Mycroft walked around his office. He hadn't been inside of it in quite some time, but he could not work from home every day. It simply wouldn't be practical. And- he frowned as he looked at the empty space of his desk and the neatly organized laptop that only just broke up the smooth expanse.

And he was trying to keep himself from the bizarre impulse to buy a picture frame.

Even still, to take a photograph to put inside of it! He had lived his life without feeling the desire to print out likenesses of those he spoke to and to line his desk with their smiles and expectations.

He wanted to buy a picture frame.

He had finished what needed to be done, but he did not want to face his home full of dog toys and useless potted plants and the smells of fresh baking. He wanted the white walls and the brown desk and the organized laptop that his work provided. That his past provided.

Though perhaps what he needed was exercise. William could do with a walk.

No.

He sat at his desk and opened the folder for tomorrow.

John brushed his hair from his eyes. It could do with a cutting. He repotted the lovely foliage into a bigger pot and hummed a song he had heard on the radio.

The shop had become his since he was nearly the only worker. He thought of it as his, at least. There was a back room with a little kitchen area and am office space. John loved being in there. He had various plant clippings that wouldn't sell but could do with some love bordering the floor and decorating the desk. Beside a particularly lovely begonia was a small photo of William.

John did realize that he had to actually see customers in order to keep his little space, so he wasn't in it very often.

He also loved the shop. It was bright and full of green things and good smells. It was personal, in a way that probably only made sense to John.

Most of the people who came in wanted to share.

Flowers for their Mum, a rose for a girlfriend, a funeral, a new home. One girl only wanted a photo of the flowers and John, for a school project. John relished talking to people who probably weren't dying.

John couldn't help but think of Mycroft, as his most certainly not dying companion was quickly becoming an integral part of his life.

He wondered if it was a talent of the Holmes' or if he was just easy to please.

Mycroft hadn't received a reply from Sherlock in a long time. He was certain that Sherlock was fine, or would shortly be, but still bristled at the lack of inquiries into John's well-being.

He did wonder if Sherlock listened to his selfish request for some alterior motive, or if he agreed because that was always his plan.

He did wonder if he was wrong to even consider asking such a thing of him.

He did wonder what it meant that his own brother was probably missing and he was more concerned with the well-being of one John Hamish Watson.

Instead of coming to any conclusions, he asked his secretary for her extra paperwork.

John sat on the couch and watched one of the silly programs Sherlock used to spend his time watching while eating a bag of crisps.

Mycroft came into the house looking harassed and clutching a grocery bag.

"Rough day being the government?"John asked.

Mycroft frowned.

"Alright, rotten mood then. What happened?" John asked.

"I need to tell you something. This might be.. impolite timing but I need to say," Mycroft began.

John nodded.

"I think I know what you're going to say," John said, interrupting him.

"I understand if you think less of me for this but,"Mycroft said.

John laughed.

"You don't need to injure yourself over this. I understand,"he said.

"John! Sherlock is not dead," Mycroft said.

John frowned.

"Yes, yes, he's alive in my heart. It was never going to happen between me and him. Don't chase ghosts, Mycroft, please, "John said.

He pulled Mycroft's face down to his own and kissed him gently. Mycroft held his eyes wide open. Mycroft dropped the bag he was holding.

John pulled away and smiled.

" Tomorrow is a better time for this," he said.

John picked up the picture frame that had fallen to the floor and placed it on the coffee table before smiling at Mycroft and making his way to his room.

Mycroft looked down at the picture frame and sighed.