This was an absolutely unacceptable situation, and John was looking far too amused for it to be healthy.
"But John dear, we were supposed to have tea and those scones you enjoy so much, it's been ages since we just sat down and had a nice chat…" Mrs Hudson frowned slightly to John who was pulling his coat on in a hurry.
"I am so sorry, but I just got an emergency call from the clinic and I absolutely got to dash." His apologetic façade flickered to show a gleeful smile when he turned to Sherlock. "But since Sherlock here hasn't got a single case running, I'm sure he would love to catch up with you, right, Sherlock?"
'He bloody set me up, this is a trap!' the detective thought moodily while glaring at his flatmate murderously.
Mrs Hudson had to marvel both the fierce glare Sherlock sent to John, and the indifferent way the older man was capable of handling it. She felt like she could actually hear the wordless conversation/argument floating through the air.
The accusing look on Sherlock said: 'This is your fault!'
John's face had an overly smug expression. 'Yep, and you fell for it.'
'Can't leave me here, I'm a sociopath! This is your job.'
'Sociopath my ass and this is the revenge you deserve. Goodbye.'
'No wait don't you dare JOHN-'
"Sorry Mrs Hudson, but I'm so late, got to run!" With that, he was out of the door and hailing a cab, leaving a moping Sherlock who was now efficiently stuck with their landlady. And she was bound to interrogate him until he got tired and slipped some juicy information about him and John. The woman should really work for the police, where her gifts would have a meaningful use other than tormenting her two tenants. He sighed and prepared for the unavoidable.
A little voice in the back of his head reminded him that John had been lying about work, when he had actually gone to see Mycroft.
Lestrade sighed audibly as his phone chimed for the sixth time in the last ten minutes. A quick check at the little screen- and of course it was from Sherlock. He obviously wouldn't let it go until he got a response. The detective inspector pinched the bridge of his nose, counted to ten and rose from his chair.
"Would you excuse me for a tick? I don't want to interrupt the meeting but this might be important."
The other twelve people in the room nodded simultaneously, all with very sympathetic faces. In the past years (or as the yarders expressed it: AH, the time After Holmes) everyone had learned to recognise the unlucky ones who were about to interact/had been interacting with Holmes.
They all looked, in Lestrade's opinion, too happy about the fact that it wasn't them marching towards the cause to their early retirement.
He sighed even louder than before, accepted his fate and walked to the corridor while dialling. The phone was answered so quick that Lestrade knew his call was expected. Bloody show-off.
"What know, Sherlock, I'm kinda in the middle of something."
"Thank goodness you finally answered. Don't they teach you how to pick up a sodding phone in the police academy?"
"… Just so. Why are you whispering?"
"No time, she could come back anytime now but you must get me out of here, you understand? Case, prosecution, your birthday, ANYTHING."
"It would help if I knew what the problem is, you know."
"Or so you think. I am stuck here, since John abandoned me god that seems sooo long ago—"
"Wait what? He left you?"
"You idiot, of course not, he couldn't do that. I meant that he left to see my devilish sibling and threw me to the beast. I am obviously on the edge of my sanity 'cause even dealing with Mycroft seems more appealing than this hell. Get. Me. Out of here."
Lestrade paused for a moment before saying: "And why should John be with Mycroft?"
"Ha!" Sherlock exclaimed gleefully. "There it is again! I've been thinking of why you get all angry every time someone mentions John and Mycroft in the same sentence. Spill it, I can't get anything out of John."
'My god he actually doesn't have a clue', the D.I. thought. 'Nobody gives the seemingly harmless army doctor any credit, but I guess that's how he got away with it.'
Distracting Holmes' thoughts seemed now like a very good idea. "You make it sound like I had some love-triangle with your brother and Watson. I didn't know you had that much of an imagination." That should disturb him enough so he would stop asking questions. "Now, please leave me alone, I have a meeting going on!"
"An affair? No…" Oh great, he was thinking again. Suddenly there was a woman's voice in the background. "Crap, it's Mrs Hudson! Lestrade, I know—"
The detective inspector lifted the cell off his ear and ended the call. Holmes and his bloody 'emergencies'. With the loudest sigh of the day, Lestrade strode off to the nearest coffee machine.
At the other end of the line, Sherlock was making a quick escape through his bedroom window.
Two days later John and Sherlock were spending a quiet night in, which included John watching TV and Sherlock watching him like a statue, figuring him out. So far, with no progress. The doctor was buried under his jumpers and blankets looking like an oblivious puppy, drinking his trademark tea. To Sherlock it seemed unfair that someone should look so warm and cuddly and good-smelling… what the fuck was he even thinking?
He was correcting his line of thought back to the safe things when Mycroft strode in unannounced.
"Care to enlighten me why there's an enormous cheesecake on my desk and how did you get it there?"
His fierce glaring was interrupted by John's sudden fit of giggles. He also spilled tea everywhere shaking with laughter, and Sherlock actually couldn't hold back a snigger at his friend's reaction. A laughing John was always a good thing.
"I fail to see the cause to your amusement, Dr Watson." The government-man's icy tone did nothing to erase the giggling, but at least John got up and muttered a nearly understandable 'sorry' and 'I'll be upstairs' before wobbling to his bedroom.
Mycroft shot one more disapproving glare upstairs before turning his accusing eyes to his brother.
"You only send me pastry when you want revenge in your own childish way."
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"How did you get it past security?"
"I have my ways."
"Think what Mommy would—"
"Did you bribe Lestrade in to silence, or did you threaten him?"
Mycroft seemed to have anticipated that sort of question.
"I haven't done anything; believe it or not, he's doing it for your sake."
"Come on, like you would know what's going to hurt me or not. I am not a child!" Mycroft just lifted an eyebrow in an overly posh way. 'Well,' Sherlock thought, 'If he is not helping, I'll have to guess haphazardly and he will crack eventually.'
"So I have to guess. Dull. Could it be that John was working for you?"
Silence.
"That's what I thought, he wouldn't. Actually I don't understand why anybody would voluntarily work near you, not to mention for you… Lestrade spoke something of affairs earlier. Are you having one with John?"
Two seconds of total muteness, until John exploded upstairs. His laughter was bound to wake Mrs Hudson, thought Sherlock. Then there was a loud thump.
"Did he just—"
"Fell off a chair."
"I think so. Didn't stop giggling, though."
"Your fault, for asking stupid questions. I'll be leaving, hope you'll have a wonderful evening. You owe me a favour for this, remember that." Mycroft turned to the door, still having that insulted air about him. "Go and pick him up before he wakes the whole street. Goodbye."
Ten minutes afterwards John finally came down with a wide grin, and an additional wince of pain. He slumped to the sofa next to Sherlock and gathered his beloved blankets around him.
'Fell to his left hip, now has a slight limp. Hair messy so has been nervously running his hands through it. Took the time to change out of the shirt that had tea on it, why did he bother with another shirt when he's about to go to sleep soon anyway? The walls here are paper, but we weren't yelling (yet) so he left his door purposefully open. Snoop.' The detective didn't say his deductions out loud, except for the falling part.
"How's the hip?"
"Fine thanks and my stomach hurts too from too much laughing. Now shut it and let me watch the rest of the program in peace."
"You deserved it" Sherlock muttered half out loud. "Had to flee through the window and all…"
"Sorry what?"
"Nothing."
When Mrs Hudson came up to say goodnight (the good meaning stalker that she was) she found John fast asleep against Sherlock's shoulder while the detective ran his fingers absentmindedly through the blond hair. She sneaked out with a happy smile, thinking that they were finally 'getting there.'
AN: So I haven't seen any of the second series yet, and because of that this story is completely ignoring it. Spoilers are just for TGG...
Rewievs are love and so on! If someone's got ideas, wishes or something, don't be shy and just tell me :D
And finally thanks for all those who alerted and especially for those who faved!
-SuSilba