Mycroft had ensured that the three of them weren't separated, well, to an extent. They were in a large room. In the centre, the government official worked with the two physicists as they poured over Sherlock's lab book. Their discussion revolved around whether it would be best to use the makeshift materials that the detective had used in his original experiment or if it would be better to use state of the art components. Sherlock would definitely have an opinion if he hadn't been otherwise occupied.
In a corner of the room, one of the team leaders, Doctor Blankenship led a team of technicians in conducting a full physical. It was pointless as far as the problem at hand was concerned. People thought Sherlock didn't have a verbal filter and, most of the time, he only managed to suppress about ten percent of the things he knew he shouldn't say. Right now, it seemed easier somehow to keep his mouth shut. It obviously had something to do with being in John's body and using John's brain - better impulse control. Still he had had about all the pointless poking and prodding he could stand.
Sherlock looked across the room to where John was undergoing the same examination, only his team was led by the brunette doctor, Doctor Grisham. One glance told him his friend was well on his way to snapping. The detective leapt from the examination table, ignoring the shocked cries of the team working on him. He strode purposely across the room and glared at John's team. "Back away," he stated with unacustomed heat in his voice. He could feel anger about to burst into flames, an uncomfortable feeling at best. Doctor Grisham gave him what was surely meant to be a soothing smile, but it only angered Sherlock all the more. "You and your team will give me and Doctor Watson some privacy immediately or I won't be responsible for my actions." One of the guards Mycroft had brought with them made a move in the group's direction, his cold gaze levelled not at Sherlock, but at Doctor Grisham.
"Of course," Doctor Grisham said, laying his medical instrument to the side. He spoke to his team. "Let's give these gentlemen some time to talk." As he and the group walked away, the guard resumed his original position by the door.
Slowly, so that John had the chance to object, Sherlock grasped his hand. "You looked like you needed a break."
The doctor gave him a shaky smile. "It was getting a bit... overwhelming. They're certainly eager."
"They're documenting everthing for after Mycroft whisks us away from them," the detective said, annoyance filling his voice. He looked around to be sure he wouldn't be overheard. "When it gets to be too much, just slip away to my Mind Palace. You can do that now you've found your way in."
John shook his head. "It's pointless. They'll just 'Doctor Watson' me this and 'Doctor Watson' me that, wanting me to do things."
"Ignore them. That's what I always do." Sherlock squeezed John's hand. He felt the urge to bring it to his lips and kiss it, but he fought it off. It was more difficult to do in John's body than in his own.
"That works for you, does it?" The doctor squeezed his hand back. He sighed. "Alright. I'll give it a go." He closed his eyes and let himself find his way to the flat. Slipping into Sherlock's Mind Palace had become almost second nature to him now. John didn't notice when his friend released his hand a few minutes later and walked away.
When other hands resumed their examination, John ignored them. He started wandering his way around Sherlock's Mind Palace. When he exited the front door to 221, he entered a long corridor. Along it were various doors. The doctor didn't open them, he felt as though that would be intruding on his friend's private memories. He didn't know if the rooms held only simple facts or things much closer to Sherlock's heart.
John lost track of time as he wandered. He could still feel his body being manipulated and he could hear voices, but it was all as if it was from a distance. He took another random turn down a corridor and stopped in his tracks. There was a door ahead that called to him. From around it came a golden light. The doctor tried turning away from the door, but found that, without concious movement on his part, he was stood in front of it, his hand on the door knob. John took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping inside. What he saw made him stagger. Every inch of every wall was covered in photos of him. He walked over to the nearest wall and found a photo of himself from what had to be their first meeting. He was leaning on his cane and looking frankly gobsmacked. As he walked around the room, the photos catalogued their lives together at 221B and whilst on cases. He turned from the walls and found a musical manuscript laying on a nearby table. Picking it up, he read the title, For John. He couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. Did Sherlock have a room like this for everyone he knew? Then the doctor's eyes fell on a sculpture. As he approached it he realised it was actually a hologram. It portrayed Sherlock, his hands cupping the back of John's head as he kissed him passionately. The doctor staggered back, disbelieving. Sherlock had feelings for him. Feelings that John fully reciprocated. It was difficult to fathom, but the holographic sculpture left no doubt.
"Doctor Watson? Doctor Watson!" Hands shook him insistently until he emerged, unwilling, from the Mind Palace.
"Um... Yes," John said, distracted.
Doctor Grisham gave him an odd look. "It's time for your MRI."