The ringing phone is really starting to get to him. He might've gotten up to answer it, but he's nearly done plotting out how, exactly, one might go about the 'borrowing' of a military tank from the nearest base.
John, frustratingly enough, isn't around to answer it.
It's only when the tone changes that he unlaces his fingers, turns his head to stare at it and contemplates picking it up. Oh, well. He doubts he could've gotten it out of the motor pool on a Thursday, anyway.
The cell is on its fourth ring- one more before it goes to voicemail- when he snatches it off the table and hits 'answer'. He pauses.
"Good, you're there."
Sherlock's brow furrows, "Mycroft. What on earth did I do to deserve you today? No wait, don't tell me. You are the reason my flatmate is late bringing back the lye and-" Sherlock listens for a moment, "Dear lord. Seriously, Mycroft. This adorable habit of playing the older brother really must stop." But then he thinks. "Offer him double this time."
Mycroft sighs across the line. "If you're going to have a flatmate go driving about the streets of London, you should probably check if he's narcoleptic first."
"'Narcoleptic'? Don't be dense, John's not narcolep- Aaah. You were speaking, weren't you?"
There's silence from the other end of the line.
"Yes, as I thought. Just put him in a cab and send him back here. Or just the lye."
"Yes, yes, the lye. You haven't gotten to the bribing part yet, and I expect he'll want to tell you where you can put that offer- on second thought, don't hang up when you do that. I want to hear how he phrases it."
"But definitely send over the lye soon."
The line hums. "You know, Sherlock, one day you might actually make some sort of attempt to understand how society works. I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to, or dreading, that day."
"Yes, well, if we're done?"
"How do I wake him up?"
"Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose a good slap would do it."
"But it might-"
There's the sharp sound of skin against skin before the sound of rustling fabric, a pained yelp and a grunt.
"I don't suppose you'd let go now."
"Depends. Why did you bring me here?"
"Ah, business. Very well then. I'm willing to put you on retainer for any information you might run across in the course of your association with one Sherlock Holmes."
"....'Information'. You mean 'spy'."
"Yes, I suppose in layman's terms I do mean 'spy'."
"And by 'retainer' you mean 'bribe'."
"Well, I'd say you can take your blank cheque and-"
Sounds of a scuffle. Drat. Sherlock's been waiting to hear this encounter since he met John.
"... That's not very nice."
"I don't particularly care if you think I'm nice or not. 'Nice' went out about the time you all but kidnapped me."
"Now, John. You, of all people, should know what a kidnapping is truly like."
"I told you. My answer is final."
A sigh, "Oh, well. Sherlock will be so disappointed."
"Somehow, I doubt that."
There's a few more lines exchanged and the distinctive sound of a car door slamming and an engine starting. A few seconds for the car to pull out and then Sherlock identifies the slight scrape of plastic along cement that tells him Mycroft picked up the phone.
"Did you enjoy the show?"
Sherlock grins, "Generally, Mycroft, it's an unwise idea to abruptly wake a sleeping killer. They tend to get... defensive."
"'Defensive', he says..." Sherlock can hear him mumbling down the line.
"Yes. And you're right, highly disappointed in him. If he'd thought it through a bit more- but no matter. Now that your attempts at bribery are through and I've gotten my 'entertainment' I trust you know what to do with a dial tone?" Sherlock hangs up before Mycroft can attempt to convince him to 'do something meaningful with his life'.
Why in the world would he want to work for a bunch of bureaucratic dimwitted arseholes who couldn't think their way out of a wet paper bag with a katana and a jackhammer?
Besides, he certainly didn't want to discuss his flatmate's rather adorable penchant for falling asleep during the most entertaining and opportune moments. Mycroft, the moron, might try to 'fix' it.