The Business of Being Friends
By Taz

"Well, that's her gone," Sherlock said as Nigella disappeared into the New York night.

"Until next time." Mycroft eased himself off of the bar stool, and went around the counter. "Coffee?"

"No. It should have been obvious from the beginning she was more interested in having a stud than a husband."

"Don't be crude."

"I'm not being crude. The woman keeps a ruler in the drawer of her night stand, and a book in which she records the measurements of the men who've covered her."

"How did I not know that?"

"I assumed you did. And that being said, how can you be so sure that there will be a—" Sherlock scowled at the cup that had been placed in front of him. "I said no."

"Club soda?" Mycroft waved the hose with which he'd just shot a splash into a glass with an inch of amber whisky in it.

"No!"

"Then coffee it is."

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. I'm having a drink. I don't like drinking alone."

"And no one else's wishes need apply? Oh, God! You're not going to pretend to be sad, are you? Don't cry! The woman's a viper!"

"As you've so ably demonstrated, but…it's complicated."

"It's not complicated! You believe that she saved your life; you definitely saved hers; both of you owe me. Both tits for tat. What's complicated about that…? Why are you smirking?"

"Nothing. Drink your coffee."

"Not until you've told me what you're smirking about."

"This business of being friends."

"We're not friends. Friends don't—"

"Sleep with their brother's fiancé?"

"Sleep with their brother's partner!"

"Allow me to compliment you, Sherlock. That was well spotted."

"Not as well as it should have been. I can't believe I didn't notice when we were in London."

"We weren't anticipating more than a one-night stand."

"And yet here you are in New York. What now?"

"I would like there to be more that a one-night stand."

"And what does Watson want? I haven't observed her throwing herself into your arms."

"I've haven't said anything to her, outright."

"Hmmm… Obviously, she wasn't overwhelmed by your technique."

"Sherlock, it's simply that at this point neither of us is willing to risk their relationship with you. You should be flattered." Mycroft took a thoughtful sip of his whiskey. "She hasn't shut me down, either."

"I'll have to see what I can do about that."

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

"Wouldn't what?"

"Whatever it is you're thinking of. That's a game that two can play."

"Ha! You'd never exert yourself that far. Besides, all my intimate relations are conducted on a strictly professionally basis, or by mutual agreement. Open and above board."

"You are such a liar. Well, half a liar." Mycroft held his glass to the light. "What an incredible color. And the fragrance..." Eyes closed, he took a sniff of glass. "Fifty year-old Longmorn, aged in the cask. There's nothing like the restrained power and finesse of well-aged single malt whiskey. It's almost staggeringly lovely to taste. Pity you don't partake... Unless, of course, you do."

"What are you talking about?"

"You said it was tension between Watson and myself that gave us away."

"It was immediately apparent to a trained eye. I defy you to find a spot of tension between my shoulder blades when I'm around Watson—or anyone else, for that matter."

"I agree. Around Watson, or anyone else, for that matter, you're a coiled spring stretched between tenterhooks. Yet, strangely, the moment Captain Gregson walks into a room, you unwind. It's a lovely thing to watch: your body relaxes, your voice drops and you begin to breathe deeply… I'm glad for you. More coffee?"

Finis
03/23/2014