for Mycroft

[sharpshooting]

Two days in, and John was still having a difficult time processing that he wasn't going round the twist. He really was in space, and Sherlock was really alive-- not the way John had spent half a year wishing, mad dreams of discovering his friend had faked his death and had been in hiding the whole time, but whisked away out of his life long before Moriarty's performance with the crown jewels.

Nothing made sense anymore. John would learn to live with it, but it was going to be hard for a while. And it certainly wouldn't be made easier by this: looking up to find Mycroft Holmes walking calmly through the transport hub where John sat playing a level of this Minotaur game on his phone.

He hoped Mycroft wouldn't stop, but of course he did, sending an unpleasant jolt through him at the sight of the familiar smug smile. He let his hand holding the phone drop to his lap and just stared, expressionless, willing Mycroft to back down.

Comments

[the_iceman]

Had it not been his jaw on the receiving end of that blow, he would have thought John's reaction quite funny. The aggravation, the incapability to not believe what his own eyes had lead him to deduce, the unfaltering defending of his brother. He had been right about this man upon their first meeting and was proven right once more.

Sadly, this proof came with an unexpected blow in his face. John was a man of action, but of reserve and intelligence as well, and that his comment had aggravated him beyond his reasoning capacities was... unexpected to say the least.

He composed himself quickly enough, unwilling to show his surprise (and indeed and not in the last place his pain). "Good afternoon then, doctor," he replied, not quite able to keep a hint of venom out of that last word, turning the other way.