Disregard the Danger [BBC Sherlock - Johnlock, Warstan & Johnlockary]

All the fun

John insists that they not tell Sherlock they’ll be joining him in exile. They have a number of days to debate it, as Sherlock remains under lock and key -- no visitors allowed -- while Mycroft negotiates his future.

Mary assumes John doesn’t want to give Sherlock false hope, and she spends a while trying to persuade John that they will, without a doubt, succeed in tracking Sherlock down. Finally, she realizes that’s not it. “John Hamish Watson,” she says, “are you trying to give Sherlock Holmes a taste of his own medicine? Make him think he’s saying goodbye forever, then waltz back into his life one day in the future?”

“No! I --” John purses his lips. “Yeah, all right. Maybe a bit. He better not be getting engaged -- again -- when we turn up, though,” he grumbles.

She raises her eyebrows. “That’s not very nice.”

“Well, he won’t think we’re dead, at least,” John points out. “And we won’t keep him in suspense for too long. But I’d like to have a more specific plan before we tell him to expect us -- and for that, we’ll need to wait and see when you and the baby are ready to travel.”

He grabs both her hands, looking at her seriously. “Also, just so you know -- our daughter comes first. If she needs anything -- if you need anything -- if you change your mind --”

She smiles and kisses his nose. “You’re sweet. But we’re not going to let Sherlock run off on his own and have all the fun without us.”

He smiles and looks relieved. “Still. Let’s leave it as a surprise, yeah?” She shrugs and acquiesces.

* * *

Watching the two men together on the tarmac is painful. She hugs Sherlock briefly and promises to take care of John, but although Sherlock takes more time to say goodbye to John, the two of them barely touch. There’s a ridiculous amount of awkwardness and long stares and things left unsaid -- she can tell even without being able to hear them; the two of them are champions at leaving things unsaid.

Eventually, Sherlock extends his hand, proffering a handshake. Beside her, Mycroft sighs softly. “Oh, Sherlock.”

“I know,” she mutters. Even John seems stunned by the formality, but eventually, he takes Sherlock’s hand. “They’re the worst at affection. I wish they would just --” she pauses, remembering awkwardly who she’s talking to.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.” He says, noncommittally. Then, changing the subject, “You know, I could use someone with Eastern European expertise to watch over Sherlock. Someone with the rare capability of keeping up with him. I don’t suppose you’ll be coming back from your maternity leave for a while, but --”

She interrupts as she watches Sherlock climb the stairs to the plane. “Sorry, no. I think I’ll be leaving the service permanently, actually.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows shoot higher. “Settling down? Who would have thought.” He sounds disappointed. And worried for his little brother. She fights a brief impulse to hug him.

“I may be able to help out with this mission in an unofficial capacity, though. John and I both might, after our daughter is born.”

Mycroft eyes her speculatively, but there’s no time to talk just now; her husband needs her. Mycroft gives her a nod and walks toward his car, and she joins John.

The plane is still visible in the sky, John still squeezing her hand painfully tight, when Mycroft gets back out of the car, saying, “...simply not possible.” John lets go of Mary’s hand and walks toward him. “What’s happened?”

Mycroft, phone still to his ear, says, “Moriarty.” Then he gets back in the car, leaving them standing in confusion.

“But he’s dead,” Mary says. “I mean, you told me he was dead, Moriarty.”