John received the letter the morning after Sherlock's call that he would be away for three or four days. There was to be a funeral. For Liam
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Mycroft has decided that a personal visit is required.
He might even share his umbrella. Such a thing is quite the compliment.
Where the brothers differ, is that Sherlock would see the rain, and the crying man and deride the latter, ignoring the former. Mycroft understands the little social messages involved in offering a handkerchief (monogrammed, and embroidered, a gift from Mummy) even in the pouring rain.
He also knows better than to make a comment about how if John catches his death, Sherlock will be unbearable, if his reaction to the death of the cat is any indicator.
John doesn't notice Mycroft standing there until a minute later and when he does he jumps, nearly crying out. It slips out, not caring how Mycroft takes it, "You and that fucking umbrella!" John grabs ahold of the bench, turning his head away from the other man, not wanting to sob in front of the likes of Mycroft but he just can't stop.
Anything John tosses at him cannot be as bad, or as unadmittedly hurtful, than what Sherlock has done over the years. Thus, instead of reacting, he blinks. Though, one could argue that blinking is a reaction for Mycroft.
"Really, John, you will only get drenched and I will ruin my shoes. You were never one for being maudlin."
John finally manages to pull it together enough to feel annoyed by Mycroft being here - angry even. He rubs a hand over his face, honestly not minding the rain or cold. He knows it will only lead to illness but he cannot being himself to care.
"What does it matter? Hm?" Turning back to Mycroft,"What do you know of what I'm like? Because you spy on me? You never knew about me until I entered your brother's life, don't talk about me as if you've known me all my life, 'cause you haven't." He is not bothering with manners or bothering to think about what being rude to Mycroft might entail. He just doesn't care anymore.
Comments 43
He might even share his umbrella. Such a thing is quite the compliment.
Where the brothers differ, is that Sherlock would see the rain, and the crying man and deride the latter, ignoring the former. Mycroft understands the little social messages involved in offering a handkerchief (monogrammed, and embroidered, a gift from Mummy) even in the pouring rain.
He also knows better than to make a comment about how if John catches his death, Sherlock will be unbearable, if his reaction to the death of the cat is any indicator.
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He doesn't give a damn about the rain.
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"Really, John, you will only get drenched and I will ruin my shoes. You were never one for being maudlin."
He should know, he's read all the reports.
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"What does it matter? Hm?" Turning back to Mycroft,"What do you know of what I'm like? Because you spy on me? You never knew about me until I entered your brother's life, don't talk about me as if you've known me all my life, 'cause you haven't." He is not bothering with manners or bothering to think about what being rude to Mycroft might entail. He just doesn't care anymore.
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