He waited a full two days before bringing the subject up again.
"I've worked out a methodology for an experiment."
"No."
"But John, it would be-"
"No experiments, Sherlock. Not interested."
Sherlock stared blankly at him. "How could you not be interested? Don't you want to learn more about your parapsychic abilities?"
"Not particularly." John shrugged. "I know all I need to."
"But . . ." The concept of knowing all you need to refused to coalesce in Sherlock's brain. "What's your range? How many targets can you affect at once? Does your current state of health - hunger, sleep deprivation, and the like - affect your focus or strength? Are you able to affect a target without them realizing they're being manipulated?"
John sighed. "Line of sight, several, yes, and it depends. And yes, I know some of those answers are imprecise and no, I don't particularly care."
"You're not being fair." Sherlock was sporting his best petulant pout now, but John was used to it and it did no good. "Mycroft insists parapsychic abilities are a secret and I haven't gotten to do any experiments about them in ages and now here you are, it wouldn't be unethical as long as we work in the flat with just the two of us, and Mycroft stopped being willing to participate in my experiments when he went off to school so I've had to just work by myself. Which is an insurmountable barrier when studying telepathy."
"Can't help you there - I'm a broadcasting empath, if you didn't notice. Straight telepathy really isn't my area." John took a moment to mentally sift through Sherlock's outburst. "Wait - so Mycroft is a telepath too?"
Sherlock paused, weighing the chance to finally tell someone the truth about Mycroft versus the very good chance Mycroft might have him deported to Siberia, and came down on the side of not giving a shit. "Broadcasting telepath. I'm told his abilities are rather frightening in their efficacy, actually."
John frowned. "What's the difference between a broadcasting telepath and what you do, then? I mean, the difference between me and Harry is obvious - I send things but can't feel them, and she feels things but can't send them. Is there more to it than that?"
"Much." He'd probably consider this conversation treason, but he can go suck an egg. You hear that, Mycroft? Sherlock didn't think it loudly, not in the public part of his brain, but the tiny rebellion made him feel a bit better. "Yesterday I said he showed significant ability even as a child. That's rather an understatement - my little parlor tricks pale in comparison."
"You call literally reading minds a parlor trick."
Sherlock shrugged, then jumped up and started pacing aimlessly. The urge to do something, to exercise his body like he was exercising his brain, was overwhelming. "I have limitations similar to yours. I need line of sight, I can't focus when I'm high or exhausted or dehydrated or hungry, and I don't really get to choose what thoughts I read. Telepathy doesn't fit into detective work as much as you might think."
"It would if you worked with live people more often."
"That's a significant argument in favor of the dead."
John inclined his head, conceding the point. "So Mycroft can do more, I'm assuming?"
"He . . ." Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin, trying to find the best way to explain. "He's got unlimited range, as far as I've been able to tell. Once he's met you once, he can read you anytime he wants to, no matter where in the world you are. I don't know how many minds he can track at once, but it's got to be at least in the dozens."
John snorted. "Let me guess - does this have anything to do with his tendency for kidnapping people?"
"And his success in his chosen career, yes. Nobody questions when he has impossible-to-acquire intelligence about something." Sherlock smiled wryly. "Incidentally, I don't believe he's able to read you any better than I can. That must piss him off terribly."
"Glad to help."
"It was one of the reasons I found you a tolerable flatmate. You're not a source of incessant blather in my own mind, and Mycroft can't use you to spy on me." He shrugged. "Not that he doesn't have other, more conventional means, obviously, but I do like keeping some things private."
"You said he broadcasts, though?"
"That's the insidious part." If Sherlock was being truthful with himself, he'd have to admit it was a good thing his and Mycroft's roles weren't reversed - Mycroft's abilities seemed to require a depressing amount of ethical navel-gazing, which Sherlock very definitely felt no interest in doing. "You may wake up one day and find that you suddenly have the urge to go visit your mother, or to take a walk in the park, or to skip work and lie in bed for the rest of the morning. And you'll never know whether it was actually your own idea or whether Mycroft planted it there."
John gaped at him. "That's . . . it's bloody terrifying, actually."
"Like I said, your mental shield is probably sufficient to keep him out. It took me several years to do the same."
"He'd try to make you-" John gestured vaguely. "You know. Mind control or whatnot?"
"I was generally considered a phenomenally quiet and well-behaved child for, as I said, several years. I eventually learned to fight back."
"Christ." John closed his eyes. "I can't even imagine."
It wasn't really as bad as he was making it sound, Sherlock knew - he had been naturally quiet even before Mycroft started experimenting on him. And the thoughts had been subtle - a suggestion to sit and read here, a sudden memory of the consequences for misbehaving there. Nothing he wasn't already expected to be doing. Mycroft may have even thought he was being a good big brother, ensuring Sherlock sat still and paid attention in class or didn't interrupt Aunt Minnie at Christmas dinner. He didn't have a concept of personal boundaries even back then.
"How did you 'fight back?'"
Sherlock grinned. "Cocaine."
"Christ."
Okay, not strictly true. "Actually, I spent nearly a month picking over his thoughts every time he masturbated, and filled my sketchbook with the results. I threatened to send a copy of the contents to everyone pictured, plus all the other boys at his school, if he ever meddled with my brain again. He hasn't."
"You can tell?"
"I can now."
John blew out a long breath. "Right. So - just for the record - if I didn't find your older brother bloody terrifying before, now I do."
"Whenever he starts irritating me, I focus on thoughts of cakes."
That produced a startled laugh, which in turn dragged a rueful smile out of Sherlock. "If his telepathy works similarly to mine," he said, "he can't tune out surface thoughts entirely. I just think about how hungry I am, and how good a slice of chocolate cake would be right about now, and how sinfully delicious the frosting tastes on my tongue . . . he turns positively green whenever he's on one of his diets. I highly recommend trying it."
"I don't think I could pull that off." John shook his head and snorted. "I'll know to be careful, though."
"You already are. Your shield is quite impressive, as I already said." Sherlock cocked his head to one side in a way he knew John found endearing. "You won't even let me describe my proposed experiment to you?"
"Why?"
"It's nothing you'd object to, I promise." He bit his lip and widened his eyes, just for good measure. "Please, John."
He felt it a moment later - a sensation of mild amusement. It felt natural, perfectly reasonable to be entertained by this conversation, but it took a few seconds and John's unwavering attention before Sherlock suddenly realized the truth. "Oh!"
"You're really rather blatant, you know that?"
The delightful tickle in his abdomen intensified, until Sherlock couldn't control his burgeoning smile any longer. "John . . ."
"Fine. Sit, explain, and use small words." The feeling of mirth receded, but Sherlock found he really didn't mind. Didn't mind the intrusion and didn't mind when it left.
Because it's John. Sherlock took a deep breath, lowered himself onto the arm of his chair, and started explaining.
I know, I know, no smut yet :-P Wanted to get the bit about Mycroft out here too, though - I'm open to ideas/suggestions for fun things to happen in this world. I'm setting this up as a series of anecdotes instead of one long story to give me the freedom to bounce around between smut, fluff, utterly ridiculous crack, and "holy crap I didn't know I wanted that but now I totally do" fics :-D Leave me a comment if you have an idea - I won't promise I'll write all of them, but I'll certainly take them all into consideration!
