The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.2
Jun. 6th, 2012 01:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jdmcoolTitle: The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.2
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,4,31
Summary: Sherlock chats with Mycroft about how John's coping with the news.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
Sherlock watched as John left the flat, nodding along half heartedly as the man muttered about going to work. He wasn’t particularly pleased as he said it nor did he manage to keep up eye contact as he did. But at least he was trying looking Sherlock in the eyes again and that was a start.
After all, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that the other man hated him to some extent. Sure, they were still friends, or so Sherlock chose to believe, but John didn’t like the fact that his life depended on keeping Sherlock’s dirty secret. On staying at 221B because he simply didn’t have anywhere else to go while overlooking the glaring problem that was in front of them. Their own private elephant in the room.
Closing his eyes, he began to play his violin, stringing together notes until it became something soft and depressed, a song fit for a gloomy day spent in silence on the couch. Something that matched up well with the guilt that Sherlock happened to feel for his friend.
“If you felt guilt you would stop and make things right with him.”
Opening his eyes, he glared at his brother. The man looked so smug as he sat in the seat across from him, umbrella resting against the chair. Clearly he’d been using his CCTV access to watch the flat again, waiting for the perfect time to make his appearance there for one of their usual chats.
“One can feel guilt without giving up what they love,” he pointed out, resting the violin in his lap.
Mycroft raised his brows briefly before looking toward the mantle. “Guilt and love? This has certainly brought about your more pedestrian side, brother dear.”
Sherlock resisted the urge to sneer at that. “Looking for a quick lay over lunch?”
“It wasn’t my immediate objective.”
“I suppose I should give in. Certainly it’s the only exercise you’re likely to get this week,” he remarked, never one to resist a jibe at mycroft’s weight.
Not that he didn’t know better. Certainly Mycroft’s diets worked to an extent, this one especially since the man was the thinnest Sherlock could ever remember his brother being. But out of the great multitude of things Mycroft controlled, his own body was somehow beyond that realm. And it was that one fault that gave Sherlock immense pleasure to poke at, like a child would the body of a dead animal.
Or perhaps that had just been his own wayward childhood.
Looking back at his brother, Mycroft managed to look mildly concerned. “How is the good doctor?”
“You should know. You have this place watched.”
“The outside, Sherlock. Considering what happened the last time I dropped by for lunch, it wouldn’t make sense to bug the inside.”
And oh, if that didn’t send a sick little jolt to his dick as he remembered the way that Mycroft had taken him on the desk, right on top of John’s papers, Sherlock’s arse sliding against the place usually reserved for John’s laptop when he worked.
Swallowing hard, he nodded in agreement. “I suppose it’s nice to know you don’t bug places you like to shag me. If I were more the exhibitionist I could get rid of those damn cameras one by one.”
“I would certainly enjoy helping you try,” Mycroft offered.
Fighting the urge to smile, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Looking Mycroft over, he could see that the man wasn’t expecting to stay very long. An hour or two at the most, which seemed like more time than he wanted to spend in his brother’s company either way.
That was part of the beauty of their relationship. It had always worked because of the simple fact that neither of them particularly cared to be around the other for too long. Even holidays spent visiting home ended with them both well fucked and thoroughly resentful of the other’s existence. They didn’t feel that need most couples did to spend as much time as possible together. Rather, they’d go days or even months without so much as a word to each other. Of course, part of that probably had something to do with the fact that Mycroft often knew where he was whether Sherlock told him or not.
“He’s coping. He still thinks we’re depraved and thoroughly hates you, a sentiment I can understand rather well at the moment,” Sherlock said, more interested in talking about John than anything else.
Mycroft steepled his fingers together beneath his chin as he listened. “But he isn’t leaving?”
“There’s nowhere else for him to go and he rather feels he shouldn’t be forced out of his home because we’re deviants.”
“An understandable feeling.”
“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “He’s trying though, for the sake of our friendship, to see past what we do.”
“I assume he’s doing less than stunning?”
Thinking back to the first two weeks, where John did nothing but avoid him at every possible turn, Sherlock pursed his lips. If not for a case going spectacularly bad, ending with another near death experience and some rather gruesome cuts, he was certain John still wouldn’t be talking to him. But the man was always a doctor first and something about caring for Sherlock while Mycroft remained suspiciously absent had helped them start to mend whatever it was that the Holmes brothers had broken.
“We’re getting there.”
“I’m certain you’ll both be fine in the long run,” Mycroft said, not at all bothered by how the situation was affecting Sherlock.
After all, it wasn’t often that Sherlock felt upset about much of anything, but his relationship with John was an important one. Though he was loathe to say it out loud, he and John did have a relationship more along the lines of a couple considering all that they tended to do together. It may not have been romantic, but it was more than Sherlock had ever known in a romantic relationship either way.
“You never take me out,” Sherlock stated rather bluntly.
Surprise briefly colouring his face, Mycroft slowly smiled, obviously amused with the statement. “I let you tie me up for your birthday.”
Meeting the other’s look, Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh at the comment. Putting his violin aside, he got up and crossed the small space to his brother. Watching the way the man stared at him expectantly, Sherlock saved the image before kissing the man.
Mycroft was quick to respond in kind, kissing back gentler than usual. Cupping the man’s cheek, he parted his lips, welcoming the invading tongue with his own and a stifled noise. Pressing closer, he rested a knee between Mycroft’s spread legs. Felt his heart begin to beat faster as his brother fisted his hands in Sherlock’s hair.
Hearing footsteps, Sherlock moved away, biting back a groan as Mycroft gently caught his lip between his teeth. Standing upright, he looked toward the door and swallowed nervously.
“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson said as she entered the room. “John’s outside, asked if you’ve seen his phone. Must’ve forgotten it.”
“On the sofa,” Mycroft said, looking over at Mrs. Hudson with a smile.
Grabbing it, Sherlock handed it to her. “Is that all?”
“Yes. Thank you. And you boys behave yourself,” she said, always warning them to be good little boys much like mummy used to when they were to be left to their own devices.
“My car is outside. Metaphorical tie on the doorknob, if you’d like,” Mycroft explained as he got up from the chair.
Going over to the window, Sherlock smirked at the obvious black car. Watching as John followed Mycroft’s assistant inside the vehicle, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. John may very well hate his brother, but Mycroft, in his own way, was trying to fix Sherlock’s relationship with the man never the less.
Feeling a warm body press against his back, Sherlock leaned into the slightly taller man and gave him a quick kiss. “I suppose I owe you that sex now.”
“He’s a good man, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. “With the right conditioning good things can come from this.”
And for whatever reason, that thought went straight to his dick, his mind reeling with the possibilities as Mycroft began to nip at his neck. Moaning softly in approval as Mycroft’s hand drifted down his chest, Sherlock ground his arse back against the growing erection his brother was already sporting. If he played things perfectly, he could finally get rid of that camera he knew watched the windows of his flat as well.
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,4,31
Summary: Sherlock chats with Mycroft about how John's coping with the news.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
Sherlock watched as John left the flat, nodding along half heartedly as the man muttered about going to work. He wasn’t particularly pleased as he said it nor did he manage to keep up eye contact as he did. But at least he was trying looking Sherlock in the eyes again and that was a start.
After all, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that the other man hated him to some extent. Sure, they were still friends, or so Sherlock chose to believe, but John didn’t like the fact that his life depended on keeping Sherlock’s dirty secret. On staying at 221B because he simply didn’t have anywhere else to go while overlooking the glaring problem that was in front of them. Their own private elephant in the room.
Closing his eyes, he began to play his violin, stringing together notes until it became something soft and depressed, a song fit for a gloomy day spent in silence on the couch. Something that matched up well with the guilt that Sherlock happened to feel for his friend.
“If you felt guilt you would stop and make things right with him.”
Opening his eyes, he glared at his brother. The man looked so smug as he sat in the seat across from him, umbrella resting against the chair. Clearly he’d been using his CCTV access to watch the flat again, waiting for the perfect time to make his appearance there for one of their usual chats.
“One can feel guilt without giving up what they love,” he pointed out, resting the violin in his lap.
Mycroft raised his brows briefly before looking toward the mantle. “Guilt and love? This has certainly brought about your more pedestrian side, brother dear.”
Sherlock resisted the urge to sneer at that. “Looking for a quick lay over lunch?”
“It wasn’t my immediate objective.”
“I suppose I should give in. Certainly it’s the only exercise you’re likely to get this week,” he remarked, never one to resist a jibe at mycroft’s weight.
Not that he didn’t know better. Certainly Mycroft’s diets worked to an extent, this one especially since the man was the thinnest Sherlock could ever remember his brother being. But out of the great multitude of things Mycroft controlled, his own body was somehow beyond that realm. And it was that one fault that gave Sherlock immense pleasure to poke at, like a child would the body of a dead animal.
Or perhaps that had just been his own wayward childhood.
Looking back at his brother, Mycroft managed to look mildly concerned. “How is the good doctor?”
“You should know. You have this place watched.”
“The outside, Sherlock. Considering what happened the last time I dropped by for lunch, it wouldn’t make sense to bug the inside.”
And oh, if that didn’t send a sick little jolt to his dick as he remembered the way that Mycroft had taken him on the desk, right on top of John’s papers, Sherlock’s arse sliding against the place usually reserved for John’s laptop when he worked.
Swallowing hard, he nodded in agreement. “I suppose it’s nice to know you don’t bug places you like to shag me. If I were more the exhibitionist I could get rid of those damn cameras one by one.”
“I would certainly enjoy helping you try,” Mycroft offered.
Fighting the urge to smile, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Looking Mycroft over, he could see that the man wasn’t expecting to stay very long. An hour or two at the most, which seemed like more time than he wanted to spend in his brother’s company either way.
That was part of the beauty of their relationship. It had always worked because of the simple fact that neither of them particularly cared to be around the other for too long. Even holidays spent visiting home ended with them both well fucked and thoroughly resentful of the other’s existence. They didn’t feel that need most couples did to spend as much time as possible together. Rather, they’d go days or even months without so much as a word to each other. Of course, part of that probably had something to do with the fact that Mycroft often knew where he was whether Sherlock told him or not.
“He’s coping. He still thinks we’re depraved and thoroughly hates you, a sentiment I can understand rather well at the moment,” Sherlock said, more interested in talking about John than anything else.
Mycroft steepled his fingers together beneath his chin as he listened. “But he isn’t leaving?”
“There’s nowhere else for him to go and he rather feels he shouldn’t be forced out of his home because we’re deviants.”
“An understandable feeling.”
“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “He’s trying though, for the sake of our friendship, to see past what we do.”
“I assume he’s doing less than stunning?”
Thinking back to the first two weeks, where John did nothing but avoid him at every possible turn, Sherlock pursed his lips. If not for a case going spectacularly bad, ending with another near death experience and some rather gruesome cuts, he was certain John still wouldn’t be talking to him. But the man was always a doctor first and something about caring for Sherlock while Mycroft remained suspiciously absent had helped them start to mend whatever it was that the Holmes brothers had broken.
“We’re getting there.”
“I’m certain you’ll both be fine in the long run,” Mycroft said, not at all bothered by how the situation was affecting Sherlock.
After all, it wasn’t often that Sherlock felt upset about much of anything, but his relationship with John was an important one. Though he was loathe to say it out loud, he and John did have a relationship more along the lines of a couple considering all that they tended to do together. It may not have been romantic, but it was more than Sherlock had ever known in a romantic relationship either way.
“You never take me out,” Sherlock stated rather bluntly.
Surprise briefly colouring his face, Mycroft slowly smiled, obviously amused with the statement. “I let you tie me up for your birthday.”
Meeting the other’s look, Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh at the comment. Putting his violin aside, he got up and crossed the small space to his brother. Watching the way the man stared at him expectantly, Sherlock saved the image before kissing the man.
Mycroft was quick to respond in kind, kissing back gentler than usual. Cupping the man’s cheek, he parted his lips, welcoming the invading tongue with his own and a stifled noise. Pressing closer, he rested a knee between Mycroft’s spread legs. Felt his heart begin to beat faster as his brother fisted his hands in Sherlock’s hair.
Hearing footsteps, Sherlock moved away, biting back a groan as Mycroft gently caught his lip between his teeth. Standing upright, he looked toward the door and swallowed nervously.
“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson said as she entered the room. “John’s outside, asked if you’ve seen his phone. Must’ve forgotten it.”
“On the sofa,” Mycroft said, looking over at Mrs. Hudson with a smile.
Grabbing it, Sherlock handed it to her. “Is that all?”
“Yes. Thank you. And you boys behave yourself,” she said, always warning them to be good little boys much like mummy used to when they were to be left to their own devices.
“My car is outside. Metaphorical tie on the doorknob, if you’d like,” Mycroft explained as he got up from the chair.
Going over to the window, Sherlock smirked at the obvious black car. Watching as John followed Mycroft’s assistant inside the vehicle, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. John may very well hate his brother, but Mycroft, in his own way, was trying to fix Sherlock’s relationship with the man never the less.
Feeling a warm body press against his back, Sherlock leaned into the slightly taller man and gave him a quick kiss. “I suppose I owe you that sex now.”
“He’s a good man, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. “With the right conditioning good things can come from this.”
And for whatever reason, that thought went straight to his dick, his mind reeling with the possibilities as Mycroft began to nip at his neck. Moaning softly in approval as Mycroft’s hand drifted down his chest, Sherlock ground his arse back against the growing erection his brother was already sporting. If he played things perfectly, he could finally get rid of that camera he knew watched the windows of his flat as well.
