A/N: First, thank you, all my readers and reviewers. I've let you all down this week by not replying much; I blame it on RL. At the moment, my exhausted hubby is sleeping through his work shift, our two boys and I are at varying stages of pneumonia & strep, our cat Tigger is at the vet trying to regain mobility, the German Shepherd that attacked her is free and uncited, and our neighbors are insufferable. I want to thank you all for the many good wishes on behalf of my family and our cat – honestly, I was afraid I'd get a cat-hater or two mocking me, but that only happened from my estranged family. Strange world, eh? For those of you who have also lost pets, I truly feel for you. We have rescued and placed homeless cats and dogs for over a decade now, and have adopted many into our own home. Losing one is pure pain, and I applaud everyone who continues to open their hearts and homes despite prior loss.
On the plus side, you guys have been INCREDIBLE. My "Schooled" series was well-received, and I have recovered from the mean reviewer who abandoned "Did You Know" because she hated the Sirius/Gabriel pairing and couldn't stand to read any more. (I'm just unwell, and that makes me a little more likely to get my feelings hurt is all. No big deal.) Two WONDERFUL people, 6927Empire's Sheep & Tinanl, stepped up to try to help when they read how much I wanted to fully read the story "Through Your Black Hair, My Hands" (partially translated from Chinese by CrownofGlory), and it is now being posted by Tinanl here on FFN. I pledged each of them a one-shot, although they asked for nothing. Thank you Hortensia; I am honored. Love to my regular shout-outers; you know your names!
My work is slowed a lot, as you can tell, by RL. I can always write, but focused writing seems to require a degree of wellness from me. So, my plan is the next writing update will be "Demon Team", but don't be surprised if you get another chapter of "Bright New Day" or 'Schooled", instead. Serious editing is set aside until I can concentrate fully; maybe a week…. Okay, done with the personal summary. Here's the fun stuff (I hope!). Happy Reading!
WyrdSmith
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FROM CHAPTER 1
Having pulled up at Sherlock's building, Mycroft gracefully exited the car and opened the front door to the familiar building. Stepping into the hallway, the first thing to register on his senses was the overwhelmingly, wonderful aroma of cinnamon and baking bread. Closing his eyes to enjoy the incredible smell, Mycroft considered just why Mr. Potter was baking Mycroft's absolute favorite culinary delicacy.
Nearly floating up the stairs after the aroma, Mycroft Holmes decided that, regarding the mysterious Mr. Harry Potter, today had definitely given the elder Holmes food for thought.
He was going to greatly enjoy sinking his teeth in.
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CH2: THE FIRST BITE IS THE SWEETEST
Nearing the top of the stairs, Mycroft heard a small "yoo-hoo" whistle to his immediate left. Turning his head to glance up, he caught a flash of bright green eyes smiling down at him. Before he could utter a greeting, a seeker-swift hand popped a bite-size piece of the most incredible, warm-from-the-oven cinnamon bread in his mouth. Mycroft immediately abandoned his momentary startlement in favor of simply savoring the delicacy, closing his eyes and moaning just a little, although he would never admit it. My God, if Mr. Potter cooked like this, Mycroft would buy him the whole damn building just to keep him in place. Reluctantly swallowing, the British Government opened his deep blue eyes and met smiling green head-on.
"Mr. Potter, if this is how you greet all of your guests, I imagine this building will become quite popular in the near future," Mycroft managed, somewhat overcome at the sight of a jeans and t-shirt-clad, barefoot Harry Potter leaning casually over the railing. In the two years since Mycroft had last seen this young man, he had changed considerably. His black hair was longer now, just sweeping his shoulder blades, and there were no more spectacles blocking one's view of those amazing, verdant eyes. But what struck Mycroft most profoundly was the general air of relaxation the young man wore, as if his decision to retire had lifted a massive weight from those slim shoulders. Which, by all accounts, it had.
A quirky grin flashed over the handsome young face as Harry gestured for Mycroft to come all the way up the stairs. As Harry headed down the hall to his own flat, he said over his shoulder, "Your brother and the two not-gay, not-boyfriends are over here, Mycroft. It seemed more effort than it was worth to keep Sherlock on his side of the fence, so I just waved a surrender flag before the siege could begin. I used the universal sign for peace – homebaked desserts. I see it works on scary government types as well as sociopaths, doctors and Detective-Inspectors! I must remember to tell Hermione." A laughing, green flash of eyes over his shoulder beckoned Mycroft further into the open doorway of 221C Baker Street.
Bemusedly following Harry into his new apartment, Mycroft could not help but pause and stare at the sight that met him. It seemed that overnight – and, considering Mr. Potter's abilities, that may well be fact – the somewhat old-fashioned apartment had been completely redone. Light, wooden floors gleamed underfoot, showcasing the bright area rugs and comfortable furniture that decorated the room. What had been a small front room and a tiny kitchen was now one suspiciously large, open, airy space. Tucked along the joining wall to Sherlock's apartment was a state-of-the-art kitchen, half of which occupied what had been a 10 x 8 dining nook and wrapped around into the open space of the living area by way of a long, circular counter with a folding-counter doorway off to the side. Seated on solid, plush dining stools on one side of the opening were Detective Inspector Gregory LeStrade and Doctor John Watson, each of whom waved briefly as they voraciously consumed the warm cinnamon bread placed before them. To the other side of the opening, seated by himself (naturally) was Sherlock, who surprisingly had accepted a plate of the cinnamon bread, too, although he did not appear to be eating it so much as inspecting it. The entire room gave off a sense of airiness and comfort and conviviality, greatly helped by the intoxicating aroma from the dessert du jour.
Harry ducked under the counter and gestured toward the coat hooks on the wall. "Hang your stuff up and have a seat, Mycroft; I'll get you a plate. What would you like to drink? I've got pretty much everything non-alcoholic." He busied himself in the kitchen as Mycroft found himself simply obeying the younger man, shedding his coat and placing it and his umbrella on the handsome pewter hooks lining the wall. He noted the benches below for removing and storing footwear, and nodded approvingly. Very efficient.
Sherlock answered Harry, "Mycroft will have tea, Mr. Potter. He always has tea." He continued to poke suspiciously at the aromatic bread in front of him, wearing a look of deep puzzlement.
Mycroft seated himself next to Sherlock, taking a moment to appreciate the surprising comfort of the raised chair, and said easily, "I would indeed enjoy a cup of tea, Mr. Potter, if you don't mind. Sherlock, what exactly are you afraid of there?" He nodded a greeting to Watson and LeStrade, who were completely focused on appreciating every bite they took and uttering decadent moans and sighs as they did so.
Harry flashed another grin over at the elder Holmes as he placed the kettle back on the stove. "No trouble at all, Mycroft. And since I've already insisted on calling you Mycroft, do call me Harry, yeah?" At Mycroft's agreeable nod, he added, "And Sherlock, I'd like to know what you think is wrong with my sin-bread, too. It's not poisoned, I promise you. From what I hear, such concerns would be greater in your kitchen than in mine."
John snorted a little, suffering a small flashback to the reason why he always checked the milk before he poured it now, and covered his mouth so that he could speak with some degree of politeness without giving up any precious consumption time. "You've got that much right, Harry. Our kitchen is classified "Hazardous" at all times. But Sherlock is probably trying to figure out what you did with the bread to make it smell so damn good."
Mycroft smiled in thanks as Harry placed a square, black-lacquer plate in front of him, loaded with three, thick slices of cinnamon bread. He sighed in resignation, knowing that this would absolutely ruin his dieting efforts for the week, but having no intention of demonstrating willpower. He accepted the tea that Harry poured and busied himself preparing it as he commented, "It would be my guess that Sherlock is puzzling out exactly why he wants to eat the – "sin-bread", did you call it? Apropos! – rather than dissect it."
This caught Harry's attention, and he turned to look piercingly at Sherlock. The World's Only Consulting Detective froze beneath the gaze, stunned by the impact he suffered under the full force of those intelligent, emerald eyes. Blinking in shock, he wrenched himself back under control and glared equally at Harry and Mycroft, who had a suspiciously knowing smirk on his face, and said haughtily, "I would indeed like to know why this food seems so appealing. Have you drugged it, Mr. Potter?"
Harry stared at the younger Holmes incredulously, before looking to the others to see if Sherlock was having him on. Based on the rolled eyes of the two not-daters in the corner and the smirk on Mycroft's handsome face, it seemed the younger Holmes was serious. How very interesting. "Oh, now, you know I can't let that pass. Why would you assume that a food item you watched me prepare is drugged, just because you find it appealing? Do you not normally find food appealing, Sherlock?"
Sherlock glared at the younger man and said sharply, "You do realize that I have not given permission for you to use my given name, Mr. Potter?" Three grins flashed along the counter at Harry's prompt, "Yes, Sherlock, I caught that. Now, what about the food?" It seemed that Sherlock was going to be out-Sherlocked today. Promising entertainment, indeed. Lestrade laughed outright as John quoted from one of many movie-vids, "Oh, look, dinner and a show!" And although the reference went right over Mycroft's head as well as Sherlock's, Harry's enthusiastic "Save the melon!" reduced the two jokers at the end of the counter to giggles, made much worse by the utterly perplexed look on Sherlock's face.
Sherlock's attention abruptly refocused on Harry when the young man tapped two fingers demandingly on the counter in front of Sherlock's plate. He looked up in irritation, and actually found himself swallowing in slight intimidation at the piercing green gaze that confronted him. After a moment of stubbornness, Sherlock huffed slightly and said irritably, "It is fairly well-known that I am not terribly fond of food. It is merely sustenance, a necessary evil, to be undertaken as rarely as possible whilst still fueling the body. Therefore, the fact that I actually seem to want to partake of this bread is highly suspect."
Anticipating mockery or even simple amusement, none of the four guests were expecting the thoughtful look that appeared on Harry's face. He studied Sherlock for a moment in silence, and then asked, "Have you ever tasted any food that appealed to you? Is there any food you particularly enjoy?" At Sherlock's look of incomprehension, Harry nodded as if having had a suspicion confirmed. He did not miss Mycroft's wistful look as he gazed yearningly at the second and third uneaten pieces of cinnamon bread before him. Leaning forward a bit, he focused on the elder Holmes and asked, "And what is your story, Mycroft? Was it not to your taste?"
Mycroft could have wept at the fallacy of that. "Harry, this was easily the most delicious food I have tasted in years. I would like nothing more than to finish off this plate, but my diet is already in quite enough danger as it is." Looking up at the young man staring intensely at him, he took a moment to mentally enjoy the verbal twisting of the fact that he was puzzled by the young man's puzzlement.
Harry folded his arms and thought deeply. The four men simply watched him, unsure if he had been offended by the incomparable Holmeses. Sherlock, at least, didn't particularly care, but it was interesting, all the same. After a moment of silence, Harry raised his startling eyes to Mycroft's and asked, "Why are you dieting?"
Sherlock immediately snorted, ignoring Mycroft's feeling as he always did, and said baldly, "Because his stomach gets fat, of course! Mycroft loves food far too much." He ignored John and Gregory's glares with practiced ease, but found himself once again frozen under the piercing gaze of Harry Potter.
Harry leaned over to Sherlock, locking their gazes in pure challenge, and said with some menace, "In my home, Sherlock Holmes, you will be civil to my guests. You may apologize to your brother, or you may leave and not come back."
Sherlock and Mycroft both stared at Harry, equally shocked. Sherlock because no one had ever managed to intimidate him in this manner, and Mycroft because no one had ever defended him before. It seemed the other two were simply holding their breaths, waiting for the inevitable, scathing retort. It did not come. Sherlock shifted his gaze to Mycroft, taking in the signs of wounded feelings that no one but he had ever been able to read before. He winced internally, angry at himself for once again letting his mind run ahead of his admittedly limited concern for others. Meeting Mycroft's deep blue gaze, he allowed a shred of his genuine remorse to show in his eyes and his voice as he quietly said, "Harry is quite right, Mycroft. The slight to your feelings was unintentional. I apologize."
Mycroft simply stared for a moment or two, before he blinked past the shock and said just as quietly, "Thank you, Sherlock. Forgiven, of course." They continued to watch each other for a few moments more, assessing and determining for themselves that all was well between the Brothers Holmes. They did not look away until Harry regained their attention by seating himself behind the counter on a comfortable stool he pulled out from beneath one of the work stations. Mycroft had to smile at the sight; it seemed Harry was like Sherlock in his refusal to sit normally. Whereas Sherlock would sit on a couch with his long legs drawn up in front of him and his hands resting in a prayerful pose while he thought, Harry seemed to relax wherever he was. Presently, he was sitting on the stool with one leg tucked beneath him and the other freely swinging, munching on a slice of sin-bread and thinking deeply. With his long, black hair spilled wildly around his shoulders, ivory complexion, brilliant green eyes, straight black brows and black curly lashes, and dark pink lips being nibbled on by straight white teeth, he looked ….. decidedly edible. Glancing at Sherlock, Mycroft surprised a look on the younger man's face that he felt was mirrored on his own – a look of mingled interest, intrigue and desire. He met Sherlock's speculative look with a raised eyebrow, speaking in the nonverbal manner they had used since Sherlock was in nappies. 'You, too? Wonderful. What now?'
Deciding to set the subtext aside for now, Mycroft turned back to Harry and asked the question that had brought him here today originally. "Harry? Why did you decide to move here?" Unspoken was the question 'why here, when you could live anywhere in the entire world, do absolutely anything you wanted with anyone you pleased, why move to a small apartment next to my brother?'
Harry smiled understandingly at Mycroft and said simply, "Because I could. I was able to do anything I wanted. So I did." Which hardly answered Mycroft's question at all, but it certainly gave him many more questions. Those, however, would have to wait for another time, as Harry was still focused on the prior discussion.
"So, let me get this straight. Sherlock, you have never liked any food, at all. You only eat when your body absolutely demands it. Do people worry about you eating too little?" Three emphatic nods from the counter-sitters and one disinterested eyebrow from Sherlock answered that nicely. "And, Sherlock, does food mostly just taste bad to you? Like, you can't for the life of you figure out why people enjoy it?" Surprised at this accurate assessment, Sherlock offered a slow nod, wondering at the line of questioning the young man was pursuing.
Harry then turned to Mycroft. "And you, Mycroft. Despite being beautifully built, you are dieting and I gather from the gist of the conversation that this is a long-standing situation, yeah?" Slightly flustered at the fact that Harry seemed to think he was 'beautifully built', it took Mycroft slightly longer to nod affirmingly. "You love food, though, and when you gain weight, it's always just in your belly? Like, almost like a lump?" Sherlock snorted softly and Mycroft flushed, a moment of embarrassment that was immediately dispersed by Harry's prompt glare and quick assertion, "I'm asking this clinically, gentlemen! You aren't gaining weight in the belly like the way people describe having a 'spare tire', all the way around – you get an actual sort of 'lump' in the belly, yeah?"
Mycroft murmured a reluctant, "Yes, that's true," while trying to dismiss his discomfort. Ridiculous! He was one of the deadliest men in the world, had more political clout than the PM, and yet he was flushing in mortification over a discussion on weight gain! He could have ended the conversation, but sensed that Harry had a purpose to these questions, other than Mycroft's embarrassment.
The young man ruminated a few more moments, then asked, "Mycroft, when you eat, do you ever feel satisfied? I know you enjoy the taste, but do you ever feel like, … um…., like "Yes, that was JUST what I wanted! Now I don't want to eat anything else 'til I'm hungry again!" He watched Mycroft closely, and was unsurprised to see Sherlock do the same. Mycroft's cheeks were pink but he met his gaze determinedly as he said simply, "No."
The fact that Harry then smiled broadly, as if relieved, puzzled all four men, as did the young man's burst of activity as he jumped to his feet and began to move around the kitchen, gathering food items from the refrigerator and the cabinets.
Mycroft and Sherlock were briefly distracted by the sight of that tight, denim-clad butt perfectly framed for them as Harry bent over to peer into the fridge. "Hey, John? You have any veggies or fruit over at your place? If so, what kind?"
John was trying not to snicker as he watched the Holmes brothers watch Harry's ass. "Um, yes, Harry, I do. I have some brand-name sugar-snap peas and a couple of apples. Why?"
Harry's flushed face came into view as he grinned over the door at the doctor. "Can you go get them right now, please? Also, bring back some bread and milk, if you have them." John simply nodded and rose to cross the room. "And an egg!" Harry called after the departing doctor. John waved in reply as he disappeared into the hallway.
Sherlock's burgeoning irritation was abruptly silenced at Harry's cheerful, "We're going to conduct an experiment!"
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Twenty minutes later, Mycroft, John, Gregory and Sherlock watched and waited while Harry muttered over the notes he had made. Upon John's return, Harry had immediately begun the experiment by placing two nearly identical sugar-snap peas in front of Sherlock, ordering him to taste each and tell him which was not awful. After a moment of reluctance, Sherlock complied, and found to his surprise that one of the peas was, indeed, not awful. It was quite good, in fact. This was followed by similar commands about scrambled eggs, apple slices, pieces of bread, glasses of milk, and finally – oddly enough – water. Harry noted all of Sherlock's responses down on what looked to be actual parchment, watched with fascination by the four men. Then it was Mycroft's turn.
Mycroft was given the same foods, but was ordered to tell him which of the two choices was "most satisfying." He had thought such a decision would be impossible to make, as he had spoken the truth when he admitted he was never actually satisfied by anything he ate. Harry proved him wrong, though, as Mycroft found to his immense surprise that in every instance, one of the two items before him just tasted right somehow. Harry simply nodded, as if in confirmation of a theory he had already known would be proven.
Eventually, Harry looked up at the four men and shook his head in dismay. "I don't know if I should be more worried for the state of the world, or for the future of you four." At this, both John and Gregory immediately took umbrage. "We four? What the hell, Potter? John and I are just sitting here; what've we got to do with this?" Harry's withering stare silenced him immediately, and left all four of them wondering how the petite young man could be so intimidating.
The four, older men felt like school children at detention when the twenty-five-year-old Harry Potter stood and looked at them, one after the other, shaking his head in disgust. "So, let me just clarify this for you. Here we have four, grown men, who have known each other for seven years – John for four. Two of you are geniuses. You specialize in noticing things that nobody else sees, yeah? And then, of course, we have a Detective Inspector, who has apparently risen through the ranks at Scotland Yard because he excels at solving crimes, which I presume means that you, too, have to notice things and connect the dots, yeah?" At Gregory's slightly fearful nod, Harry simply smiled grimly, before his darkening green gaze turned to the hapless John. "And here, we have a doctor. Not just any doctor, no, we have a doctor who also partners the genius consulting detective that he has lived with for four years. Based on the way the teasing about food went earlier, I'm betting you all have mocked and scoffed and worried about Sherlock's lack of eating and Mycroft's dieting all this time, yeah? Come on, you may as well 'fess up; it isn't like I don't already know."
Four reluctant nods. Sherlock was fascinated by Harry's performance. Mycroft was captivated. Neither of them could figure out where Harry was going with this, other than he had apparently found some brand name of food that the Holmes brothers liked better than others. Glancing briefly to the side, he saw that Gregory and John were bewildered and slightly offended, judging by the tight lines around their mouths and the red high in their cheeks. A quick look at Sherlock confirmed for Mycroft that both he and his brother were not offended; they were enraptured. Whatever Harry was doing, he was reeling in both of the brothers while he did it.
Harry, on the other hand, was ticked off. "Seriously, I'm a little bit afraid for our world all over again, and I just finished cleaning it up!" Only Mycroft understood that comment, although Sherlock had definitely filed it away for further clarification.
The black-haired man paced in agitation, bare feet squeaking slightly as he turned abruptly on the new wooden floors. Standing still, he put aggravated hands on his hips and glared at the four men. "Two geniuses, a Detective Inspector and a doctor…. and none of you noticed that the Holmes brothers have a simple food allergy." He glared at the dumbfounded looks that met his comment, plopped back down onto his stool, arms folded across his chest, and waited for the others to catch up.
It took a while.
Slowly, the four men replayed all of the facts. All of the times that Sherlock spat food out in disgust. All of the times Mycroft would graze from one menu item to the other, searching, searching. And although the two geniuses and the Detective Inspector were deeply embarrassed, it was John the doctor who was ashamed. How could he not have thought of that possibility, not even once?
Gregory spoke up hesitantly, "But, why do they react to food differently? I mean, is it the same allergy?"
They could see the struggle as Harry forced his aggravation down. Honestly, none of them could blame him, really. He had been in their lives as a unit for a grand total of perhaps four hours, and seemed to have addressed a problem that had tormented both brothers and the people who cared about them for years upon years. At the very least, the young man deserved the opportunity to grandstand, to humiliate them with their inability to piece together obvious facts, the way Sherlock did every time he solved a case. But, this was Harry, and despite all of his intelligence and all of his power, at heart, Harry was a man of a gentle nature.
And so, rather than launch into a diatribe, the young man simply sighed deeply, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, before he looked at Gregory and said, "Why do you like lager and John likes ale?" At Gregory's blank look, he shook his head slightly and explained, "Look, Gregory. Lager and ale are both beer, yeah? But they appeal to you two differently, because you're different people. Same with this. Same food allergy, but two different people have different reactions. They perceive the taste differently and that causes different responses. That's all."
He then turned to the stunned Holmes brothers and said, "And for the geniuses in the room, you need to switch to organic-only food and drink. And Mycroft, you may want to consider a medically-supervised colon-cleanse; I'm betting that 'tummy' you think you have is actually just food your body refuses to digest." Mycroft's disgusted look brought a burst of laughter from the young man, which spread to the other four and had the happy effect of relaxing everyone.
Eventually, Sherlock leaned forward, chestnut hair falling against a sharp cheekbone, as he fixed Harry in an analytical stare. Unfazed, Harry continued to sit cross-legged on the bar stool, munching on organic sugar-snap peas and watching Sherlock with an amused expression.
"Harry," Sherlock drawled leadingly, "did you know that cinnamon bread is Mycroft's favorite sweet?" Mycroft tensed slightly, having wondered about this himself.
Harry simply smiled winsomely, taking the time to devour another sugar snap before he calmly said, "Of course I did, Sherlock. That's why I made it." He was very aware of Mycroft's dark blue eyes locked on him, mirrored by Sherlock's own blue eyes, and kept his composure through sheer determination. He had come here to 221C Baker Street out of a need to address his decade-long fascination with Mycroft Holmes, only to find himself confronted by twice the impact in the forms of both Mycroft and his brother Sherlock. Caught in the nearly identical blue gazes, Harry began to understand exactly how Neville felt when he caught the Weasley twins' interest. He made a mental note to send Neville some chocolate frogs or something, and used the sugar-snap in his mouth as an excuse to swallow against the tension building up in his system as neither gaze wavered.
Deciding to man-up and be a Gryffindor, Harry dropped his legs down and leaned over to snag another plate, on which he placed a still slightly-warm piece of cinnamon bread. Turning, he set it down in front of Sherlock and said teasingly, "Since you decided to dissect my first offering…." He gestured at the decimated remains on Sherlock's original plate before he overturned them into the trash and turned back to meet Sherlock's unwavering stare. "Or has Sherlock Holmes finally found an experiment he is afraid to try?" Both Mycroft and Sherlock wondered if Harry was, in fact, talking about sin-bread, which was becoming more aptly named by the minute.
John and Gregory did their best to simply fade into the background, fully aware of the tensions and questions that seemed to swirl all around the three other men in the small kitchen. They saw the moment Sherlock accepted the challenge of their fascinating new neighbor and observed how both Harry and Mycroft seemed fascinated by the long fingers that delicately tore off a piece of the sticky bread and raised it to the lips that sometimes even featured in their own, secret dreams, even though they were both adamantly not gay. And they watched as the beautiful blue eyes closed in surprised bliss, astonishment written openly across the handsome face, and knew they would remember this as the moment that Sherlock Holmes discovered he had a sensuous, decadent side to his exacting nature.
But, considering how closely Harry and Mycroft watched Sherlock, and how intensely the three men locked gazes when Sherlock's eyes blinked open in heavy-lidded enjoyment, neither John nor Gregory was entirely certain that the tension in the room was due to Sherlock's new enjoyment – of food.