Chapter .16
John is singing in the shower. He's got absolutely horrible pitch, which is no surprise considering the amount of yelling he did last night while they were on that case of "The Speckled Blond", as John insists on titling it in his blog. Stupid. Predictable, dull, and utterly stupid title.
From his spot in the chair opposite, Mycroft winces and raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly at his brother.
You're still sure about this, then?
Sherlock raises his lips to exposes the barest hint of fang.
Yes. Absolutely.
John's voice reaches an especially high note.
A bird flies away from the windowsill in alarm.
Mycroft looks again. Sherlock stares back.
Perfectly sure.
