The melody of a violin can be heard throughout the flat emphatically. The strings of the beautiful instrument are pulled forcefully and bitterly as Sherlock simultaneously stares out the window, watching the dull, autumn rain fall from the clouds above. I sigh, resting my elbow on the kitchen table and lean on my hand while a warm mug of tea was in my other. Mary was at the hospital with John, she said she would call if he woke up. The operation yesterday was successful, we all just waited for John to show signs of improvement. Me and Sherlock went home to get some rest, although we wasn't doing much resting. I open my mouth to tell Sherlock to calm down; to stop the god awful music he was creating, but a knock on the door beat me to it. I lift my head slightly, being more awake. Sherlock stops playing, and his gaze slowly shifts from the clouds to the door below. He then exhales deeply, before he continues to play and ignore the person knocking on our door.
It was probably another neighbor telling us that they hope John was alright.
I hear the door open and the sound of two pairs of footsteps heading towards our living room door, followed by a familiar 'ooh-ohh!'
I avert my eyes to my right, looking at Mrs Hudson as she lets Mycroft into our living room. She mentions something about tea and biscuits, then excitedly leaves the room, tapping her feet all the way downstairs. She tried to be positive about the situation- although it was clear that she was as worried about John as the rest of us.
"What on earth are you playing?" Mycroft questions as Sherlock continues to angrily play his violin.
"It's a little song called 'Mycroft is irritating'." Sherlock replies, then plays one last angry note before finishing. Mycroft stares at him in annoyance, and Sherlock slowly places his violin down onto the table beside him, "Can I help you?"
"I was wondering how you are, brother mine," Mycroft starts, swinging his black umbrella slightly in his hands, "I heard about John. How tragic."
"Shut up will you, he's not dead." Sherlock snaps, stomping towards me and gently snatching the cup of tea out of my hand, taking a sip. I stare at him with tired eyes. I wasn't even surprised by his actions.
"Ah, Holland, pleasure to see you again." Mycroft smiles at me, "How are you these days? You solved that case I assigned you with pretty well."
"I'm fine, thank you." I reply, feeling too lazy to reply at everything he says to me. Mycroft seems satisfied enough with my reply, then starts to talk about another topic.
"Anyway, if you would be so kind to leave the kitchen, me and Sherlock need to have a private discussion."
I put my hands on the table and push my chair back, getting read to stand. However Sherlock places a hand on my shoulder, making me stop in my tracks. I glance up at him, and he stares at Mycroft sternly.
"Anything you wish to discuss, I assure you, you can trust Holland."
Mycroft gives him a small, fake smile and nods his head, "As you wish."
I tuck my chair back in and pull a strand of fallen hair behind my ear, listening to what the two brothers had to say. Mycroft clears his throat before lightly tilting his head to the side.
"It's about Harrison."
The atmosphere goes quiet. I raise my eyebrow in interest, looking up to see Sherlock. He was staring at Mycroft with shock, then slowly he places my cup of tea that was in his hands on the table in front of me. I was confused to say the least.
"No." Is all Sherlock says. I give him a look, he didn't even consider hearing Mycroft out.
"Sherlock-"
"I don't want to know." Sherlock spits, walking back over to the living room. I furrow my brows in confusion, then glance at Mycroft, who was staring hopelessly at Sherlock as he walked off into the living room to pick up his violin.
"Who's Harrison?" I inquire, catching Mycrofts attention. He sighs, then gives me another small smile, accept this time he was genuinely being nice.
"I'll leave that for Sherlock to tell you," He starts, looking over at Sherlock again, "tell him that I'll be making arrangements."
"Don't bother!" Sherlock calls, over hearing him. Mycroft rolls his eyes before exciting the kitchen. I hear the door close, followed by footsteps and then the front door opening and closing quietly downstairs. The rough music Sherlock was once playing starts again, filling my ears with annoying sounds while I'm left to question; Who is Harrison, and why did Sherlock dislike him so much?