Mycroft flipped through his papers and sighed. This would have been the perfect case for Sherlock, were he not off somewhere playing his game.
"Sir?" the maid said.
"Yes, Jenny?"Mycroft said.
" John Watson is here to see you, "she said.
He was?
" Yes, thank you, Jenny, "Mycroft said.
What was John doing here so late? Anthea had dropped him off at Lestrade's nearly four hours ago.
Mycroft dusted off his top and adjusted his plate of cookies. He went downstairs. If John had come here, best not keep him waiting.
"You're wearing pajamas," John said.
His speech was slightly slurred.
"It's late, John. I'm prepared for bed," Mycroft said.
Why come here when drunk?
"You're quite nice," John said.
"Alright, well, I'll just have my maid put you to bed. Goodnight, John," Mycroft said quickly.
He kept his features schooled and rang for someone to come down.
Sleep that night did not come easy.
John woke up in the morning with a headache and blurry eyes. He rubbed his arm across his face and groaned. Drinking with Anderson and Lestrade was not a good idea. Both men had too much they wanted to forget. John didn't want to forget so much. He wanted to numb. But he drank anyway.
Spit was crusted on the corner of his lip. He angrily brushed at it.
He looked around the room. The shades were drawn and the lights dimmed.
How long had there been a dimmer switch? He must have been pathetic the night before for Mrs. Hudson to turn it on. But, be didn't recognize those curtains. He looked again. This was not his flat.
"Please tell me I didn't go home with some random,"John whispered.
He pressed his palm against his forehead and stumbled out of the room.
"Mycroft?" John whispered to himself, "I went home with Mycroft?"
He stumbled into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
"That is bright," he said.
He pulled out orange juice and sniffed it. Did he actually want orange juice? He put it back.
John made his way through the house until he found Mycroft's room. He was reclining in his bed, reading.
"John? Do you need something?" Mycroft asked.
"You're not sleeping," John said.
"You slept through an entire day," Mycroft said.
John simply looked at him.
"I have difficulty sleeping," Mycroft said by way of explanation.
John walked into the room.
"Yes?" Mycroft said.
"I usually do, since.. since Sherlock..." John said, "I can help you."
"I'm alright, John. Help yourself to the kitchen," Mycroft said.
John sighed.
"I used to do the same to Sherlock. He wouldn't sleep, it's not healthy to miss so much sleep," he said.
Mycroft nodded then, something John was grateful for. He hadn't been needed in a month.
He moved to Mycroft's shoulders and rubbed them in his hands.
"I did this a lot in service as well. It helps, a war zone is not the best lullaby," John said.
Mycroft relaxed almost immediately. John kneaded his back. He trailed his fingers along Mycroft's shirt and then laid him back.
Mycroft took a loud breath. John sat on the bed and hummed. Mycroft closed his eyes. John waited for him to fall asleep before he made it back to the room he fell asleep in.
Yes, it felt good to be needed again
