"You were in a car accident less than six months ago causing serious injury to your right leg."
"Mycroft Benjamin Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson cried loudly. "Get the hell out of here right now or I'll call your father!"
The twenty-three year old smirked before sauntering out of the library where John was working on waxing the wood floors.
"It's okay, Mrs. Hudson." He said with a shrug. "You can't actually fault the guy for being right."
"That's sweet of you, John." She said still looking flustered. "But Mycroft revels in making people uncomfortable with his deductions. Best to nip it in the bud right away."
"It really doesn't bother me." He answered.
"How was your sister's graduation?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a smile.
"Fine." John said clearing his throat. The party that Mum had put together had been quite nice, but Harry showing up three hours late so blitzed that she pissed in the bushes had not been so nice. He'd never seen his mother so embarrassed before. His aunt from London had come into town especially for Harry's graduation and everything.
"And how does it feel to officially be 16?" Mrs. Hudson said as she dusted some of the pictures on the walls.
"About the same?" He smiled. "I honestly had almost forgotten about my birthday. It's been such a crazy year. My Mum got me a new jumper."
"I bet you look lovely in it, dearie." She said with a smile. "To celebrate your first official work week here and your birthday, I'll take you out to lunch."
"You really don't have to do that." He said turning a bit red.
"Hush now, John." She said with a mock scowl. "I do what I like and you just have to go along with it."
"Okay, Mrs. Hudson."
"Now I've got to see about the new window treatments. You finish up here and meet me in the foyer. We'll leave around noon."
"Sounds great."
John worked quickly making sure that the floor treatments were even just like Mrs. Hudson had shown him. He was just getting up and rubbing at his abused knees when he heard someone in the hall. He picked up his supplies and turned to head back to the workroom to clean up. He glanced down the hallway and was surprised to find it empty. He'd been sure that there was someone out here just a few seconds ago. He walked quickly but kept turning because he could of swore that he heard someone behind him but whenever he turned, there was no one there.
"I'm apparently going barmy." He muttered to himself. He washed up and took proper care of the rags and brushes he'd used before turning to meet Mrs. Hudson for lunch. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the boy standing not a foot from the entrance to the workroom.
"Good, John." The youth said quickly turning on his heel. "Follow me."
"Pardon?" John asked taking in the sight of Sherlock still in his pajamas and a ratty dressing gown at noon.
"I require your assistance," Sherlock turned back. "Come along."
"Sorry, mate." John said turning in the opposite direction. "I've got to meet Mrs. Hudson."
"You have to come with me." The youth said uncertainly. "You work for my family."
"That's adorable, but no." John said firmly. "I work for your mother and specifically work with Mrs. Hudson. Considering that she's my boss and she hands out my paycheck, I think I'll follow her instructions first."
John turned and walked quickly down the hallway toward the foyer and away from Sherlock. He felt the hairs on his arms stand to attention as he turned back to find Sherlock trailing him down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the formal entrance to the house. He turned back one more time as he walked up to Mrs. Hudson and found that Sherlock had disappeared.
"Are you ready to go, dearie?" She asked.
"Yeah, thanks." John said trying to shake away the weird encounter.
"Met's waiting for us in the yard." Mrs. Hudson said with a soft pat to his cheek. "Let's go celebrate."
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"Did you honestly just stalk that poor boy through the house, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked startling his little brother.
"Stuff it, Mycroft." Sherlock said wrapping his dressing gown around his thin frame. "Shouldn't you be infiltrating the government or something?"
"My superior insisted that I take a week of vacation." Mycroft drawled. "Of course, what they're actually doing is trying to surprise me with a promotion and new office for when I return. Not very well if I might add. Don't change the subject though. Why were you tracking the help?"
"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock shot back. "He's not the help, his name is John."
"Interesting." Mycroft said with a smug grin. "I, of course, knew his name. Ran the background check myself. What's really interesting is that you knew his name as well."
Sherlock felt his pale features flush pink but kept his voice even when he replied, "I was bored. There was nothing else to do."
"Nothing else to do?" Mycroft continued. "Keep telling yourself that, if it gives you comfort."
Sherlock watched his brother saunter off before he turned to climb the steps to his own room.
"Insufferable git." He whispered to himself.
He collapsed onto his rumpled sheets to stare out the window. If he let his eyes track Mrs. Hudson's car driving out to the main road, he wasn't going to process it too thoroughly.
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"John!" His Mum called up the stairs.
"Yeah!" He shouted back just about to take a shower.
"Have you seen Harriet?" She asked.
"Not since yesterday." He answered.
"Well, if you see her before you leave, ask her to call me at work." She called. "I'm working another double today so I left some money for a take-away on the table."
"Thanks, Mum!" he said. "I'm working late tonight to help with another party."
He heard his mother climb the stairs quickly. She turned the corner and pulled him into a tight hug placing a kiss in his hair before pulling back to look at his face, "You are such a good boy, John."
John swallowed the strange lump cutting off his air flow, "It's nothing really. I don't mind helping out."
He'd been giving his Mum half of every paycheck to help with bills. His mother didn't normally say anything when he left the pounds in her sock drawer but he knew that she needed them desperately.
He watched his mother wipe some tears away quickly before she kissed his forehead again and left for work. He turned back to enter the bathroom and adjusted the tap so the water wasn't freezing cold. He got undressed quickly and let his eyes drop down to stare at the ruby red scar that trailed down his leg in a jagged line. He spent most of his days trying to forget about the damn thing but once a day when he was standing in front of the mirror, the memory gripped him painfully and made him break out in a cold sweat. He stared at the awful thing for a few more seconds before sighing heavily and getting in the shower.
He grabbed some toast and went to wait outside for Mrs. Hudson settling on the stoop of his house to read in the interim. He didn't really think anything of a shiny black car stopping in front of his house. He was looking for Mrs. Hudson's beige station wagon and assumed the car was just looking for another address when he heard someone call his name.
"John Watson?" Mycroft Holmes called.
"Oh!" John said a bit nonplussed. "Hello, Mycroft."
"Mrs. Hudson's car broke down." He drawled. "I'm to bring you to the house."
"Okay." John said hesitantly. He'd had almost no interaction with the eldest Holmes but was immediately aware of how uncomfortable it was to be in his presence. He rose quickly and made his way to the car sliding in the passenger's seat. The silence was deafening in the car and John pulled out his book to continue reading if for no other reason than to have an excuse not to chat with the man.
"You're interested in creative writing." Mycroft said evenly.
"Pardon?" John said glancing over.
"Your book." He said. "One book on the writing styles of a famous author might indicate a mild interest, but that is the third book that you've brought to the house about the plot and writing styles of well-known authors."
"Oh," John said dumbly. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"What do you write about, John?" Mycroft asked curiously.
"Nothing yet." John answered honestly.
"You don't write about things that happen to you?" Mycroft asked.
"Nothing happens to me." John said quietly.
Mycroft made a sort of humming, affirmation in the back of his throat and the conversation dropped away allowing John to settle back onto his book. They arrived at the house and Mycroft dropped John off at the side entrance before driving to the garage. John quickly entered the house and got to work. Mrs. Hudson wanted him to put new mulch down on some of the landscaping plots before helping set up for the event.
"The piles of mulch aren't even." A voice said quietly behind him. He jumped slightly and turned to face Sherlock.
"Do you enjoy sneaking up on people?" John asked with a slight grin.
"A little." The other kid smiled.
"Well done, then." John answered. "What about the mulch?"
"The piles aren't distributed evenly to ensure that every space is properly covered. The third one from the left is insufficient to fill the required area." Sherlock said.
"Okay." John said. "How do you propose I solve the problem?"
"Use the extras from the far right pile." He answered as if this was incredibly obvious.
John rose and grabbed a handle of mulch from the far right pile and walked it over to insufficient one that Sherlock had pointed out and dropped it unceremoniously on top.
"Come now, John." Sherlock sighed heavily. "That's hardly going to solve the problem.
Sherlock grabbed a much larger handful and dropped it on top of John's.
"Right, thanks." John said awkwardly. He knelt back down to continue covering the area when he turned back to still see Sherlock standing there. "Anything else?"
Sherlock stared at John for a second longer than was actually comfortable and then dropped down beside him and began working as well. "It's much more efficient if you do it like this, John."
"At least put on a pair of gloves, Sherlock." John admonished lightly handing him an extra set from his work kit. Sherlock glanced at them hesitantly before taking them and pulling them on his long, pale hands.
They settled into a strange quiet as they worked through the entire landscaping bed. It was almost twenty minutes of silence when they both rose and wiped off their knees and hands. They both turned back toward the house when they saw Mrs. Holmes standing at the door to the house in a stunned sort of slack-jawed stare.
"What?" Sherlock challenged darkly.
"Nothing, dear." His mother said shaking her head lightly. "Nothing at all, I was just going to ask John for a favor."
Sherlock met her gaze for another few seconds before tossing his gloves at John and stalking back into the house.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Holmes." John said, misunderstanding the situation entirely. "I didn't mean to have him help."
"No, John!" She said quickly with a happy wave of her hand. "Don't apologize. I was just a bit shocked is all."
"Oh, okay." John said grabbing at the rest of his supplies. "What did you need?"
"Would you mind helping the delivery men with the table cloths?" She asked.
"Of course." He said with a nod. "Let me get cleaned up and then I'll go right there."
"Thank you." She smiled.