Thanks to AGirloftheSouth for looking this over. :D
I do not own, nor do I profit from.
Another work day finished and John was on his way home, Chinese take away in hand. The emails received from Sherlock throughout the day had confirmed the stupidity of the local police force he was being subjected to and the certainty that he would be at home no later than forty-eight hours later.
John's plans for the night were to watch the newest episode of The Apprentice while he ate his dinner and then uninterrupted sleep before he had to be back at work the next morning. Unfortunately, those plans were put on hold when a black car pulled up to the curb beside him. Knowing it would be faster if he just gave in, John stopped. The window lowered and Mycroft Holmes looked back at him.
"Good evening John, would you care for a lift home? I'm sure your leg must be sore after such a long day's work and I know the television show you like to watch will soon be on."
The disdainful curling of Mycroft's lips let John know what he thought of the doctor's choice of viewing material. John considered saying 'no thanks' and continuing on but both Holmes brothers were known for their tenacity. Also, with only ten minutes before John's show, that meant this kidnapping might be very short indeed.
"Sure, thanks," John answered. He quickly took a seat across from the 'British government', smiling fondly as he remembered Sherlock's words from two years earlier.
"I'm certain you're enjoying the peace and quiet encompassing 221B Baker Street whilst Sherlock is away. The lack of dangerous experiments must be a relief as well."
"I won't deny it's been a nice few days. But I'll be glad when Sherlock gets back home." John glanced out of the window briefly. It was time to find out the reason for the elder Holmes' visit. "I'm sure you're quite busy with everything going on in North Korea and all, so why exactly am I getting a ride home tonight?"
Mycroft placed both of his hands on the handle of the umbrella lying across his lap and thinly smiled. "That is one of the things I do admire about you John, your directness. Very well, I would like to speak with you about the matter Detective Inspector Lestrade made you aware of earlier today. I had hoped he might prepare you for the event Sherlock has planned upon his return. However, I was dismayed to learn you thought it was some sort of hoax."
The heat from his take away warmed John's hands and lap. His nails curled into the styrofoam leaving small crescent indentations when he moved them away.
"Can you blame me? Honestly Mycroft, if you and Greg were going to pull a prank I would have expected a lot more from the two of you. Honestly, trying to get me to believe this story about Sherlock buying some gold wedding rings that have a rose coloured stone in the middle and engraving on either side with the symbols –"
John was interrupted by incoming texts on both men's phones. Mycroft's attention gone, John found another message from Sherlock waiting for him.
Having fun with His Majesty? ~S.H.
John chuckled and quickly texted back.
How did you know? Never mind, I think he must be dreadfully bored considering the prank he's trying to pull on me with Lestrade.
Within seconds a reply came through.
Mycroft was born without a sense of humour. He does not pull pranks. ~S.H.
John paused. Before he was able to think of a reply, Mycroft had put his own phone away and was once more determined to return to their original topic.
"John, we've arrived at your flat but before you leave, I must impress upon you that my reason for sending D.I. Lestrade was to prepare you for when Sherlock proposes. My brother has no sense of what should be aesthetically pleasing. In fact –"
John interrupted. "No sense? Have you seen how the man dresses? Silk shirts and perfectly tailored suits! One outfit probably costs half my year's salary! And then there's his coat and how it draws every eye to him!"
Mycroft sighed, "Yes, John, that is true. However, all of Sherlock's clothes are purchased by our mother. Each year she sends him a new wardrobe. If it were not for her, I shudder to think of the clothing he might own. And his coat was a gift from our mother's parents for his thirtieth birthday."
John thought for a moment. Once a year a delivery of clothes did arrive for Sherlock containing at least two dozen complete outfits, the man liked shiny things and Sherlock had said that Mycroft did not play pranks, ever. To be honest, it seemed completely out of character for the man. Was it actually possible? John tried to imagine being faced with Sherlock, the set of rings as described to him earlier in hand, waiting for John's answer as John tried to find the words to express an appreciation he did not feel.
John sharply shook his head. It couldn't be true. Sherlock was controlling and the vainest man he had ever met. No, it couldn't, it just couldn't be true. Mind made up, John reached for the door handle and briefly turned back.
"Look, I don't know what exactly it is you and Greg are up to. To be honest, I don't want to know. But I can tell you that I don't believe you. So if the two of you would kindly stop whatever it is you're playing at, I would appreciate it."
Mycroft huffed in irritation. "John, there is no-"
"Goodnight Mycroft!" John said firmly as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him.
Once inside John turned the lock and trudged up the stairs. He had missed the first few minutes of his show now but was determined to put any thoughts of the wedding rings foolishness out of his mind. He turned on the television and began to eat his dinner. But for over an hour John stared at the screen without actually seeing. Reminded of an early work shift the next day he decided it was time to go to sleep. John put his dishes in the kitchen sink and readied for bed. Leaving off any clothes he took over Sherlock's side of the bed and grabbed his lover's pillow. Before closing his eyes, John prayed for a restful night's sleep.