Chapter 2: Being Late
As John sits quietly in the cab watching London fly by, Sherlock taps away at his phone. His own phone buzzes.
New Message: 1:33:
Want to meet for drinks tonight?
-Sarah
New Message: 1:34:
I'm visiting Sherlock's brother, not sure what time we'll be home.
-JW
New Message: 1:34:
Is that Sarah who's texting you? Tell her we wont be home until at least five.
-SH
John looks up at his flatmate, and quirks an eyebrow at him.
"Mycroft's get-togethers are a big deal." Sherlock offers, glancing up at John.
"Why'd you text that to me?"
"Because I prefer to text."
John rolls his eyes and turns back to his phone to reply to Sarah.
New Message: 1:35:
We wont be home until five apparently. I'll text you.
-JW
The cab rolls slowly through the London traffic, and occasionally John sees Sherlock looking at him from the corner of his eye.
"What?" He asks.
"What?" Sherlock responds.
"You're staring at me."
Sherlock shrugs and looks at John again, "Are you going to go out with Sarah tonight?"
"Yeah, probably." John's not sure what Sherlock's motives are in asking, but it feels awkward. Sherlock takes on a hurt look, and John suddenly feels like he is abandoning his friend.
"Okay."
"Well, maybe not if we're stuck at Mycroft's for too long."
Sherlock smiles a little. "We'll see."
New Message: 1:41:
Tell my brother to stop ignoring my texts. You're both late.
-MH
"Your brother just texted me Sherlock. Stop ignoring him, oh and he says we're late."
"He's insufferable. We're not that late." Sherlock says letting his head fall on the cold glass of the window.
"What time were we supposed to be there?" John asks, genuinely curious.
"Noon."
"It's almost two." Sherlock just shrugs, and looks back at John. "What? You're staring again."
"Just observing."
John tries to ignore Sherlock's eyes boring into him as the cab stops in front of an extremely posh house in Queen's Park. The house is a tall four-story home, with white walls and ornate crown molding and a large wooden front door.
"Here we are." Sherlock says getting out of the cab, and leaving John behind to pay.
As he approaches the door and Sherlock, Mycroft appears in the entrance way, and gives them a look that clearly says, I'm disappointed.
John immediately thinks, this should be interesting, and glances at Sherlock as they are ushered into the lavish foyer. On Sherlock's face is a stony look of blatant disinterest as he shrugs out of his coat and scarf, John finds his eyes drawn to the exposed skin of Sherlock's neck momentarily.
"Lunch will be in served in the dining room." Mycroft says, leading Sherlock and john through the house.
The trio enters a room off the main hall that is lined with windows, and John wonders for the hundredth time, exactly what Mycroft does for a living. Anthea (if that really is her name) is sitting one end of the table, looking accusingly at Sherlock and John. John follows Sherlock's lead and sits across from the detective, while Mycroft takes the other head of the table.
"So are you two working on any interesting cases right now?" Mycroft asks as the help serves ice water, and fancy looking crustless sandwiches.
"Yes." Sherlock says bluntly, John knows that Sherlock does not find their current case to be particularly interesting. The consulting detective continues to explain the case in such detail, that John fins himself bored.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. John ignores it to be polite. A foot finds it's place roughly against John's shin and he looks at Sherlock indignantly.
"And so the stamp as john pointed out indicated that the girls had been at a specific nightclub before their deaths." Sherlock continues as though he had not just dented John's leg with such a rough kick, john noticed that he had at least avoided his bad leg.
Apparently, Sherlock wanted john to check his phone, and so he did.
New Message: 2:15:
You are being quite a bore.
-SH
New Message: 2:15:
You are hogging the spotlight.
-JW
John watches as Sherlock slyly glances at his phone, while continuing to explain how he had known where the victims had been killed. Only John notices the small smile that crosses Sherlock's lips as he takes a sip of water.
"So, Anthea," John begins as Sherlock converses with his brother, the woman looks up from her plate where she has been pushing crumbs around.