The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.1
Jun. 6th, 2012 01:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jdmcoolTitle: The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.1
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,742
Summary: John finds himself faced with an impossible choice after a startling realization.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
Walking into 221B Baker Street, John didn’t think that his night could actually get much worse. His latest girlfriend had broken up with him for the same reasons that the others tended to. He wasn’t around enough, he was more devoted to Sherlock than them. All those little things he wished he didn’t understand because at least then he could feel a bit more blameless than he actually did.
But no sooner did he walk into the kitchen, determined to make his night a bit better with a cup of tea did he hear a strange short of thump. Something smacking against the wall followed by an almost pained moan. Tensing, John tried to get a feel for the situation.
It was Sherlock’s room, which meant it could be nothing more than another foolish experiment or he could be in danger. Putting down the kettle, he slowly made his way toward the man’s door.
There were more soft thuds, someone else’s moan, which meant that the man wasn’t alone. And then the words that made John’s blood go cold.
“Fuck, Mycroft.”
Frowning, John couldn’t actually wrap his mind around the two men fighting it out. They were both too old and too mature for such childish antics. Certainly, Mycroft alone was a bit too lazy. But the sounds kept coming and if their little feud had actually boiled over into some sort of violence then John was going to put a stop to it straight away. Opening the door, John rushed in, fully intending on letting them both know what idiot’s they were being before he caught sight of them.
There was no way they were fighting. Not with the way Sherlock laid there, head thrown back as a litany of whimpers poured forth. Mycroft on top of him, being more active than John would’ve given the man credit for as he all but bent Sherlock in half as he fucked him because they were fucking. Headboard slamming against the wall fucking.
Sherlock with his nails clawing the sheets, moaning his brother’s name. Mycroft keeping a steady yet punishing rhythm as he sucked at Sherlock’s neck, certain to leave some kind of bruise.
“Oh God,” John said, unable to look away. But the moment the words were out of his mouth, their eyes were on him.
To his credit, Sherlock managed to look ashamed. Eyes wide, mouth struggling to form words instead of the garbled sounds Mycroft seemed to be tearing out of him.
“Evening doctor,” Mycroft said, never once losing tempo.
Gripping his brother’s shoulders, Sherlock pressed his face against Mycroft’s neck, obviously trying to hide the look of shame on it. Digging his nails into his brother’s shoulder’s he moaned out rather loudly, “John leave!”
And he certainly didn’t need to be told twice. Rushing out of the room, he slammed the door shut before pressing his back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and tried to convince himself that that wasn’t right. There was no way that he could’ve seen Sherlock and Mycroft having sex. They were brothers for Christ sake. Covering his mouth, he shook his head again before moving away from the wall.
He couldn’t even think straight. The idea of Sherlock’s legs wrapped around Mycroft’s waist, getting that kind of pleasure from anyone was haunting his mind. After all, he knew Sherlock was strange and that neither of them seemed to care overly much for societal norms, but to have sex with each other?
When they finally came out, John was sitting on the sofa, sipping a cup of tea. He couldn’t bring himself to just leave. No, after what he saw he felt he was rather owed some kind of explanation because whatever their rationalization he knew it would be interesting to say the least. Not that it would make any sort of difference on how he felt. He swore to himself that there was no way the two brothers would alter his views on what they were doing.
Still, seeing Sherlock look so nervous because of him was rather new in an unpleasant way. He kept his head lowered, dark curls obscuring any view of his eyes. Every time he brushed against his brother, he seemed to jump as though he was scared. Nothing like Mycroft, who kept giving him the most sympathetic of looks. Little glances that were meant to comfort or apologize. John never could tell when it came to the two of them. Didn't want to now.
“You were fucking your brother,” John blurted out, having no other way of starting the conversation.
Nodding rather numbly, Sherlock looked at him with guarded eyes. “It happens from time to time.”
“He’s your brother.”
“Trust me, John, such facts have always been apparent,” Mycroft said, ever casual even in the face of this. No wonder the man ran the government. He not only had the mind of a machine, but he had all the moral conflicts of one as well.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Sherlock tried to explain. Stealing a quick glance at his brother, one that was all but pleading, he frowned. For once, even the great Sherlock Holmes was at a loss for words and John, sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest to purposefully looking defensive and judgmental, wasn’t going to help him sort it out. “It’s just… He understands me. He knows what it gets like and he’s all I ever had. It isn’t as though I was a popular boy.”
Which wasn’t hard to believe given the fact that he’d met Sebastian, the only person from Sherlock’s past that seemed to acknowledge him. The only thing more frightening than the thought that Sherlock may have always been the obnoxious git before him was the idea that he may have somehow improved to that point.
But looking at Mycroft, who remained ever calm and completely undisturbed by the situation, John knew that he couldn’t possibly have had an excuse for taking advantage of his little brother. He fit in. He socialized like a normal person and managed to maintain a normal life, even if it was running the entire government. There was no reason for him to actually need to take solace in his brother.
“I want him,” Mycroft said as casually as one would tell someone the time. “I knew back when Sherlock was a boy that we were playing at a dangerous game. He’d run to me instead of our parents, he’d stay in my room. He’d get jealous when he didn’t have my attention. Then there were the experiments and—“ Stopping himself, Mycroft merely smiled in the way that meant he had said more than he was allowed to.
Rising from his seat, he looked at Sherlock with his usual caring brother stare, something that now made John’s stomach churn in disgust now that he knew the extent of the man’s caring. Running his hand through Sherlock’s hair, Mycroft bent down to kiss him. When Sherlock turned his head, that blush of shame colouring his cheeks yet again, Mycroft paused before kissing his cheek and standing once again.
Moving to stand in front of John, his lips curled into a friendly smile while all emotion seemed to drain away from his eyes. “John, I’m certain we can keep this matter quiet, yes?”
Shrinking back into the couch, he couldn’t believe the man was threatening him. He was the one screwing around with his own family and somehow, Mycroft still felt he had every right to control the situation. To use that polite tone that meant he didn’t really have an option in the matter. Turning his head angrily, John nodded in agreement since it was all he could do.
“Wonderful. Well, this has been an interesting evening but I must be going. John. Sherlock,” he said, nodding at each of them before making his way out.
“I can’t stop," Sherlock blurted out the moment the door closed. "And it’s not an addiction, he’s not taking advantage of me, there’s no real medical risk.” “He’s your brother, Sherlock,” John said, not understanding how they could over look such a fact.
Sherlock took a breath and shook his head. Looking at John with a far more serious look in his eyes, he said, “I love him. I love him as much as I can love anyone, rather. There aren’t any expectations like with a normal person. Half the time he’s not even in the country.”
“And what? The other half he’s turning you into a moaning simpleton like tonight?”
“You were supposed to be gone at your girlfriend’s.”
“Yeah well…” The words died on John’s lips as he thought about that.
All the times he was out, staying the night with one of his girlfriend’s. That time he’d come home to find Mycroft and Sherlock just sitting there. Certainly that hadn’t been the only time. Simply the first and the idea that every time, each time he’d come home to find Sherlock on his own and watching the window like an anxious pet or with Mycroft meant that they’d been doing what he had seen tonight.
Getting up, he shook his head. “No. No. I can’t… No. You can’t have been… All this time? Are you serious?! What happened to being married to your work?”
“It’s what I say to keep people from trying anything. You can see how well saying that I’m shagging my brother goes over!” Covering his mouth, Sherlock took a moment to calm down before running a hand through his hair. He looked tired and scared and as much as John wanted to comfort him, he couldn’t. Not over this. “Look John, are you moving out?”
John clenched his jaw and shrugged helplessly. He should’ve. He really should’ve because what they were doing was wrong and he wasn’t just going to sit around and let it happen. Except he didn’t actually have much of a choice. Mycroft made it clear he wasn’t to tell a soul about their situation and John didn’t want to move out. He loved Baker Street and living with Sherlock. Or rather, he had before he’d caught the man doing things no person should with family.
Staring him down, he shrugged. “That’s my only option isn’t it? Give up my home or accept that you’re sleeping with your brother.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Great comfort that is,” John said before walking off angrily.
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,742
Summary: John finds himself faced with an impossible choice after a startling realization.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
Walking into 221B Baker Street, John didn’t think that his night could actually get much worse. His latest girlfriend had broken up with him for the same reasons that the others tended to. He wasn’t around enough, he was more devoted to Sherlock than them. All those little things he wished he didn’t understand because at least then he could feel a bit more blameless than he actually did.
But no sooner did he walk into the kitchen, determined to make his night a bit better with a cup of tea did he hear a strange short of thump. Something smacking against the wall followed by an almost pained moan. Tensing, John tried to get a feel for the situation.
It was Sherlock’s room, which meant it could be nothing more than another foolish experiment or he could be in danger. Putting down the kettle, he slowly made his way toward the man’s door.
There were more soft thuds, someone else’s moan, which meant that the man wasn’t alone. And then the words that made John’s blood go cold.
“Fuck, Mycroft.”
Frowning, John couldn’t actually wrap his mind around the two men fighting it out. They were both too old and too mature for such childish antics. Certainly, Mycroft alone was a bit too lazy. But the sounds kept coming and if their little feud had actually boiled over into some sort of violence then John was going to put a stop to it straight away. Opening the door, John rushed in, fully intending on letting them both know what idiot’s they were being before he caught sight of them.
There was no way they were fighting. Not with the way Sherlock laid there, head thrown back as a litany of whimpers poured forth. Mycroft on top of him, being more active than John would’ve given the man credit for as he all but bent Sherlock in half as he fucked him because they were fucking. Headboard slamming against the wall fucking.
Sherlock with his nails clawing the sheets, moaning his brother’s name. Mycroft keeping a steady yet punishing rhythm as he sucked at Sherlock’s neck, certain to leave some kind of bruise.
“Oh God,” John said, unable to look away. But the moment the words were out of his mouth, their eyes were on him.
To his credit, Sherlock managed to look ashamed. Eyes wide, mouth struggling to form words instead of the garbled sounds Mycroft seemed to be tearing out of him.
“Evening doctor,” Mycroft said, never once losing tempo.
Gripping his brother’s shoulders, Sherlock pressed his face against Mycroft’s neck, obviously trying to hide the look of shame on it. Digging his nails into his brother’s shoulder’s he moaned out rather loudly, “John leave!”
And he certainly didn’t need to be told twice. Rushing out of the room, he slammed the door shut before pressing his back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and tried to convince himself that that wasn’t right. There was no way that he could’ve seen Sherlock and Mycroft having sex. They were brothers for Christ sake. Covering his mouth, he shook his head again before moving away from the wall.
He couldn’t even think straight. The idea of Sherlock’s legs wrapped around Mycroft’s waist, getting that kind of pleasure from anyone was haunting his mind. After all, he knew Sherlock was strange and that neither of them seemed to care overly much for societal norms, but to have sex with each other?
When they finally came out, John was sitting on the sofa, sipping a cup of tea. He couldn’t bring himself to just leave. No, after what he saw he felt he was rather owed some kind of explanation because whatever their rationalization he knew it would be interesting to say the least. Not that it would make any sort of difference on how he felt. He swore to himself that there was no way the two brothers would alter his views on what they were doing.
Still, seeing Sherlock look so nervous because of him was rather new in an unpleasant way. He kept his head lowered, dark curls obscuring any view of his eyes. Every time he brushed against his brother, he seemed to jump as though he was scared. Nothing like Mycroft, who kept giving him the most sympathetic of looks. Little glances that were meant to comfort or apologize. John never could tell when it came to the two of them. Didn't want to now.
“You were fucking your brother,” John blurted out, having no other way of starting the conversation.
Nodding rather numbly, Sherlock looked at him with guarded eyes. “It happens from time to time.”
“He’s your brother.”
“Trust me, John, such facts have always been apparent,” Mycroft said, ever casual even in the face of this. No wonder the man ran the government. He not only had the mind of a machine, but he had all the moral conflicts of one as well.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Sherlock tried to explain. Stealing a quick glance at his brother, one that was all but pleading, he frowned. For once, even the great Sherlock Holmes was at a loss for words and John, sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest to purposefully looking defensive and judgmental, wasn’t going to help him sort it out. “It’s just… He understands me. He knows what it gets like and he’s all I ever had. It isn’t as though I was a popular boy.”
Which wasn’t hard to believe given the fact that he’d met Sebastian, the only person from Sherlock’s past that seemed to acknowledge him. The only thing more frightening than the thought that Sherlock may have always been the obnoxious git before him was the idea that he may have somehow improved to that point.
But looking at Mycroft, who remained ever calm and completely undisturbed by the situation, John knew that he couldn’t possibly have had an excuse for taking advantage of his little brother. He fit in. He socialized like a normal person and managed to maintain a normal life, even if it was running the entire government. There was no reason for him to actually need to take solace in his brother.
“I want him,” Mycroft said as casually as one would tell someone the time. “I knew back when Sherlock was a boy that we were playing at a dangerous game. He’d run to me instead of our parents, he’d stay in my room. He’d get jealous when he didn’t have my attention. Then there were the experiments and—“ Stopping himself, Mycroft merely smiled in the way that meant he had said more than he was allowed to.
Rising from his seat, he looked at Sherlock with his usual caring brother stare, something that now made John’s stomach churn in disgust now that he knew the extent of the man’s caring. Running his hand through Sherlock’s hair, Mycroft bent down to kiss him. When Sherlock turned his head, that blush of shame colouring his cheeks yet again, Mycroft paused before kissing his cheek and standing once again.
Moving to stand in front of John, his lips curled into a friendly smile while all emotion seemed to drain away from his eyes. “John, I’m certain we can keep this matter quiet, yes?”
Shrinking back into the couch, he couldn’t believe the man was threatening him. He was the one screwing around with his own family and somehow, Mycroft still felt he had every right to control the situation. To use that polite tone that meant he didn’t really have an option in the matter. Turning his head angrily, John nodded in agreement since it was all he could do.
“Wonderful. Well, this has been an interesting evening but I must be going. John. Sherlock,” he said, nodding at each of them before making his way out.
“I can’t stop," Sherlock blurted out the moment the door closed. "And it’s not an addiction, he’s not taking advantage of me, there’s no real medical risk.” “He’s your brother, Sherlock,” John said, not understanding how they could over look such a fact.
Sherlock took a breath and shook his head. Looking at John with a far more serious look in his eyes, he said, “I love him. I love him as much as I can love anyone, rather. There aren’t any expectations like with a normal person. Half the time he’s not even in the country.”
“And what? The other half he’s turning you into a moaning simpleton like tonight?”
“You were supposed to be gone at your girlfriend’s.”
“Yeah well…” The words died on John’s lips as he thought about that.
All the times he was out, staying the night with one of his girlfriend’s. That time he’d come home to find Mycroft and Sherlock just sitting there. Certainly that hadn’t been the only time. Simply the first and the idea that every time, each time he’d come home to find Sherlock on his own and watching the window like an anxious pet or with Mycroft meant that they’d been doing what he had seen tonight.
Getting up, he shook his head. “No. No. I can’t… No. You can’t have been… All this time? Are you serious?! What happened to being married to your work?”
“It’s what I say to keep people from trying anything. You can see how well saying that I’m shagging my brother goes over!” Covering his mouth, Sherlock took a moment to calm down before running a hand through his hair. He looked tired and scared and as much as John wanted to comfort him, he couldn’t. Not over this. “Look John, are you moving out?”
John clenched his jaw and shrugged helplessly. He should’ve. He really should’ve because what they were doing was wrong and he wasn’t just going to sit around and let it happen. Except he didn’t actually have much of a choice. Mycroft made it clear he wasn’t to tell a soul about their situation and John didn’t want to move out. He loved Baker Street and living with Sherlock. Or rather, he had before he’d caught the man doing things no person should with family.
Staring him down, he shrugged. “That’s my only option isn’t it? Give up my home or accept that you’re sleeping with your brother.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Great comfort that is,” John said before walking off angrily.
