Of Mice
In the wake of the whole mess, after handing Sherlock that damnable phone and lying for the camera he lays in bed and wonders at the performance he has made over the last few months. Emotions curdle in his stomach and the urge to lash out and smash Irene Adler into nonexistence over whelms him.
John is not jealous of Irene Adler. At least, that is not the prevailing emotion. John is furious. Mostly, at Mycroft Holmes.
Sherlock is the oddest man John has ever had the fortune to fall in with. He is amazing, although a rude prickly bastard, prone to bouts of unbelievable childishness and moods out of a TV drama. Sherlock operates on an entirely different level, chasing his puzzles into oblivion. John spends most of his time trying to keep up, or pulling Sherlock back from the premise. He is glad for the battering of war, without it John would not stand a chance in the wake of Sherlock Holmes.
But as amazing, fantastic and yes, the million other ways John has described the man, Sherlock is just that. A man. Even as he proclaims himself to be above the silly foibles of the human race, he succumbs to them in the same way most men do. He has an overinflated ego, and he has soft spots. He still gets hurt. And a hurt Sherlock Holmes pushes John Watsons' buttons like nothing else.
Mycroft should have never set Irene Adler in Sherlocks' path. Particularly not after goading him with taunts over his sexuality and perceived short comings. He should have never allowed Sherlock to go into that battle off balance, or even just a little doubtful. John can't comprehend why Mycroft taunted him like he did, implied that Sherlock didn't comprehend something so central to human motivation as sex.
Sherlock is still a man, not as above such taunts as he believes himself to be. And Mycroft is both Sherlock's big brother, and his 'arch nemesis'. Mycroft knows more about Sherlock than anyone, and he holds more power over him than Sherlock would ever willingly admit. Mycroft knows this, John has seen him use the subtle digs and targeted comments to great effect in the past. What has him fuming alone in his room feeling as impotent as a pimply teenager, is the thought that Mycroft purposely set Sherlock up for disaster in the form of Irene Adler.
John isn't sure what Mycroft expected to happen exactly, but if his goal was to bruise Sherlock as badly as he has, then there is retribution in the future. Because really, Irene Adler is the perfect weapon and with Mycrofts priming he may as well have given her a laser guided targeting system, complete with infrared and unlimited ammunition. Deadly mystery, a challenge to his male ego and the unknown all combined in a stunning and intelligent woman whose very vocation is something that Sherlock is ill equipped to understand? She couldn't have honed in on Sherlocks' weak points any better, nor have been more suited to getting under Sherlock barriers and tacking him for a spin.
It occurs to John, in one of his more cynical and horrifying moments, that maybe the entire situation had more to do with needling Sherlock than recovering sensitive material. John tries not to think like that though, because the idea that individual men have the power or inclination to deal with private grievances in global conflicts and government plots leads to feelings of rampant paranoia and eating one's own gun.
The violin warbles into life downstairs, murmuring confusion under triumph and John sighs. He'd like to go down stairs if only to keep Sherlock company, but knows he would either be ignored or face a frustrated, upset man. He doesn't have the emotional strength to face Sherlocks sharp tongue tonight. John rolls off the bed and goes to close the door, shucking his jeans and kicking them into the corner. He flops back onto the bed and scowls at the ceiling. He doesn't feel any more comfortable, his dark thoughts scratching at his insides, and to control a frustrated scream he counts; In. 2. 3. 4. Hold. 2. 3. 4. Out. 2. 3. 4. In. 2...
He wishes The Woman had never touched Sherlock. She has damaged him slightly, and not in a way that John can fix.
John is a bit of a poet at heart, prone to melodrama in the relative privacy of his mind. Striking and odd imagery takes him as he moderates his breathing. In his drowsy drifting John thinks of Sherlock, of his fierce glee ripping open the seams of some cleaver crime, and sees him shine, casting blue, crystalline light. He illuminates the dark places and shows off all the amazing, captivating things people overlook and neglect and forget. John slips further into sleep and his brain runs with it. Sherlock becomes a rare and flawed jewel, one that John cherishes and admires. John wants to simultaneously keep Sherlock safe and show him off to the world. To say, look, but don't touch. See how beautiful he is. And he's mine.
John dreams of Irene Adler smashing his jewel. She does it to see her own fluttering red light refract amongst the debris, illuminating a satisfied toothy grin stretching dark lips coyly framed by long, painted talons dripping blood that pools between fragments. She is joined by a shadowy figure, who laughs like a pig and smells like explosives. They dig through pieces of bloody crystal, smiling to each other and cooing as the blue light shimmers before guttering out all together. Red surges forward, the world is bathed in blood, and John drowns in copper.
When he wakes, John sighs and changes out of clammy clothes before making his way downstairs to brew a cup of tea. When he sees Sherlock laying prone on the couch quirk an eyebrow at him John does his best to pretend it is nightmares of a previous war that haunt his sleep.
AN/ I would like to say that John, as is every character, is an unreliable narrator. This is also just one example of how he could have viewed events. This isn't necessarily how I think things went down, or even how I think John dealt with ASIB. It also isn't necessarily how this Sherlock feels about events, or Mycroft.
I'm saying this because I know it may seem OC, and I know it may clash with how you viewed ASIB. I took a nugget of an idea and ran with it, seeing how it panned out from a restricted POV. This is not meant to be a wank, extolling how evil I think Mycroft or Adler are. If it came across that way please tell me because that was not my aim at all.
This story was born of the 'how would you know' tidbit. It was necessary in the show to set up the upcoming dynamic, and very typical of sibling bickering, but it seemed to me a stupid thing for Mycroft to do. I mean really? Needling your little brother about his sexuality moments before sending him off to do battle with a seductive woman? Smart move. I suppose you could argue that Mycroft was worried about exactly that and handled his worry badly, but it still seemed very unsavy of a character written as a puppet master. I used John to express my own personal moment of 'hang on a sec'. It evolved into a paranoid John thinking dark thoughts.