Slightly inspired by one of floppybelly's lovely drabbles in which Mycroft loses the safe haven of the Diogenes club – if you like drabbles and you enjoy mine, you should check hers out.
He's familiar enough with the club that John keeps quiet as he's ushered through the first set of heavy wooden doors. It's not until he's safely ensconced in Mycroft's office that he explodes.
"What did you drag me here for today, Mycroft?"
"John, please, have a seat." Mycroft gestures solicitously to one of the armchairs. John glowers at him and remains standing.
"I brought you here to discuss your intentions regarding Sherlock."
"My intentions? What is he, a woman in a Victorian novel? You know as well as I do that my intentions regarding your brother are whatever he bloody well wants them to be."
Mycroft studies his whisky. "John, please don't misunderstand. I know it may not be clear to you, but I love him, and I worry about him. He may be incredibly intelligent, but he is painfully naïve when it comes to matters of the heart, no matter what he claims."
The fight leaving his body, John sits.
"When Sherlock found me, I was shattered. Broken. He put me back together. Problem is, a few pieces were missing. He insinuated himself into those spaces. He tied me to him. For better or for worse, I couldn't leave him even if I wanted to."
"I see, John. I apologise."
John nods, but his eyes are hard, his smile brittle.
And now a quick note for anyone waiting for the next chapter of Out of my Head : I tore the cartilage in my left knee about a week ago, and I've been vacillating between states of hideous pain and opiate-induced stupor. I'm still able to write drabbles in my moments of clarity, but anything longer than this is a challenge. I have the last three chapters all outlined and plotted out, I just need to flesh them out. I will hopefully be able to work on them in the coming weeks, once I'm off the heavy painkillers.