Well, thanks for clicking. I hope this fic is going to be worth your time. It will definitely end up being a slash story, so if you don't like that kind of thing, stop reading. Hope you enjoy the first chapter!
Disclaimer: Characters do't belong to me, I'm only borrowing them.
John Watson walked along the street, slowing his steps as he got closer to 221B. If he was honest, he was dreading going back home now. He had no idea how Sherlock was going to react.
Being the worlds only consulting detective, John thought that Sherlock would have deduced what was going on long ago. But he seemed strangely blind to everything concerning her.
Her being his fiancée, as of that morning when he'd proposed.
He'd been seeing Juliet for over a year, and everything thing seemed perfect. She was lovely. Sweet, kind, funny, smart by his standards. But his heart wasn't filled to the brim with joy at the idea of spending the rest of his life with her. Yes, he was happy. But there were a few little niggling thoughts. Each and every one of them involving Sherlock.
What would Sherlock do without his only friend? Who would get him to eat, and clean up his experiments, and defend his honour? Yes, he'd managed before. But Sherlock barely ever eluded to that time, and he always wore a look of extreme loneliness when he mentioned it. Like a man remembering a time spent on a deserted island.
He'd been totally alone. And now... He wouldn't be totally alone. Of course he'd still visit Sherlock. But he wouldn't have a constant companion any more. And John knew he wouldn't be able to spend his time solving crimes.
Juliet had been against it from the first, saying it was to dangerous. And anyway, he would have to spend time with his wife, not with Sherlock.
Sherlock had only met her once, about four months ago when they were getting serious. She'd insisted on going round to his place, saying she wanted to look round. She knew a little about Sherlock, but not a lot, he'd been careful not to talk continually about him. And it had been a complete disaster.
Sherlock had been conducting an experiment on some bones, which wasn't as bad as it could have been. They'd entered the flat, and he'd been sitting on the floor, crossed legged, wrapped in his dressing gown, looking almost ghost-like in the dim light.
He had been muttering to himself, something about oxygen if John remembered correctly. And then, when he switched the light on, Sherlock had looked up, pausing mid sentence as he surveyed first John, and then Juliet. He seemed to freeze when his eyes landed on her, every muscle oozing hostility.
Then his beautiful grey eyes had flicked to John.
"Who is that?" he'd demanded, drawing his lips into a sneer.
"Sherlock, this is Juliet, my girlfriend." he'd said carefully, glancing at the girl in question.
She looked a little taken aback, but smiled bravely all the same.
"Hello Sherlock. John talks about you a lot." she said, and John hoped he'd imagined the jealousy in her tone.
"John never talks about you." Sherlock had responded, ignoring John's sharp intake of breath.
Juliet glanced at him, though thankfully there was no reproach in her eyes. Sherlock looked between them, his brow furrowing for a second, before turning back to his bones.
"Tea, Juliet?" John asked, breaking the slightly uncomfortable silence.
"Oh, yes please. Is it okay if I sit down...?"
"Of course."
He'd hurried into the kitchen, and left the pair alone. Big mistake.
"Don't touch that." snapped Sherlock after barely five seconds.
"Sorry. What is it?" asked Juliet.
Sherlock huffed in annoyance.
"It's evidence for a case."
The case they were working on was tricky. John shouldn't have brought Juliet while he was working on it. But then, when Sherlock wasn't working on a case he was even worse. He'd brought the tea into the room, Sherlock tapping the bones together and frowning.
John smiled nervously at Juliet, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Sherlock broke it by picking up the handful of the smaller bones, and sniffing them carefully.
"You're working on a case, are you?" asked Juliet, though she didn't sound interested.
"Yes." Sherlock said sharply.
"John said you were some kind of amateur detective."
Sherlock raised his head, and glared coldly at her.
"Consulting detective." he said.
Then he looked at John, eyes expressing hurt John couldn't really understand.
Then his friend dropped the pile of the bones, and crouched down, examining them all carefully.
"Hah." he said softly, picking up the largest and twirling it through his fingers.
Juliet had rolled her eyes at John, which made him feel something close to anger, but not quite. Sherlock's work was serious. And she was coming in here, without invitation of his flatmate, and patronising his work.
"I've got it, John." Sherlock had said, leaping to his feet, and grabbing his coat of the back of the sofa.
He twirled round and watched John expectantly.
"Coming?"
Well... Uh..." John had stuttered.
Sherlock's face fell, before becoming the customary mask.
"Very well. Don't let her mess anything up." he'd snapped, voice cold as ice, and as sharp as glass.
And then he'd gone.
The rest of the evening had been very uncomfortable. And he hadn't taken Juliet round since. And she hadn't asked to go.
Sherlock had also made no further allusions to her, never commenting when John came home from a long night at her place. Probably the one reason Juliet had lasted to the final point was that she didn't seem to mind so much when John was called away by Sherlock.
She pleaded with him to stay, and told him Sherlock wasn't worth it, a comment which always hardened his resolve. But the next day, she'd forgive him with a small, sad smile.
And now they were engaged. And John knew he should be happy, but something to do with Sherlock was dampening it. Juliet had always let Sherlock take prime place, but once he was married, he knew that wouldn't be the case. Juliet disliked him. Had even called him worthless a few times. She was jealous of him, which was of course ridiculous.
He stood for several moments on the steps of 221b, before unlocking the door, and slowly walking inside. The harmonious droning of Sherlock's violin could just be heard. It was such a familiar, heart breaking sound. John listened to it for a moment, before slowly climbing the stairs up.
Sherlock was standing by the window, playing a slow tune. He stopped when John entered the room, but not turning round to face him.
"Did you eat?" asked John.
He would prefer it if Sherlock deduced everything he needed to, instead of being forced to tell him.
"No." drawled Sherlock, finally turning to face him.
His eyes skimmed over every detail, and a slight frown clouded his features. Then he seemed to shake himself, and fell into the sofa, stretching out. John stood watching him for a moment, before sitting down, still watching his friend.
"Sherlock... I need to tell you something." he said uncomfortably.
Sherlock didn't remove his eyes from the ceiling, but a lazy wave of his hand told John to proceed.
"You remember Juliet."
And John swore he something flash in the detective's eyes.
"Boring, stupid women." he said, no difference in his tone.
"Well, boring and stupid to you. But I've asked her to marry me."
Sherlock tensed, slowly turning his mist grey eyes on John.
"And she accepted."
Sherlock didn't move for several seconds, then he jumped to his feet, striding past John.
"Where are you going?" he demanded, also getting to his feet and running over to the detective.
"I'm going out. Forgot about an important meeting..." Sherlock said, voice sharp.
"You're going in your dressing gown?"
Sherlock barely glanced at himself, before storming through the door and slamming it shut behind him, leaving John alone and in silence.
John made himself a cup of tea, and sat down. He hadn't really thought Sherlock would react quite so badly. Or maybe he had known, and just hoped he wouldn't. At any rate, it didn't look like his best friend would be returning for some time.
John wasn't really sure what Sherlock's problem was either. He didn't like sharing, but John was only his friend. He would still be his friend. Nothing would change that. So there had to be something else going on in that funny brain.
When Sherlock returned, he'd tell him exactly what was going to happen.
But an hour later, when Sherlock hadn't yet returned from his 'meeting', John was worried that maybe Sherlock was upset about something even bigger. He was considering going out to find the six foot detective, when his phone bleeped.
Car waiting for you. M
John sighed quietly. He should have guessed this would be happening. But of course he hadn't. He slowly got up, shrugged on his coat, and went downstairs. The door of the black car mystically opened, and he climbed wearily in, slamming it shut with more force than necessary, and causing even Anthea to look up.
They drove to their destination in complete silence, only when they stopped did Anthea look up.
"We're here." she said, before plunging back to her phone.
John got out, and walked slowly up to the tall figure of Mycroft. When Sherlock had stormed out, he hadn't thought his day could get any worse.
"What do you want?" he snapped, glaring at the older brother.
Mycroft tipped his head and surveyed him.
"We should sit. This will be a delicate conversation."
John snorted, but sat anyway, Mycroft taking the seat opposite him.
"Help yourself." he said, gesturing at a plate of small cakes.
John eyed them suspiciously, before taking one, and picking thoughtfully at the icing as he surveyed Mycroft.
"I asked what you wanted." he said finally.
"Oh yes. Now, I'm sure you're aware that my dear brother left the flat at one o'clock this afternoon, in great distress." said Mycroft primly, as though reading a news report.
"And in his dressing gown." John added, suppressing a smirk.
Mycroft raised a single eyebrow.
"Yes. And I'm also sure you're aware that you are the cause for both these things."
"I did tell him he was only wearing a-"
"You know what I mean." Mycroft interrupted.
Johns sighed, setting his half eaten cake down.
"Sherlock doesn't rule my life. It's my choice. And I'm afraid he'll have to get over it." said John.
Mycroft twirled his umbrella, and shook his head.
"Unfortunately not, my dear doctor."
"What? You can't rule my life. It's my choice."
"Yes. It's your choice. But let me explain your choices." said Mycroft.
John glared at him, leaning back in his chair, and watching the Holmes brother closely.
"You have been with you brother for a long time now. Two years I believe. And, rather unfortunately, you have penetrated his armour. He has professed you to be his only friend. The one he really cares for. And this means you cannot be parted from him."
John opened his mouth to protest, but Mycroft held up a hand.
"When I first met you, I knew you would either make my brother worse, or better. You have made him better. You're good for him. You protect him. Keep him on the straight and narrow. You saved him from himself. And I fear that now, to rip that all away would destroy him."
"But, I'm not going to abandon him. I'll still see him." protested John.
"Sherlock doesn't share."
"He'll be fine on his own! He can look after himself."
Mycroft frowned.
"I personally believe not. Since he met you, I am almost certain he hasn't used it. And I am equally certain he will if you leave."
"That's blackmail! You can't make me stay with him." snapped John angrily.
He couldn't believe Mycroft. Sherlock was completely right about him. How dare he try and control his life, and Sherlock's. He made his own choices. They both did.
But the other reason he was angry, was because every word Mycroft said was true. And in his heart, he knew it.
"But, I give you a choice John." said Mycroft placidly.
John narrowed his eyes and waited.
"You cut Miss Juliet out of your life, and stay with Sherlock. Or, you marry her, and several weeks later, an unfortunate accident occurs to her. A fatal accident." said Mycroft, as nonchalantly as if he were talking about the weather.
"W-what? You can't do that! It's my life. I won't have a bastard like you ruling it." snarled John, getting to his feet.
"Oh, but I gave you a choice. Stay with Sherlock, or be the cause of her death."
John curled his fists into balls as he looked the the older brother.
"You..."
"I am only doing what is best for Sherlock. He cares more about you than you know. And I believe you care more about him than you want to admit."
"He's my best friend. Nothing else."
"Indeed? You've noticed his blindness to what happens between you and Juliet. Because he's seeing what he doesn't want to see, so he ignores it and hopes it goes away. Do you want to see your friend return to drugs? The choice is yours, my good doctor. You have several days to decide." said Mycroft.
He rose elegantly, and strode away, leaving a speechless, angry, confused army doctor behind.
There, I hope it was okay. The next chapter should be up very soon, and it'll be from Sherlock's POV. I'd love it if you spared the time to review! It would be nice to get some early encouragement.