Sherlock couldn't get over how he felt when John corrected his introduction. He never really "did" emotions, so his current feelings didn't make any sense. Sherlock knew he had introduced John to Sebastian at Shad Sanderson a few months ago the same way he just did to Brian. He was slightly disappointed then when John corrected him, though maybe that was because he was trying to impress Sebastian, but this time the correction bothered him a lot more and he wasn't trying to impress anyone.
As the word colleague repeated over and over in his head, and though he rarely fell victim to normal feelings and emotions, Sherlock couldn't help but begin to feel extremely upset. It truly made no sense since he'd never had friends before and never truly wanted any. He couldn't understand why that one word bothered him so much now.
After forty-five minutes, Sherlock grew tired of walking and decided to hail a cab for the rest of the journey back to Baker Street. When the cab finally pulled up in front of his flat, he noticed a black sedan parked a few feet ahead and his brother leaning against the flat's entry door with umbrella in hand. Sherlock had to stop himself from groaning aloud, having no interest in spending any time with Mycroft.
"Brother mine," Mycroft said in greeting when Sherlock stepped up to unlock the door.
"Mycroft," Sherlock responded tersely, and led the way upstairs.
Upon entering the flat, Mycroft unbuttoned his coat, draped it over the back of John's chair and set his umbrella beside it. He sat down and watched Sherlock take a seat opposite him. When Sherlock finally looked at him, he just raised his eyebrows.
With a small sigh, Sherlock gave a little shake of his head, stood up, and went to the kitchen to make tea.
Mycroft was quiet until Sherlock walked back into the room with the tea. "Why did you rush out of the bakery and leave John behind?" he asked, as he took the offered cup. "He was definitely not pleased with you. I have never seen him look so angry."
Sherlock gave no answer, just sat down in his chair with his eyes on the steaming contents of his cup. He really hated the fact that Mycroft always knew where he was and what he was doing.
"It took you almost an hour before you finally got a cab and you were close to walking into a few light poles in that time." Mycroft gave a little laugh as Sherlock glared at him. "A little distracted were we?"
"No," Sherlock answered forcefully. After taking a few sips of tea, he finally looked up. "I can't remember, did you ever have any friends growing up or now?" he asked quietly, almost hoping Mycroft wouldn't hear him while at the same time wondering why the question even passed his lips. Mycroft gave him an incredulous look, and for an instant, Sherlock began to wonder if that's how he looked at John at times.
"Why would I had or have friends, Sherlock? I can barely stand your company, and we're related."
Sherlock looked away. "Did you ever want any? Oh, don't answer that, I already know you didn't."
A bit surprised at the questions tumbling out of his brother's mouth, Mycroft studied Sherlock for a minute before speaking. "How many times do I have to tell you that there is no advantage in caring and to not get involved? You've never had a friend before and there's a reason why. They're not needed, they just get in the way, and they cause more problems than they are worth. You and I both know life is far better off without friends."
With a glare at Mycroft, Sherlock set down his cup, picked up his violin, and started to make the loudest, most obnoxious noises he could make on the instrument. He sincerely hoped his brother would get the message. Not only did he not want the company of Mycroft to begin with, he didn't particularly care for their current conversation, though he knew he was the one who initiated it.
Mycroft stood up, put on his coat and grabbed his umbrella. "This is going to end the same way as all the others in the past, Sherlock. Just remember that." He gave one last look at Sherlock and left the flat.
Re: Just One Word - Part 2
As the word colleague repeated over and over in his head, and though he rarely fell victim to normal feelings and emotions, Sherlock couldn't help but begin to feel extremely upset. It truly made no sense since he'd never had friends before and never truly wanted any. He couldn't understand why that one word bothered him so much now.
After forty-five minutes, Sherlock grew tired of walking and decided to hail a cab for the rest of the journey back to Baker Street. When the cab finally pulled up in front of his flat, he noticed a black sedan parked a few feet ahead and his brother leaning against the flat's entry door with umbrella in hand. Sherlock had to stop himself from groaning aloud, having no interest in spending any time with Mycroft.
"Brother mine," Mycroft said in greeting when Sherlock stepped up to unlock the door.
"Mycroft," Sherlock responded tersely, and led the way upstairs.
Upon entering the flat, Mycroft unbuttoned his coat, draped it over the back of John's chair and set his umbrella beside it. He sat down and watched Sherlock take a seat opposite him. When Sherlock finally looked at him, he just raised his eyebrows.
With a small sigh, Sherlock gave a little shake of his head, stood up, and went to the kitchen to make tea.
Mycroft was quiet until Sherlock walked back into the room with the tea. "Why did you rush out of the bakery and leave John behind?" he asked, as he took the offered cup. "He was definitely not pleased with you. I have never seen him look so angry."
Sherlock gave no answer, just sat down in his chair with his eyes on the steaming contents of his cup. He really hated the fact that Mycroft always knew where he was and what he was doing.
"It took you almost an hour before you finally got a cab and you were close to walking into a few light poles in that time." Mycroft gave a little laugh as Sherlock glared at him. "A little distracted were we?"
"No," Sherlock answered forcefully. After taking a few sips of tea, he finally looked up. "I can't remember, did you ever have any friends growing up or now?" he asked quietly, almost hoping Mycroft wouldn't hear him while at the same time wondering why the question even passed his lips. Mycroft gave him an incredulous look, and for an instant, Sherlock began to wonder if that's how he looked at John at times.
"Why would I had or have friends, Sherlock? I can barely stand your company, and we're related."
Sherlock looked away. "Did you ever want any? Oh, don't answer that, I already know you didn't."
A bit surprised at the questions tumbling out of his brother's mouth, Mycroft studied Sherlock for a minute before speaking. "How many times do I have to tell you that there is no advantage in caring and to not get involved? You've never had a friend before and there's a reason why. They're not needed, they just get in the way, and they cause more problems than they are worth. You and I both know life is far better off without friends."
With a glare at Mycroft, Sherlock set down his cup, picked up his violin, and started to make the loudest, most obnoxious noises he could make on the instrument. He sincerely hoped his brother would get the message. Not only did he not want the company of Mycroft to begin with, he didn't particularly care for their current conversation, though he knew he was the one who initiated it.
Mycroft stood up, put on his coat and grabbed his umbrella. "This is going to end the same way as all the others in the past, Sherlock. Just remember that." He gave one last look at Sherlock and left the flat.