Chapter Text
Some Time in the Future
John chuckled as the black car slid to the curb and the door opened. He peered in and said to Mycroft, “I’m on my way to work. No time for a kidnapping today, even for a brother-in-law.”
“Au contraire, brother-in-law,” retorted Mycroft. “I’ve arranged it with Sarah. No work for you today. You should be getting a text from her right about” he paused as John’s phone chirped.
He checked it for the look of the thing. Of course, it was Sarah and his afternoon was suddenly free. He slid into the back of the car and shut the door. The car glided into traffic.
“No threats for old-time sake?” he asked Mycroft.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “You’ve survived two years of marriage to my brother. I’m not sure what I could threaten you with.”
“You do realize,” John pointed out, “that you don’t have to kidnap your brother-in-law to have a chat. Most people just pick up the phone.”
“Ah, John, don’t you remember what I said to you the first time we met?”
“'I’ll pay you to spy on Sherlock?' If you’re still offering, Sherlock insists I say yes so we can afford a holiday.”
“No, John, I meant ‘When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet’.”
John stared at Mycroft. “You do know I’ll tell him, don’t you? You can’t be unclear on my loyalties at this point.”
Mycroft waved a hand, airily. “Tell him anything you like. I just want to tell you something first. Something Sherlock doesn’t know.”
John sat back. “Oh, anything Sherlock doesn’t know he doesn’t care about. I’ve given up trying to know more than he does.”
Mycroft chuckled. “Oh, but he’ll care about this. This is about me. And Sherlock. But I think you are the one that will know how to use the information best. I have no objection to you telling him when and as you see fit.”
John sighed. Apparently he was going to be a pawn in the long-running game between Mycroft and Sherlock, again. All he could do was wait and see. He glanced out the window and stiffened. “Mycroft,” he growled, “Why are you bringing me here? I never want to see this cemetery again.”
Mycroft actually reached over and patted his arm. “I’m sorry, John. It’s necessary. But we’re going to the opposite side and Sherlock’s stone has been removed.”
“I don’t care. Now I see why you kidnapped me. You knew I’d never come willingly.”
“Please, John. It’s important to me that you understand.”
The car rounded a curve and a small hill blocked John’s view of the cemetery entrance and the path to Sherlock’s grave. He found it easier to relax but it still took an effort to control his breathing.
The car pulled to a stop and the driver got out and opened Mycroft’s door. John didn’t wait; he opened his own door and got out. Mycroft almost seemed to have forgotten John. He headed for a small granite headstone. He put his hand on the stone and bowed his head.
John joined him – close enough for support but far enough away to give him privacy. The stone read:
Beloved
Dorothy Berry
January 17, 1928 – October 10, 1978
Rest in Peace
John had no idea how long they stood there. Whoever Dorothy was, she was clearly important to Mycroft. But she died 3 months before Sherlock was born. Maybe Sherlock didn’t know about her. Something was odd about her headstone. He looked at others and back at Dorothy’s. That was it. The rest all said “Beloved wife, husband, father, etc.” Dorothy’s headstone made her seem complete – not defined by her relationship to anyone else. He wondered who chose the wording and why.
Mycroft finally straightened. He raised his hand to his face and John quickly looked away across the grass to the river. He didn’t know if he could handle watching Mycroft Holmes brush away tears.
Mycroft turned to him. “You know Mummy gave up her professorship once she had children. But that happened when she was carrying Sherlock. Before that, she didn’t need to, because we had Mrs. Berry.”
John couldn’t help but glance around for a matching headstone. Of course, Mycroft knew what he was thinking. “Don’t look for Mr. Berry. It’s best if he’s forgotten. I never knew him, of course, but what I could find out from the records was bad enough. But Mrs. Berry was the most loving person I ever knew.”
“What happened?” John asked. “She was so young.”
“Ovarian cancer,” Mycroft replied. “From the time I noticed symptoms until she was dead was just over 5 weeks.”
“You diagnosed her? You were what, seven?”
“I didn’t diagnose her, John. I was a child. I noticed her symptoms and pointed them out. Fortunately, Mummy and Daddy listened to sensible children and took her to the doctor. They admitted her straight to the hospital. I only saw her once more.”
“I’m sorry,” John whispered. For the first time, he could actually picture Mycroft as a child, bereft, alone, and probably wondering if he’d caused the disappearance of his beloved Mrs. Berry.
“Yes, Daddy snuck me into the hospital in the middle of the night to say good-bye,” Mycroft continued. It wasn’t really clear at this point whether he remembered John was there or if he was telling the story to himself. John’s admiration for his father-in-law jumped from “saintly patience” to “godly understanding.”
“She didn’t look like herself except her eyes. Her eyes still loved me. She told me to take care of my little brother or sister the way she took care of me.”
Suddenly, Mycroft looked John straight in the eye. “I tried, John, I really did. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have her gift for knowing what needed to be said. God help me, I’m the one who taught him how to lock his feelings away because I thought I was helping.”
John blinked. He could almost hear again, “I worry about him. Constantly.” and “We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship.” He had no idea what to say.
Mycroft smiled. “Don’t worry, John. I haven’t brought you here to weep over my failures. I brought you here to thank you for your success.”
“My… what, now?”
Mycroft chuckled, a little sadly. “John, I have worried about Sherlock since before he was born. But since your marriage, I don’t. He’s still infuriating and careless about his safety, but his heart is at peace. And the precautions he wouldn’t take for himself, he will for you. Did you know, we’ve downgraded your security status to protective only?”
“You, wait, really? But what about all those cameras Sherlock keeps smashing?”
“Oh, I still sneak in the occasional camera to keep him sharp. But they aren’t transmitting. So, John Hamish Watson, from the bottom of my heart, Thank You. You saved my brother when I couldn’t.”
“I don’t know what to say, Mycroft. Sherlock saved me. Do you remember what I was like that first night? And after Mary?”
“Maybe that’s the only way it could work – for both of you to save the other. But however it works, you have my eternal gratitude. Which probably won’t be quite as useful as it once was since I’m retiring next week.”
“You’re what?” John should be used to the Holmes brothers by now, but this conversation was getting away from him. “I didn’t think super secret spies could retire.”
“John, really. I occupy a minor post in the British government. Minor bureaucrats retire all the time. The tea ladies are planning a special spread. I’m sure I shall blush. The woman you know as Anthea is more than qualified to take my place. I may consult on occasion, but the government won’t miss me at all.”
John stared at Mycroft. Mycroft was his job. “But what will you do?”
Mycroft grinned. He had a nice grin, John noticed. Why hadn't he seen it before?
“I have no idea, John. But won’t it be fun finding out?”