The umbrella (Johnlock)

Chapter one.

Chapter one.

"What? You're obviously kidding me right?" John said, looking at Janine with a confused look, to say the least. "Sorry.. This just isn't working for me" she replied, looking down in somewhat embarrassment from dumping John when they hadn't even ordered their meals yet. Janine rose from the table. "Goodbye John" She said determinedly, exiting the restaurant, leaving John behind, in a state somewhat like brokenhearted. He sat back speechless by the table. Of course it wasn't anything serious. But he hadn't seen it coming. It was just so sudden. John had been on about one of the cases, a particular one where Sherlock had done impressions of Anderson behind his back, mimicking him with everything he said. John didn't exactly share Sherlock's intense hatred for the man, but he did agree, his comments were.. unintelligent at times.  "I think she died of suffocation" . "No shit" John had thought, sending Sherlock a glance, in which he returned with a smirk. They shared moments like those at times. Which was fine. Not like it meant anything. 

John, being the slowpoke he is, finally realized he had been sitting in his own thoughts at the table for about 10 minutes after Janine had left. "Huh" he hummed to himself, as he glanced at his wristwatch, not paying attention to what the clock had to say. He decided ordering by himself would look pathetic, and being the sucker for caring about what people thought about him, John got dressed and left the restaurant in a hurry.
7.47 p.m is what his wristwatch said when he finally got a proper look at it, which meant that Sherlock would most likely be home at this time, for tea, or at least now he did. John didn't like to speak much about it, but arguments had been had about Sherlock storming off whenever he liked, disappearing for days at a time. Naturally, John had to put his foot down at one point and speak his mind, explaining to Sherlock how he at least could tell him if he went somewhere, where he was going or for how long he would be gone so he wouldn't have to wait at their flat like some housewife. Not that they were married. No, nothing like that. 

John caught the next cab passing by, and jumped on in. "221B Bakerstreet" he ordered, short and precise. He wasn't in the mood for chit chatting with strangers, and especially not murky looking cab drivers. The cab proceeded out onto the main road, heading towards the address. 

The ride back home was shorter than expected, since John was in such a horrid mood, but it didn't do much to lighten up his spirit. He paced up to the front door, in the act of fishing out his keys from his pocket when the one opposite of it vibrated. A text.

"John, come home. I'm smoking- SH" It said.

"For fuck's sake.." John mumbled as he struggled with the key in the lock.

John entered the building and paced up the stairs with heavy steps, hearing Mrs. Hudson shuffle out behind him, asking something about how the date went. John didn't want to know how she knew that. "We broke up. I'm fine. Have you heard anything from Sherlock?" was the response given, in which she replied; "Oh dear, I'm so sorry. No, nothing. Say hi from me. He's been up there all bloody day." John offered her a quick glance over his shoulder, decked with a fake smile.
"Talk to you later."

When he reached the flat door, John prepared myself for the worst before entering. Just about anything could be happening if Sherlock was smoking, and at that, inside their flat. He could just be lying to lure John home for some reason. He could be doing it to calm himself down? Perhaps he'd encountered a case that was just too big for him? John shook his head and walked inside. The sight meeting him there was somewhat calming to contrast of some of John fantasies. 

Sherlock was simply sitting in his chair, arm hanging loosely over the armrest, a smoke burning between his fingers. Oh boy. If he was quiet, this couldn't be good.

 "Sherlock?" John offered quietly, not moving an inch. "Is something the matter?"

He took a shaky breath and lead the cig back up to his lips, taking a deep drag of it. 
"It's Mycroft. He's dead."

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Fuck this fucking story, I'm rewriting the whole thing cause this shit is fucking embarrassing. I am so so sorry for having contributed on this site with such a pile of crap holy god I can't read it without feeling physically ill. Rest of the chapters are still in progress of being rewritten though, so if you do decide to read this anway, I'm sorry, but tough shit. Shit doesn't fit in with this chapter yet. 
Or just add it to your library or whatever I don't really give a crap.