"What was all that about?" asked John, dodging the debris from the latest item Sherlock had thrown at the wall.

Sherlock looked up from his phone. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've managed to break every single teacup and plate that we owned." John gestured towards the broken crockery that littered the floor. "I presume Mycroft was being particularly irritating, but what were you arguing about this time?"

"It doesn't matter. Not important." Sherlock was lying, and hoped that John was too preoccupied with the shattered crockery to notice.

"Well, you can tell him that he'll be paying for some new crockery."

A wry smile formed on Sherlock's face. His lie had gone undetected. "Mycroft practically is the British Government. I'm sure that he can stretch to buying a new set of crockery."

John waited a while expectantly. "Well, aren't you going to offer to pick some of this mess up, seeing as it was you that made it in the first place?"

Sherlock stood, causing John to hope that he had managed to improve the detective's manners in some small way since he had moved in. John was sick of tidying up after Sherlock. If Sherlock asked him to, he wouldn't mind, but it was the fact that Sherlock assumed John would do it for him that really irritated him. "No, I'm going out."

John's hopes faded rapidly. Same old Sherlock, then. "Out? Where?"

"To see my brother." Sherlock began to put his coat and scarf on.

"Haven't you two communicated enough already tonight?" John was getting worried for the safety of their other breakable possessions. He was tempted to move the skull from the mantelpiece, but thought the better of it. Sherlock would never smash that skull. He probably cared about it more than he cared about John.

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't be going to see him. I admit that spending time with Mycroft is about as fun as spending time with Anderson, but unfortunately, he is still my brother, and with that comes certain responsibilities."

"Responsibilities?"

"Yes, it's up to me to tell him what a complete and utter arrogant idiot he is. It's even more fun doing so when he's in the Diogenes Club. There are so many ways to communicate without actually using words." Sherlock was plotting something, judging by the wicked grin spreading on his face. "Are you coming?"

John didn't really want to go and watch the two brothers fight. He'd seen way too much fighting during his time in the Army. He knew that the brothers cared for each other deep down, but still, John had better things to do with his time than listen to their childish arguments. Like working out what Mycroft and Sherlock were arguing about this time, for one thing. Even if he tagged along, the Holmes brothers were clever enough to continue arguing with John present and still not reveal any clues about what their argument was actually all about. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass this time."

Unless John was mistaken, Sherlock looked relieved. Didn't he want John's company after all? Was he only asking to be polite? Sherlock wasn't usually one for politeness, but John begrudgingly admitted that the detective had been making some progress in this area recently. You were right, said a nagging little voice inside John's head. He'd rather spend time with the skull than you.

"I'm leaving now, John." Sherlock's voice interrupted the one inside John's head, which he was grateful for. John began to marvel at how he had started an argument with himself. "Why don't you go and ask Mrs Hudson if she wants to watch television or something?" Sherlock spat the word 'television' as if the very idea deeply offended him.

"Yeah, might do." John murmured, but he wasn't really listening. He was worried that the others had been right all along, that Sherlock didn't have friends, and that the detective was getting bored of him. The doctor had been waiting for this to happen for some time, although acknowledging that it could actually be happening now made his stomach church. John was so consumed by his concern that he failed to hear Sherlock leave the flat.

As Sherlock sat in the back of a cab, on his way to visit his brother, he took a little time to leave his mind palace and concentrate on the emotions he was currently feeling. He seemed to be experiencing a mixture of worry and relief. He was worried because John was usually willing to go anywhere with him, with their destinations ranging from horrific crime scenes to breaking into top-secret military bases, and so Sherlock couldn't understand why John didn't want to go with him to see his brother. Mycroft wasn't that intimidating, was he? Sherlock could understand that his brother's hobby of kidnapping John could be quite irritating, but John didn't seem to mind too much, as long as Mycroft never forced him to do anything, as long as he was given a choice. Was John growing tired of Sherlock? The very idea made Sherlock's stomach churn, but the detective had often wondered how long it would be before John left him. On the other hand, Sherlock was relieved that John had declined his invitation. He wanted to know what Mycroft meant by his earlier comments regarding sentiment: "After all, you have John for that" and "When are you both going to admit it to yourselves?" Sherlock deduced that as his body was producing large amounts of adrenaline, he would be ready to ensure that Mycroft lived to regret his actions if his previous comments had been intended as threats towards John. Sherlock wouldn't let anything happen to John, even if the doctor was tiring of him, but the cabbie interrupted his thought process before he could determine why he felt this way.

"'Ere you are, mate. The Diogenies Club." The cab came to a halt outside Mycroft's favourite residence.

"It's the Diogenes Club, not the Diogenies," corrected Sherlock as he paid the fare, stepped out onto the pavement, and then strode into the club. Mycroft's absence from the silent rooms disappointed Sherlock slightly. It looked like the brothers would have to continue arguing using words, rather than through the other ways Sherlock had been imagining. He had always wondered what it would be like to have an argument with Mycroft through mime, actions, or even physical fighting, in part because he was intrigued to see whether or not his brother would be willing to let go of his umbrella for that length of time. Sherlock found the Stranger's Room easily, having deduced that this would be where Mycroft was located if he was not in the silent rooms, and barged into the room without knocking.

Mycroft was seated as his desk, reading some paperwork whilst continuing to hold on to his umbrella. "Hello, dear brother. I was wondering how long it would be before you graced us with your presence," said Mycroft dryly, without even looking up. "That will be all, Anthea."

Sherlock waited as his brother's secretary absentmindedly bent down to pick up her coat and bag whilst continuing to text, and left the room.

"Explain." Sherlock demanded. "What did you mean?"

"You know exactly what I meant, otherwise you wouldn't be here." Mycroft leaned back in his armchair, gesturing for his younger brother to be seated in the spare seat opposite. Sherlock remained standing, and Mycroft sighed. "The only question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Author's Note: I have realigned the text in the first chapter so that it is aligned to the left, rather than to the centre as it had been before, hopefully making it easier to read now!