Please leave comments... I need to know how I did... before I dared to write more...
Disclaimer: can I claim John Watson to be mine? I want a good doctor...
Chapter 2
"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit" Mycroft's sophisticated voice rung across his posh and finely furnished office.
"To whom, Mycroft. To whom do you owe this visit to" mumbled Sherlock as he sat cross his brother's desk, still nursing his bruised cheek.
"Am I right to assume that whom is the same person who gave you that bruise on your cheek?" said Mycroft smugly, seemingly agreeing with the punch.
"You assume right." Sherlock scowled at his brother's smugness. "I want to know what happened whist I was gone." Once finishing this sentence, Mycroft Holmes' smugness morphed into a guarded expression. Finding this interesting, Sherlock shifted into his thinking pose, waiting for Mycroft to reinitiate the conversation.
"How much do you know?" Mycroft answered with another question. Sherlock settled into his diagnostic position and started his deduction. "Firstly, despite the warm day yesterday, John was wearing a long sleeved shirt, buttoned at the sleeves. Any person on such a day with long sleeve shirt would have rolled the sleeves up, especially in the case where he was packing the grocery away. This meant that either he was actually cold or he was hiding something along his arm. If he was cold, he would have worn a jacket. Hence the other possibility is more plausible."
Stopping to gather his thoughts, Sherlock continued his theory. "Secondly, he had lost quite a lot of weight; the decrease in a belt hole indicates roughly two pounds. His tummy suggested he had lived a sedentary lifestyle before getting to lose the weight. This meant that something occurred to stop him from moving around, stopped him from exercising, something akin to an accident where he was confined to limited movement."
Leaning back to make his last deduction, Sherlock continued. "Lastly, he's limping slightly. I could see that it is not psychosomatic as he tends to favour his left leg and his right shoe is more worn as he shuffles with the bad leg. Also he could not reach the higher shelves with his left arm; this indicates recent injury to make his shoulder worst then before."
Looking up to see the expression on his brother's face, Sherlock stopped to see whether he was on the right track. However, Mycroft bore an emotionless mask, as his eyes glitter with interest. "Well, if you are that worried, why didn't you ask him yourself?" asked Mycroft after seeing his younger brother's questioning glance.
Sherlock put up a frustrated hand and ruffled through his short cropped hair, missing his curls. "He wouldn't have told me" leaning back into the chair and dropping his chin to his chest, Sherlock resembled a grumpy child pouting. Mumbling from the awkward position Sherlock continued his ranting. "He said he would talk about it today, after letting him get some sleep yesterday night. But this morning he woke up late and had to rush to work. I told him to skip work for a day. He said he can't as the clinic was short on hand due to the summer holidays."
Seeing his younger brother's frustration, Mycroft smiles and said "John promised you that he would talk with you when he gets back." Seeing a nod from Sherlock, Mycroft continued his own analysis of the situation "but you got impatient." With another nod, Sherlock slouches more into the chair, defying the acknowledgement that his brother was right. "Well, all I can tell you is that you have to wait" said Mycroft softly.
Sherlock looked up in disbelieve, "Why? What is so important that you can't tell me?" Sherlock stood up and leaned forward into his brother's deck, facing closer to Mycroft, waiting for an answer. Seeing his brother's defiance, Sherlock realised something "Is it won't, or can't?" Observing a flicker of wavering emotion, Sherlock stood up strait and said "won't."
Mycroft broke his brother's unyielding gaze; he signed and confessed "this is a story for John Watson to tell. I swore not to tell you anything until he agrees." Looking at his younger brother's confused and fearful expression, Mycroft leant back into his big chair and said "it was for the best" and closed his eyes, indicating the end of the conversation.
Sherlock looked in disbelieve at his brother as Mycroft closed off his expression from any of Sherlock's observation. Sherlock knew that there would be no point in further inquiring his brother about John. He exited in a fury to seek for the next best thing, Lestrade.
