Hey guys, sorry this took so long to update! Patience, the plot will get better when I update the next time! I really hope you like, and I know Mycroft/John isn't a very popular pairing, but there we go! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock and make no profits from this.
'But I kinda know that I won't get far
And you stood there in front of me
Just close enough to touch
Close enough to hope you couldn't see
What I was thinking of' Taylor Swift
John sat up as the inconspicuous black limo pulled up outside an ominous derelict warehouse. Typical Mycroft. 'Anthea' didn't even look up from her Blackberry. John could almost feel Mycroft's presence. A small smile spread across his face. He shouldn't be looking forward to this, but he did. Why? But then he was drawn out of his ashamed thoughts by the trilling of Anthea's voice stating, "We've arrived." The fact that she didn't even look up from her blackberry was slightly worrying. As the chauffer opened the car door (which was something John would never get used to) he saw a tiny raindrop splash against the asphalt. Great. As he reached out for his coat, the car door slammed shut and drove off into the distance. That really pissed John off. He didn't think Mycroft would be expecting a wet dog. As the rain splattered down, he dashed for the gaping warehouse entrance. He felt the freezing rain seep through his shirt. Even better. As he slid into the warehouse, he saw Mycroft sitting around a dainty little white table, sipping at a cup of tea. How patriotic. Mycroft looked up at him. "Ah, Dr. Watson. How nice of you to join me. Please, take a seat."But Mycroft wasn't looking at his face, he was outright staring at his chest, which John realised was completely visible because his shirt was plastered to his skin. Damn. He felt his face turn red, but tried to ignore it. As he approached the white table, he saw a pot of tea and a large tray of cakes. Well this was new. He felt his stomach rubble uncontrollably at the sight of the cakes. It wasn't his fault, he had spent most of the week chasing Sherlock around London, and he barely had time to eat between cases. He was starving. When he had nervously sat down on the chair, Mycroft stated disapprovingly, "John, really, you shouldn't let my brother control your diet." John sighed. The usual 50 questions. Not that minded. At least Mycroft pretended to care, whereas Sherlock didn't really care at all. John replied, "He can't help it. He doesn't eat on cases." Mycroft tutted. "Have you ever considered not chasing after my little brother?" John bridled. "I actually happened to like following your 'little brother' around." Mycroft sighed. "Each to his own. Any interesting cases recently?" John shook his head. "Nothing to report." He felt freezing. He tried to suppress his shivers. But Mycroft never missed anything. "I believe, John, that you are cold?" he began to unbutton his thick coat. John was still in shock that Mycroft had called him John. He'd never done that before. It had always been Dr. Watson. What did this mean? Had their relationship moved on? He thought hopefully. But why would he want that? Only when Mycroft stood up did he realise that Mycroft was going to give him his coat. John protested. "No, Mycroft, really, I'm fine." Mycroft gave him a withering look. "John, I insist." And John knew he couldn't refuse. So he grudgingly accepted the offer, and as he slipped it on, he was glad he had. Mycroft smiled as he sat down. "Tea?" He didn't wait for John's reply. Well this day was getting stranger and stranger. First the coat, then this, Mycroft Holmes, was pouring him a cup of tea. He gratefully accepted the boiling mug. His and Mycroft fingers briefly brushed as he passed him the mug. John felt a spark of electricity pass through him. What the hell? He felt attraction towards Mycroft? Not possible. Their eyes met. John looked down. Awkward. Mycroft stood up abruptly. "John, it's been a pleasure seeing you." That had been short. Shorter than usual. John stood up. Mycroft held out his hand. John shook it. "Until next time then." Mycroft gave him one last look, before turning round and walking off, umbrella swinging, leaving John standing alone in the empty warehouse. As he walked back to the black limo, he realised he was still wearing Mycroft's coat. Unconsciously, he snuggled into it. And he hadn't even had a cake.
