Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I write for fun. No profit made here. Everything belongs to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffatt. Do not sue please.

Title: The Warehouse Chat

Summary: Mycroft is informed of the arrival of John Watson in Sherlock's life. He does what any brother would do. He protects his brother by finding out what he can about Doctor John Watson and has a warehouse chat with him.

Author's Note: The warehouse chat is from the scene in A Study In Pink, when Mycroft abducts John and brings him to a warehouse to have a talk with him. All the actual dialogue between the two characters is lifted from the scene into this story, with Mycroft's thoughts are originally written. Credit to the dialogue and scene of the Warehouse Chat goes to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffatt. I take no ownership, simply borrowing the dialogue to work with the scene and be the spaces in between Mycroft's internal dialogue of his own.

Feedback please! I appreciate it.

January 29th, 2010

Mycroft looks up from his desk as the door opens. No knock. The only one allowed to do so without knocking is his assistant. And coming inside, her attention on the blackberry in her hands, is indeed his assistant.

"Yes?"

"Your brother has been introduced to a possible flatmate, sir," she says, looking up briefly, her dark eyes meeting his before going back to her attachment.

Curiosity leaps into Mycroft, making his unbearably boring day sound like it may be better. He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands.

"Has he now?"

She nods. "They will be meeting to look at a flat tomorrow at seven."

"Do you have the name of this potential flatmate?"

She shakes her head. "Inquiries are being made, sir. You will know when I know of course."

"Of course," he murmurs absently. "Thank you. Anything else my dear?"

"Your mother insists that you and your brother are to come to dinner next week, before she goes on her lecture circuit."

Mycroft sighs. "I will make it of course, doubtful my brother will." It used to upset Mother, the strange fued between Mycroft and Sherlock, but he knows she is now just simply resigned to it. Resigned to the fact that her favorite son, and yes she did play favorites, would rather live dangerously as he does, than grow up and become responsible like Mycroft.

Then again, Mycroft had some danger in his life, but not that Mummy knew about it. Or if she did, she ignored it and ignored it rather well.

"I will let her know."

"And let me know the date, my dear."

"Of course sir," she says glancing up to see his nod of dismissal and then she leaves his office.

When the door shuts, Mycroft sighs and picks up the phone. Time to talk to the Prime Minister.

That will be a dreadfully long call, he only hopes it does not dull his desire to do his duty for his country.

As Mycroft hangs up the phone, sighing in relief. He would never tell anyone, but dealing with some politicians, especially the Prime Minister, could be taxing on the brain. They never truly understand what needs to be done.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

His mobile rings then, and he answers it.

"Hello?"

"His name was John Watson, sir," his assistant's voice says coolly. "He is a medical officer of the Royal Army Medical Crops. Rank was Captain."

Mycroft stills, raising an eyebrow at this news. Military? Oh my.. that may just work. A military man living with his erratic brother, this could be good.

But can he be trusted?

"Anything else on him, my dear?"

"Information is still coming in. There was a bit of trouble getting access to his records, but it should be complete and sent to you before the night is over."

"Thank you."

"Your welcome sir," she says coolly and Mycroft ends the call, contemplating this possible turn of events.

A possible flatmate for his little brother is a military man.

How... interesting...

January 30th

Mycroft picks up his umbrella, and his coat, preparing to leave the office when his office door opens and his assistant steps in.

"Dr John Watson and Sherlock Holmes have just arrived at 221B Baker Street, sir."

"I imagine Sherlock has had already moved in most of his things."

"Throughout the past couple days."

Mycroft is not surprised. The rent may be a bit high in that area, but that would not put off his brother. Even if this Dr Watson decides not to move in with him.

"I take it you read the file on Dcotor Watson, sir?"

"Yes, I did. How did you manage to get his therapy notes?"

She glances up at him then, and gives him a little ghost of a smile. "I wanted to be thorough, sir."

"And you were indeed. And that was quite the file on the doctor indeed." Mycroft liked what he read about the man, and knew that this potential flatmate of Sherlock had to be made of strong stuff, especially to survive the battlefield of Aghanistan. Even if he did not fight in the front lines, he still saw the battle so to speak.

"Shall we go, sir?"

"Ah yes."

"And your mother said dinner will be on Wednesday, at six."

Mycroft nods, and follows his assistant, closing his door. As they leave the building and get into his car, he contemplates on how he can get Sherlock to agree to go. If he could even do so. Sherlock avoided their mother, very rarely going to dinners, or her lectures. He would show for Christmas dinner without much protest, but those never go well. Mycroft imagined his avoidance is because of his unfortunate past dealing with his drug addictions, although he knew his brother would not call his past drug use an addiction. Mycroft did his best to hide it from Mother, to keep her in the dark, not wanting her to worry.

But in the end, she had found out, but as her way she was more furious with him than at her youngest, and Sherlock seems to resent him even more for not being to keep Mummy from finding out. Mycroft promised Mummy then, during her silent condemnation of his inability to keep his brother safe, to do what he could to protect and watch over Sherlock, even if Sherlock would eventually come to hate him for it.

The things one does for family.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Sir?"

"Yes, my dear?" Mycroft pushes aside the thoughts of his brother and mother to concentrate on what his assistant has to tell him.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade just asked Sherlock to come to a crime scene. Doctor Watson just left with him."

Mycroft closes his eyes, and all thoughts about a man who could possibly manage his brother flee. Apparently even a military man, albeit one that was medically discharged and suffers from post traumatic stress disorder, cannot be counted on these day. How disappointing.

"I see. Keep an eye on them of course."

She nods, and Mycroft mentally goes through the file he read of one Doctor John Watson. He will have to find a way to meet with the man. At some point, Sherlock will eventually not be by his side.

The opportunity comes when Mycroft is currently at another location, looking at the CCTV cameras in front of him.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"John Watson has been left behind by your brother at Lauriston Gardens."

Oh, Sherlock, that was not very smart of you.

Perfect opportunity though.

"I trust you two can manage with that," Mycroft says coolly to the the FBI agents who were standing quietly next to him, and without waiting for a response he goes over to the CCTV screens his assistant is next to him.

"Location of the phones in that area, please."

"Already searching for, sir," she says with another ghost of a smile. Then sighs. "Serial killer, sir."

"Oh my, Sherlock enjoys those," Mycroft murmurs. Unfortunately.

"I have the numbers, sir. He is about to pass one now."

"Dial."

She does so, but there is no answer. Mycroft waits patiently, and after his assistant dials three numbers, the CCTV camera shows that the man enters the phone box. Mycroft takes his assistant's phone, ready to see how the doctor will react.

"Hello?"

Mycroft smiles. Excellent.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Mycroft stands, the umbrella next to him as always, waiting for the car to pull in with Doctor Watson. He had a chair put out for the man, who no doubt must be tired, and hurting.

Truth be told, he was anticipating this little chat. Yes, he was. Something different to do. And even though he was disappointed that Sherlock was able to get him to come to one of his crime scenes, he still wanted to meet the man, to get a good measure on him.

To see if he was safe.

To see if he could be good for his brother.

To see if he truly did have 'strong moral principles' as his file suggested.

Anticipation wells up inside of him as he sees the car start to pull in. He wonders how the man will react to the warehouse. It bit dramatic, yes, but it suits it's purpose.

A man gets out of the car, with the tap of a cane.

"Have a seat, John," he says, figuring it would be best to make the man comfortable. No need to make a war hero of all people suffer.

Silence for a few moments as the man gets closer. "You know, I've got a phone," he says sounding irritated. "It's very clever and all that, but uh you could just phone me, on my phone."

He wants to smile, but does not. Already a bit of an attitude. That is good.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place." He pauses, and then smiles. "The leg must be hurting you, sit down."

"I don't want to sit down," Doctor Watson says instantly, tension radiating over him like waves. He glances down, and sees the left hand, the one with the tremor, balled in a fist.

Hmm.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening.

Mycroft grins, laughing, enjoying that. "Yes, the bravery of the soldier," he says warmly, thinking that this man is definitely not one to shake easily. Then again, time in a war zone will do that to most. "Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" He pauses, letting that sink in. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one," he says sounding a little confused now. "I barely know him, I met him yesterday."

"And since yesterday you moved in with him and are solving crimes with him," Mycroft says smoothly, possibly a little hard in his tone. His brother needs someone to keep him on solid ground, to put some common sense in him. This man before him could possibly do it, but how can he if Sherlock gets him involved with his usual trivia? His slight frustration with that makes his next comment seem a bit more biting. "Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?"

No biting on that.

"Who are you?"

Hmm.

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock, why?" Oh, nice question. "I'm guessing you're not friends." Mycroft mentally sighs. No, no we are not.

"You've met him," Mycroft says letting a bit of weariness come through. "How many friends do you imagine he has?" He does not wait for an answer. "I'm the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?"

"An enemy." I wish I was not, but that is what Sherlock sees.

"An enemy?" A little more curiosity there now... good? Bad? Not quite sure.

"In his mind certainly." Always in his mind. "If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch enemy." Mycroft smiles a little at that. "He does love to be dramatic."

"Well thank God you're above all that," Doctor Watson says sarcastically.

Mycroft stares at him. Did he just...? Just then the man's phone chirps, a text sent to him.

No doubt Sherlock.

John Watson looks at his message, not reacting at all. How unresponsive he can be. The man has a good mask when called for. Not as good as his own, but if he continues to spend time with Sherlock, John Watson will have quite a lot practice using his mask.

"I hope I'm not distracting you."

"Not distracting me at all."

Mycroft asks the question that most needs asking. "Do you plan on continuing your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

A firm stare in response. "I could be wrong," he says firmly, "I think that's none of your business."

My, my.

"It could be."

"It really couldn't," he insists firmly. Mycroft sees it. Already there. Barely known him for twenty four hours.. and the loyalty is there. Not quite firm yet, but it's forming with each passing minute.

Fantastic. Now the test. To see if that loyalty forming can waver. A test on 'moral principles'.

"If you do move into um," Mycroft reaches into his coat to retrieve his book, although he has he address memorized, "221B Baker Street, I would be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis, to ease your way."

Another stare. "Why?"

Ohh. Nice. Very nice, indeed.

"Because you're not a wealthy man."

"In exchange for what?"

Forcing him to say it. Good.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet," Mycroft sees the rejection before he continues, but he does. Inwardly however he is pleased. "Nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

Oh his stare would shame any other man. But Mycroft is not any other man.

"Why?" Doctor Watson demands, in a firm tone again.

Mycroft decides to let his concern show, to show a bit of his inner worry. "I worry about him, constantly," he says with meaning. The worry is always there, simmering. Worry that one day he will be too late to save his brother. Worry that he will be too late, and that he will be unable to stop the devestation Sherlock's death would bring to Mummy.

"That's nice of you."

Mycroft instantly covers up his worry then. "But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern would go unmentioned." He raises his umbrella, staring at the tip momentarily. "We have what you might call a difficult relationship."

Difficult is putting it mildly.

Another chirp then. Sherlock is getting impatient. Mycroft almost smiles as John checks the message.

Then without looking up from the message; "No." Final. Definite.

Mycroft tries however. "I haven't even mentioned a figure."

Once again another stare. "Don't bother."

Mycroft chuckles, honestly happy. Moral principles, indeed. And already loyal, so quickly. Good, very good. Perhaps he was wrong on his earlier thought.

"You're very loyal, very quickly."

"No, I'm not," Doctor Watson protests but not with much intensity to it, "I'm just not interested."

Mycroft hesitates, then stands firm to test one more time. He reaches into his coat pocket to get his book again, and goes straight for the nerve. "Trust issues, it says here."

"What's that?" Oh, he shook him. So he can be shaken.

"Could it be you decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?" Oh my, he sounds a little.. confused.

Sherlock does that to people.

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?"

Ah, the nerve is fully pressed.

Mycroft glances up at him, sees the banked fury behind his eyes, the sizing up that Doctor Watson is doing, and he gets the idea that the Doctor is debating about hitting him.

But no, to his surprise, he turns and starts to walk away. The hand with the tremor, still clenched in a fist.

He has to finish here. Has to get everything out in the open. He has to see, see if this man could be the one to save his brother.

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him." Like that ghastly Sgt Donovan. Altough she of all people should not cast stones. "But I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen."

The man stops in front of him, back rigid, the tension still thick around him. And then he turns around quickly.

"My what?"

"Show me."

Second pass. Then the doctor raises his hand. Impressed he's done so despite how the conversation here has gone, Mycroft steps toward him and reaches out.

"Don't," the Doctor protests quietly, pulling his hand back.

Mycroft simply offers a smile and raises an eyebrow. John Watson does however comply, and he looks at the hand.

Still. No tremor at all. Simply wonderful.

"Remarkable."

"What is?" John Watson nearly snatches his hand back as if he burnt it.

Mycroft turns around, trying to steady his thoughts. So many possibly fantastic things happening! So many things falling into place!

"Most people blunder around this city, and all they see are streets, shops and cars," he muses aloud. "When you walk with Sherlock Holmes you see the battlefield." He turns quickly to face John Watson. "You've seen it already, haven't you?" Rhetorical question of course.

"What's wrong with my hand?" He demands.

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist," Idiotic woman, "thinks it's post traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."

"Who the hell are you?" The doctor asks in a nearly choked voice, and Mycroft decides to calmly bring his thoughts out of the wanderings they went to, and get to the point. "And how do you know that?"

"Fire her," he says softly. "She's got it the wrong way round. You are under stress right now, and your hand is perfectly steady." Which is good because living with Sherlock will bring you stress. "You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson," he says with as much restraint as he could muster, although inwardly, he was pleased, oh very happy, "you miss it."

John Watson doesn't look at him, but Mycroft made his point.

Time to end the meeting.

Time to see what Doctor Watson will do now.

"Welcome back," he murmurs in a whisper.

Knowing he had just shaken this man, this man that had so far stood up to him and revealed how strong his moral principles were, how loyal he was already to his brother and how he could not be bought, Mycroft walks away, twirling his umbrella. He was so very pleased with how this turned out. "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson," he adds, as he hears another chirp from the mobile.

He hears his assistant, who gave Doctor Watson an alias of Anthea, talk to him.

It's about fifteen minutes later when he gets a call.

"He's going to 221B Baker Street," Anthea says when he answers. "Had to stop at his old place first."

Mycroft leans back in his seat as the car drives through London, smiling widely. "Good, good."

"Shall we continue surveillance, sir?"

"Dial it back a little, but increase if it needs to be, and let me know if anything serious happens."

"Of course, sir."

The call ends, and Mycroft looks at the time and resigns himself to having a lengthy call with a certain politician who needs reminding of how certain behaviors are expected.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Mycroft gets another call just minutes after his long call with the irritating politician ends.

"Sir."

"Yes?"

"John Watson just killed a man."

Mycroft stills. "I beg your pardon?"

His assistant pauses. "I am almost to your car, sir. But I have just been informed by surveillance that John Watson killed a man saving your brother's life."

Well, apparently that slowly forming loyalty has now formed.

His car stops as the call ends, and then the door opens and his assistant gets in, shutting the door.

"Scene's been secure, sir, police are arriving in less than five minutes, and John Watson is not going to be identified. No witnesses."

"Even Sherlock did not see?"

She shakes her head.

Amazing.

In the space of twenty four hours, John Watson has killed a man in defense of his brother.

"How long until we get there?"

"Twelve minutes, sir."

"Quickly."

"Yes, sir."

Mycroft stares at the back of his departing brother and Doctor Watson, after ordering upgraded surveillance on them to his assistant.

He notices the slight smiles exchanged between the two of them. A friendship forged, and already strong...

"Sir? We need to go before the DI notices you."

Ah yes.. the DI. That was an interesting meeting.

Mycroft turns and ducks into the car, and she gets in as well, door closing and the car driving off.

As it does, he contemplates on what the arrival of Doctor John Watson, a Captain of the Royal Army Medical Crops, a man who has survived Afghanistan, who stood up to him and killed for his brother, will mean.

He only hopes that this man can do what Mycroft has promised to do but has not been able to properly do so.

Save his brother.