It was becoming too familiar this triangle shaped problem. John Watson stood in the doorway observing Sherlock who was sat listlessly on the sofa. His eyes then flicked across to Mycroft who had positioned himself by the window. Someone had to puncture the silence, if they didn't John would laugh. Every time he was faced with this 'showdown' the unbearable need to roar with laughter was heightened. Surely soon a barb would be exchanged between them, that was a guarantee.
"This is the fourth time in two months you've refused to help me." Mycroft mused as he took out his watch, gazed at the face of it then looked at his brother. Sherlock was less forthcoming with his gaze. "I'm almost starting to take it personally."
"Feel free to." Sherlock replied looking at his feet and then to John, he saw that usual 'look' in John's eyes. Had he been more sensitive Sherlock might have resented John's opportunity to find him child like, but the presence of his infuriating older brother eclipsed it.
"You know John; he's always been this way. I distinctly remember when he vandalised my violin when we were children, he had it stripped down and destroyed in a minute."
"It was for the benefit of the house." Sherlock replied looking his brother square in the eye now. "The walls couldn't stand the screeching."
"Mummy soon bought me another, but I had no interest. So it was given to Sherlock. You can imagine how he took it, having my hand me downs."
"Music is so wasted on the tone deaf."
"We could never have pets either John…" Mycroft said jovially. "They couldn't cope with his odd ways and ran away."
"No that was your playing again." Sherlock retorted, the boredom in his voice growing with every word he spoke. John stifled a laugh into his sleeve, an action that induced a hard stare from both brothers in his direction.
"Perhaps you could assist me John?" Mycroft asked taking slow steps towards him making sure he monitored Sherlock's increasing annoyance out of the corner of his eye.
"Oh he doesn't do anything I tell him." John laughed.
"You were quite impressive with the Bruce Partington plans." Mycroft continued, sensing Sherlock's increased provocation emanating from behind him. John just looked at Mycroft then to Sherlock, as funny as this was he wanted no part in it.
"I didn't train as a nurse maid." He replied. "Maybe give him a bit of time to think about it."
Mycroft looked back to Sherlock, his eyes were shut, his palms pressed together under his chin.
"I find myself less hopeful than you." Mycroft whispered a whisper that didn't require the several seconds Mycroft lingered in John's personal space. The sound of Sherlock darting up and walking over so he was parallel with his brother brought them both back to the present.
"Goodbye Mycroft." Sherlock replied.
Mycroft nodded to John and shook his hand then he moved towards the door lesiurely and passed through it. John only watched and felt as the atmosphere seemed to be slowly exiting with Mycroft. A thought occurred to Mycroft and he turned back, he looked directly at his brother, lips parted ready to speak. He never got the chance; Sherlock sprung forward and slammed the door. Marching towards the sofa, Sherlock flung himself upon it and shut his eyes.
John was rooted to the spot not knowing whether to laugh or be shocked.
"You just shut the door on your brother." He exclaimed.
"I did." Sherlock mumbled a reply. "He deserved it."
"Do you always shut the door on your family, did you do that to you mother?"
"Not recently."
"Is it true about the violin?" John asked.
"Yes, but he does so like to put a melodramatic spin on things."
"What did he play then?"
Sherlock looked at John and for the first time since John had arrived back at the flat Sherlock practically smiled.
"The flute."