/There is a moment here where I'm literally quoting my favorite television show, I feel like I should point that out. Review if you know the show./

How long have you known about it?

Did you know it from the start?

Did you know when I told you that I loved you, baby?

And what did you tell him?

I know it ain't the truth

So I said…

John knew it was foolish to think a single night with Sherlock would repair their relations. He knew it in his mind, but his heart had subtly hoped that things would be different. But it wasn't. When Sherlock left the next morning, things were back to their rather painful new normal. John was no stranger to casual sex at this point, but it kind of stung to see his former love interest come and go so casually. But that's all it was and now he had to deal with it.

He kept his meeting with Mycroft to himself; if the older Holmes brother wanted Sherlock to know, surely he'd tell him. And there was no point in ruining their night by bringing it up. John was too occupied enjoying what he imagined would be the very last time he'd ever call Sherlock his.

Besides, Mycroft is an innocent friend in all this. There's nothing to tell.

He'd never looked at Mycroft in a remotely sexual way, not even in a friendly way for that matter. He was twice as arrogant as Sherlock was, and just as demanding if not more so. Although, he admitted, Mycroft did seem to understand his fellow man much easier than his baby brother, and while he wasn't entirely pleasant to converse with, he did seem easier to chat with. And they did develop a better friendship during the two years Sherlock had faked his death for. John realized that Mycroft had kept him company that whole time because he knew Sherlock had faked it, and he wanted to be there for him knowing he had no idea.

So long since I've wrote about it

I should have known it from the start

I should have known when you told me that you loved me, baby

But what did you tell me

I'ma hope it ain't the truth

So I said…

The car arrived precisely at 7pm a week after the coffee shop meeting, as Mycroft had promised. Same driver, same escort. He briefly wondered if these were the only two people Mycroft trusted to run his errands, or if there were others he'd never met. It was much easier to keep secrets amongst crowds, but perhaps the intimacy of having as few employees as possible was the goal.

Silent car ride. The woman had a flirty smirk, or, perhaps John only thought it was flirty. He was terrible with women. Either way, Mycroft was family and, by extension, this woman was as well. She wasn't to be messed with.

It was a surprisingly short drive to Mycroft's estate, and once inside he couldn't help but gawk. Mycroft was… a shockingly simple man. Simple furniture. Simple decor. Even the clothes he was wearing for the evening seemed far too simple. He was a complex man after all. Or maybe that's just what he wanted others to think about him.

"I'm so relieved you could make it, John," the two men greeted each other with a short handshake and Mycroft quickly went about showing him around his living space. Mycroft owned buildings for sure, but the place he truly called home was small, definitely a one-man dwelling. It made John wonder about his bachelor lifestyle, as he was never known to have any romantic partners, or interest for that matter. It was a home suited to one man living on his own, and very practical.

"I apologize for the mess, I let the housekeeper off early today so that we'd have the night to ourselves." Of course he'd have home staff.

"It's no trouble, honestly," he saw no mess. His dwelling was always so cluttered with papers and trinkets and bullet holes in the wall, so compared to John's apartment Mycroft's home was spotless. "Your home is remarkably cozy."

"I prefer it that way," Mycroft beamed softly. "A large estate is very intimidating, it's why I almost exclusively conduct business at my family's other locations. But to live in? It's… much."

"Well you've seen my place, I can't judge," John chuckled a bit, more to himself than anything. They certainly -had- been through a thing or two at 221B. "It's very nice, Mycroft."

Why are we making idle chat? Surely he invited me for serious matters.

"Thank you. If you'll follow me," he took John's coat and hung it neatly by the door before leading him down to the dining hall. "Dinner will be ready in five. Solidad is an amazing chef and has prepared a nice charcuterie for us in the meantime."

"Sounds lovely." The more the small talk went on, the more nervous it made John. Mycroft, even when he -was- trying to be friendly, always seemed to have an end game.

The dining hall was set up for one to two people, but it was rather… inviting? The atmosphere was incredibly well-lit, yet not harsh on the eyes in the least. The table had been set with two chairs, a long rustic tablecloth, flowers and tealight candles, and had two wine glasses with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. And the scents of roasting meat and baked puff pastry from the kitchen had thoroughly penetrated the air. It reminded John of the Sunday meals he'd share with his family as a child.

Mycroft pulled one chair from the table and gestured for John to sit down, which he so graciously did. He hadn't noticed he'd left his cane at home, but he hadn't felt the need for it today. After John was seated, Mycroft disappeared behind the kitchen door, and, as promised, returned with an elegantly decorated charcuterie board.

He set the board between them and then took a seat himself. "I hope you'll enjoy this, it's a tasting menu of my own creation, actually."

John had a good look at everything set before him and glanced up at Mycroft. "Where did you learn culinary arts?"

"Can I confide in you, Watson?" He leaned forward. "Backroom of a Denny's. Plenty of time to tinker around."

John snorted a weird, surprising laugh; Mycroft wasn't generally a humorous man, but when he tried he could make anybody laugh. "I believe it."

Mycroft smiled warmly. "Everything is fresh from the greenhouse as well." He offered a small dish of cherry tomatoes to John. "You can really taste the difference between homegrown and the ones you find in the markets."

He did in fact take one and try it. It was sweet, not a single hint of tartness.

"But the real magic," Mycroft continued, "happens when you start to combine flavors. For example," he took a cherry tomato himself and a small injector syringe made specifically for food prep, "take a simple cherry tomato, squirt a little aged balsamic vinegar into its fleshy center," he offered the tomato to John, holding it up to his lips. John felt a twinge of awkwardness as he took it from Mycroft between his lips. It was something completely new.

"That's… amazing." John made eye contact with Mycroft, who'd been watching him intently as he experienced this entirely new flavor. "Why did you ask me here tonight?"

Mycroft let out a very gentle sigh. "I apologize that I'm being so straightforward given everything that's happened between my brother and you. I, too, understand what it's like to watch someone you care so deeply for go off with another. It isn't easy."

"But why are we here right now?"

Mycroft stood and stalked around the table for two. "I'm not a relationship person, Johnathon."

"Please, just- It's John, not Johnathon."

"Apologies. As I was saying, I'm not a relationship person. I'm not looking for a relationship, or anything serious. But," he now stood to John's side, allowing one hand to run along John's shoulders before both hands came to rest in a comfortable position on either shoulder, Mycroft moving behind the younger man now. "I like you John. I find you an incredibly attractive man, and I feel that we could both benefit from a… closer friendship, per say."

Mycroft's hands moved in a firm yet gentle way, massaging John's now-tensed shoulders and neck. "I can't… do that to Sherlock."

"You two aren't together anymore, you've both said it yourselves." Mycroft's tone was sickeningly sweet, soothing in a way that John hadn't expected it to be. "You're incredibly loyal to my baby brother to stay single for him, aren't you?"

"I'm not staying single for him. I'm just…" John really had to think about it. Sure, he'd been on a handful of dates since breaking up with the detective, but he wasn't invested in any of them. He didn't feel ready for that. "I haven't found somebody worth getting attached to, that's all."

"So what's wrong with something casual?" Mycroft leaned down, allowing his hands to venture down John's chest in a suggestive way. "We all have our needs, John, and I'm not asking for romance or a commitment from you. It might just be nice to help each other out from time to time."

John didn't hate the sound of that. He and Sherlock had stopped sleeping together long before the break-up, and it felt wrong to alleviate himself thinking about Sherlock now that Sherlock had moved on. He found himself leaning back in his chair, eyes drooping lazily as Mycroft had massaged some of the worst tension out of him. It felt good to be touched by another human again. And there were no downsides he could see.

Mycroft's hands lingered for a few moments longer, until the private chef brought out a large tray of roasted pheasant and vegetables, John's favorite. He was about to question how Mycroft knew, but stopped himself. Mycroft could find out anything about anybody, John being no exception.

"So…" He took his seat once again as John recomposed himself and poured himself a glass of wine.

"I'd love to."

Every note

Of every chord

Of every song

Reminds me

Reminds me that you gave up

You sold me out