John was carrying Mrs. Hudson's and his own groceries up to the flat when he noticed it. Someone had straightened the knocker. Shit.

After he'd helped Mrs Hudson with the groceries, he ran outside and pushed the knocker slightly to the right. Bastard. He jogged up the stairs. The apartment door was unlocked. John cursed under his breath, kicking the door open.

"Good afternoon, John." A familiar voice called. John didn't even look at him. "Mycroft." The name sounded like a curse on his lips. "What do you want?" He asked sharply as he unbagged the groceries.

He could literally sense his forced, insulted expression. "I'm simply visiting a dear friend, why must you assume that I want something from you, John?" He pouted, feigning a hurt tone.

John let out a dry laugh, not in the mood for chit-chat. "Oh, I am so, so sorry, my dear friend. Please do forgive me, I must have spoken these unkind words out of hunger." He said, a big fake smile plastered on his face.

Mycroft was not amused. "I am not unfamiliar with sarcasm, John. Thank you for your attempts of an apology. Now, how are you feeling these days?" He asked while delicately raising an eyebrow.

John sighed. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking. Want a cuppa?" The doctor was already boiling the water when he asked. "Yes, that would be lovely." John made the tea in silence, pondering on what Mycroft intentions might be. He gave Mycroft a cup, but didn't touch his own.

Mycroft broke the silence. "I heard that you are moving." John froze. He hadn't told anyone yet. "Where did you hear that?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. The politician's lips twitched in amusement. "A little bird tweeted me," he said smugly, shipping his tea in the most pompous way. John raised an eyebrow. "Anthea texted you?" "Her name is not-" "I don't care!" he snapped.

John turned around to fetch his cup, and started slurping aggressively. "I'm impressed that you can type with cake in both hands." He mumbled. "Excuse me?" This time, he actually was offended. John flashed an innocent smile. "I'm impressed that you still keep track over what's happening in my life. A little surprised, even."

Mycroft rose up and started to walk slowly around. "It feels like I should keep an eye on you, John Watson. I do not trust the people amongst you."

John snorted. "Why would you care?" He finished his tea, ignoring how the scorching hot liquid left trails of  flames down his throat. "My brother cared for you and I want to make sure that you are, indeed, safe. He would've wanted that. I owe him that." He looked at John, with a unfamiliar glimpse of concern in his eyes. "I also consider you a friend." You could hear it almost pained him to utter the words.

John was honestly a little touched by this, but he couldn't help but mumble; "Who the hell spies on their friends?" It was meant as a rhetorical question, but he answered it anyway. "Plenty."

He walked towards the fireplace, one of his eyebrows raised. Come to think of it, one of his eyebrows where almost permanently arched in John's presence.

"Why is there a human skull on the mantelpiece?" Mycroft asked, studying the skull. His eyebrows shot up. "And why, if I may ask, is it filled with cigarettes?" He studied one of the cigarettes under the light.

John chuckled. "It's an old friend of Sherlock. It's where I hid his cigarettes, so he wouldn't smoke." He talked without thinking, smiling until he remembered. John felt a lump in his throat, he stopped talking. Mycroft must've noticed, since his expression turned softer. It was kind of unsettling.

"You miss him." It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway. "More than anything or anyone I've ever lost." The politician was overwhelmed by the raw emotion in  the doctors voice. His gaze drifted over to his eyes, filled to the brim with tears that refused to spill over.

"Did you tell him?" He asked him softly. John frowned. "Tell him what?" Mycroft smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"You loved my brother." He said, matter of factly. John didn't trust his voice, so he didn't answer. Mycroft's face darkened. "I know how you feel," he said the words slowly, giving John time to digest. "How could you know? Yes, he is your brother, but that's entirely different from what he is to me," he ranted. "Was." Mycroft corrected.

John looked at him blankly. He didn't realise until later that he might've been talking about someone else. "Yes. And yes, it is hard to wait around for something that is not going to happen," he drew a shaky breath. "But it's harder to give up when it's everything you want."

Mycroft nodded, looking down at his umbrella. "The things you hope for the most are the things that destroy you in the end." John was not surprised, but utterly shocked at what Mycroft had been saying and doing that day. He'd been shoving a different side of him. A new side. A pleasant one even. It was honestly terrifying.

"I suggest that you give my brother a visit one of these days. Say hello from me." He smiled. Ok, what is up, is he drunk?

"Erm yes, I'll consider it." He muttered. Mycroft nodded. "Well, I should be going. We should do this again sometime." He walked towards the door. "Do what, break into my flat and mess with my emotions?" He mumbled annoyed, but he smiled at the politician. Even though Mycroft had been very kind that day, he'd still broken into his flat.

He smirked slyly. "Yes."

John slammed the door in his face, hoping it hit him. Mycroft snorted. "This is why I love cake more than people."