"Stop sulking around like a child," John Watson scolded, turning over the page he was reading. His flatmate ignored him and stood at the window.
"Nothing's happening," he stated, observing the events out of the window. People walked down the street, chatting to friends, talking on their mobile phones or strolling by themselves. "It's sickening."
"Here's an idea; why don't you answer your brother's calls?" Sherlock scoffed at this. Folding the paper, the blonde turned to look at his flatmate. "He's called four times in the past hour alone. It might be important."
"Oh I'm sure it is. Top secret government project something or rather," his voice was toneless. Sherlock turned and flopped down effortlessly onto the couch. "I'm not dealing with his problems. They're boring."
This answer wasn't much of a surprise, but John sighed and shook his head just the same. "It's not as though you have anything better to be doing."
Picking up his violin from beside the sofa, Sherlock took it from its case and plucked a few strings indignantly. "I do so."
His friend shook his head. John stood up and threw his paper on the seat as he walked towards the kitchen. "Right."
Crossly, he plucked a few more strings. "Well I have to be available if something comes up. As far as Mycroft's concerned, I'm busy."
A knock came from the door. Sherlock sat as though he hadn't heard it, picking away at his violin.
"Oh don't get up, I'll get it," John said sarcastically, setting down the glass he had just taken from the cupboard and walking towards the door. Opening the door slightly, he stuck his head through. "Yes?"
A smartly dressed man stood before him. "Sherlock Holmes?"
The man in question looked over suddenly."Hang on. The downstairs door is locked. How did you... Oh." Sherlock stated softer, seeing the man. Looking away, he resumed his cross expression. "Tell him my answer is no. And to stop phoning!"
John looked between the two men. "Oh," he said in realization, feeling foolish for not catching on sooner. "You work for Mycroft."
The man nodded. "I'm just here to deliver a parcel." He turned, and even Sherlock strained from his seat on the sofa to see what the agent was bringing in. The dark haired man came back suddenly and dropped his 'parcel' just inside the door. He smiled at the two men as he walked out. "Good day."
John was sure his jaw had hit the floor. Stammering, he looked from the delivery to his friend who had finally gotten to his feet. Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion. Both had the same question burning in their minds; Why had he brought this...?
The baby in the carrier began to scream.