Disclaimer: settings and characters as depicted in BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
A Brotherly Betrayal
Before the dreaded Talk could begin, there was a series of visitors to endure. The first was Sarah – boring, normal Sarah who came around to check if John was in Baker Street and demand to know why he hadn't answered his phone or her comments on his blog. Sherlock had informed Mrs Hudson where they were once he'd been coherent enough to do so, along with a request that the information be kept to herself. She had texted back that his brother had already told her that days ago and if any mad bombers came to Baker Street she'd be adding the damages to his rent.
Sarah went from indignant with John to cautiously concerned. Sherlock wasn't worth a moment of consideration, though she did make a show of trying to be nice to him once John stated very pointedly that his flatmate had been hurt too. Offers of bandage changing and general health checks were made and firmly rebuffed and Sherlock decided to remove himself from their front room in order to get John to stop making those stupid Significant Faces at him.
He didn't go too far though. He disliked being away from John. That he was listening to a private conversation didn't carry much weight with him at all. John knew him well enough to realise that Sherlock was probably still listening in.
"Look, John, maybe you should consider moving out of here," was the first sally by Boring Sarah and Sherlock rubbed his ribs gently while waiting for John's reply, "It's just that he's putting you in danger with no thought for your life outside of here. He's selfish, arrogant, manipulative and just… you could stay with me for a while, you know."
"I don't take charity," John's reply was cool, "Thank you for the offer, but no. And please don't speak about Sherlock like that – especially not in our home."
John was using a tone that Sherlock recognised, though interestingly enough it had never been aimed at him. His flatmate was furious with his guest, an emotion that made John retreat into icily formal politeness. John had never been mad enough at Sherlock to use that tone of voice on him in all their months of living together.
"John, can't you see…"
"I can see that as long as my friendship with Sherlock continues it will be a bone of contention between us," John interrupted. Sherlock's chest got tighter; rubbing didn't work and so he wrapped his arms around his ribcage protectively.
"As I intend to continue to be Sherlock's friend, to share in his work and his life, I would suggest that you either accept this, or leave. I do care about you, Sarah, but no one will ever come between Sherlock and myself," John paused for a moment, evidently reading the expression on Sarah's face. Sherlock hugged his ribs tighter, trying to keep his heart in his chest – at the moment it felt as if it was going to burst free, an oddly pleasant sensation.
"I should go, then," Sarah said stiffly, "Don't bother calling the surgery for more shifts."
"Very well," John sounded resigned, which Sherlock resented, and tired, which Sherlock fretted about. John was still not completely himself and needed to rest if he was to be of any use in the Conversation that Sherlock was planning to have with him. He scowled in resentment at Sarah's appalling timing and toyed with various petty revenges he could visit on her. Perhaps it was fortunate that John spoke again, distracting Sherlock from his thoughts:
"For what it is worth, I'm sorry it ended this way."
The only reply was the slamming of the door and Sarah's footsteps as she stomped down the stairs. Sherlock frowned and cast about for something that would cheer John up – he believed that breaking up with a girlfriend required some form of support from friends. John liked tea, and it would sooth and help him to rest, so Sherlock made a cuppa for them both and brought it into the front room, meeting John's weary gaze with his own.
"I'm sorry you had to hear her speak about you like that," John muttered, stretching his good hand up for the mug, "Though you could have gone to your room or down to Mrs Hudson to spare yourself that."
"You need care, remember? The doctors said so and I promised not to leave you alone," Sherlock sat on the floor beside the couch, leaning next to John's hip. John gave him a tired grin and kindly didn't point out that Sarah was a doctor and more than capable of dealing with any medical needs that John might have.
"I'm sorry she left you," Sherlock offered, staring very fixedly into his own tea mug. That was the done thing, wasn't it – to commiserate with the friend who'd broken up with his girlfriend.
"I'm not," John sighed, "She… didn't approve of me all that much. I think she wanted to… remake me in a way. You know – have a war veteran boyfriend that performed medicine under her command and was at her social beck and call. I should never have started dating her – it should have been about the work only."
"Why did you then?" Sherlock looked up, genuinely curious. He'd not understood the infatuation that John had brought back from his job interview, nor the way his flatmate had continued the relationship after that Chinese General had tried to kill them both.
"It's hard to explain, Sherlock," John sighed, meeting his eyes. There was something in his expression that Sherlock memorised, something that was speaking to Sherlock very clearly, though he did not understand it beyond the most visceral level.
"I got back from Afghanistan a complete wreck. I was useless, depressed… it felt very much like I'd abandoned my post in a time of need… irrational, but true, ok? Then I met you and suddenly, I was a person again. I had a role to play, even if it was just a small one. By the time I met Sarah, I was ready to be… loved I suppose, though we never got that far…"
"She was not a logical choice," Sherlock mused, "But I suppose it can't be helped – your logic is not the strongest I've ever met, John."
"No," John sighed, "But the logical choice was completely out of my reach, so I made do, which was totally unfair to Sarah."
Sherlock scowled and buried his face in his mug for a moment, wondering who it was that John really wanted to be with and why it made his chest tighten. He put his mug aside after a moment and looked John over, wondering if his friend was rested enough to have that conversation about the pool now. Before he could truly decide the door downstairs opened without fanfare and familiar footsteps trotted up their stairs.
"Mycroft," Sherlock sighed, irritation rising to the fore. He needed some time alone with John, not time being annoyed by his elder brother.
"Hello Mycroft," John winked as the British Government pretended to respect their privacy by knocking before entering. Sherlock smirked at his flatmate and turned his head enough to look Mycroft over. He'd never noticed before how comfortable this patch of floor was and he was reluctant to get up just yet. Mycroft's disapproval of his seating choice was evident, though, which was another incentive to stay where he was.
"Good afternoon, Dr Watson. I trust you are recovering satisfactorily?" Mycroft helped himself to Sherlock's chair, his gaze flicking over John as if the man was a piece of data to be catalogued and discarded. Sherlock didn't like that at all and got up to sit in John's armchair, 'accidentally' kicking Mycroft on the ankle as he did so.
"I've something to discuss with you, Sherlock. Perhaps we should go elsewhere, to avoid disturbing Dr Watson," was Mycroft's only response.
"I can go…" John offered, already preparing to push himself up off the couch. Sherlock leapt back across the room and pushed him down gently, settling on the edge of the couch in an effort to restrain his flatmate without having to actually hold him down.
"Not at all, John. If Mycroft had anything that couldn't be said in front of you, he'd have kidnapped me a while ago. He forgets his manners frequently, unfortunately. It's one of the reasons Mummy was pleased he'd be taking a government posting – keep him out of the public eye and thus save the family from embarrassment," Sherlock delivered that last with an entirely straight face and was rewarded with an amused smirk from John, but more importantly, a relaxation of the muscles under his hands.
"Sherlock…" Mycroft scowled, then apparently changed his mind; as if Sherlock didn't know his brother well enough to know when he was putting on an act for the benefit of their company, "Very well. I wish to caution you against taking up the offer made by James Moriarty."
"What?" John spluttered and Sherlock's chest got tight again. He really had needed to have this discussion with John in private…
Mycroft was busily filling John in about Moriarty's little offer, using a supercilious tone on Sherlock's flatmate that neither one of them appreciated. When he had done, John shook his head and closed his eyes, turning his face towards the back of the couch. Sherlock's chest got even tighter for a moment, then John reached up quite naturally and covered one of Sherlock's hands with his own.
Get rid of him, the touch cried and Sherlock twined their fingers together in response. John would not talk this over in front of an audience – neither would Sherlock.
"I shall take your advice into account," Sherlock told his brother, "Now leave."
"I needn't remind you, little brother, that I am well within my rights to have you locked away for the good of the public," Mycroft murmured as he stood, perhaps seeing that it would be better to kidnap Sherlock at a later time. John's head whipped around, his eyes blazing with fury.
"Get out!" he snapped, shocking Mycroft immensely with his tone and vehemence, though Sherlock's older brother was more than capable of hiding that shock from the public, "Get out, right now!"
His flatmate was tensing up again, something that would cause him considerable pain, so Sherlock freed his hand and all but shoved his brother from the room.
"Once I would have expected better from you, Mycroft," Sherlock snarled, "Not any more, though. You'd best not come back, either."
"Sherlock, I merely wanted to ensure that you did not entertain any foolish fancy about joining Moriarty's little enterprise. I am aware that boredom leads you into reckless action, however I feel that in this case you would truly be better to risk the boredom than alleviate it…."
"Out!" John shouted from the front room, sounding even more incensed than before.
"Don't get up, John!" Sherlock shouted back, stern warning in his voice, "He's going! And as for you, dear brother, not another word!"
Mycroft marched out of the house with his head held high, ignoring the irate Mrs Hudson who glared at him from her doorway. Once the front door had slammed, Sherlock was back up the stairs in a flash, hurrying to John who was quite pale and slightly clammy. That meant pain, which made Sherlock irrationally angry.
"How dare he…" John fumed, but Sherlock shook his head, forbade any further speech and called upon Mrs Hudson's assistance to get some food and pain pills into John. It wasn't until the evening that colour started to return to dry cheeks and Sherlock dared to ask why John had been so angry: even then he timed the question carefully so as to catch the other man on the cusp of drowsing off, when his inhibitions would be at their lowest.
"He betrayed you Sherlock."
That simple answer kept Sherlock awake for quite some time that evening.