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Written for Auction Prompt - "Rumour has it, I make you nervous."
Word Count - 274
Rumour Has It
John shifted in his seat awkwardly. Mycroft was sitting in front of him in Sherlock's usual chair, staring at him intently. Sherlock was out, god only knew where, and Mycroft had made it clear that he was in no hurry to leave.
"Do you want a cup of tea?" John asked, hoping for an excuse to move away from the awkward silence that had fallen over them.
Mycroft shook his head, smiling pleasantly.
John sighed, sitting back in his chair, wishing he had reason to leave the room - or the flat.
"Rumour has it, I make you nervous," Mycroft said, folding his hands together over his stomach.
John felt his cheeks heat up, but he squared his shoulders, shaking his head. "Whoever is spreading rumours is wrong," he said, proud of himself for his even tone.
Standing suddenly, Mycroft leant over John's chair, his hands on each arm. "Hmm. Dilated pupils… quickened breathing…" he leant forward, his lips resting against the throbbing pulse in John's neck. "Fast heartbeat. Are you quite sure about that, John?"
"P-positive," John gasped out, as Mycroft licked a trail up his neck to his ear, finishing with a nip to the lobe.
Straightening up, Mycroft nodded, once more the picture of restraint and power. "My mistake then. I'll see myself out."
John let out a long breath as Mycroft approached the door.
"Oh, and John?"
"Hmm?" John turned in his seat, sure his eyes were wide and his skin pink.
"There will be a car here for you at 8pm. Do get in it, won't you?"
John could only nod mutely. What on earth had he got himself into?