Hooked (teenlock)

Chapter Thirteen

"Quite a vague way to end a phone call, don't you think?"

Mycroft looked across the pricey coffee table to stare back at me. We were seated in his brand new house, which was probably worth more money than even I could fathom. His new job with the government- whatever his duties even were- certainly paid well.

The man smiled. "Not all information is simply handed to you. You of all people should know that, little brother."

I took a sip of the expensive tea someone had left out for us. "Information is one thing. Drama is another."

"And you're very fond of your drama, aren't you Sherlock?"

I gave a slight eye roll. Brothers. "If you aren't going to help me, I'll show myself out."

Mycroft shook his head. "We both know that isn't an option for you."

As much as I hated him to be, he was correct. He knew something about this whole damn case, and without his answers, it was over. Really over.

My brother raised an eyebrow. "Right, then. How was school?"

"You don't care," I spat. "Hell, I don't care, and I was there myself!"

He took a sip of tea, forever the pretentious, proper gentleman. "And John? How is he?"

"Just grand."

"You two must be pretty serious now, correct?"

I felt a blush creeping up my neck. "Mycroft," I warned.

His face lit up the moment he noticed my embarrassment. "Oh, do excuse me, William. I didn't realize you were so ashamed of your boyfriend."

"I'm not."

"And yet, you blush? Please, Sherlock. It's obviously not a topic you're comfortable with."

"Yes, but discomfort and shame are two completely different things," I spat.

"Defensive, are we? Interesting."

The blush was covering my entire face now, surely. However, it had changed from an awkward burn to an angry flush. "Frankly, no, I just don't like to have my love life criticized by someone who doesn't even know what love is!"

My brother's eyebrows shot up onto his forehead, making him look an awful lot like a teenage girl who's just been surprised with concert tickets. "There's no reason to raise your voice, Sherlock. Again with your temper!"

I practically rolled my eyes into the very back of my skull. "God, are you even capable of speaking in anything other than a condescending tone?"

Mycroft smiled. "No."

It took every ounce of my willpower not to groan out loud. "Now, can we please cut out the small talk or arguments or whatever bullshit drama you want from me and get to the answers?"

"That's quite rude, Sherlock." Mycroft placed his teacup on the coffee table and within seconds, someone was there to pick it up for him. "Can't you just cherish a nice afternoon with your older brother?"

"Frankly, no."

"Hm. Well, you can't say I didn't try." He leaned back against the couch, gliding a hand over the tiger-skin upholstery. "Sherlock, I'm going to tell you something that I usually wouldn't care to tell you. Consider it a special occasion." He paused for effect. "You're not an idiot."

"That may be the kindest thing you've ever said to me," I said dryly, "as irrelevant as it may be."

"I've seen cases like this all the time. Someone gives their own life to save a friend, family member, whatever dear person they can from prison or trial. They confess, they die, the case closes, and the guilty one is let off the hook."