John leaves the hospital minutes later.
His stomach is doing somersaults and he has no idea what to think on what he had just seen between Molly and Stephen. He's so focused on it that he almost walks into an elderly couple on the way out, and they give him ugly glances as they brisk past him, but he ignores it and calls down a cab, which he practically falls into before settling himself in the seat. He leans his head against the window to think.
Molly and Stephen are dating?
Stephen has a...girlfriend?
And it's...Molly?
It's not as if Molly getting a boyfriend surprised him. No. After the Moriarty fiasco, he only would have been happy to see her going out with somebody else. But it's the fact that it's Stephen of all people who's somehow managed to find his way into her heart.
Molly definitely has a type, he's giving her that.
Also trust her to be dating someone who's basically a Sherlock clone with an american accent. John almost wants to double over laughing at the hilarity of it all. Maybe this is how grief manifested itself with her.
He hadn't even asked how long they had been together for; he had been too upset over how Stephen had behaved with her that he had had to excuse himself and he hadn't even had the time or even thought to make an excuse; he was still so thrown from how Stephen had looked at him moments before Molly had shown.
John sighs as he watches the world go by. Funny. He really had thought that Stephen felt the same way as he does. But of course he's only kidding himself. Trust him to have his heart broken all over again.
The cab turns down Baker Street, and John sits up as it stops outside his flat. As he reaches in his pocket for his wallet, his phone goes off and his heart picks up when he catches the caller id.
Tossing the money at the driver, he clambors out and is left standing outside the apartment block as the cab goes off. John glances again at the screen, but it's not a trick of the eyes, as much as he wants to believe.
He finally answers it after the fourth ring.
"Hello?"
"John, it's Stephen. I got your number from Molly - hey, what happened? You just left without saying goodbye."
John hesitates, "Yeah - um - sorry, I..." He leans against the brick exterior as his brain struggles to make up a lie. "I had to go in to work."
"But you don't go back to the clinic until next Wednesday. They've given you sick leave until you're sure you're well enough to go back."
John legs give out and he collapses into the chair outside Speedys.
How the hell did he know that?
As if reading his mind, Stephen quickly adds in, "Molly told me that."
He didn't tell her that, did he? No, he hadn't seen her for 7 months.
Unless…
John clears his throat when he feels panic suddenly seize him, "Oh - uh - right, yeah."
"Listen, John, I wanted to re-schedule our meeting at...Speedys, was it? I was thinking you and I could meet somewhere else - Molly's mentioned Angelos before. Maybe we could double date, would that be alright with you if I bring her? It's just that she hasn't stopped talking about you and Sherlock since you ran out of here."
John closes his eyes at the impending knot in his stomach; he hadn't even realised that Stephen had instantly assumed he'd be dating someone. He forces his voice to lift, "Yes, that's - that's fine, Stephen."
"Really? Great. Is 6 alright with you? I should be off the clock by then."
John agrees to it and he goes to end the call - he can hear the blood pounding in his ears - but Stephen says his name and he moves to wander over to his front door. Please let this be quick.
Stephen sighs on the other line, and his voice is low as he talks, "John, I...I wanted to apologise about what happened earlier. Molly can be a bit...enthusiastic sometimes."
He frowns, "Oh - uh - no, that's...okay."
"You sure?" He sounds so concerned. "Because I can speak to her if -"
"It's fine."
Though it definitely is not fine, and for a moment, he seems to think Stephen's caught on to that. There's a pause on the other end, and he thinks he's left, but he sighs again and his voice is almost apologetic, like he truly is sorry for Mollys brief show of affection which...John has absolutely no problem with whatsoever.
"If you're sure..."
"Yes, Stephen, I'm sure."
A longer pause this time, "I gotta go. I'll see you at Angelos."
He's hung up before John can get a goodbye out, and after pocketing the phone, he turns to grasp the brass knocker...only to hear the familiar sound of tires crunching against gravel behind him. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and slowly turns back, not surprised in the slightest to see the tires belong to a freshly waxed and incredibly expensive black car.
Of course Mycroft has to show up now.
As per usual, Anthea provies him with no detail of where they're going or what Mycroft has in store for him this time. After his very first encounter with the older Holmes brother, he had had a feeling that this wouldn't be the last time something like this happened to him, and he'd been flawlessly correct. Though as ever the dramatic the Holmes' were and are, a piece of him still lives off the mysteriousness of it all and Mycroft seems to unsurprisingly still be aware of this.
John can't help but feel the tiniest bit disappointed when he sees they haven't stopped outside an unknown location, but the diogenes club where Mycrofts office resides. Without thinking, he visibly sags and he can hear Anthea laugh beside him - whether it's from whatever's on her Blackberry or Johns blatant okay-ness with where he's been driven, he doesn't know. And frankly doesn't care to stick around to find out.
The driver goes around to open the door for him and in a matter of seconds, John's seated across from Mycrofts chair, a plate of small cakes and pastries placed next to him on a porcelain white dish. A cup of tea, just the way he likes it, is in front of him, which he's only taken a single sip from. Though he absolutely loves these unexpected meetings, he wants this one to end as quickly as it had started; his head is still aching from his visit to the hospital.
Mycroft is at his chair with his hands steepled and his eyes are firmly closed. John could almost call this a Holmesian trademark. He has a manilla folder at his left arm, but hasn't touched it since John stepped in and there's no name on the front to indicate who it's for. The knot in his gut suddenly tightens when Mycrofts eyes snap open to land on him, and he remains silent as he begins surveying John, his gaze trailing up and down his body, then to his ever trembling hand, then finally to his face, where he only then draws back and unlinks his hands to take the folder.
John hasn't spoken to Mycroft since the funeral - he still holds some slight disgust towards him for his flippant behaviour then - but, he has to admit, he's still impressed that he's able to keep up the theatrics even now; getting his tea right had always only been the beginning of whatever news he's about to deliver and though John has grown quietly accustomed to this, he still steels himself when he sees the documents.
Mycroft passes it over and John begins flipping through as he speaks. His heart instantly plummets when he sees a black and white headshot of Stephen pinned to the front of what seems to be an entire pile of backstory on the man. Even in this small picture, he looks to be Sherlocks exact double, and he would have figured that if he didn't know he had an american accent.
Mycrofts hands press together again, and his voice is low but soft, "Dr. Stephen Strange. Earned his degree in America 2 years prior, and worked the odd job here and there before relocating to London just five weeks ago. But you already knew that..."
John knows Mycroft's waiting for a reaction - he can see his brow raised from the corner of his eye - but he merely clears his throat and Mycroft bristles at having to continue on. He nods to the file as John finds the page on his personal history.
"With the help of Molly Hooper, he was able to secure a job at Barts Hospital, working as a Neurosurgeon. Within just a week, Stephen and Molly began a romantic relationship."
He draws a sharp breath. On purpose. And he smiles sweetly at John. On purpose, "Now, I know I haven't...courted anyone in my lifetime, but don't you think that's a little odd, Dr. Watson? Dating someone in that short amount of time upon meeting? You could even say it's...a little strange."
Johns eyes lift to him.
Mycroft's mouth is closed as he watches him intently and John realises he's still waiting for a reaction out of him. While he knows it's a bit odd, and his heart is breaking over it, it's not something he should be given a folder about nor told to in a very hush hush way. But that's Mycroft for you.
John fights down a laugh as he nods in agreement, just to get Mycrofts gaze off him, "Oh, yeah...yeah."
Mycroft glances at the folder but still keeps a steady gaze on John. He seems to be happy with Johns response, though he can never truly tell what Mycroft is thinking or feeling. Mycrofts sweet smile grows and his voice takes on feigned surprise, "He looks remarkably like Sherlock, doesn't he?"
That gets him.
John stares at Mycroft with his mouth slightly open. How...did he...surely not…
Mycroft's almost sneering at him now and John suddenly feels very exposed underneath his eye. With just the flick of a hand, he closes the folder and slides it back towards the older Holmes, wearing a silent smirk of his own as he regards his response.
Mycroft isn't taken aback at all. Like he had almost expected this.
He lays a thin hand on the cover, still keeping that curious tone, "Had enough, have we, John?"
John folds his arms, finally deciding to speak up, "You brought me here to see Stephens file. Why? Is he some russian spy here to get information on Sherlock? Is he one of your government goons dressed up to keep a close eye on me?" He leans forward, "You have to admit, Mycroft, it is prettystrange that Stephen just showed up out of thin air."
Mycrofts lips twitch in agitation, but he swallows it down and chooses to fire something right back at him, "As wonderful as it is to keep surveillance on you at all times, John, I think going as far as to have one of my employees pose as a respected Neurosurgeon would be quite the risk, don't you?"
John shrugs, "Not really."
Mycrofts eyes grow dark and for a fleeting second, John feels like he's crossed the line with the older Holmes, but then he smiles again and pushes back his chair to stand. He begins walking around him and John almost expects a trap door to open up below his feet. He's so used to Mycrofts behaviour, used to the banter and scrutinising, but he always seems to be kept on edge no matter how often he sees him, and he's just waiting for the day when Mycroft drops a bomb on him.
"I know I haven't been the most...shall we say, accommodating big brother, and I'm well aware of our differences at the funeral, but…" He pauses to sit back in his chair again, "I would appreciate it if you would believe me when I say that I have nothing to do with this."
John frowns, and eyes him for almost a full minute.
Mycroft is always so difficult to read; like Sherlock, he is incredibly guarded with his emotions and is very protective of letting anything to do with feelings show. Must be another Holmes trait that John will probably never understand. He finally gives up when he realises Mycroft hasn't moved in the time he's been waiting for a crack in his mask to make itself apparent, and when Mycroft sees him lean back in his chair in defeat, he smirks.
He knows he's won this, whatever it is.
John shifts uncomfortably in his chair, "You're not lying, are you?"
Mycroft chuckles, "You don't take me for an honest man, do you, John-?"
"Then why show me his file?"
His body language changes in a snap and he interlocks his fingers on the desk, his gaze level with Johns. His voice is steady as he speaks, and he waits to make sure he has Johns entire attention before speaking, "Stephen Strange isn't a dangerous man. But I must agree with you that it is, for want of a better word, interesting that he takes such an intrigue in you. Don't take offence to that, John."
John frowns, "I won't."
He suddenly remembers why he hates these meetings so much. Because he never gets a straight answer from Mycroft, and there's really no point in trying to get one. He just has to play the game.
Mycroft pushes the folder towards him, but John only glances at it, "Read it."
"I have."
"Thoroughly read it."
"Why? You said he isn't dangerous."
That sweet smile again. "It might do you some good to read something that isn't Sherlocks old magazines."
John quickly brushes his words off. He's getting better at it with every meeting, "What's in here that you haven't already told me?"
Mycroft goes strangely quiet as he looks away to open a drawer, and John feels his throat close up as he carefully lays Sherlocks scarf on the folders cover. He closes the drawer with a quiet 'thunk' and clasps his hands again, his gaze practically lasering in on Johns thoughts.
John stares at it, "W-How did you get that? I left it on his headstone."
Mycroft ignores him and presses his fingers on the fabric, sliding the folder forward, "You might want to consider going over this file, Dr. Watson."
John sits back in his chair, running a hand over his face and through his hair. He must be dreaming. He really, really must still be asleep at Baker Street. Either that or he's been drugged heavily from the tea. He feels like he's just been punched in the stomach and his mind is in sudden overdrive. All he can do is stare helplessly at Mycroft, but it's as if he doesn't register Johns current state, and he waves a hand as he pulls out his phone, giving John a sympathetic smile.
"Get some rest, John. You're going to need to be refreshed for your dinner with Stephen and Molly tonight."
John doesn't have it in him to fire a haughty response back; he can't.
He numbly watches Mycroft spin around so the chair's back is to him as he takes a call, and in moments, John's taken back out to the car by one of his officials, the scarf and folder gripped in his hands. Anthea doesn't glance at the items, nor says a thing about what happened in the office, and Johns eyes linger on the Blackberry in her fingers. He knows she's already telling him how he's taking the news.
His mind is still in a fog as he's dropped off at Baker Street, and he would have forgotten the folder if Anthea hadn't thrust it into his hands at the final second. The car speeds off down the street and John's left standing on the pavement in an utter daze.
He steps into the flat, gently closing the door behind him, and he waits for Mrs. Hudson to come out into the hallway to greet him, but he's only met with silence. His heart beat's loud in his ears as he climbs the stairs, and he makes his way to Sherlocks room, already winding the scarf around his neck. An instant calm washes over him when he feels the soft fabric against his throat and he falls onto the bed - it's been made, he realises, and the curtains have been pulled back, so light's streaming on the covers. His plate and cup have also gone from his night stand. Mrs. Hudson must have come in here when he'd been out.
He winds the scarf around his finger as he stares at the folder in his hand. For a long while, he considers going through it - Mycroft had said he isn't dangerous, but why had he been so insistent that John give this a second look? Had there been something he'd missed? Or was there actually some deep secret Stephen had been hiding from John this entire time?
It had been a little suspicious that he'd appeared in the cemetery, at Johns feet, and had behaved so warmly towards him when asking about Sherlock. And how he'd looked at him in the hospital...for all he knew, that could be a facade too...
John stares at the cover, his fingers hovering over the rubber band. He could do it. He could take it off right now and have read through the entire thing by 6.
But...does he want to?
Stephen isn't working for Mycroft. He had confirmed that. And nothing about him had screamed 'government official'. So..what is it then?
John glances down and his eyes stray on the scarf. Mycroft had given it to him when he had asked about what else could be in the folder that he hadn't already been told. But...why? What connection could the scarf have to Stephens files?
He takes it off and holds it in his palms, his mind working to figure this out with what little information he had to piece this together.
Stephen is linked to Sherlock.
But how…..?
John shakes his head. He's absolutely drained from last night - the last thing he needs is to be wondering on this. That's Mycrofts job. He stands and walks over to the bin, where he tosses the folder in and puts the scarf back around his neck, before heading to the kitchen to fix himself some tea.
If Stephen is a criminal mastermind, John doesn't want to know. He'd rather live in ignorance if it means having something good for the first time since the incident.
And besides, even if he is, that just means more danger.
And John wouldn't pass that up for anything.