The morning starts out with a tentative knock on my bedroom door, and I roll over in my bed, squinting at the alarm clock on the bedside table.
10 A.M. Exactly when Mycroft promised to drop in for our conversation. Well done, John.
Getting out of bed in one swift move and tugging my dressing gown from the chair, I quickly pull it on and open the door. Fortunately, instead of Sherlock's brother whom I fully expect to see, I discover at the top of the stairs our extremely worried and flustered landlady.
"John," she says anxiously. "There's…"
"Mycroft waiting downstairs, I know," I finish her phrase, stepping out of my room and closing the door. "Sorry for not telling you about his planned visit yesterday, I was too tired and totally forgot about it."
"Yes, Mycroft mentioned that you probably had too much excitement yesterday. But there's one more thing, John: he is not alone. He came with another man, but when I asked for his name, he answered that it doesn't matter."
"Don't worry, Mrs Hudson, I'll take care of that," I reassure her and begin to go down the stairs. Mycroft never does anything without a reason, so if he deemed necessary to bring company, it must be something serious. So all I need to do now is to find out what he and his mysterious companion have to say.
But first things first: before my meeting with Mycroft I need to see Mrs Hudson to the doorway of her flat. She's our guardian angel, and if Sherlock's older brother has something important to tell, it would be better for her not to know that. Sometimes Sherlock and I become very dangerous tenants: there were a few times when our landlady's life was put in jeopardy because of some aspects in our cases, and we swore to protect her as best as we can. That's why I now pass the door to our living room without stopping and escort Mrs Hudson downstairs, promising en route to join her for breakfast after my conversation with Mycroft.
"Don't let him get you into trouble, John," Mrs Hudson says worriedly, standing in the doorway. "Sherlock was hurt already, and I don't want anything to happen to you."
"Don't worry, Mrs Hudson, I promise to be very careful," I reply warmly. "Besides, whatever he got planned would definitely have to wait. I accepted your breakfast offer, after all, and I can't go back on my word."
"I'm glad to hear that, John," she gives me her most encouraging smile. "Well, in that case, don't let me keep you any longer. Go talk with Mycroft, and come back soon."
"Will do, Mrs Hudson!" I call out, turning around and making my way back to the stairs. Time to find out what Mycroft has to say.
He is waiting for me in the living room and, as I expected, he's taken up Sherlock's armchair. I do my best to hold back the laugh – sometimes those two's sibling rivalry looks quite funny. But Holmes brothers also have another common trait – they are very observant, so, after giving me a quick once-over, Mycroft raises an eyebrow.
"Something you wish to say, John?" the older Holmes enquires calmly, twisting around the handle of his ever-present umbrella with his elegant fingers.
"Do I have to?" I reply, turning and heading into the kitchen: Mycroft's presence in our room doesn't mean I should skip breakfast. "I thought we were past the point of pep-talks. Coffee or tea?"
"You're making a remarkable progress in adapting my brother's habits, John," Mycroft remarks, leaning his umbrella against the armrest and letting go of its handle. "As for your offer, I'm not particularly thirsty, but I think someone here would certainly appreciate it."
"You know full well that Sherlock's way of life is hard to resist," I counter, reaching for the kettle. "Luckily, he hasn't managed to eliminate my sense of hospitality, so if your 'someone' would be so kind to specify his preferences…"
"A cup of tea would be excellent," Mycroft's mysterious companion joins our conversation, and I stop in half-movement, instantly recognising the man's voice. It's certainly him, there's no doubt about that, although it feels weird to find myself in the same situation as yesterday.
As if sensing my sudden uneasiness, the owner of the voice starts to move towards the kitchen – I can hear his footsteps coming closer. When he stops near the sliding door, I finally risk a glance in his direction. Apart from the tailored suit and trendy haircut, he looks exactly the same as yesterday – with an unmistakable sparkle in his eyes and a friendly, warm smile that lights his entire face.
"Good morning, Bill," I say simply. "If that's your real name, of course."
"I owe you an apology, Doctor Watson," the pseudo-cabbie says softly. "I'm not a taxi driver, but as for my name – it's real. William Deverough at your service."
Acknowledging his words with a curt nod, I turn away and resume preparing tea. "If you aren't a taxi driver, who are you, then? I'm just curious, so if you aren't at liberty to answer…"
"On the contrary," he interrupts, stepping into the kitchen and making his way towards me. "I am the one of many employees of Mr Holmes. Our yesterday meeting wasn't incidental: it was part of the mission I was assigned to. The result of the other part is on the table in your living room. It's a file, and I think it would be quite useful for you to know the information…"
"William," Mycroft interrupts, a note of warning heard clear in his low voice. "Although I appreciate your eagerness to share the results of your work, it should be done in a proper way. Therefore I suggest doing it after your honestly earned cup of tea."
"Of course, Mr Holmes,"William answers quickly. "Can I be of assistance, Doctor Watson?"
"Thanks for the offer, Bill, but I'm nearly done," I risk using his short name and he doesn't seem to mind. "Take a seat, I'll be with you shortly."
William hesitates for a moment, and Mycroft pointedly clears his throat, causing his subordinate to practically snap to attention and then quickly retreat to the living room. Unseen for both of them, I allow an amused smile to touch my lips. I'm quite used to Mycroft's commanding manner with his people, but each time when I witness it, I can't shake off the comparison to eager puppies which are ready to do anything to please their master. It's kind of ironic, really, because most of those people are very intelligent and self-sufficient, and to see them willingly abase themselves… I'm smiling, yes, but it's a smile with a touch of sadness hidden behind it.
But enough thinking: I have tea to serve, and a conversation to participate in, so, after pouring hot water into a teapot, I fetch a tea-tray and place there said teapot, two cups, a sugar bowl, a milk jug and a plate with biscuits. First part of my plan nearly finished, all I need to do now is carry the tray into our living room. Which I proceed to do, noticing on my way to the living room table that William hasn't dared to sit, and is standing near the left window, looking on the street below.
"There's no need to be so wired, Bill," I say amiably, snapping the blond out of his reverie. "You are my guest, so feel free to take a seat wherever you like."
William turns to face me, and Mycroft snorts quietly. "Undermining my authority, John? My brother should be proud of you."
"Just trying to be a good host," I reply, placing the tea-tray on the table. "Bill?"
"Thank you, Doctor Watson," he moves toward the table and reaches for his cup.
"Just John," I correct warmly. "If we are going to work together, call me John."
"Of course, John," carefully holding the cup in one hand, he pulls the chair out with the other and sits down. "And yes, I hope to be useful for you in your investigation."
I, in turn, take a seat across from him and reach for the other cup. "Let's enjoy our tea before getting down to business, Bill."
"Agreed," he nods for emphasis and takes a biscuit from the plate. "I have information that might be of interest for you."
Right at this moment Mycroft, who was watching us silently, raises up to his feet. "Apologies, John, but I must take my leave now. Mr Deverough has all the information you might need for solving this case. As for the topic which you wanted to discuss with me, rest assured that I'm already aware of everything."
"Somehow I don't doubt it," I mutter, and Bill does his best to hide a grin.
Mycroft politely pretends not to notice our reaction. "Have a nice day, gentlemen, and please keep me updated."
"Will do, Mycroft," I reassure, getting up and walking towards the door. "I hope you don't mind me walking you to the door; I still have something to tell you."
"By all means, John," the older Holmes replies, hooking the handle of his trademark umbrella over his arm and striding to the stair. I follow him into the hall downstairs and stop near the front door. Mycroft also stops and looks at me in inquiry, and taking a deep breath, I fearlessly plunge ahead.
"You said you already know what I was going to tell you, so I'm not going to waste your time repeating it. But I need to ask you something: assuming that someone in Diogenes club is involved, are you safe?"
The only indication of the older Holmes' surprise is a slight quirk of one eyebrow. "What makes you think that I can be in any sort of danger, John?"
"No reason," I say quickly, already berating myself for being so overprotective. Mycroft always has everything under control; why the current situation should be different?
Seeing my obvious embarrassment, Sherlock's older brother surprises me by reaching out and briefly touching my arm in a clear gesture of support. "I appreciate your concern, John, but you have nothing to worry about, I assure you."
"That's good to hear," I smile and open the front door, noticing two cars parked nearby: one is Mycroft's usual black sedan, and the other is a London cab – Bill's, I guess.
As if reading my thoughts, Mycroft nods towards the car in question. "Your personal means of conveyance for the time being, John. My brother is not the only one who has privileges."
"I probably should be asking you why you're so eager to help, but knowing your relationship with Sherlock… Well, thanks, anyway," I pointedly refuse to look at Mycroft, because saying such things in his presence can lead to dire consequences.
The older Holmes, however, surprises me with a warm and totally unexpected chuckle. "You are welcome, John. And I have my reasons to be helping you – ones that I'm not at liberty to disclose yet. But they will be revealed later, I can promise you that."
"That's good to hear," I reply, stepping out of Mycroft's way. Sherlock's brother takes the hint and steps out into the street. "Well, thanks for visiting. We'll keep you posted."
"Excellent, John," Mycroft says, already on his way to the black sedan. "Goodbye and I hope to hear from you soon."
"Goodbye, Mycroft," I call after him and remain standing in the doorway until the black car disappears around the corner. As soon as it happens, I close the door and go upstairs into our living room.
Meanwhile, Deverough has already moved onto the sofa, and now sits waiting for me with a blue leather folder in his hands.
"Mr H took his time," William remarks, opening the folder. "As I understand, we ought to go to the hospital soon, so how about taking a look at these papers, John?"
"Sure," I agree, making a beeline towards the living room table. Papers or not, breakfast always comes first, and I still haven't had it. Which is obviously not the case for William: his half of the table is empty and the cup, which I brought for him, is nowhere to be seen.
As if reading my mind, Mycroft's employee hastens to explain. "I hope you don't mind, John. I took a liberty to wash my cup, and left it near the sink."
"Why should I mind?" I reach for my cup and carry it with me to the sofa, not forgetting to grab a handful of biscuits. "Comparing to what I usually have, it's almost a luxury."
Politely leaving my last phrase unanswered, William waits for me to settle down beside him and places the folder in my free hand. "He doesn't have a family, John. He lied to you, probably because he wanted to get you on his side."
"Really?" I retort sarcastically. "And after that poisoned himself to make everything look more convincing. Is that what you are trying to say?"
"No," he answers calmly. "I don't think he's that clever. I'm just saying that his level of involvement in this case is much deeper than he prefers to show."
"Life with Sherlock taught me not to jump to conclusions," I reply, opening the folder and quickly scanning the page within. "Fortunately, Steve is in the same hospital as Sherlock, so asking him won't be a problem."
As soon as I mention Sherlock, my phone starts chirping in my pocket and I pull it out, expecting to see my flatmate's name on the screen, as if he somehow managed to hear what I just said. Needless to say, I'm not disappointed - Sherlock's message comes up, short and demanding as usual:
'Need you here ASAP. Lestrade couldn't protect our witness. SH'
Suspecting the worst, I key out the question:
'Is he alive? JW'
Sherlock's answer comes almost immediately:
'Witness – yes, but he's useless. Lestrade – yes, regrettably. SH'
Rolling my eyes upon imagining what Greg must have heard from my friend, I reply: 'On my way. JW' and, closing the folder, rise up from the sofa.
"Looks like it's time for your driving talent to come into play, Bill," I reply, noticing the questioning gaze of my new acquaintance. "There seem to be a problem at the hospital, and Sherlock's demanding my presence."
"Of course, John," William gets up gracefully and strides towards the doorway. "Your wish is my command."
Making a quick detour into the bathroom and my room, I catch up with him, and we descend the stairs. There's a short pause in the hall when I stop to grab my coat, and after that we're off to the street and into the car, heading to the hospital.
The journey doesn't take long: William is an excellent driver, and soon I'm getting out of the taxi near the hospital entrance.
William, however, stays in the car and rolls down the driver's window as I turn around to look at him.
"I'll wait for you here, if you don't mind," he answers my unspoken question. "Mr H told me about his younger brother, and I don't think it would be wise for me to interfere with your business right now."
"Yes, I think that would be the best decision," I agree. "I hope we won't be long."
He simply nods, and the window goes up. I turn around and walk to the door, preparing to deal with whatever awaits me in Sherlock's hospital room.
Needless to say, I'm not disappointed: Sherlock's irritated voice is heard even in the corridor, and Greg, it seems, is no less agitated.
Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders, open the door and walk in. Sherlock and Greg simultaneously turn their heads in my direction, then both start talking at the same time, which makes understanding them almost impossible.
"Will you please both shut up?" I say loudly, trying to cut through their indignant sqabble. It works, and, using the abrupt silence, I launch the next question, "Greg, what's happened?"
Sherlock huffs in annoyance and turns away, doing his best to look offended, and Greg looks away, clearly uncomfortable with what he is about to say.
"There was a successful assassination attempt, John," the DI finally replies. "A sniper's bullet through the window. Mr Lowsley is alive, but his brain is seriously damaged," Greg pauses, "Basically he's in a vegetable state, John. We contacted his family, and now waiting for their permission to switch off the life support."
Greg falls silent, and Sherlock turns to look at me, raising his eyebrow. "I hope you don't think Mycroft's yesterday visit was incidental, John? Something is definitely happening in his hive, and it's time to thoroughly shake it up."