"You came down from London on the first available train this morning. Had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied John. You are extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mycroft, and do please smoke. I'd be delighted."
"Sherlock, you're just showing off." John sighed.
"Of course. I am a show-off. That's what we do." Sherlock huffed. "Besides. I've been cooped up in here for ages." Sherlock sighed and looked at the floor. "The train napkin you used to wipe your nose, you also used to mop up your spilled coffee; the strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. You don't normally drink coffee, especially not black coffee, unless you wake up before four, this suggests you took the earliest train available. You took the 6:17 from Kings Cross, meaning you arrived in Hastings at 8:30. However it's well past noon going by the sun. You checked into the hotel, bed and breakfast, shortly after arriving, skipped the breakfast having already eaten on the train and tried out the bed instead."
"How'd you know breakfast was disappointing?" John asked changing the subject.
"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl, female handwriting's quite distinctive, wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she sat across from you on the other side of the aisle." Sherlock smirked. "Mycroft your fingers are shaking. No chance to smoke on the train or while busy in bed, you're desperate. Now please." Sherlock looked at Mycroft intently. "Smoke."
"Sherlock, you know I cannot smoke indoors."
"Is that one of those 'law' things?" Sherlock let out a heavy sigh, he stood up, climbed on top of his bed, reached up and twisted the smoke alarm off the ceiling, pulled out the battery and threw it on the ground. He climbed from the top of the bed to his desktop and slid open the window. "Better?" Sherlock asked jumping down from the desk. Mycroft rolled his eyes and pulled out his packet of cigarettes. Sherlock took a step towards him and reached out his hand. Mycroft gave him a look.
"Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now." Mycroft said lighting up his cigarette and drew in a long drag. He exhaled and Sherlock leaned close into the plume of smoke and inhaled deeply.
"Hm." Sherlock let out a breath. "No, it won't be enough. Give me one." Sherlock reached out his palm and beckoned for a cigarette. Mycroft looked at Sherlock's outreached palm.
"Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what."
"It's a bloody cigarette. I'm not going to sell my body on the streets for a fag." Sherlock sneered. "If you want to know about the clock work explosives, you'll give me one."
"But he-" John started
"'But Sherlock, Mycroft didn't say anything about the clock-work bombs, how could you possibly know?'." Sherlock mocked. "Why else would you take the first train down from London if something hadn't happened last night? You figured out my message and came to me for information."
"You know Sherlock, you didn't need to be cryptic. You could have told me outright what was going on." John crossed his arms.
"Yes… and use up my get out of jail free card?" Sherlock looked around. "I'm leaving, today, I'm already packed. Granted it didn't take long, I only came here with the clothes on my back." Sherlock said glaring at Mycroft.
"Sherlock. You're not leaving with us." Mycroft said blowing out a stream of smoke. "We're headed straight for Oxfordshire in the morning."
"All the more reason to take me with you. Wouldn't mummy be thrilled to see her favourite son?" Sherlock smirked.
"You need to finish your program. I can't have you relapsing at a time like this."
"So you'll just send me away so you don't have to deal with me? Make me someone else's problem?" Sherlock turned towards the window. "Fine, leave me here, break mummy's heart. Fill father's shoes."
"I am nothing like father. I'm not abandoning you in your time of need. I want you to recover fully."
"You are every bit his son." Sherlock laughed low. "You can't control me so you send me away."
"You decry the benefits of a private education. Weren't you happy at Harrow?"
"The straw boater wasn't in the least bit flattering." Sherlock frowned.
"Oh I'd say the gondolier look rather suited you." Mycroft chuckled. "Gave you an old world charm."
"Yes and at my next school they'll have me in a safety helmet. My name and address will be stitched into all my clothes. 'Hi! My name's Sherlock, if found please return to 221-B Baker Street'."
"If you didn't act the part, you wouldn't be going to a school for the mentally challenged." Mycroft sneered.
"Mycroft!" John shouted. Mycroft gave John a pleading look. John nodded towards Sherlock and Mycroft rolled his eyes. He titled his head and raised an eyebrow at John. John tapped his finger on his forearm, waiting.
"Oh God, you two are speaking telepathically now." Sherlock let out a heavy sigh. "Things must really be serious. When's the wedding then? Oh how I love a white wedding." Sherlock wiped away a fake tear. "My brother, the virgin bride."
"Shut up Sherlock." John said shortly.
"Seriously, how much worse could John's prick be? Compared to the permanent stick that's been wedged up your arse?" The corner of Sherlock's lip twitched into a grin. Mycroft snuffed out his cigarette on the windowsill.
"You have until five this afternoon to come up with one solid reason I shouldn't leave you here." Mycroft shifted slightly. "And I do believe an apology is in order."
"My apologies Mycroft." Sherlock said plainly. "You don't have a stick wedged up your arse."
"Thank you."
"It is in fact the whole tree, branches and all, that's been jammed up your unyielding arsehole." Sherlock smirked. "Now, there isn't a moment to lose, I'm coming with you." Sherlock said throwing on his trainers.
"Haven't you a coat?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock shook his head. Mycroft let out a sigh. "I have one you could borrow, I suppose."
"I want that one." Sherlock pointed to the dark grey tweed trench coat Mycroft was wearing. "It will match my scarf quite nicely." Sherlock reached out and beckoned for the coat.
"No. The style has been discontinued. Besides it's frigid out, I'll catch a chill."
"You would rather have me catch my death instead?" Sherlock pouted. "What would mummy say?"
"Fine take it." Mycroft said tearing off the coat and throwing it at Sherlock. "Keep it. I don't care what you do with it." Mycroft said rather flustered. Sherlock smiled looking over the coat. Sherlock put his arms in the sleeves and shrugged it on to his shoulders. He turned up his collar and drew the coat closed.
John couldn't help but grin and shake his head. It fit him well, with room to grow.
"Consider it an early Christmas present." Mycroft said with a sigh, looking at the coat with disappointment. "Belstaff." Mycroft gritted his teeth. "If you mistreat it, I'll be very cross."
"A coat as fine as this? I'd never." Sherlock ran his hands down the front. "Sorry I haven't gotten you a gift yet."
"Brother, your presence is my present." Mycroft jeered.
"Sarcasm, the lowest form of wit." Sherlock scoffed.
"All right children. That' s enough. Let's get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps." John grimaced as he looked outside at the surrounding grounds. A raven was perched on a dead tree. John swore he could hear it squawk 'nevermore.'
"Good, let's go down by the pier and score some blow." Sherlock said slapping his hands together and giving them a good rub. Mycroft and John gave him a look. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "All right we'll just shoot up some of the morphine Mycroft has brought with him."
"Sherlock." John said through clenched teeth. "You're treading on thin ice. You'd best keep your damned mouth shut or you will be left here."
"Has Mycroft really sucked all the fun out of you?" Sherlock looked at Mycroft and lifted an eyebrow. "No, I didn't suppose he would."
"Sherlock, are you getting off on this?" John asked glaring at Sherlock.
"On what?"
"Imagining us two in bed?"
"No, that's disgusting. I'm not imagining you two in… no! Get a grip John." Sherlock said grimacing. "I was merely observing fact."
"Yes and your brain is whirling with the imagery." Mycroft smiled as Sherlock writhed in mental discomfort.
"Stop it! All right. God. I'm trying to purge it from my mind."
John hoped Sherlock didn't know the half of it.
Earlier that day when they first arrived in Hastings, John was too exhausted to think straight. His lower eyelids were twitching; he was unable to sleep on the train. He tried drinking some coffee, hoping he would tolerate it well and be more awake. Instead it turned his stomach sour and gave him a dull head-ache.
The moment they entered their room at the bed and breakfast John threw himself face first on the bed and groaned.
"I don't know why you insisted on staying awake during the train ride." Mycroft said sliding off his shoes and socks, then his trousers which were damp around the hems. It was raining sleet and John's head and sinuses were stinging from the changing weather.
John sunk into the plush comforter and felt himself drift off. He felt a tug at his feet. He shifted his head to see Mycroft dressed only in his under, removing his boots. Mycroft had purchased the pair of leather Loake boots for John after his old ratty trainers had mysteriously disappeared. They did a good job of keeping the water out but once they were removed and Mycroft stripped off his socks, the cold wet hem of John's jeans hit the back of his ankle making him jolt.
"My God! That's bloody freezing." John quickly undid his button and zip and slid his trousers off and sighed with relief. His ankle was slightly numb and felt cool to the touch. John sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He was much more awake after the shock.
He looked at Mycroft and hummed at the sight of the slightly less dressed man. He looked ages younger in boxers and a shirt.
"I take it you would like to rest before visiting my brother?" Mycroft asked turning off the bedside lamp. "Or would you rather…" Mycroft let the question drift off into the air as he looked into John's eyes. They held each other's gaze a moment before John reached out and placed his hand on the back of Mycroft's head, lacing his fingers through his soft hair.
John leaned forward, drawing Mycroft towards him, and brought him into a tender embrace. A fire was stirring in John's crotch but he kept withdrawn, and focused on keeping the kiss light and gentle. He needed solid foundation for his advances, he couldn't dive in head first, and risk breaking down and losing himself in the moment.
It sounded strange, but he felt he had to prove that he was gay. Prove it to Mycroft and the rest of the world. Up to this point, John thought being gay was just having sex with someone of the same gender. Anyone can be in a homosexual situation and lose themselves.
"Don't have to like it, just gotta still be gay after it's all said and done."
Mycroft was a stark contrast to Greg in bed. Mycroft, if anything, was bordering too gentle. Holding back was painful for John. Mycroft made him ache with desire. It took every last bit of John's resolve to keep from throwing himself at Mycroft.
John was quite certain that Mycroft was well aware of how he pushed John's self-control to its limits. When John would become too heated, Mycroft would withdraw slightly. It was absolute torture at times.
John let go of Mycroft's hair and slid his hand down to the back of Mycroft's neck. Mycroft broke off the kiss and John removed his hand in fear he was dominating the kiss. Mycroft leaned forward and gently pressed John backwards to lie on the bed. He pressed his weight against John and resumed the kiss in a far more dominating position.
John let go of his control as he melted into the kiss. The pressure of Mycroft's body on top of him was comforting. John's mind was going numb from the kiss, he felt like he was in a drunken splendour. He was having problems remembering his own name and the name of the man on top of him. He begged his mind not to shout out the wrong name.
Mycroft. Not Sherlock, Mycroft.
John shut his eyes and his thoughts began to wander.
My croft, my little piece of green pasture, fenced off from the world. I am his crofter and I must tend to him.
John felt a hum buzz against his lips, bringing him out of his haze. Mycroft began rocking his hips, rutting up against John's inner thigh. John placed his hands lightly on Mycroft's back. He fought the strong urge to push, pull, and guide Mycroft to where he wanted him.
Mycroft brought himself away from the kiss and ghosted his lips over John's neck. He breathed hot moist air over the side of John's neck causing him to squirm. John let out a slight whimper. His cock was pulsating, it throbbed with need.
John desperately wanted friction. Mycroft was an absolute tease and took great pleasure in the way John turned to a shuddering mess without any direct stimulation. John noticed a wicked grin flash across Mycroft's lips.
Mycroft shifted and lined up more directly with John's groin. He leaned in and pressed their lips together once more. He started to kiss with more vigour. John was starting to lose his resolve and started pressing into the kiss more. John made a rash move and dove his tongue into Mycroft's mouth.
Mycroft bucked his hips forward and their two clothed erections met. John let out a guttural moan. He tried to snake his hands down Mycroft's back to his arse. Mycroft grabbed John roughly by the wrists and slammed them on the bed. He pinned John's arms above his head and ground into his groin with his own.
John couldn't control the sounds coming out of him. Mycroft shut him up with a deep open mouthed kiss. John breathed heavily through his nose as he focused on tonguing Mycroft's mouth. His shoulders were becoming sore from the strain.
John grimaced and shifted his arms at the shoulder. Mycroft let go and broke the kiss. He placed a hand against John's chest and sat up on to his knees. Mycroft looked down at John, running his hand down John's chest to his abs, humming quietly to himself. It looked as if he was debating whether or not to proceed.
John quivered with anticipation.
"Please." He begged. John tried his very best to remain motionless and not force himself upon Mycroft. He was certain that would end badly.
"And if I say no?" Mycroft asked with a malicious grin.
"Please!" John said, close to screaming. He bit his bottom lip and stared directly at Mycroft's clothed erection. He'd never wanted anything so badly; especially not something like this. He knew the initial intrusion wasn't going to pleasurable but he ached for contact. He wanted fulfilment, to be swept up in a heat of passion.
This was absolutely torturous. John desperately needed to be touched. His foreskin was tight around the head of his cock, he felt like it was tearing apart. A shot of pain rippled through him and the moment he reached his hand down to touch himself, Mycroft caught him by the wrist.
"God, it hurts." John said wincing in pain.
"You still haven't answered. What if I were to say no?"
"Then I'd…" John writhed in pain and tried to think. "Fuck." John stretched his fingers. "Please Mycroft!" Mycroft let go and John dove his hand down the front of his pants. He grasped the shaft of his cock and slowly slid downward. The stretch hurt at first but he was greeted with relief as his foreskin completely retracted over the head of his cock.
John let out a sigh of relief. He let go and removed his hand from his pants. He took in a few deep breaths.
"You submit far too easily." Mycroft said with a sigh.
"No, it hurts like fuck."
"I meant to me, not the pain."
"What do you want from me?" John asked with a plea.
"To assert your masculinity. Not roll over and take it like some…"
"Girl?" John offered.
"Exactly."
"I thought you preferred things… you know, more gentle."
"At first, yes." Mycroft let out a heavy sigh. "If only to make it a pleasurable experience for both parties. Then given the time to acclimate and become desensitized to the act, I'd prefer a change in pace." Mycroft looked down at John. "Are you not ready?"
"For what?" John whined. He was becoming agitated, he needed satisfaction.
"For God's sake man, I expect a little fight out of you! Some…" Mycroft waved a hand in the air trying to come up with the words. "Defiance!"
"Huh?" John asked tilting his head.
"Oh never mind. This was an awful idea." Mycroft said turning away to get off the bed. "Maybe I misjudged you John. You give in far too easily."
"I…" John opened his mouth to speak and clamped it shut.
But… sex…
Mycroft went to his suitcase and got on his knees to open it up. John brought his hands to his face and screamed a long drawn out "Fuck!" into the air.
Mycroft snapped his attention towards John. "Johnathan Hamish Watson!"
"Well Christ Mycroft whatever-the-fuck-your-middle-name-is Holmes."
"Sigerson." Mycroft said indignantly.
"Good to know." John said running his fingernails through his hair. He whimpered quietly. His arousal was fading all too slowly. He still pulsated with desire.
Mycroft's trying to kill me. I'm too dominant, I'm too submissive. I'm not gay enough. At what point will I be 'too' gay for him?
John clutched his head. "What do you want?" He near shouted.
"For you to be a man!"
"I am a man!" John shouted.
"Prove it!" Mycroft hissed.
"Oh I'm gonna fuck the posh off your face." John sneered.
He leapt off the bed and threw his body weight against Mycroft who let out an "Oof" as he was thrown to the floor. "I didn't mean rape me!" He squealed.
"I wasn't…" John lifted off Mycroft slightly. Mycroft took advantage of the situation and launched John off and on to his back. He mounted John and pinned his arms to the ground. John struggled under Mycroft's weight. He attempted to wrench from Mycroft's grip.
"Now, now. I don't want anything too rough, but a little passion is warranted."
"Passion!" John shouted. "This is madness! You pull away every time things get remotely heated."
"It's not my fault I'm a bit of a tease."
"A bit!" John bucked his hips up trying to dislodge Mycroft from his mount. "This is bloody torture."
"I know, but won't it all be worth it in the end?"
"It had better be." John scowled. He had never been so angry and horny at the same time. It was worse than having pain mixed with pleasure. Mycroft dismounted and stood up. He offered a hand to John.
"Shall we?" He asked with a slight smirk. John gritted his teeth and glared at Mycroft.
Why is he doing this? I shouldn't even have sex with him, if he's going to torture me. I'd like to see the look on that posh git's face if I just turned round and walked out on him. That's just what I'll do. I'll leave.
Mycroft grasped on to John's hand and pulled him up. He grabbed John tightly by the shoulders and leaned down for a lip crushing kiss. Mycroft's member was pressed firmly against John's abdomen. It twitched and John felt a burning fire return to his crotch. John changed tactics and fought for dominance in the kiss, only to be pushed back with greater force.
John tried to rut against Mycroft's thigh. Mycroft pulled away and John let out a feral growl against Mycroft's lips. Mycroft let out a low and evil laugh. He broke the kiss and John lunged back for his lips. Both men tumbled on to the bed and scrambled for the dominant position.
They rolled several times before reaching the headboard. John found himself bewildered and on top. Mycroft reached out his hands to grasp John's shirt. John grabbed him by the wrist and slammed his hands against the bed, above his head.
Let's see how you like it.
John teasingly rolled his hips and brushed against Mycroft's erection. Mycroft jerked his arms upward and John held them tighter.
"When you wanted me to fight back, didn't think I'd win did ya?" John teased. Mycroft clutched on to John forearms and used his body weight to roll them on to their sides. John wrapped his legs around Mycroft's pelvis, bringing him into a sideways guard.
Mycroft grasped the back of John's head with both hands and brought them back into a feverish kiss. John ground his arse into Mycroft's groin causing Mycroft groan into the kiss. They rolled together once more bringing Mycroft on top and in John's guard. Mycroft wrapped his arms around John's shoulders and started grinding himself against John's arse.
Even with their lips locked in a heated embrace Mycroft was grunting with each thrust. He pulled back and groaned loudly.
"John… we haven't any…" Mycroft grunted once more. "Lubricant." He winced.
"Spit?" John asked wincing as well.
"No. No." Mycroft brought himself to a slow stop. "I couldn't do that to you… hurts like…"
"A bitch?"
"I wouldn't." Mycroft said gently. He grabbed both sides of John's face and gave him a gentle kiss. "I'm sorry." He lifted John's shirt up past his navel. John tried looking down at Mycroft whose lips were dangerously close to his cock. He blew hot air through John's briefs and started mouthing John's trapped erection. John dug his fingers into the bed spread and grabbed fists full of the comforter. He clamped his eyes shut and said a small prayer.
Mycroft hurriedly pulled John's briefs completely off and resumed his position. The cool rush of air sent a shiver down John's spine. Then when Mycroft's warm tongue ran up his shaft and barely glanced over his glans, John ached all over. Mycroft gripped John's cock as if it were a violin's bow and gently glided his soft fingers up and down.
John shuddered from the sensation.
"A little forewarning would be greatly appreciated." Mycroft said shifting himself so his head was directly above John's cock. "Acknowledged?"
"Ack-acknowledged." John nodded. Mycroft slid his lips slowly over John's cock, not focusing on the overly-sensitive tip like most, but rather sliding down the shaft and matching his hand's gentle sliding motion with the movement of his head up and down.
He treated John's cock as if it were an instrument, and the noises coming from John would suggest he was one. John's pitch seemed to change from a deep moan to a high pitched squeal depending on the position and speed with which Mycroft was sucking him off. John's toes curled as Mycroft changed the shape of his tongue and expertly drew it up toward his frenulum. He paused briefly to roll his tongue against it and John jerked slightly.
Mycroft slid down once more to John's base, taking his length easily. John was certain he was brushing up against the back of Mycroft's throat.
No gag reflex. Must run in the family.
John moaned.
Why am I thinking of Sherlock at a time like this?
John banished Sherlock out of his thoughts as Mycroft shifted once more and brought a hand to John's arse and ran it down the cleft. He brought a finger to rest on John's opening. John clenched with anticipation. Mycroft encircled the entrance with his finger like a hawk circling its prey. When John relaxed slightly as he gently slid it in and held it still a moment. John took in a few deep breaths, fast becoming used to the sensation. Mycroft kept up his masterful oral pleasuring while he gently turned his wrist and started to draw his finger upward toward John's prostate.
John bucked up his hips when Mycroft hit the gland. Mycroft gently brushed his finger against it once more and John winced. It was too much at once.
"Ah, mmm… come." John sputtered out. Mycroft quickly removed his mouth and wrapped his hand more tightly around John's cock. He jerked him off rapidly and John threw his head back. Those nibble fingers were amazingly smooth and deliberate. John felt a building ache and the painful pleasure start to rise in his abdomen. He lost his breath as he was brought to a body shattering orgasm.
He felt a glob of ejaculate hit him on the chin and he was immediately brought down from his climax. He felt his body return and all of his sensations with it. He was certain he had never shot that far in his life. He rubbed his chin in disgust. He looked down his shirt front to see a stream-line of come.
Good God, when was the last time I came?
John thought back to months ago when Sherlock had sucked him off.
That can't be the last time… can it?
John ran his clean hand through his hair.
I'm surprised my balls didn't just explode.
Mycroft withdrew his finger and John let out a sigh of relief.
"Do you… reciprocate?" Mycroft asked awkwardly. "I mean… have you? You know… reciprocated?" John drew himself up on to his elbows and looked down at Mycroft.
"Um… once." John gulped. Last time he was drugged out of his mind and he wasn't certain he was any good. He couldn't possibly compare to Mycroft, he had experience. John wasn't even sure he could perform the task and not use teeth let alone make it any good. "Wouldn't you rather…" John looked down.
"It wouldn't be a pleasurable experience." Mycroft sighed.
"Yeah at first, but I don't know, I might get used to it."
"Are you certain?" John nodded. "I don't want to trigger any post traumatic stress." Mycroft looked at John with sorrowful eyes.
Does he really care that much?
"I don't want to cause any traumatic stress disorder by giving you a crap blow job." Mycroft chuckled lightly.
"I'm certain you'd do fine." He shook his head. "If you're sure." He sighed. "All right. Just… close your eyes."
"Why?" John asked with a grimace.
"It's disgusting."
"What is?"
"Preparing with saliva." John laughed. He leaned back and lay on the bed once more.
"All right, I'm not looking." John could hear Mycroft making odd sucking noises, presumably filling his mouth with saliva. Mycroft tried to cover up the sound of him spitting on to his fingers. John heard the snap of Mycroft's boxer being slid down and removed, then the distinct sloping sound of the saliva lubricant being slid up and down his cock.
"Do you need more um… preparation?" Mycroft asked coughing slightly.
"No, just… go for it I guess." John took in a deep breath. Mycroft pulled up John's legs and shoved a pillow under his lower back to prop him up.
"Keep your knees drawn in close, like last time." Mycroft said nervously. John opened his eyes to see Mycroft on his knees, holding himself, giving it a light stroke and hesitantly looking at John. "I don't want to hurt you." He choked.
"Don't." John said plainly. Mycroft let go of himself and leaned forward to kiss John tenderly. John brought his knees up as close as he could to his chest and Mycroft lined up with his entrance. Both men took in a deep breath as Mycroft pressed against the tight opening, slowly stretching it. John closed his eyes and took to deep breathing. He entered a meditative state where all he could see was blinding white. He detached himself from the situation as Mycroft fully buried his length.
John felt light headed as he returned to the real world. Mycroft had his hands wrapped around John's shins keeping him in position. The positioning restricted John's breathing but it made entry loads easier and less painful even without adequate lubrication. Mycroft slid back slightly.
"Try relax." Mycroft said bringing his hand to John's forehead and brushing his hair back. John could feel himself sweating; he shifted and took in some more deep breaths.
God, will this ever not hurt?
The initial thrusts were the worst.
If only I could get through this damn part. Fuck.
What waited on the other side was pure bliss. He could literally be fucked senseless. John relaxed his hips the best he could and lowered his back to rest more on the pillow. Mycroft gave a slight thrust and John felt a shot of pain jolt up his spine. He brought his hands to his face.
"Stop?" Mycroft asked breathlessly.
John squeaked a "No." and shook his head. He removed his hands from his face and dug his fingers into the bedspread. "Just… do… it…" He said through heavy breaths. Mycroft started moving in response. He kept his movements long and drawn out. The fluid motion of Mycroft's hips kept the pain constant and dull. John's became light headed once more as his pain slowly turned to pleasure, first within the depths of his cavity, then closer and closer to his entrance until the entire motion of Mycroft's cock sliding in and out became not just bearable but deeply pleasurable. John let out a low moan.
"Harder." John said in breathless anticipation.
"Oh, finally." Mycroft groaned. The smile on John's face was quickly removed as Mycroft picked up pace. John furrowed his brows and let out a wicked moan. Mycroft was grunting animalistically and had completely let go. John trashed his head to one side and grimaced as the waves of conflicting sensations swept over him. He started feeling all his repressed emotions attacking his consciousness at once.
Mycroft pulled out suddenly.
"John, your shirt." He said holding out one hand while jerking himself off with the other. John ripped the shirt off his back and gave it to Mycroft. Mycroft snatched it eagerly and brought it close to himself. He let out a single grunt and a sigh through his nose as he came on John's t-shirt. He let out a heavy sigh and wiped his cock clean. He bunched up the t-shirt and slid off the bed. He dumped the shirt into the waste bin and headed towards the on-suite bathroom.
John felt panic rise in his chest. He tried to hold back his emotions, bury them down once more but it was of no use. After being filled like that and suddenly having it all taken away killed John inside. He needed to be held. His fingers felt like they were being stabbed with icicles. His chest felt tight and he struggled to breathe without heaving.
He was having a full fledge panic attack. He rolled on to his stomach and held his head tight. His laboured breaths hissed as they passed through his clenched teeth. His temporal vein pulsated against his finger tips.
What's wrong with me?
He clenched his eyes shut and dug his fingers into his temples. His mouth started salivating uncontrollably and he brought himself into a fit. His head jerked in a kind of conscious seizure that he couldn't control. His lip snarled and his teeth clenched ever tighter, threatening to chip under pressure.
John was unaware of his surroundings until a splash of cold water hit him in the face and brought him out of his fit and into shock. John opened his eyes wide and panted heavily. Mycroft grabbed John by the sides of his face and brought his own face in close. He rubbed John's temples.
"It's all right." He said sternly. John looked at him, mouth agape, trying to bring his thoughts together. Mycroft let go and stepped back. John's head fell into his hands and he sobbed heavily, feeling like such a fool. His embarrassment only made matters worse.
Mycroft who had once admitted he couldn't care for a goldfish much less a human being was at a loss for what to do to console the crying boy.
"I could… take it to the cleaners." Mycroft tried. John lifted up his head and sniffled.
"What?" John's eyes stung. A tear rolled down his cheek and dripped off his chin and on to the comforter, leaving a tiny wet spot. John rubbed his burning eyes.
"Your t-shirt… I could have it cleaned. I didn't mean to… upset you."
John coughed a laugh. Mycroft shifted uncomfortably as he took a seat on the bedside. His back was ramrod straight and he had his hands on his lap. He had his boxers back on but he was completely exposed and vulnerable, which John found quite funny; endearing even.
John laughed. "No. No it's fine." He smiled. "Burn it for all I care. One of Greg's."
"Oh I knew I missed one." Mycroft said looking away and shaking his head. John reached out and gave him a feeble punch in the hip.
"So you were the one stealing all my clothes!" John laughed.
"Oh I had to. They were absolutely hideous."
"Since when are t-shirts and trainers hideous?"
"Dear God, you'd believe a man who had spent so much time in the closet would have learned to dress better." John broke out into laughter and Mycroft grinned shyly.
After a good belly laugh John fell into a deep sleep while Mycroft read a thick and atrociously boring book beside him. At least, John believed it to be dreadfully boring. Mycroft seemed enthralled by John Locke, the father of classical Liberalism. From whom Sherlock and he took the idea of tabula rasa and transformed it into the brain attic, or mind palace in Sherlock's case.
Mycroft held true to many aspects of Locke's political theories including his right to be selfish in pursuit of defending his life, health, liberty, and possessions. He believed in revolution and separation of powers. John believed whole heartedly that Mycroft wanted to overthrow the Queen and take her crown.
His first act would be to dissolve the parliament, wage war against the world, and bring rise to a new British empire, all before mid-day tea. God save the Queen.