I totally admit this is a filler chapter, I've been swamped. Sorry guys.
Probably a lot of mistakes but I didn't do my third proofread so I could get it out to you guys.
Peace&Love
Sophie
A few days later, after Sherlock had shuffled John down from the cold rooftop with promises of tea and more kisses, John is walking home from work. He exits the bowels of the Tube station closest to Baker Street while his mind wanders.
The 'rooftop think', as John likes to call it, hasn't really changed the doctor that much. John still finds himself wandering, sometimes distractedly while riding the Tube, grocery shopping, even at work, through his life choices and actions. Throughout it all, there are one question that keep battling for dominance, getting John's attention and making his head hurt from stress and anxiety.
Does he crack down on his gift or just throw caution to the wind?
Does he learn how to perfect his shielding? To the extent of what Clarke has done? Or does he just take it as it comes? Does he let everyone be and whoever projects is fair game?
Okay, there is more than just one question.
He knows they are the same type of questions he asked himself on the roof and has been trying to find an answer ever since.
He can obviously see the pros and cons of all the decisions but what about the reality of them.
Sherlock had been right when he said that John made the rules, there was no other influence, and when they get broken, John only disappoints himself.
But, is that an excuse to disregard them completely?
No. John sighs and shakes his head faintly as he continues to walk. Definitely not.
He's just got to find a balance, a neutral position where he doesn't have to worry about his safety, or even society's safety and he can just exist without worrying constantly.
The perfect Utopia.
Achievable only when there is a cold day in Hell, the doctor thinks as he walks briskly and unlocks the door to Baker Street.
He hangs up his coat in the foyer mechanically and shuffles up the stairs.
John ascends the first fifteen steps of the stairs without a second thought. As he reaches the remaining two steps he stops and realizes that the sitting room is unusually full.
Or rather, it seems full when you count the giant egos of the Holmes brothers occupying it.
The door is open and John can hear their snippy tones and bitter remarks.
He debates turning around, just going back down the stairs out to the pub.
John would do anything to not deal with Mycroft today, of all days.
He shuffles, as quietly as possible, and starts to turn around, thinking that a pint, Greg and football will be ten times better company right now. He's about to take his first step down when the familiar tone of Sherlock invades the ever present connection.
"Don't just stand out there, John. Get him to leave."
Damn.
The detective's tone is petulant and irritated, a sign that Mycroft's been here for a while, and John sighs. If the genius has heard him, then there is no doubt that Mycroft is aware of the doctor's presence.
John, still turned around lets his head fall for a brief second, damning the Holmes family and their ridiculously keen observational skills.
"Good afternoon, John." Mycroft calls loudly, and that damn politician sounds so smug and even cheery and it makes the doctor wants to just shake his fist at the man.
He knew it, he shouldn't have come home, he should have just gone right to the pub and met Greg there, like he had planned.
Sod the vomit hat a patient had expelled onto his shoes, he would have worn the upchuck like a freakin' trophy if it meant that he didn't have to deal with the most dysfunctional family in London, or hell, all of Britain.
Regardless, John figures he's spent enough time lurking in the stairwell and it just seems silly to stay there out of spite considering that both men know he's there. He clomps up the stairs and enters the room defeatedly.
"He won't leave." Sherlock thinks but doesn't shift his body and John has to stifle his laugh at the juxtaposition of the detective's stiff posture and his five-year-old tone.
"Afternoon, Mycroft." John responds politely, because he's British. However, he doesn't let that fact stop him from mumbling a sarcastic, "Lovely to see you" under his breath as he passes the two of them and heads to his beloved kettle.
There is no way that he's not going to have tea if he's to be forced into a conversation with Mycroft.
The politician just smiles at John's retreating back before turning to Sherlock again. The detective is sitting upright, his legs crossed over one knee and his face in a bland expression that John knows is a scowl.
Mycroft seems perfectly content to sit in John's chair and the doctor has long since stopped being tetchy about it, well, for the most part anyway.
John puts the kettle on and goes about his routine for making his afternoon tea, ignoring the two brothers.
God, what a day. The non-stop rush of patients that barely gave John a breath between them. Not to mention his last one of the day, the poor kid. It really wasn't even his fault, he just had a nasty case of the flu and he didn't make it to the bin in time. When Greg had texted him at lunch time asking for a pint (murderers permitting, always murder permitting), John had readily accepted. He needed someone normal to talk to and destress without having someone make him sniff new things every five minutes. (Sherlock's newest experiment. Don't ask. No, seriously, don't ask.)
"I think he's here for you. He's been..chit chatting this entire time."
John does smile at Sherlock's scornful tone but doesn't do anything to acknowledge it.
He's meeting the DI in a half and hour and is still debating if he should just grab new shoes and leave, even thought he desperately wants a shower.
It's just been one of those gross days. It may have just been the one patient who expelled body fluid onto him but he still felt like he's been dragged across the hospital flooring multiple times and all the germs and people are all over him. He shudders at the thought.
He gets his fixings ready, intending to take his cup into the bedroom and bathroom to get ready when he hears Mycroft next words.
"I hear there is a new sergeant at the Yard, a Micah Clarke." The politician says and John's moving as soon as he hears the word 'sergeant'. By the time Mycroft is finished with his statement, John is standing right in front of the older man, the empty tea cup in one hand and a spoon in the other.
"No." John says firmly as he attempts to cross his arms across his chest but the tea cup and spoon get in the way and John stares with a bemused and clueless expression for half a second before putting the two items down on the table next to Mycroft and then crossing his arms successfully.
Neither of the Holmes react, although there is a hint of curiosity and smugness coming from Sherlock that John doesn't evaluate at the moment.
"No." John says again for emphasis and the elder Holmes has the decency to look a bit surprised even though John knows it's fake.
The smugness radiates across the link and it takes a bit for John to understand why Sherlock is pleased.
"He did come here for you." Sherlock says as if (ironically) reading John's mind.
Well, the detective is right, for some reason Mycroft came here to talk to John and the doctor has a sneaking suspicion that it has to do with Clarke.
"John-" Mycroft starts, unaware or ignoring Sherlock's expression, as his face remains blank and unyielding. John isn't intimidated easily.
"No. Leave him alone." John says solidly, unconsciously leaning forward trying his own form of intimidation.
Which, in any other situation, would have been hilarious. The fact that John could ever intimidate the British Government is laughable, but John, especially after hearing Clarke's past and wariness of threats, feels weirdly defensive of the young man and Clarke does not need someone like Mycroft on his tail.
The politician doesn't say anything, instead an eyebrow raises.
"Sentimental." Mycroft huffs with contempt and John almost growls.
"Protective." John bites back with the same tone. "How did you even find out?" He asks with exasperation.
"Same way I found out about you." Mycroft responds with a wave of his hand, dismissing John's stupid question. "Lucky, isn't it? How he found you in time? Despite the fact that no-one had been ordered to search in the area you were succumbing to hypothermia in."
John scowls, that's going to bite Clarke in the arse for a while.
The doctor stiffens even more, looking Mycroft straight in the eye. "Seriously don't." He adds forcefully. "He's already got a job."
Mycroft hums in response and seems contemplative.
John wonders if he's just sealed Clarke's doom.
"Oh, come off it, we do not need you kidnapping and scaring the boy, Mycroft." Sherlock finally decides to talk, adding his snide remark in. Whether or not it's helpful is another story.
Nonetheless, John is grateful for the support, so he sends a wave of gratitude into the bond along with a smile.
"Just leave him be Mycroft. You owe me." John says darkly, wanting to finish the discussion.
It's a low blow, he knows, but the older man still harbors something akin to guilt for lying to Sherlock and manipulating John into 'death'.
In return, John gets a small glare from Mycroft but the politician visibly deflates.
"Fine. Fine." The older man says, standing up with a sigh. "I will not seek him out then."
And its enough of a concession that John relaxes as well.
The politician wordlessly rises from John's chair and moves to leave.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Mycroft says walking out and John is taken back by the abruptness of it.
The doctor looks at the door, empty now that Mycroft had started descending the stairs, and narrows his eyes suspisicously.
It can't possibly be that easy. Mycroft agreed and then left.
No way.
John whips his head around and meets Sherlock's gaze. The detective just shrugs and flops onto the couch with a dramatic flail. He picks up his violin, which had been on the ground for some reason, and starts to play.
John is left gaping slightly, dumbly turning his head from the empty doorway to Sherlock.
No, seriously, it can't be that easy.
He sighs and looks down at his watch, cursing the elder Holmes.
He's going to be late now to meet Greg.
Oh great, what's he going to tell Greg?
'Sorry I'm late, your boyfriend is a twat.'
Well maybe he could do just that, it's not like Greg doesn't know this already.
The next day just so happens to be John's day off and coincidently Sherlock has a case. So Baker Street's been abuzz with excitement since the early hours of the morning. Sherlock had already gone to the crime scene, tricky double murder, and is now shuffling a tired John into his jacket and shoes.
Sherlock practically pushes John down the stairs and out the door, into a waiting cab.
Excitement and concentration are emitting from the bond and John spends the ride to Scotland Yard in silence, letting the man beside him think. He can feel the rapid-fire thoughts zipping around the surfaces of Sherlock's brain and John smiles in the familiarity and warmth.
Its situations like these that John second guesses his doubts. He could just put shields up and forget about his gift, his specialty. But then he would miss out on the things that he treasures.
He would miss out on Sherlock's thoughts, whipping with alarming and fascinating speed all around his brain as thoughts form and disappear.
He would never see the detective's mind palace again. The exquisite but modestly decorated rooms that make up the palace, along with Sherlock's 'throne room'. He would never be able to tour the mind palace again, or see the room that specifically belongs to him.
He's still debating, even telling himself that he could just keep Sherlock and his own links' open and shut everyone else out. The doctor doesn't think that will work. It has to be all or nothing type of deal or John will slip.
It'll start as keeping the connection open and then John will forget to why he built up mental shields to begin with and next thing one knows, John's a danger again.
No, it's got to be all or nothing.
John sighs.
The taxi-cab slows to a stop, stirring John out of is memories, causing the man to look around briefly before getting out of the car. He follows Sherlock into NSY and puts his thoughts away for the moment, focusing back on the case.
John doesn't know much about the case yet, he just caught glimpses of their itinerary for the day. Sherlock needs to speak to Lestrade about something or another and then they are going to the morgue, Sherlock to hassle Molly and John to placate her afterwords. Those are John's words, not Sherlock's, the detective's thoughts were a lot more scientific and bloody with random flashes of bruise patterns.
John walks in step with the genius as they clamber into the elevator silently. He's so use to not knowing the full details and he doesn't mind so much anymore. He knows that on the way to Barts, he'll get Sherlock to tell him the full details of the case so that John will have an accurate account for his blog.
As the elevator doors open, Sherlock and his freakishly long gait shoots out of the elevator. Typical.
John follows leisurely with amusement as he twists and turns down hallways and around the occasional desk, smiling and saying hello. He paces himself slowly, hoping that he'll arrive just in time and Lestrade and Sherlock's traditional yelling (or in their case, hellos) will already be over.
He turns the second to last corner and looks at the gathering of desks that make up the bull pen. He's about to continue to walk on when he sees something out of the corner of his eye. A hallway to the far left of him has a person standing in it. Not just any person, John would recognize that ridiculously expensive 3-piece suit anywhere.
This can't be good.
He turns abruptly and moves to approach the older man. Mycroft has his back to the doctor but John isn't stupid enough to know that the politician already knows he's here.
He intends to say hello, or at the very least bugger off, it depends on how irritating the older man is today.
John moves around the last desk, ready to open his mouth to speak.
What he doesn't expect to see, as he gets closer and there's a side view revealing Mycroft and Sergeant Clarke. The younger empath looks to be hunched, severly dwarfed by the man's height and imposing nature.
"Mycroft Holmes." John growls out quietly but harshly. Taking the last step, he puts himself between Clarke and the older man, glaring at Mycroft icily.
The politician merely sneers but looks at John with a smug, and faintly irritated expression.
Clarke just looks confused and a bit scared. (Can't blame him, really).
"What did I say?" John demands, trying to keep his voice low but firm and straightens himself to block Clarke.
"Come now, John." Mycroft says, rolling his eyes, and the doctor can tell he's annoyed. Probably because he got caught.
"We agreed." John bites out and Mycroft shakes his head.
"I simply said I wouldn't seek him out." Mycroft whispers back with the same harshness. "It just so happened to be a coincidence that he works in the same place as Gregory." Mycroft smiles smugly and John fights hard to stop from yelling.
"It's fine-" Clarke starts but John doesn't pay attention to him, narrow his eyes at Mycroft's hawk-like gaze.
"You better hope that Greg doesn't find out the real reason you came by today." John starts, "I don't think he'd be very appreciative of being used to get to his employees." John says just as smugly.
Mycroft blanches, at least, it looks like a blanch so John smiles in satisfaction. The politician narrows his eyes at John, as if daring him to tattle to Greg.
"It's okay, John." Clarke says meekly, putting a hesitating hand on John's shoulder. John turns to the side a little, facing Clarke. The man shakes his head and clears his throat. "Really, it's fine."
Mycroft tears his gaze from the angry doctor and gives the sergeant a once over.
"You are just very intense." Clarke babbles, straightening himself out from his startled, hunch over posture that he adapted when Mycroft had ambushed him a few minutes ago.
John gives the young man a once over and sighs. He doesn't look scarred or scared (anymore than usual, anyway). In fact, he looks blank and indifferent, kind of like he did when he had first met Sherlock.
Interesting.
John snaps his attention back to Mycroft. "You are done here." John says and it's not a question. He moves slightly in front of Clarke again, glaring at the elder Holmes.
Mycroft's shoulders move up and down as if he heaved a sigh but no sounds comes out. "I believe I got what I needed." Mycroft says diplomatically as he grips his umbrella and turns to leave. "Goodbye John, Sergeant." Mycroft nods to them individually and with that he's gone.
John lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. He watches intensely, as his anger starts to gradually fade as the threat leaves, until Mycroft is out of sight (and then a few seconds after that) and turns to Clarke.
The man doesn't look any worse for wear and John examines him for a few minutes that stretch awkwardly for Clarke.
The doctor suddenly realizes that he hasn't seen Clarke since the closet a few days ago. And, whereas John has had a huge philosophical overhaul, Clarke is still running with the same thoughts and mindset.
And he's probably angry.
Now that Mycroft is gone and the threat has been neutralized, Clarke's eyes start to shift uncomfortably before the sergeant clears his throat.
"Well, I should get back-" The younger man starts to say.
"What did he say?" John interrupts, his curiosity getting the better of him. He wants to know what happened and how mad he should be at Mycroft. Not to mention the fact that they both need to talk and this is as good of start as any.
Clarke straightens his posture defensively and John wonders, for a brief second, whether or not the man is going to answer.
After a minute, Clarke's mind rapidly debating on something, the sergeant finally says, "He offered me a job?" The sergeant tries to say it confidently but John can hear the hint of confusion making the statement into more of question. Then the young man adds, "I think?"
And John sighs with resignation. He kind of figured that's what happened anyway.
"He knows, doesn't he?" Clarke asks after a few silent seconds.
John, who had no been paying attention and staring distractedly beyond the man's head , whips his eyes back and looks into Clarke's gaze.
"Yes." John says simply. He's not sure where they stand. John can see the defensive posture and expression that screams frustration, uncertainty and even anger. John isn't an idiot, he knows how hard it was for Clarke to share, how hard it was to bring up those memories. The doctor understands the emotions radiating off the man's body language.
But, along with the anger, frustration, and uncertainty, there are smaller shifts of insecurity, grief, hurt, and even hope. Like Clarke trusts in John, or at least trusts that John isn't there to hurt him.
"Great. Awesome." Clarke says shortly, pulling John out of his analysis. The main emotion John sees is irritation and the doctor wonders how much of it is for Mycroft and how much of it is for himself.
"You seem to be taking it rather well." John whispers with worry. Its true, Clarke is irritated and frustrated but there is no fear, or at least his body is hiding the fear really well.
The sergeants eyes, which have been wondering, snap back and glare at John before saying, "Yes, well, I've had to rework my entire system of beliefs the past few days." It comes out snidely and before John can stop him, the sergeant is walking away. The doctor stares at the empty wall owlishly for a second, a bit stunned at the usually mild-tempered man's action.
He doesn't stare at the empty space for long and is soon darting after the young man.
"Clarke." John whipser-calls, weaving around random people and desk to try and catch up with the surprising fast man. One of the people he has to dodge just happens to be Donovan. The woman looks at the two of them curiously but doesn't say anything, instead, a quizzical look washes over her face. John doesn't spare her a verbal greeting, he gives an awkward, bland smile and hurries after Clarke.
Great. More questions.
The sergeant turns a corner and John follows, calling out another "Clarke."
The man finally stops, halfway down the deserted hallway, not to far from the closet that they both occupied not too long ago.
"Clarke, I'm sorry." John says once he reaches the man who lets out a long sigh.
"I didn't mean to bring up all the memories." John says, feeling at a lost. He's spent the last few days second-guessing everything about his gift and how Clarke's life was ruined because of something of the same power. The doctor doesn't know how to fix the fissure between them, or if it even needs to fixed. Would Clarke be better protected without the friendship, that had been blooming for the past month?
Meanwhile, Clarke seems to deflate with a long breath out and a hand pinches the bridge of his nose. "No." The sergeant says defeatedly and John looks at the man with confusion. "It's not your fault. I was upset with having to relive my past."
"I'm sorry. I just-" John starts again, trying to figure this out.
But, before John can finish his sentence, Clarke puts a hand up to stop the older man. "No." He says firmly again, making sure that they've established eye contact.
"Some twisted part of me wanted to tell you. A part of me that no ones seen before. I mean, Melissa doesn't even realize the extent of my gift or how my family really died. She just thinks I'm really perceptive on my 'off days'." Clarke pauses to chuckle darkly.
John is enraptured, listening with intensity as Clarke continues.
"I wanted to tell you because there's that part of me that found it a relief to meet someone like me, someone else that has gone through something simliar. Someone to help me with my burden." The sergeant's eyes shift downwards, seemingly uncomfortable with his confession.
And John is struck dumb with how young the action makes the man look. It blows the doctor away. John just wants to wrap his arms around the man, the 22-year-old boy, and protect him from the world and the possibility of someone coming after him.
"Clarke." John says with exasperation, he doesn't even know where to start.
Clarke's eyes remain downcast as one of his hands moves the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there self-consciously.
"I don't expect anything. I know I freaked out. I just-" Clarke starts to babble and John is taken aback.
"Stop." The doctor says and the sergeant's mouth shuts silently.
John feels like his brain is bouncing around in his head. Not two days ago, Clarke had stormed out on the doctor just after telling his most harrowing memory and now he wants to be friends?
"Of course." John says before he can even think it through.
"What?" The sergeant says looking up at John.
"Clarke," The older man starts, "I won't turn you away." He finishes with conviction.
John doesn't know what he's doing. Its not that he doesn't want to be friends with Clarke, in a way he does, but his mouth moved without his mind making the decision.
He must have seen the hope, fear, pain, hurt, grief, and anger washing over Clarke's body and his mouth just wanted to do something about it.
Also, they have more in common than John had originally thought. There is a little part of John, small and hidden away, that is lonely from time to time. Yes, he's got Sherlock and friends like Greg, Molly, and (heaven forbid) Mycroft, and not to mention his sister. But, none of those people know what it's like. None of those people are aware of the burden, the fear, the frustration that comes along with being abnormal, being dangerous even.
And here's Clarke, someone who not only knows some of what John has and is going through, but also, someone who understands the trials that usually follow in the wake of the gift.
Still, is this a good idea? What are they even? Friends? Acquaintances? Are they going to start crime-fighting together? (John smiles internally at that one. Wondering how quick Sherlock would get jealous and if he would have to wear tights).
He has all these doubts and questions but he looks at Clarke and sees the smile of relief and hope and the doubts just melt away into the background.
John knows how it feels, the encompassing relief and the hope. He felt it when Sherlock had originally found out, when he didn't have to hide who he was anymore, when he finally found someone to unburden himself onto.
And if he can be that for Clarke, because the man has no one else, then he will be.
"Really?" Clarke ask quietly.
"Really." The doctor says smiling and Clarke nods back, his body sagging with relief. The stare at each other for a moment and John's about to see if Clarke wants to grab a quick coffee and maybe talk some more (now that they've got the 'yes-we-are-officially-friends' debate over with).
A thought through the link interrupts the doctor before he even opens his mouth.
"John. Where are you?"
John sighs and Clarke, damn the man really, seems to know because he chuckles and turns to walk towards Lestrade's office.
There isn't any rest of the wicked, it seems.