Sixteen months in hiding had honed Sherlock's skills to a fine art, the trip to 221B made in shadow, avoiding the ever watchful eye of his brother's CCTV cameras. Peering out from a nearby alleyway, he found he was no longer surprised by the intense sense of longing just the sight of the familiar doorway caused to well up within him. Soft light flickering in the windows upstairs let him know someone was home. John, his heart and mind supplied in unison. These long months of torment and suffering to make sure John would be safe were finally over and he could come home to the man who meant more to him than any person ever had before. A man who had become his reason to live, to survive. He could share it all with him now, just a few more feet and he would be there. A moment of exposure was allowed as he swiftly picked the lock of his own door, it wouldn't matter if his brother saw now anyway.

Once inside he took a moment to simply breathe deeply the familiar air of home. No light or sound came from Mrs. Hudson's flat so obviously she was either in bed or out. The doors upstairs must be open as he became aware of a steady litany of noises. He slowly climbed the stairs, avoiding all the boards that would warn of his arrival. As he drew nearer the sounds grew more distinctive; an ongoing series of grunts and moans, as well as several repeated 'Ohs' and 'Ahs'. Years of overhearing John with the few dates he actually brought home or during his frequent bouts of masturbation, left Sherlock in no doubt as to the source of the sounds he was hearing. Either John believed he was completely alone or he had gotten much braver having the flat to himself to be engaging in sex in the main flat with the doors open. Out of habit Sherlock quickly squelched the jealousy he automatically felt for anyone John was with. It wasn't as if they had ever been together and John thought him dead, what did he expect the man to do. He briefly toyed with the idea of leaving and coming back later when the date would be over, however now that he was home he was loathe to leave for any reason. Perhaps he could slip into his room unnoticed and wait; or maybe up to John's room, either way he continued stealthily up the stairs trying to ignore the sounds of pleasure coming from the flat.

He was not prepared for the kitchen doorway to be open when he reached the top of the stairs, nor for the sight and series of rapid deductions that met him in that moment. Almost without thought he drew closer to the door to take the data in more fully. John. John was laid out across their kitchen table, no scratch that, John was shackled to their kitchen table with a collar tight about his neck. A golden chain trailed tantalizingly down his back as he lay spread taut and quite obviously nude. He did not appear to be in any pain or distress, rather quite willingly participating in...whatever this was; though Sherlock thought he did look a bit as if he was drugged. It was only as that deduction registered that Sherlock realized John was looking at him, a hazy blissful look to his eyes. Sherlock stood perfectly still, unsure of what to do even as his mind continued to make deductions, unable to stop processing the scene before him. John's rhythmic grunts in time with the rocking of the table led to perhaps the most startling deduction Sherlock had ever made about his flatmate. John was the one being fucked, not the other way around. And from all indications, his partner was a man. Sherlock struggled to make sense of this new data, his perpetually 'not gay' flatmate was now quite happily bent over getting his ass fucked. What had happened while he was away? Had he missed something about John before? Nothing added up in his head and he again edged slightly closer to the doorway trying to take in more clues. He did not register at first that John's gaze had cleared a bit and sharpened as he actually focused on him.

John wavered somewhere between subspace and alertness taking in the spectre in the doorway even as he himself was being watched. Thinner than he had ever been, hair falling on his shoulders and dark circles under his eyes, the man he was looking at had obviously been through a lot and bore the signs of a story to tell. He couldn't focus on much more than that as Mycroft was intent on wringing every last drop of pleasure possible from his body tonight. Then several things happened.

Mycroft's voice spoke dark and sinful behind him as he continued his assault on John's prostate. "Is this what you wanted John? My soldier likes being held down and used like a whore, hmm?"

John groaned loudly at the filthy words and powerful thrusts, drifting back towards subspace as his lover continued. "It's time to fill that gorgeous ass again, fill you up, and plug you so I can fuck you again and again. That's what you want now isn't it?"

John was just stuttering out a "Please?!" to his Dom when his mind caught up with what he had seen a moment before but failed to register in his sub haze. He had seen the moment Sherlock heard Mycroft's voice and realized who was here with him. He had seen the shock and uncertainty filling those familiar eyes. But most importantly, he saw the moment of decision and the slight turn of the man in front of him; Sherlock was going to leave. He was going to leave and if John knew him at all, he would disappear and never be seen again unless he chose. John couldn't have it, couldn't lose Sherlock all over again with only this brief moment between them. The words snapped out of his mouth without any conscious thought to Mycroft or his own position; John speared Sherlock with the fiercest Captain Watson gaze he could muster as he struggled between states.

"Don't you fucking move!"

Sherlock froze in the doorway. That voice. That commanding Captain's voice he had heard only a few times before but had fantasized about repeatedly since. He then met John's gaze, the gaze that meant business, the gaze that did not bode well for any person that chose to go against it. He had no idea how John could exude such power in his current state but he was helpless against it. He stayed.

Mycroft had frozen as well, uncertain what John was up to. But when nothing further came from his sub he took it as part of the play, John would sometimes act out intentionally to spur Mycroft into rougher sex. Mycroft knew at this point that their 'play' was winding down for tonight and had no problems obliging John's desire in that case. Wrapping the chain firmly around his hand, he grabbed the back of John's collar and jerked his head up and back forcefully. John moaned loudly as he raised up onto his elbows and arched his back beautifully for his Dom. "Trying to be in control again John?! Still haven't learned your lesson tonight then?!" John attempted to shake his head only to have it jerked tight again. Mycroft pulled out slowly then thrust deep into John as hard as he could. "You don't get to tell me what to do John." He pulled out again and John whimpered in anticipation before Mycroft thrust home once more forcing a cry from him. Mycroft continued to pull out and fuck hard into John steadily building speed as he spoke again, "I will fuck you exactly how I want for as long as I want and I will fill your ass with my come until it spills out of you and puddles on the floor if I want it to. Do you understand me?!"

John choked out a 'Yes sir', knowing he couldn't last much longer at this rate. Sensitized and overstimulated by the activities of the evening and now aware of his audience, John was on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm. He kept an eye on Sherlock in his peripheral vision while he enjoyed Mycroft's thick cock pounding into his ass. He was already panting and he knew it would not be long now, the sensations burning through his groin. Sherlock stayed put, still looking a bit shell-shocked as he watched John. His cheeks looked a bit flushed and John wondered briefly if he was feverish before allowing his gaze to slide over his friend once more. It was John's turn to bring wide surprised eyes to meet Sherlock's piercing stare as the sight of a rather large erection in those trousers triggered his own most splendid orgasm. John was practically yelling as wave after wave racked his body.

Mycroft had released John's collar and grabbed his hips, jerking him firmly back into his thrusts as he fucked right through John's orgasm and quickly followed, spilling himself deep inside his lover. John lay against the table, trying to keep his eyes open and on Sherlock as he fought to catch his breath. Mycroft remained sheathed in John's body bracing his weight against the table with his hands while he too breathed deeply. Once they had calmed, he leaned forward laying over the sweaty back as he slid his left hand up John's arm to entwine their hands, admiring the effect of their rings together once more. He nuzzled against John's ear, kissing him softly, "You were wonderful, love. So perfect…..simply beautiful."

John smiled and turned his head to meet Mycroft's lips in a gentle kiss. As they parted he gripped Mycroft's fingers in his and whispered, "We have company My," his gaze drifting over to the silent figure in the doorway.

Mycroft followed John's gaze, blissful smile still on his face. The smile was rapidly replaced with surprise, then just as quickly wiped of any expression as he donned the stoic mask he had always worn with his brother. After a brief head-to-toe assessment Mycroft spoke, his voice sounding as cool and collected as ever, "No need to lurk in doorways, brother dear. Might as well come in, it is still your home after all."

John couldn't help rolling his eyes at that. He had managed to forget how antagonistic the brothers could be toward each other having lived with the gentler, kinder side of Mycroft for the last year. He would certainly have to see what he could do to change that. Shifting slightly to remind Mycroft of their current state he finally spoke, his voice low and soft after this evenings events. "My? Don't you think..uhm, we should clean up?"

Mycroft's expression instantly softened as he returned his attention to John, just because they were finished did not mean his responsibility to John had ended. "Certainly John," he rubbed a soothing hand along the rapidly cooling back, "just a moment." Sherlock had taken Mycroft's advice and entered the flat properly, though noting the state of his chair he was unsure of where to sit, so he now stood by the fireplace silently watching the proceedings. Mycroft eased out of John's well used hole, but not without a slight wince noted, quickly tucking himself back into his trousers for the time being and zipping up. He picked up the black plug from the bag he had placed on a nearby kitchen chair and carefully inserted it as John moaned softly. Then he wasted no time removing all of John's restraints, rubbing ankles and legs, wrists and arms as he did so. At last helping John to stand beside the table, he ignored his brother's presence and took John into his arms, his hands moving slowly up and down the muscular back and over the curve of ass, soothing and gentling John after so much rough use tonight. John sighed as he sank into the familiar embrace, comforted in spite of the shock he had just had. After several moments of this, Mycroft gently gripped John's chin and tilted his face up to met his lips. They met in a soft lingering kiss, reassuring each of the love for the other. When they parted John finally spoke again.

"Perhaps I should shower and get dressed while you two talk, hm?"

Mycroft gave a slight nod, "If you wish, love. Do you want me to remove your collar?" In that one question, he had asked so many. Questions only he and John understood. 'Are you okay?' 'Will you be alright?' 'What do we do now?'

John understood everything Mycroft was asking and thought a moment before answering. "No, leave it on." And Mycroft understood his reply. 'No, I'm not okay. I need the comfort and reassurance of your collar around my neck right now.' 'Yes, I will be alright, I just need some time.' and 'I don't know what else to do."

Mycroft nodded again, retrieving John's clothes from the arm of his chair, he handed them to John with another small kiss, "Don't be long."

John merely smiled, "Certainly, it is still our anniversary after all." He placed his own kiss on Mycroft's lips before addressing Sherlock for the first time, "Sherlock, if you'll excuse me." And that was all. He took his clothes and strolled towards the bathroom unashamedly naked, the chain hanging from his collar down his back drawing attention to the plug peeking from between his lush cheeks as he walked. John remained oblivious to the hungry, covetous gaze of both of the men he left behind.

Sherlock had taken in every moment between John and his brother, each minute shift in expression and tone. Obviously something significant had happened while he had been gone but he was so rattled that he couldn't begin to correctly process the data he was gathering. He took in the flat, so many changes visible, that he wasn't sure it still felt like home, even though he saw familiar things as well. Everything was wrong. He had suffered greatly while he struggled alone trying to be sure John would always be safe. He was supposed to come back to their home, to his chair and to his...His John making him tea….and it would be alright. Everything he had undergone and survived would be okay because John would be there and John always made it better. He would be okay with John. Sherlock sucked in a deep breath trying to calm the chaos in his head. He was here…..John was here…..but it wasn't right. Somehow his own brother had usurped his place with John, had achieved with John everything he ever wanted but somehow wasn't able to pursue. He was confused, angry even, but so unsettled right now that he didn't want to lash out and rock the boat. Something in his chest ached and his body was suddenly more exhausted than he thought it had ever been, even during his trials the past months. If he had been able to talk with John, his friend might have told him he was heartbroken and he would scoff at the ludicrous notion.

He had yet to say anything, trying desperately to make sense of a world gone surreal around him. It finally registered that Mycroft was actually being uncharacteristically silent, he could never pass up the opportunity to make a snide remark at Sherlock's expense so what was up. He refocused his attention on his brother and fought to observe once more. He was thinner than he had ever been and dressed far more casually than Sherlock had seen him since they were children. Must be John's influence he thought, but all things considered Mycroft looked….good. Healthy and….happy. Happy with His John! He thought about all the times Mycroft had chastised him for his sentiment over John and fought to squelch the anger and jealously again. He just didn't think he needed to alienate his brother at this point so he locked those thoughts away as best he could when his Mind Palace seemed to be undergoing some kind of upheaval. He observed Mycroft carefully cleaning…..wait…..cleaning? Yes, his uptight, "summon the servants" brother was cleaning up the kitchen, locking the restraints back into place and even wiping up the….products of their activities. And resolutely determined to leave the first step up to him it appeared. Sherlock took another deep breath and stepped towards the kitchen.

"You..ah, you didn't seem overly shocked to see me, brother," he stated as blandly as he could manage.

Mycroft stiffened slightly but turned to face him. "No. I can't say that I was, Sherlock." He picked up the black bag from the chair and gestured towards Sherlock's chair pulling out some kind of wipe or cleaner. "I'll have your chair taken care of in a moment Sherlock. When this dries it should be perfectly sanitary for sitting." That was all. He moved across the room and dedicated himself to cleaning the chair without another word. He managed to conceal his nerves completely from his younger brother. He wasn't dreading any teasing from Sherlock about his sentiment and affection with John. No, he fought the irrational fear that his world was about to implode. John loved him, he knew that. John had just asked him to marry him and vice versa. They were planning on a future together. Just because Sherlock had returned, nothing had to change, nothing at all. He repeated this mantra, constantly hoping that he would finally convince himself. The problem being that he was intimately acquainted with how deeply John had loved, perhaps even still loves, Sherlock. He nearly died of heartbreak without him. And he was fairly certain, despite his remarks to the contrary previously, that Sherlock loved John. And now he was home. He was home and Mycroft had no idea what was going to happen. He wielded all the power of the British government on a daily basis but he could not just flex his political muscle and make this go away.

Sherlock stared at his brother, unable to reconcile the brother he knew with this man before him. And his question still wasn't answered to his satisfaction. He allowed his steps to carry him across the floor until he was beside Mycroft. "But why were you not shocked?" He wasn't sure why he needed to know so badly. He had been most studious in avoiding every manner of detection for sixteen months yet his brother barely blinked when he apparently returned from the dead.

Mycroft straightened from his task and faced his brother directly for the first time. He saw exactly what John had seen, all the signs of fatigue, malnourishment, mistreatment, and suffering. He had no doubt that the person responsible for all of those reports in his red folder was indeed Sherlock and he had a pretty good notion of at least some of what his brother had been through to get back home. He acted the second the impulse struck and soon had his arms wrapped tightly around his brother. "It is so good to have you home again Sherlock. We have missed you…..I, have missed you greatly."

Sherlock cleared his throat gruffly and shifted his shoulders before returning the embrace. He intended only a brief hug but once he was wrapped fully in his brother's embrace he found it difficult to let go. He had been so alone, without friend or family to aid him and it had been harder than anything he had ever done in his life.

Mycroft didn't comment, only held his brother more tightly. As the embrace drug on he finally answered the question. "I have a folder filled with reports. Reports about components of Moriarty's organization found dead or captured, evidence for arrests and convictions mysteriously turning up, but most intriguing are the reports of a man….always in the shadows, always involved, but never quite seen."

Sherlock pulled back at last to look into his brother's eyes. Eyes which shone with a warmth and love he had not seen since they were much younger. He couldn't help but marvel at his brother's tenacity. Even after what appeared to be a most decided death, his brother and John still watched out…looked for him...somehow.

"We had no proof that it was you, John and I, no way of contacting you or helping you. But we hoped, Sherlock. As dangerous a thing as hope can sometimes be, John and I kept an eye on the reports as they came in. We watched as Moriarty's web crumbled and we hoped that somehow it was you and that you might yet come back to us. So now you finally have, and now you know why we weren't shocked to see you, brother dear. We had faith in you and believed in at least the possibility that you had somehow survived and set out on this mission alone."

Sherlock could not believe it. Faith in him, his brother said he had faith in him. It was the highest praise he had earned in years and it had cost him dearly to do so. John's faith he more or less expected to a certain degree but Mycroft's was a welcome surprise.

" I should be beyond furious with you simply for having to deal with all these repercussions if nothing else. But contrary to popular belief, I care a great deal for my brother, you see, and I am very grateful to have you back." Mycroft politely ignored the tears glistening at the edges of Sherlock's eyes, patting his back and squeezing his arm as he stepped away. "Best let me get on with the clean-up, John will be out soon and we won't want to leave you with our mess as you try to settle back in."

Sherlock quickly brushed at his eyes before catching up with Mycroft's statement. "Leave me...to settle back in….doesn't John still live here?" He scanned everything over again quickly but nothing seemed so different as to scream John's absence at him. He needed John so everything would be okay and he could not comprehend what Mycroft was implying, or rather he refused to allow himself to comprehend.

Mycroft looked Sherlock over with both puzzlement and concern. "John is more comfortable staying here when I am out-of-town or tied up for an extended period of time but otherwise he lives with me at the townhouse Sherlock. I would have thought that would be obvious to you."

Sherlock shuffled back and forth on his feet, as he ran his fingers through his dirty hair absently contemplating a hot shower later and mumbling something about being distracted before spinning around and pacing to the window. He paused when he saw his violin, obviously well cared for still, his fingers brushing softly over the strings as he let his attention drift out to the street below. He was trying his best to analyse everything he had been observing since he arrived, slowly deciphering bits and pieces. He finally hit upon the sight of two left hands joined together and the gleaming, if not matching rings, on each corresponding ring finger and the word anniversary. He closed his eyes, clutching at the window frame for support and forcing himself to take slow deep breaths to ward off the panicky feelings he was having.

Mycroft continued his cleaning, gathering up their supplies and such but casting searching looks toward Sherlock every so often. He could tell something wasn't quite right with his brother, his deductions slightly off, but he chalked it up to fatigue. Sherlock probably just needed a hot meal and a long rest, then he would be right as rain again.

When Sherlock thought he could speak without betraying his anxiety, he asked the obvious question on his mind. "Are you and John married then? I heard him say anniversary."

It was the first time Sherlock had mentioned his relationship with John and Mycroft tensed as he replied. "No. Not yet. We have only become engaged tonight actually. The..uhm..anniversary is for our being together as a couple for a year." Mycroft wasn't trying to be hurtful but he did believe in being direct. Best if Sherlock understood where things stood up front.

Sherlock released his death grip on the window frame and rubbed some circulation back into his hand as he breathed a silent sigh of relief and replied, "I see." It would still be okay. John wasn't married. Sherlock quickly did the math, so four months after his 'fall' something happened, something that brought John and Mycroft together. Impossible for him to guess and irrelevant beyond morbid curiosity. It didn't matter anyway. John would come home to him, he just knew it, John was His first and he would be here where he belonged. He would take care of him like he always had before and everything would be alright. He could make everything alright again as long as he had John.

Before the fall, Sherlock would have censored himself and questioned his rambling and obsessive thoughts about John. But something had happened during his time away and John had become the talisman that pulled him through his lowest points, the beacon that guided him home. He had been able to take refuge in thoughts of John when the physical trials became too much, when the sanctity of his Mind Palace was threatened. It had been an imperfect solution and he had not survived completely intact but John would make it all better. He just knew it. Without His John, all of his suffering would become brutally real and he didn't think he could face that. No….John had to be here…..John had to help.

Mycroft placed their bag by the door and turned his troubled gaze back to his silent brother, "Look Sherlock, I know things will seem a bit….strange for you now, being back here. But John and I are here for you, we're going to help you with everything? You won't be on your own anymore. That's a good thing isn't it?"

Sherlock remained silent but nodded his head and waved briefly in acknowledgement. Still he did not turn away from the window. Until the water stopped flowing in the pipes. He turned around eagerly to face the bathroom. John was finished he thought happily to himself. John was coming.

{*} {*} {*}

With so much happening at one time, the onset of actual shock had taken several minutes. John was already beginning to hyperventilate before he shut the bathroom door, leaning his forehead and hand against the wood. "Sherlock," whispered from his lips to the empty bathroom. "Sherlock," he repeated, noticing the clothes in his left hand trembling. "Sherlock," broke forth again on a sob, as the clothes fell to the floor. John quickly covered his mouth with his now free hand as the sobbing threatened to become uncontrollable, shielding his pain from the two men who could most easily pick up on it. He slid to his knees and let the tears flow, right hand still pressed to the wood as if reaching to reclaim his long dead friend. So much sorrow, anger, and self recrimination had been for nothing as the cause now stood in his sitting room vividly alive. He had nearly died because of it for Christ's sake! His body trembled as the chills set in and he rocked back and forth in an effort to warm himself. How could Sherlock do that? How could he make him believe…...and then just waltz right back in like it wasn't anything. John had not felt this much pain and hurt along with anger since the 'Fall' itself. Yet all of that was easily over-ridden by the joy at having Sherlock back. Having the man he loved more than anything back among the living….back with him. He could tell him now...tell him how he felt….tell him….they could…...John's hand had finally slid from his mouth as the sobs grew quieter only to rest against Mycroft's collar at his throat.

'Mycroft!' Oh God! What in the world was he even thinking?! He glanced down at his shaking hand and the shiny new ring there. He was engaged to Mycroft! He loved Mycroft! Sherlock had just returned and witnessed him having very intense and intimate sexual relations with his brother! He cried quietly cradling his head in his hands. What were they going to do? It was really all too much for one night, the anniversary, the engagement, submitting completely to Mycroft, and then being confronted with the biggest desire your heart ever had returning from the dead. John could not stop the tears nor the choking sobs that still tore from his throat periodically, but he knew that Mycroft would come check on him if the shower did not start soon. He was too ashamed of his own heart's immediate betrayal to face either man yet, so he forced himself up from the floor and over to start the water, steadfastly ignoring his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he did. He picked up his clothes and placed them on the edge of the sink while the water warmed, before carefully unbuckling the collar around his neck. He never actually showered with it on and he fingered the soft leather lovingly as he placed it with his clothes and stepped into the shower.

He stood for the longest time under the hot spray, the tears that still fell disappearing with the water while he waited for it to relax the tension in his body. When it became apparent that he would not be able to relax, he reached for a flannel and began vigorously soaping up. Every time he tried to think rationally about tonight, a new sob broke forth so he forced himself to stop thinking. He could never leave the bathroom to face his best friend and his fiancé like this. John forced himself into soldier mode, shutting away his chaotic emotions and instead channeling his energy into getting through the rest of this evening without giving himself away. Sherlock looked like he might need some medical attention so he allowed the doctor to dominate his mind as he thought over what his friend may require. He soon found himself focused and calm, ready to face what awaited outside of the bathroom. He turned off the shower, quickly towelling dry and beginning to dress. The collar went back on first. John could acknowledge that his emotional state, while locked up tight for the time being, was precarious and he desperately needed that reassurance. Once he was dressed, he wet his flannel with the coldest water he could get from the tap and pressed it over his eyes hoping to conceal at least some of his distress from the sharp eyes and keen minds outside. He finished by scrubbing quickly over his face with the cloth to disguise some of the redness around his eyes with the redness of a fresh scrub. At last he was as ready as he could make himself. He turned to face the door, squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and reached for the doorknob.

{*} {*} {*}

Sherlock stepped forward eagerly as he heard the bathroom door open, smiling when he saw John approaching. He had had very limited opportunity to interact with John, to reconnect, and he was feeling the need to do so acutely. He froze in his steps and dropped his happy, expectant smile into something more bland when John stopped beside Mycroft and slid his arm around his waist.

Mycroft, however, had been watching Sherlock the whole time….and he saw everything.

Focusing his attention on John, Mycroft easily saw the degree of distress he was in as well as the soldier's resolve to just get on with things. His arm instinctively tightened around John's waist, his eyebrows furrowed in silent concern. John knew right away that Mycroft saw through him and only hoped his distance from Sherlock, both across the room and the intervening months, would keep it from him. John reached up to kiss Mycroft softly before speaking with false cheer, "All set then love?" His eyes quietly pled with Mycroft to just let it go for now. After carefully scanning him over again, Mycroft relented.

"Yes. Everything cleaned and ready to go. How about you?"

John glanced over at Sherlock, thinking he looked even paler than he had earlier. "Well just from looking at him I thought Sherlock might be in need of a complete exam from his doctor. See if there is anything I need to treat before I order him to eat and sleep." John sent a meaningful glare towards Sherlock and he pointedly ignored him. John had been grateful there had not been shouting going on when he came out of the bathroom. However, with these two even silence could be quite brutal and deadly. John wasn't sure how long they could stay in close company this first evening before something broke. "Do you want to stay while I do that? Or take our things home and I'll meet you back there in a bit?"

Mycroft would gladly stay, happily do anything John wanted in order to ease his distress. He had also seen the naked hunger on Sherlock's face when John came out before he managed to cover it up. He couldn't stop the nervous anxiety he himself felt at the prospect of leaving John alone with Sherlock; but he felt it was only fair to give John the chance to speak with Sherlock privately as well. If the conflict and anxiety he had seen in John's face was anything to go by, nothing would be gained or resolved by keeping the two men chaperoned at all times. Curse him for a fool with a noble heart! "It has been a very long day John. I think I shall go home, maybe have a relaxing bath while you finish up here." He chuckled a bit too gaily and said, "Don't even be surprised if you come home and find me dead asleep already."

John cocked his head and studied his love. He had come to know him very well this past year and he read the doubts and insecurities behind those placid blue eyes as easily as Mycroft read his distress. That he was the cause of those doubts was nearly the undoing of his resolve. "My?" He spoke softly and intimately to keep the interaction just between them. "My...you don't have to go. I'm not asking you to go.." He was promptly silenced with a lingering kiss before Mycroft replied.

"I know, love. But I am choosing to." Another quick kiss and Mycroft gathered the bag by the door and his suit, now neatly hung, "I shall see myself out so you can get on to your exam, John. Sherlock? Behave for once and I will see you soon I am certain. There will be much to do." Then he was down the stairs without another word.

John lingered uncertainly by the door until he heard the downstairs door shut firmly and Mycroft's muffled voice speaking to Clarence. With a deep breath and a sigh, he turned to face Sherlock.

Sherlock had again been studying John and Mycroft intently, his deductions only marginally improved from earlier. He eyed the collar still at John's throat, well-worn but lovingly cared for, and wanted to understand more. It was nothing he could have ever pictured, well...maybe for Mycroft but certainly never John. Obviously there was much he either misjudged or simply did not know about John. Had he always suffered a blind spot in his deductions about John? When John finally faced him he spoke abruptly, "He loves you a great deal, John. I….I never realized he could….love, for one thing, but…..the way he loves you?" He trailed off, uncertain of where he meant to go with that deduction. He didn't want to think about Mycroft. He was here with John, alone in 221B, everything as it should be. Except that it wasn't.

"Well, no use dragging it out Sherlock. You look like shit and I'm sure you haven't been taking care of yourself properly either. So come on, off with the kit and let's see the damage, see what I need to treat or let go."

Sherlock flinched when John mentioned damage and turned back to the window. "That's really not necessary John. I just need to eat and sleep."

"I am pretty sure that I need to be the judge of that, unless you became a doctor while you were away. Now this is no time to be skittish." John stepped forward and reached to remove Sherlock's coat only to find himself on the floor a moment later. He was too startled to move for a moment, glancing up at his friend, only to see a Sherlock he had never known. Sherlock stood over him on alert, ready to strike at the least provocation. But his eyes frightened John the most, they were not just cold and calculating, they were hard. The eyes of a man who would not give an inch, a man without mercy, a man who had killed and would do so again if required. John remained frozen on the floor watching Sherlock. The friend he knew had a heart capable of tenderness and kindness, a heart that never should have been exposed to whatever Sherlock had had to go through. In a few moments John saw Sherlock's eyes soften, saw him glance around in confusion before lighting upon John. His eyes widened in awareness as he backed away from John until he hit the window behind him. He stood trembling and breathing raggedly against the window but he made no move toward John. Holding up his hands in surrender, John slowly stood, darting his eyes over his friend, seeing him in a new light. John saw a man so acclimated to the fight that he could not figure out who to trust. He couldn't tell what was safe and what was threat. Sherlock had spent the past sixteen months being a different kind of soldier, one not bound by conventional rules of warfare. John certainly recognized PTSD when he saw it.

"Sherlock? It's okay….it's just John. I won't touch you again alright? You're safe here, you can relax." He watched closely as Sherlock returned to himself, at least he had to be thankful Sherlock still registered his name as one to trust. Sherlock seemed embarrassed as he drew his coat more tightly about himself.

"I'm sorry John. I didn't mean…..I would never want to….I'm sorry," he finally mumbled turning away from John again. Sherlock was kicking himself for acting that way with John, the one person in all the world he trusted implicitly. It was just a damned reflex, ingrained during his travels. But the fact remained he had struck out at John and convinced him he was at least partially deranged when he really needed and wanted contact with John. He simply wasn't prepared for him to actually see the wounds and scars. He didn't want to deal with that tonight. He only wanted to be with John but allowing an exam would bring all the pain in between them. John would have questions, John would want to talk, and Sherlock just couldn't do that…..not yet, maybe not ever.

When Sherlock turned his back, John sighed considering what he could do to help Sherlock even a little if an exam wasn't going to be allowed. He decided to focus on the domestics for the time being and disappeared into the bedroom. Sherlock still seemed lost in thought when he returned so John cleared his throat quietly to get his attention before speaking. "Uhm….the bed is freshly made and turned down for you. There are fresh towels and all your favorite items are still in the bathroom, including your razor. I put clean clothes and a dressing gown in the bathroom for you." John paused when Sherlock finally turned to face him, his eyes questioning John trying to understand what he wanted….what was the goal. John could only sigh at the mistrust in his motives but he pressed on just the same. "There is plenty of food left from dinner. If you...if you wanted to get a hot bath then I could warm you up something to eat while you do that and have it ready when you get out. If you like that is?" Sherlock glanced with longing towards the bathroom, then darted his gaze back to John. "I promise I won't come in unless you call me Sherlock. I won't pry if you're not ready. I would hope that you know you can come to me if it is something serious but I even put the med-kit in the bathroom so you can tend to yourself if you won't allow me to help you. I just….I want to be able to do something to make you feel at home again, because this is still your home."

Sherlock finally seemed to relax a bit and a small smile tugged at one side of his mouth. "Alright."

John smiled in return, "Alright. And make some noise while you're at it…...just so I know you haven't passed out or anything. Recite a poem, talk, sing a song." That earned him a severely raised eyebrow from Sherlock so John merely chuckled, "Well...do Something." Sherlock smirked as he moved towards the bathroom before John called out, "Uhm….wine or tea with your dinner?"

Sherlock actually allowed himself a real smile, "Tea John, definitely tea." He knew John would make it better…..it was just going to take time.

{*} {*} {*}

The shower had been a welcome treat, Sherlock running out all of the hot water scrubbing dirt and dried blood from his body, inspecting the fresher wounds for any signs of infection and making sure there was no fresh bleeding to tip-off John. He had managed to keep up a steady litany of English poetry interspersed with bawdy limericks he had picked up in his time underground, enough to keep John fully cognizant of his consciousness until he was out of the shower. He utilized the med-kit in the bathroom, nothing required stitches, nothing was feverish and he dressed anything likely to bleed before he pulled on his cotton shirt and pajama pants. He found clippers in the medicine cabinet and made quick work of tidying up his unruly nails. He lamented his overlong hair but it could wait. Maybe when he had settled himself a bit more he could get John to trim it for him. He knew he wouldn't be able to go out to have it done for a while and the length really didn't suit him. Still he felt far more human than he had for the past sixteen months once he left the bathroom. The smell of the warmed over beef and fresh tea set his stomach to growling as soon as he got a whiff. He followed his nose to the kitchen and found John just putting everything on a tray.

"Smells wonderful John."

John chuckled softly. "Well it's not my cooking tonight but it is delicious and will fill up the holes." He finished what he was doing and turned to grab the bread only to come up short when Sherlock pressed into his personal space. He froze. He made no provocative movements. He let Sherlock lead. He met those sharp grey-blue eyes, boring intimately down on him as they had so many times before. John swallowed convulsively. There it was: the unspoken 'thing' that had always been present between Sherlock and he. The simmering tension he never had the opportunity to act on and now he couldn't…..shouldn't…..couldn't! He mentally chastised himself and stepped back putting some distance between the two of them.

Sherlock saw the thoughts flitting across John's face and fought his smirk at John's internal struggle over his closeness. Just as he thought he could press his advantage, John's smile tightened around the edges and he backed away from him. Before Sherlock had a chance to act John had snagged the bread and the tray and was already moving into the sitting room. Sherlock attempted to discipline the sullen expression he was sure he wore as he followed John. He was relieved when John sat on the sofa as he still viewed his chair rather dubiously. As he sat, John handed him his tea which he instantly sipped, gratefully leaning back with the largest sigh John had probably ever heard. "Oh goodness, I have missed your tea John. You simply have no idea." John sipped his own cup and made no comment still lost in his own thoughts it seemed. Sherlock rested his cup and hands in his lap until John finally looked at him. "I missed you John. More than I have ever missed anything in my life, I missed you. I missed this, just the ins and outs of our everyday life. I...I missed us John."

John fought the surge of anger he felt at those words. He didn't want any negativity tonight. His fingers tightened on his cup before he managed the most politic answer he could come up with, "Well, you didn't have to…..miss me, you know. You could have made different choices." When Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, John stopped him with a hand on his thigh. A hand he quickly withdrew. "I don't want to talk about it tonight Sherlock. I don't want to argue or be upset. I just want to sit here, have some tea and a meal with you and know that for now you are alright and here with me. Okay?"

Sherlock stared at John for just a moment, then nodded and resumed sipping his tea. Things felt uncomfortable again and Sherlock wasn't sure why, but he concentrated on giving John what he asked for, John had joined him with his own bowl, probably because he knew Sherlock would eat better with him than alone. Sherlock supposed the strategy worked. The tea warmed him and whetted his appetite causing him to surprise John when he finished his bowl and a slice of bread with butter. When John offered another cup of tea he nodded so eagerly that John chuckled as he put the kettle on and Sherlock counted that a success because John's laughter was one of the joys in his life. One more thing he had missed while he was away. His pleasant stupor lasted until John returned with his tea and none for himself.

"Well it has been nice, just being here like this. But it is really getting late Sherlock, if the tea will do you I am going to head home now. Mycroft will be waiting."

Sherlock panicked but managed to ask calmly, "Well since it is so late, why don't you just stay here? I'm sure Mycroft won't care. And besides...what if I need you?"

John shook his head because he was sure he would not be able to explain the important and sentimental nature of anniversaries to Sherlock. "No Sherlock. I have to get home now and I think you will be just fine until tomorrow. I'm sure we will be back to see about resurrecting Sherlock Holmes from the dead."

Sherlock lashed out before he could stop himself. "But this is your home, here with me! This is where you belong! You know you do! You have to stay!"

John was taken aback by the outburst. His heart broke in a way he never expected it could when he answered Sherlock. "No Sherlock. It's not anymore….not like that….not since you went away. I am sorry Sherlock. I will see you tomorrow but…..I have to leave now. Good-night." He couldn't stay any longer. He couldn't look at Sherlock's face and the myriad of emotions racing across it. Emotions he had never carried so near the surface were far too visible to John right now. He felt the waves crashing against the dam and knew he couldn't stay to deal with Sherlock's distress as well as his own. So he said his good-bye, grabbed his jacket and was down the stairs and out the door onto the street before Sherlock had a chance to answer. He headed towards home knowing he could summon a car in no time but choosing to walk instead. He needed to think about everything away from both of the Holmes men in his life and the fresh air, he hoped, would help clear his head.

It took him forty-five minutes to make the walk to the townhouse. He didn't think he was any closer to answers for dealing with the unique situation he now found himself in but he did realize one thing. As he entered the townhouse and shut the door behind him, he actually breathed a sigh of relief and felt much of his tension ebb. But it was not just the home, he knew, it was Mycroft. Mycroft had been an oasis of strength and calm in his life from the moment they first got together. Mycroft meant stability and security where Sherlock only seemed to bring chaos and heartache. John knew without a doubt that he still loved Sherlock, tonight only proved that. But he also loved Mycroft. He had managed to pick up the shattered pieces of his life and build a new one with Mycroft, and they were happy. They were engaged and would be married. He would not allow Sherlock's reappearance to jeopardize what they had built together. John shed his jacket and headed upstairs, eager to return to his lover and their bed. He needed Mycroft.

The bedroom was dark when John entered but his eyes adjusted quickly. The bed was still made and empty but he soon located Mycroft. He was sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs near the window. He often liked to sit and read there but the moonlight through the window fell on a sleeping man, head fallen against one of the sides and fingers loosely wrapped around an empty tumbler in his lap. John smiled and shook his head, enjoying the simplicity of an everyday moment like this. He toed his shoes off by the door and padded quietly over. He knelt in front of Mycroft and carefully eased the glass from his hands, sitting it on the side table for safe-keeping. He let his fingers stroke softly along the relax jaw as he called quietly, "My?"

It took a couple of tries before Mycroft stirred, blinking slowly awake only to appear somewhat surprised to see John there. "My? You should have gone to bed love. A crick in your neck will not make you a pleasant man to deal with at the office."

Mycroft straightened, stretching his neck at the same time while he tried to decide how to answer John. He couldn't admit that a part of him was afraid John would not come home to him tonight; he couldn't say he feared that if he went to bed alone tonight, he would wake up alone, possibly from now on. It wasn't fair to John to let his fears and insecurities dictate his actions. He finally settled on the somewhat lame but true reply, "I wanted to wait for you. I prefer going to bed together, especially tonight….our anniversary after all." He smiled easily at John.

John returned the smile but could see behind the mask to the real answer. He was not upset by the doubts. Given Mycroft's own chronic insecurities regarding his inexperience with relationships before John, and what he knew about John's feelings for Sherlock, he had a genuine foundation for his worries. It was up to John to allay those fears. "Oh, My. I'm here now, come to bed." Taking Mycroft's hand, he tugged gently until he was on his feet and following him to the side of the bed. John quickly stripped where they stood, then reached to rid Mycroft of his pajamas. Long fingers curled over his hands to stop him.

"How is.." Mycroft began but was quickly cut off by the firm voice of Captain Watson.

"NO! Not here Mycroft. Not here, not now. Now, there is only you and I…..and I want to keep it that way." Mycroft nodded quietly and released his hold on John's hands allowing himself to be divested of his pajamas and pants. John pressed himself close to Mycroft, curling his arms up and over his shoulders as he tilted his face up to receive a welcome kiss. There was no rush, no play, only two men showing their love for each other. A slow burn building as each took time to arouse and please their partner in all the intimate ways only they knew. Soon John had Mycroft sitting against the headboard of their bed, his head thrown back as John worked his cock and balls with mouth and tongue. He was only mildly surprised when he felt a lubed finger press into him, soon followed by a second. He merely assumed John wanted to take him as well for their anniversary. John worked him carefully but did not avoid his prostate, quickly having Mycroft on edge and thrusting into his mouth. Suddenly it all stopped. Mycroft opened his eyes to see John straddled over his lap, one hand behind him as he eased the plug from his ass. Mycroft quickly grabbed John's hand to stop him.

"John! You shouldn't…..you don't have to…...I.." he trailed off. He was slightly embarrassed to admit his concern but finally spit it out. John was looking at him expectantly, hand still in place. "You've already been used rather roughly tonight. You don't need to do this as well."

John smiled, leaning forward to kiss him quiet. Mycroft's hand fell away from it's hold only to cup John's face instead as he deepened the kiss. Realizing he had been manipulated when he felt John lowering slowly onto his hard cock, he broke the kiss and met John's amused eyes.

"You see My, I do need to do this….I need you inside me just now, part of me. The way we've been….the way we will continue to be." Mycroft had no reply to that. He could only watch as John rose and fell on his cock once more. John took his time, riding him slowly, the sensations intensified by the pace, both men losing themselves for a time. Mycroft allowed his hands and lips to roam over John's body wherever they could reach, pinching and suckling nipples, stroking slowly over his cock, smoothing over the straining back and gripping the powerful thighs. John was moaning and humming softly, his eyes closed in pleasure, in response to Mycroft's ministrations. His eyes suddenly flew open and he paused, leaning forward to whisper low and filthy in Mycroft's ear causing the large man to shudder. "Besides My, I never did get my ride."

Mycroft let out a low moan as John leaned back further, bracing his hands atop the thighs beneath him and with a cheeky wink to his lover began riding his cock in earnest. Rising as far as he could before plunging back down, his own cock flopping up and down against his belly with his movements. It was a show just for him and Mycroft could not get over how stunning John looked spread out before him taking his pleasure. Soon the pace increased, both John and Mycroft moaning loudly as they neared their limit. Mycroft began to stroke John firmly determined that he would come first, while John groaned and bit his lip, shaking his head as he tried to hold off, but to no avail. John quickly reached his peak crying out as he began to come over Mycroft's hand and abdomen. Mycroft, well used to the cues of John's body, pulled him forward, holding him firmly against him as he thrust up into him hard and fast reaching his own climax in only a few strokes as well. They clung to each other then, chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other, John's head resting on Mycroft's shoulder as they caught their breath.

It was John who led the way again, leading Mycroft to the shower to clean up and then back to bed where they quickly fell asleep wrapped in each others arms. The world outside and all its commensurate woes pushed aside as the two lovers took comfort in each other.

AUTHOR'S Note: First I must apologize for taking so long to get this update posted! I let myself get distracted with some other things and, before I knew it, it was much longer than I liked since I updated. I will resume alternating back and forth between my stories to try and prevent that from happening again! That being said, I did use the time to think through what our three men were going through and I think the chapter is fantastic! I am only a little bit biased of course! ;) LOLOL

Tremendous Thanks to Spades (hereafter known as The Red Pen) for her invaluable assistance and unflinching attention to details. She manages to make everything I write better! If you haven't read her stuff, you need to get a Move On! :-D

As always, I don't own squat. But I have a wonderful time on the playground! Please feed the review/comment addicted writer! It IS allowed in THIS zoo! I Promise! HAHAHAHA! Enjoy guys! And Always my sincere thanks for reading! Cynthia