100% Pure Love
John Watson stretched in bed and smiled down at the tousled head of his beloved Mary, cuddled against his shoulder. The clock beside the bed announced that it was 6:23 a.m. The buzzing cell phone that had disturbed his slumber buzzed again. He fumbled for the phone, trying to answer it before the noise woke Mary—she needed her rest after last night, he grinned to himself at the thought. Such a naughty lady…
The phone buzzed again, and he cleared his throat before croaking "John Watson."
"John," Mycroft Holmes replied, "A car is waiting for you downstairs. " John groaned, it was too early for this.
"No, Mycroft, no," John protested, "I just got back from my honeymoon yesterday. I do not have time to be whisked away to an abandoned building…"
"Be fair, John," Mycroft drawled, "that was only the once—it's been coffee shops and the club since…"
John carefully slipped out of bed to avoid disturbing Mary as he dealt with the call. He'd been waiting for this, the ever present worry in the back of his mind during his wedding trip.
"No. I am going back to sleep. When I wake up several hours from now, I will take my beautiful wife to breakfast, and then, maybe, we can chat."
"Please, John," Mycroft's tone suddenly pleading, vulnerable. "He needs you."
John paused, "Has he had a danger night?" remembering Sherlock's rather dramatic proclamation after the wedding that now John had Mary, he, Sherlock, would need to seek other "solutions" to his boredom—a 7% solution, to be exact.
A soft sigh from Mycroft, "He has had a danger month. We are meeting at the flat to, as Mrs. Hudson insists upon calling it, "stage an intervention."
"Ah…yes, that doesn't sound like something that will be well received. Who is "we"?" John reached for his trousers. It looked like sleep and breakfast would have to wait.
"Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, you and I. I tried to reach Miss Hooper, but she's not answering and she's not at her flat. Either an early shift at work or a date that ran late, I presume. Can I count on you, John?"
"I'll be downstairs in just a moment," John drew a jumper over his head and bent down to kiss his wife goodbye. She opened her eyes sleepily, "are you off somewhere?"
"Just saving Sherlock Holmes from himself" John smiled, "I'll be back soon."
Greg was just arriving at 221B when John and Mycroft pulled up to the curb, and the three found Mrs. Hudson nervously fluttering her hands in the kitchen, hovering just outside the threshold of the hall that led to Sherlock's room.
"He won't come out," she whispered, "and he's been quite rude about it—though that's nothing new."
"So, what have you found?" Lestrade asked, "Have you found any evidence? Needles? "
"I've checked all the usual places, and even sorted through his socks—I won't tell you what he said about that!—but nothing," the kindly woman responded, shaking her head.
"So, why the intervention? What's caused the alarm," John asked, a bit impatiently.
"He's been out of sorts, obviously, since you left on your wedding trip, dear," Mrs. Hudson began, "Up all hours of the night—you should have heard the ruckus last night! Banging around the flat and groaning—he's been red-eyed and sleepy, lounging about in his pajamas."
"I'm sorry, "John interrupted, "but have you met the man? That sounds like a typical day in the life for Sherlock Holmes."
"Yes, but he's also been very secretive, not letting me in the flat, not even to clean, and he's been disappearing for a day or two at a time. Again, nothing so unusual when he's been out on cases, but he hasn't had a case in weeks!" Mrs. Hudson continued, "And yesterday, when I asked him if maybe he could find himself a nice murder to keep himself occupied, he said "How can murder compare to true love found." Poor boy, he's just missed you so."
"He said that?" John asked, "True love found? Seems a bit…cheesy…for him. Still, doesn't seem like anything to get worked up over…"
"There is one other thing," Mycroft interrupted, "I'd like you to listen to following message I received from Sherlock two days ago." After pressing a few buttons, he passed the phone over to John.
He heard Sherlock's silky voice on the line, "Brother, dear…. "a sharp intake of breath. Sherlock's voice started again, sounding thick and a bit breathy, "Mycroft, your worry is duly noted…." Long pause. "but if you dooo….ooon't…stop having your…" pause….gasp….pause…."goons stop following me…" a huffed breath and a deep baritone giggle…(Did Sherlock Holmes just giggle?)…"For God's sake!" and a click. End of message.
"Well, that was…ah…unusual?" John seemed a bit stunned as he passed the phone back to Mycroft.
"Yes, well, given his history, the incoherence of that message and the behavior that Mrs. Hudson noted, I do think we have cause for concern" the elder Holmes frowned.
"Did I hear him giggle?" Greg seemed disturbed.
Mycroft gestured toward the bedroom, "Perhaps, John, you'll have better success in rousing him?"
John nodded and made his way to Sherlock's door. He knocked lightly.
"Go AWAY, Mrs. Hudson!"
"Uh, Sherlock, it's John?" he glanced back at the three in the kitchen with a worried frown.
He heard the thump of feet on the floor and the door opened a tiny crack. John saw one bright blue eye peeking out.
"John?" Sherlock said wonderingly, and slammed the door shut. John stood a moment, unsure what to do next, when the door opened a few inches and Sherlock slid out sideways, slamming the door behind him again.
Sherlock looked at John eagerly, unable to stop the grin that was forming, "You're back!" Sherlock's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "What are you doing here this early?" He looked past John to see the group in the kitchen, and gave a glance at John that clearly said, "Et tu?"
John opened his mouth to answer and closed it again. "I was going to hug you, but as you are clearly naked under your dressing gown, that will have to wait."
Sherlock followed John through the kitchen, into the living room where Mrs. Hudson, Greg and Mycroft had gathered. "Please have a seat, Sherlock," Mycroft began. Sherlock's narrowed eyes glared at each in turn.
"Oh, really Mycroft, an intervention" he sneered, "You've been watching a few too many television dramas lately."
Mrs. Hudson spoke up, "It was my idea dear, and it's only because we love you so. You risked yourself to save us. How can we stand by and let you destroy yourself for real."
"I am clean!" Sherlock protested indignantly, "I haven't even had a cigarette since John's been gone."
"Show us your arms then, mate" Greg moved to stand next to the landlady, "Cos you're sure acting like you are on something."
Sherlock started to protest before heaving a dramatic sigh and pushing up the silky sleeves of his dressing gown. No tracks. Sherlock flopped into his chair, across from where Mycroft sat and engaged in a glaring match with his older brother.
John appraised Sherlock with his physician's eye. He may have been acting strangely, but he didn't look so bad. His black curls were tousled, sticking up all over his head. He was pale but not pallid, with a bright hectic spot of color on each cheek. A little sweaty—he looked like he had had a night of it…but of what? With Sherlock, who knew? Harpooning dead pigs? Practicing judo?
Mycroft, who had been staring at Sherlock, taking in his younger brother's appearance, suddenly shifted his gaze to a spot on the floor, just to the right of Sherlock's chair. His eyebrows raised, and he turned to the others.
"Well, this may not be the best time after all…" the elder Holmes suddenly announced. Sherlock looked at him sharply. Greg and Mrs. Hudson made sounds of protest.
"What do you mean? We have him here. He needs to explain himself," Greg started, when John heard the distinct sound of Sherlock's bedroom door opening. John glanced at Sherlock whose eyes suddenly widened. Mycroft shifted uncomfortably.
"Sorry I'm late!" chirped Molly Hooper brightly as she stepped out from the kitchen into the living room, brushing past Greg and Mrs. Hudson, who both looked behind them.
"Is there a back door I don't know about?" Greg asked Mrs. Hudson, who laid a hand on the side of her face and shook her head.
"I have to be at Bart's at 8 a.m. so I can't stay long," Molly continued moving to stand before Sherlock, "but I am very ashamed of you, Sherlock Holmes! For someone so brilliant, you should be very aware of the dangers of drug use!"
John gaped at the young woman who had magically appeared from…no, it couldn't be, could it?...from Sherlock's bedroom. The sweaty, naked under his robe Sherlock…
"Holy mother," John muttered. Molly's long brown hair, usually swept up into a tidy pony tail was loose and a bit frowsy. She was barefoot, but as she listed the effects of cocaine on the human body, she slipped into a pair of mint green ballet flats that were on the floor next to Sherlock's chair.
"…and furthermore, we have the body of an overdose victim at Bart's right now that I really think you should take a look at, just to remind yourself of the consequences," Molly finished her reprimand, while Sherlock gazed up at her a bit nonplussed, but with something in his blue eyes that made John "Three-Continents" Watson want to blush.
"I'd be happy to look at any body you'd like to show me, Molly Hooper," Sherlock drawled. Molly's cheeks flushed and her eyes widened. Mrs. Hudson's uttered a soft, "Dear me," and Mycroft's eyebrows lifted again.
"Yes, well…best be going! Traffic is such a headache this time of day," Molly stammered, and giving a half wave to the assembled party, rushed out the door.
Greg stared after Molly, mouth hung open. Mrs. Hudson, hand aside her face still, looked behind her again, as if expecting another woman to emerge from the bedroom. John looked at Mycroft, who was taking out his phone again. There was a long uncomfortable silence as Sherlock sat in smug self-righteousness.
"Well, thank you very much for your concern," he declared briskly, standing up "Please show yourselves out." He strode out of the room. They heard the slam of a door and then the sounds of the shower being turned on.
Greg broke the uncomfortable silence that still hung in the air, "So, I got pulled out of my bed to come over here because Sherlock is shagging Molly Hooper? I've got murders to solve, and I'm looking after Sherlock Holmes' sex life…" the detective inspector muttered to himself as he turned to leave.
Mycroft was on the phone, "Yes, Anthea, please intercept Ms. Hooper and offer her a ride. We wouldn't want her to be late for work now, would we?" He turned to John, "I apologize for the trouble. Please give my regards to Mary." He followed Greg out the door.
"Welcome home, dear" Mrs. Hudson said warmly, giving John a hug. "I do think you need to have a talk with Sherlock. Because if the noises I've been hearing coming from here are what I think they were, I'm a little worried about what exactly they are getting up to. I may not be as experienced as many are these days, but they do seem unusually loud when they are about it. And honestly, he never should have let Molly leave without offering her breakfast or at least coffee, it really wasn't very gentlemanly at all now that I think of it," she turned to go, stopping to give John one more hug, "Goodness, I'm glad you're back."
John stood a moment alone, feeling a bit shell-shocked. "It's certainly never boring ," he thought as made his way out of the flat and home to see if Mary might be up for making some noise before breakfast.