Yes, she's great," he responded, not looking over to Anderson.

"I mean, a real step up from your last one if you ask me, but that's a bit obvious," he was pushing it.

"Anderson, please," Lestrade was quick to chide, not only for John's sake but for his own affection towards an old friend. John closed his eyes- mostly in disgust. He was already on edge, and a coward making digs at a great man immensely absent to defend himself was making the bile rise in his stomach.

"Oh come on; it's a compliment, really. John's moving up in the world! From an egotistical psychopath to a bombshell lesbian, really I think-"

"You know what Anderson, no one give a rat's ass what you think." Everyone turned in the room to see Mary, taking the words out of the mouths of two thirds of the room's occupants. "And quite frankly it's both pathetic to mock the diseased, and to refer to me as an obviously incorrect sexual orientation. Quite piglike, if you ask me," John couldn't help smile at her remark, glad she came when she did. He wasn't sure how much longer he could restrain the punch to Anderson's face tingling in his hand.

Not done making Anderson feel uncomfortable and in order to prove her point, she strutted straight up to John, and silently wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him into a deep, highly unexpected kiss. With his mind previously engaged with a stream of two alternating themes of "don't cry" and "don't kill him", he barely had time to react. She pulled away with a victorious smirk and a playful wink.

"Ready to go home, darling?" she purred.

"Um. Yes. Quite." He finally sputtered out, filled with the same shock permeating throughout the rest of the room.

"Oh," she said, turning to Lestrade, "While you boys were in here playing, the woman confessed. I had an officer arrest her." With that, she grabbed her coat off the table, nodded to Lestrade, and walked out of the room.

"She-"

"Not a word, Anderson," Lestrade silenced him. He held the door open, "After you, John?"

"Are you going to tell me what the hell that was?" John asked, catching up with Mary who was almost at the lift.

"What was what?" She asked innocently as she pressed the down button to call the lift.

"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting our first kiss to have an audience."

She laughed as the doors slide open before them, "Were you not planning on inviting anyone to the wedding then?" They both boarded the elevator, her giving John a playful nudge with her elbow.

"Plus that wasn't exactly our first kiss," she said under her breath, pressing the 1st floor button.

"Yeah well, we both agreed that night didn't happen." He said, looking down at the floor. John was trying not to be upset, trying to allow Mary's lighthearted manner to sink in. The doors closed, giving them momentary privacy. She easily picked up on his repressed sadness and placed a hand on his arm.

"Hey, don't let that asshole bother you," she reassured him.

"It's not that asshole that's bothering me," he said, furrowing his brow. She nodded, understanding his meaning.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have had you come, we could have just met at the restaurant," she said, knowing that their current environment must be having a worse effect on him than anticipated.

"No, it's fine," he dismissed her apology, shaking his head, "I have to get over my phobia of this place," he said, exhaling shakily as the doors opened before them.

He had been sitting in a room where he promised himself he would never sit in again, at a desk he detested and a laptop he hadn't hacked for a very long time. He was prying in a way he was nearly ashamed to be prying, for reasons not totally clear to himself. He already got the information he needed, it was time to leave. There was no reason to still be sitting there. He had been ready to leave until a file on the computer, that damn file, caught his attention. Labeled with a name he'd been practicing avoiding for nearly three years.

J. Watson.

Why would Mycroft have a file about John on his computer? He shouldn't open it- not on any silly moral based principle, but because logically it was pointless. There was nothing in this file that would help him, no information he needed to find. But still, that file had stopped him in his tracks, offering a temptation he wasn't prepared to face. He had been sitting perfectly still, his hands frozen in action, internally debating with himself, when the startling buzzing of his phone in his pocket made him jump. He had pulled it out and saw an unrecognized number. The only name he had in his phone was "Arch Enemy", and he wouldn't have necessarily answered it for him either. With the call going to voicemail, he laid the phone on the desk next to the laptop, folding his hands underneath his chin. He stared down at the computer, at the little text reading the name he was forbidden to think.

The fact that he was spending so much time just debating it proved to himself he might as well see what Mycroft was keeping. His attempt to stifle the burning curiosity with familiar icy logic was cut short by an even shorter buzz on the table. A text message. He glanced down at the mobile.

5:32am

New Message

Rolling his eyes he opened the text. Giving it a read over inspired another onset of eye rolling. He had not expected yet another blast from the past this night, and he wasn't about to let Molly distract him from John.

John. Well, he finally thought that forbidden name; he might as well give up and open the file. He had already accepted that he was not going to leave the office without finding out what Mycroft had hidden away on him anyway. With a sigh of defeat, he navigated the mouse to hover over the icon. He was still before clicking, trying one last feeble attempt to pull himself away from this obvious impending mess. Another intrusive buzz from his phone, alerting him of a new message fueled him to take a gigantic leap across a boarder which, he hadn't known at the time, he would never be returning to.

There was a surprising amount of documents that came up; surveillance videos, pictures, reports, receipts, therapist notes, the list went on. He wasn't sure which one to click first, but he might as well make it fast. He decided to start with the folder labeled "Mary". He spent the next five minutes absorbing all the information he could, his eyes flicking across the scream almost hungrily. He had not expected to be so intrigued by what he found, but the more he read the more his wanted to know. He couldn't stop himself from being so interested; after spending three years with an almost spotless restriction of all things John, this binge opened up a floodgate of unforeseen reactions.

Another buzz tore his attention from the screen, and he decided to take this opportunity as a healthy break from all the information he was absorbing. He was unsettled by the reaction it was causing, and he wanted to allow a distraction to slow his mind down. He unlocked his phone and read the text.

6:40pm

It's about John Watson.

He inwardly groaned, obviously this distraction fell dramatically short of helpful. But any urgent news on John must be dealt with, especially in his current mood. He impatiently typed out a response, and then went back to the computer to absorbing everything offered about John's life. He almost felt guilty for getting this, being allowed access to someone he heartlessly pushed out of his life. But there was no amount of will power that could stop him now.

Another text announced itself, and he quickly picked up his phone and scanned the response with growing annoyance. He wasn't about to respond to such a pointless text, and until she had something worth saying he'd busy himself with something far more interesting. As he was nearing the end of the files, gathering all the information he had no idea what he was going to do with, the door opened to the office, and a very tired Mycroft stood in the door way.

"Sherlock?" He asked, obviously not expecting to find anyone in his office, especially not the brother he hadn't seen in over half a year.

"Morning, Mycroft," Sherlock answered, not looking up from his phone's screen as he typed out a message. When he finished he turned his attention back to the laptop, where he promptly deleted the John file before Mycroft could see what he was doing. It was better to get rid of such an intrusion of privacy, he thought with a twinge of unexpected protectiveness.

Mycroft entered the room, unsure of what exactly to say. He set his jacket and brief case down on the chair across from his desk and stood facing Sherlock. He wanted to ask what he was doing, but such a simple question would never be graced with an answer from his exasperating sibling.

"Do I need to get you your own computer as well, then?" he asked, referring to his providing Sherlock with the mobile he was currently entranced in. As surprised and borderline contemptuous Mycroft was to be seeing his brother so unexpectedly invading his privacy, he couldn't ignore the slight concern he felt as well, as he noted Sherlock's obvious sleepless night.

Sherlock had not said anything as he stood up from behind the desk and shut the lid to the computer.

"I thought you were in Africa." Mycroft stated after some silence as Sherlock slowly moved around the desk, lost in his own thoughts. He finally pulled out of his trance, and looked at his brother.

"That was a waste of time, we both know it," he told him, walking towards the exit.

A buzz from his pocket slowed Sherlock's departure, as he looked down at his phone to read a text containing information he had newly acquired on his own. He couldn't help but frown at the screen anyway, inexplicably unsettled by the text.

6:51am

Dr. Watson is engaged.

He quickly typed out an annoyed response as Mycroft spoke up again.

"Who are you texting?" he asked slightly agitated, causing yet another eye roll from Sherlock.

"You should know," he responded, leaving the room without turning to say goodbye.