At two o'clock in the afternoon, Mycroft descended from his black, shining limo, and looked up towards 221B's windows. He needed his brother's help, and he didn't like the idea. But eh, he wasn't made for legwork. So he opened the door of 221B with a duplicate key, and climbed the stairs silently. He opened the door and saw his younger brother sitting in John's arm chair, typing on John's laptop. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. That was curious. He soon saw the blogger, lying on the sofa in his pajamas, with closed eyes.

Mycroft coughed quietly, trying to gain attention from his brother. Mycroft smiled curtly at John, and sat down on the other arm-chair, opposite his brother.

"Hello, Mycroft," Sherlock politely greeted, looking up, before turning back to his computer.

Mycroft cleared his throat and looked at his brother. "Sherlock, I, erm, need your help."

John moaned softly from the sofa. "Not really interested. Goodbye."

The elder Holmes' eyes widened in disbelief and flew from Sherlock towards John, who opened his eyes. "Yes, you heard me. Not. Interested," the blogger repeated.

With an insecure smile, Mycroft turned back towards his brother, who was still typing. "What's going on here?"

Sherlock looked up, his face resolute. "No, I'm not going to meddle in your childish feud, sort it out yourself." He sighed, closed his laptop. Standing up, he announced: "Sherlock, I'm off. Shall I bring some milk?"

"Hmm," was all the reply the short blogger gave, closing his eyes slowly.

Sherlock walked towards the peg, lifted John's coat from it, put it on, suddenly changed his mind, probably realising it was not his, and carefully lifted the dark, swirling coat from its resting place, changing it for John's.

"Careful with that coat, John. I've only got one," John said to Sherlock, bending his neck in a strange angle to look at the detective, while muttering "hmm.. that coat does look really good on me. You," he quickly corrected himself, while looking at Mycroft. When Sherlock had left the flat, Mycroft focused fully on the lazy blogger.

"What's going on, John?" the tall man asked.

"It's Sherlock, brother dear," the short blonde said.

"Have you two been taking drugs?" Mycroft's voice turned a little worried, as he scanned the whole flat quickly, as if the needles and mirrors were lying all around.

"No. Fortune cookies."

"Fortune cookies?" The man with the minor position in the British Government didn't know what to say.

Irritated, John opened his eyes, fixing them on the elder Holmes. "Yes, Mycroft. Fortune cookies."

A/N: I got this idea while on the train today. Please Review :D