John POV
I make my way into the door leading to my apartment holding my two bags of groceries. I utter a silent 'afternoon' to Mrs. Hudson just wanting to go upstairs and rest.
"Ah John, you're back" the voice that could be to me so annoying at times yet so addicting at others rang through my ears as I opened the door to apartment 221B on Baker street.
"Noticed I was gone this time?" I mumble to Sherlock as I walk to the kitchen.
"Why wouldn't I?" I hear him ask as I put the grocery bags on the table trying to avoid moving Sherlocks recent experiments.
"Because you never do" I say beginning to put away the groceries and heat water for coffee.
"I do notice!" I sigh not wanting to argue with Sherlock. I wait until the water is ready and make myself some coffee walking into the living room.
Sherlock is found sitting on an arm chair looking at the ground, probably thinking. Of course he's thinking, he's Sherlock.
"What case has got you this time?" I ask sitting on an armchair across him.
"Lily James Weber, 23-year-old widow. Husband, second, died, no! Was murdered, on Tuesday at approximately 8:23 a.m. in his own home with..." His voice drifted and I found myself staring at him, his lips moving fast, but I heard no sound. He continued and I found myself looking at nothing in particular wondering if Sherlock really did not love anything or anyone.
"John?" I snapped back from my dream world.
"Hm, yes. What is it?" Sherlocks eyebrows furrowed.
"I asked for your input" he says matter-of-factly.
"On what?" Sherlock raises his eyebrows at me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"You didn't hear a word did you?" He asks in his monotone.
"Of course I did! Lily James, 24-"
"23"
"Yes, of course. 23, widow, dead husband...uhm" I look down at my cup of coffee, guilty I hadn't been listening and confused as to why I hadn't, I'm always interested in the cases.
"John-" Sherlock is cut off when his phone starts ringing, he answers and I finish off the last sip of my coffee.
"Why? Of course not! I don't care!" Sherlock gets up and walks out of our apartment.
Mycroft.
Only one man could get him that riled up.
I put my cup in the dishwasher and go back to the living room sitting on the armchair and hearing Sherlocks faint voice from outside. I find myself thinking of Sherlock. His hair, voice, lips, cheekbones, his gorgeous eyes. I blink. Am I gay for my best friend? No. Yes? Maybe?
My thoughts are interrupted by Sherlock coming in his eyes angry.
"Mycroft?" I ask as he starts pacing in front of me.
"Isn't it always?" He asks clenching his jaw.
"Doesn't call in ages, thank God for that, then suddenly decides that he wants to meet for tea?! What kind of joke is this. Then he claims I'm in-" Sherlock stops suddenly turning to me and clearing his throat.
"I'm sorry I'm not getting the point as to why you're so angry," I begin ",he's your brother-"
"Blood"
