Who is John Watson, MD?
John is invited to a stag party for one of his old army buddies, but when what was intended as the good doctor takes friendly advice poorly, truths come out that Sherlock could never have imagined about his good-natured blogger. John, not to give up answers without something in return gets Sherlock to tell him what it is that drove a wedge so firmly between him and Mycroft.
AN: Scott Smith is supposed to be Irish, not drunk, I was trying to put a Scottish accent into my writing; I hope it works ;)
Also, I use English/Australian spellings. (I am Aussie after all)
SHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSONSHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSON
It was still early evening on Baker Street when John Watson returned from his shift at the clinic. It had been a fairly depressing day. He'd had to give bad news to a gentleman about his deteriorating health, remove three ingrown toenails, been thrown up on twice and help with an overdose patient brought in when St Bart's Hospital was deemed too full to take another casualty. He dared think, to dream, that he deserved a nice quiet night home with a decent meal and a nice, not tampered with, hot cup of tea. He was just hoping that his eccentric flat mate would be agreeable to his desired terms for the night.
As he opened the door to 221B Baker Street, he instantly became aware that he appeared to have the flat to himself. Not a peep could be heard and Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock both appeared to be out. He called out in hope but gained no response for his efforts. He was alone, at least for all appearances.
The post, as always, was left for him on the side table by the stairs, it was staring at him menacingly, oh how he hated mail, it was almost always just bills, he scooped the pile up on his way past and climbed the seventeen stairs up to his and Sherlock's flat, he dropped the mail on the bench and did a quick scout of the place, calling out once more just to confirm Sherlock was indeed out.
Confirming his friends absence, he put moved to the kitchen and put the kettle on, with the mail once more in hand, he then moved over to what had become his designated chair. Listening for the kettles whistle, he flipped though the envelopes.
"Bill, bill, junk mail, Sherlock's, bill, summons, wonder what he's done now, junk mail, hello then, what's this?"
The last envelope, white like the others, but with his name hand written on it, appeared to be some kind of card. Opening it without even taking a second look at the rest of the post, it was from an old army buddy, Scott Smith. It was a buck's night invite for the following Friday night. It was an unexpected, but not unappreciated gesture. The kettle started to whistle in the background and reading over the details as he walked into the kitchen the invite read as follows:
Dear John, (we always hated getting those didn't we! Hahaha)
You'll never believe it, but I'm tying the knot with Katheryn~Ann!
Anyway to celebrate my last weekend of freedom…(well actually the wedding is next year, but its on pain of abandonment at the alter if I show up sloshed or without eyebrows) I am throwing a stag party and you mate, are invited! The details still need to be ironed out but the night shall begin at the Iron Maiden Pub in Piccadilly Circus!
Time: 7pm – LATE!
Dress: Neat casual
Company: not tonight mate!
RSVP: ESSENTIAL! Please call on ####-###-###
Putting the invite down and making himself a cup of tea, he played with the idea of going, it was not that he didn't want to catch up with a few of the old boys, but Sherlock had this…habit of pulling him away from the rest of the world. It had actually gotten to the point where he had not had a date in six months.
Taking a sip of his tea, he got a frying pan, checked it for substances, legal, illegal and nonedible. He then rummaged through the fridge for suitable ingredients for a vegetable omelet out. He'd recently managed to actually snare one of the vegetable crisper draws for his own, non-experimental, use. Determined to try and be a bit healthier. Whisking the eggs while thinking about the invite, he decided he would go; it would be nice to catch up with some of his old army buddies. He pulled out his mobile and called Scott up on the provided number while the fry pan warmed.
Scott picked up after only a few rings and the regular pleasantries and how do-you-do's where exchanged.
The conversation, while polite, practically jumped straight into party talk.
"So ya are comin' then John? Seems like for'ver since any of as saw ya last, always run'n off after that detective an' all"
"Of course, not going to leave you hanging, though I wouldn't mind a bit more information on the evenings entertainment. Hang on a moment Scotty, I'm going to put you on speaker while I cut up the veg." The phone was put to the side and speaker selected.
"Yah, yah, o'course Capt. Well now, we're gonna start off at the pub, as the invite says, then we're off to a club for a bit, I'm thinkin' a bi place, be more comfortable for Benny and ya'r good self and…"
"Wait? What?" John interrupted, splattering "Oh, not you too, you know full well I'm not gay, for Pete's sake, you were the best man at Odette's and I's wedding!"
"Yah, but that was then, this be been'n now, I been read'n ya blog, I heard stuff, so, ya mighta been into ladies once upon a time, so yar bi, no biggy, but please don't bring 'is lordship along, can do wi'out watchin ya serve 'im han an' foot all nigh'."
"But I'm not, and I don't, Sherlock and I are mates, like you and I, that's all, flat mates, seriously! This is getting out of hand!" John groaned, attacking what was left of his carrots with great vigor.
"And so what if I do some stuff for him" John continued, "he's given me a reason to live again, I can never repay him that debt, so make I him tea, make sure he eats, sleeps, doesn't break things, leave dates and work early, get slapped by people, take ASBO's for him…" John trailed off; he was digging his own grave.
"Hey, hey, tis cool, no har'm meant, It's ya'r life an' all, still, Benny 'ill prefer somethin' in his interests too, even if ya' do prefer the ladies an' besides, ya need a night off babysittin'. And, if ya' happen to look the o'ther way, none o' us will comment, ya' know that. Besides, I'm happy for ya, fin'lly movin' on an' all, was gettin' a wee bit worried…Anyways, as I was sayin' an' all, then we might go laser taggin, or maybe that before the club, no' sure yet…"
"No, wait, lets get this clear, I don't babysit Sherlock and do you really think I've forgotten Odette, forgotten Merida, you really think I'm that sort of person, I will never forget them, or forgive myself for what happened!"
"John! Tha's not what I meant an' ya know it, seriously, when was the las' time ya spoke of 'em eh? Does ya' precious Sherlock even know 'bout 'em? I'm one of the few who knows the truth 'bout 'three continents Watson, so don't ya go puttin' this one on me matey."
"I'm sort Scotty, I'm sorry, it's a bit of a sore spot for me. I'll see you Friday yea?"
"Yeah, course mate, look'n forward to it, bye"
John hung up. He was shaking with anger, he knew it was wrong to have attacked Scott like that; the guy hadn't done anything wrong, but still. He had slandered Sherlock, well, no, he hadn't, not really, he hadn't said anything that wasn't true, John had said all that stuff, but he enjoyed it, didn't he, looking after Sherlock?
He was shaking when he plated his now cooked omelet, and it was in sudden a fit of rage that he threw the plate to the ground, causing it to shatter, the sound echoing as the china smashed and the omelet splattered. He eyed it sadly, the omelet had had such potential, he slowly lowered himself, finding that he was sitting hunched up under the table, chin to his knees, his head not quite touching the bench surface, still eyeing the mess he'd made.
SHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSONSHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSON
Sherlock, who had been testing a new form of hiding, sitting hiding in the linen cupboard, had heard the entire conversation and had gathered the gist of the conversation from the way John had said 'hello'. Being the nosey prat that he was however, it had never occurred that he should not have been eavesdropping, or that he should have told John he was home. Well, it might have, he may have just ignored it.
It had come as quite the surprise to hear of 'Odette and Merida' obviously John and this woman's daughter, but what had happened to them, why was it John's fault, John was so caring and loving, it wasn't funny, it actually bordered on dangerous at times, no, wait, bad thoughts, sentimental thoughts, bad Sherlock. Still… he had to know more.
Moving quietly down the hall he saw his friend eyeing off what was his shambles of a meal. He looked like a lost and lonely puppy. Even with his back to Sherlock, lost in his own world, he looked cute. No, bad Sherlock.
Sherlock quietly grabbed the paper towel from the bench and went around the table so as not to startle John with his sudden appearance. He knelt down and started cleaning up the mess, putting it all in the bin.
"I thought cleaning was classified under 'boring'"
"If I am going to fit under there with you, I require room, this mess is in my way, and thus the logical thing to do, is move it."
"Indeed, and why are you planning on joining me under here exactly? When did you get home, I didn't hear you come in" John looked at his friend shrewdly.
"I was home before you" the lanky detective replied, putting the wet paper towel mess in the bin and then folding himself to fit under the table with John.
"Oh" was all the reply he received.
"I may be new to this whole 'friendship thing' so do bare with me John, but is not it a show of compassion and friendship to keep company with someone when they are unhappy?"
"Yes Sherlock"
"Am I not doing this correctly?"
"You are Sherlock"
"Is it helping?"
John turned his head to look into Sherlock's eye's the concern seemed genuine enough. Sherlock was no sociopath, just miss understood John thought, and he was doing it again, defending Sherlock.
"What is going on inside your head John" Sherlock mused, more to himself then John, observing him intently.
"Why do you want to know, surely you've deduced it by now"
"Again, detective, not mind reader, really, you'd think people would understand the difference in this day and age." The last part muttered more to himself then to John.
"Sorry Sherlock"
"Don't be"
Silence rang between them, neither of them moved for a while.
"So I guess you heard the entire conversation with Scott then?"
"I did"
"You have questions"
"I always have questions, but yes"
"Well after this evening I will never speak of the subject again, but be warned, do not push my buttons Sherlock, and I want an exchange of information"
"Hmmm?" The quiet once more fell.
After a few moments of watching his feat, John peered back at Sherlock.
"I want to know why you and your brother don't get along, and don't tell me it is a clash of intellect, cause I know that's rubbish"
Sherlock seemed deep in thought, his silver eyes perceptively watching John for something, John didn't know what, but he had been in the gaze before, he knew flitching meant no deal. He held his ground.
"Deal, you first though"
"And they say I have trust issues" John said as much to himself as Sherlock.
"All right, but don't interrupt, I cannot promise I will get it all out and it will make you the only living person who knows my entire life's story, except maybe Mycroft, but I'm not sure that he classifies as a person…" Sherlock smiled genuinely at this, but said nothing, turning to watch the kitchen cupboards, waiting for John to start. He would of course observe John as he spoke, but he found, with John at least, that he worked better without an audience.
SHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSONSHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSON
When I was about four or five, Harriet, Harry, was about eight, that's when it began.
My Dad realised pretty darn fast what was happening; he saw the bruises. Mum had made us hide them from him at first; maybe our change of mood caught his attention too, I don't know, its not like I can ever ask him. I remember him, a few times actually, confronting Mum. He knew she drank, working at the pub sometimes for extra cash, but she had, over night, somehow become, she was a drunk. A cruel one at that, but Dad, he was kind and caring. He worked long hours and very hard for every penny we had. He had been a caretaker for the local parklands and a respected member of the community having helped with many community projects both in labor and with fundraising. He was a good man and a good Dad.
Things got worse as time wore on. Dad continually tried to help Mum. I truly believe he loved to the end. He tried to convince her, and then told her to quit her extra job, tried to keep her away from the bar. He tried to get Mum into programs, what little was around back then. She wasn't interested. She resented him for his efforts and she hated us kids. Told him and us that she had never wanted kids, we were a mistake.
She always apologised on the rare occasion she was sober. Dad took a second job to keep the family going. Mum's drinking got worse, and the finances, as I understand it, went south. He tried to keep us at friend's houses and at after school activities, as far from the house as possible. Mum didn't take to kindly too that either. She was never happy. When I was seven, Dad pulled me aside and told me he was sorry, never what he was sorry for though, I'm still not sure I know. He did and said the same to Harry. At least Harry said he did. That's how I know it was her that sold him out to Mum.
"Why do you say that?"
"Sherlock"
"Right, continue"
Anyway, that night Dad woke us up quietly, but Harry refused to leave her bed, she stayed stubbornly. Dad sighed sadly and let her stay, I don't remember understanding completely what was happening, but I remember thinking we where leaving.
I got in the car and the brakes were off. Dad was behind and started pushing when suddenly the outside light came on; he hauled me out and pushed me into the shed, quick as lightening. I remember the fight word for word. Mum was drunk, angry and beyond reason.
Harriet had told her about what Dad planned to do, how he planned to take us away. Dad tried to reason with her. Truth is, Harriet had found a way to make Mum leave her alone. By being her eyes and ears. Reporting to her Dad and I's every move. Thing is, it was Harry who had warned Dad that she had heard Mum plotting to kill me. Couldn't tell you if she was telling the truth, but it wouldn't surprise me. Mum hated that I was so like Dad.
I remember being very scared. I remember the blood and the shovel. I remember Mum making me swear if I ever told a soul, Harry would be next.
I don't know what happened to Dad's body, but the car was gone the next day. I was terrified. Everyone was led to believe Dad had left of his own will. Mum being the principal local, high ranking preparatory to year twelve school, made things all the much harder. Being as she had always been a respected member of the community herself, she easily ensured that the majority of societies sympathies laid with her, after all, a single parent, supposedly beaten by a brutish husband. Not that he ever laid a hand on her; he never even raised his voice that I can recall. It wasn't right and as I got older, I tried to speak out. Mum, through practice and experience, became better at hiding the evidence of her constant abuse. It escalated and shrunk in extremes depending on the time of year and her mood swings, but she was always conscience of her actions, always careful to ensure She wasn't caught. I was designated an attention seeker. I abhorred the title. Harry never helped matters. She may be older then me, but always acted younger, still does.
I was lucky in some ways however, despite everything going wrong in my life and around me, my grades remained good, Mum couldn't take that, I always studied hard, determined to get out of the retched hellhole. I took a part time job as soon as I was able. Mum and Harry often, or closer to always, pilfered what little income I earned, but I did odd jobs around the neighborhood for cash that I hid. I never went home when I didn't have to. I found other options. I was no stranger at the local library or the cinema, helped I got in for free since I worked there. Town hall was often open and sometimes I'd find myself at the local shelter, all just to avoid house. It was never home. Rumors spread of course, as you say, people talk, they do little else. Some folks said I was just a bit odd, others said I just liked study. Some individuals started to think that my outbursts as a young child had had some truth to them. Mixed with my small frame and the way I was always covered, even in summer, many questions began to form amongst the community about just what was happening in the Wattson House. No one ever acted on it though.
Harriet was similar to me only in that she stayed covered, but she once she started to drink too, well, she tried other things too; she tried drugs had a couple of break and enters and of course, dated and slept with half the town. I had no clothes but for her hand-me-downs. Even now I need a shower just thinking about them. When I was fourteen, Harry came out of the closet. Mum went ballistic. Harry ran. Mum blamed me. When I, who had never missed a day of school, didn't show up for a week, and the school principal just said I wasn't well without any evident concern, a teacher came looking. They found me tied up in a cupboard, cut, bruised and bleeding.
Well, it all came out, everything. Except for Dad's death. Two weeks later I was in foster care. Mum was in rehab. Harry, now eighteen, could, or would not be found. Again, I've never asked her to clarify, I've never cared to know.
Once mum was rehabilitated enough that the system deemed her healthy enough to return, I was once again, and strongly against my wishes, placed back in her care. I was fifteen. I was almost sixteen. I was there barely two weeks before I ran away. I had enough street smarts to survive and my education, thanks to my desire for a better life, was top notch.
I had saved enough cash, despite my time in the system. I had kept my job, and saved harder then ever before. I had enough to enroll in a boarding school using some fake papers I bought from some guy I meet on the street here in London. I kept my first name and changed my second to Watson with one T. It used to be Wattson, with two T's, different enough not to cause to stir, but easy enough to claim my past results. I was pleased with myself. Thank god computers were not as high tech as they are now!
It's at the boarding school where I met Odette. She was a wonderful woman. She was quiet, yet lively and spirited, but also very into her studies. She was determined to become a concert violinist or a film producer. Two very different interests, but she was amazing at both. We met in study hall and for a long time we never talked or even knew each other's names. We just kept each other company. It was only when some boys on the football team were giving her a hard time that I even learnt her name. I had stepped between them and her in seeing her distress. I told them she had already agreed to go to the school dance with me so they could just shove off. Bonus in this was that being new on the football team, it raised my status considerably, that I had such a girl on my arm, for she truly was the prettiest girl in school as well as the most intelligent. Of course, they had no idea I was fooling them or that I didn't even know her name. It was only after they had left she introduced herself and told me she'd been hoping I'd ask. I'd never been on a date before, let alone to a dance. I was so nervous!
The dance went well, and we continued to see each other. I spent my first summer with her family and then my second. When asked why I didn't go home I just said I was an orphan. They accepted it without question. They were, and still are good people.
We finished high school together, both getting into what we had wanted. I got into medical school and she into arts. We both lived on our respective campuses, but saw each other whenever we could. For me though the costs where too high, even working as a bus boy and a motel cleaner. It was then that the army recruitment personal came through the university and through Barts. I was sorely tempted, but did not want to leave Odette.
Believe it not, it was her that convinced me to join up. Her father was ex-army and he fully supported my decision. Odette's brothers also supported me, although I've always suspected that had more with wanting to keep me away from their baby sister.
Anyway, I joined up, dropped my job as a motel cleaner, kept the bus boy position and continued on at Barts and by age twenty-three I was a Lieutenant with Fifth North Cumberland Fusiliers.
Odette and I married when we were only twenty three, seems now that we were likely too young, but at the time it felt so right. We had a home on base and Odette worked at the local television station on the cameras and was first violin in the local band.
Merida was born on a tenth of March, it was horrid day weather wise, it was stormy and the wind was enough to blow a grown man away. I remember the feeling of holding her the first time. There's nothing like it Sherlock. I had delivered babies, held them before, but it is so very different when it is your own.
Odette, being Odette, loved to film and document everything. I have, I had, tapes of the day she was born, her first steps, the three of us cuddling. Odette singing lullaby's, my telling Merida bedtime stories. Odette often hid cameras. I got in on the action too and we had so much footage. I was truly happy, we all where.
Everyone loved my ladies, but I most of all. I had a real family, and an extended family, Odette's had taken me in without second thought. I honestly believed my life could not get any better.
We were still living on base at this time and my army contract was due to expire. Odette was determined that we buy a place to call our own. She wanted a garden that she could do what she liked with, some play equipment for our daughter, and a stone pool with koi and a little water fall. All I wanted was nothing more then to give this to her and so the arrangements were made. I found work at a hospital in the town my base was in and we found a neat little three-bedroom cottage. Live was wonderful.
Because of my skills as a surgeon, I had agreed to work part time for the army off contract and to act as a trainer for new recruits. Three days a week I was at the hospital, two days a week I was at the base. Our cottage was coming along nicely; we occasionally had friends and family around for tea. We even got the koi pond. Merida loved to watch the koi; she'd giggle with glee whenever they came up the surface for food. Even as an infant, when the small pond froze over in winter, she worried about the fish.
It was just before my twenty-seventh birthday that Harry showed up.
I had told Odette about my past, and after our marriage, her family, out some kind of obligation for full disclosure, I had felt it only fair. To say I was surprised at her arrival would be an understatement. She was well dressed and sober, which was even more unexpected. She had a girlfriend. She had gone to community college and was now attending university compliments of her job at some law firm or another. She had come searching for me to apologise. I didn't take her arrival, or her apology, well and slammed the door in her face. It was Odette that let her in.
Merida was taken with Aunt, and Harry with Merida. I didn't like it then, and I wish I had trusted my instincts. Against my better judgment and with my wife's firm push however, I was more of less forced to take Harry back into my life.
I was at work when it happened, at the army base. I had been on duty on the shooting range helping some on the new recruits. You'd be amazed how many of them hurt themselves. Anyway, I. I. I.
John stopped talking. Staring straight ahead, like he was lost in a frightening daydream, Sherlock gave a light shove on his shoulder and he shook himself a little and continued on.
I was packing to leave when I heard someone calling out urgently for me. Thinking it a medical emergency I grabbed my bag and sought the caller out. I never dreamed it would be me who would need the medical attention.
There were two police at the bursars office, I asked what the matter was, how I could help. I remember thinking they looked sad. I don't remember what was said next, only the words 'I'm sorry.' Apparently, and I have no recollection of this, but I ran, I ran home. There was tape, sirens and lights. Mum was there. She was screaming that I had asked her for this, that it was all my idea. I saw them carry out Odette, covered in a bloodied sheet; Merida was still alive, but only just.
I rode in the ambulance with my little girl. She lasted just under two painful days. She was covered in cuts and burns. Both her little arms had been broken in a number of places. She never woke up. I never saw her pretty little eyes, never heard her sweet little giggle again.
I was never questioned. I never wondered why, only found out through a transcript from the closed court case, that Mum never saw Odette's video camera, but the police who came, they did. A passing local had heard the screaming and called for help. I'll never know exactly what happened. The police have the video, I both and do not want to ever see that type.
I later found out from a lawyer that Mum was angry that I had abandoned her. I've never been able to look Odette's family in the eye since the funeral. I was re-enlisted within a week after the joint funeral service. They're together you now Odette and Merida, that's something at least. I've not heard from any of Odette's family since, except to send them each a card at Christmas, they do the same.
I spent the next 10 years spread out over four continents, home of course then three different tours. Afghanistan you know about, was my last tour, before that, it was Iraq, and first was Seirra Leone.
While I was away, Harry, in guilt for telling Mum where my family was, became a drunk. That's the real reason she lost Clara, her wife of 5 years. She sold my house, the cottage, and drained my bank accounts, because, as a lawyer, she found a away to become my legal representative while I was away and she needed money to support her habits that Clara couldn't find.
Then I was wounded more seriously then ever before, more damage then being tortured as a prisoner of war, more then the dog bite from that case with Marty Martian, anyway I was no longer able to perform surgery, no use to the army and thrown aside with a measly pension. I'd contemplated suicide; numerous times in fact, many soldiers don't last outside of the war zone. I went for a walk, was introduced to you and as they say, the rest is history.
Upon hearing the completion of his friends' life story of woe and love, and his time as a P.O.W, which he'd planned to explore later, Sherlock, who it should be remarked upon, had actually managed to (mostly) stay quiet, despite his mounting questions. The lanky detective let out a breath he had not even known he had been holding.
SHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSONSHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSON
Authors note: please forgive my spelling and grammar, I have not got a beta reader and to be honest, its NANO, it's the sort of thing you focus on AFTER you've finished
"I know you have questions, you always have questions, but thanks for letting me get my story out." John asked in a feeble manner.
"You know me well John." Sherlock replied back almost hesitantly, unsure if he was being granted permission to release his barrage of curiosity on the depressed doctor. "Can I ask then?"
"Depends what you ask, I won't answer if it's not your business, that said, none of this is really your business."
"They never found your Dad"
"No"
"You've never spoken to Odette's family since the funeral"
"Couldn't even face them then" John replied remorsefully, "I tried, a few times, I wrote, but never sent, the emails, or the letters, I got as far as their garden gate, twice. Never any further, they were, have been, the only family I've really ever known, how can I face them. So I send them the standard greeting cards where applicable with a Dear Family, Love John. Pathetic I know, but true"
"Considering everything, I'm sure they understand"
"Do you? Would you accept it? Mr. Caring is not an advantage?"
"Yes, but then I have no interest in keeping ties, and from what I've witnessed in my line of work, sometimes breaking all connections is the best option. Remind me to introduce you to Kinny form the network sometime. You'll see what I mean."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have sai"
"Stop" Sherlock interrupted, "This is about you, not me, anyway, Why are you still in touch with Harry after all of this? Where is your Mother?"
"Cause I still care about her and Mum's in prison, hope she never gets out. As for Harry, when you've got nothing left, you fall on what you had, even if it is not there anymore. She started drinking because she blames herself for telling Mum where I was, about my life. It's not an excuse, but she's still blood, and Dad would want us to stick together."
"Sounds like she's as culpable as your mother"
"Sherlock." John said gruffly, "Don't"
"Right, do you have pictures? Where are the videos?"
"Gone, all gone"
"How?"
"Burnt, Harry had them and she fell asleep with candles on"
"Oh"
"Yeah"
"You didn't take one with you on tour?"
"Got a bullet through it"
"Right"
"Yep"
John was still sitting stiffly, staring forward, eyes blank, cold and distant. Sherlock had watched him throughout his entire narration, and while he still had questions, it was plainly obvious that John was done on the topic. The man was clearly exhausted.
The whole time John had spoken, he had been stoic with slight shows of emotions at the harder aspects of his narrative.
Sherlock had always known John had a past hidden under the jumper and easy going smile, he just never dreamed it was something so terrible.
Rising abruptly and startling John out of his revere, Sherlock turned only slightly enough to meet John's eyes,
"Let us adjourn to your room"
"Why?" asked John, taken by surprise at his friends' sudden and rather unexpected movement.
"It is the one room of our flat that Mycroft doesn't have eyes and ears in." Sherlock stated plainly.
"Ah, okay, good, that's good" John was pleased to hear he had some privacy, and to realise Sherlock actually intended to keep his end of the bargain.
Upon entering Johns room, closing the door behind them and taking a seat each on the edge of Johns bed, Sherlock started talking straight off, as though he where explaining a case.
"The reason Mycroft and I don't get along is because he ignored me unless there was something in it for him. You know that there is just under ten years difference between our ages, well, by the time I was old enough to want to play, he was 'too mature' to play. At least he thought he was.
It never helped that Mycroft, as the oldest, was fathers' favorite, and the proud heir to the family titles and money. You must understand that that is how it works in families of our 'standing' or 'position'" he said the words distastefully.
"I was supposed to be a girl, someone father would walk down the isle with, show off to his business partners and eventually marry off, of course, the pronouncement of my being born male left him immediately with no interest in me, my activities or basically existence. Mother on the other hand found that she preferred me, I liked having cuddles and having attention, where as Mycroft was always so stiff from a young age, or so I am told."
Of course, being a Holmes still meant having to make appearances, and be shown off and sent to fancy schools and the like, none of which I cared for. I never could grasp social etiquette, my mouth tended to run as fast as my mind when I was younger and I could not help it. Still can't. Mycroft was perfect, where as I was a 'shame'"
"Still I wanted so desperately to be like my big brother, that when he refused to play with me or even acknowledge me existence, I found ways of getting his attention. I would write him coded messages, I would steal his things and purposely try and get him into trouble. I tried everything, but in the end, nothing worked. So I gave up. Mummy was always sympathetic and tried to make Mycroft play with me, but Father wouldn't hear of it, it wasn't proper behavior for a gentleman's son."
"Mummy played with me instead, taught me what regular schools deemed unimportant or not suitable, she understands me, she always has. She's a scientist by the way. She knows me better then even you, but when I was twelve, father passed away and Mycroft found himself without enough attention, despite his being in his twenties. It became harder to spend time alone with Mummy; Mycroft always wanted what I had, the attention, the fun, so he started spying on me, paying the other children at school to do his dirty work. As you can imagine I was not exactly popular there either."
John's lips quirked at this; Sherlock noticed and returned the smirk, continuing;
"He'd use the information gained, even if it was untrue, to try and sway Mummy's favor, she was, and is, too intelligent for that."
"When the drugs started, it was to try and quiet my mind, you have no idea what it is like to never stop thinking and to see everything, hear every sound and smell every smell, that's why I smoke you know, to try and dull that sense at least. Drugs worked. Mycroft, not wanting to upset Mummy, wouldn't let me near her, told her I had run away and that I was refusing to come back. She did not believe him, we have been secretly meeting, but as far as Mycroft knows I've not heard from her or seen her since I was twenty-four, at least, not to Mycroft's knowledge."
'That's why I hate him, he involves himself in matters that do not concern him, he manipulates me to retain the image of the perfect son and will not openly let me spend time with Mummy. I hate him for that, it is bad enough he spies on my every move, but I miss spending time with Mummy."
"If I'm honest John, I'm surprised he hasn't tried to take you yet. He tells me sentiment is found on the losing side, I used to believe him, but Mummy and you prove otherwise."
"Seems rather bastardly of him, why don't you just tell him the truth, tell him that you see and speak to your mother regularly and that he can just butt out?"
"Because thanks to father, he controls my trust fund, and will continue to do so until I'm either married or he's dead."
"That explains a lot"
"Explain?"
"You don't have a constant income yet you never seem broke"
"Ah"
"Ah indeed"
"I'd like to meet your mother some time, I'd bet she's an interesting person"
"Mummy wants to meet you too, she's very keen on the idea actually. We just need to find a way to go about it that Fatcroft won't interrupt. Easier said then done, but I do like a challenge…" Sherlock got that look about him, the one that plainly stated that the game was on.
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Authors Note: I tried to make it fun from this point on ;)
After their emotional chat last night both men had gone to bed without saying another word, Sherlock silently plotting to get his mother and John to meet and John deciding that he should have never let the bottle open and that he would re-seal the bottle. He was not one to share. The topic would never be brought up again.
The next morning John woke to find it a beautiful and sunny day. Rising, showering and dressing he entered the kitchen and found his often vexatious but still endearing flat mate wide awake and looking intently into one of his beakers.
"So how are we going to go about this?" John asked rather looking forward to this adventure, meeting the Holmes brothers had been.
"This case requires finesse and delicacy, Lestrade has agreed to let me have free reign on this case. A rarity I know, but brilliant."
"That was nice of him, what where the conditions?" John asked catching and playing along right away
"None"
"Sherlock?" John asked in a parental voice
"Fine, I report in when complete and share the details" the adult-child replied petulantly. "We'll leave when you've had your breakfast." The lanky detective swanned off to dress, his dressing gown swishing around him like a cape.
It was thirty minutes later that found both John and Sherlock outside 221B Baker Street with Sherlock turning and heading into the city. His long legs making it so that John had to almost jog to keep up.
"Steady up mate, I know that this case is important, but I cannot keep up this jog the entire time!" Sherlock slowed, but only partially.
"John, we have to stay ahead, he already has people following and has already been in contact with Lestrade. He's been informed that it's a smuggling case, Lestrade thinks we are trying to get him a birthday present, at your insistence should he ask, and is helping keep the cover" Sherlock whispered out the side of his mouth, his lips not moving so much that John almost missed what he had said.
"Right, so what are we doing?"
"Going to Harrods of course" Sherlock replied in his normal voice.
"Right, of course" John said aloud ' muttering sarcastically to himself 'because that makes complete sense'.
It was almost ten am by the time that the pair found themselves at the large department store, having walked, then taken the tube, and then walked the last part. The weather had held and the Saturday morning crowds where not helping them move any faster. While they seemed to part like the red sea for Sherlock, John, unless he stayed less then a foot behind often got washed away.
Sherlock was patient though, well as patient as he ever was.
"Your very slow today John"
"Thanks Sherlock, not all of us have the abilities of Moses"
"Who?"
"Never mind"
"More of that trivia information you feel I should know like that the sun goes around moon or some such thing"
"Yes Sherlock" John sighed shaking his head, a slight smirk upon his face.
"You are laughing at me" A statement, not a question
"No, of course not."
"I don't believe you, not that it matters, and we are here"
John and Sherlock entered Harrods and went up to the third floor. Men's wear, and headed towards the back of the department where the designer and most expensive options were displayed. "We should get you something more appropriate while we are here John" Sherlock commented
"I'm perfectly happy with what I have, and would have more if someone, whom shall remain nameless, would stop stealing my jumpers and shoes to experiment on them. Seriously, that whole incident with the living slime was not called for."
"I replaced them"
"Not the point Sherlock, moving on, what is it we are doing here exactly?"
"You'll see"
"I always worry when you say that"
"Well don't" Sherlock proceeded to look at men's suits in the Armani range for the next ten minutes. When Mycroft arrived.
"Hello Sherlock, John"
"Mycroft" they replied together in monotone.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer
"Since when do you get me birthday presents?" Mycroft asked suspiciously
"Since John is a sentimental prat who no longer wishes us to fight and has decided that if we act cordially to each other then perhaps the bi monthly kidnappings and the black mailing will cease. I tried to explain that it was a waste of time, but he really can be as stubborn as you. This is entirely on him" Sherlock really could act John thought, as he played the grumpy male shoping companion, not that it was hard, he hated shopping.
"I can imagine that he would try to meddle in our relationship, but why would you go along with it" Mycroft asked not to be deterred
"Because I threatened to stop making his tea and to ban all experiments from the fridge if he didn't" John spoke before Sherlock had even opened his mouth to reply. You listened to my story last night, you knew my past already I'd wager. I'm sick of fighting families and if I can be nice to Harry then you can be to Sherlock, for whatever reason you don't get along, and don't tell me it's because he has the bigger intellect, I didn't believe him last night, and I won't believe you now, so don't try it." John stormed off in a red face huff.
"Great, now you've put him in a strop, thanks Mycroft, just leave us be today, alright!" Sherlock hissed, looking worriedly over at his friend. "You're going to receive a birthday present, a nice one, you are going to be surprised, and thank me and stop kidnaping John, got it" he hissed, an order, not a statement.
Mycroft actually look chastised, but only briefly, "Fine, one day, no surveillance, do not let me down little brother, I shall see you tomorrow" He left.
Leaving Harrods ten minutes later, empty handed, just in case, Sherlock was quietly congratulating John under his breath on his acting. "Next stop, a present for Mycroft, cufflinks I think, then on to Mummy's by 12:30.
On the way to Mrs. Holmes place, after stopping to pick up a really nice pair of cufflinks, a random ninja attacked them, John knocked the ninja out and then they continued on their way.
Arriving at Mummy Holmes place at exactly 12:30 they entered into a lovely cottage on the outskirts of London. The picturesque property, as John later found out, was a hideaway from Mycroft under the assumed name of Mrs. Janice Hudson, Mrs. Hudson's sister. She had a few of these properties it seemed.
Christine Holmes was a wonderful woman, an older, female version of Sherlock who was also obviously more socially practiced then her youngest son. It was instantly very clear to John that Mycroft must look like his father, as Sherlock really was the spitting image of his mother. The two gossiped and hugged and Sherlock's personality completely changed in her presence. Why Mycroft would ever want to keep them apart John would never understand.
Christy, as she insisted John call her, obviously knew what he was thinking. And approached him while they watched Sherlock play with the beehives in the yard.
"Mycroft is his fathers son. He doesn't realise the harm he is doing, and if he does, he doesn't care. He just wants to protect us from each other. We are so alike, Sherlock and I. We both love to experiment, we both love to learn and neither of us have time for social convention, but where my dear Shirley doesn't really try, I do. We could rule the world if wanted."
"Why don't you confront him together, surely, since Sherlock has been clean for years now, and doing so well in his chosen profession, which Mycroft loves to exploit, there cannot possibly be a reason to keep you apart?"
"Did Sherlock ever tell you about the time he got drunk in Cuba?"
"No."
"Over threw the government with a dance party and became King, not president, but KING, right before Mycroft was supposed to defuse some political problem. Of course, everything was hushed up and the status quo returned to keep the peace over all. Not sure how that works. A party city sounds fun to me. Sherlock was sixteen. Now imagine what a grown man, with an even bigger intellect, experience and government clearance could do. Add me to the picture with my education and influence, political beliefs and ideals, which Sherlock almost always listens to. What do you think Mycroft fears."
"Oh." John was shocked, but only monetarily, it did sound like something a bright genius teenager who was rebelling would do. "Mycroft and the government destroyed peace? Why?"
"Its all very political and top secret, it was a United Nations thing. They threatened Sherlock that should he ever try anything like that again, he'd disappear permanently."
"That seems so, so, wrong." John replied awe struck at how politics was played so dastardly under the table without the public even knowing.
"That's the world as it has stood for many centuries John. Sherlock is very lucky to have you; he'd never had anyone until you came along, no friends, no family besides me who saw him as anything thing other then a 'freak'. I'm pleased Myc hasn't chased you, or that detective inspector off. I wish so desperately that I could be more of a part of both boys life. But it just isn't possible." She seems resigned at this and turned away from the window and lent against the bench, back to the window. I would love nothing more then to be able to go out with both of my boys in public, but alas Myc won't risk exposure and Sherlock and I are forbidden by Myc and his overbearing nature. It is truly horrible existence in that way."
"It's wrong in every way" John agreed nodding, still watching his best friend, who had finished collecting the honey and was now heading back, he gave a wave, which John returned and then he turned to lean next to Christy. "Shall I put the tea on?"
"How very British of you"
"John is a strong believer in the idea that tea can fix all ills Mummy" Sherlock spoke up as he entered, "that said, he makes marvelous tea and you really should try it." He put the newly extracted honey on the table.
"We need to come up with a way to get Fatcroft off our back Mummy" Sherlock added suddenly in the quiet kitchen. "There must be a way to make him back off and let us be free, what he is doing is not legal"
"We've explored all legal avenues Sherlock dear" Mummy said calmly taking the proffered tea from John. "Hmm you really do make good tea John"
"Told you" Sherlock said proudly as though he had something to do with Johns tea making abilities. "Now what are we going to do, I'm sick of sneaking around, I want to be able to visit when ever I like and I want to show you 221B and my experiments!" Sherlock all but yelled
"Calm down Sherlock" John put a hand on his friend shoulder; "we'll come up with something between us. "But getting frustrated and angry will not solve anything, now, what are Mycroft's weaknesses?"
The three sat down, a pot of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits between them and started strategising.
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AN: The random ninja was a challenge for Nano, I'm not sorry
SHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSONSHERLOCKHOLMESJOHNWATSON
It was nearly five pm when the trio called it quits; every idea anyone managed to came up with was cancelled out almost immediately by one or another way in which Mycroft would undoubtedly catch them and then make the whole situation worse. He was a vindictive jerk.
Sherlock had been so excited to begin with; he really was very child-like in his way sometimes. John felt bad for being the one to have had pushed the subject.
"What if we just go the news? Find a live broadcast and out him on public television?"
"We don't want to hurt Mycy John dear" Christine stated calmly, "we still love him, and he bails Sherlock out quite a bit, we just want to be treated as adults, not children"
"Pity Mycroft is such a control freak," Sherlock added miserably, resting his chin on his palm with his elbow on his hand.
It was at that precise moment that the kitchen door flew open with a slam against the wall making them all jump, and Mycroft, umbrella and fine suit, flew in like a wind had pushed him through.
"Just what do you think you're doing!? How long has this been going on?! Did you think you get away with it, playing around behind my back like this?" The politian's rage rolled of him in waves, the tension was palpable in the air.
"Oh get off your high horse you daft git and take a seat, we need to talk." John answered sternly but not unkindly. Mycroft's suddenly appearance not bothering him at all, "I'm surprised it took you this long to track us, figured you'd never forgo a surprise, especially one from Sherlock.
"Anyway, right, here's the deal. Your Mum and brother love each other, they never stopped contacting each other and your rather large theatrics to keep them apart never worked, and if you pulled your over inflated ego out of your fat ass for just a few minutes and realised that everyone in the room is an adult, who consequently would like you to remain apart of this family, and no-one silently wishes you to disappear" John cast a sideways glace at Sherlock as he said this, "then we can sort this mess out and the three of you can be a proper family again. Okay? Okay, sit down, I'm putting the kettle on."
Everyone was so shocked to hear John speak so quickly, so normally and with so much authority, and to Mycroft like that, including Mycroft, that no–one had interrupted that Mycroft, slack-jawed, actually sat down.
"Right", John continued, returning to the table with a cup for Mycroft. "The way I see it is this. You are all related, all adults, all highly intelligent people. Correct?" three heads nodded in affirmation, he continued. "Therefore, despite any past tribulations caused by one or more of you, you are all capable of building bridges and walking over them, perhaps in a somewhat rocky manner, but over them all the same. Mycroft, Christine and Sherlock, let them see each other and stop spying and controlling them. Sherlock in return will cease to send you numerous cakes and other such nonsense using your credit cards to pay for them, he will also stop hacking your security service unless absolutely necessary. Christine will visit each of you, at your homes at least once of month and will promise not to encourage any 'undesirable' behavior from Sherlock that he does not already do on his own. Mycroft, you may as well also realise that controlling your brother's apartment with cameras and microphones peeves me too. Any in the bathroom and the bedrooms are to go. Is everyone agreed?"
"Your suggestions, while well intended I'm sure Dr. Watson, are not what is in the best int.."
"Cut the crap Mycroft" John said stoically, meeting the man eye to eye.
"Excuse me?" Mycroft replied shocked once again at the little doctors behavior. Sherlock was positively gleeful by this stage.
"You are a control freak, we get it. However, unlike your family dearest, who seem to actually give a damn about you and your precious career, I don't, I'll expose you to the world, and you can't stop me because doing so will hurt Sherlock, who you've sworn to protect. He will in turn, truly turn on you if you harm me. So, I ask again, are the suggested renegotiations of the current living arrangements for your family agreeable to all parties."
"YES!" shouted a beyond gleeful Sherlock
"Most certainly" agreed a smiling Christine, "Mycy? Please?" she added hopefully to her eldest and very red-faced son.
"Well played Doctor, there are always more layers to you then one expects. Conditions agreed to. If anything happens to Sherlock or Mummy though I shall hold you fully responsible" he sounded threatening, John ignored it.
Mycroft left without so much as a good bye.
"His pride is hurt, but he'll get over it" Christine piped up. "Now, when can I come to Baker St?"
"Today if you'd like Mummy" Sherlock answered politely, practically bouncing in his chair..
"Ah, no Sherlock, the place is a mess, remember, head the in the fridge, no milk, and the crocodile in the bath tub"
"Alligator John, and really, Mummy will like that, she can see how we really live"
"Not today dear, it's a bit late, how about next Saturday, and we'll invite Mycy too, try and mend some of that ego."
"It needs deflating sometimes Mummy, how else would he fit through the door?"
"Sherlock…" Christine warned, but with a smile just hinting under her warning tone.
"I'll see you both next Saturday!"
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By the time John and Sherlock got home, neither of them felt much like eating and all both really wanted was just to go to bed. Sherlock however had just one quick errand he felt had to be completed before the next day.
"Be right back" he said dashing out quickly. John shaking his head at Sherlock's sudden burst of energy and heading to his room.
Sherlock carefully wrapped the cufflinks and put in a small, hand written note on some nice white card. He also enclosed a credit card.
Thank you Brother
From Sherlock.
The End