John catches a cab to Mycrofts office the very next morning.

He's completely livid. It hadn't taken him very long to go through the file - not because his theory on Stephen being a criminal had been right, or that Mycroft had turned out to be lying to him and he really was working underneath the governments eye - neither of those had even come close to being correct.

Why?

Because aside from the two pages John had glanced at yesterday, and the basic information Mycroft had told him, the entire document had been filled with pages of crisp white paper. Initially, John had thought he'd been played for an utter fool - he had even gone to the length of holding them up to the light; maybe someone had written on them in invisible ink. But no. They were just blank pages - nothing more, nothing less. As soon as he had realised that, he had thrown it in the trash, and had retired to Sherlocks bedroom, where he slept soundly on for the remainder of the night. Though, come morning, when he had made up his mind about seeing Mycroft on this, he had fished it out and had grabbed his jacket before heading to the door.

Now he's in a cab, on the way to the Diogenes Club, the supposed file on Stephen thrown carelessly onto the seat beside him.

Because Mycroft keeps the flat bugged, he had expected a car to show up right as he had woken that afternoon, but of course Mycroft had probably predicted his reaction and hadn't bothered to send his own taxi service so John had had to take it upon himself to get his own way there. The cab driver glances at him every so often, but otherwise stays quiet and John clenches his hands together as he stares out the window, already making up in his head exactly what he's going to say to Mycroft. But his anger's making it a bit difficult to do so and all he can really come up with is how furious he is with the older Holmes brother. While he wants to understand why Mycroft would do this, he knows he can never argue with a Holmes as much as he tries - just when you think you've figured them out, they turn around and completely blindside you with something else. Really, John gave up trying to figure Sherlock out years ago and had simply accepted him, so why did he have trouble doing so with his brother?

John sighs when he feels the cab slow to a stop. Before he can open the door, the driver glances at him in his rearview mirror,

"You sure I got the right address, lad?"

There's not a soul in sight, and the front doors are shut as well as the curtains, though there are a couple of windows open on the second story. The only sign of life is the garden that runs around the building, where different types of plants are flowers are thriving in the warm sun. To any passerby, it'd seem abandoned, but to John, who's been here plenty of times in the past, he knows it just means Mycroft's too busy to care for such small things as fresh air.

John smiles and grabs the folder. He's already stepping out,

"Yes, thank you."

The driver shrugs as John gives him the right cash, then steps back as he peels off onto the main road. Once he's gone, John takes a breath and opens the door, already heading straight for Mycrofts office. He bursts in to find him with his phone pressed to his ear, one leg over the other, and when he sees John, he gives a small smile and nods for him to sit down, but otherwise doesn't look his way again and carries on speaking as if John isn't even there. John slowly lowers himself on the chair and only now sees the hot cup of tea on the desk, as well as a helping of chocolate lamingtons on a small white plate beside it, and John almost laughs aloud at the realisation that Mycroft had known he was coming in. When Mycroft doesn't move to end his call, John tosses the folder to him so it comes to a halt at his elbow, causing him to look up and frown in surprise.

Without saying anything else into the reciever, he snaps it shut and puts the phone away, folding his hands together as John clears his throat.

"I read the file like you told me to."

Mycroft studies him, "And?"

John smiles, "It's blank." His voice grows more impatient with every word and the smile slowly slips from his mouth as he carries on, "Every. Single. Page. Is blank. Well, except for the first two. You know, the ones with basic information on him? What, did you run out of ink for the other 16?"

Mycroft puts a hand on the cover and pulls it towards him, but doesn't take his eyes away from Johns as he links his hands again, "You're not wearing Sherlocks scarf."

As always when under Mycrofts gaze, he feels instantly laid bare. He reaches a hand up to find that he's right, and he sighs, "No."

"May I ask why?"

John blinks, "I - I don't know, maybe I forgot it - look, what does that have to do with this?" He motions to the folder, but Mycroft pays no attention to it at all.

Instead he smiles and leans slightly forward, "How was dinner? Had an interesting night, did we?"

Johns brows knit together. What is he on about? "...Dinner? It - it was fine, I guess."

"Mm. Stephen seems quite...taken with you, doesn't he?"

Johns cheeks go hot, but he doesn't reply and hurriedly leans forward to grab the cup. He begins to slowly sip it as Mycrofts gaze flickers across his face, and his fingers press harder together,

"Well?," he says briskly.

John just about chokes on his tea, "Well what?"

In a blink, Mycrofts body relaxes and he smiles again, waving a hand to the folder, "He has a girlfriend." His voice is slick, like he's taunting him, "Doesn't that make you upset? Or are you enjoying the attention, Dr. Watson?"

John doesn't realise his hands are shaking until he sets the cup back onto its saucer. He leans back in his chair as a jolt of anxiety rips through him. He knows Mycroft is watching his every move, but it still greatly unnerves him when he brings it to light, especially in instances like these where he would much rather prefer them be kept to himself. He swallows. He almost wants to lie to Mycroft, but he knows there would be no point whatsoever to even try, "I - I don't know." When he sees Mycroft raise an eyebrow, he quickly throws in, "It's not fair to Molly."

Mycroft laughs for a moment, as if he finds the whole situation amusing, "No, it isn't, is it?" He sucks in a breath, "Tell me. Why do you think Stephen is doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Behaving like Sherlock. Is it a cruel joke or a sick fantasy come to life?"

"I don't know."

John clenches and unclenches his hand. Mycrofts gaze is even but there's something more behind it, which stays hidden as he carefully watches John take all this in. After a moment, he finally draws away and reaches down for the folder, which seems to spark something within Johns mind. He had almost forgotten about it.

His lips are pulled in a thin line, "You don't really think I would have my men be so careless to print a blank document, do you, John?"

John nods to it, "It had crossed my mind."

Mycroft frowns. To Johns surprise, he tosses it back on to the desk and folds his fingers under his chin, "Let me say this so even you understand." He pauses as John sets his jaw. "Stephen Strange doesn't exist."

"So then who did I meet at the cemetery?"

Mycrofts brow raises. He's being strangely cool about this...but then he sees the flicker of hot anger in Johns gaze and he smirks to himself, deciding to throw his words back,

"I don't know."

"Why didn't you tell me that yesterday?"

Mycrofts smirk doesn't waver, "You know how I work, John."

John smiles wryly, "So you think I'm an idiot, is that it?"

"No. I know you're an idiot." Johns hand curls into a fist, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You know what I'm capable of."

Johns grip tightens on the arm rest as he fights down the urge to punch him hard in the face, and instead sits in his anger, letting Mycroft have the upper hand - as he usually does regardless. Mycroft gets up from his chair and clasps his hands behind his back as he picks up the folder again.

"Dr. Strange doesn't exist," he repeats. "He never earned a doctorate in America, nor is he a Neurosurgeon. In fact, he's not even from the United States."
Johns throat feels tight, "He's not?"

Mycroft shakes his head, "He's English."

He slips easily back into his seat and meets Johns eyes again, but it's like John's frozen in place. His head is reeling, so much so that he can't even enjoy the satisfaction of knowing Mycrofts men royally screwed up.

Mycroft either doesn't see this or ignores it entirely as he puts his hands together again and continues on. John forces himself to listen, but he's already finding it difficult to not fall head first onto the desk, "Like I said before, he's become very attached to you. We don't believe he has an ulterior motive to this, but since we have no background check on who this man is then…." He suddenly stops, and his voice lowers, "Has it ever occured to you, Dr. Watson, that perhaps Molly Hooper is not aware of this?"

John frowns for a moment as he processes Mycrofts words, but then it all dawns on him and he stands to head to the door. He doesn't even wait to see if Mycroft will call him back, but the older Holmes does nothing to halter Johns reaction, and instead picks up the folder once more to toss it in a nearby bin, smiling smugly as he takes his phone from his pocket to make another call.

A cab is already waiting for him outside the building.

John gets in, and is about to tell him the address, but the driver turns out before he can even open his mouth. His stomach is churning the entire ride there and as soon as it stops, he practically leaps out and hands over a few bills, racing inside like his life depends on it. Thankfully, there's no one in the lift and he leans against the railing as he presses the M button, momentarily closing his eyes to take a breather.

He almost collapses in relief when he sees Molly is stood by a sheet covered body, holding a clipboard as she checks him over. It's then that she looks up and as soon as she sees him, she frowns in surprise.

"John, what're you doing here?"

John's heart is racing as he approaches her, "Molly, I need to tell you something."

She smiles, but it's hesitant and she lowers the clipboard to her chest, "What?"

His eyes linger on the dead body, and the anxiety slowly creeps back into his chest, "Stephen Strange doesn't exist."

Her smile falls, "W-What?"

"I was just in a meeting with Mycroft. He told me that there's no one named Stephen Strange in their database."

She shakes her head, "John, what're you talking about?" He doesn't reply, and she lays the clipboard on a nearby table, "Who have I been going out with?"

John pauses. He glances at the lift to see if anybody's coming, but when he realises they're alone, he gently leads her away from the body and runs a hand through his hair, trying to steele himself for what he's about to tell her. With everything that Mycroft's shared with him, and with how Stephen has behaved this past week, he's pretty sure he understands it now, but even so, actually saying it aloud is another thing entirely and a small part of him is still heavily in doubt.

But he needs to get it out. Say it now.

John sighs, "Molly, I...I think Sherlock's alive."

In the past, this would have sounded crazy. Molly would have shaken her head and told him to stop doing this to himself, and that he should start seeing his therapist again. And John would have stalked off to go back to Baker Street, where he would curl under the covers of Sherlocks bed and not be seen for days on end. Mrs. Hudson would worry, would leave food outside his door, but he wouldn't open it even at the smallest knock and it would continue on in a neverending loop.

Now, the words have an entirely different meaning in the context it's given, and both of them seem to know that.

Mollys eyes widen, "But..But he's dead, we - you saw him.."

Tears well in Johns eyes. He's so frustrated with himself. "I know, I…" He shakes his head and takes a breath, "...He's been playing with us this whole time."

At that moment, the lift dings and the doors slide open to reveal Stephen in his robes and gloves. He takes the mask away from his mouth, smiling wide when he sees the two, and rips his gloves off to dispose of them in a small bin by a window. Molly quickly grabs her clipboard and pretends to be doing her work, but John clenches his fists as he walks up to him.

"Thought you'd stop off for a quick visit, did you, John?"

John grits his teeth and raises a fist to punch him in the jaw - Molly yells out behind him and drops her clipboard to race over to them both. Stephen stares up John, his eyes wild, but John's already going in for another hit, until Molly takes his arm and pulls him away. John's breathing hard, and his entire body is trembling with anger, but he doesn't shake off Mollys hand and instead stares Stephen down, who's slowly rising to his feet with his fingers trailing his cheek. There's already a pink mark forming.

Stephens leans against a table, his palm flat on the surface as he looks at him in bewilderment, "John?"

John snatches him arm from Molly, and points a finger at him, "You're a real asshole, you know that?" Tears spill onto his cheeks before he can stop them, and he can feel Molly's close behind him incase he lashes out again. But he isn't going to. Not while she's there.

Stephen glances from her to John and he shakes his head slightly, "I'm sorry?"

John wipes his eyes, "Yeah, you should be." He laughs, but it's cold and Molly watches as he takes a couple steps forward. She reaches out, but he waves a hand back and she stays put, readying herself for whatever he's about to do. He can feel more tears push through, but he ignores them as his voice drops to a whisper, "Do you have any idea how much pain you put me through?"

At this, Stephen suddenly straightens and he takes the mask off to throw in the bin, his eyes finding Johns. But John can't even look at him anymore; he's so overcome with resentment and disgust at what he's had to endure this week, from the breakdowns that "Stephen" has no idea about to him dressing up and flirting with him while Molly was in the toilets. All of it leaves a horrible taste in Johns mouth and he starts breathing hard again as the anxiety swarms him.

Stephen swallows, "John, I'm so sorry -"

"Leave it." He's feeling light headed. Dizzy, almost. He stumbles back and Molly just manages to catch him, before his knees give out and he falls to the floor. Stephen runs forward and he leans over him as Molly carefully lays him on the floor before rushing off to get a blanket to rest his head on.

John's vision begins to swim, but he's still able to feel Stephen cupping his cheek so he can look at him and his chest tightens when he sees his lips are trembling and his face is paler than usual. What had he done? What had they both done?

His hand raises to hold Stephens, but he blacks out completely before he can even curl his fingers around his.

"You're going to be alright…"

…..Sherlock?