When you heard the gunshot, you knew something was wrong.

     You raced downstairs and out the door to find John out of breath with wide eyes.

     He explained to you what had happened- the story of your friend seeing Sherlock about to take the pill through the window, and finding that he had no choice but to shoot the killer. Soon, police started to arrive on the scene, and the two of you went to go talk to Donovan. Right away, John put up the act that he'd only just gotten there. You played along. 

    The two of you were pretending to listen to Donovan talk about what Sherlock had just been through- or perhaps John actually was listening, but you couldn't tell- (why would he be doing that anyway when her droning was just so terribly boring?) when Sherlock walked up with a blanket. You couldn't read his expression.

     "Sergeant Donovan's been explaining everything. Two pills? Dreadful business, dreadful," John said. You winced at his terrible acting.

     "Good shot," Sherlock commented quietly with a mischievous look. 

     John blinked. "Yeah, it must have been, through that window," he replied. 

     You rolled your eyes as Sherlock responded with "Well, you'd know," causing John's ears to go red.

     "You'll need to get those powder burns out of your finger," you told him amusedly. 

     Sherlock grinned. "Don't suppose you'd serve time for it, but best to avoid the court case. You all right?"

     "Of course I'm all right."

     "Well, you have just killed a man."

    "True." John nodded.

      You elbowed John playfully. "But he wasn't a very nice man," you remarked with a smirk, which earned a smile from your friend. 

    "And frankly," he added," a bloody awful cabbie!"

     Sherlock laughed at this lightly. "Yeah, true, a very bad cabbie. You should've seen the route he took to get me here." 

     The three of you started snickering like little kids, but John made an effort to suppress his laughing. "Stop it, we can't giggle!" he exclaimed through his own tittering. "It's a bloody crime scene; stop."

     "Don't blame us," Sherlock retorted in a joking manner. "You're the one that shot him!"

     You hit him in the arm. "You could maybe keep your voice down a bit!" That sent the boys into a flurry of giggles, and despite yourself, you joined in. Then you noticed Sergeant Donovan staring from the other side of the lot- too far to overhear, thankfully.

     "Sorry!" you called. "It's just nerves!" 

     John and Sherlock stopped laughing. "Sorry," said Sherlock, though you could tell he was still amused. So were you. 

     John turned to Sherlock, wearing a more serious expression now. "You were going to take the pill, weren't you?"

     Sherlock winced. "Of course not. I knew you'd show up. I was playing for time." 

     "No, you didn't!" you scoffed. Holmes shot you a warning glance.

     "That's how you get your kicks, isn't it? Risking your life to prove you're clever," muttered John angrily.

     "Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked. 

      You raised a brow. "Because you're an idiot, obviously."

     Sherlock frowned, as if affronted, but then a small smile drew across his face. "Too true," he sighed, "But you aren't much better." You wondered what exactly he meant by that. "Shall we get dinner?" Sherlock suggested. 

     John smiled and nodded. "I'm starving." 

    "I know good Chinese, end of Baker Street," Sherlock stepped in, leading the way. "You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the doorhandle-"

     He stopped when he noticed yours and John's attention drawn to something ahead. Parked outside the college gates was the same black limo from Mycroft's hostage visit. "Sherlock, that's him," John whispered. "That's the man we told you about..."

     Sherlock looked up. "I know exactly who that is." He started walking toward Mycroft, who had just stepped out of the limo and was now walking toward his brother as well. They met in the gateway and regarded each other coldly.

     "So!" Mycroft greeted dryly. "Another case cracked. How very public spirited of you, although that's never really your motivation, is it?"

     "What are you doing here?" Sherlock spat. Wow. He really didn't like his brother. Jealousy was definitely a part of it. But Mycroft didn't feel the same way, no matter how he acted. Also, he was a terrible actor. Absolutely terrible.

     "As ever," Mycroft said with pain in his eyes, " I'm concerned about you."

     "Yes. I've been hearing about your concern," Sherlock muttered, casting a side glance you and John.  

     "Always so aggressive," you commented. "Did it ever occur to you, Sherlock, that you and Mycroft are on the same side?"

     "Oddly enough, no."

     "You two have more in common than you like to think. This petty feud you have is simply childish.

     "And you know how it always upset Mummy," added Mycroft.

     Sherlock scoffed, "I upset her? Me?"

     "Wait- wait, hold on." John was deeply puzzled. "Mummy? Who's Mummy?"

    "Their mother." You stated. "This is his brother."

     "What??" John's mouth gaped. "This is your brother??"

     "Of course he's my brother!" Sherlock replied with distaste, as if the very words on his tongue were too disgusting too tolerate. 

     John couldn't seem to be able to wrap his mind around the idea. "So, he's not... I dunno, a criminal mastermind?"

      "Close enough," Sherlock sneered hatefully.

     Mycroft folded his arms and rolled his eyes. "For goodness sake! I occupy a minor position in the British government."

     "You are the British government!" Sherlock argued. He turned to you and John. "When he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home- you know what it does to the traffic." He turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving you, John, and the eldest Holmes brother staring at one another. 

     "So...." John sucked his teeth. "When you say you're concerned about him, you actually are concerned about him?" 

     "Of course," you answered for Mycroft.

     "And it's actually, really, a childish feud?"

     "Oh, he's always been so resentful," Mycroft muttered with a sigh. You laughed and said, "I can imagine the Christmas dinners!"

     John nodded. "Yes. No. Gosh, no!" There was a short awkward silence, but then Mycroft said, "Well, John, you'd better catch up with Sherlock."

      "What about me?" you asked, while John asked the same question (replacing 'me' with 'her,' of course).

     Mycroft gave you a meaningful look. "I only want a quick word before you go on your way."

     You were confused, but nodded to John. After a reluctant "Good night" he left.

     Mycroft waited a second, letting John get some distance. You stood in expectant silence, your mind wandering off while the milliseconds passed. Had you remembered to take your meds this morning? Hmm....

     Mycroft said suddenly, "Right. So, I've got something for you." He reached into his coat and pulled out a black iPhone, possible an iPhone 4. He held it out for you, but you simply stared blankly.

     "I already have a phone," you told him. Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "Well, yes, obviously," he said, "But this is different. This is the phone that you shall contact me with- about Sherlock, among other things. He'll go through your other phone, but this one has fingerprint-scanning technology." He showed you the back of the phone, which had a little section that could fit a thumb. "Only you and I can open it. He won't be able to go looking through it."

    "Oh." You took the phone and inspected it, pushing your thumb against the back to test it out. The screen lit up, but you turned it off again and tried it with your index finger. It worked again, so you assumed that it would work with any finger, probably on either hand. "Handy."

      Mycroft cracked a smile. "I imagine so."

     You smiled back and tucked the phone into your pant pocket, then mock saluted to the Holmes brother. "See ya!" you called, and started walking away. 

     "Good night, (Y/N)!" he called back.

     You caught up with Sherlock and John down the street as Sherlock was saying the name "Moriarty."

      "Who's Moriarty?" you asked, falling in step with the two. "Who?" John asked.

      "Well, it's not a what," said Sherlock. "Have you ever heard of a Moriarty? It's a name, not an object."

     "Well, it's a very unique name!" John jumped to his own defense. "I've certainly never heard of someone with that sort of name. Sounds like a crackhead."

      "Speaking of which!" Sherlock glared at you as the three of you walked. "We need to talk about that drug bust business! That was not- it- it wasn't-"

      "Oh, please, can you fight about it later?" John interrupted tiredly. "We're supposed to celebrate now. We just took down a serial killer! And besides, I'm starving."

      Silence fell.  You three walked in silence along the sidewalk, until you muttered under your breath, "You're just jealous because your date is talking to someone else."

      "I heard that! I'm not his date!"

OH JAWN OF COURSE YOU ARE

SILLY JAWN

Oh hello

I should say

that I'm going to be starting the next episode and I'll publish the first chapter soon.

     In case you were wondering, no, there was no rock-hard evidence of SherlockxReader. Okay, there was, but not much. That's because I plan to develop the relationship over the episodes. Okay, thanks for reading. Bye!