Encounter at Heathrow

Why was it that his flights always delayed? Almost every flight John had ever taken in his entire life had been delayed. Or cancelled.

Though, he supposed, being a newlywed more than made up for it. The way Mary squeezed his arm as they browsed duty-free made his heart leap in a way he thought would never happen since that awful day at St. Bart's. The hours slipped by as they wandered around the airport; Mary tried on perfume samples, John gazed longingly at the array of fine whiskeys. After a while they had managed to find seats by the window, and Mary had fallen asleep, her head resting on John's shoulder.

Just as John was smiling contentedly to himself, wanting for nothing save his flight to hurry up, he noticed a tall figure strolling through the crowded airport with a familiar, self-assured air. The man was wearing an exquisitely tailored suit, and was carrying a leather briefcase in one gloved hand and swinging an umbrella in the other. Keeping in step behind him was a well-coiffed, well-manicured young woman in a pencil skirt and expensive heels, whose entire attention was focused on her phone. Stumbling behind them both were two men in black suits, struggling with the luggage.

"Mycroft!" John called out, instinctively. Before he remembered the anger and hatred he harboured towards the man. His shout jolted his wife awake.

Mycroft stopped and turned around, looking mildly surprised at hearing his name called out across the busy concourse. His assistant, however, looked frankly alarmed as she spun on her heels, eyes tearing across the scene to find the source of the greeting. The two men hadn't even reacted at all and John wondered if, perhaps, even Mycroft's name was somehow a state secret.

Mycroft spotted John before his assistant did, even though he hadn't appeared to have been looking, and made his way over to the seated couple.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Watson." Mycroft said, his public smile screwed tightly in place, "Ah! And this must be Mrs Watson. My congratulations to you both."

"Thank you, Mycroft." John gritted his teeth together and resolved to be civil, as Mary giggled shyly at the attention, "And what has brought you here?"

"Why, I'm catching a flight, John." The ghost of a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, "I'm given to understand that is the purpose of airports."

"Look, don't get clever – " John could feel his temper flaring.

"Ah…my apologies, John. I shouldn't have presumed. I do hope you'll enjoy your honeymoon in Venice."

"Wait," Mary cried as Mycroft turned to leave, "How did you know we were going to Venice? You weren't at our wedding…"

John tried not to roll his eyes. He should've known better; tell a Holmes not to get clever, and they'll immediately deduce your mother's shoe size, what you ate for breakfast three days ago and how much money you have in each of your pockets, as if that proved something. John could only hope Mycroft would make this brief.

"Simple inductive reasoning, Mrs Watson. And, of course, the travel guide in your handbag." Mycroft appeared to have read John's mind, which, upon reflection, shouldn't have been surprising, "I'm sure you will have an exceedingly pleasant holiday in Venice. It is a rather beautiful city."

"You've been?"

"Many times. Although, sadly, only on business."

"And where are you going this time? Business or pleasure?" Mary smiled warmly. John was reminded why he loved this woman; Mycroft Holmes was an intimidating man, even when he wasn't trying to intimidate, and here Mary was, chatting to him like he was an ordinary person.

"I'm going to Norway." Mycroft paused, and something subtle changed in his expression. The way he said the country's name was almost wistful.

"Oh! Won't it be awfully cold?"

"Yes." Mycroft said, clearing his throat and refocusing upon the couple, "We will most likely land in three feet of snow."

"Glad we're going to Italy!" Mary smiled, leaning over to kiss John's cheek.

"Indeed."

"Sir?" Mycroft's assistant, who until that point had been tapping away on the Blackberry, seemingly quite oblivious to the conversation, had taken a few steps closer and was looking intently at her employer.

"Ah, thank you, my dear." Mycroft said, giving her a genteel nod. It seemed John was never going to learn her real name. "Well, it seems we are running late; I imagine our captain will be getting testy. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs Watson. Good to see you again, John. I hope you both have a pleasant flight." With that, Mycroft turned and walked away, his employees following the path of his stride.

"That was the other Holmes, wasn't it?" Mary said, after Mycroft has disappeared into the crowd. She was looking with concern at her husband and reached over to stroke his cheek.

"Yes, it was." John tried to smile reassuringly at her. Although he knew Sherlock would've hated her, Mary's quiet intelligence, steadfastness and understanding were what had made him want to marry her in the first place.

Not five minutes later their gate number was called. Which was funny, as John was sure they were supposed to be grounded for at least another two hours…

Fin.

Notes: John has married Mary Morstan, whose first appearance was in The Sign of Four. The Moff has been hinting we will meet her in Series 3.

Norway is a significant country to the Great Hiatus, as Sherlock pretended to be a Norwegian adventurer named Sigerson for a while.

What Mycroft is up to in that part of Scandinavia I will leave up to the reader. (But, personally, I believe in Mycroft Holmes)