Continued Chapter 2 (part b)
"There are no organs inside, are there?" John was alarmed,"I do not fancy seeing a finger the size of me."
"I won't let you see." Sherlock set John gently down on the kitchen table, and fetched some pieces of toast from the fridge,"How small do I have to slice them for you to eat?"
"...Sherlock, you are the detective, you can even figure out Irene Adler's measurements at first glance."
"But that's for a normal sized human."Sherlock protested, turning his face away from John.
As Sherlock was slicing the toast, the doorbell of 221b sounded.
"Would that be a client? You need to hide me!" John staggered around the plate to Sherlock, and grabbed hold of his sleeve.
"No client has a worse dental condition or is more in need of a slimming diet." Sherlock satirised his brother calmly, and put John in his pocket.
"Could you please not put me in your pocket?"John looked up, beyond the nostrils into those green-gray eyes. He felt increasingly like a toy.
Sherlock stopped short, threw John an impatient look, held John by the collar and put him on his shoulder, and continued down the stairs.
This made John think of the crane machine games placed at the gate of supermarkets for kids.
The bumpiness caused by the detective's going downstairs rocked and threatened John. He had to try hard to steady himself, and grabbed a handful of the detective's nearest curls.
"You are answering the door in person?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow,"So you can in fact manage without Mrs Hudson and John."
"You have came to 221b twice in a single day. I am glad to see that you're finally decided to lose some weight."
Mycroft ignored the sarcasm. He looked with half a smile at John, who was just about hanging in the air by a handful of dark curls.
"John, you remind me of my hair line."
"Wha-"John laboured to restrain his wish to stare at Mycroft's shining forhead and struggled to step on a solid shoulder once again.
"When he was young, he loved to hang on my back by my hair."Mycroft was smiling mildly.
John made great effort in picturing the scene, but all he could imagine was the suddenly retreating hair line.
"Now is not the time to indulge in the past, Mycroft. Since you have come, I need you to slice the toast."Sherlock interrupted. He turned around to go back upstairs. John noticed that he was resting a hand at his waist, as if preparing to catch him anytime if he should fell.
"Sherlock, you are becoming increasingly domestic."Mycroft commented as he caught up with them,"Maybe after some time you will need to walk into a supermarket, as no one can be your shopper now."
John saw a moment of evident suffering on Sherlock's face.
"Then I can only wish that the supermarket can be blessed with a murder."Sherlock replied while he turned around and handed Mycroft the bread knife.
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