That was until he met Sherlock Holmes.
***
"I assume you'll be with the family this Christmas?" asked Mycroft. His was hair gelled back in it's usual well-kept style, in it's usual fading Ginger colour. His suit was ordinary, plain grey jacket and trousers, with a pink stripped tie to accommodate the plain white shirt, his outfit gave off no sense of personality. Mycroft looked up at John, staring him straight in the eye and urging him for an answer.
"Yep, haven't seen them in a while, been spending too much time with your brother." replied John, slightly smiling at the thought of being around Sherlock. Mycroft gently frowned his eyebrows, looked down and sighed deeply.
"That reminds me, I need to ask you something of great importance" he looked up at Johns face. He looked startled for a moment, as if he had only just come back in from a day dream. "Please, sit down" his hand gesturing towered John's shabby brown armchair on which he had spend many a nights sitting on in front of the fire in the detectives company. Mycroft walked over to his brothers own seat, a chair which gave off a more uncomfortable and stern look compared to the relaxed feeling emitted from Johns. John sat down opposite him, sinking into his deep chair with his eyes filled with confusion.
"Now I'm not one to pry but I need to know. Me and my brother have a complex relationship, we do not see eye to eye yet we still understand out brotherly duties." Mycroft started. He focused on John and realizing his confusion, he continued. "I know this sounds strange of me to ask, but one cannot help but wonder. Is there anything going on between you and Sherlock" Mycroft questioned.
"What do-" John started. His frown lines began to show, and his face instantly changed expression from confusion to shock.
"And don't say that you don't understand because we both know perfectly well that you do. You two seem to spend so much time together and-" interrupted Mycroft.
"That's because we're flatmates and we work together!" John stated. Mycrofts eyebrows raised and his hand went up showing gesture of patience.
"Let me finish my point." demanded Mycroft. John sighed and slouched back into his armchair, allowing it to swallow him in it's depths.
"Thank you. As I was saying, you two spend an awful lot of time together, you're practically inseparable. You're constantly texting when you're apart. And when he left you." Mycroft paused. Johns faced fell just at the word. His face drained of it's usually pinkish tone to sheer white and his sorrows began to flood back.
"When he left you, it was as if you lost a part of your soul."
The world span around John, just the memories of those years without Sherlock in his life were enough to send him back into a state of pure depression which only the sight of Sherlock standing in front of him could rescue him from.
"That's what I'm talking about" whispered Mycroft. John snapped out of his dream state and back into the reality of this ridiculous accusation.
"Mycroft, he's my best friend. Of course I would feel this way." argued John.
"And when he came back. He is the man who controls your emotions. I can't help but feel his is also the man who controls your heart. So I won't ask any more. I just was a curious man who couldn't help hut ask. My apologies.' said Mycroft, immediately standing up. He looked into the mirror above the mantle piece and adjusted his tie and buttons. Mycroft walked towered the door and placed his hand on the door knob. He paused and looked back at John.
"Sherlock Holmes is a complex man. Only he who fully understands him will be the one who can be loved by him. In all honesty John, I think you've gone further in learning about this man than anyone else."
And with that, he walked out.
John sat there for bit, listening to the steady pace of Mycroft's footsteps walking out of the house. For all he knew, John could of sat there for seconds, minutes, hours, days. Time was no longer a priority. His priority was his feelings, feelings that had once been crystal clear to John, had turned muddy and impossible to make out. The more he thought about it, the harder it was to put his finger on how he was felt towards his flatmate. And as the silence of the flat wrapped itself around him, John grew even more confused.
A remark like that is easily forgotten. We all excuse accusations from our lives. And John was no exception. He'd been called many things, he had been confronted with many accusations. And this was nothing more than an normal accusation which would be easily forgotten.
"But why do I still wonder about it?" thought John. "Why is this any different from any other remark I get?"
And soon this idea of John and Sherlock began to take over his thoughts. It was the first thing he thought about when he woke up, and it was the last thing he thought about when he went to be. It consumed his days, he always found himself drifting off into a day dream where he and Sherlock were a couple.
The idea of it didn't repulse him. He wasn't protesting against it. Sherlock was obviously an attractive man, that was undeniable. He was intelligent, some would say intimidating. And he did care for John, no matter how heartless he claimed to be, he did care for him. And John cared for Sherlock.