Unfaithful
'And I know that he knows I'm unfaithful
and it kills him inside
to know that I am happy with some other guy
I can see him dying' Rihanna
This chapter is dedicated to the lovely PrincessNala, who beta read this for me and had to put with my goldfish stupidity! Thank you! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, unfortunately. No copyright intended and no profits made.
Unfaithful
John sighed knowingly as he saw the familiar black Mercedes pull up outside the entrance of 221b Baker Street. Sherlock would not be happy, but he never was when it concerned Mycroft. The older Holmes brother had picked up an annoying habit of 'kidnapping' John at inconvenient moments, usually when John wasn't chasing Sherlock. These meetings had been occurring for several months now, as long as John had been renting a flat with Sherlock. They were always the same; John was dropped off at a nondescript location somewhere in London where Mycroft would be waiting for him. John was quiet and awkward, Mycroft polite and cordial. Mycroft casually chatted about Sherlock mostly, about his health and a few cases he'd picked up, and John was happy to comply. He couldn't resist, could he? He already had one Holmes to deal with. Grabbing his coat, he headed for the door. Hopefully he could sneak out with Sherlock noticing. God, it was as though Sherlock was his nanny. But then Sherlock's voice called out from the kitchen, he cringed and stopped in his tracks.
"John? Where are you going?" Sherlock asked questioningly, but John could tell he already knew the answer.
"I'll be back soon Sherlock," and he closed the door behind him, heading for the stairs. He could hear Sherlock ranting, "It's my bloody brother again, isn't it? Damn him!" But he lost Sherlock's voice as he left the building, striding towards the black car. God, Sherlock would be as angry as hell when he got back. Never mind. He could deal with him later. He slid into the plush white leather seats of the limo, next to 'Anthea', or whatever the hell her name was today. He didn't even bother to ask where they were going. He'd given up any form of conversation months ago. Her eyes were constantly glued to her beloved Blackberry. Resignedly, he sank back into the comfortable leather seat. His shoulder was hurting badly today. Sherlock wasn't any help. John's thoughts turned towards Mycroft. He would never of had admitted this to himself, but he secretly enjoyed visiting Mycroft. It was a refreshing break from Sherlock's company. Not that he minded it, it was just he needed a breather when sometimes it all became too much. John could only take so much of a sociopath. Humming to himself, he looked out the black tinted window.