Fallen State

And What Of Consequences?

*** Author's note – I apologise it took me so long to update this! Real life caused my hard drive to fry, and so here I am, a month later, with an update. <3 enjoy.

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The manila envelope Mycroft had so eloquently gifted to him a week before sat on the table in the flat of 221B unopened. A coffee-cup ring stained the outer corner, and a crinkle folded the bottom hem where Mrs Hudson had caught it setting down the tea tray.

Despite the mystery of the contents pulling at his adrenaline junkie heartstrings, John held doubts about what type of worms opening the can would unleash. He hadn't fully discounted doing Mycroft's bidding. He'd reached for the file so many times it had been dropped on almost every surface of the flat. The kitchen table, the mantle, Sherlock's chair, the top of the television. John held it, walked around the flat with it, and then cast it aside when his thoughts became too heavy. 

This night he'd almost opened it. His fingers grazed over the seal, knowing that once broken he could never go back. He'd be in Mycroft's pocket yet again - not that he wasn't already - and he'd be going down a rabbit hole not knowing what to expect.

Too many considerations snapped through his mind and he'd discarded it, choosing instead to watch an inane judging panel coo about some off-key singer dressed as a sparkly meringue. The thoughts came back soon enough. 

One - what if he couldn't lure this maniac out like Mycroft said he could? Two – what would he actually do once the maniac was lured out? Three – there were always consequences. No matter how much they'd saved the day, the fallout wasn't something he could ever predict. They still left people shattered in their wake.

They. Ha.

John Watson wasn't a 'they' anymore. Wasn't a 'we', an 'us', an anything. He was a doddery fool, sitting in the same armchair watching the same shit telly, ignoring the file which may have well have been on fire in the background for the hole it was burning in the back of his mind.

His phone rang.

John had taken to being cautious before answering since his meeting with Mycroft. It gave him time to prepare for unknown numbers. This time, he was glad of it.

"Yes?" he answered, clipped.

"So grumpy."

John closed his eyes. The voice of the other man set his teeth on edge, a bubble of hatred rising in bile to the middle of his throat. He suppressed it. "You pick your moments. It's The X Factor, can you ring on the ad break?"

There was silence. John turned to look at the file behind him. He should have read it. He should have taken a look, seen what information he could use. Become prepared. No matter what can of worms it unleashed onto him, if there was a chance he stop it unleashing on other people there was no excuse not to armour himself for this.

Lure him out. Lure who out?

Well there was no chance he could find out now. If he opened the file the guy would hear. John turned up the volume on the television to make a point. "It's Louise. Very talented, don't know why Simon's her mentor, though." 

"Lestrade won't find anything."

John went quiet. Deathly quiet. His tormentor seemed to delight in it. 

"I have eyes and ears everywhere, Mr Watson. I thought it would be a courtesy to let you know. Eyes and ears - everywhere. Very similar to your dearly departed friend, no?"