It's taken some time, but we have a system, know our boundaries and this," he shook his head, "this is none of my business and, frankly, none of yours." "Look," John placed his palms flat on Mycroft's desk and leaned in towards him, "Sherlock and I are in a good place right now. "No, but you are more finely attuned to his peculiar preferences." More finely attuned than Mycroft's henchmen, John supposed sullenly. I'm not looking through his socks and under his skull I don't even live with him anymore." "Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" Mycroft raised a brow. Far more self control now, if you can believe it of my rash little brother." John suspected that Mycroft underestimated the genuine affection and friendship between the two men, but now was hardly the time to split hairs. "Arresting a genius of a junkie was a windfall for Lestrade's career, it's why he's tolerated Sherlock all these years, since he got himself back together." How do you think he came into partnership with DI Lestrade?" In truth, John supposed he had never really thought about it, just envisioned Sherlock strolling into a crime scene one day and never leaving. "He was a wreck, obvious and foolhardy about it. "So… is this what it was like? All disappearing and secrecy?" True, he hadn't known the consulting detective when he partook in anything more recreational than a cigarette but as Mycroft had been willing to bribe a complete stranger just to check up on his brother, the problem must have been serious. His mouth opened and closed three times, unable to put to words any of the million thoughts racing through his head. "You never knew him when he struggled with certain… unsavory habits." Biting back a curse, he turned and stared at the older man. That gave him pause, his hand resting on the door knob. If he doesn't want to tell you or me what he's up to, he's a grown man and that's his business and your problem." Pulling himself out of the overstuffed armchair, he shrugged unhelpfully. "Look, I'm not going to gossip and speculate behind his back. John sat, pensive, for half a minute before he forced himself to stop. "It's possible though if he traveled, he did not book a ticket in his own name." To not appear in any of those places for nearly two weeks… "Did he take a case somewhere? He's gone to Belarus just to interview a convict, for Christ's sake." Easily seventy-five percent of his time was spent on Baker Street or at Scotland Yard or St Bart's. the day after you departed and he did not turn up again until two days ahead of your return." "I've seen him since we returned, he came 'round for dinner."
"You obviously know he didn't, so…"Ī weight settled briefly in the pit of his stomach, before logic dispelled it. "Why should he?" Mycroft shook his head and gave a mild shrug.
He waited for a punch line that never came. "Would you believe, John, I did bring you here to ask about your holidays?" They'd only just returned three days ago from two weeks with Mary's family. He had to forcibly bite back the sigh that time. "John," the angular man smiled thinly, gesturing him to a seat in his impressive office. Something that wouldn't frustrate him to no end, but somehow make him feel obliged to do the man's bidding. Which made him optimistic that maybe this was something very important, something John would be thankful Mycroft brought to his attention. Still making amends for the events that had severed any good will between the two men for three years, John supposed.Īnd in the three years since, he had respected John's space and, as far as John knew, his family's privacy to a reasonable degree. Well, if nothing else, Mycroft was growing more considerate with time and age. The young man, PDA in one hand, was offering him a wrapped sandwich with the other, not looking up. The British government waits for no man's stomach. "I don't suppose I could grab a bite before we…" the dark-suited man holding open the door exhibited no reaction, just stared John down until he acquiesced and climbed into the back of the car beside Mycroft's latest PA.
To Mycroft's credit, it had been the better part of six years since he had enlisted this sort of tactic, and John would have been more willing to forgive the unexpected maneuver were he not eager to use his hour lunch break to the fullest at the café down the street. Death, taxes, and Mycroft Holmes' bloody power complex, his utter inability to just call John like a normal person if he had a question for the doctor. There were few absolutes in life, John Watson thought, sighing resignedly.
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