Title: If You Won't

Author:BipolarMolar

This chapter is dedicated to SmilingSloth for an inspirational review. Thank you.

Author's Notes: I'm on Archiveofourown (AO3), under the penname BipolarMolar(same as here, obviously.) If any of you are interested in Hollyoaks fics, namely ones that pair Brendan Brady and Simon Walker, then feel free to check my profile, I've uploaded fics pairing them. Also added a Sherlock songfic on there, etc.

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As he crossed the road, both hands pinned at his sides by an impressive amount of shopping, John considered (with some understandable apprehension) the state the state the flat would be in when he got back. Sherlock had been threatening to shoot the wall again, and although he may consider it worthwhile, that didn't mean John, or for that matter, Mrs. Hudson did. Knowing that any moment he could be faced with noxious chemicals or the screech of a Stradivarius, John approached the flat slowly. He was struggling for his key when the door suddenly opened wide and someone stepped out, umbrella first.

"Mycroft," John said. He was aiming for polite but instead he sounded surprised. Mycroft Holmes, the personification of the British government looked down at him from his frankly, impressive height. He was as neat and precise as ever, brown hair slicked back and suit immaculate. It wasn't the first time that John had wondered just how Mycroft could manage to have such a clearly demanding job (running the country wasn't easy, he'd heard) and still look like an extra for Mad Men. There he was, "Suited and booted" as John's mother would say, while John himself felt and most probably looked like hell. He was uncomfortably aware of his ratty jumper and scuffed shoes.

"John," Mycroft replied, with a small inclination of his head. John stifled a smile. It seemed comical somehow, Mycroft's perfect posture and suit, against the dark door of 221B, it gave him the feel of being in a Dickensian novel. He rather tugging his forelock with "Yessir" but refrained from doing so and settled for a rather forced smile.

Mycroft cocked his head, his eyes flicking to the bags weighing John down. Instead of asking if John required his assistance, he smoothly said "Allow me," and plucked a couple of bags from John's hands. John watched incredulously as Mycroft strode back into the flat, the loops of the bags hanging on his wrists.

John trailed behind uselessly, Mycroft slowing to a steady saunter ahead of him. They boarded the stairs, bags rustling. Mycroft's umbrella hung on his arm, bobbing jauntily with each step. Following the other man, John couldn't deny that the man's assistance, while not initially asked for, was definitely appreciated. He looked up at Mycroft as he climbed the stairs; the man walked almost silently, just the slight creak of the old wood beneath his feet breaking the silence. Even laden down with groceries, an umbrella dangling on his arm and climbing up the narrow stairs, with his suit perfectly tailored and his hips swinging subtly as he approached the door, he was surprisingly graceful.

Mycroft stopped when he approached the door, gently putting the bags down and turning to John, still smiling.

"Are you- I could make tea?" John offered, placing one hand on the door frame. He told himself that he was just being polite, offering a courtesy but he really didn't Mycroft had helped him with the shopping so- he was almost disappointed when Mycroft shook his head apologetically, murmuring something about work. There was an awkward moment as the two men went to bid goodbye. John wasn't sure whether to shake hands or not. He watched uncertainly as Mycroft straightened up, gracefully sidestepping a stray bag to approach him. John extended his hand but was surprised when Mycroft took it, long fingers wrapped delicately around his wrist but didn't shake.

"Take care of yourself, John," Mycroft said softly and although the tone was pleasant, there was a darker undertone, an invisible steeliness amidst the genteel timbre of his voice. "Because no one else will." With Mycroft's hand in his, the Victorian gloom of the walls surrounding them and the slight threat of Mycroft's ambiguous statement, John's head whirled. No one else will? Did Mycroft mean him, specifically? Because that was true enough- Sherlock never expressed a caring side, he couldn't even be trusted to buy the milk. Or did Mycroft mean it generally? His eyes found Mycroft's once again, and there was something in them, something he couldn't even describe, but it was something that made him lean in, inexplicably, staring up into Mycroft's eyes. And then the moment died, their hands broke away and suddenly they were just Sherlock's brother and Sherlock's best friend again.

"Goodbye, John. I'll see you soon." Was Mycroft's departing remark, as he turned to walk down the stairs. John sighed and said nothing.

Author's Notes: A short chapter but there will be longer, chapters coming. Updates will hopefully be more frequent, but I don't have a computer and probably never will, so the library is my new favourite haunt. R and R. I love you guys.