Hi this is my first complete fanfiction so any comments good or bad with be appreciated. While I did write this my friend helped my come up with the concept so partial credit goes there. Also she did a quick look through for any major grammatical errors. ( Going with since she didn't find any I am doing okay on the sentence construction, but if you find any problems please comment or send me a message so I can look it over.) Thank you and enjoy.
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It was a long day at work Mycroft thought as he rushed out of Speedy's Café with cake in one hand, and his long pointed umbrella in the other. Yes, it was rather difficult to always have to run a government out of their stupor. At least he had cake! After a long day such as this one he could go to a bakery and buy all of their cake. Sherlock said that it was a problem. As if. He had hardly put on any weight in the last ten minutes.
Grumbling slightly he shoved his cake into his mouth, despite what Sherlock said he is not fat! Completely unaware because he was too busy eating, he almost didn't notice a car that came close to hitting him on the crosswalk. Quickly he leapt backwards most haphazardly, as his mouth was still full of cake. Choking, he wrapped his thick fingers around his throat, uselessly trying to breathe.
As happened by chance when Mycroft got dizzy from oxygen-deprivation he stumbled. His umbrella slipped from the crook of his arm and landed in such a way that as it he was falling towards it, it just barely hit the ground and the point was still pointing at him. He landed painfully on it, as it pierced him through his stomach. Oh no! Now how can I eat cake? Mycroft's mind was reeling from this horrid thought. And with that fear in his mind he slowly bled out.
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A low chuckle could be heard from the flat 221B Baker Street as the world's only consulting detective watched the scene below unfold. As Mycroft fell on his umbrella that landed with just the right trajectory, at precisely the right time to puncture Mycroft's cake-filled stomach. The odds of this happening to anyone was so slim that had someone asked Sherlock if it was possible, he would have snorted and explained in a long monologue how unlikely that particular situation would occur.
This left him with many questions and experiments to sort out. Looking across the room by the door stood an umbrella that Mycroft had given him for his birthday. Its color matched his scarf perfectly and he could feel a grin slowly creep upon his features.
"Oh, John can you come here for a moment? I have something I would like your help on."