John Watson officially despised Jim Moriarty. The guy was obsessed with Sherlock and playing his little games. John might have looked at it differently unless Sherlock wouldn't be as interested in Moriarty as the later was interested in the detective. It was driving John up the wall. Cases were going smoothly and then this happened. Moriarty appeared couple of days before John's birthday. Oh bugger, as if he needed this kind of present. He had already said that he did not want anything big.

Sherlock had attached himself to the case and would not move away from it even if his life depended on this decision. He had met someone who was at least equal in intelligence (well then there is Mycroft of course) and almost equally interesting. Sherlock would go for days without speaking, just looking up in chasing ponies in his mind palace and John, let us be honest, was not happy. He was far from happy. His unhappiness was written all across doctor's face and he knew that Greg had noticed. And if Greg had noticed, Mycroft knew. Well, Mycroft knew anyway.

This was one of these days. Sherlock was nowhere near interested in communication and when Sherlock turns down watching Doctor Who, it is definitely a sign that he should not be bothered if one does not want to be at the receiving end of his sharp words. John took a deep breath and stood from the chair he had been occupying for the last twenty minutes. His mind was racing but his body said that he needed to go for a walk; otherwise the thinking will never stop. And knowing Sherlock, the doctor most likely will not be able to get any information out of the detective. He had called Greg and they had decided to go out for a pint later that evening but right now he needed the air. What were the chances that Sherlock would notice the absence of John? You guessed right – slim.

He took his jacket and the soft click of closing the door made him release the breath he was holding. Sherlock Holmes could be really frustrating and John wasn't sure that he knew exactly how frustrating the man was or could be. Maybe Sherlock was rubbing off on him already and Mycroft as well. Now that was a thought. He enjoyed the company of Holmes' brothers when they were not fighting because it was a comfortable feeling. And Greg was the one who did fit at Mycroft's side amazingly well as well. Besides, who would have thought that they would start this … thing between them?

London was alive. The evening had settled in and the tourists were almost gone, leaving only an occasional comer or goer. They were in pubs and bars, watching football or doing something like that. John didn't even pay attention to where he was going. He must have been simply walking, looking utterly lost in thought because when a sleek black car pulled next to him, he knew that Mycroft had to be worried. Well, he would never admit it though but if he sent a car, there had to be a reason.

He opened the door and slid in the welcoming leather seats. But this time it wasn't Anthea with her Blackberry who was there. It was Mycroft.
- To what do I owe the honour? - He asked, looking the British Government in the eyes.
- Cut the crap, John. What's going on? - Mycroft's voice was warningly distant and John shrugged as an answer to his question.
- Nothing. Everything's peachy. – He looked out the car window and spent a few moments collecting his thoughts and watching the London sliding by. – Sherlock's distracted with the Moriarty case -
Where did that come from? He didn't even recognize his own voice. John Watson, get a grip! Warm fingers touched his and John jumped, looking over at Mycroft whose expression was dead serious but his eyes held warmth in them.
- John. You know how Sherlock gets when he has a new puzzle to solve. He will not stop easily and Moriarty is…
- Worthy – that was not supposed to come out either. Not to Mycroft, not to anyone. But John somehow thought that Mycroft knew anyway. It was rather hard to hide something from the British Government anyway. Mycroft's fingers squeezed his and then let go.
- Don't worry about it too much John. It will pass – he hummed and then looked at his watch which was elegantly stored in his pocket as per usual. – Let's go and have dinner. I know you must be starving and, honestly, I haven't had time to eat as well. Gregory is out on a crime scene so he might join us for a drink a bit later -
John's stomach growled as a response and the doctor nodded. What could he say? His thoughts were erratic and he actually appreciated Mycroft's attention because a certain dark haired detective most likely had not even noticed that John had left the flat anyway.
- He knows that you are not there – Mycroft's voice rang in his ears and John narrowed his eyes at the man
- Stop messing with my head. You know I hate it -
- Oh but I was just observing you, my dear doctor. Your shoulders are tense, you are nervous and annoyed but above all you feel disappointed. Your face plays that little game when it tells me everything. And don't worry, others might not even notice. I just know you very well. -
- Am I horribly desperate? – John's voice had once again gone back to a whisper
- No. You're human. Come on, we're here - Mycroft said, climbing out of the car and nodding to the driver who nodded back.