The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.6
Jul. 11th, 2012 12:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jdmcoolTitle: The Holmes Dilemna, Ch.6
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,167
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.
On some level, John felt that he should’ve been grateful that he had the flat to himself. Granted, the odd event of Mycroft appearing at the crime scene was... unexpected at best, but with Sherlock off to him, John knew that he could relax. He could sleep, he could watch telly in peace without Sherlock listing all the ways the show was painfully wrong. He could even wander about without a stitch of clothes on, not that it was nearly hot enough to warrant that, but it was the point of the matter.
He had all of 221B to himself and yet, after waffling about whether or not to update his blog with the non-case, which he didn’t, he simply sat around. Nothing seemed worth doing and he knew that sleep wasn’t likely to come from how awake he felt. So he went to get more jam, turning the jam run into an entire shopping thing. When he came back, he sat about with Mrs. Hudson until she left for her date, leaving him alone once again.
And that was really the worst part. It wasn’t as though he was afraid to be alone, but he found when he was everything seemed too quiet. Sitting on the couch, he had nearly managed to drift off before a fleeting thought he had him bolting upright, feeling around for the remote frantically. Turning it on, he settled for the first interesting thing, trying to keep his mind off his dreams and the Holmes family and anything else that wasn’t a talking rat puppet explaining to him how clever the Victorians were.
Thankfully John had become rather adept at losing himself in a show for the sake of his own sanity, given his bouts of unemployment. The sounds of someone making their way up the stairs nearly fell on deaf ears, given the fact that John had long since figured out the usual people to come to 221B. So, he continued to watch the rat until whoever it was walked in. When that person turned out to be Sherlock, he immediately perked up, as happy as an over excited puppy.
Smiling at his friend, he asked, “So, have a nice... meeting with Mycroft?”
“Hmm? Yes,” he said before stopping next to the television. Rolling his eyes at what was on, he asked, “Why do you watch this?”
Looking at the show, John shrugged. “You say that like I always watch this. I just... settled on it.”
“Settled on a children’s history show?”
“Mycroft. What did he want?” John asked, preferring to talk about the man’s incestuous behaviour to to getting mocked for his occasional viewing of a children’s show.
Sitting in his chair, Sherlock steepled his fingers underneath his chin. “Nothing of importance.”
“So, sex?”
“What? No. I mean, we had sex, but that wasn’t what he wanted.”
“...Did Mycroft miss you?” John questioned a bit nervously.
Not that he couldn’t understand the logic behind it. It couldn’t be easy for them to live such varying lives, what with Sherlock constantly busy with his cases and Mycroft keeping the country running or something of that nature. Certainly no amount of calls and texting could make up for the lack of physically being there, that much John knew all too well. Although, judging by the way Sherlock was smiling at him as he shook his head, John assumed he may have been giving them too much credit.
“Nothing of the sort. Mycroft doesn’t do fondness in that way.”
“Right. Leave the country for two weeks with no word to the person you’re dating or family, which in your case happens to be both, and he didn’t miss you?”
“Why would he?” Sherlock questioned.
“I don’t know, because you’re in love?”
“If we don’t have relationships like normal people, why would you expect us to do love like them? No. Mycroft wanted to discuss my knowledge of Moriarty.”
Trying to remain calm despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, John understood why Sherlock looked so perplexed. Given the complex relationship between the Holmes brothers, John didn’t bother to entertain the idea that Mycroft might actually be attempting to be a good brother and get rid of the man who seemed so very intent on killing his brother. No, Mycroft tended to let Sherlock handle himself and called in John when he was concerned for his brother’s safety.
Still, given the whole Irene fiasco, maybe the man had changed, or at least, saw the risk that Moriarty posed. Of course, given the fact that Moriarty turned down the missile plans and seemed more prone to helping the odd small time criminal as opposed to seeking world domination or something meant he couldn’t be that much of a threat to the government as a whole. He was more of the occasional nuisance.
“Why did he want to talk about that?” John asked, figuring Sherlock might be better fit for pondering the inner workings of his brother’s mind.
“I don’t know,” Sherlock said, obviously annoyed by that. “But he’s up to something.”
“Well that’s a comforting thought,” he muttered sarcastically.
Something about the idea of Mycroft getting up to something that Sherlock couldn’t figure out left a rather leaden feeling in his stomach. After all, unlike when Sherlock started being secretive and sneaky, Mycroft played some sort of part in the function on the country. For him to take up secrets could easily mean that the world was being attacked by alien robots. Or, perhaps, something more realistic, John reminded himself, making a silent vow to spend less time watching telly if he could help it.
Focusing on Sherlock, who was staring rather blindly at the smiley face on the wall, john furrowed his brows in thought. “So, you two just spent the day together at his place?”
“Of course not. He had work.”
“Wait... I thought you two uh... had...”
“Something that can actually be done just about anywhere,” Sherlock said as though he was explaining the concept to a child.
Shaking his head, John decided that he had to have heard that wrong. There was no way Sherlock, who was generally clueless on basic emotions when it came to cases was saying what John thought he was. “No, because that would mean you had sex in his office.”
“Yes?”
“Right. So you two spent all day talking in his office?” He asked, because really, he didn’t need to know any more than he already did.
“No. I was tracking down that murderous lover,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. “Lestrade and I found her at her home, she confessed to everything.”
“Wait, you finished up the case without me?”
“Mycroft already ruined the thrill of it, I doubt you would’ve found much pleasure in finding out he’s as clever as I am.”
John turned his attention back toward the television, trying not to show how disappointed he was. Part of the reason he stayed with Sherlock was because he liked the mysteries that often came their way, regardless of how easy or difficult they were to figure out. Sherlock pointing out the obvious to potential cases in their living room was just as interesting as watching him piece it all together at a crime scene, something Sherlock had to know. Just because Mycroft had pointed out the basics didn’t mean John didn’t want to see it through.
Which was more than enough to make him pause as he sat up a bit straighter, turning his attention back to Sherlock with an amused grin.
“You were embarrassed.”
“I don’t get embarrassed,” Sherlock immediately countered.
“Do so. You were embarrassed because Mycroft figured it out before you. You don’t like me thinking he’s more clever than you.”
Sherlock scoffed. “That’s hardly the case.”
Chuckling, John nodded as he turned back toward the television. “Don’t worry Sherlock. You’ll always be my favourite sociopath.”
“I have an experiment to work on. Enjoy your children’s show,” the detective stated bitterly as he rose from his seat.
“It’s actually educational!”
Ignoring the snort he was nearly positive he heard come from the detective as he left the room, John grabbed the remote and frowned. Honestly, there was nothing wrong with the show. It was amusing, whether it was meant for children or not. The only problem was Sherlock and his general distaste for all things frivolous.
“He’s just pissy that he got shown up,” he muttered to himself, putting the remote back down.
The last thing he was going to let Sherlock do was ruin television for him along with everything else that John found he enjoyed a bit less with the man around. If he wanted to watch children’s telly, that he was his problem. Not that it seemed as though he was going to get a chance to enjoy it, the sound of his phone ringing quickly filling the room.
Picking it up, he sighed before saying, “Hello?”
“I do hope I’m not interrupting your... program,” the predictably posh voice of the elder Holmes said, voiced rife with a condescending mirth.
“It’s educational,” he argued, rolling his eyes.
“Of course it is.”
“Look, Sherlock is in his room doing an experiment, so you can just text him instead of using me as your middle man.”
“And what would make you think that I didn’t ring to speak with you?” Mycroft questioned, almost managing to sound hurt.
“Why would you want to do that?” John shot back.
After all, he had known the man for some time and never once did Mycroft just call to shoot the breeze. He called to warn him to watch out for Sherlock, occasionally to pass along a message to the detective when Sherlock couldn’t be arsed to pay attention to anyone or thing that wasn’t his case. Pleasantries, making nice, those were the things Mycroft did, not calling up just for the sake of a chat.
“To ask you out Friday night, if you’re free.”
Suddenly wishing they were just going to talk about favourite teams and crap telly, John sat up a little straighter, looking toward Sherlock’s room to make sure he didn’t make a sudden appearance.
“You want to ask me out?” He whispered harshly.
“Yes.”
“Why not take Sherlock out, considering, you know, you’re dating him?”
“What Sherlock and I have is really nothing more than a brotherly relationship with sex,” Mycroft explained with the same interest he did anything else. “Besides, I want to see you.”
“You flatterer,” John said sarcastically. “I’m going to say no.”
“I’ll pick you up at... say eight?”
“Are you listening? I said no. I’m not going out with you,” he said, trying to keep his voice down as he watched the hallway for Sherlock’s sudden appearance.
“I merely want to talk with you. The fact that it’ll be over dinner is based on our shared need for food.”
“What about Sherlock?”
“His need for food is often outweighed by his lack of want,” Mycroft said, not that John was relaxed in the slightest bit by the joke. “Now, since I know you aren’t doing anything Friday evening, will eight work for you?”
“Well, considering how nicely you asked and the fact that I, apparently, have no choice, yes. It should be fine.”
“Good. And John, do me a favour?”
“What?”
“Don’t tell Sherlock. This really doesn’t concern him.”
John shook his head as he smiled to himself. “Not suspicious at all.”
“I’ll see you Friday, John.”
“Yeah. Bye,” he muttered before hanging up and placing the phone down next to him.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his hands over his eyes with a heavy sigh. Being kidnapped for Mycroft’s random purposes was something he was used to, but being kidnapped for dinner? Especially a dinner that he couldn’t even tell Sherlock about. Not that he ever really had the chance to tell the other man. No, Mycroft simply had him taken away and left him to say whatever he wanted to after everything was said and done.
But John couldn’t shake the fact that he was essentially going on a date with Sherlock’s brother and he couldn’t tell the detective about it. Something that wouldn’t be such a problem if said brother hadn’t also been Sherlock’s lover, given that neither of the Holmes brothers could be arsed to term each other as lovers. Which was a completely different thing he didn’t even want to think about.
Getting up, he turned off the television and started to head to his room before stopping. The last thing he wanted to do was try to sleep with Sherlock and Mycroft on his mind. Those two were the reason he was already having trouble sleeping, not that it was really their fault, per se. But the larger cause was something John didn’t want to consider. So instead of sleep he grabbed his jacket and phone, figuring that a quick pint with Mike or Lestrade had to be better than another restless sleep.
Pairing: Mycroft/Sherlock, John
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,167
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.
On some level, John felt that he should’ve been grateful that he had the flat to himself. Granted, the odd event of Mycroft appearing at the crime scene was... unexpected at best, but with Sherlock off to him, John knew that he could relax. He could sleep, he could watch telly in peace without Sherlock listing all the ways the show was painfully wrong. He could even wander about without a stitch of clothes on, not that it was nearly hot enough to warrant that, but it was the point of the matter.
He had all of 221B to himself and yet, after waffling about whether or not to update his blog with the non-case, which he didn’t, he simply sat around. Nothing seemed worth doing and he knew that sleep wasn’t likely to come from how awake he felt. So he went to get more jam, turning the jam run into an entire shopping thing. When he came back, he sat about with Mrs. Hudson until she left for her date, leaving him alone once again.
And that was really the worst part. It wasn’t as though he was afraid to be alone, but he found when he was everything seemed too quiet. Sitting on the couch, he had nearly managed to drift off before a fleeting thought he had him bolting upright, feeling around for the remote frantically. Turning it on, he settled for the first interesting thing, trying to keep his mind off his dreams and the Holmes family and anything else that wasn’t a talking rat puppet explaining to him how clever the Victorians were.
Thankfully John had become rather adept at losing himself in a show for the sake of his own sanity, given his bouts of unemployment. The sounds of someone making their way up the stairs nearly fell on deaf ears, given the fact that John had long since figured out the usual people to come to 221B. So, he continued to watch the rat until whoever it was walked in. When that person turned out to be Sherlock, he immediately perked up, as happy as an over excited puppy.
Smiling at his friend, he asked, “So, have a nice... meeting with Mycroft?”
“Hmm? Yes,” he said before stopping next to the television. Rolling his eyes at what was on, he asked, “Why do you watch this?”
Looking at the show, John shrugged. “You say that like I always watch this. I just... settled on it.”
“Settled on a children’s history show?”
“Mycroft. What did he want?” John asked, preferring to talk about the man’s incestuous behaviour to to getting mocked for his occasional viewing of a children’s show.
Sitting in his chair, Sherlock steepled his fingers underneath his chin. “Nothing of importance.”
“So, sex?”
“What? No. I mean, we had sex, but that wasn’t what he wanted.”
“...Did Mycroft miss you?” John questioned a bit nervously.
Not that he couldn’t understand the logic behind it. It couldn’t be easy for them to live such varying lives, what with Sherlock constantly busy with his cases and Mycroft keeping the country running or something of that nature. Certainly no amount of calls and texting could make up for the lack of physically being there, that much John knew all too well. Although, judging by the way Sherlock was smiling at him as he shook his head, John assumed he may have been giving them too much credit.
“Nothing of the sort. Mycroft doesn’t do fondness in that way.”
“Right. Leave the country for two weeks with no word to the person you’re dating or family, which in your case happens to be both, and he didn’t miss you?”
“Why would he?” Sherlock questioned.
“I don’t know, because you’re in love?”
“If we don’t have relationships like normal people, why would you expect us to do love like them? No. Mycroft wanted to discuss my knowledge of Moriarty.”
Trying to remain calm despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, John understood why Sherlock looked so perplexed. Given the complex relationship between the Holmes brothers, John didn’t bother to entertain the idea that Mycroft might actually be attempting to be a good brother and get rid of the man who seemed so very intent on killing his brother. No, Mycroft tended to let Sherlock handle himself and called in John when he was concerned for his brother’s safety.
Still, given the whole Irene fiasco, maybe the man had changed, or at least, saw the risk that Moriarty posed. Of course, given the fact that Moriarty turned down the missile plans and seemed more prone to helping the odd small time criminal as opposed to seeking world domination or something meant he couldn’t be that much of a threat to the government as a whole. He was more of the occasional nuisance.
“Why did he want to talk about that?” John asked, figuring Sherlock might be better fit for pondering the inner workings of his brother’s mind.
“I don’t know,” Sherlock said, obviously annoyed by that. “But he’s up to something.”
“Well that’s a comforting thought,” he muttered sarcastically.
Something about the idea of Mycroft getting up to something that Sherlock couldn’t figure out left a rather leaden feeling in his stomach. After all, unlike when Sherlock started being secretive and sneaky, Mycroft played some sort of part in the function on the country. For him to take up secrets could easily mean that the world was being attacked by alien robots. Or, perhaps, something more realistic, John reminded himself, making a silent vow to spend less time watching telly if he could help it.
Focusing on Sherlock, who was staring rather blindly at the smiley face on the wall, john furrowed his brows in thought. “So, you two just spent the day together at his place?”
“Of course not. He had work.”
“Wait... I thought you two uh... had...”
“Something that can actually be done just about anywhere,” Sherlock said as though he was explaining the concept to a child.
Shaking his head, John decided that he had to have heard that wrong. There was no way Sherlock, who was generally clueless on basic emotions when it came to cases was saying what John thought he was. “No, because that would mean you had sex in his office.”
“Yes?”
“Right. So you two spent all day talking in his office?” He asked, because really, he didn’t need to know any more than he already did.
“No. I was tracking down that murderous lover,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. “Lestrade and I found her at her home, she confessed to everything.”
“Wait, you finished up the case without me?”
“Mycroft already ruined the thrill of it, I doubt you would’ve found much pleasure in finding out he’s as clever as I am.”
John turned his attention back toward the television, trying not to show how disappointed he was. Part of the reason he stayed with Sherlock was because he liked the mysteries that often came their way, regardless of how easy or difficult they were to figure out. Sherlock pointing out the obvious to potential cases in their living room was just as interesting as watching him piece it all together at a crime scene, something Sherlock had to know. Just because Mycroft had pointed out the basics didn’t mean John didn’t want to see it through.
Which was more than enough to make him pause as he sat up a bit straighter, turning his attention back to Sherlock with an amused grin.
“You were embarrassed.”
“I don’t get embarrassed,” Sherlock immediately countered.
“Do so. You were embarrassed because Mycroft figured it out before you. You don’t like me thinking he’s more clever than you.”
Sherlock scoffed. “That’s hardly the case.”
Chuckling, John nodded as he turned back toward the television. “Don’t worry Sherlock. You’ll always be my favourite sociopath.”
“I have an experiment to work on. Enjoy your children’s show,” the detective stated bitterly as he rose from his seat.
“It’s actually educational!”
Ignoring the snort he was nearly positive he heard come from the detective as he left the room, John grabbed the remote and frowned. Honestly, there was nothing wrong with the show. It was amusing, whether it was meant for children or not. The only problem was Sherlock and his general distaste for all things frivolous.
“He’s just pissy that he got shown up,” he muttered to himself, putting the remote back down.
The last thing he was going to let Sherlock do was ruin television for him along with everything else that John found he enjoyed a bit less with the man around. If he wanted to watch children’s telly, that he was his problem. Not that it seemed as though he was going to get a chance to enjoy it, the sound of his phone ringing quickly filling the room.
Picking it up, he sighed before saying, “Hello?”
“I do hope I’m not interrupting your... program,” the predictably posh voice of the elder Holmes said, voiced rife with a condescending mirth.
“It’s educational,” he argued, rolling his eyes.
“Of course it is.”
“Look, Sherlock is in his room doing an experiment, so you can just text him instead of using me as your middle man.”
“And what would make you think that I didn’t ring to speak with you?” Mycroft questioned, almost managing to sound hurt.
“Why would you want to do that?” John shot back.
After all, he had known the man for some time and never once did Mycroft just call to shoot the breeze. He called to warn him to watch out for Sherlock, occasionally to pass along a message to the detective when Sherlock couldn’t be arsed to pay attention to anyone or thing that wasn’t his case. Pleasantries, making nice, those were the things Mycroft did, not calling up just for the sake of a chat.
“To ask you out Friday night, if you’re free.”
Suddenly wishing they were just going to talk about favourite teams and crap telly, John sat up a little straighter, looking toward Sherlock’s room to make sure he didn’t make a sudden appearance.
“You want to ask me out?” He whispered harshly.
“Yes.”
“Why not take Sherlock out, considering, you know, you’re dating him?”
“What Sherlock and I have is really nothing more than a brotherly relationship with sex,” Mycroft explained with the same interest he did anything else. “Besides, I want to see you.”
“You flatterer,” John said sarcastically. “I’m going to say no.”
“I’ll pick you up at... say eight?”
“Are you listening? I said no. I’m not going out with you,” he said, trying to keep his voice down as he watched the hallway for Sherlock’s sudden appearance.
“I merely want to talk with you. The fact that it’ll be over dinner is based on our shared need for food.”
“What about Sherlock?”
“His need for food is often outweighed by his lack of want,” Mycroft said, not that John was relaxed in the slightest bit by the joke. “Now, since I know you aren’t doing anything Friday evening, will eight work for you?”
“Well, considering how nicely you asked and the fact that I, apparently, have no choice, yes. It should be fine.”
“Good. And John, do me a favour?”
“What?”
“Don’t tell Sherlock. This really doesn’t concern him.”
John shook his head as he smiled to himself. “Not suspicious at all.”
“I’ll see you Friday, John.”
“Yeah. Bye,” he muttered before hanging up and placing the phone down next to him.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his hands over his eyes with a heavy sigh. Being kidnapped for Mycroft’s random purposes was something he was used to, but being kidnapped for dinner? Especially a dinner that he couldn’t even tell Sherlock about. Not that he ever really had the chance to tell the other man. No, Mycroft simply had him taken away and left him to say whatever he wanted to after everything was said and done.
But John couldn’t shake the fact that he was essentially going on a date with Sherlock’s brother and he couldn’t tell the detective about it. Something that wouldn’t be such a problem if said brother hadn’t also been Sherlock’s lover, given that neither of the Holmes brothers could be arsed to term each other as lovers. Which was a completely different thing he didn’t even want to think about.
Getting up, he turned off the television and started to head to his room before stopping. The last thing he wanted to do was try to sleep with Sherlock and Mycroft on his mind. Those two were the reason he was already having trouble sleeping, not that it was really their fault, per se. But the larger cause was something John didn’t want to consider. So instead of sleep he grabbed his jacket and phone, figuring that a quick pint with Mike or Lestrade had to be better than another restless sleep.
