The trick, John decided as he sat outside the flower shop with red itchy eyes and a runny nose, was that he was going to have to be as nonchalant as possible with Mycroft. If he could casually ask Sherlock's brother, AKA the British Government about the skull if it came up in conversation, then perhaps he could find out more about Sherlock's childhood and the skull without stirring up trouble between the Holmes brothers and possibly between him and Sherlock.
The biggest problem with the plan, of course was that one did not simply call or text Mycroft for a casual conversation. The last time John had done so, with the noble intentions of possibly opening doors and ending the long standing childish feud between Sherlock and his brother, John had ended up being followed home from his job at Barts by the Secret Service, stuffed into the back of a long back car when he reached the front door, and wined and dined in a run-down old shack on the bank of the Thames. Mycroft, of course, had been delighted, but from that moment on John swore off seeking out Mycroft, and let the man approach him only on his own turf.
Perhaps a simple text conversation…
John pulled out his phone:
Hi Mycroft.
Delete… Mycroft would know better than to accept a casual conversation at face value.
Mycroft, I need your advice…
Delete… Never become indebted to the British Government.
How are elections going?
John stared at the screen for several long minutes, then sighed and closed the text app. Mycroft knew that neither he nor Sherlock were interested in elections in the slightest. There was simply no way to start up a casual conversation with the British Government.
Or… maybe there was…
12:23: How's the diet?- JW
12:24: Did my brother put you up to this? – MH
John licked his lips. How was the best way to word this?
12:28: Sherlock's skull shows more interest in living than you do in dieting. Which is silly, since you have more motivation than it does. - JW
John felt a little guilty, he wasn't generally the type of person to hurl insults. But this was for a good cause.
At this, Sherlock swirled out of the flowershop in a cloud of pollen, and John began sneezing again.
"Your allergies are hindering our investigation." Sherlock said with disdain.
"Benydryl will slow me down, and there's a good chance you'll need me later."
The hint of a sneer began to form on Sherlock's face, but then his expression softened and John noticed he was absent-mindedly rubbing his shirt sleeve. "I suppose so."
John, unused to such acquiescence, smirked. His phone chirped.
12:32: How so? - MH
12:33: It seems to have wandered off .- JW
"Who are you texting?" Sherlock was peering at him curiously. Probably wanted to know which girlfriend he should plan on scaring off this month, John thought, momentarily irritated. But it was a little hard to be cross with Sherlock at this precise moment; rather in the same way it was hard to be cross with a small child. John scowled at the paternal instincts that were surfacing in regards to his best friend; it wasn't as though Sherlock wanted to read a bedtime story every night or suck his thumb. He just had a skull. A… skully. Which was starting to turn into a John.
"Nobody important, " John muttered, blushing involuntarily. Sherlock's eyes lingered on his face for a beat too long before he went back to discussing how the sympathy flowers given to the deceased old man due to his recent operation may have been prepared by the murderer because azalea pollen was found on the body of the homeless girl.
His phone chirped again and he checked it quickly. Of course Mycroft gave no sign of knowing exactly how much his brother was attached to the skull, though his message had a fairly patronizing ring to it.
12:35: Have you tried cleaning the flat?