Everybody Loves John Watson

"I'm sorry John," She sounded distraught, but that was nothing new. "I just- I'm not good enough for you." Before he could respond, the line went dead. John sighed quietly to himself. He would have been broken up about it if it weren't for the fact that this always happened. His girlfriends, though he wasn't sure he could actually call them that, never lasted more than a few dates. This particularly one had managed four, unfortunately that was currently the record. They'd had dinner, which he thought had gone very well. They got along great, plenty of flirting and tender touches, and laughing (and no Sherlock), it was perfect. The date ended with a bit of snogging in the back of a cab and plans for coffee. Coffee went well, more getting to know each other and casual conversation. Then the cinema. She'd seemed a little nervous, but they often did. John was getting suspicious as to why, now. Still, they had a good time, flirting touches and a bit of whispering, and more kissing.

Their last date had been stressed, though. It was nothing more than a nice little dinner, but she was antsy. She kept adverting her eyes around as if someone was after her and, of course, it made John just as nervous. He'd questioned her several times about it, but she brushed it off and played a pretend smile. She flinched from his touch and when he tried to sooth her worry, she hurried off to the loo. The ride to her flat was quiet and she kept to the completely opposite side. Sure enough, the next day he received a call.

It wasn't the first time things had gone this way. In fact, it was a natural occurrence in his life. At first, John was sure it was him and that he kept doing something wrong, but their excuses were always a little bit strange. She was pretty and smart and he was positive even Sherlock would approve of her, if he absolutely had to, and John didn't understand why she would think she wasn't good enough. He debated calling back, but he knew she wouldn't answer. They never did. He was positive it wasn't him. Someone was doing this on purpose and he didn't like it. His first suspect was Sherlock, of course.

Wet sand eyes turned to his flat mate. Sherlock didn't notice, at the moment. He was fast asleep, face down on the couch. It was the first time he'd slept in days and John wasn't in any hurry to wake him. He was going to break yet and he did everything he could to make sure that didn't happen. As a doctor and Sherlock's closest friend, sometimes he just had to force him to do things. Due to Sherlock's run in with drugs before, it was incredibly hard to drug him, which was good in some ways, and awful in others. Thankfully, all John had to do was make him lay down and usually his body did the rest. On rare occasions, he needed very loud, very white noise to drown out his after-case thoughts, but he'd gone down easily today.

John had been hoping, but not expecting, another date. He wasn't the kind of man to simply date women for sex, but for fuck's sake, it had been months since he'd had any real contact. He sighed lowly as he relaxed into the little plush seat. A small glance around the room reminded him that tomorrow would require a lot of cleaning and making Sherlock clean. The taller male would keep everything if allowed to and in their small flat, it was just impossible. For now, though, there was nothing he could do. He plucked the paper out from under an avalanche of collective papers. He flickered out the edges and quietly browsed over the print.

The flat was quiet for once in a few weeks, and John was left alone with his thoughts. Not for very long, however. Quietly, his phone buzzed against his pocket. He wasn't particularly hopeful for her to call and it wasn't. It was Lestrade.

Grab a pint? GL

Sure. JW

He gave Sherlock another look over, to make sure he was still sleeping, before scribbling down a note as to where he was going. John stuck it to his forehead. Sherlock would probably instantly know where he went, but there was no harm in making sure. He shrugged on his coat and left the little building with a little weight on his shoulder. As far as he was concerned, these things were only happening with his dates. Sherlock wasn't affected, which made him more wary of the man, and neither were the rest of the people in his everyday life. Not Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade, or even Sarah, even if she acted as though she knew something he didn't.

Lestrade was waiting for him outside, smiling as pleasantly as he always did. He was still dressed in his work clothes, and John assumed he'd just finished the rest of the paper work. After particularly brutal cases like this, it was typical for them all to need a little rest.

"Perfect timing." John complimented. Lestrade opened the passenger side door for him, but he didn't think much of it.

"Oh?"

"Just put my man child to sleep and another failed relationship." The blonde explained as if it were an everyday occurrence. It was, actually. Lestrade offered a small, sympathy free chuckle. Now, the little army man was never open mouthed about his relationships, but Lestrade always seemed to know a little more than he needed to and it was strange, seeing as he doubted Sherlock spread his business, especially to DI Lestrade.

"Then you definitely need a drink." The inspector assured him and John only nodded in agreement. "What happened with your girlfriend, if I may ask? You seemed happy most of the week."

"Yeah, well, I don't really know." He explained as he straightened out the edge of his coat and casually rested his hands in his lap. Lestrade's hazel eyes followed the movement with a flicker of the eyes as he drove. "Things always go well and then someone scares them off. You don't know anything about that, do you?"

"Sherlock?" Lestrade offered, though his tone was surer than his face was.

"That's what I was thinking." John sighed patiently. "But I don't think he'd actually frighten them like that. I mean, she really looked like someone was out to get her." He couldn't think of anyone that would want to do such a thing. If they were after him, it seemed unlikely that they would go to such lengths to keep him from becoming attached.

"Maybe you have a stalker?" He suggested. John had thought of that, too. "I mean, between your blog and being so popular, it's likely that you've attracted some attention, as well. You are an attractive man." The shorter male made a face of disapproval, but didn't mention the statement.

"I'm sure Sherlock would know by now if I was being followed by some stalker. On the other hand, I'm sure he would find it hilarious." He pinched the bridge of his nose in a way anyone would find endearing.

"I don't know how you put up with him."

"He has his good moments." John claimed. Sherlock wasn't always a pain, after all. Despite everyone people thought they knew about him, he could be very cuddly when he wanted to be, hold proper conversation on occasion, and could ask for attention without showing off. There were times where he could just sit beside John the couch, leaned against him, and pleasantly watch the telly. These times were few and far between, but John was even becoming fond of his lesser qualities. He'd given up on trying to break him of any of them, though he really did try to get him to be nicer to people.

He really didn't think Sherlock would allow him to be stalked. If he did know anything about it, then there had to be a good reason behind it. On the other hand, this was Sherlock Holmes. It wouldn't hurt to ask him about it. Sherlock usually gave him a straight answer if asked a straight question.

The small local pub was a quiet little place, leaving John and Lestrade to share a bit of casual conversation. After improving Sherlock's social skills, and directing him in a direction of not being a complete prick to his 'co-workers', he'd become decent friends with Lestrade. It was comforting to be able to chat with someone that didn't feel the need to point out every little detail of everything he said. Lestrade was just Lestrade, capable of people problems and people conversation.

"How's the Mrs.?"

"Finalized the divorce."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm happy."

It was a full hour and a half before Sherlock awoke and proceeded to send him a string of text consisting of asking where he was and what he was doing and who he was with. He wasn't even sure why he bothered with writing notes. He was just sober enough to properly respond, though it was delayed by his sluggish movements.

"You could ignore 'im." Lestrade insisted, though he was still slightly more sober than his mate.

"Yeah, if I want'a spend the next week in a special kind of hell." John grumbled back. He wasn't sure why Sherlock was always so desperate to know where he was. He could take care of himself, after all, and while Sherlock proved to be very helpful in such situations, he was always the one that got him into situations he needed to be saved from. Besides, he deserved a little relaxation after having to run all over London after him this week.

The older man snorted a little, rolling up his sleeves as if it would help him cool off. John examined his phone for further text, but received none. That was either good or extremely bad. He decided not to worry about it, though, and turned back to his beer. Lestrade seemed to be watching him more than he needed to be, but his mild haze and over all cluelessness left him not to think much of it.

"You wanna taste?"

"Hell yes." He responded perhaps a little too quickly. John held out the bottle he was holding and it took Lestrade a moment to realize they were not on the same page. The beer, right. That was what he meant. He unceremoniously took a swig from the stray bottle before sliding it back across the table top. More conversation followed, but he couldn't focus on it. He didn't want to admit this, but he was jealous of that damn bottle. It was impossible not to be with John's pale lips sliding over the dark lipped glass, tapping against his teeth every so often the smallest of 'clinks', and meting that perfectly shaped flexible tongue again and again.

Gregory Lestrade was in love with John Watson. It wasn't a sudden realization. It had been a feeling bubbling in the bottom of his stomach since they first met. He was an incredible person. Handsome, mild mannered, patient, Lestrade could name features all night. Well, if he were thinking properly. Honestly, did drinking really require that much mouth to bottle contact? He had bigger problems than that, though. One would think that the main problem here would be John's glowing heterosexuality, but his problem was bigger than that. Six whole feet bigger. His other problem was six feet and one inch. Or, better known, as Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.

He had other problems, sure, but they were hardly noticeable. Mycroft, on the other hand, had blatantly threatened him twice to stay away from John. He wouldn't, of course, and despite Mycroft's position, he didn't believe the man would truly hurt him for many reasons. Sherlock was slightly more of a problem, seeing as he lived with John, but thankfully, John kept the Holmes at an arm's length. He wasn't any different at the moment, but he was making more progress than he could say for the other two. After all, the Holmes did not 'have a pint'. They were cold and calculating people and John was a kind person, much more adapt to someone he could properly conversant with, which DI Lestrade just happened to be.

"And- fuck, if I find one more body part in the kitchen, I think I might actually choke him." That left him with the problem of John having little else to talk about. Lestrade understood, but it wasn't exactly flirting conversation. The little blonde man rubbed his cheek with his fingers and brought his palm over his lips, drawing it down to show the row of lovely white teeth.

"Sorry. You probably don't want'a hear about Sherlock." John slurred mildly. No. No he did not.

"Don't worry about it." Lestrade assured him with the smallest of shrugs. "You don't have anyone else ta talk ta."

"I don't." The smaller male agreed. "Thank you, Greg. Really."

"Course. Anytime." He smiled back. The night drew on and the conversation grew better. It went from talking about Sherlock, to more pleasant conversation about spots and a few exchanges of daily life stories, and bits of other things he probably wouldn't remember come tomorrow. He was proud to say, however, that he knew the other man slightly better than he had when they arrived. Eventually, they called it a night and called a cabbie to head home. John leaned him on as they waited, as if he couldn't support his own weight, but Lestrade didn't mind. He explained where to take them and the smaller male drifted to sleep in the back of the cab.

God he was gorgeous. He just wanted to run his fingers through those feathery blonde locks. He touched his fingers against the nape of John's neck and along his jaw. Dark beige eyes wearily peeked open to look at him and Lestrade simply could not resist those ever so slightly parted lips. He leaned into the smaller male romantically and was met with a face full of hand.

"Hey." John said sharply. "You're drunk. It's John." He explained firmly. Lestrade should have expected as much. John was completely oblivious to most forms of flirting. As long as it didn't come from a pretty girl, he didn't think anything of it. He couldn't be blamed for that. He obviously was open to homosexuality, if his sister wasn't proof enough of that, but John's brain was hardwired to be straight and it would take some doing to bend him around that. The best way would be to come right out and admit to being attracted to him, but he wasn't willing to risk that just yet.

John climbed out of the cab as it stopped before 221b. He patted Lestrade on the shoulder and instructed the cabbie on where to take his other passenger.

"You'll be okay?" He questioned in the kind way that he did.

"Mm." Lestrade responded. He was doing his best not to show his embarrassment and disappointment. It was for the best. He wouldn't have wanted a single kiss to turn into a shag and possibly more, after all. Nope, this goal had to be approached the hard way. Awesome.

"'Night Greg."

"Night John."

o-o-o

Sherlock watched the short blonde doctor climb out of the cab from the upstairs window. He was intoxicated, obviously, by the way he stumbled over his own feet and his key scratched at the lock on the door. He really wished John would be more careful. It was painfully obvious the DI was trying to get close to him.

"Sherlock, you're suppose to be asleep." The army man slurred and he shrugged out of his coat. He leaned against the wall and Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him. His hair was misplaced and there was a bruise forming on his bottom lip. It wasn't from kissing, though. His lips were dry and he wasn't flushed. He must have hit the bottle against his mouth a little too hard. He smelled heavily of Lestrade's cologne, he must have been leaning on him all night.

"Can't."

"Won't." John corrected him immediately. Sherlock didn't argue. It was a little true, after all. He couldn't sleep knowing that John was out with the enemy and he wouldn't sleep without knowing whether or not something had happened. His flat mate rustled about the flat a little, doing his best to make a bit of tea to help him sleep. Even while inebriated, John was so kind and pleasant. It was impossible not to come to be attracted to him, if not very protective. Love, as it turned out, was a finicky thing and normal love was boring.

Sherlock showed his love in less than conventional ways, but it was painfully clear that they weren't getting through to his little object of affection. His cluelessness would be annoying if it weren't so endearing. He wasn't too fond of others taking up with his John, either. Mycroft was significantly easier to keep away, but Lestrade was stubborn and John seemed determined to put himself in the DI's company. He settled himself back on the couch, bringing his arms around his knees as John set the heated cup on the little cluttered coffee table. John stretched out beside him, and drooped a little.

"This isn't tea."

"Mm." John answered automatically.

"You put oatmeal in this cup, John."

"Yeah. Night, Sherlock." Well John was useless at the moment. A few more moments and the blonde man was fast asleep. Lovely, he had a cup of oatmeal and a pissed man on his couch. Sherlock nudged at him, but he was firmly unconscious. Finally, he lifted John off from the couch and managed him up the stairs to his own room. He helped him out of his jumper and shoes and left him in the bed, looking giddy and flushed. Sherlock would never understand the want for such a state of mind; foggy and smashed. While he strived for a clearer mind, people were out there doing this to themselves. No wonder they were so stupid.

John arched against the bed a little and gave the sweetest of noises before puffing his chest out letting out a long sigh. It really was unfair how aphrodisiacal he was. Sherlock offered a small sigh and retreated from the room. John would get upset with him if he stayed awake all night again. So, quietly, he trudged back downstairs and took up the space on the couch. There was an experiment in his bed. Who knew bugs existed in the house, too. He'd have to get rid of the corpse before the smell started wavering through the flat. Again.

With thoughts of John in mind, to drown out his other thoughts, he drifted back to sleep. Sleep had never come particularly easy for Sherlock, often times requiring unorthodox methods. White noise worked for a while, but he quickly learned to tune it out. Now the only way was to exhaust himself until he simply lost consciousness or; John. It had been a little strange at first. He hadn't even been trying to sleep. In fact, he'd been in the middle of a case, sitting and staring blankly at his wall of information and out of nowhere, John started, for lack of a better word, petting him. The next thing he knew, he was fast asleep. Some sort of psychological response, if he had to guess, but it was nice none the less. John had a strange affect on people like that.

o-o-o

Morning came and went with neither disturbed. John's mild hang over drew him to remain in bed until it mostly subsided after noon. Thankfully, things were usually calm after a case like this, and Sherlock managed to stay asleep for most of the night. He was awake before his flat mate, but remained relaxed on the couch for another three hours for John to start moving about. Instantly, he pretended to be asleep when he came down the stairs.

John checked him over, quietly of course, before going about making a late breakfast. Something simple was ideal, and sure enough, Sherlock could hear him rustling about to make toast and tea.

"I know you're awake, Sherlock." The taller male rolled over a little, as if having just awoken. Grey eyes searched over John's back. Thankfully, he wasn't one to black out after drinking. He probably didn't remember everything clearly, but he did remember, which was the only reason he didn't blame Sherlock for putting oatmeal in the tea pot; again.

"Do you want some toast?"

"Mm." He wasn't particularly hungry, but he knew John would end up force feeding him if he didn't eat now. It had been a couple days since he'd had a decent meal. Most of it was little bites here and there, and often times in the middle of talking. He had to be careful around John, the sneak. If he wasn't, the medic would shove food in his mouth when it was open, which ruined his presentation more frequently than not.

"What happened with Lestrade?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just seem to be spending a lot of time with him." He pointed out. Oak eyes peered at him from over one of those pale shoulders.

"I am allowed to have other friends."

"I don't see why."

"Because I'm not a high functioning sociopath." John explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation. "I need more communication than you do." He buttered the piece of toast and dropped it on Sherlock's stomach. Sherlock huffed a little, though he did get a wonderful look at that midriff.

"Eat. I need to do some shopping." He laid out his day plans. Mycroft was probably going to pick him up if he was on his own, especially if he thought Lestrade was making better progress than he was. Sherlock wasn't about to let that happen.

"I'll come with you." The consultant offered. He was rewarded with a surprised look. Shopping with John couldn't possibly be that boring. Maybe he'd find something interesting.

"Oh. Well. That would be nice." John agreed. Sherlock never wanted to go shopping, with or without him. It was a little strange, but even Sherlock needed a little time away from the house. He probably had ulterior motives, but John tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He'd wait until later to bring up the subject of a possible stalker and/or him scaring away his dates. As he filled his empty belly, he messaged Lestrade.

Did you get home okay? JW

The DI had been pretty drunk if his attempt to snog him was anything to go by. John wasn't going to hold it against him, of course. With his marriage recently over and a few beers too many, it was possible that Lestrade had confused him for his ex-wife. He knew Greg had tried to mend their marriage, but she simply hadn't let it happen and it was typical for people to miss their spouses in such occasions. Lestrade probably didn't even remember it, anyways.

Yeah. Thanks. You're so good to me, Watson. GL

Someone has to be. JW

o-o-o

He was wrong. This was awful. Sherlock trudged on John's heels as he made his way through the market. It was a little disconcerting to have so many people watching him. John and his bloody blog was constantly bringing him attention he didn't want. It was the local mart, though, and most of the people already knew better than to approach him, unless they wanted their feelings hurt. It wasn't like he did it on purpose, but honestly; he just didn't care anything about them. He was less worried about girls flirting with him and more worried about them flirting with John. Though it was impossibly easy to make them scatter but it was still enraging to see John actually respond to such desperate attempts.

"Oh, sorry." Sherlock eyed the young woman as she quickly withdrew her hand from John's. He smiled pleasantly in return.

"It's fine. Last box, why don't you take it." He insisted. She smiled and brushed her hair back a little.

"I couldn't," She pestered back, touching her knees together and naturally drawing John's attention to her stocking covered knees. Whore. "But perhaps we could share it?" Of course, because the logical conclusion to this situation was to split the box of pasta in half. Sherlock glared at her over his shorter flat mate, but she didn't seem to notice. He couldn't blame her for that, at least. John's eyes were very hypnotizing. To end this conversation before it went any further, Sherlock pointedly grabbed the box in question and dropped it in John's basket.

"Come on." He purred suggestively over the other's shoulder. "You promised." In the same predictable way they always did, she glanced between them with surprised eyes before blushing and visibly backing away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize." She murmured quickly before hurrying away. John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Was that really necessary?"

"She was going to take forever. I want to go home." Sherlock dropped his shoulders and threw his head back a little like the man child he was.

"You know you hate shopping. Why did you come along in the first place? Also, can I just say this is the exact reason people think we're a couple." The army man pointed out prudently. It obviously wasn't working if girls kept trying to pick him up, Sherlock thought. What did he have to do to get them to understand that John was taken? He didn't know he was taken yet, but he definitely was. Sometimes it seemed the only thing that would keep them away was if he shoved his tongue down John's throat. He loved John, of course, but he wasn't entirely comfortable with the physical part. Not yet, anyways.

Sherlock simply didn't understand the need for physical release. He simply adored sitting with John and touching wasn't a problem, but sexual contact simply made no sense. Plus, the human mouth was filthy. Yeah, it was John, and probably decently clean, but the cleanest mouth was riddled with germs and he preferred to stick with his own germs. That was the 'normal' thing to do, though, and John was a normal man with normal needs. He couldn't hope to be in the running without some sort of sexual gratification. He'd run the scenario through his head a few times; confessing to John (which he would never actually do) and admitting that he didn't do the 'touching' thing (also of which he wouldn't do) and John would be okay with it and, in being John, he wouldn't push him or suggest anything or even complain. He'd treat it as a delicate subject, and that alone was endearing.

However, John would never be able to stick to it and his pent up sexual frustration would allow him to be swept up by Lestrade or Mycroft and Sherlock was not going to loss to either of them. He also had to admit, he'd never actually tried it before, and if the rest of the human population was severely overpopulated, there had to be something to it. Even so, it would be with John and strictly John. That meant a lot of research and, eventually, practice.

"To protect you from people like that, obviously."

"You came to protect me from girls?" John asked with a sour incredulous.

"Not necessarily 'girls'." Sherlock sniffed. The army man seemed to be completely ignorant to his jealously. He probably thought it was with malice intent. Sometimes he wished John would at least try to give him the benefit of the doubt. On the other hand, that did sound like something he would do to someone who wasn't John.

"For the last time, Sherlock, my life doesn't revolve around you." No, it didn't. He could understand that.

"But I'm interesting."

"Yeah. A little too interesting, sometimes."

"Is that even possible?"

o-o-o

Despite his best effort, Sherlock managed to get distracted and left John alone. Either he had impossibly good timing, or Mycroft was having a more watchful eye than he needed to be. When he turned away from the curious little store window, John was climbing into the tinted window car, groceries and all.

"This better be important." John scoffed as the car pulled up alongside him. It could only be Mycroft, and he never wanted anything good. He was slightly surprised to find the brother in person rather than his assistant.

"John," He greeted formally.

"Don't tell me Sherlock did something." It had to be especially bad if Mycroft was actually here in person. John couldn't think of anything that warranted the older Holmes' visits, but it also wouldn't be the first time Sherlock did something awful without him knowing about it.

"Not yet." Mycroft answered simply.

"Then why are you here?" Nothing against Mycroft, but he usually came with bad things, either news or cases. The older male didn't seem to show any signs of having bad news but he rarely did. Instead, he simply re-straightened his tie and gave John a one over with his grey eyes.

"Settle down. I've simply been very busy lately. I haven't any time to keep up with my brother and his successes," Though the word was obviously used loosely. "You can catch me up over a bit of lunch, yes?"

"I have groceries,"

"Someone will take care of those."

"And Sherlock-"

"I'm sure he can manage to be separate from you for a decent amount of time." Mycroft responded sourly. John's stomach growled a little, reminding him of the toast he'd eaten today and little else. After a night of booze, he could do with a decent, late or not, lunch. He nodded a little.

"That actually sounds great." The blonde man agreed with little reluctance. Knowing Mycroft, it would probably be somewhere deserted and expensive. Sometimes, however, that was just as nice as a crowded little pub or a night at home.

The little café wasn't as empty as he thought it would be, but it was still nice. Quiet and calm, though everything was with Mycroft, and the little simplistic dividers provided the perfect amount of privacy. It took John a whole of two minutes to realize that more than half, or perhaps all, of the patrons were, in fact, not customers. Sure, he didn't hold the same level of induction that the Holmes did, but he wasn't completely 'small minded' as Sherlock would like to believe. Even so, it was still nice and they weren't that obvious. He distracted himself with the lovely scent wavering in from the kitchen. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it smelled bloody amazing.

"He was well behaved while we were talking to her children. I was a little surprised." John explained as he glanced over the menu. Sometimes it was hard to know if Mycroft was paying him any attention, but as far as he was concerned, he was always paying attention, he simply didn't find it essential to give any kind of understanding.

"He's not usually good with, uh,"

"People."

"Basically." John admitted reluctantly. It wasn't entirely Sherlock's fault, sometimes. The rest of the time, it was. If only Sherlock could bite his tongue occasionally, people wouldn't be overcome with the desire to punch him. Of course he understood that Sherlock didn't always understand when he was in the wrong, but he couldn't possibly be that blind to socially acceptable things to say all of the time. No, he just liked to push people away.

"But, yeah. He didn't make the little girl cry and managed not to verbally assault the boy and even I wanted to do that." He murmured. Mycroft was still having a bit of trouble understanding how someone like John managed to put up with someone like Sherlock. Relationships like that simply didn't happen in real life. He was happy for his brother and was more than pleased that he had found someone that could keep him in line and for the most part, out of trouble, but things were not supposed to get romantic. It had been insanely unlikely that anything would have formed between the two, let alone Sherlock actually falling for him. Mycroft should have felt happy for him, but things like this go sour fast.

Alright, and a little bit because if anyone deserved a patient, well mannered, handsome, highly skilled man like Watson, it was him, not Sherlock. Things between John and Sherlock were simply not to be. Eventually, John would have enough of his stubborn younger brother and their friendship would turn to the rocks. If they were to start having maritals, then things would simply get increasingly worse. So, in a way, this was for Sherlock's own good, and if it just so happened to benefit them both, so be it.

"Good." It had started innocent enough. John was tending to his little brother and it was working. That meant watching them closely and carefully until he was sure things were safe. The modest military medic had never seemed untrustworthy, though stupidly brave with misplaced trust, but never dishonest, but Mycroft always took it upon himself to make sure things were going exactly as planned. He didn't exactly expect to check one of the cameras and find John beating his brother, but there really was no telling with normal people. It had been entirely possible that John was a psychopath himself, among other things his brother would have simply looked past.

That failed to be the case, though, and instead, Mycroft was met with the picture of a kind hearted, tolerant, one of a kind solider of a man. Even now, he sat so stiffly, shoulders squared up as if sitting any other way would insult him somehow. It was the perfect balance of respect and comfort. Yes, Mycroft could make him disappear off the face of the earth, cliché as it was, but he wouldn't, and one look at John told that all. Without having to look directly at him, he could see John work his tongue in his mouth as he thought.

"I would suggest the chowder."

"Is that what I smell?"

"It is." Conversation drifted in and out from being about Sherlock. It was one of the most casual conversation he'd had in days and certainly the most pleasant one. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd had an actual meal in the last three days. Between meetings, he'd done his best to make room for meals, as he always did, and rarely made them. Instead, he was left to swallow down whatever he could and hurry off again. It was a killer on his diet.

This was what he enjoyed so much. After several long grueling days of particularly brutal national emergencies, all he wanted was someone he could sit down with and have a completely non related question. He didn't have to worry about making conversation, the two men could comfortably sit in silence at this point, he didn't have to worry about John trying to talk secrets out of him, and better men than him have tried, and he didn't have to worry about being attacked, which Sherlock had shown he wasn't above doing if the occasion called for it. Just a nice little normal person lunch.

"Are you okay? You look a little stressed." He knew John hadn't phrased the question exactly how he wanted, but it was unnecessary. Of course he was stressed, he took care of a nation and occasionally more.

"Certainly, though I must say I feel better now." Mycroft offered a small smile but John only responded with an unimpressed frown.

"You should take better care of yourself, Mycroft. You're no better than Sherlock, sometimes. I'm sure things can wait while you take ten minutes to shove a sandwich in you. And have you even slept?" When was the last time he'd been scolded? Not since he was a child, surely. The older male rubbed his lower eyelid with his thumb, as if it would wipe away the bags there. He didn't have much of a response, though. He did need to take better care of himself and there was no excuse for that.

"You should go home and sleep after this."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I will."

o-o-o

Sherlock Holmes, Gregory Lestrade, and Mycroft Holmes were all madly in love with John Watson.

And John H. Watson had no bloody idea.