Sherlock looked at John with a lost look on his face. He hadn't acted on his 'feelings' before, because he had been sure that John was definitely 'Not Gay'. But now, he was confused and scared and unsure of what to do next. John, his dear, sweet John, had kissed him and it had been perfect. He was practically laying on top of John, and they embraced and neither wanted to end it. But Sherlock was much more vulnerable right now, than he was before, and his cold mask had vanished. He didn't think he could handle it if John left him or if he treated him with pity.
"Could you—please, could you…" he stopped himself, unsure if he wanted to voice his desire.
"What is it, Sherlock? You can tell me" was John's reply. His voice was kind and caring and it soothed him so much.
"Would you…stay with me, tonight." He finally gushed out, his voice shaking and his body trembling slightly.
Here he was. Open for John, nothing hidden, willing to reveal anything to John if he so wished.
John lightly chuckled.
"I wasn't thinking of doing anything else" and with that he kissed the top of Sherlock's head and brushed the curls with his palm softly. He didn't even have to think twice about what he was about to do. He put an arm behind Sherlock's knees and another on his back and stood up, carrying him bridal style to his own room. Sherlock had put his arms around John's neck, and buried his face in his chest, not unlike a small child.
John had no trouble carrying Sherlock, even though he was a grown man, because he was a waif and practically weighed nothing. Once he got into the bedroom, he closed the door and slowly and gently put Sherlock on the bed before joining him and cuddling him to his chest.
Morning came and the two still slept entangled together. With the light streaming in, the slumber was ruined and both men were woken up. Sherlock looked up at John from his hiding place in Johns chest. John's eyes met Sherlock's and he smiled and ruffled his hair tenderly. Sherlock shuffled his body upwards a bit, to find a more comfortable position, on top of John's. he couldn't help but think that this was exactly where he wanted to be, that it would take a lot to get him to leave this comfortable position. And that was exactly when he remembered everything that happened the night before and that Mycroft would be coming.
"We need to get up" He said huskily, his voice still sleepy and felt John sigh beside him. It was obvious that neither wanted to move.
"Okay" John eventually said. He hugged Sherlock tighter to him, before letting go. He sat up tiredly and ran a hand through his own hair before he got up.
After changing from yesterday's clothes, they both found each other in the living room. John finished making the teas, and sat down beside Sherlock on the sofa. Mycroft would be coming any time.
"There are some things we have to talk about," John put his hand up to stop Sherlock from interrupting him, "and before you start using your brilliant, genius, mind, just listen. I need to know exactly how you feel, exactly how you want to go with this." They both knew that Sherlock wasn't one to voice his feelings.
"I don't know exactly what it is that I'm feeling, but I do know that when I woke up and you were holding me, that everything felt so much better; everything felt perfect. I could almost pretend I was normal for a few seconds and that—" he was interrupted by John.
"Don't ever say that! Don't ever say that again! You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on. When you play your violin, I feel this pressure on my chest and I know that I could listen to you play for the rest of my life. You are one of the smartest, most exquisite creatures I have ever seen and known and you are perfect. Will you be my lover, Sherlock? Will you let me in? Will you let take care of you and cherish you and love you and if I have to, I will remind you how much you matter to me every day if you let me?" John chocked out. He was laying himself bare and he could tell that Sherlock was opening up a bit more.
Sherlock looked shocked at John's outburst. Like he hadn't expected him to say such things to him.
"I…yes, I, yes I'll be your lover" and he was crushed to John's body, their lips meeting for their second kiss which somehow felt so much better than their first.
And of course, their new bliss was interrupted by a knock at the door. Mycroft.
Of course it was. Just as they had finally had their moment.
John stood up to open the door, a faint blush still on his cheeks. He wasn't sure what Mycroft would do or say and Sherlock was his baby brother…. What did he get himself into?
"Come in" John said as he opened the door. Mycroft was wearing his suit, of course, and still carrying his umbrella, because why wouldn't he. He closed the door and went into the kitchen.
"Tea or coffee?" he asked, rummaging through his cupboards. He knew the answer already, but it didn't hurt to ask.
"Tea, if you wouldn't mind" John couldn't help but notice his tired voice, almost anguished, but said nothing.
The flat was left in silence until John brought over Mycroft's tea.
"I was not expecting you to reveal…so much to your colleagues, last night Sherlock" His voice was strained, as if he wasn't sure what to say or maybe as if he was holding something back. John looked between the brothers, feeling as if he was intruding and so whispered in Sherlock's ear that he would be with Mrs Hudson and that if he needed him, he just needed to yell.
Once John left, the brothers were left in silence once more. They were staring at each other, trying to see where they stood. Sherlock knew that Mycroft was disappointed in him, mainly for never revealing to him everything that went on in that house, but there was something else. Almost as if he was afraid of something. Sherlock took a leap, he did something he normally wouldn't, but his mind was still addled and later he could blame it on that. He stood up from his seat as quickly as was possibly and jumped onto Mycroft's lap, something he hadn't done since he was a child.
He held Mycroft and Mycroft held him and they both knew that they were both crying. Sherlock was holding onto him as if his life depended on it and his body was trembling; Mycroft was hugging him tightly and rubbing his back, soothing him, as he used to do.
This was how they were. When nobody was around, this was how they acted towards each other. Best of brothers, thick as thieves, the only people that understood each other perfectly.
It had been a while since the last time they were truly alone, and so they still acted as the world expected them to; cold and unfeeling and detached. But they were no such things. You could say that they were the opposite, actually. That their higher intellect actually made them understand people and feelings more than the average person. That they felt too much.
"Oh Myc, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you everything, all this time but I couldn't…I tried everything to make it go away. I modified my mind palace, I played everything but that, but nothing worked." He sobbed into Mycroft's chest.
"Shh…Sherly…shh, baby brother, it's okay. I've got you and I'm not letting go." Mycroft's voice was low and smooth and almost like chocolate, or chocolate cake.
Sherlock's sobbing came to a stop and after a while so did his trembling. He knew he had to do it. This was what he had been waiting for. He could finally reveal everything to his brother.
"I know you heard everything I said last night." Sherlock began. He could feel that it was probably going to be a game of 20 questions.
"You never told me that you kept everything secret because of Bee. [that was name of his bee, yes original, I know]" Mycroft stated, in obvious surprise. Sherlock hadn't expected this to be the first thing he would ask, and his body involuntarily shuddered. Which Mycroft felt and so resumed rubbing his brother's back.
"There's more to it." He took a deep breath, and then released it. "That day, when he found Bee, he was coming into my room to punish me. He seemed to have realised just how much we cared about each other and he was afraid of what you'd do, later on, if you knew exactly what was happening. Everything I said about his threat was real, except that he had a few more terms. It wasn't all about Bee. Most of it was about you. He told me that if I didn't stop talking to you, if I revealed anything that he would take away everything that mattered to me. He said that he would kill you in front of me and then he would kill me. There was nothing else for me to do. I love you Mycroft, I wasn't about to let him take the one thing most precious to me, away."
"Oh Sherlock…" Mycroft pressed his head harder into Sherlock. Never had he expected their father to threaten Sherlock with his life. When Sherlock had stopped calling him at school, he had thought that he was still angry with him leaving but not…this.
"So yes. I agreed. I let him do whatever he wanted with me knowing that you would be safe. That he would never get his hands on you." Sherlock whispered to his brother.
"Sherlock, I was the one that was supposed to look after you. Not the other way around. But thank you. Thank you so much for doing that for me. I will never forget it." Mycroft was quiet for a few seconds. "I know that this may bring back worse memories but, could you tell me why. Why did you go for drugs?"
Sherlock's body tensed for a second before it went sack again.
"When you came to rescue me, I had already attempted to end my life 5 times. Once you took me away I was lost. I wasn't sure what to do anymore. I knew that what he did was wrong, my mind knew the things he did and said weren't good but my mind and my body had been conditioned. They were used to the treatment, to the pain, so I did anything I could to stop feeling. And so I found Morphine and Cocaine and they numbed me for a while. They made everything stop. When I was high I didn't think of him or of what he did to me.
But then I never wanted the feeling to end. I was so used to it, so dependent on it, that I forgot that I had you now. And that, like when I was younger, you would protect me. But when I realised that, it was too late and I had OD'ed twice. It was only by the second time that I realised that. When I woke up, I saw you sitting there, beside me, just as you had the time before. But it was too late. And by then I didn't know how broken our relationship was, if you still wanted me around or if it was all pretence. I didn't know how to reach you. So I stopped.
I made myself as unfeeling as possible, as cold as I could, like our mother. I pushed everything away, I pushed you away, and I tried to do everything by myself. I couldn't stand and watch myself hurt you, to see myself slowly become him. So I tried everything to get you to hate me."
Sherlock could feel his cheeks wet, again, and a growing, wet, patch on his shirt, where his brother was crying silently into. It was almost as if their roles had been swapped, it was Sherlock comforting Mycroft, not Mycroft comforting Sherlock. Actually, no. It was them comforting each other. Just as it should be. Just as it had been.
The next thing Sherlock did was exactly what he had done when Mycroft came for him. He stood up and took Mycroft's hand. He led him to his room where he laid on the bed, and brought his brother down with him. There was no need for words. They always could manage without them. He pulled the covers over both of them and in the silence of his room, he whispered:
"I love you, Mycroft." A tear made his way down his face.
"I love you too, Sherlock" And another tear fell down his face.
It was an hour and a half later, that John had come back to their flat. It had been too quiet and John wanted to know what was going on. He made his way silently through the flat, and when he didn't find either of them, he went to Sherlock's room. The door was open ajar, enough so that he could see the two interlocked silhouettes on the bed, holding each other.
He took out his phone and quickly took a photo without disturbing them. Once that as done, he closed the door gently and went back downstairs, to Mrs Hudson.