Five voice messages, seventeen texts, and ten minutes of waving at random CCTV cameras later, John found himself sitting in one of the nicest homes in which he'd ever been. Considering some of the places people had had the misfortune of dying, he supposed that was saying something.
He tried not to fidget in the plush black chair in which he'd been seated by a still annoyed Anthea when he'd arrived. He'd wondered at the time if he should perhaps apologize for attempting to break her employer's nose last time they'd met. The dirty look she'd given him just for saying hello had made him decide against it.
John jumped as a door to his left finally opened after twenty minutes of him waiting. Mycroft didn't bother to hide his amusement.
"Forgive me. There was an urgent call I couldn't ignore."
John had a good feeling he knew who exactly had been on the other end of that call. His heart clenched at the idea of Sherlock calling his big brother in a panic, worried about losing his only friend. He squeezed his fist against his leg and pushed the thought out of his mind. People who blackmailed other people into having sex didn't need pity, they needed therapy. And jail time.
Mycroft walked to the bar behind John. He had to turn and peer over the tall chair back to keep him in sight. Mycroft pulled a bottle of something out from underneath the sleek black countertop. John was no expert, but he was fairly certain that the only reason that counter alone wasn't worth more than all of the furniture back at 221B combined was because Mycroft had given Sherlock a bed worth five months' of John's wages.
Mycroft poured himself a drink before holding up the bottle to him questioningly.
"Sure," John answered. Muttering to himself, he turned back to face the front and added, "Maybe if I'm drunk enough you two might actually make sense."
Mycroft came back around and handed a glass to him before sitting in the chair across from John. He had no choice but to stare directly at the nose he had punched in unjustifiable rage.
"Sorry about your…" John indicated his own nose and took a drink. Scotch. Not his favorite drink, but he was hardly going to be choosy right then.
"Mmm, yes. I'm told you had a change of heart?"
"He…" John paused, wondering how one went about asking someone if their brother had essentially raped them.
Mycroft sighed and took a sip of his own drink. "You really should reconsider your habit of speaking with my brother about personal issues. You know how easily he gets confused."
"So it's false?" The hope in his voice was embarrassing.
"That depends. If my brother informed you of the offer he made me twelve years ago in which he promised to stop his horrid habit if I promised to fill his time in exchange – then no, it's not false. Anything else and you'll have to be more specific in your questions." Mycroft gave him a pointed look. "My brother didn't force me."
"Really? Cause it sounds like blackmail to me," John said, trying to keep his voice casual.
Mycroft chuckled. "Not three months ago I was the boogeyman and now I'm one of your abuse victims you treat at the clinic."
"I didn't have all the facts then."
"You still don't," Mycroft said, the amusement suddenly gone from his voice. He stared at John in an obvious attempt at intimidation that wasn't completely useless this time around. John found himself more afraid of the man than he'd been when he was tied up in an abandoned warehouse. Terror gripped him as he imagined what words were about to come out of Mycroft's mouth in the next few minutes.
"We made a bargain, John. Not one that I imagine you will understand, but one nevertheless made by parties fully aware of what was being agreed upon and finding no fault in the arrangement. I wanted my brother to give up the drugs; he wanted something to occupy his brain in its place. I weighed the pros and cons of the situation and found the former to far outweigh the latter."
"Just like that? He gets a shiny new life as an ex-addict detective with a brother who's willing to do literally anything for him and you get-what? A life of monogamy with someone you'd never even consider otherwise?" John gave him a bitter laugh.
Mycroft's lips thinned. "I don't normally put things so plainly, so I hope that you appreciate that I am about to now." Mycroft studied John for a moment, and John couldn't help but sit a little straighter. "I love Sherlock. I have always loved Sherlock, though not as he would have preferred. I can assure you, you cannot possibly comprehend just how much my life revolves around my brother. If he had died of an overdose, I would have followed him soon after."
John took a hard swallow of his scotch.
Mycroft continued, "I was already willing to give my brother everything else he desired in a partner. It was but one final step to complete the picture, and providing Sherlock someone trustworthy with which he could fulfill his sexual needs was not the arduous task you believe it to be."
"It really doesn't bother you," John said. A statement, not a question.
Staring into Mycroft's eyes, he couldn't see even a hint of disgust. Granted, the man had had twelve years to perfect his mask, but John had the feeling he wouldn't lie to him. Not while they were having their strange heart-to-heart.
"My brother so completely disregards the social mores of society; you must think me a pillar of human tradition in comparison." Mycroft leaned forward to whisper, "I am not."
Mycroft stood before John fully had time to process that, smoothing out his suit jacket.
He moved to follow, only to have the other wave him off.
"You may stay if you like. Carl will drive you home when you're ready. Or," Mycroft gave him a knowing look, "anywhere else you might like to go."
John nodded. By now Sherlock was probably frantic with worry, though the bastard would never admit it. He watched Mycroft cross the room and hoped he was going to go call his brother and tell him everything was … well, not all right exactly, John didn't think he'd ever see the situation as right, but at least … fine.
It was all fine.
A thought came to him just as Mycroft was about to open the door.
"Mycroft," the man turned to glance back at him, "If you were willing to sleep with Sherlock anyway," John couldn't believe he was even asking this, "why did you wait so long? You said you knew about Sherlock's interest beforehand?"
The smile Mycroft gave him was enough to remind John that this man single-handedly controlled several of the most important agencies in one of the most powerful nations in the world.
"A man doesn't get to be in my position by giving away his most useful bargaining chip for free."
With those terrifying parting words, he left John to his thoughts. Which pretty much consisted of him needing to be much more drunk. He walked over to the bar and took hold of Mycroft's posh scotch still sitting on the counter before taking it back to his chair with him. The bottle ought to be a good place to start.
"You spoke to John," Sherlock said. It was a statement and a question both.
"Of course. I could hardly have him going around thinking you'd forced me into this little pairing of ours," Mycroft answered, his gaze focused on the mobile in his hand. Decidedly one of the benefits of having dinner with each other – neither had to go through the effort of pretending to be even remotely polite.
"But I did force you." Sherlock took a sip of his water. Wine was usually their preferred choice, but they'd both decided it would be best to be sober for the conversation.
"Yes." Mycroft set his phone to the side of his plate and took up his fork. Sherlock chose not to comment on the rather decadent slice of cake his brother was eating out of gratitude for the favor he'd done him.
Sherlock looked at his hands resting in his lap. "Thank you."
"It is my job, isn't it?" Mycroft threw back the words Sherlock had spoken to him all those years ago.
"You could have broken off our arrangement any time in the past several years. I was hardly going to go back to the life of a junkie when I knew Lestrade would cease giving me cases."
"You will always live the life of a junkie seeking his next hit. It's only ever a question of which drug has your current attention." Mycroft took another bite of his cake.
Sherlock chose not to disagree. His brother was in a uniquely good mood, and he wasn't about to start up a fight about his addictions when there existed the distinct possibility he was going to get to penetrate Mycroft later that night.
His own fork came down as he cut into a fish so tender it flaked away. At least Mycroft could be trusted to have good taste in food.
"I could always tell Dr. Watson about the true nature of our relationship," Mycroft said out of the blue.
Sherlock nodded, having expected it. "I know."
Caring was not an advantage.
They looked at each other, each understanding one another perfectly.
"I want your mouth tonight," Mycroft said.
Sherlock nodded. He'd have given that to Mycroft anyway.
"And tomorrow you're going to wear the lead and collar."
Sherlock sighed but nodded his agreement.
"May I fuck you?" Sherlock asked.
"After I've finished my cake."
AN: Well, it's over. I'd be interested in hearing what you guys thought! :)