John hates it when Mycroft kidnaps him. He hated it when Sherlock was alive and it hates it more now that he's gone. If he had his way he would pretend the last eighteen months of his life were nothing more than a dream – a bittersweet, wonderful, glorious, heartbreaking dream – but a dream none the less.

But no. The one person tethering him to that life seems hell bent on dragging him back into it, sending him careening head long into memories he keeps trying to bury, and then abandoning him with a ghost he can never seem to shake.

"I see you've moved out of 221B, John," Mycroft says conversationally.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" he says without looking at him. He stares at the floor of the warehouse, afraid to see the reflection of the man he loved in those ice blue eyes.

"Only to remind you that you signed a two year contract on the flat just prior to my brother's death," he twirls his umbrella. "And that you haven't been released from that contract."

"Mrs. Hundson –

"Has been bought out. The contract stands. You'd do well to move back in. I don't think you can afford to pay rent on two separate flats, do you?"

"You - !"

"Good evening, John," and John watches him walk away, trembling with fury, wishing he could just punch the tosser in the back of his posh little head. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Anthea walk up beside him. He turns to face her, but her eyes are tracking the tall form of the elder Holmes brother.

She smiles softly, longingly, and then shakes her head; clearing away whatever daydream she had been dreaming before turning to John. He watches her incredulously. Bleeding Christ, and he was the only one stupid enough to make that mistake!

He clamors into the car and sits next to her. Her fingers fly over the keyboard of her phone and suddenly they're off, winding through London, the streetlights whipping past them at breakneck speed.

John stares out the window, thinking of all those time he could have, should have, said something – anything – and then maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe Sherlock would be alive. Maybe, if someone had given him a push in the right direction…?

"Falling in love with Sherlock Holmes is the biggest mistake I've ever made," he says softly.

Her fingers freeze over the keyboard and she snaps her head up. "I'm sorry?"

He continues on, as though he didn't hear her. "I mean, there I was, wandering along through my own sad, pathetic life and suddenly he's there. And he throws a brick wall in the middle of my path. He takes me on all these grand adventures and makes me feel like the luckiest man in the world. He made me love him without even knowing it. And….and then he died. He robbed me of everything I could have been without him and left me, on the side of the road, wallowing a pool of my own mediocrity. Now I'm just me again but…I don't know how to be me without him anymore."

He shifts his gaze to her. She stares, wide eyed and mouth open, shocked beyond all words at this emotional outburst. "Doctor Watson, I –

"Don't make the mistake I made. If you stay because you love him, tell him. He won't know otherwise. Sherlock…he…he was never good at the emotions thing. I doubt Mycroft is any better."

"I can't," she whispers. "He'd never…I'd lose him."

John nods. "That's what I thought, too," he says. "I lost him anyway."

"John…"

He smiles sadly. "It would be wonderful to say I regretted it. It would be easy. But I can't. I loved him. I still do. The only thing I regret is that I didn't tell him before it was too late. I tell him every day now, but gravestones can't tell you they love you back," a single tear slides down his face.

The car rolls to a stop in front of 221B and John reaches for the handle. "Tell Mycroft I'll stay, but he's footing the bill."

Across town Mycroft's phone pings in his pocket.

Did it work? – SH

He taps out a quick response. Yes. – MH

Don't let him forget me. – SH

I promised I wouldn't. You'd do the same for me. – MH

Tell her and I won't have to. – SH

Stay out of it, Sherlock. – MH

Don't make the same mistake I made. Tell her. And watch after John. – SH

He all but throws his phone at his desk. Running his fingers through his hair he pours himself a brandy and sits down. He's on his third glass when the door to his office opens and Anthea walks in.

They lock eyes.

"Anthea," he shakes his head. Now was not the time for codenames and secrecy. Now was the time for truth. "Verity. I need to tell you something. It's something very important and I pray you won't interrupt me."

Her eyebrows raise at the use of her name, but she pushes through. "Whatever it is I'll take care of it as soon as possible. But…may I tell you something first?"

"By all means."

She takes a deep breath and speaks her heart.