This took forever to write. Sorry, folks. I've had a bad few weeks. Also, please be warned that there is at least one gay slur in the chapter that follows. I absolutely do not condone the use of such words, but unfortunately you can't force tolerance on people. I'm not sure if Sherlock is in character here, and it hasn't been beta'd or britpicked, so read at your own risk.
If you want to know how John got hurt, read the companion story, Sirens, Rubbish Skips, and Love. That being said, enjoy.
"You're- what? You're on the train? That's really not necessary- yes, but-"
Sherlock looked up with interest. They had returned from the hospital an hour ago, and John had been relaxing on the couch when his phone rang. Sherlock was in the kitchen, making food for once. He was also surreptitiously keeping an eye on John, who had yelled at him good-naturedly for hovering. He was sure John knew he was still observing him, but was pretending not to notice.
"Two hours? Mum, my flat's a mess- I've just been stabbed, I'm not in the mood to entertain- No, I'm not overly stressed. I don't- fine. Fine, I'll see you in a few hours."
John punched the off button with unnecessary force. Sherlock quickly poured him a cup of tea, and then swept into the living room, and sat down on the couch.
"Your mother's coming for a visit then?" He said, not bothering to pretend he hadn't been eavesdropping, when they both knew otherwise.
"Yeah. Thanks." John said, taking the tea. "We need to have a talk, Sherlock."
Sherlock frowned. "About what? She'll only be here for a few days at most, we can manage. We just solved a case, and I'm sure there won't be another one until Tuesday next."
"I'm concerned that you know exactly when you're getting your next case."
"Our next case."
"Yes, well, that's not the point! The point is, my mother is coming to visit!"
"We'll be fine, John. I promise not to conduct any particularly… violent experiments, if that's what you're worried about."
John rolled his eyes, and took a sip of tea. "No, that isn't what I was thinking of, although you'd better not explode, set fire to, or otherwise maim my mother. But… she doesn't know we're married, 'Lock. She doesn't even know I'm… well, you know how bad she took it when Harry told her."
"Badly." Sherlock said absently, and John swatted him on the arm.
"Ha bloody ha. This is important, you bastard. I don't want to lie to my mother, but I don't exactly want the row that'll come with me telling her about us! Sherlock, what do we do?"
Sherlock unfolded himself from off the small couch, and stood up.
"I don't know, John." he admitted. "We both know I'm not particularly good with people. That's why I keep you around."
John raised an eyebrow. "That the only reason?"
"Well, that and the thing you do with your tongue…" John blushed. "But no matter. Whatever you decide, I will go along with it."
"Right." John said, and he closed his eyes. "I'll put my ring on the chain round my neck, then, like I do at the clinic. You keep yours on. We're not going to lie, but if we don't have to talk about it, we don't talk about it."
"As you wish."
"We really need to start your pop-culture lessons, don't we?" John said with a slight smile. When Sherlock only looked at him with a confused expression on his face, John laughed. "No matter. We can't do it now anyways, because you need to clean up this horrific flat before my mother gets here."
"Me? Why can't you do it?"
"I just got stabbed in the leg! I'm going to sit right here on the sofa and rest, just as the doctor ordered."
Sherlock glared, but John just smiled innocently.
tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick
Sherlock stood in the kitchen, fiddling with the dry goods in the cupboard.
Well, not fiddling. Sherlock Holmes didn't fiddle. He was… rearranging their foodstuffs. Yes, that was it.
It didn't change the fact that he had spent more time in the kitchen that day than he had since the severed head experiment.
Out of eyeshot from the living room, lest he get dragged into an uncomfortable conversation that he would likely screw up at some point.
But close enough to eavesdrop. John interacting with his mother was not something that he got to observe every day.
"So how are you liking your job, John?" Mrs. Watson asked cheerily.
"It's fine. I've been taking more hours lately, what with Sarah off on maternity leave."
"Sarah! Isn't she that nice girl you were dating? Whatever happened there?"
"We broke up years ago mother, I told you."
"Well, are you dating anyone right now? Any nice girl I ought to meet, while I'm in town?"
Sherlock's hand tightened around the package of rice he was holding, though he wasn't sure why.
"No, there've not been any girls for a while. I can't be tied down." John answered, with a slight laugh.
Well, that was true enough. Sherlock didn't see how anyone could describe their lives as 'tied down'. And Mrs. Watson didn't have to know that John's two sentences only related to one another tangentially.
Abruptly, he decided to offer Mrs. Watson some tea. That was what you did for guests, wasn't it? Offered them tea? Sherlock wasn't completely sure. The only guest he ever got was Mycroft, and he usually just threw sharp things at him. But John probably wouldn't appreciate it if Sherlock did that to his mother. Although it would likely make her leave, which would solve their problems. But no, throwing sharp things at her would probably break the promise he made to not injure her. Unless he pretended it was an accident- but John would see through that of course. He wasn't an idiot.
Best behavior it was, then. Sherlock sighed. But best behavior was boring.
He found three (mostly) clean mugs, and poured out three cups of tea. He got three sugars, John got a dash of milk, and John's mum- milk and two sugars.
(She had seen John's mug of cold tea on the end table, but had declined to drink it. She had invited herself into their home, so obviously not bothered by social convention. So, she must know John takes his tea differently from her and not like his order. It was unlikely that John took his tea weaker than his mother, as that would have caused him some embarrassment as a teen, even if it was only internal. A sweeter order, then, and as one sugar wouldn't have made difference enough for her to turn down his cup, two sugars. Perhaps three, but Sherlock had yet to meet anyone else who took three sugars in their tea, and this older woman would probably see that as an extravagance.)
Feeling slightly defiant, he put his and John's tea in the matching blue mugs, and gave Mrs. Watson the odd one out that they had got from Donovan three Christmases ago and tended not to use. It had a ridiculous owl on the side of it, and Sherlock thought that Donovan had perhaps bought it as a joke, but he wasn't sure.
He paused, and took a deep breath. Summoning all his acting skills, he plastered a smile on his face, and headed into the living room.
"Hi, Mrs. Watson." Sherlock said brightly. "I'm Sherlock, John's flatmate. I've made you and John some tea."
Mrs. Watson's eyes narrowed. "Thank you." she said briskly, taking the tea. "Would you mind getting me a saucer?"
"Of course, Mrs. Watson." Sherlock said. He handed the cup to John, who nodded in thanks, and then left the room again.
Mrs. Watson said, in what was obviously supposed to be a whisper but had been misjudged due to her failing hearing, "He seems awfully… feminine, John. Are you sure you're… you know, all right, living with him?"
Sherlock swore under his breath. Apparently, he had put a little too much 'playing gay' into his friendliness. Although, if John's mum was worried after that, perhaps John was more rational than he had previously realized. She was probably scared to leave her house if Sherlock's performance had bothered her that much.
"I'm not sure what you're getting at, mum. He's married, if that's what you're asking."
Sherlock grabbed the saucer, and returned to the living room in time to catch the relieved expression on John's mother's face.
"Here you are, Mrs. Watson." he said, and she smiled, first down at his wedding ring, and then back at him.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Holmes. You can call me Catherine, you know."
He grinned at her, leaning up against the wall beside the mantelpiece. Normally a nearly impossible task, but doable after an hour of forced cleaning. Not worth the effort, in his opinion. But then, when the effort in question was put forth by him, it rarely was.
"You're welcome, Catherine. I trust John has been telling you all my secrets?"
He was careful to put a bit more baritone in his voice than he would have otherwise. Mrs. Watson looked placated, but John glared at him. Why would he- oh.
Well, Sherlock never promised to not inappropriately turn him on in the presence of his mother.
"No, he hasn't. And to be honest, I'd much prefer to hear any of his secrets that you could tell me."
John rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. Why don't we all just sit around, trading embarrassing stories about the invalid?"
Catherine's smile disappeared. "Are you all right, Johnny? Do you need to lie down?"
"I'm fine, mum. This isn't the first time this has happened, remember. I'll just have to dust off the cane for a few weeks, it's not a problem. Like I tried to tell you before you insisted on coming down here." John said, smiling tightly.
"Are you sure? Because I don't want you to make it worse, John. You should rest if you need to."
"I'm sure John's fine, Mrs. Wa- Catherine. But why don't you tell me a bit about John's childhood? I've heard so much about you, but he's been modest as anything about his own achievements." A blatant lie, but if it made her happy…
"You have? Oh, John." she said, smiling over at him. When she looked back at Sherlock, John mouthed 'thank you'.
"Well, where should I start? How about the day I knew John was going to grow up to be a doctor? He was seven, and his sister had…"
tick tick tick tick tick tick tick
"…and John cried for a week, and that's when we got Gladstone the second." Catherine continued, but she was cut off by a rap on the door. John half rose to get it, but Sherlock waved him off. He stalked around the couch, and pulled open the door.
"Holmes." Donovan said, without preamble. "I need both your statements. Andrew Darvill is making a stink, and we can't search his house without your testimonies as proof."
"It'll have to wait." Sherlock said, not bothering to maintain his pretense of being nice. "John's mum just showed up, and we can't exactly leave her here alone. She'll poke around and blow something up."
"John's- what?"
"John's mother, Sally. Honestly, how thick are you?"
"Really?" Donovan said. She smirked at him. "Your mother-in-law, eh? Sherlock Holmes' mother-in-law, now that I would pay good money to see."
"You'll do no such thing." Sherlock said. "She doesn't know she's my mother-in-law, and you are not going to be the one who tells her."
"I- what?" Donovan said.
"Kicked John's sister out of the house at fifteen because she's a lesbian. We don't want any trouble."
"Jesus. Okay, fine. But we still need your statements."
"Then we can do it here."
Sally grimaced. "Er, no we can't. Sorry, I've left all the paperwork back at the station."
"When you knew John was injured?"
"Yeah, well, I since haven't slept since ten hours before we- you caught the elusive Mr. Darvill, some slack would be nice."
"I'll see what I can do. "
tick tick tick tick tick tick
"John! Good to see you up and about. Terrible business, that. And who's this?"
"My mum." John said. "She's just come for a visit, and we didn't want to leave her in our flat all alone."
"God, no." Lestrade agreed. "That place is probably radioactive. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Watson."
"And you, Detective Inspector."
"I'll just need to borrow your son for a few minutes, and his hus.." he trailed off as Sherlock made a violent throat slashing gesture above her head. Sometimes it helped to be inhumanly tall. "And, er Sherlock. Would you mind waiting out here?"
"Of course not." she said. "I'll just do the crossword, if you don't mind."
"Not at all." Lestrade said, as he all-but-pushed John and Sherlock into the adjoining interrogation room.
"Doesn't know we're married. Violently homophobic." Sherlock said, as soon as the soundproof door swung shut. "Now, can we get on with our statements?"
Lestrade winced. "Ah. Well, call me if it all goes to hell."
"Our statements, Lestrade."
"Right. Sorry."
tick tick tick tick
"Look who we have here."
They had almost made it out of the Yard without being given away, but fortune was not on their side when Anderson decided to go on an aimless walk through its corridors.
"Anderson." Sherlock said. "Congratulations. This may, possibly, be the worst time ever for you to show your ferrety face."
"Who have we here?" he said, blatantly disregarding Sherlock's insults. After all these years, that was just their standard greeting.
"My mother." John said.
"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock added. "She looks just like him. Although, with your observation skills, you would probably overlook the resemblance between a man and his twin."
"I'm Catherine, dear." she said, apparently ignoring Sherlock's acerbic tone. "And you are?"
"Nathan Anderson." he said, and it was disturbing to see him smile while in the same room as Sherlock. "I work with your son's-"
"Right, we've got to go!" John cut in. "Sorry, Anderson, we've got a reservation-"
tick tick tick
Dinner at Angelos was delicious, as always. Sherlock found that Catherine really was an interesting woman, once you got to know her. Watsons; they were always so full of surprises.
Billy put the obligatory candle on the table, of course, but Catherine either didn't notice, or didn't catch the significance.
tick tick
"So, where am I going to be spending the night?" she asked. John and Sherlock exchanged a look. Clearly, John had forgotten certain necessities, such as not telling her they shared a bedroom. Luckily for him, he had married a consulting detective who had handily thought of everything.
"You can have John's room upstairs, Catherine." Sherlock said. "He's not in any shape to get up there. He can have my bedroom, and I'll take the couch."
Mrs. Watson looked at the couch doubtfully, which was clearly at least a foot and a half shorter than the man proposing to sleep on it.
"I'll be fine." he assured her. "I don't sleep much anyways. But first things first- what are we going to have for dinner?"
tick
They were sitting at the miraculously clean table, having breakfast, when finally John snapped.
"I'm done!" he said, slamming his tea down on the table. Catherine looked taken aback. Sherlock had been expecting this a little sooner.
"What on earth has gotten into you, John?" she asked, sitting down her fork.
"I'm done pretending." he said. He reached up to his neck, and fished the chain with his wedding band on it out of his shirt. "Mum, this is my wedding ring."
She gasped. "Johnny? You're married? What- why didn't you tell me? Oh, can I meet her?"
Sherlock, who was sitting off to one side, rolled his eyes, waiting for the penny to drop.
"I believe you've got your pronouns wrong, Mrs. Watson." he said politely. (It was difficult.)
"Pronouns? What? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about Mr. Holmes." she said. She wasn't being facetious; the possibility of John being married to Sherlock had clearly not crossed her mind. Honestly, how could you be that ignorant and survive to your late sixties?
"You could call him Mr. Watson, mother." John said. "Because we were married three years ago. Aren't you happy to meet your son-in-law? I know you've always wanted one."
Dawning realization began to spread across the face that was so much like John's. Not altogether unexpectedly, the shock was quickly chased by disbelief.
"You're having me on, John." she said, and the reaction was so like her daughters that Sherlock was taken aback. Unfortunately, she was unlikely to respond well to the same tactics that Harry had.
"I swear I'm not." John said. "I wouldn't joke about something so important."
"Our marriage license is framed on the wall behind you, if you're interested." Sherlock said, through a mouthful of toast. "And it's sealed by the queen's own chaplain, which is quite difficult to forge."
John's mum stood up, and scrutinized the document on the wall. Sherlock and John exchanged a glance. Sherlock's phone vibrated in his pocket.
Sorry. JW
No need to apologize. As I said before, is your descision. Will support you. I love you. SH
Love you too. JW
John looked up abruptly as his mother turned back to them. The bewilderment on her face was replaced by anger.
"This is all your sister's fault!" she said angrily. "If she hadn't put the idea into your head that this- this filthy lifestyle was okay, you would have settled down with a nice girl by now!"
"Patently not true." Sherlock said, with a bored tone. He wasn't going to bother being likable if she was just going to scream. That was hardly civilized. "It is a proven fact that homosexuality is an inherent trait, not one acquired…" he trailed off when he saw the look John was giving him.
"How could you do this!" she continued. "Bringing me here, into this- this hideaway of sin!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. Because, honestly? Hideaway of sin? That was ridiculous phrasing. Even Mycroft had never said anything like that.
It bothered him that John didn't seem to find the humour in it, though. Or that John hadn't responded yet.
"I can't believe you lied to me all these years, John Hamish Watson. You know how wrong this is. I won't stand for it! You are going to move out of here immediately, and we are going to fix whatever problems you have that are making your sham of a marriage to this- this faggot seem acceptable!"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He heard worse insults than that on a daily basis, and some were even grounded in actual character flaws. She was going to have to try a bit harder than that to get under Sherlock Holmes' skin.
Unfortunately for her, she had. At the other end of the table, John seemed to be shrinking into himself. He wasn't denying any of her preposterous claims, and Sherlock was surprised that he hadn't told her to stuff it yet. Although, perhaps because she was his mother, she was given special consideration? Whatever it was, Sherlock wished John would just tell her to shut up already.
"Don't mistake me, I think you are despicable." she said, and it was ironic that her fury made her resemblance to her son even more striking. "But you are still my son, and I will help- no, I will make you fix this. I just can't understand what possessed you! You are breaking the very laws of nature! I think you know, deep down in your heart that what you're doing is wrong. Maybe you're still just a bad little boy, breaking all the rules just because you think you can get away with it. But some things have consequences, you fool-"
That was it. No one, besides Sherlock, was allowed to call John a fool.
"Excuse me." he said, in a very dangerous tone. "That's my husband you're talking to."
She looked rather taken aback. "Ex-excuse me?"
"You are in our home, Mrs. Watson." Sherlock continued coldly, paying no attention to any signals John may or may not have been giving him. "You will treat us both with respect, or you will- and I'm putting this as politely as I can, at the moment- get out of my house."
She stood with her mouth hanging open for a few moments before she gathered herself enough to speak. "I think you'll find," she said frostily, "that I can say whatever I please. And I don't think a- a homosexual like you is going to stop me."
"I think you'll find that I can quite easily order you to stop berating my family in my own home. And if you choose not to obey, I have quite a few police officers on speed dial, not to mention quite a bit of influence in the British government."
John gave a strangled sort of laugh. Catherine looked back and forth between the two men. John wouldn't meet her eyes, but Sherlock gave her the glare that he had perfected after spending thirty two years alone against the stupidity of the world.
"Well." she said finally. "I can see when I'm not wanted. I'll fetch my things, and go home. Just an old widow with no children." She turned on her heel, and left the kitchen.
John looked stricken. "I- god, Sherlock."
Sherlock swept over to sit beside him, in the recently-vacated chair. "Are you all right?" he said, and for once, the tone was not feigned.
"I- yeah, I'm… I have no idea." he said finally. Sherlock smiled.
"Isn't that usually my line?" he said. "And you're supposed to come help me with the illogicality of feelings? I hate to tell you, but I can't help you at all."
John smiled a little back at him. "It'll be okay, Sherlock. We'll be fine."
Sherlock grinned. "No, you've got it all wrong. See, I was supposed to say that bit."
John laughed. "Kiss me, you idiot."
For once, Sherlock did as he was told.
"Absolutely disgusting."
Sherlock pulled back, and was about to make a nasty retort when John grabbed his hand. He looked back at him, and John whispered, "Please don't."
He heard a door slam behind him.
"Why not, John?" he said, a touch impatient. "Did you need to give her the last word?"
"Yes. Because what else has she got? Not a family, not happiness, not even the truth." John said. "And besides, that's hardly the worst we've been called. Remember the bloke at the pizza place?"
"The one whose nose you broke?"
"Yeah, that one."
"God, I love you more than should be allowed." Sherlock said reverently.
John smiled. "S'why you married me, you idiot."