Promise to the Living

Chapter Eight

John decided to follow the excellent advice provided by one of his training officers so many years ago: "Never let the bastards see you sweat." And combine it with another old adage: "Baffle them with bullshit."

Praying that he could achieve the miraculous and baffle Mycroft Holmes, he stiffened and snapped, "I won't be locked in my room like a child, even if you do leave me with some toys from home. At least let me have some exercise."

"Begging your pardon, sir," Anthea said, "your orders were to keep Dr. Watson as comfortable as possible. I saw no harm in an escorted walk. He's not a flight risk with the guards about."

John hated not being able to see. Technically neither he nor Anthea had lied. But they hadn't told the whole truth either, and inability to see Mycroft's face left him in a horrible state of suspense. He didn't know whether to start swinging (for all the good it would do) or continue the façade.

Tension-laden seconds passed before the other man spoke.

"Very well. If it's a daily constitutional you require, I'll be happy to accompany you. But not indoors. My dear, please locate a coat and shoes for John and meet us down in the foyer?"

"Right away, Mr. Holmes."

Anthea's slender fingers withdrew from John's upper arm, to be replaced by Mycroft's heavier ones. John went still: the other man's very touch resurrected images from the video and conflicting feelings- concern, shock, and residual anger- temporarily paralyzed him.

"Come, John." Mycroft nudged him toward the landing. As they slowly descended the staircase, the elder Holmes added in a low voice, "I know what you were up to. I should reprimand both of you severely, but I won't."

"Oh?" John swallowed. "What makes us so special?"

Mycroft paused. "Because with Sherlock gone, you two are all that matter to me on a personal level anymore."

John didn't know what to say except "I believe you."

And he did, which surprised him.

"Do you really?" Mycroft asked, his voice strangely thick. "Perhaps I should thank you for watching my expurgation session then. My words of regret never persuaded you, but the footage apparently has."

They reached the foot of the stairs and turned right.

"You're still conflicted, John. I can tell. We'll discuss it more during a stroll on the grounds."

"Can I ask where I am?"

"Yes, of course. The Holmes family estate in Yorkshire Dales. Sherlock and I grew up here. One moment." Mycroft stopped, so John followed suit. A knob clicked and a heavy door swung open on creaky hinges. "Here we are."

John's slippers now touched tiles instead of carpeting. Then the door closed behind them, and Mycroft undid his blindfold.

They stood in a bright, airy foyer, beneath a massive chandelier that threw rainbow patterns across the cream-colored walls. Frosted glass windows on either side of the hand-carved oak double doors flooded the room with natural light. A huge floral display sat on a marble-topped side table, its delicate fragrance adding to the overall impression of elegance.

John took it all in before looking at Mycroft. The elder Holmes had shed this morning's semi-casual garb in favor of his usual powerhouse attire: navy blue wool suit, waistcoat, and silk shirt and tie. Knowing that those pricey clothes covered bruises and cuts made him uneasy. Mycroft caught his once-over, and smiled tightly.

Anthea stood before the doors, with two coats over one arm and a pair of walking shoes in her other hand. She offered the latter to John immediately.