I like trying new things (and sometimes that is writing ships)
Also, I like umbrellas. (I freaking love 'em)
In this one-shot, the Holmes brothers have a better relationship than canon. Mycroft is just really busy, that's why Sherlock doesn't talk with him a lot.
[「-」]
There was no reason for John to be frightened, especially after all he'd been through, it was pointless to sit around and let worry bite away at his mood. But it was helpless, no matter what he did, to stop the gnawing feeling that bit away at his sanity. It was not exactly 'John' of him to ponder on such short and untrivial moments that drove into his life... or should he say, drove him to a warehouse?
The morning came, fully dressed and clean-shaven John stumbled into the room where Sherlock sat with no sound from anyone's throat that cut through the silence. It was comfortable, it was something that both flatmates, as opposites, treasured throughout the years. It was strange to hear such comforting silence, but with the heavy fog that swirled around, it was not easy for John to sit down without checking every smudge and crack of the atmosphere.
"I hear you met my brother?" Sherlock crossed his legs at his heels, slumping a bit into his chair. John shot him a look, no change in expression, but a glance, which Sherlock half-heartedly waved his phone with messages written on it. From the corner of John's eyes, he saw Sherlock looking at him.
"Oh." John mouthed. He was warming up to Sherlock and his odd yet fantastic personality and set and skills, but what bugged him more was meeting his older brother, which was one bump in his path that he barely tackled. It was certainly not easy with Sherlock hinting at something, something that John knew and that Sherlock knew he knew... get the point?
John spoke up, he was unable to hold up with this kind of silence. Sherlock seemed to want to say something, and he was fascinated by the Holmes. "Anything wrong?"
"Nothing." Sherlock snorted, as if asking was meaningless, which to him was probably true. "He's asking me if you want dinner." As if on cue, Sherlock's phone buzzed. It was a light 'bzzt' in amidst of loud and table-shaking waves usual people had.
"He's what?" John leaned forward, his head tilted towards Sherlock. Rather, the phone he held and Sherlock was fully aware of this.
"You heard me," His cold and unfiltered words struck John in the head before he leaned back into his comfortable seat of the flat. "I don't think I can live with a man that is shagging my brother," Sherlock scowled. John stammered, blinking as Sherlock stood up.
"I'm not going to... What?" John placed his hands on the arms of his chair.
"No, of course!" Sherlock mocked excitement filled the air, "Dilated pupils, sweaty hands, blushing, should I go on?" John could only focus on one thing on Sherlock's face, a big bloody smirk written all over.
John murmured, "Is this a thing both of you are going to do every time you see me?" Before he slumped back into his chair, wishing he could sink into the cushions. Sherlock did not answer, rather, his smirk only grew as John heard a voice.
"No, I assure you that I actually have manners."
John cursed as he scrambled off his chair, he turned around and saw a certain man with a black umbrella in his hands. "Uh... hullo?" He laughed, a concoction of nervous chuckling and grateful laughs.
Mycroft placed a hand out and John stared at it for a lot longer than he would've liked. John took it gingerly, which he then nearly snorted at. Ginger-ly. Mycroft looked amused. Before he dragged John away, Mycroft asked his brother: "Wonder what took you so long to reply."
"I was just giving him my blessing," Sherlock replied, then, he turned to John, "He likes the chocolate cake."