The high pitched sound of a kettle boiling up erupted in the far distance of Mrs Hudson's flat. Two doors and a flight of stairs away, it still seemed to be loud enough for John Watson to get startled by. The morning sun lurked in through the curtains of the flat, which oozed with a grey vibe.

It's been awfully uneventful for the past couple of months, but for John, it seemed as if only yesterday, he had seen his best friend jump off a building, wishing a goodbye and calling himself nothing but a fraud. John shut down, locked himself away, zoning out any people voices who tried to get to him. If he ever wanted to speak up, he'd do it himself. He hadn't heard anything related to Moriarty and didn't intend to. His name hadn't been heard not even once and no matter how strange it may have seemed, it didn't bother Watson. It was as if the consulting criminal had packed his bags and disappeared as if he never existed, ironically. John wondered, if this only ever was to Moriarty, nothing but a game, which he finished and moved on. It may be for the better good, the last thing John wanted to do was meet eye to eye with the criminal after the misery he'd put through even the most innocent people.

The tray of boiled tea clattered when Mrs Hudson walked up the stairs to John's and Sherlock's flat. John's that is, but somehow the landlady still hadn't let that set in. Indeed, she had faced the heart-breaking truth, but not for a second had accepted it. Yes, the man was a hand full, but at the end of the day, Sherlock Holmes was still a good man who'd helped her in the worst times. She didn't know what the reasons for such an ending were or even what him and John of them we're up to at the end, but when all the rumours of Sherlock's charade struck her, it pained to know people thought of him that way and Mrs Hudson refused to listen to any of them. Mrs Hudson was a proper, good woman, keeping up her appearance whenever she could, but if she'd ever know who to blame for such a tragedy as Sherlock's 'suicide', not even she knows what she'd do.

"Here you go, John." Mrs Hudson exhaled putting the tray down on the table and patting John's shoulder reassuringly.

"Thank you Mrs Hudson." John thanked clearing his throat slightly. The humid air and the constant staying at home, wasn't doing him any good.

"Well, I better be off. I'm cooking and I don't have the recipe, it's on the telly. Wouldn't believe how many different shows they show these days."

On her way back downstairs, she greeted someone in a noticeably cheerful way. The man passed her with a friendly grin and a greeting of the same kind.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Hudson. Always lovely to see you." Mycroft knocked on the doorway with the end of his umbrella. A few raindrops flying off to the carpet, "May I?"

John nodded without much of a choice. Mycroft entered the flat, for what seemed to be the dozenth time in the last months. He never seemed to understand the reason for his constant visits, if not only a gesture of kindness and sympathy. Somehow, Watson thought it was his way of making up, apologizing for Mycroft's surrender to Moriarty, for not getting to him and letting the criminal loose, who'd been aching for Sherlock's misery. John wasn't bothered anymore, didn't blame anyone, Sherlock's brother had tried, really. The man was the British Government, and if he couldn't crack Moriarty, then the problem was much bigger than Mycroft's ticking patience. What's been done is done, but Mycroft thought otherwise. So did a dozen other people.

"How are you doing, John?" Mycroft asked sympathetically, looking around 221b. It was unusually tidy, Mrs Hudson must have gotten her hands on the place. Everything was sorted, except for the microscope and piled stacks of papers pushed away in the corner of the kitchen, the bullet holed wall was also still in its usual state. The older Holmes brother shook his head with a smirk plastered on his face, "Bored".

Mycroft wasn't sure himself, why he'd decided to see John more often. It reminded him of the first few times they've met, but this time was different. A change of roles, instead of having the need to see what's new in his younger brother's life, the ex-army soldier was now the topic. To him it felt more like a responsibility now, judging by the situation.

"How is Lucy doing?" Holmes wondered, but answered himself loudly, "Oh, right, you don't know, would've if you've gone outside more often."

John had started seeing a girl, nothing really, just to take his mind off of things. She was nice and friendly, but soon after he started drifting away, falling into some kind of never ending dilemma, between going out or staying in, the other option always took the upper hand.

"You know I'm going to start getting better, it's been only a few months." John assured him. He didn't want people to feel worried or concerned for him.

"I'm not rushing you. Take your time." Mycroft didn't feel the need to be a pushover. No need to make anyone and himself uncomfortable, his visits we're always short. Important, but short, "Well, I better be off. Have a scheduled meeting I wouldn't risk to be late to. Wouldn't want to get half of London get blown up." He snickered sending a glance John's way, not received any real emotion.

With a quiet "See you soon" towards John and a wave with his umbrella to Mrs Hudson, Mycroft left making his way to the car that was awaiting for him down the street. Taking out his phone to check the time, his fingers moved swiftly over a few buttons. He hesitated for a split second, but still did as he had implied to.

Tell him.
MH

Mycroft never expected an answer, because well, he never received one. Not even the slightest from his brother. If he hadn't known better, he would've believed Sherlock's death, but sibling rivalry was all it was. Sherlock being Sherlock.

Working on it.
SH

The older Holmes stopped for a second in his tracks, but carried on moments later. Oh, brother dear.

Sherlock already imagined Mycroft's wide eyed stare on the screen of his phone, once receiving the message. His reply was spontaneous, but also an attempt to get rid of his brothers constant text messages Sherlock kept receiving since the detective had gotten the phone, he now strictly regretted getting.

Pocketing the mobile device, he adjusted the collar of his favorite coat and scarf. It was time for a visit, and the appropriate attire was needed.

Author's adorable little note:

Hi there, again!

With FINALLY filling in the little gaps, we are starting to get somewhere and the next chapter will definitely be much more interesting. I promise. Well, for me it does seem interesting. Everyone has their own opinion, really, but it never really differs so much. I think we all think alike in some ways. c;

It's just too tempting to tell you what an interesting, not BBC Sherlock related character I'm about to put in my story, but I want to keep it as a surprise, IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, hehe. c:

Anyway, reviews and your opinions are highly appreciated so don't be shy and well, I'll see you soon.

Byeeeeeeee