Note: Due to finals, updates will be sporadic for the next one to three weeks. Apologies.
Mycroft
If John thought Sherlock was difficult to understand on his own, then understanding his relationship with his brother was downright impossible.
Mycroft rarely bothered him but when he needed to, he managed to do so in a magnificently obnoxious fashion. He came to the flat a few times, showed up at a crime scene or two, but his ultimate favourite way of finding time for John to talk would be threatening and, essentially, kidnapping.
So when John received a text one evening, from none other than one Mycroft Holmes, he had been extremely tempted to delete it or simply not respond.
But Mycroft never texted, so of course John had to look at it.
'I require your assistance. Do you have time to speak? The Diogenes Club at 2100.
Please attend.
-Mycroft Holmes'
John sighed, air hissing through his teeth. He texted back quickly – his time spent with Sherlock having caused that change.
'I'll be there.
-JW'
John rolled his shoulder, rubbing it gently. He had a feeling that it was going to be a lengthy evening.
They sat at a desk across from eachother. John observed quietly. Mycroft was acting unusually cordial – offering him tea, speaking to him privately and with some semblance of respect. And, for once, he knew exactly where he was.
John knew he had it in him – hell, even Sherlock did, deep down – but he never expected kindness from Mycroft to be turned on him in such a manner. It was... pleasant, if not morbidly unsettling.
"What did you need my help with?" John asked, sitting comfortably in his chair. Mycroft looked much more relaxed in dress than John had seen before. He wore the appropriate dress pants and shirt, of course, but just a vest otherwise. No usual suit.
Mycroft seemed to be contemplating his words, moving the wristwatch he had on in a kind of unconscious gesture. John was unsure of how to feel. Of course, it was nice that Mycroft had warmed up enough to him to be comfortable, if that was even what was going on... but it was so much different than the Mycroft John thought he was familiar with.
John glanced at Mycroft expectantly.
"I thought it would be best to request you to do this in person," Mycroft began, folding his hands. "I need you to inform Sherlock of something. I am... unsure of how he may respond," he explained, appearing hesitant. John could tell how difficult it was for him to admit that. It seemed that both Holmes brothers had that problem.
John kept his silence and waited patiently for Mycroft to continue.
"He and Mummy were... close," he summarized shortly, and John didn't ask. There was obviously more to that but it wasn't his place. He had never met the mother of both Holmes boys. Nor any of their other family, if they even had any. His stomach twisted. He had a feeling the news he was about to be asked to deliver was unpleasant.
"Very close. She's approaching old age. She has... begun to grow ill." Mycroft took a sip of his tea.
"None of us are sure how she is going to fare."
John nodded, his mid strangely clear.
Doesn't this sound familiar?
"I'll tell him," John said moments later, and Mycroft looked vaguely surprised.
"Are you sure?" An undertone of disbelief.
John nodded again. "Of course."
There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence. John took that as his cue to gather his things. He slung his bag over his right shoulder, walking towards the door.
"Thank you, John."
John nodded quickly, and continued walking.