Sam turned to John, his cheeks aflame. "That... that was something else," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked back towards John, his mind only just starting to catch up with him after the kiss.
"Warmed to you after all, it seems," John agreed in a whisper with a light chuckle. He did his best to keep his voice from reaching anyone who might be nearby in the wall, but he had no guarantees. There was almost no way to be absolutely quiet amongst people so small.
John had noticed Sam comforting Elyssa throughout the process, which wasn't unexpected considering she'd never been medically treated by a human before. In hindsight, they probably should've seen such a sign of gratitude coming.
Offering his hand once more, John grinned and said, "How 'bout we air that one out at the park for a bit before we head back."
Sam shook his head to try and rid himself of some of his flush, his cheeks warmer than normal as he stepped onto John's hand. "Works for me," he agreed. If anything else, he could use some extra time out of the flat to regain his equanimity before he ran into Dean.
His older brother could always see right through him. The last thing he needed was Dean figuring out just what made him so flustered and unbalanced.
"Besides, I'm sure Dean could use the place to himself for a bit," Sam concluded out loud. "It's not like there's any reason to rush back."
"Yeah," John said softly. As he lifted Sam, he brought his free hand up to tug at his jacket collar and give Sam space to settle in. It almost felt odd having Sam so close after pocketing him and Elyssa the last few times. Comforting, though, to be able to hear the smaller man and know he was alright.
"Anyways, I think we're still owed a bit of fresh air," he commented, pushing himself to his feet once Sam was settled. John's smile was warm, despite Sam's inability to see it where he sat. "You did a great job here. Definitely earned it."
Sam smiled tiredly, letting all the adrenaline wear down as he watched their surroundings, ready to hide at a moment's notice. "Can't wait to tell Dean all about it," he said, just imagining Dean's reaction to discovering Sam had gone and earned himself a kiss while he was out.
As it turned out, Sam wouldn't be able to tell Dean much of anything for a good while.
Lestrade's brow shot up and all his focus turned to Dean, truly seeing his reaction at last. His heart sank to see Dean so startled, pulling away as though Lestrade might snatch him up like some common toad. The thought put a sour taste in Lestrade's mouth, and he had every intention of drawing his hand back and apologizing.
Before he could, a pale hand closed harshly around his wrist and Lestrade looked up to meet an icy glare once again. Sherlock had heard Dean's distress and wasted no time in coming to his defense. And this time, Lestrade couldn't exactly blame him.
Lestrade gave Sherlock a meaningful look and an understanding nod, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he shoved Lestrade's hand back.
"I take it you have a few questions before you go," said Sherlock curtly, setting down the glass he'd finally tracked down.
"I do, yeah…" Lestrade made a move to take the drink Sherlock poured, but the first thing the detective did was tilt the glass so that the drink was within reach for Dean. By the pointed gaze Sherlock was giving him, it was clear to Lestrade that he was being shown exactly who was first priority here. Lestrade couldn't contest that either, so he sat back and folded his hands on the table in front of him, waiting for Dean to take his drink first.
Dean eyed Lestrade warily as he brushed off his jacket and let his duffel drop to the tabletop. He wasted no time getting out the tinfoil and making a cup, hurrying so that Sherlock wasn't left holding out the glass for long.
Once he was sure the container would hold the whiskey, Dean stood on his tiptoes to dip it into the amber liquid. No ice, just like he'd ordered. There was a rare smile on his face as he filled his cup and backed off from the glass, retreating to where he'd be close to Sherlock's hand as he took his first sip of alcohol in over a decade. It hit his tongue like a rich wave of flavor, and he savored every drop.
There was no question that if Dean was the one who'd bought that bottle, it would have been gone long before today.
"Ah," he breathed in satisfaction. "That hits the spot."
Sherlock slid the drink over to Lestrade when Dean was finished, and the DI took a good pull right away to wash down the terrible feeling that had come over him.
"Well?" Sherlock pressed as he sat down across from Lestrade, keeping a relaxed hand protectively close to Dean.
Lestrade sighed, hating all the mistrust and hating himself for earning it. He never wanted to grab Dean, he saw no point in it. Perhaps seeing the way Sherlock handled him earlier, coupled with the handshake the smaller man had offered, made something in Lestrade assume that Dean was simply comfortable around hands and would recognize no ill intent in his actions. Obviously he was mistaken, and he was determined to earn back trust if he could.
"Well," Lestrade emphasized in a sarcastic mimic of Sherlock, "when did this all start?"
"A few months back. Next."
Lestrade blinked at Sherlock's clipped response, but took another sip of whiskey as he sifted through his many questions. "How did you two meet?" he settled on.
Dean hung back from the conversation now that he had his whiskey to enjoy, sipping it down faster than recommended, especially for a person who had zero alcohol tolerance. It warmed him from the core, and for once he actually thought he'd be fine without the leather jacket, even without the fireplace in the flat lit.
Standing next to Sherlock's hand, Dean felt a good deal more secure on the table than when it was only Lestrade around, and was comfortable looking away from the others long enough to enjoy his whiskey, the overly large aluminum cup blocking his line of sight momentarily. No matter how many times Dean insisted he'd much rather have Sam's knack than his own detection ability, Sherlock would insist right back that Dean's was more versatile, yet at times like this the old yearning for the ability to know if anyone was taking interest in him resurged.
Once there was a chance to needle Sherlock, he couldn't resist taking it. It didn't help that some of his normal reticence was gone, buoyed away by the warmth of the whiskey. "Yeah, Sherlock, tell us all about how we first met. I can't wait to hear it," followed by another long gulp of whiskey as Dean gave Sherlock a look. Perfectly ready to correct Sherlock if he strayed too far, but also ready to hear it all from the detective's point of view.
Sherlock shot Dean a scowl, glancing back at Lestrade's curiously quirked eyebrow. With an exasperated huff, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and resigned himself to answer.
"Dean had been lending assistance to some of my cases for some time," he explained, leaving out any mention of Sam. Dean hadn't yet specified whether or not he wanted his little brother involved in this exchange, but chances were that he didn't. "In secret, even to myself. When I realized it wasn't John leaving clues, I grew suspicious and decided to stake things out. Dean decided to reward himself with some biscuits left out on the counter while he thought I was asleep. I wasn't, so I caught him out in the open."
"Caught him?"
For the first time since Lestrade had become involved in all this, Sherlock looked away from him. Shifted his focus just slightly away. If the DI didn't know better, he'd have thought that Sherlock's glower carried within it a hint of shame. "In a jar. Oh no, wait, it was under the coffee mug first," Sherlock recalled, as though he were talking about something completely casual and commonplace.
"Yeah, you dropped a coffee mug over me first, then dropped me in the jar," Dean said, helpfully shoring up Sherlock's memories of the event. Dean would never forget what that was like: darkness rushing up to surround him as he ran, hitting the side of the mug going full speed, listening to Sherlock's deep voice rumble as he examined Sam.
None of that was important to the matter at hand, so Dean looked at Lestrade. "And you're welcome for the Red-Headed League, by the way. Since unraveling that case almost cost me a whole lot more than some inconvenience and a cookie."
Lestrade gave a hard blink as he downed a particularly large gulp, nearly finishing off his whiskey as he listened to Dean and Sherlock. He did his best to set the much emptier glass down gently.
"That was you? " asked Lestrade incredulously, impressed. He recalled that case plain as day, how it had baffled him and Sherlock for days. When Sherlock called him out of the blue claiming to have solved it, Lestrade had written it off as some random stroke of genius on the detective's part. Now that he knew who to truly credit for that, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass. "That's… brilliant. That's insane! How many cases have you guys worked together on?"
Sherlock leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers. "Hm. Haven't gone over the previous cases he's helped with before we met. Since then, I recruited his services for the case for Lord St. Simon with his runaway bride. The one you almost completely bungled."
Lestrade rolled his eyes, grabbing the bottle to refill his whiskey. He was already sorry he asked, but nothing could stop Sherlock now. As the detective carried on and on, Lestrade poured himself another generous drink. He was going to need quite a bit to get through this.
Dean started off listening to Sherlock, but his thoughts were distracted and scattered. The whiskey in his foil cup was steadily drained as Lestrade's words repeated through his mind.
That's… brilliant. That's insane!
It wasn't much, but Dean had grown up with very little praise before the curse, and afterwards most of his life was spent either focused on survival or learning the skills they needed. When his little brother swiftly outstripped him in climbing speed, Dean was left behind in the dust. He excelled at combat, a skill most people his size considered unnecessary. If someone was going to attack them, chances were they were much larger, and fighting was hopeless. Some borrowers learned to fight, but at most they chased off or killed rats, nothing like hand to hand combat.
Hearing such praise from someone close to the age of his father made his chest swell up with pride. It was a rare feeling, and only added to the warmth inside that the whiskey created.
Realizing he'd drained the foil cup of whiskey while Sherlock was talking, Dean frowned, turning it upside down as though that might conjure up another serving.
A/N:
TW: Alcohol and drinking will be involved with the rest of the story, including drunken behavior.
As it turns out, a tiny bit of praise goes a long way with Dean.
Next: November 2nd, 2022 at 9PM
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Adding in this author's note for all my followers here, and will keep it on all chapters going forward:
If the worst happens and fanfiction shuts down, you can find all my stories on both archive of our own and deviantart, posted under the nightmares06 account. You can also find our story tumblr, which contains a ton of information and answers that are only posted on that site, along with artwork for the stories and future plans we have. That can be found under the brothersapart tumblr account. I can't put links in chapters, but googling "Brothersapart tumblr" should bring it right up!