The Case of the Meddling Siblings [BBC Sherlock - Johnlock]

1.1

"Sir, there's one more thing that needs your attention -- I believe it's time to invoke Project Domino."

Mycroft stared up at Anthea over his papers. "Harry Watson?" She nodded, handing him a file. He flipped through it briefly and frowned. "You're right; circumstances warrant it. Is there a suitable case?"

Anthea smiled. "I've got just the one, sir. I'll make sure the Times covers it, with the correct details."

"Excellent."

* * *

"Just a bit posh, yeah?" was Harry's first comment about Mycroft's abode. He watched as she set her suitcase down with exaggerated care on the mahogany floor of his personal office, and then took a wide stance and cocked an eyebrow. She clearly hoped to signal confidence, nonchalance. Yet he also observed her increased blink rate, and the way her hands fidgeted.

"Good evening, Ms. Watson," he greeted her from behind his desk.

"Yeah, hi." She waited, but when he chose to simply watch her to see what she would do, she eventually continued. "Look, not that I don't appreciate your offer to put me up, but -- why? We only met at that one Christmas party. I wasn't sure you'd even remember me, much less be inviting me over."

"Oh, I think you underestimate your memorability." Mycroft replied drily. He was fairly certain that all the guests remembered her ignominious appearance.

Harry flushed just a little. "Oh, well. I, uh, don't remember that night too well. I might have had just a bit too much to drink...?" She bit her lip, waiting for further hints of what she'd done. Mycroft made a noncommittal noise and leaned back in his chair. It was not in his current interests to make her feel shame or become defensive.

When she got no further answer, Harry continued, "So, why am I here -- and how? It was a bit crazy, you know -- there I am, standing there on the corner, wondering where I'll sleep tonight, and then a big black car rolls up, window rolls down, and a beautiful woman tells me to get in?" She laughed. "Thought maybe I was in some kind of movie, James Bond or something. You know?" Mycroft unfortunately did know. His parents were fans of the Bond franchise, despite its gross inaccuracies and questionable narrative structures.

"And then when she said that someone was concerned about me and wanted to offer me their guest room? And I hadn't told a soul that I needed one? I thought maybe it was actually some sort of horror thriller. You know?" She laughed again, more nervously. Mycroft viewed that genre with even more distaste and was less familiar with it, but he took her point.

"I contacted you because I need your assistance," Mycroft said. "It's to do with your brother."

Harry straightened. "John? What's he done?" Interesting. Mycroft made a note to find out what incidents in the Watsons' personal history led her to leap to that conclusion.

"It's not something he's done, yet." Harry relaxed just a little, but her brow furrowed. "But I'm worried about him. Well, I'm primarily worried about my brother, truth be told. Sherlock has been extremely moody lately, but it's affected John's temper as well, and they're playing off one another. I fear my brother's tendencies toward dark pursuits if this should continue."

"Dark pursuits...?"

"Heroin, among others." Harry's eyes widened. "Should he begin down that path, he would, based on past evidence, be likely to spiral very deeply, very quickly."

She nodded and grimaced. He knew she was personally familiar with such spirals, if not that particular drug. "How bad does he get?"

"Disappearance, for long stretches. Overdose. Brief bouts of clinical death." He smiled thinly.