The house was immense. Sure, the tree-line drive and manicured gardens were kind of a giveaway, but looking up at the stone and brick structure kind of drove it home how rich Sherlock's family was. "Blimey." John says in shock as he runs a hand through his hair. "I.. am not going to fit in here, Sherlock. What did you drag me into?" he asks, shaking his head a little and getting out once the door is opened for him, taking his bag of presents with him. A footman type comes out and takes their luggage, though John insists on keeping his presents with him.
Sherlock smirks a little. "Honestly, John, it's far less impressive than you might think. And I am sure you will rise to the occasion." He says as he gets out of the car, looking around for a few moments with a sigh. "Come along, John." He says as he strides toward the house, stepping inside and starting to remove his gloves and scarf. "Charles." He greets with a small nod at the older butler. "This is my flatmate and friend, Dr. John Watson." He says as he motions to John, letting the butler take his jacket and outerwear.
John shakes the butler's hand with a sharp nod. "Pleasure to meet you. How long have you worked here?" he asks, removing his jacket to hand it over to the butler, who hangs everything up in the closet.
"Nice to meet you as well, Dr. Watson." Charles greets with a small smile. "I've worked here since I was in my 20's, sir. By the time I came on, young Master Sherlock here was already a young troublemaker, just a tyke. I watched all three boys grow up, but mostly Master Sherlock and Master Sherrinford." He says quietly as he looks between them.
Sherlock can't help but smirk. "Ford would be most upset if he heard you use his full name like that, Charles." He says slightly chastisingly, but seeming amused.
John can't help but grin. "I would love to hear some of those stories of Sherlock as a toddler." he says with amusement as he looks at his flatmate, picking up his bag again now that he's finished removing his jacket.
As Sherlock gives him a warning glare, Charles smiles a little. "I'm afraid you'll have to go to the source for that, Dr. Watson. And I apologize, Master Sherlock. Someone should hear his full name once in a while. Speaking of youngest Master, he arrived about an hour ago with his guest. They're retired to his room." He says quietly before he motions. "Your luggage has already been brought to your room, would you like me to show you the way, or do you remember?" He asks with amusement as he looks t Sherlock.
With a small, indignant huff, Sherlock adjusts his suit jacket. "I believe I remember the way, Charles. What room has been prepared for John?" he asks as he tugs at his cuffs briefly for a moment.
Uncertain, Charles starts to look a little awkward, glancing between the two. "Uh.. I'm sorry, Master Sherlock. We only prepared your room, we were told you and Dr. Watson would be staying together." He pauses. "And now all the other rooms are full, most of the extended family is staying over before traveling home." he says slowly.
John glances between the two, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he realizes that means they'll be sharing a bedroom. He just ends up laughing softly. "I should have expected that. Come on, Sherlock, lead the way." he says as he motions toward the stairs, taking it in stride a little better than Sherlock is. When he glances up at the taller detective, he looks a little startled at the absolutely furious look on his face, and he frowns, stepping over and putting his hand on his arm. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" He asks in concern.
"Nothing. This way, John." Sherlock says in a stiff tone, moving toward the stairs and taking them two at a time, leaving John to race to keep up. Moving with confidence, Sherlock moves down the hallway and finally gets to his room, opening the door and stepping inside, their luggage already there, garment bags hanging up just inside a wardrobe.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" John gasps as he gets into the room, closing the door and leaning against it as he catches his breath. "Some of us have trouble keeping up with those long legs of yours." he points out as he looks Sherlock over. "Mind explaining to me what that was all about?" He asks as he watches the detective starting to pace agitatedly around the room and he's just starting to think that he might have to stage another intervention to calm him down and bring his attention back to the present when the other man speaks.
"Bloody Mycroft!" Sherlock nearly explodes, running his hands through his hair, pulling it a little in his agitation. "I told him, I told Mummy, that we would need two rooms, that you were just my friend, but Mycroft must be interfering to make me, make us, uncomfortable, taking liberties in changing things around. He can't stop interfering in my life." he says angrily, putting one hand on his hip as he walks back and forth. And if John isn't imagining anything, it's a well-worn path that he's walking.
Shaking his head for a few moments, John chuckles. "Sherlock, you are walking right into his trap, you are giving Mycroft what he wants. Blimey, if I knew coming here would make you so emotional, I would be able to anticipate your little fits more." he says as he walks over, intercepting his path, this time reaching up and putting his rough, calloused hands on either side of Sherlock's smooth face. "Sherlock. I'm not angry with this. I've had to share beds before, it's not a big deal. Or I can sleep on the floor, that won't bother me either." He keeps eye contact with the younger man as he tries to tell him with expression alone, how much he didn't mind everything.
"You can't sleep on the floor. Not with your shoulder." Sherlock says thoughtfully, eyes shifting briefly to glance at John's shoulder before he looks back into his eyes, his hands coming out to rest unconsciously on John's waist to anchor himself, fingers curling around the jumper slowly as he watches his flatmate. "I've never shared a bed with anyone before, but if that's what you think would be best..." he says quietly and slowly, nearly mumbling everything which is not like him really, but at the same time he doesn't want to dislodge John's hands, since it feels nice.
A soft smile combined with a firm nod, and John strokes Sherlock's cheeks for a few moments. "There you go." he soothes, not questioning his ability to calm the detective down, continuing to watch his eyes. "Thank you for thinking about my shoulder." He notes, before he gives in to a strange longing he's developed in the last ten minutes, and he runs one hand slowly through the taller man's hair. "Better now?" he offers as he looks at him, a little surprised when Sherlock presses into the touch through his hair, much like a cat might.
"Yes.. thank you. You've had to do this a lot recently. I am not myself, coming here to this place, it is very difficult for me." Sherlock admits softly as he looks down at the shorter man, hands tightening in the fabric at John's sides for a moment before he pulls back a little, releasing him and stepping back so he can turn to look at his room, slipping out of his shoes and socks and setting them aside.
"I understand, Sherlock. And you're more than patient whenever I have my own flashbacks, so this is the least I can do for you." John says quietly as he watches the man, sitting down to remove his own boots and socks to put them aside, getting comfortable. "You need to relax before this party, Sherlock. You're wound tighter than a clock. Come on, I have an idea, and we could both use the rest." he says as he walks over to the bed, climbing onto it and piling up the pillows on one side, leaning back against it before he motions. "Come on, Sherlock." He says quietly, taking a chance and not worrying about the consequences, just worrying about relaxing his best friend and making him feel better.
Casting a wary eye at the doctor, Sherlock shifts a little, and then nods quietly, removing his suit jacket and hanging it up before he rolls up his sleeves and walks over to the bed, standing beside it, uncertain as to what John is asking him to do, exactly. Normally he can tell what John's intentions are, at least up to a point. But this time he's completely lost, so he just sits on the edge of the bed as he tries to figure it out, looking vaguely perplexed.
"Come on.. lay down, put your head in my lap. I know, it sounds odd, but I have an idea, so you'll just have to trust me." John says as he looks at the detective's wary face with some amusement of his own.
Nodding quietly, Sherlock feels the need to assert, "I trust you, John." Before he gets up onto the bed, arranging his body comfortably before he puts his head in John's lap, looking away from him, one hand resting just above the doctor's knee, next to his face.
John just nods a little, and slowly starts carding his fingers through the detective's hair, rubbing his scalp with his blunt fingertips now and then as he strokes through his hair. "Why don't you tell me about what you were like when you were a toddler, since you won't let me get the information out of your butler." He offers with a small smile. "Maybe talking about it will help you work through some of your anxiety. Bloody hell, I sound like my therapist right now.." he says with a small chuckle.
The hand in his hair does help Sherlock relax a little, finding he quite likes the sensation. "Perhaps in exchange you will tell me about your times in Afghanistan? If talking about it helps so much." He says in amusement, glancing back at him curiously, though trying not to dislodge his hand.
"After we get back home, I'll do my best, Sherlock." John hesitates for a long time before agreeing, nodding as he continues to stroke through Sherlock's hair, hand moving down and rubbing the back of his neck slowly before his hand slides back up into the other man's luxurious hair.
A slow, deep breath is taken and Sherlock nods, which just rubs his cheek against the leg of John's pants slowly, before he closes his eyes. "In a way, I suppose it was a very liberating childhood. Mummy tried to get me a few nannies, but I was too smart for them, I gave them the slip and went off on my own." He begins to talk quietly, closing his eyes. "I saw things I shouldn't have. Even then, I put things together, little details. Of course, I didn't understand most of the details, and with most children, I had little to no tact, asking things which upset people, but I didn't understand why. I always wanted to work how things worked, in nature. Science was always an interest for me. I was able to spend hours our library - I'll show it to you later - looking up different subjects and reading. Mycroft was a little too old for me to play with properly, though he did indulge me once in a while, and of course while I was fascinated with my pregnant mother and Ford when he was first born, I was kept away from him. It was thought that I would rub off on him, or somehow taint him with my particular brand of.. personality disorder. At least that's what the doctors wanted to tell me, but I rarely listened to them." he says casually, shrugging a little, shifting and rolling toward his front a little more to get comfortable. "So I wasn't allowed close to Ford. I wasn't even allowed to be a proper brother. I think that is the reason there is a rift between us. Mycroft was the golden child, he has all the deductive abilities, but he has the social graces as well, he can incorporate everything to turn it to his advantage." He says with a little sigh and a small shrug of his shoulders, closing his eyes. "I can tell you more later, John. For now, can we just rest like this?" he asks hopefully, not sure exactly what this is, once again, but he knows that it's relaxing and comfortable.
Listening attentively to everything, John frowns a little as he considers what a lonely childhood Sherlock must have had. His hand never stops going through the detective's curls, and he smiles a little, allowing himself to play with them for a few moments as he listens. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock..." he says quietly, before he nods, getting comfortable. "Yeah, we have plenty of time.. lets rest up before the party." he reassures, stroking down over his neck and shoulders slowly as he tries to soothe Sherlock, and tries not to think too much about what he's doing, or why, or the fact that he's enjoying it more than he should.
He might be in a little bit of trouble, here.
This did not turn out as well as I wanted it to, but I hope you all enjoy it. And thank you to my reviewers! In answer to one of the questions, writing this same story from Mycroft's point of view might be something I do after I finish this one, and the Bond/Q perspective. And I don't think that Sherlock actively dislikes Q/Ford. It's just that he never got a chance to know him, and I think that neither of the youngest Holmes boys had an easy/happy childhood. Though you'll have to read the other one to hear it from Ford/Q's point of view. ;)
Thank you for the reviews, they are always welcome. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I am too tired to do more with it tonight, but hopefully tomorrow I'll have another one up!