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The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.4
Title: The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.4
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,986
Summary: John can't sleep with the sheer amount of normal in his life. That and the dreams keeping him up at night.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
When Sherlock came to him, just shy of sunrise with a case about a recently murdered woman, John had actually been happy. And a great deal of that was because the complete lack of strangeness in his life was starting to drive him mad. It was the one thing someone would’ve expected him to want in the wake of finding out that his best mate was sleeping with his own brother or even after all the time he spent living with Sherlock. Normality was supposed to be his saving grace.
But anyone thinking that would’ve been entirely wrong. John was even willing to admit that he was too at first. When Sherlock had announced to him that Mycroft would be away on business for an undisclosed amount of time, John was happy. Hell, he’d been bloody ecstatic when, instead of reverting to old routines, Sherlock stuck to his new considerate behaviour. He kept his violin playing to a minimum after midnight, didn’t use the kitchen as body storage without warning. He was nothing if not the perfect flat mate.
And with no real cases, John could focus on his job and his lack of love life, since finding a girlfriend never seemed right. They would never understand his complex situation with Sherlock and, by proxy, Mycroft. When Sherlock asked him on a case, he went. And when Mycroft texted him to meet him somewhere or sent a sleek black car to take him away, he rather felt that it was his obligation to do so. Or, at least, he used to.
Still, it had been nearly ten days of not having to worry about catch the brothers together again and John was certain that if something didn’t happen soon, he was going to go on a massive killing spree just bring a bit of interest back to his life.
Thankfully, someone had been evil enough to kill a poor brunette woman, leaving body in some alley not too far off from her home, according to the husband, who seemed to be the prime suspect. Kneeling next to the woman to inspect her, per Sherlock’s request, John silently thanked whoever it was she had angered before feeling a bit guilty that he was happy for a woman’s death.
God, he needed to spend less time around Sherlock, he decided as he tried to stifle a yawn.
“Bit too early for you?” Lestrade questioned.
Looking up at him, John forced a smile as he shook his head. “No. I was already up.”
At that, the DI smiled back, obviously impressed. “Long night then?”
“Not for awhile, actually,” John laughed.
“No new girlfriend? Been awhile, hasn’t it?”
And while he hated to admitted, Lestrade was right. Not that John made a habit out of going after girls, but it had been a good month since his last relationship, which was kind of a long time for him. Normally, he would’ve accidentally wound up with a nice girl, since that seemed to happen a lot more often than he would actually care to admit.
Lifting the woman’s chin to get a better look at her throat, he frowned. “Sherlock tends to keep me busy.”
“Is he the one keeping you up at night as well?” Lestrade teased.
Quickly turning to look at him, he almost groaned when he caught sight of Sherlock next to the man, looking far too curious.
“What are you two so chatty about?”
“I was just asking John if you were the reason he was up late last night,” Lestrade explained, obviously amused at the little joke that seemed to fill paper after paper.
As usual, it seemed to completely go over the detective’s head. Instead of answering, he kneeled down next to John, cupping his face in his hands as he looked over his friend. Swatting at those freakishly long fingers when they pulled down at his eyelid, John scowled at him as best he could while rubbing at his eyes like a small child.
“Will you leave me alone?” John questioned angrily as he rose to his feet to try to escape Sherlock’s inspection.
“Something’s been keeping you up and it can’t be me. I haven’t done an experiment in days, well, none you would smell. My violin playing has been kept to my own room. Are you having night terrors again?”
And wasn’t that just an embarrassing question to have asked. Because the moment the words were out, everyone, even Donovan and Anderson seemed to be staring at him with interest and concern. Looking at the dead woman, he wanted to make a comment about how she was important, but clearly she wasn’t. Not when he might be having night terrors about war again.
So instead, he focus Sherlock with his most earnest look as he stared him in the eyes and said, “No. It’s not that.”
Nodding in agreement, Sherlock nodded before pausing. “I know it couldn’t be the headboard slamming against the wall again. So was it—“
“I’m sorry. The what?” Lestrade asked before John could muster up the energy to do anything but look surprised.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock sighed. “My headboard slams against the wall when my bed shakes.”
“Why would you’re bed be shaking?”
“Oh God,” Donovan cried out, looking positively disgusted. “Don’t tell me freak’s shagging someone?!”
“Ew. Who would want to sleep with him?” Anderson questioned quickly after.
Glaring at him, Sherlock scoffed. “I figured if two women are desperate enough to share a bed with you, finding someone really couldn’t be that complicated, Anderson.”
“No, hold on,” Lestrade said, trying to regain control of the situation before the sniping could get any worse. Letting out a breath, he furrowed his brows as he tried to piece together what Sherlock was so casually implying. “Do you have a girlfriend, then?”
“What? No. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Getting a little too rough with yourself?” Donovan asked smugly, clearly confidant in the idea that no one would want Sherlock.
“No, though it’s nice to know that your lack of in depth thinking isn’t just saved for crime scenes,” Sherlock said as he shook his head. Standing up a bit straighter, he smirked as he said, “Just because I’m not sleeping with a girl doesn’t mean I’m not sleeping with someone.”
“You’re gay?” Anderson immediately questioned.
“One man, does not a sexual preference make.”
Lestrade stood there, much like John, completely unable to think of anything to say to that. Hell, even Donovan and Anderson seemed to be thrown for a minor loop .
Clearing his throat nervously, John nodded to himself before pointing at the dead woman. “Right, uh... she was definitely strangled, though she doesn’t seem to have been uh... violated.”
“Of course she wasn’t. Whoever she came here to see, she knew. Judging by the proximity to her home and the lack of nails, it was her lover,” Sherlock said proudly as he dropped to his knees to point out the facts only he could see. “She wasn’t expecting to be long, hence the light jacket on a night that called for rain. I’d say that this was done when she complained to him of something.”
“They were splitting up,” a familiarly smooth voice called out.
And God, it was like the Christmas of complete strangeness. Not that Mycroft had never stopped by a crime scene before. Hell, John had practically met him at one. But he never felt the need to contribute to the matter. Although, he wasn’t often around when Sherlock was still working things out.
Rising to his feet, Sherlock looked over to where the man was leaning against his car, twirling that ubiquitous umbrella. “What are you doing here?”
“I came here for you,” Mycroft asked as he made his way over to them, casually using his umbrella to move Anderson out of his way. Moving to stand toe to toe with his younger brother, he smirked. “I stopped by Baker Street but you weren’t there.”
“I have a case.”
“I need you more than they do.”
“I’d beg to differ on that,” Lestrade interrupted.
Giving the DI a rather annoyed look, Mycroft merely said, “Sherlock, finish this quickly would you? It’s all so obvious.”
“She didn’t want her lover coming by any more after their split. Unwilling to let her go, he killed her in a fit of rage.”
“She,” Mycroft corrected. “The lipstick on her mouth is faint.”
“It could’ve worn off,” Lestrade pointed out, no seeing whatever it was the taller man did.
Smiling politely, Mycroft shook his head. “It’s not on her teeth.”
“Of course. Women don’t wear make up to impress their husband on a typical night in and it would’ve been more apparent if she was wearing it for a lover she cared for,” Sherlock said, filling in the information for the rest of them, since only the two Holmes brothers saw the ever so obvious clues.
And to see them work together was certainly something impressive when it wasn’t directed at him, John reasoned. It was like watch a chess match between grand masters or a really intense tennis match. Leaving everyone with the strange feeling that, for all the things they were told, those two men still had something far more interesting going on in their heads only they knew about.
“Oral fixation. She bit her nails and the darkening around her mouth tells that she often bit at that too. Of course,” Sherlock pointed out.
“So you’re looking for a woman of above average height, brunette with darker roots, who wears that particular shade of lipstick. Ask the husband if there were any women that his wife spent a considerable amount of time with. Now can we go, Sherlock?”
“This better be important, Mycroft,” he said as he made his way to the car.
Nodding to Lestrade, Mycroft said, “Pleasure to see you, detective. You too, John. If you want, I can try to keep Sherlock busy for a few hours to let you rest in peace, for lack of a better phrase.”
John shook his head quickly. “No need to do that. I’m fine.”
“Well, if you change your mind, text me,” he said before leaving, twirling the umbrella yet again.
John stood there, watching the car drive away as soon as Mycroft was inside. Eventually Sherlock would return home, where John would be waiting for him, since there was no point in staying at the crime scene. Everything seemed to be solved and without Sherlock, he didn’t hold much of a purpose. So, he merely nodded at Lestrade before making his way to the street to hail a cab or something.
Still, even standing at the curb of an increasingly busy street, there was no ignoring the conversation going on behind him.
“Is that his boyfriend? Not a particular handsome fellow,” Anderson remarked.
“Really great sex can make up for a lack of looks,” Donovan replied.
“It’s his brother,” Lestrade informed them before Anderson could question the other detective. “Highly doubt any sex if great enough to make a person overlook something like that.”
Yet, thinking back on the way Sherlock seemed to be coming undone under the other man or the fact that they didn’t even stop when caught, taking the time to finish themselves off first, John began to doubt Lestrade’s claims. Certainly seemed like better sex John had ever had, since he didn’t think he’d be able to just keep going through getting caught in the act like they did.
Groaning, John tried to shake off that thought. Even without either of them around, he knew that he wouldn’t be getting any dreamless sleep. His dreams were likely to be filled with the same sick scenes as before: Sherlock and Mycroft casually having sex and the increasingly larger roles John found himself playing in that.
Such were the consequences of choosing to stay at 221B, it seemed.
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,986
Summary: John can't sleep with the sheer amount of normal in his life. That and the dreams keeping him up at night.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, unfortunately. Written for this prompt at the BBC Sherlock Kink Meme.
When Sherlock came to him, just shy of sunrise with a case about a recently murdered woman, John had actually been happy. And a great deal of that was because the complete lack of strangeness in his life was starting to drive him mad. It was the one thing someone would’ve expected him to want in the wake of finding out that his best mate was sleeping with his own brother or even after all the time he spent living with Sherlock. Normality was supposed to be his saving grace.
But anyone thinking that would’ve been entirely wrong. John was even willing to admit that he was too at first. When Sherlock had announced to him that Mycroft would be away on business for an undisclosed amount of time, John was happy. Hell, he’d been bloody ecstatic when, instead of reverting to old routines, Sherlock stuck to his new considerate behaviour. He kept his violin playing to a minimum after midnight, didn’t use the kitchen as body storage without warning. He was nothing if not the perfect flat mate.
And with no real cases, John could focus on his job and his lack of love life, since finding a girlfriend never seemed right. They would never understand his complex situation with Sherlock and, by proxy, Mycroft. When Sherlock asked him on a case, he went. And when Mycroft texted him to meet him somewhere or sent a sleek black car to take him away, he rather felt that it was his obligation to do so. Or, at least, he used to.
Still, it had been nearly ten days of not having to worry about catch the brothers together again and John was certain that if something didn’t happen soon, he was going to go on a massive killing spree just bring a bit of interest back to his life.
Thankfully, someone had been evil enough to kill a poor brunette woman, leaving body in some alley not too far off from her home, according to the husband, who seemed to be the prime suspect. Kneeling next to the woman to inspect her, per Sherlock’s request, John silently thanked whoever it was she had angered before feeling a bit guilty that he was happy for a woman’s death.
God, he needed to spend less time around Sherlock, he decided as he tried to stifle a yawn.
“Bit too early for you?” Lestrade questioned.
Looking up at him, John forced a smile as he shook his head. “No. I was already up.”
At that, the DI smiled back, obviously impressed. “Long night then?”
“Not for awhile, actually,” John laughed.
“No new girlfriend? Been awhile, hasn’t it?”
And while he hated to admitted, Lestrade was right. Not that John made a habit out of going after girls, but it had been a good month since his last relationship, which was kind of a long time for him. Normally, he would’ve accidentally wound up with a nice girl, since that seemed to happen a lot more often than he would actually care to admit.
Lifting the woman’s chin to get a better look at her throat, he frowned. “Sherlock tends to keep me busy.”
“Is he the one keeping you up at night as well?” Lestrade teased.
Quickly turning to look at him, he almost groaned when he caught sight of Sherlock next to the man, looking far too curious.
“What are you two so chatty about?”
“I was just asking John if you were the reason he was up late last night,” Lestrade explained, obviously amused at the little joke that seemed to fill paper after paper.
As usual, it seemed to completely go over the detective’s head. Instead of answering, he kneeled down next to John, cupping his face in his hands as he looked over his friend. Swatting at those freakishly long fingers when they pulled down at his eyelid, John scowled at him as best he could while rubbing at his eyes like a small child.
“Will you leave me alone?” John questioned angrily as he rose to his feet to try to escape Sherlock’s inspection.
“Something’s been keeping you up and it can’t be me. I haven’t done an experiment in days, well, none you would smell. My violin playing has been kept to my own room. Are you having night terrors again?”
And wasn’t that just an embarrassing question to have asked. Because the moment the words were out, everyone, even Donovan and Anderson seemed to be staring at him with interest and concern. Looking at the dead woman, he wanted to make a comment about how she was important, but clearly she wasn’t. Not when he might be having night terrors about war again.
So instead, he focus Sherlock with his most earnest look as he stared him in the eyes and said, “No. It’s not that.”
Nodding in agreement, Sherlock nodded before pausing. “I know it couldn’t be the headboard slamming against the wall again. So was it—“
“I’m sorry. The what?” Lestrade asked before John could muster up the energy to do anything but look surprised.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock sighed. “My headboard slams against the wall when my bed shakes.”
“Why would you’re bed be shaking?”
“Oh God,” Donovan cried out, looking positively disgusted. “Don’t tell me freak’s shagging someone?!”
“Ew. Who would want to sleep with him?” Anderson questioned quickly after.
Glaring at him, Sherlock scoffed. “I figured if two women are desperate enough to share a bed with you, finding someone really couldn’t be that complicated, Anderson.”
“No, hold on,” Lestrade said, trying to regain control of the situation before the sniping could get any worse. Letting out a breath, he furrowed his brows as he tried to piece together what Sherlock was so casually implying. “Do you have a girlfriend, then?”
“What? No. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Getting a little too rough with yourself?” Donovan asked smugly, clearly confidant in the idea that no one would want Sherlock.
“No, though it’s nice to know that your lack of in depth thinking isn’t just saved for crime scenes,” Sherlock said as he shook his head. Standing up a bit straighter, he smirked as he said, “Just because I’m not sleeping with a girl doesn’t mean I’m not sleeping with someone.”
“You’re gay?” Anderson immediately questioned.
“One man, does not a sexual preference make.”
Lestrade stood there, much like John, completely unable to think of anything to say to that. Hell, even Donovan and Anderson seemed to be thrown for a minor loop .
Clearing his throat nervously, John nodded to himself before pointing at the dead woman. “Right, uh... she was definitely strangled, though she doesn’t seem to have been uh... violated.”
“Of course she wasn’t. Whoever she came here to see, she knew. Judging by the proximity to her home and the lack of nails, it was her lover,” Sherlock said proudly as he dropped to his knees to point out the facts only he could see. “She wasn’t expecting to be long, hence the light jacket on a night that called for rain. I’d say that this was done when she complained to him of something.”
“They were splitting up,” a familiarly smooth voice called out.
And God, it was like the Christmas of complete strangeness. Not that Mycroft had never stopped by a crime scene before. Hell, John had practically met him at one. But he never felt the need to contribute to the matter. Although, he wasn’t often around when Sherlock was still working things out.
Rising to his feet, Sherlock looked over to where the man was leaning against his car, twirling that ubiquitous umbrella. “What are you doing here?”
“I came here for you,” Mycroft asked as he made his way over to them, casually using his umbrella to move Anderson out of his way. Moving to stand toe to toe with his younger brother, he smirked. “I stopped by Baker Street but you weren’t there.”
“I have a case.”
“I need you more than they do.”
“I’d beg to differ on that,” Lestrade interrupted.
Giving the DI a rather annoyed look, Mycroft merely said, “Sherlock, finish this quickly would you? It’s all so obvious.”
“She didn’t want her lover coming by any more after their split. Unwilling to let her go, he killed her in a fit of rage.”
“She,” Mycroft corrected. “The lipstick on her mouth is faint.”
“It could’ve worn off,” Lestrade pointed out, no seeing whatever it was the taller man did.
Smiling politely, Mycroft shook his head. “It’s not on her teeth.”
“Of course. Women don’t wear make up to impress their husband on a typical night in and it would’ve been more apparent if she was wearing it for a lover she cared for,” Sherlock said, filling in the information for the rest of them, since only the two Holmes brothers saw the ever so obvious clues.
And to see them work together was certainly something impressive when it wasn’t directed at him, John reasoned. It was like watch a chess match between grand masters or a really intense tennis match. Leaving everyone with the strange feeling that, for all the things they were told, those two men still had something far more interesting going on in their heads only they knew about.
“Oral fixation. She bit her nails and the darkening around her mouth tells that she often bit at that too. Of course,” Sherlock pointed out.
“So you’re looking for a woman of above average height, brunette with darker roots, who wears that particular shade of lipstick. Ask the husband if there were any women that his wife spent a considerable amount of time with. Now can we go, Sherlock?”
“This better be important, Mycroft,” he said as he made his way to the car.
Nodding to Lestrade, Mycroft said, “Pleasure to see you, detective. You too, John. If you want, I can try to keep Sherlock busy for a few hours to let you rest in peace, for lack of a better phrase.”
John shook his head quickly. “No need to do that. I’m fine.”
“Well, if you change your mind, text me,” he said before leaving, twirling the umbrella yet again.
John stood there, watching the car drive away as soon as Mycroft was inside. Eventually Sherlock would return home, where John would be waiting for him, since there was no point in staying at the crime scene. Everything seemed to be solved and without Sherlock, he didn’t hold much of a purpose. So, he merely nodded at Lestrade before making his way to the street to hail a cab or something.
Still, even standing at the curb of an increasingly busy street, there was no ignoring the conversation going on behind him.
“Is that his boyfriend? Not a particular handsome fellow,” Anderson remarked.
“Really great sex can make up for a lack of looks,” Donovan replied.
“It’s his brother,” Lestrade informed them before Anderson could question the other detective. “Highly doubt any sex if great enough to make a person overlook something like that.”
Yet, thinking back on the way Sherlock seemed to be coming undone under the other man or the fact that they didn’t even stop when caught, taking the time to finish themselves off first, John began to doubt Lestrade’s claims. Certainly seemed like better sex John had ever had, since he didn’t think he’d be able to just keep going through getting caught in the act like they did.
Groaning, John tried to shake off that thought. Even without either of them around, he knew that he wouldn’t be getting any dreamless sleep. His dreams were likely to be filled with the same sick scenes as before: Sherlock and Mycroft casually having sex and the increasingly larger roles John found himself playing in that.
Such were the consequences of choosing to stay at 221B, it seemed.