Disclaimer: I don't own them :( But I wish I did :3
Based a couple of weeks after 'The Reichenbach Fall', which was aired on BBC One on Sun 13th Jan.
'Come back. Now.'
'You may be the eldest, Mycroft, but that does not mean you have power over me.'
'We have a plan, remember? You can't just walk off!'
'I've been watching the flat all morning. Mrs Hudson's just left, wont be back for a while. And I know he's there. He's been sitting with the laptop for an hour.'
'You must wait."
'I've been waiting for weeks. I'm changing the plan.'
'NO.'
'Too late. Goodbye, Mycroft.'
He pressed the SEND button and tucked his phone away in his pocket.
Here we go.
Shrugging his hood lower over his face, he crossed the road towards 221b.
Note: never wear hoodies.
He hesitated as he approached the door.
No. Just hurry up.
He knocked thrice and waited, head bowed towards the floor and hands thrust deep into the unusually placed hoodie pockets.
No, really. Never wear hoodies.
A dozen or so foot steps down the stairs, he's wearing his favourite boots again, four long strides to the door, impatient, the click of the latch, and the slight creak of the hinges.
"Yeah?"
He smiled slightly at the familiar voice.
"Hello, John."
Knock, knock, knock.
The door. John stood up and sighed. It was probably Lestrade again, asking for help of some sort.
For the last time, I am not Sherlock...
He paused slightly at that thought. No one could ever compare to him. And the flat just seemed so empty-
Stop it. Just... Go answer the door.
He walked down the stairs and across the short hall way. The latch clicked slightly as he opened the door.
That's not Lestrade...
"Yeah?"
He saw the lower part of a mouth through the shadows cast by the hood, and saw the corner of the persons lips curl slightly.
"Hello, John."
He froze. It sounded so much like him.
He shook his head slightly. Stop it.
"Who're you?"
A few seconds' silence.
"Oh, well. If you really have to ask that, I may as well just leave," He turned to go.
"Wait!" Could it really be him?
No. I saw him jump.
The man stopped and turned slightly on his heel, "Yes?"
"Why have you got a hood up? It's boiling."
The figure chuckled, "Oh, John... Really? Always one to ask stupid questions."
John frowned, "What?"
This is taking too long.
"Oh, for God's sake," He flicked his head back and let the hood fall.
John froze, "Oh, my God," and slammed the door in his face.
"Not the welcome I was expecting..."
John leaned on the door, and heard a muffled voice through it; "Not the welcome I was expecting..."
It was him.
Oh, my God. It's actually him.
Shock turned to anger within seconds.
He'd just pulled his hood up again when the door banged open.
"Oh, hello agai-"
John grabbed the front of his hoodie and yanked him over the steps and into the house.
Slamming him into the wall, John kicked the door shut with his foot.
"Umm-" he began.
WHACK
"Oh my- OW!" he exclaimed from on the floor.
"You bloody well deserve that!" John yelled, diving on him and pinning him to the floor, "You were DEAD!" He grabbed his shoulders and slammed him into the floor.
"John! What're you-!
He punched him in the face again.
"Hey!"
"I SAW YOU JUMP! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD AND I'D NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN!" Another hit, "AND THEN YOU JUST SHOW UP AFTER WEEKS!"
"John! Stop!"
"WHY! WHY FAKE IT? JUST TO COME BACK NOW!
"BECAUSE I HAD TO!"
John's fist stopped in mid-air, "W-What?"
He let his head drop to the floor and ignored the painful twinge as it thumped against the floor boards, "Blame Mycroft," he said, "Bloody stupid power complex. He knew the press would turn and had a slight idea of what Moriarty was up to... He made me fake my own death."
"B-but, I saw you fall!"
"No you didn't, you saw me jump."
"Wait, what!"
He sighed, "Well, maybe if you'd get off me, I could explain."
John seemed to realise their current predicament, "Oh... Yeah." He let his fist drop as he stood up.
"Thank you."
Sherlock had explained everything; from planning to doing.
"So, you're basically telling me that it's Mycroft's fault?"
Sherlock nodded, "That's what I've been saying all along."
"Oh, for goodness sake..." John grabbed his phone.
"What're you doing?"
"Texting the idiot."
"You're going to text him?"
"Of course, I'm going to bloody text him."
John spent a few seconds typing on his phone.
"There," He said, passing Sherlock the phone, "How's that?"
'You're an idiot, you know, Mycroft, and I really feel like punching you.'
"Really John? Bit.. Dramatic."
He snatched the phone back and pressed SEND, "Yeah. Well, he's a lot dramatic..."
John's text-tone sounded.
"'Really, John? I'm assuming this is to do with Sherlock?' ... Do you wanna reply?"
Sherlock sighed, "Oh... Fine," Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he got to texting.
'Of course it's about me.'
A few minutes passed.
John jumped as a voice sounded from the doorway.
"Oh, it's always about you, Sherlock. Isn't it?"
"Of course, Mycroft. It always is."