Disclaimer: Still not mine.

A/N: First of all, thank you soooo much for your reviews! I loved every single one of them!

Okay, so I decided to make this into a collection of One-Shot's/drabbles dealing with the topic *drum roll* jealousy! There will be friendship, pre-slash and of course full blown slash. I'll 'warn' you what it'll be in the A/N, of course, so that you'll know whether you would like to skip a certain chapter. So, here's the second One-Shot. And here are the facts you should know:

Pairing: Sherlock/John FRIENDSHIP and Sherlock/Mycroft Brotherly stuff

Rating: T to be safe

Spoilers: Set after TGG but no real spoilers

Word count: 2,004

Beta: The amazing PrincessNala. Thanks so much.

Now enjoy, please.

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'I don't believe an accident of birth makes people sisters or brothers. It makes them siblings, gives them mutuality of parentage. Sisterhood and brotherhood is a condition people have to work at.

- Maya Angelou -

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An Accident of Birth

He'd tried to deny it for a very long time. He'd told himself that it couldn't be. That this was not something he was supposed to feel. That this wasn't something he wanted to feel.

People used to tell him that he was an amiable kind of guy and he'd always been proud of that reputation. He was known to be patient and understanding, to keep his head in moments of a crisis. Considering who his flatmate was, he bloody needed to be those things.

But what he was feeling now wasn't what a genial or understanding guy was supposed to feel and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't ignore it any longer.

He had to face to truth, whether he wanted to or not; Dr. John Watson was jealous.

John still couldn't quite wrap his head around it. To be honest, he was surprised that he was even capable of experiencing such an ugly emotion. There had certainly been no room for jealousy in the army. At least not if you weren't the kind of person who'd begrudge another soldier the fact that they went home with more limbs than you.

And John wasn't that kind of person.

Admittedly, when he had been discharged and thrown back into a world he didn't understand anymore, he had been bitter and depressed.

But never jealous.

But now he was, and for such a trivial matter too. It would have been actually quite ridiculous if it hadn't slowly consumed his mind and made him more irritable with each passing day.

But admitting it didn't mean he had to think about it. For now, John Watson was just glad to be home after a grueling night. He sighed in relief when he entered the rooms at Baker street 221B and more or less collapsed into the chair that he'd claimed as his own. Sleep wouldn't come however, since the two other occupants in the room had no intention of stopping their argument just because John was tired.

The doctor watched them through heavy lidded eyes, once again amazed how different the two brothers were.

Mycroft was as calm and collected as always - only the tight grip on his umbrella betraying how he really felt. John knew the older Holmes only did that when he was short of beating some sense into his brother with said umbrella. The ex-army surgeon wondered if anyone else (except for Sherlock of course) had ever noticed that little tick of Mycroft. He couldn't imagine the man being happy with anyone that was able to look right through that mask of indifference he always wore.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was all flailing limbs and stormy expressions. The genius had never bothered to hide his irritation with his brother. Or with anyone else, really.

"Of all the bloody idiots I have to deal with all day, I wouldn't have expected you to make such a grave error in judgment, my dear brother." Sherlock seethed. He was pacing up and down their living room. John gave up following him with his eyes after a few minutes - it was making him dizzy.

"I could say the same." Mycroft replied calmly. John was once again amazed how aloof the man managed to sound. Not a lot of people stayed calm when Sherlock teared into them like that. The doctor had a lot of patience himself, but even he needed to bite his tongue from time to time when his flatmate went off the deep end.

Sherlock shot his brother a venom filled glare. "We were fine until you and your lackeys turned up."

Mycroft raised one of his eyebrows and his gaze momentarily flickered over to John who was cursing his bad luck. He'd hoped they would keep him out of their petty argument, just this once. "I'm sure Dr. Watson and his sprained wrist would disagree. And your bleeding head wound doesn't exactly proof your capabilities either."

The consulting detective's hand went to the cut on his forehead but stopped just short of touching it. John meanwhile hid his aching wrist as best as he could. He'd suffered worse in his life and it probably wouldn't even hurt anymore come tomorrow morning, but he didn't like being reminded of his inability to block the attack of their suspect. Especially since, shortly after knocking John down, the man had hurt Sherlock as well and the doctor couldn't help but feel guilty. If that murderer hadn't surprised him, then his friend wouldn't have gotten hurt. He was actually happy that Mycroft had turned up when he did but he would be damned if he voiced that thought.

His genius flatmate waved his hand in dismissal. "No reason to interrupt our investigations. You're always getting in the way and I'm sick of it."

Mycroft's face went carefully blank and John felt his irritation with his friend rise another notch. He uncurled the fingers that had balled into a fist and watched the brothers ignoring each other until the older one left with a brief nod in Johns direction.

Sherlock was still fuming when they heard the door downstairs shut, but John wasn't faring much better. It grew harder and harder to keep his temper in check. He just hoped that the detective would let this go...

"Can you believe him?"

John groaned. He should have known better. Sherlock never let things simply go.

"I just don't understand why he always feels the the need to interfere with my life."

Maybe, if he hadn't been in pain and so bloody tired, he might have been able to stop himself from reacting. If he hadn't been so high-strung from his own tangled, confusing emotions, he might have simply shrugged it off and gone to bed. But as it was, John mouth opened without his consent and released words that would have better been left unsaid.

"Bloody pillock, Sherlock! Mycroft cares about you."

Sherlock seemed taken aback for a second – although John doubted he was as shocked as John was himself – before he regained his composure and rolled his eyes. "Oh please, John. We can barely stand each other."

"And yet he cares, doesn't he?" John hissed and jumped out of the chair. For a moment he didn't know what to do with himself, then he decided to make some tea. When in doubt, make some tea, he told himself. While he brewed himself a cup he was painfully aware of Sherlock's eyes following his every move. And he was also aware of the fact that he hadn't stopped talking yet. "He cares about you, checks up on you. Okay, so his methods are a bit extreme, with the 24/7 surveillance and all, but he only does that because he wants to make sure you are safe. And what does he get in return? Nothing but harsh words and your bloody rejection. But he won't stop caring because that's what brothers do, no matter how ungrateful their siblings are. No matter how much their antics hurt them. Brothers care and they always will."

There was nothing but silence after his outburst. John was breathing hard and refused to turn around and see the expression on Sherlock's face. His hands were shaking as he poured some tea into two cups and he felt the outrageous anger leave him ever so slightly.

He didn't even bother trying to pretend that this was about Sherlock and Mycroft anymore. And there was probably no chance in hell that Sherlock hadn't noticed it too.

When he finally had to acknowledge that there was nothing left to do in the kitchen, he forced himself to turn around and face his flatmate.

Sherlock looked at him with an expression on his face that was somewhere between surprise, disbelief and... contrition?

The silence was becoming uncomfortable. Before John could make up an excuse to leave, Sherlock's soft voice reached his ears.

"By the way, how's Harry?"

John expected to feel embarrassed and humiliated. Even being angry with Sherlock for seeing through him so fast would have been welcome. Instead he felt the heavy blanket of resignation settle over him.

"The same as always."

And that was the problem. John had done everything to help Harry after she'd broken up with Clara. Had offered her an ear to listen and even a shoulder to cry on although Harry had never been the kind of woman who felt comfortable expressing her emotions.

Even though he'd had problems of his own upon coming home, he'd tried to get her back on track. His worry hadn't been appreciated, though. She had shoved him away and turned to the bottle instead. John couldn't even say anymore how often she'd called him in a drunken stupor and yelled at him. His sister had the tendency to blame him for everything that went wrong in her life, including her failed marriage.

'If you hadn't gone to that stupid war I wouldn't have worried so much and then I wouldn't have started drinking and then me and Clara wouldn't have argued all the time! This is all your fault John! Fix it!' she would scream and he would bite into his own hand until he drew blood so he wouldn't scream right back that she'd never worried about him.

Not like Mycroft did about Sherlock.

Harry was the older sibling but she didn't act like it. Every time John saw the two Holmes brothers bicker, saw how Mycroft cared about his little brother in his own insane way, he couldn't help but envy Sherlock and resent him just the tiniest bit for not appreciating his big brother. Just like Harry never appreciated what he did for her.

For all his social awkwardness and bad-people-skills, Sherlock must have figured some of that out with that big brain of his. He looked decidedly uncomfortable and John almost felt sorry for him before remembering that he should be the one to be uncomfortable.

Especially since it actually looked like Sherlock wanted to talk about this some more. A few weeks ago John would have found the idea that Sherlock wanted to talk about feelings – voluntarily – ridiculous, but the detective had changed a lot since the incident with Moriarty and the pool. He'd become more willing to let John in, not just into his flat, but into his heart, as cheesy as that sounded.

But no matter how much John appreciated the change in Sherlock, he wasn't ready to talk about Harry just yet. She was still a sore spot and always would be. His eyes pleaded with the other man to let the topic drop and fortunately his friend, for once, actually understood what he wanted.

And complied.

Sherlock cleared his throat, grabbed his tea and looked anywhere but at John. "Well, anyway, I guess I could be a bit more... considerate towards Mycroft in the future."

John was touched. The way his friend had almost chocked on the words was proof enough that this kind of admission couldn't have been easy.

"Are you sure you'll really be able to do that?" he joked, relief and remorse filling him. It had been stupid to be jealous of Sherlock's relationship with his brother. It wasn't their fault that Harry was slowly destroying her life or that John was too weak to do anything about it.

Sherlock relaxed visibly when he saw John smile at him. He shrugged and retreated to their living room, convinced that John would follow.

"Probably not."

John couldn't help but chuckle. He figured that a 'Probably not' was still better than a 'Hell no!'.

For now, that was enough for him.

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A/N: The idea that John would be jealous of Sherlock's 'close' relationship with his brother wouldn't leave me alone once I had it and I just HAD to write it down. A bit more angsty than my usual stuff, but I really do like angsty! Expect more.

Loved it? Hated it? You know how to tell me...

Btw, if you have a plotbunny that could fit into this collection, I'm still open to hear it!