A/N: Still in the past for a little while
Chapter 10
When John woke he found himself tucked tightly back in the hateful hospital bed, sheets so smooth he thought they'd probably been ironed around him while he slept. The IV was back, though the cannula was now in his right arm instead of his left, and there was a dull ache in every muscle of his body. He was also ravenous. He turned his head to see Mycroft exactly where he expected him to be, in the chair beside his bed. He was not dressed however, having simply wrapped himself in a spare rumpled bed sheet.
"Sherlock used to do that; you hated it," observed John mildly.
"He isn't me. When I do it, it's casually elegant. He only does it out of sloth."
"Did. Past tense."
"Yes. Sorry." Mycroft looked at something invisible on the floor, a faraway expression on his face. John supposed he must miss Sherlock almost as much as he did; that he had gone through the same hell he had when Sherlock... "I'm sorry he died. I don't think he really wanted to leave you, he just felt he had no other option."
"Suicide isn't an 'option' Mycroft it's a punishment for everyone else that's left behind. It's a fucking coward's way out."
"Quite. You're clearly still annoyed with him?" John pulled a face and shrugged. Annoyed was probably still too mild, even after a year. He'd spent most of the last twelve months sliding down the grief curve but had got stuck at 'pissed off' and couldn't seem to get past it.
"Talk about something else," he said shortly, a sharp edge of anger bleeding through.
"How about how I kicked your ass last night?" It was such an un-Mycroft line delivered with such deadpan seriousness John cracked up, letting out a bark of laughter that soon infected Mycroft and set them both to giggling like schoolboys. John reached for Mycroft's hand that was resting on the bed covering it with his own and curling his short fingers around Mycroft's long narrow ones.
"You have quite a witty sense of humour at times Myc... Um, Mycroft." He blushed, caught out in the unintended familiar nickname.
"It's fine. I quite like it from you." Mycroft's cheeks also looked a little pink as he stared at their joined hands on the pristine white bed linen. He didn't draw his hand away but turned it palm up so they were holding hands properly, his thumb stroking lightly over the doctor's darker skin. "This is a little odd, but pleasant." He smiled down at John but there was uncertainty behind the normally confident pale blue eyes.
"It is. Much better timing." John winked at him and Mycroft turned crimson, glancing away to hide his embarrassment. John chuckled. "I'm guessing people don't generally flirt with the great Mycroft Holmes if a little teasing can make you turn beetroot."
"Um, no, not often. Sherlock is, was, the attractive one. I was the smart one. He was far better suited to amorous advances than I. Far better at rebuffing them too."
"And would you rebuff my amorous advances?" John teased.
"Oh I, um... I don't know..."
"Relax Myc, I'm in no condition to be amorous with anyone right now," John grinned, "but I'm warning you, as soon as I'm fit enough I'll be advancing my ass off, so you better be ready for all this badass motherfucking wolf."
Mycroft burst out laughing and it was wonderful. He was actually quite gorgeous when he dropped the stuffy posh exterior and let the superior mask slide from his face. His normally chilly ice-blue eyes darkened to the warmth of a summer sky and they crinkled at the corners. "I think I proved I can handle your little badass motherfucker last night."
"Christ Myc, I think that's the sexiest phrase I have ever heard you utter. Say it again!"
"What? That you're a little badass motherfucker?" Mycroft's cultured tones caressed the words and frankly made them sound pornographic to John's ears. He stored the memory away in his brain to replay later when he was alone and could imagine all the different ways he could persuade Mycroft to repeat that phrase in his authoritative voice. He wasn't really sure what this attraction to Mycroft was all about but like everything in his life he'd go with it and see where it led him. It passed the time while he was stuck in this damn room anyway and stopped him dwelling on less pleasant things like the upsetting physical changes he was going through, or the car crash of his life before the party that had caused him to be here.
He studied the other man quite openly taking in the high brow, neatly cut dark auburn hair, reddish shadow of stubble and faint flush of freckles across his pale skin. He didn't share his brother's high cheek bones or the full plush lips, but he was undeniably beautiful in a different way. Mycroft smiled uncertainly under the scrutiny, a slight upturn of his mouth at the corners, lips pressed together. He always looked self-conscious when he smiled, almost as if it was a guilty pleasure to do so, which was a shame because the rare moments of laughter turned him from striking to stunning. John found himself wanting to make the other laugh very much. He lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed his dry lips to Mycroft's wrist where his radial pulse fluttered beneath his skin, seeking that tiny heartbeat with the tip of his tongue. Mycroft uttered a soft "oh!" exhaling a shaky huff of breath and blushing even harder than before if that was possible. If he could bring such a dazed look to Mycroft's face with such a simple action, what could he do to him in bed? Unfortunately at that moment John's stomach decided to remind them that he was starving with a rumble so loud he got his wish to see Mycroft laugh.
Mycroft stood, wrapping the sheet tightly around himself - no chance he'd let it slip, more's the pity - and retrieved his suit from the locker. He paused at the door. "Would you have dinner with me tonight? I can't offer a fancy location, but the room down the hall is more pleasantly furnished. More conducive to an enjoyable evening of company."
"Are you asking me on a date Mr Holmes? Don't you have to hurry off and organise a war or something?"
"If you've nothing better to do? And I prefer to stop wars if at all possible Doctor Watson."
"Then I'd be delighted," he said in mock posh tones, "however, if you expect me to dress for dinner you may need to organise some clothing for me."
"There are some things in the locker. Dinner in half an hour?"
"Perfect."
John showered quickly, towelling off his hair and dropping the damp towel on the bathroom floor in his haste to be ready. All the clothes in the locker were brand new, still with their tags on, and John winced at the prices. If he decided to pursue something with Mycroft beyond this enforced stay he would ensure the other man was not allowed to spend ridiculous amounts of money on him. John Watson's affections could not be bought, they were given freely or not at all, and lavish gifts made him uncomfortable. He would get over his pride just this once however, because he wanted food almost as much as he wanted... Nope, far too soon to be thinking like that.
Everything was discreetly designer label, including the pants, but it all fit like it was made to measure. John wouldn't have put it past Mycroft to have his measurements taken whilst he was out cold, but he wasn't complaining. Being on the short side for a man, high street jeans tended to bunch around his ankles so it was satisfying to wear something that was perfectly sized. The jumper was a soft fine knit that felt far too luxurious to be anywhere near his skin but he shrugged and pulled it on anyway, feeling slightly self-conscious at the way it clung to his muscles. He kept himself fit, but he was no body builder, and it showed far more of his physique than his usual shirts and chunky jumpers.
There was a knock on the door just as he stuffed his feet into a pair of black loafers and the latch clicked to admit Anthea, ever-present Blackberry clutched in her hand. "Mr Holmes is ready for you, if you'd care to follow me?" He smiled at her nervously suddenly afraid to leave the sanctity of the locked room. "It's perfectly fine. You're in no danger at the moment, nor do you pose a danger to anyone else. We would not permit you to leave the room if you were."
"Oh. Ok. You can tell?"
"I have the ability to sense when you're close to a change, yes."
"So you're... One too?"
"Of course." She stopped by a door that looked identical to the one they'd just left and rapped briskly, pushing it open without waiting for a response from within. "Doctor Watson," she announced, pushing him encouragingly in the small of his back through the door and closing it behind her.
The doors were the only similarity between the two rooms. When Mycroft said this room was more comfortable he wasn't kidding. His shoes sank into plush carpet as he crossed the room to where Mycroft waited looking out into the night. "So who do I have to sleep with to get a window around here?" He joked softly. London at night had never looked so beautiful and he commented on it to the other man.
"You seem surprised that you're still in London."
"I am. I thought you'd spirited me away to some remote facility to perform your evil experiments in secret." Mycroft arched an eyebrow and grinned down at the shorter man.
"Evil? Hardly. Shall we eat?" He led John to a small mahogany dining table intimately set for two complete with candlelight and a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. "To celebrate your first change," he explained, lifting it and pouring two glasses.
"It's a cause for celebration?" John asked doubtfully.
"It's an excuse for me to get to know you better, so I think so. This life isn't something I'd wish on you, but now it's happened I want to make sure you're ok. Take care of you. Sherlock would want that if he knew what had happened to you. What I allowed to happen." His voice had grown quieter as he spoke and he was avoiding John's eyes. The doctor took a step towards him and placed the tips of his fingers against the taller man's jaw gently moving his head until Mycroft had to look at him.
"This is not your fault. You weren't the man who attacked me, and I doubt you sent him to do it. And by the way, sod Sherlock, I don't much care what he would or would not want anymore. I didn't want him to jump off a fucking building but he went ahead and did it anyway. Heleft me!" Mycroft swallowed hard at the intensity of John's angry dark blue eyes. There were things he should know that Mycroft wasn't able to tell him and selfishly he was glad he was bound by the secret. John's thumb caressed his chin feeling the light stubble he hadn't taken time to shave. "I'm more interested in what you want Myc, and maybe I'm hoping that it mirrors my own feelings."
Mycroft captured his hand and held it loosely. "I want to enjoy dinner and conversation with a fascinating and um... attractive man and get to know him without rushing things. If that's ok with you?" He looked at John shyly and the blond man was struck by the vulnerability that peeked from beneath the normally cool exterior. He grinned up at him, squeezing his fingers.
"It's perfectly ok. Now let's eat."