John walked down the road, angrily. He and Sherlock had had a row. "Typical," thought John, "One answer phone message from a female voice and Sherlock's gets all paranoid about secret rendezvous and deceptive liaisons!" John marched up the steps to 221B Baker Street. "Well, fine!" he thought, "Let him be suspicious. Serve him right if I did have an affair! Just as well he's out on a case or I'd give him a piece of my mind!" He took out his keys but, to his surprise, the door opened as he leaned on it, clearly unlocked. Now John had been with Sherlock long enough to smell a rat and he knew that, however scatterbrained Sherlock could be, he would never have left the door open and risked his experiments being contaminated or interfered with. Thus, he could come to only one conclusion – a break in. He felt in his pocket for his service revolver but then realised that he was not in the habit of taking it to the shops with him. "Oh well," he thought, "I'll just have to rely on my hands," and he tried to remember the Baritsu that Sherlock had tried to teach him in the sauna once. He carefully flicked the door open with his foot and silently entered, climbing up the stairs as quietly as possible. He drew up by the door of the flat and listened. Nothing. But he knew to be careful. With one kick, he slammed open the door and ran in.
"Really, my dear," said Mycroft Holmes, sitting in Sherlock's easy chair, "I know we haven't known each other that long, but there's no need to try that hard!" John relaxed. "You scared me," he said.
"Really?" Mycroft replied, "I didn't think my tie was that bad!"
"On the contrary," said John, "It's a very nice tie."
"Thanks, old chap," said Mycroft, "And might I inquire as to where my dear brother is?"
"Oh," replied John, "He went out. On a case."
"Ah," continued Mycroft, "I see. In other words, you've had a disagreement."
"Serves me right for trying to fool you," said John, "Yes – we had a bit of a tiff."
"I see. I suppose he started it?"
John laughed. "You know him well," he replied.
"Oh yes," said Mycroft, "I know him very well. I know he never appreciates what he's got. Like you, for instance."
John looked at Mycroft. "Did you come to state the obvious?" he asked.
"No," replied Mycroft, "No, I didn't." He stood up. "I rather came to enlist your services."
"You mean Sherlock's?"
"No, your services. Your personal services." Mycroft came and stood in front of John. "Sherlock neglects you, doesn't he? He doesn't give you what you need, what you deserve."
John stood fast. Mycroft edged nearer, only a few centimetres from John's face.
"I suppose he's told you I'm better than him in everything."
"Yes," said John, "He has."
"And he does neglect you?"
"Yes."
"When we were boys, he left me hanging off a bridge, a deadly drop below my feet."
"Really?" replied John in a low voice, "Did he?"
"So as you see," continued Mycroft, "He's neglected me too."
"Dreadfully."
"It seems we've both had the rough end of Sherlock's violin bow," said Mycroft, edging even closer, "Maybe we both need…comfort. After trying experiences, two unattached individuals often…comfort each other."
"Is that so?" replied John.
"Yes," said Mycroft, "Just so. I was wondering…if you might consider…dropping by some time at the Diogenes club and…tweaking my umbrella?"
"I might just do that," replied John quietly, "or I might tell you to get out and try finding yourself another toyboy!"
"I see," said Mycroft, in a resigned tone.
"It's true," shouted John, "that Sherlock is all of those things. But he's also the best and bravest of individuals I know and no one, not even his seemingly superior older brother, will tear me from him!"
"You owe me a fiver," said Mycroft in a triumphant tone.
"What?" asked John, confused.
Slowly and with a smirk on his face, Sherlock emerged out of the kitchen.
"Fiver, please," demanded Mycroft and Sherlock pulled a five pound note out of his pocket and gave it to him.
"Worth losing," he said and chuckled.
"Well," said Mycroft, "I'd better be on my way. It would seem you two have much to discuss." At which, with a smile on his face, Mycroft departed through the open door.
"What was that about?" shouted John, his face red with anger.
"Now, now, John," laughed Sherlock, "You musn't be too angry with me!"
"Angry? I'm not angry! Whatever gave you that impression? I'm red in the face, foaming at the mouth and about to wallop you over the head but in no way am I angry!" At that, John lashed out at Sherlock but, in a lightning movement, Sherlock caught John's arm and twisted him round until he fell back, his shoulders resting on Sherlock's arm, his face staring up into Sherlock's crystal clear eyes. "John, John, John!" said Sherlock, in a soothing voice, "I had to know for sure."
"Didn't you trust me?" replied John, his voice softer and more relaxed.
"Of course I did. But I had to see to believe. I hope you'll forgive me."
"But you bet against me!"
"No, I didn't!"
"You did! Mycroft said you owed him a fiver!"
"No, no, no," soothed Sherlock, "I bet him five pounds that you wouldn't succumb to his advances. He bet me ten that if you didn't, you would throw him out of the flat! So I ended up owing him a fiver!"
"You bet for me?" asked John, his eyes clouded with tears.
"Yes," smiled Sherlock comfortingly, "And I learnt something important too."
"And what was that?" John whispered blissfully.
"You know my methods, John," smiled Sherlock, "Observation," he said, gripping John tighter in his arms, "and deduction." He brought his face nearer to John's. John closed his eyes for the moment that would send him reeling, the moment that would send all thoughts of science and analysis and anything else in the world, far behind them.