Chapter 4: Love Sick

This was proving to be a real nightmare. John was gone, on his date with the insipid Jessika, believing the detective was somehow comfortable with the idea of sharing the doctor's attention. And, as usual, it was all Mycroft's fault! Speaking of the fat devil, he seemed to not be satisfied with only ruining Sherlock's chances -if he had any- with John, but he had thus proceeded to abandon his official duties and nag at the detective with his presence. The only thing that could make this evening worse was if Anderson somehow decided to spend the afternoon at his and John's flat chatting and drinking tea. And before you even consider it, universe: No. That wasn't a challenge.

"John left here at precisely twelve to seven, it takes him eight minutes to reach her house, two minutes of her tedious small talk for him to realise she's the most boring individual on this planet, three minutes to make his excuses and leave, and another ten minutes to return because of the traffic. So how come it's already fourteen past seven and he's not here yet?" Sherlock muttered to himself pacing the floor of the sitting room. While Mycroft continued to observe him from his position in the doctor's chair.

"It clearly is because he is actually going to go through with the plans of the evening." He knew his remark would do nothing to appease his brother's mind, and in all honestly, he should know better than to appall him while he was distressed -or high for that matter-.

Sherlock spares a glare in his direction, annoyed with the ginger's meddling as Mrs. Hudson appeared in the threshold holding a tray of even more Blue Chews. How the hell did she manage to bake so many? "Oh dear, you just need to relax a bit. Maybe sit down here with your brother and have a biscuit." She said giving him her characteristic smile.

"The last thing I desire right now is to clog up my body with biscuits." He spat the last word as if it was the worst insult anyone could had ever given him. His landlady, however, shook her head and patted him in the back with comprehension, then continued to clatter about and set the tray of Chews in front of Mycroft. Maybe he will eye them and squirm at the desire of eating one all night, or maybe he would indulge and eat the whole tray. Serves him well. The detective, after deeming both scenarios highly satisfactory, sent a grateful half smile at the older lady sitting now on his leather chair.

"Dearest brother, it's hardly your place to sulk about that. After all, it was you who practically did everything but shove him out the door." Apparently Mycroft was going to go down swinging in the battle against his diet, for he kept trying to avoid seeing the biscuits and instead choose to shift his gaze across the room.

"I told him he should go if he wanted to." But John should have seen right through it. He was supposed to say he didn't want to and spend the evening with him. Instead of with that insipid dancer.

"Then, what is the problem, dear?" Mrs. Hudson queried. The landlady should know, she was there, for God's sake! The problem was that his blogger had taken it all wrong and was now doing the exact opposite result his plan was designed to deliver.

After what seem like a year, but might as well have been around four seconds, he answered barely audibly. "I didn't want him to." Sherlock's bottom lip was not sticking out like if he was a toddler. He had long since stopped being a child and he was not acting like one, despite his brother's insistence otherwise. "Specially if he was going to be there for more than," He checked his wrist watch. "28 minutes."

The British Government sighed, clearly exasperated. He was not used to dealing with things like this, and neither was Sherlock, reason why this plan was turning out to be a complete disaster. "What if he was kidnapped? It would explain the delay, and we haven't heard a thing about Moriarty in a few weeks." The detective knew it was a long shot, but at least the possibility gave him an excuse to call the doctor and check.

He took his phone out of his dressing gown and was about to hit number one on his speed dial when his brother stalled him with his umbrella. "If your doctor were missing, I would know by now, brother. You're not contacting John on his mobile."

Mycroft looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but there, his brother couldn't fathom why wasn't he. "Fine." He muttered.

Resigned, he flung himself in the coach, and fished for his phone again. He started dialling. "You're not calling the venue either." The older man said from his position in front of the fire.

"Piss off, Mycroft." He was sure he could find the number on the internet if he typed in the right words.

"Your brother's right, Sherlock. If you bother him, he won't be happy," Started the landlady, who suspiciously looked amused at the whole situation. Maybe it was because the assumption she made all those months ago when John moved in to Baker Street and she offered them another bedroom had been proven right. "And you know how he yells when you're having a domestic." The detective seemed as if either he didn't hear, or he didn't care; which anyone who had spent an amount of 37 seconds in his company would know it was the latter.

Deeming it a lost cause, the ginger man spoke. "Even though I always enjoy having a front row seat at watching you make a total fool of yourself, brother dear; I'd rather not have to pick up the pieces after this goes awry." He stood and shook an invisible lint off his perfectly tailored suit. He gave a final pointed look at his brother and then raised his eyebrows. How the boffin detested those suggestive eyebrows, he regretted having failed at burning them that time he was six and his brother was sleeping.

Mrs. Hudson also left her seat, and intended to accompany his brother out the door. "Don't let him near the Chews, Mrs Hudson. He already broke his diet once this week." Not that he would care one way or the other, mind you. He just wanted to be left alone to do as he wished: which included two phone calls and his best suit.

Once he found the number of the venue, and deduced the annoying woman who answered, he was able to speak with a manager. "I'm afraid my brother had to leave the country unexpectedly, so I would like to change the name of the reservation." He spoke to the phone while cuffing his left sleeve. "Two tickets to the name of Sherlock Holmes."