Unbalanced

Part Seventeen – Perfect Coincidence

John's counselling session went... fine. Ella told him that Greg was right to fuss over him, but could always talk to her. Maybe John should give him her number? Haha, yes, of course, Ella. Of course.

As soon as he got back to Greg's house, he was affronted by the screen of a laptop – his – open on the kitchen table next to a pizza box. Evidently, Greg had been using it at lunch. John moved to close it and saw that the page open was a news page, and therefore boring. As he shut it, John noticed the words 'Jim Moriarty' fly past in front of him, but when he tried to open it again, the page was gone. He sat down, opened the internet, and looked at his history. The page was there, and it was only a week-old story.

The gist of the article was that the evidence against Sherlock Holmes – one man's word and some footprints, etc – was being reconsidered and tested in hospitals. How hadn't John seen it before? Had Greg left it for him to read?

"... 'Reconsidered and tested'..." he murmured under his breath, before checking himself. Although the evidence was little, it was fairly clear. He could forgive Richard Brook, but never Jim Moriarty. He could barely forgive Sherlock, if he really had been a fake. However, if he hadn't been a fake, then there had been no reason for his death.

Then again, the courts suspected something, apparently, so maybe he hadn't been a fake.

Why did he die?

At that point, Lestrade jogged down the stairs to meet him, a smile on his face. John felt pale and confused, but smiled back anyway, closing the laptop.

"How did that go?" Greg asked as he sat down at the table. He shrugged casually.

"It was fine," John replied. "Although it gets more boring every time I go there." Greg grinned, but John still felt slightly disgruntled by the news.

"How is it boring?" Greg asked incredulously. "I always thought it was quite fun, seeing as they let you throw anything you like. Great anger busting technique." John laughed at that, imagining Greg throwing lamps and chairs around. It was surprisingly easy to picture.

"Yeah, well," John swallowed. "I'm not angry, so..." Greg nodded slowly.

"Not even a bit?" he asked. "That's a very good temper you have, then."

"Who am I meant to be angry at, though?" John chuckled. "Really, though. Moriarty apparently wasn't Moriarty, so I can't be angry at him. Sherlock was a good friend even though he was supposedly a fake, so he's out of the question. Mycroft did it by accident, so..." Greg gaped at him.

"What, you're not even angry at him?" he exclaimed. John shrugged again, but shook his head.

"I know him better than I did before, and..." he paused. "He wouldn't have done it on purpose."

"Well, I never thought he did it on purpose," replied Greg. "But I expected you to be angry at him anyway."

"Originally, I was," John laughed. "But he's atoned, sort of, by making me see that he had nothing to atone for."

"Right," Greg nodded. "That makes sense, but I still think he's a smarmy bastard."

"Fair enough, but we're friends now and you have to work together anyway, so you should at least try to be friends," John replied sternly.

"I'm civil, I'm polite," Greg said, putting his hands up in mock-surrender. "I just think he's unpleasant, that's all." John nodded, digging his phone from his pocket as it buzzed with a text.

Window

It was from a random number, and John frowned. 'Window'? He decided to ignore it, but he looked out of the window automatically. There was nothing new at all. Greg's neighbours, whom he didn't know, had a guest, but that wasn't exactly unusual. This one was a tall, dirty-blond man.

"John?" Greg asked when he didn't reply, causing him to look back and smile briefly again.

"Sorry, what?" he asked, his heart sinking as he felt sadness overtake the laughter of his and Greg's conversation. The text threw him, although a perfect coincidence.

"You looked a bit distracted then," Greg smiled gently, seeing John's expression fading. "What did your text say?" John showed him and Greg frowned.

"Wrong number, I know," John said before Greg could tell him. His friend nodded and sighed.

"You can act happy for me, but it won't do anything," he said. John couldn't look back at him, although he could feel Greg's eyes on him. He felt too guilty for that. Instead, he folded his arms awkwardly and looked at the floor.

"I don't know I'm doing it most of the time," John replied. "Until I stop, at least." He glanced up to find Greg's pained face.

"I know," he replied. "You don't have to, you know."

"Yeah, I..." John tailed off. He surreptitiously rubbed at the corner of his eye, but Greg noticed.

"If it helps you, then fine, but don't keep it up for my sake, John," he said, before wandering over to put the kettle on. John sat down heavily as Greg turned the tap to fill the kettle and opened his laptop once more.

"By the way," he said, trying to avoid the subject of... him. "Did you use this at lunch?" John gestured towards the laptop. Greg glanced up and shook his head.

"No, I didn't," he replied, looking back down at the kettle and jiggling it into place on its base. "What, has it gone all funny again?" John shook his head and frowned.

"Did anyone else use it?" he asked, no longer caring about being casual. This time, Greg walked over and looked at the blank screen, frowning.

"No one else was here," he replied quietly. "What happened?" John shrugged and smiled slightly, closing the laptop once more.

"Nothing much, but I thought I had..." he trailed off, trying to think of something to say and quickly landing on the perfect explanation. "Mycroft probably did something again." Greg straightened up.

"That explains it," he said, chuckling. "Well, make sure it's not a virus, whatever's happened."

"Yeah, I will," John said. His phone buzzed again and he checked. Another unknown number, and another obscure text about the window. He looked out for the second time, but all he saw was that he blond man had left. Nothing else had changed. This time, he texted the number back saying that they were texting the wrong person, but he never got a reply.

He flipped his laptop back up and considered replying to some emails, but ended up staring at the news pages and wondering whether they would actually clear Sherlock's name. By the time he finally shut his laptop again, the tea Greg had made him had gone cold.

A/N – I wrote this chapter a while ago and finished this one today (just about) so I could upload the two at once. Is that a good strategy? Whatever; it works for me, and you get to read more, so it's all good, I guess :)

Anyway, yes, hello. Thanks for reading and waiting, and again, apologies for being so slow.

Jess