Chapter 10- Off To Tibet.
Disclaimer- I own nothing, 'cause I'm really a part of the Homeless Network ;)
Sherlock awoke slowly, feeling warm, well-rested and altogether very comfortable.
Then he realised there was a slight pressure on the top of his head, and on his shoulders.
John.
Sherlock smiled slightly, and snuggled closer, nuzzling his head under the other boys chin, his arms tightening around his waist.
"You're awake then." John sounded happy, but slightly nervous. Understandable, considering they had awoken locked in a comfortingly tight embrace.
"Mornin' John." Sherlock mumbled into his shoulder, not yet willing to move.
"Morning. You alright?" John kissed the top of Sherlock's head, almost absently, the way one would do had they been with someone for years.
It was amazing how easily they fit into such a comfortable relationship.
Astonishing that Sherlock lightly brushed his lips across John's shoulder in response. The so-called sociopath, secret snuggler.
John smiled lightly, not even close to get ready to move. It was just too relaxing. The comparison with normally waking up was ridiculous, and John decided that this was why people normally liked waking up together.
Both boys were prepared to spend the whole day there, until something interesting happened, but a sharp rap on the door spoiled those unspoken plans.
"Sherlock? Sherlock are you in there?"
"No. Go away, Lestrade." It was highly childish, but Sherlock didn't really care. He figured Mycroft was around somewhere, and that lowered his maturity level dramatically.
"Mycroft said we need to leave in an hour, so I need to get you and John up. But he's not in his room."
"Oh really? Never would have guessed." Sherlock still hadn't moved, and he could feel John trying not to laugh.
"Huh? Sherlock-" Lestrade cut of abruptly, interrupted.
"Sherlock, we know he's there. I am not stupid, you know. Open up."
"Do it yourself, Mycroft."
And he did. The door swung open, then Mycroft added a dry "Make sure you're decent."
Neither Mycroft nor his lover seemed even close to surprised that John was there, though Mycroft frowned at the position they were in, despite the fact that they were both fully dressed.
He had thought that Sherlock would behave a little more indifferent towards John with Greg being in the room.
And he wasn't used to being wrong.
John noticed the expression, and subtly tried to prise Sherlock off of him, but Sherlock was having none of it. And John's attempt was less than half-hearted, it was only induced by the slight embarrassment of having the two teachers see. And there was little point in moving when they were already there.
The elder Holmes cleared his throat.
"Sherlock, this is important. Listen up."
"Tell John to listen." He got nudged by the aforementioned John. "I already am."
Sherlock sighed, then moved his head a little to face Lestrade. He was childishly deliberately avoiding Mycroft's gaze.
"Listening. Happy?"
"Very. Mycroft answered pleasantly, the way one would if they were sat around a table drinking tea, not standing in the middle of a room, with one couple still in bed.
"Now, in an hour, Greg and John are going to the airport, stopping on the way at John's dentist. If these people are watching then they will probably stop if they think it is a simple appointment."
Sherlock nodded, and Mycroft took that to be 'acceptable explanation', in Sherlock-ese.
"You and I will take a rented car seventeen minutes later, and take the long route around to the airport. We are all to meet in my classroom in fifty-five minutes time."
"Okay." John agreed easily. Sherlock also knew it was a good idea, and Mycroft was being exceptionally helpful, but offered a "Fine" in his sulky, 'talking-to-Mycroft' tone of voice.
"Oh, and Shirley? You're going to need to wear walking boots."
Sherlock glared, and the two older males swiftly exited the room.
"Why?"
"I need to walk through the fields at the back to get to the car."
"Right." John didn't bother to ask how he knew that, but made to get out of bed, stopping when Sherlock reached out to grab his wrist.
"Where are you going?" A cleft appeared between his eyebrows as he frowned at John.
"Jesus, Sherlock, I thought you were clever. How long will we be there?"
"One week at the most. I would think less, but we need to remain hidden whilst he has the advantage. You didn't answer my question."
"To pack, Sherlock. And have a shower, get changed. You know, the normal things you do before a trip."
Sherlock grumbled, then sat up, immediately shivering slightly. "It's cold now." He muttered, and John smiled.
Leaning down, he softly kissed Sherlock, then ran a hand gently down his hair.
"I'll see you in fifty-something minutes."
"Forty-nine, John." Sherlock smirked back at him, then stood up, taking the duvet with him.
John frowned, but didn't bother questioning it. Instead, he watched Sherlock bundle off into his bathroom, duvet and all, only leaving once Sherlock was out of sight.
-o0o0o0o-
John opened the door to his room, only to find it in a rather peculiar state.
It was totally and completely devoid of people, but it was obvious from the floor that the people couldn't have gone far.
Unless Anderson had a habit of wearing red, lacy, bras and thongs, there had been a girl in the room.
And John thought it would be fairly stupid for someone to leave without their underwear. And that black scrap that could just be described as a dress. Only very loosely though, and if it belonged to one of the borrowers.
Anderson's clothes were also on the floor, and whilst processing this, poor John heard noises from the bathroom.
He shuddered at the thought of what he would have seen if he had left Sherlock's earlier, then started chucking things into a small hold-all as quickly as humanly possible.
He was packed in under five minutes, nearly sprinting from the room.
He would be haunted by the rhythmic thump on the wall, and the loud moans of 'Oh Fuck' for years.
He honestly wasn't sure what was the most disturbing. The knowledge that he was a teenage boy and a girl moaning was of no interest to him, or the fact that he recognised the voice to be that of Sally Donovan.
He reached Sherlock's room amazingly quickly, and knocked on the door, slightly out of breath, though it had been more of a walk than a run.
"Come in." Sherlock sounded annoyed, but broke into a smile when he noticed it was John. "That was fast."
"Hmm. Yeah, Guess so. Can I borrow your shower?"
"Yes, of course. What was wrong with yours." Sherlock asked, but was already smirking.
"Occupied by both Anderson and Donovan. Enough said."
"No wonder you look ill." The Holmes boy commented idly, using a ruler to measure his bag.
John certainly thought he wouldn't be that anal retentive about packing. From the mess everywhere he had seemed much more like a 'chuck it all in' type.
"Thanks." John grabbed his towel and wash-bag from the front pocket of his back, thanking God that neither him nor Anderson kept them in the bathroom, but in the cupboards provided above their beds. Otherwise he would definitely be in a bit of a pickle.
He showered quickly, then realised that he had forgotten his clothes.
With a sigh, he wrapped the towel around his waist tightly. It really wasn't his day.
Sherlock looked up from his bag as the bathroom door creaked open, trying to suppress the smirk that was itching back in place.
Not that it was difficult, the second John emerged, any notion of smirking was long forgotten.
Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, John held his shoulders hunched, self-conscious, as he headed straight for his bag.
Sherlock thought it was adorable. And yes, more than a little attractive.
Elegantly unfolding himself from the floor, he loped across the room to John, who was sorting through the utter mess that was his bag.
He wrapped both of his arms around the other boy, though he wasn't sure what he wanted or why.
John jumped a little, startled, then relaxed. Sherlock realised that this was the reaction he had sought out.
He swayed a little, John moving with him, and kissed the back of his neck. This was easy, relationships in the physical sense were not alien to Sherlock Holmes, merely any sort of innocent reasoning behind it. Or the lack of thought he was currently using to make these choices. It was confusing that he actually wanted to, rather than just needed information from a ditzy girl.
He rested he head over his friend's shoulder, content until an angry red line came into his line of sight.
Concerned, John was spun around so Sherlock could get a better look at the thick, rough scar that ran along the right side of John's collarbone. It was over halfway healed, but anyone could have guessed that the original wound was deep, and slit open more than once. Deliberately.
The taller boy looked at John in shock, moving one hand up to ghost over the scar.
John stood there awkwardly; he had assumed that Sherlock had already deduced this about him. He had figured it out for Sherlock the day the picture arrived.
"I thought you'd have gone for the wrist." Sherlock murmured, almost as if he'd read John's thoughts.
"Why?" To John, that had always seemed like a stupid place to hurt, yes effective in suicide, but only attracting attention when your aim is just to stop.
"The most commonly known. Also used in the photo, and I knew that didn't apply to me. Also, John, in case you've forgotten you have a bandage on your left wrist normally." He frowned. "It isn't here now."
"No. I used to claw at my arms; a nervous habit. Putting a bandage on was easier than constantly cutting my nails, and even short, I somehow managed to break the skin. I don't like people seeing the scars there. They might comment. If I wanted attention, I would mark my arms. But it seems pointless, the effect would obviously be negative. I don't want people talking about me."
Sherlock nodded in approval at the very 'Holmes' style explanation. His eyes were completely fixed on the angry mark, peculiar expression across his face.
"You're so much more logical than the ordinary people.
Or so much more practised. But Sherlock wasn't going to mention that, he didn't want to irritate John.
"Umm, Thanks?"
Holmes didn't respond, instead leaning forward to gently press his lips to the scar. It was a sweet gesture, particularly when he gave an approving nod. "All better."
"All better." John repeated, a small smile on his face, though he looked a little shaky.
And, Sherlock finally noticed that the poor boy was shivering at least partially from the cold.
He kissed him quickly, then pulled back. "Go get dressed, we definitely need to sort out your bag before we leave."
"M'kay." It was more of a noise than a word, and John retreated back to the bathroom, clothes in hand.
Sherlock packed his bag quickly, far more so than one would imagine (the time-consuming part was working our potential volume to begin with) and had tipped out John's things just before he exited the bathroom once more.
They got everything ready quickly, though John did have to laugh when Sherlock pulled out a pair of muddy green walking boots. Which he eyed with disgust, and managed to put on without actually touching them.
They went to Mycroft's classroom, as decided earlier.
When they got there, Mycroft and Lestrade were already there, planning, as Sherlock deduced from how close they were standing, the lack of body contact, and the seriousness of their expressions.
Determining that it was not anything personal, he didn't care about interrupting, and simply entered the room in the odd 'Sherlock' manner, bounding halfway across the space in one step.
"Time to go?" He seemed cheerier than normal, but sarcastically, and it was odd enough behaviour that the three other males turned to stare at him.
"Almost." Mycroft turned to Greg. "Have a safe trip, love."
"You, too."
"Oh come on Mycroft, don't get sappy. It's what, an hour?"
Mycroft cleared his throat. " Quite right, Shirley."
He walked across the room., opened the large window, and jumped through it lightly. Even this motion seemed elegant, posh and little pompous, the exact description of Mycroft Holmes. To John and Sherlock, anyway, who were a little biased.
Sherlock followed, running and almost vaulting through the space, landing neatly beside his brother.
-o0o0o0o-
They arrived exactly as planned, not a single hitch, no problem with security, nothing. John couldn't help but wonder if the Holmes' brothers were used to intricate planning, or were merely overly cautious.
Once there, they walked two miles into the city, then hailed a cab- since a passenger had just gotten out and it was a fair distance away from the airport, they assumed it was safe.
The cabbie was young, early twenties, and easily accepted that they wanted to take the quickest route to the hotel- either there wasn't really any sights to see, or he did not deem them to be interesting, for he did not press it further in an attempt to earn more money.
When they arrived at the hotel, Sherlock made a few observations, noting that it was in the centre of a high business area, but not far from a more remote settlement- prisons, abandoned warehouses, the usual vaguely interesting buildings.
Also, it was expensive, but more relaxed than the usual Mycroft style.
32 rooms, 4 being full suits on the top floor, a swimming pool, two dinning rooms. Fairly large, without going into the realm of cheap, tacky or easy to find.
It made the two younger boys wonder as to how much practice Mycroft had on previous 'trips'.
Approaching the counter, a woman with a red painted smile stood immediately to attention, neat black and white outfit without a single crease. She seemed a little odd, but that could have been that it looked like she enjoyed her job, which was peculiarly unusual.
"Good evening, and welcome to 'The Armoured Elephant.'" She spoke flawless English, and it was clear that she knew who they were.
It was also clear to John that Greg and Sherlock now knew something he didn't.
"Thank You, Anthea. I trust everything is as ordered?" Mycroft was polite, bordering on nice, and it didn't take Sherlock's skills to realise that they were well-acquainted.
"Of Course, Sir." She walked to a cupboard that held keys.
Sherlock noticed that John looked confused, and quickly explained in a hushed whisper. "Anthea works for Mycroft, but not normally here. He knows she trustworthy, hence the new task. Armoured Elephants is something Mycroft is obsessed with. The subject is in his favourite painting, and he uses some theme of it whenever possible; he owns this hotel."
"Owns a hotel? I thought he was a teacher!"
"He is, but even you have to admit it; teaching is boring. And Mycroft has more than enough ways of raising funds."
Anthea walked back over to them, several things in hand, including a large envelope, a black file and two keys.
"Rooms 30 and 31, sir. Here's the search requested, and this arrived for you this morning, I figured it could wait until you got here." She gave a slight shrug, and Mycroft took everything off of her with another 'thanks'.
They all walked a distance away from the counter, and Sherlock fixed Mycroft with a raised eyebrow.
"Really, Mycroft?"
"Yep. We haven't been away in a while, might as well make the most of the opportunity."
"If I hear anything, you're both dead."
Mycroft laughed, and John and Greg both looked equally confused.
Poor Sherlock, who knew his big brother had booked the honeymoon suite.
-0o0o0o- End Chapter- -0o0o0o-
A/N- It's nice to actually end a chapter on a light-hearted note! And I think I've now hit 20,000 words, which is really ace! J I've normally given up before chapter 10, or gotten to a point where it takes 3 months to update.
Oymigosh (cringe at actually writing that word :/), I'm so happy about the sudden influx of reviews!
So thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Howling Shadow, Zarra Rous, atheistpolitic, ChaseAwayMyFears, ceres51892, Melted brains, and crazycookBekah J
Ceres51892 - Thank you especially for your review, it was analytical, which I like; it means you read it properly. Some schools are picky about uniform 'cause they often play against other schools, etc, and I hated my middle school PE Kit because it was really fussy. (So is my upper school one. They complain about the colour of my socks.) XD However, I do take your comment into account, and am going to proofread the last few chapters to find that mistake! J xx