The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.3
Jun. 6th, 2012 01:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jdmcoolTitle: The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.3
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,960
Summary: After an unfortunate night out, John comes home to something far stranger than he'd have ever expected.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
He hadn’t actually meant to be out all night. Well, he hadn’t until he had. Until Harry had called talking about how they should really meet up and chat. It wasn’t the first thing that John wanted to do with his night, but then she had made him feel guilty and given him hope, so he went.
Big mistake that was, John decided as he got out of a cab in front of his flat. What had started off as a fairly nice evening had turned into something obnoxious and predictable. Both of them dancing around the topic of her drinking as she nursed a beer, about Clara because they simply couldn’t have that conversation any more. And then when it did all come out after he failed to bite back a comment about her having a third beer, well, that was just worse. Now all he wanted a good night’s sleep and something to something to snack on, since there hadn’t been much time for actually eating during the awkward night out.
Walking into the kitchen, John came to a standstill as he stared at the man hunched over and rummaging through his fridge. The soft light played along the pale skin of the man’s back, highlighting the odd freckles along his shoulders as he looked for something beyond the milk and a jar of eyes Sherlock was keeping. Standing up straight, Mycroft stared at him for a moment before nodding.
“Hello, John.”
Looking around nervously, John tried to figure out what would be the best excuse for making himself scarce around his own flat. “I was just getting... stuff. I’ll be going soon.”
“Stay? It’s rather late and certainly Sherlock and I aren’t doing you any harm in his room,” Mycroft pointed out diplomatically as he stood there in his pants.
Smiling, John ran his finger along his mouth as he shook his head. “You know... You can’t just do that. You can’t threaten to kill me if I tell anyone that you’re shagging your brother and then... act like everything is fine,” he laughed humourlessly.
After all, he knew that life with Sherlock wasn’t ever going to be normal. He had actually come to accept that occasionally there would be cops at the door, that people might want him or Sherlock dead and that his dating life was going to always come second to helping out his friend. He could honestly live with that kind of strange. But having Mycroft Holmes, the man in control of most of, if not the entire, government, standing there casually, attempting to casually brush off the fact that he was sleeping with his brother was too much.
“Sit. I’ll make us tea.”
“Yeah, sure. Just ignore everything I said,” he remarked rather sarcastically as he took his seat. “Where’s your brother?”
“Sleeping.”
John smirked as he tapped his thumb on the table in quick succession. “You must be good to get him to sleep.”
“It’s my one true gift in life,” Mycroft said dryly.
“And here I thought laser vision would be the best power.”
Mycroft made a noise to prove he was listening as he went about starting their tea. Drumming his fingers against the table, John stared at the exit, questioning himself for a logical reason as to why he was still sitting there listening to Mycroft putter about.
Glancing at the man, he watched him, watched as Mycroft searched the cabinet’s like he knew what should be there. John couldn’t say why it annoyed him so much to think that maybe Mycroft came over more than he noticed, no thought even given to the idea that the man merely deduced from the way he and Sherlock lived. That just didn’t seem likely given the fact that anyone comfortable enough to wander around their brother’s flat in their pants had to have a reason for that level of ease.
Biting the inside of his jaw, John looked him over, trying to find some sort of logic in it all. It was the sort of turn of events he’d find funny, him caring more about logic than either Holmes, if not for the fact that there was a level of wrongness to it he just couldn’t stand. Couldn’t get how they managed to be so oblivious.
Of course, he wasn’t a Holmes. When he looked at Mycroft all he really saw was some middle aged bloke who didn’t seem to warrant the teasing he got from Sherlock. He was in no worse shape than most men his age, clearly a natural ginger judging by the hair on his chest that seemed to taper off into the neat line of it around his navel. And Christ, even the man’s body hair was starting to seem orderly to him.
“It’s not easy to understand because it’s not easy to explain,” Mycroft said as he handed John his cup. Sitting down across from him, the man smiled rather sadly before taking a sip of his tea and continuing. “Certainly there are rules against incest for a reason.”
“None of which apply to you two, much like most rules,” John shot back as he stared at the cup in his hands.
Letting out a soft huff of amusement, Mycroft nodded. “I should never have threatened you in that manner. It was... inappropriate.”
At that John let out a bark of laughter before quickly covering his mouth. Shaking his head at the irony of it all, he said, “Right. Catch you shagging your brother, you can’t be arsed to even pretend to be modest. You threatening to kill me after if I tell, that’s the inappropriate.”
“No. How I did it was inappropriate. I try not to be so... blunt, usually.”
“Right. Subtly is key,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
“He cares for you, my brother. Your... behaviour puts him in a rather delicate position.”
“And you would never do that.”
Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, as he tried to decipher something John couldn’t even begin to figure out. “You’re his friend. Best, worst, first, last. Likely the only real one he’s ever going to have and he doesn’t want to lose that.”
John sipped at his tea, not wanting to admit that he didn’t want to lose Sherlock either. Even with the dodgy situation they had manage to put him in, he still enjoyed the mad man. Still cared about him a lot more than was actually sane.
“But,” Mycroft said, clearly attempting to choose his words even more delicately than normal. “You know his secret now. And yes, he... We’ve both tried to...move past this, but it’s rather difficult.” Staring almost blindly at John, Mycroft smiled to himself. “People want to meet someone like them, someone with just enough differences to keep life interesting.”
“And what? Regular dating just didn’t work?”
“No because no one is like us, you know that. There was Miss Adler, but she let her emotions get the better of her. Moriarty, but... Well, sleeping with the enemy is best kept in a metaphorical sense, wouldn’t you agree?”
Biting his lip to hold back a smile, he nodded. “There are other people. You’re... You’re family.”
“Seven years difference.”
“So? Harry’s older than me, but I don’t see that as a reason to do her.”
“To be fair, I doubt even your sexual prowess could make her switch teams,” Mycroft said blandly.
And the man was making jokes. Honest to God jokes that John didn’t want to laugh at because it wasn’t really funny. There was nothing funny about the situation because he was sitting there having listening to Mycroft’s reasons, no, the man’s excuses for sleeping with his little brother. It wasn’t the time to be making wry little cracks.
“You being older isn’t a good reason to... do what you do.”
“Isn’t it? I was away at school for most of his life. Perfectly planned that way by mummy, since she never felt she could raise two children at once. Far too much work.”
“Nice to know where you get your work ethic.”
Purposefully ignoring the comment, Mycroft said, “Related by blood but with so little knowledge of each other. I suppose that’s my fault, never saw the point in calling home to talk to Sherlock. How interesting could a child be, after all?”
“He’s still your brother.”
“And I care deeply for him, as you know.”
“Not like a normal brother,” John pointed out, hoping that such a point might actually get through to him.
“Oh John, since when have Sherlock and I ever given you the impression we were normal?”
Which was probably the biggest problem in all of it. They weren’t normal and he desperately wanted them to be, just this once. Just to know that they understood the problem at hand and might try to fix it, but it was futile. Nothing short of a losing battle.
Watching Mycroft perk up as the sound of footsteps made their way to the room, John turned to see Sherlock make his way into the kitchen, wrapped up in his bed sheets like a little kid as he scowled at his older brother.
“Leaving bed for food? How very typical of you.”
“John and I were having a conversation.”
“About us,” Sherlock said before turning his attentions to John. “If you want, I can make him leave.”
Stunned by the casual way Sherlock offered to kick out, not just his brother, but the man he had to have slept with only a few hours earlier, John stared at him before remembering that he had to respond somehow.
“No, no. It’s... It’s fine. I was going to my room, saw your brother raiding the fridge.”
“It is the trouble of having him around. His stomach is not unlike a black hole,” Sherlock said, giving Mycroft a rather disapproving once over.
“Someone’s cranky his nap was interrupted. I really should get him back to bed,” Mycroft said as he stood. Pouring out the rest of his tea, he gave his cup a perfunctory rinse before moving to stand in front of his little brother. “Were we too loud or did little Sherlock have a bad dream.”
“Yes. I dreamt a monster gave up trying to smother me with its weight before deciding to eat me out of house and home.”
Watching the interaction, John wasn’t surprised when Mycroft didn’t say anything. He merely smirked as though he had the most witty reply, one brow arched rather smugly. He wouldn’t have thought much of it if not for the fact that Sherlock stood up a bit straighter, his face going flush as he stared at his brother like a deer in the headlights. The kind of look John had only ever seen on Sherlock’s face around Irene.
Letting out a choked breath, Sherlock said, “Next time you decide to wander my flat, try to be decent.”
“Says the man in nothing more than a bed sheet,” Mycroft said, resting a hand on Sherlock’s hip.
Getting up as well, John grabbed his cup and cleared his throat loudly. “Right. I’m going to bed. Try not to... in the kitchen,” he said before making for a hasty retreat.
Glancing back at them as he made his exit to make sure they had actually heard him, he tried to pretend that he didn’t see what he saw. Even has he moved a bit faster, taking two steps at a time as he made his way to his room, he tried to pretend he had imagined the way Mycroft’s hand slid between the sheet, causing a look of bliss on Sherlock’s face. If he could pretend it wasn’t real, it’d be one less snapshot to haunt him at every turn like the others.
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,960
Summary: After an unfortunate night out, John comes home to something far stranger than he'd have ever expected.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
He hadn’t actually meant to be out all night. Well, he hadn’t until he had. Until Harry had called talking about how they should really meet up and chat. It wasn’t the first thing that John wanted to do with his night, but then she had made him feel guilty and given him hope, so he went.
Big mistake that was, John decided as he got out of a cab in front of his flat. What had started off as a fairly nice evening had turned into something obnoxious and predictable. Both of them dancing around the topic of her drinking as she nursed a beer, about Clara because they simply couldn’t have that conversation any more. And then when it did all come out after he failed to bite back a comment about her having a third beer, well, that was just worse. Now all he wanted a good night’s sleep and something to something to snack on, since there hadn’t been much time for actually eating during the awkward night out.
Walking into the kitchen, John came to a standstill as he stared at the man hunched over and rummaging through his fridge. The soft light played along the pale skin of the man’s back, highlighting the odd freckles along his shoulders as he looked for something beyond the milk and a jar of eyes Sherlock was keeping. Standing up straight, Mycroft stared at him for a moment before nodding.
“Hello, John.”
Looking around nervously, John tried to figure out what would be the best excuse for making himself scarce around his own flat. “I was just getting... stuff. I’ll be going soon.”
“Stay? It’s rather late and certainly Sherlock and I aren’t doing you any harm in his room,” Mycroft pointed out diplomatically as he stood there in his pants.
Smiling, John ran his finger along his mouth as he shook his head. “You know... You can’t just do that. You can’t threaten to kill me if I tell anyone that you’re shagging your brother and then... act like everything is fine,” he laughed humourlessly.
After all, he knew that life with Sherlock wasn’t ever going to be normal. He had actually come to accept that occasionally there would be cops at the door, that people might want him or Sherlock dead and that his dating life was going to always come second to helping out his friend. He could honestly live with that kind of strange. But having Mycroft Holmes, the man in control of most of, if not the entire, government, standing there casually, attempting to casually brush off the fact that he was sleeping with his brother was too much.
“Sit. I’ll make us tea.”
“Yeah, sure. Just ignore everything I said,” he remarked rather sarcastically as he took his seat. “Where’s your brother?”
“Sleeping.”
John smirked as he tapped his thumb on the table in quick succession. “You must be good to get him to sleep.”
“It’s my one true gift in life,” Mycroft said dryly.
“And here I thought laser vision would be the best power.”
Mycroft made a noise to prove he was listening as he went about starting their tea. Drumming his fingers against the table, John stared at the exit, questioning himself for a logical reason as to why he was still sitting there listening to Mycroft putter about.
Glancing at the man, he watched him, watched as Mycroft searched the cabinet’s like he knew what should be there. John couldn’t say why it annoyed him so much to think that maybe Mycroft came over more than he noticed, no thought even given to the idea that the man merely deduced from the way he and Sherlock lived. That just didn’t seem likely given the fact that anyone comfortable enough to wander around their brother’s flat in their pants had to have a reason for that level of ease.
Biting the inside of his jaw, John looked him over, trying to find some sort of logic in it all. It was the sort of turn of events he’d find funny, him caring more about logic than either Holmes, if not for the fact that there was a level of wrongness to it he just couldn’t stand. Couldn’t get how they managed to be so oblivious.
Of course, he wasn’t a Holmes. When he looked at Mycroft all he really saw was some middle aged bloke who didn’t seem to warrant the teasing he got from Sherlock. He was in no worse shape than most men his age, clearly a natural ginger judging by the hair on his chest that seemed to taper off into the neat line of it around his navel. And Christ, even the man’s body hair was starting to seem orderly to him.
“It’s not easy to understand because it’s not easy to explain,” Mycroft said as he handed John his cup. Sitting down across from him, the man smiled rather sadly before taking a sip of his tea and continuing. “Certainly there are rules against incest for a reason.”
“None of which apply to you two, much like most rules,” John shot back as he stared at the cup in his hands.
Letting out a soft huff of amusement, Mycroft nodded. “I should never have threatened you in that manner. It was... inappropriate.”
At that John let out a bark of laughter before quickly covering his mouth. Shaking his head at the irony of it all, he said, “Right. Catch you shagging your brother, you can’t be arsed to even pretend to be modest. You threatening to kill me after if I tell, that’s the inappropriate.”
“No. How I did it was inappropriate. I try not to be so... blunt, usually.”
“Right. Subtly is key,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
“He cares for you, my brother. Your... behaviour puts him in a rather delicate position.”
“And you would never do that.”
Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, as he tried to decipher something John couldn’t even begin to figure out. “You’re his friend. Best, worst, first, last. Likely the only real one he’s ever going to have and he doesn’t want to lose that.”
John sipped at his tea, not wanting to admit that he didn’t want to lose Sherlock either. Even with the dodgy situation they had manage to put him in, he still enjoyed the mad man. Still cared about him a lot more than was actually sane.
“But,” Mycroft said, clearly attempting to choose his words even more delicately than normal. “You know his secret now. And yes, he... We’ve both tried to...move past this, but it’s rather difficult.” Staring almost blindly at John, Mycroft smiled to himself. “People want to meet someone like them, someone with just enough differences to keep life interesting.”
“And what? Regular dating just didn’t work?”
“No because no one is like us, you know that. There was Miss Adler, but she let her emotions get the better of her. Moriarty, but... Well, sleeping with the enemy is best kept in a metaphorical sense, wouldn’t you agree?”
Biting his lip to hold back a smile, he nodded. “There are other people. You’re... You’re family.”
“Seven years difference.”
“So? Harry’s older than me, but I don’t see that as a reason to do her.”
“To be fair, I doubt even your sexual prowess could make her switch teams,” Mycroft said blandly.
And the man was making jokes. Honest to God jokes that John didn’t want to laugh at because it wasn’t really funny. There was nothing funny about the situation because he was sitting there having listening to Mycroft’s reasons, no, the man’s excuses for sleeping with his little brother. It wasn’t the time to be making wry little cracks.
“You being older isn’t a good reason to... do what you do.”
“Isn’t it? I was away at school for most of his life. Perfectly planned that way by mummy, since she never felt she could raise two children at once. Far too much work.”
“Nice to know where you get your work ethic.”
Purposefully ignoring the comment, Mycroft said, “Related by blood but with so little knowledge of each other. I suppose that’s my fault, never saw the point in calling home to talk to Sherlock. How interesting could a child be, after all?”
“He’s still your brother.”
“And I care deeply for him, as you know.”
“Not like a normal brother,” John pointed out, hoping that such a point might actually get through to him.
“Oh John, since when have Sherlock and I ever given you the impression we were normal?”
Which was probably the biggest problem in all of it. They weren’t normal and he desperately wanted them to be, just this once. Just to know that they understood the problem at hand and might try to fix it, but it was futile. Nothing short of a losing battle.
Watching Mycroft perk up as the sound of footsteps made their way to the room, John turned to see Sherlock make his way into the kitchen, wrapped up in his bed sheets like a little kid as he scowled at his older brother.
“Leaving bed for food? How very typical of you.”
“John and I were having a conversation.”
“About us,” Sherlock said before turning his attentions to John. “If you want, I can make him leave.”
Stunned by the casual way Sherlock offered to kick out, not just his brother, but the man he had to have slept with only a few hours earlier, John stared at him before remembering that he had to respond somehow.
“No, no. It’s... It’s fine. I was going to my room, saw your brother raiding the fridge.”
“It is the trouble of having him around. His stomach is not unlike a black hole,” Sherlock said, giving Mycroft a rather disapproving once over.
“Someone’s cranky his nap was interrupted. I really should get him back to bed,” Mycroft said as he stood. Pouring out the rest of his tea, he gave his cup a perfunctory rinse before moving to stand in front of his little brother. “Were we too loud or did little Sherlock have a bad dream.”
“Yes. I dreamt a monster gave up trying to smother me with its weight before deciding to eat me out of house and home.”
Watching the interaction, John wasn’t surprised when Mycroft didn’t say anything. He merely smirked as though he had the most witty reply, one brow arched rather smugly. He wouldn’t have thought much of it if not for the fact that Sherlock stood up a bit straighter, his face going flush as he stared at his brother like a deer in the headlights. The kind of look John had only ever seen on Sherlock’s face around Irene.
Letting out a choked breath, Sherlock said, “Next time you decide to wander my flat, try to be decent.”
“Says the man in nothing more than a bed sheet,” Mycroft said, resting a hand on Sherlock’s hip.
Getting up as well, John grabbed his cup and cleared his throat loudly. “Right. I’m going to bed. Try not to... in the kitchen,” he said before making for a hasty retreat.
Glancing back at them as he made his exit to make sure they had actually heard him, he tried to pretend that he didn’t see what he saw. Even has he moved a bit faster, taking two steps at a time as he made his way to his room, he tried to pretend he had imagined the way Mycroft’s hand slid between the sheet, causing a look of bliss on Sherlock’s face. If he could pretend it wasn’t real, it’d be one less snapshot to haunt him at every turn like the others.
