A Photo Of John

Chapter 22

Sherlock and John's plan: explained.

Sherlock rubbed some lipstick on his hand/ sleeve earlier. When they were kissing it's practical that one will unconsciously wipe their mouths in disgust. It was slightly far fetched, but when John was distracting him, he slipped the red undergarment into his coat pocket which would have been the best evidence. They new he was in a rush to get home so he didn't notice any of this.

The next morning, Sherlock yawned and stretched. He woke up and realized John wasn't next to him.

He walked out of their room and into the main living room.

No John.

Hmm.

There was a neat note lying on the coffee that read:

" Off to get milk and a few things. I love you - John"

Sherlock grinned slightly. Everything felt so complete, whole.

He picked up his violin and played the song he had been composing for John.

He would reveal it to him tonight. It was decided.

John would love it.

The flat was completely clean by now, what was going on?

Why wasn't he home yet?

He practiced the song. Again. And again.

Something was wrong.

A couple hours passed, where the hell was he?

He sent him a text and got no response.

Called.

Went to voicemail.

Sherlock paced around the flat, deducing his whereabouts.

What was taking so long?

He entered his mind palace, he needed to figure this out.

He opened the doors to one of his storage rooms, and Mycroft was sitting there, staring intently at him.

He stood, that look on his face.

" Sherlock, romance isn't working very well for you."

" I am perfectly fine."

" Look at you, you're practically shaking. You know he's only left for a few hours."

He sneered.

" Maybe he's just taking a little break."

Sherlock's blood ran cold.

" Maybe you're just jealous."

Mycroft paled slightly but regained his composure.

" Of what? You and Dr. Watson's puppy love? Don't be ridiculous. Sentiment is a chemical defect. You're just an example of the defect running it's course."

" Leave! I need to think!"

And with that, Mycroft faded away.

He started running all the possibilities through his head.

But none of them fit.

What he didn't know was, real-world Mycroft was practically swimming in turmoil.

It had been a week after his "encounter" with Anthea.

She was all he could think about.

But there was an obvious awkwardness lingering between them on a daily basis.