Lessons Learned

Untitled Part 3

          John marveled at finding himself once again in the posh sitting room at the Diogenes club.  This time however, it was just the two of them.  Mycroft had waved away his usual bodyguards and invited John in to sit down in order to talk like two gentlemen. 

     "I realize the significance of this particular location," Mycroft began.  "I wanted you to know, I've given my actions of two years ago a great deal of thought. I have concluded that I am solely responsible for Sherlock's demise.  I hope I can atone for my involvement somehow, someday.  I also hope I can have your forgiveness as well.  I know I don't deserve it, but I hope..." and here he paused.

     John simply stared back at the man.  What did he expect him to say? 

     So instead, he said nothing. John could think of no real words of comfort for Mycroft as he kept seeing the words "You forgot the tea," running across his vision.  Sherlock wasn't dead.  He felt at quite a loss here. 

     He'd acted totally on autopilot as he'd gotten into the car in front of this mother's house and found Mycroft himself waiting for him in the backseat.  Mycroft wished him away to the  Diogenes and John had not batted an eye at the location. 

     Now that they were here, Mycroft Holmes seemed to be having an actual emotional moment with him.  The usually stiff exterior seemed to crumble right in front of him as John watched one of the only men in the world who had more power than the Queen of England come apart still holding a fragrantly filled teacup of bone china in his hand.

     Mycroft sighed and set the cup down before he spilled any tea and just sat in front of John.  The only real sign he was in distress came from the tiny quiver in his bottom lip as he sat stiffly.  John waited patiently for Sherlock's usually unruffled older brother to finally get to the point.  The emotional moment passed; Mycroft took a deep breath and composed himself.  

     "I have information about our old friend, Moriarty," Mycroft began. 

     "Oh?" John answered neutrally.  He waited a couple of beats allowing the other man to continue at his own pace.

     "We believe he survived the warehouse battle where you were held, and escaped to Eastern Europe.  He's been seen again in Paris and here in London as recently as last month.  We believe he's re-enlisted some of his former contacts and is now doing business stronger than ever."

     John shifted uncomfortably in his seat at this news.  "What does that have to do with me?" he asked. 

     "Once again, we have to call on your unique services to help our country,"  Mycroft intoned regaining some of his stiff upper lip.

     "My services?" John pondered what Mycroft might possibly mean. The last time he'd heard those words, he ended up wearing an explosive collar with the direct command he provide sexual services to his best friend.  He had a particularly bad feeling about what was coming.

    "We'd like you to make contact with an old friend," Mycroft said.

    For a second John was sure Mycroft meant Sherlock.  His eyes widened and he wondered if Mycroft knew the truth about the faked death.  But, the confusion didn't last long because Mycroft passed him a tablet with the face of someone he hadn't thought of in over two years, Trevor, the man who had betrayed him. 

     Whoever had managed to take this photo had captured a radically changed Trevor, all gaunt cheeks, and hollow eyes.  He looked like a pale copy of his once vibrant self.  John now saw in his former army buddy a man who looked beaten down and on his last wind.  He looked like a man who'd had to fight for every scrap of food he'd eaten in the past two years, a man who rarely saw the inside of a shower, and a man who looked more hunted than hunter.  The desperation shone through his eyes and straight into John's soul.  John's burning resentment for the man began to weaken as he scrolled through several other shots of his former friend.   His wasted, filthy body generated only pity in John.  Even though the man had screwed him over, he had ultimately been the means for his escape from London two years earlier.  John felt some gratitude towards Trevor in light of the modest help he'd given him with the collar, and the sight of him in such poor condition did something to his guts.