(Third Person POV: )

221A BAKER STREET

John was sitting at Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen table. She loudly slammed down a small tray containing a cup and saucer and a jug of milk, then went across the room to pick up a plate of biscuits, which she equally loudly slammed down onto the table. John watched her silently while she picked up a sugar bowl and thumped that onto the table. She hesitated, and then pointed at the sugar bowl.

“Oh no – you don’t take it, do you?” she asked, sounding a bit unsure.

“No,” John answered, peering at her.

“You forget a little thing like that,” she continued.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“You forget lots of little things, it seems,” she said pointedly.

“Uh-huh.”

Mrs. Hudson pointedly ran her finger between her nose and her upper lip while looking at John.

“Not sure about that,” she added. John reached up to touch his moustache. “Ages you.”

“Just trying it out,” John said, a bit tiredly.

“Well, it ages you,” she reiterated, making it very clear that she didn’t like it. John looked awkwardly at her.

“Look...” he began, but he was cut off.

“I’m not your mother. I’ve no right to expect it...” Mrs. Hudson continued.

“No...”

“...but just one phone call, John.” Her anger dissipated and she looked upset. “Just one phone call would have done.”

“I know.” He looked down.

“After all we went through,” she sounded not only sad but slightly offended.

“Yes. I am sorry,” he said flatly but sincerely, looking her in the eye.

“Look, I understand how difficult it was for you after... after...” the landlady began, sitting down across from him. She stopped, shaking her head sadly. Before either of them could say anything a door slammed upstairs. They both looked towards the noise and Mrs. Hudson looked to John to see his reaction.

There was loud clumping on the stairs before the door opened. Alice came in, wearing Sherlocks red bathrobe and jeans with a t-shirt. Her hair had been cut short- to her chin. She looked tired, and she was holding a pack of cigarettes in her hand and a lighter in the other.

“I’m going out for-” she began talking but she stopped when she saw John and she stood up straighter. “John.”

“Alice,” John said in a bit of surprise, looking at her new appearance. “You live here?”

“I haven’t seen you in just over a year and that’s what you say?” she scoffed, folding her arms. John sighed and looked to Mrs. Hudson.

“As I was about to say; I just let it slide. I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone somehow.” Sighing, he looked away for a moment, and then turned his eyes back to Alice’s. “I couldn’t answer. D’you know what I mean?” After a moment, Mrs. Hudson sighed too and reached out to put her hand on his arm. He immediately put his hand over hers. Alice lowered her gaze and just walked out.

MYCROFT’S OFFICE

Sherlock’s hair was now dry and curly, and he was on his feet and almost dressed. He tucked his shirt into his trousers while he looked at himself in a large mirror on the wall. Mycroft and not-Anthea stood nearby.

“I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?” Mycroft reiterated sternly.

“What do you think of this shirt?” Sherlock asked absentmindedly.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft exclaimed in an exasperated tone.

“I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft,” Sherlock confirmed. He briefly looked at his brother. “Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.”

“One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there’s going to be a terror strike on London – a big one,” Not-Anthea inputted.

“And what about John Watson?” Sherlock asked, putting on his suit coat. Not-Anthea threw an exasperated glance towards Mycroft.

“John?” Mycroft asked.

“Mmm. Have you seen him?” Sherlock clarified.

“Oh, yes – we meet up every Friday for fish and chips...! Along with Alice,” Mycroft said sarcastically, trying to get a reaction out of his brother. He gestured to Not-Anthea, who handed Sherlock a folder.

“I’ve kept a weather eye on them, of course.”

Sherlock opened the file. There were two black and white surveillance photos of John and Alice separately and a report.

“You haven’t been in touch at all, to prepare them?” Mycroft continued.

“No,” Sherlock mumbled distractedly. He looked at the picture of John with his new moustache, and Alice with her short hair.

“Well, we’ll have to get rid of that,” Sherlock said immediately.

“’We’?” Mycroft almost-scoffed.

“He looks ancient. I can’t be seen to be wandering around with an old man. And Alice… She’s going to have to grow her hair out again,” he said bluntly, closing the file and dropping it on the desk.

221B

John had gone upstairs and opened the door to the living room. He stood in the doorway, looking into the room. It was quite dark because the curtains were closed, but lots of dust was floating around, illuminated by the few shafts of light coming into the room. John continued to stand still, looking towards Sherlock’s chair by the fireside. Mrs. Hudson came in and switched the lights on.

“I couldn’t face letting it out,” she sighed. She walked across to the right-hand window and pulled the curtains back, coughing at the dust. “He never liked me dusting.”

“No, I know,” John confirmed, turning and looking into the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson went across the room to open the other curtains.

“So, why now? What changed your mind?” the landlady asked curiously. Drawing in a deep breath, John turned back to face her.

“Well, I’ve got some news,” he said in a tone that couldn’t quite be differentiated from good and bad. Mrs. Hudson turned to him and her face filled with horror.

“Oh, god. Is it serious?” she asked in a scared tone.

“Is what serious?” Alice butted in, coming back up from her smoke.

“What? No – no, I’m not ill. I’ve, er, well, I’m ... moving on,” John said bemusedly, glancing back at Alice then changing his position so he could see both of them.

“You’re emigrating,” Mrs. Hudson said sadly. Alice raised an eyebrow.

“Er, no – I’ve, er ... I’ve met someone,” John corrected. Mrs. Hudson giggled with delight. Clapping her hands, she walks towards him, smiling happily. Alice smiled as well, but didn't move from the doorway.

"Oh, lovely!" The landlady announced.

"Yeah. We’re getting married ... well, I’m gonna ask, anyway," John answered, smiling.

"So soon after Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked doubtfully. Alice chuckled.

"Well, yes," he said in one of those 'duh!' tones almost. Mrs. H looked away thoughtfully for a moment, and then smiled at John.

"What’s his name?" she asked. Alice laughed as John let out a huge exasperated sigh.

"It’s a woman," he said quickly.

"A woman?!" she exclaimed, Alice still snickering.

"Of course it’s a woman," Alice chuckled. Mrs. Hudson laughed in surprise.

"You really have moved on, haven’t you?"

"Mrs. Hudson! How many times...? Sherlock was not my boyfriend," John said, slightly irritated.

"Live and let live – that’s my motto," the landlady told him, smiling affectionately.

"Listen to me: I am not gay!" He exclaimed, slowly getting louder as he said it.

MYCROFT’S OFFICE

"I think I’ll surprise John. He’ll be delighted!" Sherlock thought out loud.

"You think so?” Mycroft asked, smiling cynically.

"Hmm. I’ll pop into Baker Street. Who knows – jump out of a cake," Sherlock said sarcastically, buttoning his sleeves.

"Baker Street? He isn’t there anymore," Mycroft stated, frowning. Sherlock looked surprised. "Why would he be? Alice is, but it’s been two years. He’s got on with his life."

"What life? I’ve been away," Sherlock said in a dry tone. Mycroft pretty much rolled his eyes without actually rolling them.

"Where’s he going to be tonight?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the not-eye rolling.

"How would I know?" Mycroft retorted. 

"You always know," Sherlock replied.

"He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion ...though I prefer the 2001," Mycroft sighed, quickly giving in.

"I think maybe I’ll just drop by," Sherlock answered thoughtfully.

"You know, it is just possible that you won’t be welcome," Mycroft said in that warning tone only an older sibling could use.

"No it isn’t. Now, where is it?" Sherlock shot back.

"Where’s what?"

"You know what."

Not-Anthea also knew what, because she immediately appeared in the open doorway holding Sherlock’s Belstaff coat. Sherlock smiled with delight, and slid his arms into the sleeves as Not-Anthea lifted it into position. She had even already popped the collar for him.

"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes," she said happily, smiling.

"Thank you..." Sherlock began, pulling the collar tips into a better position then turning to face his brother.

"...blud," he finished sarcastically.