Chapter 2
It was only a matter of days till he would be forced to use violence on his own brother. Sherlock sat motionless, his eyes blank, he was not eating, not drinking. It was only a matter of days till malnourishment would slowly start killing him and Mycroft would never let that happen. He knew it: In only a few days he would force his beloved brother into a clinic, force him to eat and drink, force him to live, even though there was nothing left of the genius he had been until a few hours ago.
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Sherlock was with John. Deep down in his mind he had made himself a secret place, a place full of memories, a place where no harm could be done to him. Sherlock was not lonely, he was with John.
"Is this all right?" he whispered into John's ear while he touched his naked body, his chest rising and falling as John tried to catch his breath. Sherlock kissed John behind his ear, his tongue slowly traced the line of John's neck, down his back. Sherlock could not keep his hands by himself, touched John again, before he kissed him.
Sherlock was so insecure when it came to love. "Am I doing it right, John?"
John chuckled. "Stop asking", he said. "Deduce!"
And so Sherlock did.
Breathing: Ragged. Pupils: Dilated. Heart beat: Too fast. Body: Full of heat. Ohhhhhhh! And clearly in a state of arousal. Like Sherlock himself.
He kissed John again, pushed his tongue into John's mouth this time; licked his lips, his teeth.
John moaned and Sherlock pressed his body against his lover's lean frame.
"Sherlock", John whispered.
And from somewhere outside his safe-place Sherlock felt pain, deep down in his heart. But Sherlock pushed it away, buried it again in this joyful memory.
"John, I want you so much."
John chuckled again. "You know what to do, Sherlock, don't you?"
"I am afraid." It was seldom Sherlock admitted something like that. And John touched his face caringly.
"You don't have to, you know, not with me." And with that he pushed the flask of lubricant into Sherlock's hand.
It was the first time Sherlock truly made love to a man. He took John slowly and carefully, because Sherlock feared for his own sanity. He had never buried himself in a man and it felt like heaven. John was heaven, John was safe.
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Mycroft watched as silent tears slowly fell from his brother's eyes, down his cheeks, over his bruised lips. Mycroft watched and sighed because Sherlock still did not move.
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Sherlock was not the cuddling type. He was far too restless to lie still next to John. It was one of the seldom moments, shortly after they had made love, that Sherlock rested his head on John's chest, listened to the older man's heart beat. John slowly stroke Sherlock's head.
"Don't be sad", John said and Sherlock knew this was not part of his memory. "Don't be sad, Sherlock, for I am here and I will never leave you."
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Mycroft Holmes always was in control, only few people had once seen him truly angry and no one had ever seen his wrath. But after watching the video he smashed the screen in total rage, his face a burning red, he was screaming in anger, he kicked it until it fell over and down on the ground. He kicked it again before taking a deep breath. The mask was – again – in place. Every one of his staff understood: Taking hostages when Mycroft Holmes was involved was quite stupid. Taking John hostage was the worst mistake anyone could make.
To be continued