Two weeks had past and Sherrinford had disappeared. The detective knew that his brother wasn't dead, otherwise he would know and so would Mycroft. Not only was the occurring, but since John and Mary had a baby, things were getting more and more quiet around the flat, understandably. He hardly dropped by to see his friend and his blogger would only come over once or twice. This time it was Mycroft that was over to a cup of tea.
"Missing your friend, I see?" Mycroft asked with a forced smile as they were sitting across from each other.
"He has a family to attend to," he muttered as he sipped on his cup of hot tea, knowing that it was true, obviously.
"First Sherrinford disappears, then John has a family… Oh, what next?" He pretended to sound concern.
Sherlock looked at his brother, not amused at his brother's statement. "Amusing, Mycroft."
"Soon John Watson would forget about his friend," he said as he looked at him with a cold expression.
The youngest narrowed his eyes. "Impossible. He has my Goddaughter."
Mycroft looked at him with hard truth. "It's been two weeks, Sherlock."
"Seven days," he corrected. Even though it was only a few short hours, he still came over.
He gave false sympathy. "Oh, Sherlock. That is tragic."
He growled with annoyance. He wasn't upset that his friend was busy with his own family. He had a baby and that was hard enough to handle. He had his own life. It was a given.
The eldest looked at him with dryness. "You act as if you're fine with this." There was a hidden emotion in his brown eyes and the detective knew exactly what he was trying to say. Something that made the detective put his guard up years ago.
"I am fine with it," he strongly commented, trying to ignore the mental message that his brother was trying to get across.
"Are you?" Then he sighed. "John has his own life and has more of a reason to live now. He probably won't want to risk his life anymore." He picked up his cup and took a sip, not looking at the detective. Again trying to pass the message.
Sherlock never thought of that. Now since John has a baby, he wouldn't want that baby to grow up fatherless. Especially by something that the detective could've avoided.
To no surprise, his brother lowered his cup with a sigh, knowing that it was true. "Never thought of that, I see. Oh, Sherlock, I think you've care a bit too much. Look at her and Sherrinford. So concerned for his safety. Remember Redbeard?"
"I need him alive," he coldly stated, ignoring his brother's last statement, looking his brother dead in the eye to show that it was the truth. "He knows Moriarty's secrets and I need to know them." If Sherrinford died, the detective would be back at square one. Right now it felt like square one and a half.
His brother nodded in agreement, but his eyes were dark and there was a reason behind it.
Sherlock sipped on his own cup of tea as he looked at Mycroft in the eye. "It wasn't his fault," he announced, earning his brother's gaze. "I know you blame him, but it was my idea." He lowered the cup, wanting the point to get straight across.
"He didn't have to get you into that path," he dryly stated.
"And if he didn't, I wouldn't be a detective." He then shook his head with a smirk. "Not true. I would've." It is true that his brother- well, both of them in a way- inspired him to become a detective. He just went in with more drive than inspiration and did it with his talent at deduction at his side.
"No, you could've been worse."
He looked back at his brother, who was glaring at him.
"You could've become like Moriarty." A bitter smile grew upon his lips. "Then what would've happened, Sherlock? I would have no choice, but to kill my baby brother."
Sherlock's eyes drifted away from him, remembering that Mycroft ordered the military to not open fire on his little brother, fearing that he was going to watch him die. "That's not completely true," he muttered. "Mother would never forgive you if you did."
"Nor would she forgive Sherrinford for giving you such a fate, nor would she forgive you for listening to your brother. That," his voice grew lighter, "or you might have ended up in a mental institution." His voice became harsh as his face grew grim. "Forever."
Sherlock stared strongly at his brother. "I didn't become like Sherrinford and I'm not Moriarty, so you don't have to worry about putting a gun to my head, dear brother."
Mycroft forced a smile. "Glad to hear." Then he sighed. "Well, I best be off." He stood up, picking up his umbrella as he set his tea cup down. "Thank Mrs. Hudson for tea for me."
"That's the first," the detective murmured.
His brother gave him a final smile as he walked to the door, then left, leaving the detective with his cooling cup of tea that he was sipping on.
"Never thanked her before," he muttered as if he did.
Sherlock returned to lab to start a new experiment on a brain after finishing the heart a week prior as Molly was weighing a liver. The two of them studied in science, until the pathologist asked, "How's your brother?"
"Fine," he answered, knowing that she was referring to Sherrinford. He obviously didn't know himself, but didn't want to discuss it as he was cutting deeper into the brain.
"That's good. How are you?"
"Fine." He glanced at her. "How are you doing?"
"Fine."
There was a small silence.
"How was your date last night?" He asked to pass time as he was waiting for John to arrive.
Molly hesitated, knowing that he just deduced her. "It was… Alright. Don't really care for him." She gave him an uneasy smile.
He gave her a quick glance with curiosity, then returned to the brain. "Why not?"
She shrugged. "There wasn't anything really there, you know?" She looked at him.
"Not really," he answered, not caring if he knew what she was talking about or not. He was just waiting for John to show up.
Another pause.
Just as the pathologist was about to open her mouth, the doors opened to John Watson. "You said you needed something?" He asked as he approached the detective. "Hi, Molly," he kindly greeted with a smile.
"Hi," she returned the smile.
The doctor looked at his friend. "So what did you need?"
"Absolutely nothing," he dryly answered as he was paying attention to the brain.
"You called me over here-"
"I just needed to talk to you," he admitted.
"About?"
"How's Mary?"
"Good."
"Emily?"
"Good."
"You?"
"I'm fine." He then grew aggravated. "What is that you want to talk about?"
Sherlock smiled humorously at him. "We're talking, aren't we?" He hated that Mycroft's words were starting to get the best of him, making him lie to John that there was an emergency just so he could see him again.
John's face turned blank as he stared at the chuckling detective, who returned to his dissecting. "That's why you called me as soon as possible? Saying that it was an emergency?"
He looked at him with false disappointment. "You don't want to talk to me?" Half of him didn't know if he was faking it or if he was actually concerned that his friend didn't want to see him.
"I have a baby, Sherlock," John sighed. "I can't just leave Mary with her all the time."
Sherlock understood that, but he was starting to get concerned if his friend would no longer want to go on cases together. "You will be joining me on cases still, right?" He softly asked, trying to hide the concern.
John looked at him, taken aback by his question. "Of course!" He cried as if it was the most ridiculous thing he heard of. "You and I are a team!" He then chuckled. "Besides, you'd be nothing without your blogger."
The detective smiled with reasurance. He knew that there was nothing to worry about as he and John were going to remain by each others sides for years to come.