After that, dinner felt like a lost cause. Sherlock wasn't hungry in the slightest, not when all he could think about was how it had felt when John's powerful fingers curled around his collar or the feel of John's body pressed up against his, that hot mouth pressing possessive kisses on him, biting at his lips, licking his way in... God. He barely repressed a shiver, knowing that Mycroft would instantly realize what, exactly, Sherlock was thinking about so intently. As it was, his older brother's eyes had been focused on him for the majority of the meal, occasionally flicking over to John with a frankly speculative look, and it was only the fact that Mummy was so interested in asking John questions that stopped her from having the exact same look.
"So you're a doctor," she was saying, and it was only good manners that stopped her from leaving forward over the table. "Tell me, John, why did you decide to go into that profession?"
Having lived with Sherlock for long enough to know that Mummy could likely deduce the answer, John remained polite when he replied, "It was just something that I've always been fascinated by. My mother was ill quite a lot when I was a child and we ended up spending some time in the hospital visiting with her. So when it came time for university it just seemed like the natural choice." He shrugged with one shoulder and gave her a small smile. "Plus it was a good way for me to sign up with the army. They agreed to put me through school."
"Oh yes, I agree. It sounds like you are a very responsible young man. Patient, too, if you can put up with my Sherlock." Coming from anyone else the comment would've stung, but there was a distinct softness to Mummy's face as she spoke, which, combined with the tender way she said "My Sherlock", took all of the ire out of the words. John's fond grin only helped.
"He can be a git sometimes but I wouldn't trade him for anyone else," John said honestly, looking at Sherlock with a distinct warmth in his eyes that made the twin emotion flowing across their bond even stronger. "I'd almost given up on finding my soul mate, to be honest. It happens for so many people when they're younger. I guess I figured mine had died." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable, and glanced at his plate.
"We thought the same thing for Sherlock," Mycroft said diplomatically and Sherlock glared at him. Mycroft might have forgotten some of the teasing Sherlock had endured in his youth but Sherlock certainly hadn't. There were a fair few people who were under the impression that Sherlock had been born without a soul mate, that he (and the rest of the Holmes, for that matter) weren't human enough to have that kind of a bond. He also knew that there had been times when Mycroft had wondered the same thing, though his brother would never have admitted it. Finding Lestrade, as difficult as the change had been, had made an enormous difference in Mycroft's life, as much of a change as John had made in Sherlock's.
"Yeah, well, I guess you were all wrong," John said and there was an edge of sharpness to his voice when he looked at Mycroft, like he was warning the man off from making any other comments. Mycroft stared back at him placidly.
Fortunately, before war could break out, Lestrade's phone rang. He looked up in surprise, having been deeply involved in a rich pasta dinner with shrimp and chicken, and swallowed a mouthful of his food. "Excuse me, I really must take this," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "It's Donovan."
"Of course, go ahead," said Mummy. Sherlock and John exchanged a glance.
Think Donovan followed your instructions? John asked.
Probably. She can be an intelligent person when she wants to be, Sherlock said, pretending that he was inspecting the contents of his untouched wine glass so that he wouldn't have to meet John's astonished gaze.
Did you just compliment Sally Donovan? John said incredulously.
"I've got to go," Lestrade said, dashing back to the table and saving Sherlock from having to come up with an answer. "They've got a lead on the killer. This could be the break we were waiting for. Mummy, I'm sorry."
"It's perfectly alright, dear. I wouldn't want to keep you from your job, not when I know how important it is." She rose to accept his kiss good-bye as Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Stay safe, dear."
"I will." Lestrade kissed Mycroft briefly, a chaste brush of their mouths, and then nodded to John and Sherlock. His eyes lingered on Sherlock for a long moment and it was obvious that he wanted to say something more. Sherlock stared back in a stony silence that dared Lestrade to suggest anything: there was a reason, after all, that he had erased the texts he'd sent to Sally. There was no proof that he had helped as long as John didn't betray him. Finally Lestrade nodded to him, grabbed his jacket and headed out of the restaurant at a run.
"Well, that was quite exciting," said Mummy, sipping from her glass. "You boys have such interesting jobs!"
"Yes and speaking of, I've got to work in the morning. I'm sorry but Sherlock and I must be off, too," said John. Sherlock only kept the look of surprise from appearing on his face from long practice. He'd been expecting to have to endure several tedious hours before John would allow them to leave, since he knew for a fact that John didn't work the next day. But he wasn't about to question his good fortune too deeply. He rose to his feet quickly.
"Mummy, as always, a pleasure," he said, not wanting her to suggest that he stay while John left.
"I'll come see you again before I leave," Mummy said. She gripped his shoulders for a moment, looking at him intently, and then smiled. "Until then, Sherlock, John." She accepted Sherlock's kiss and squeezed John's hand before sitting down across from Mycroft. Sherlock shot a smirk at his brother as he followed John to the exit, noting and relishing the tell-tale signs of Mycroft's frustration. For once Mycroft was the one left sitting with Mummy while Sherlock left early. It was a pleasant change.
"Did Sarah call you to go to work after all?" he asked once they were outside.
"No. You'd know if she had." John looked up and down the street. "I just couldn't sit there with you one second longer."
Sherlock frowned uncertainly. It didn't sound like a good thing to say, but the emotions coming from John - they were definitely good. "John?"
"I want to take you home," John explained and he didn't have to say anything else; the roughened timbre of his voice combined with the darkening of his eyes and flush across his cheeks spoke volumes.
And really, there was nothing that could be said to that: Sherlock just swallowed hard and threw a hand up to stop a cab immediately.
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