Chapter 2: Home Not Alone.
The case proved to be disappointing in the end. Instead of a chase, they only got the murderer turning himself in to the police and confessing everything. Sherlock, therefore, should be in what Mrs. Hudson would call "one of his moods" and John would address as "you're-being-a-little-shit-and-I-need-to-go-out-in-order-not-to-strangle-you". Except he wasn't. He didn't particularly know why, but he was feeling surprisingly good since the day before.
Even though he did regret making John go out to buy some milk, he sometimes enjoyed the peace and silence of the flat, no annoying noises and no one saying a considerable amount of idiocy, which of course meant that like if he had a radar, Mycroft had to turn up and ruin everything.
"Hello, dear brother." He could never be bothered to knock, the fat git. He strode across the room and sat in front of Sherlock in John's chair, the detective glared at him because of this. "You seem happy." He stated.
"Yes, well. I was." He took up his violin nonchalantly. "Then you showed up." He smiled a bit without being able to contain himself. After he regained composure (0.04 seconds after) he continued glaring as if nothing had happened, but of course Mycroft caught it. He raised his eyebrows and took on that look which could only mean that he was deducing Sherlock and had found exactly what he was looking for. "What do you want, Mycroft?"
"I hope you're grateful." He said mysteriously, and the sentence was clearly loaded with meaning the musician had yet to decipher. He hated when his brother was one step ahead.
"Of what exactly?" He asked petulantly while plucking into tune one of the strings, he knew how the British Government hated that. The man in front of him made an exasperated sound, as if he was dealing with a child, but then again, Sherlock had never seen his brother without that look an his face.
"You must be aware of the reason why yesterday Dr. Watson turned down his invitation to that party." And at that he had his brother intrigued. He did not anticipated this topic, what could Mycroft possibly want discussing what was clearly none of his business. He probably only wanted his blogger to go to the party to bring him some cake.
"How do you know about it?" Seriously, the fat git could not be spying on him while at a crime scene, how did he managed to know about John's intentions, or about the event at all? There must be someone feeding him this information, and the next time he saw Gabriel Lestrade he was going to get a whole deduction of his wife's affair in return for his troubles.
"I was invited, but of course I will not be of attendance for I have a more important matter which requires my supervision," If John or Mrs. Hudson could enter the sitting room in that instant and get him out of his misery, it would be lovely. "Your doctor, on the other hand, has other... incentives." He trailed off, as if waiting for Sherlock to fill the void. Why must his brother always insist on being this intrusive?
"Do pray tell me what are they." Slow death would be a preferable destiny than sitting here, and listen to the ginger man drone on about what he thought was going on, because he probably just couldn't grasp the concept that John had found the lady as tedious as she was.
"Surely you must have noticed the signs by now." He had this smile across his face, taunting that he knew a secret of which Sherlock was still ignorant.
"Sings? What signs?" He absentmindedly stopped tuning his precious Stradivarius, choosing instead to search for answers in his brother's face.
"Everyone is well aware that you and Dr. Watson posses romantic feelings for each other. Except of course, for you and Dr. Watson." He explained slowly. Sherlock let out a huff of air and scoffed at the idea.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." He said, and if the denial came a bit too quickly, it did not mean it was less real.
"Don't you?" His brother asked, and the detective could not find a course or direction in which to take the conversation away from where it was headed. He had no intention of discussing this preposterous subject with Mycroft of all people.
"Where are you going with this?" Suddenly being sitting down was not active enough, so he stood and went to pick up his oldest friend from the mantle.
"Maybe you should consider indulging in the pedestrian way of going with these sort of...situations." He raised his chin and looked pointedly at his little brother. The detective did everything in his power not to look back.
"Meaning?" The skull was looking a bit murky, maybe he should do something to get Mrs. Hudson to take it and then convince her to give it back. It somehow always returned good as new, well, as new as a eighty year old human skull could look.
"Ask him out." He deadpanned, and the detective stilled his movements for a second before resuming his inspection of Billy.
"We always go out, Mycroft. We work together." You could tell the great Mycroft Holmes did not do this often. After all, giving brotherly advice was not a pastime he enjoyed in the least. But sometimes Sherlock could be so considerably thick, right now being a perfect example.
"I meant a date, Sherlock." This time, the boffin did turned around to look at his brother in the eye, neither of them saying a thing, but both knew exactly what was going on inside of the younger genius. The government official chose to pretend he didn't, though; and the detective to pretend he believed he had him fooled.
After sitting down on his chair once more, Sherlock finally found words to answer the previous statement. "No." He said.
"Very well," The ginger sighed and stood up. "As always a pleasure talking to you, little brother." He started walking to the door, ready to leave. When he turned around to share with his brother one last thought. "He was invited to a Gala that most people spend most of their life wanting to attend. He would never pass down a lovely opportunity as that if it wasn't for you." And he left.
After assessing the situation for a few minutes Sherlock arrived to a conclusion, one that he never thought he would take. He was going to follow Mycroft's advise.