Two weeks after finds the pair driving to the Holmes estate to meet the matriarch of the family. John has gone and purchased a new suit under Sherlock's careful eye, but has refused any help with the purchase or with tailoring. John is just fine financially, he can afford a new suit all on his own. Especially now, with the advance warning that 'mummy' would go all out for their ceremony. It winds up being a very nice trip for the two of them. There had not been any contact about the suicide case and John is ready to get out a bit. The country would be a nice change for the day.
The estate is quite a large affair with understated beauty. Everything is precisely where it should be, but in an eloquent, unhurried fashion. As they pull into the drive, Sherlock is practically vibrating with what has to be a mixture of nerves and excitement. He has coached John, reminding him to be free with his touches today, but that mummy would most likely expect them to still be reserved, which is in their favor. They have been getting used to light touches and simple grazes over the past week so the two of them can pull it off today just fine.
John takes Sherlock's hand, holding it gently, still enjoying the newness and slow touching. He's not anticipated anything ever as much as getting to finally kiss the man beside him. It is an odd sensation, to feel as if he had all the time in the world. For now, they are both happy, and that is all that matters. As they alight from the car, John can see that they are being greeted by Mrs. Holmes herself, all strength and beauty.
"She's beautiful Sherlock...you got everything from her didn't you?" John breathes into Sherlock's ear as he takes the other man's hand leaving the vehicle. If he sees the light blush that is quickly tamed, he says nothing of it to Sherlock.
"Sherlock Magnus Holmes! You took until deciding to marry this charming Captain to let me meet the man, oh so very naughty." Mrs. Holmes puts on a very affected face and tuts waiting to be properly introduced to her soon to be son-in-law.
"Mummy, this is Captain John Hamish Watson, RAMC, and the sole person to ever hold my heart." Sherlock winkes toward John as he finishes his little speech. "John, this vivacious totalitarian is Mrs. Jacqueline Violet Holmes, my mother."
"Ever for lovely words, my son." Softly laughing, she chides her younger boy, "Come kiss your mother this instant to make up for your clever mouth! And you, John, thank you for not being afraid to take on two war-zones at once." Mrs. Holmes extends her hands to them both. "Now, let's go have a light lunch and discuss your upcoming wedding!"
Once seated in the family area, Mrs. Holmes turns her crystalline blue eyes toward the both of them. She has been studying them since she first laid eyes on John, something seeming not quite right. Sherlock is blushing even though the touches that John and he shares are comfortable. Can it be? Well, it really is none of her concern other that it endeares John just a little more to her heart. He seems a very calming presence, steady. She wonders how Sherlock would fare once John goes back to Bastion.
"So, my dearest children, I understand we have very little time, yes? Sherlock has graciously given me the chance to make the affair a beautiful day for the both of you, free of worry. Is this alright with you John? No family on your side?"
"Just my twin sister, her wife, and myself. Not so bad, especially at Christmastime, makes it cozy."
"You are so very a lucky young man, Sherlock. You had better kiss him every night before you both fall asleep, thanking him for loving the whirlwind you are."
"Good advice, Mrs. Holmes. Sherlock, maybe you should listen to your mother more often..."
"John..." the long suffering added into his statement could not have been more dramatic. "Please."
"Oh! I was right!" Mrs. Holmes perks up gleeful. "Oh, John he should kiss you doubly so for waiting!"
John, who is in the middle of a sip of tea is thankful to have something to concentrate on for a second. Had Mrs. Holmes just called them out on the lack of...no...not possible...She would never, could never mean...
"Yes, mummy, I have asked to wait."
Oh, God, this is happening.
"Um, Sherlock, I don't think. Well that is..." John tries to keep his composure around Sherlock's mother, but it is deteriorating rapidly. "Yes, Mrs. Holmes. That is correct."
Oh how he hates lying, but there is no other way, really they have yet to even kiss so, maybe nothing physical will yet happen in their relationship. John knows Sherlock has been escalating things at his own pace and John has been paying attention, not wanting to push the subject. John, himself has walked a very thin line recently. Out of the shower in only a towel, door open while finishing his morning grooming routine. If Sherlock just so happens to linger a bit longer in bed, John says nothing of it.
Sherlock captures his hand under the table, giving it a light squeeze. It is a sweet gesture they have begun using as a quiet way to thank the other, as Sherlock sometimes cannot voice what he is feeling, it being so overwhelming in his hurricane of a mind. Sometimes, whole new categories have come together, so they stay up until they literally pass out from exhaustion in the very early morning hours conferring about the new emotions Sherlock is feeling or what has changed in their relationship that day. John knows he is falling slowly, he also knows he has no plans to stop.
"Mummy, John's not going to want to wear that, it's still winter, and it is February, not late March. Maybe for the weekend events? I'll even let you get me one in pinstripe if you wish. It will have the family in stitches, which I know you will love."
"Hmm, what were we discussing again?"
"See, I knew John was wondering, you two are made for each other. John, we were discussing your formal wear for the service. Have any comment?"
"Other than at some point I'd like to be in Highland dress, it's what my mum would have wanted. Family plaid and all that. My sister will want a dress...oh I had better discuss... we might not have the time, will we, Mrs. Holmes?"
"I will see to her, John. As I said before, I'll see to everything. Now go, visit Sherlock's old rooms, freshen up, and I'll see you for dinner."
The two meander through Sherlock's childhood home, holding hands, while discussing the day's events so far. It has become so much easier to touch Sherlock knowing that at some point, the desire he has been quietly tending would be allowed to burn with the intensity of what he is feeling. As they round the hall to Sherlock's rooms he becomes hesitant, subdued. John, ever alert, stops them in the hallway looking for a direction to put them in. If Sherlock wants him to lead, he will, but he wants to make sure it is just hesitance that stops the detective's feet.
"Sherlock?" John queries, trying to look into Sherlock's down cast eyes. "You alright, love?"
"I want to thank you. My mother, she's very happy...it has been a long while since I've heard her laugh with me."
"Well then, we'll have to see to it that you actually visit her to make her do so." John retorts with glee in his voice. He is content to see his friend so happy. John has seen there is not much of that in this man's life, and if nothing else, this would be a goal to work towards the last couple of weeks before he goes back to Bastion. "So, are these yours then?"
"Yes. Mine." Sherlock sighs. "Open her up then, and let's go visit my childhood."
It is not at all what John expects.
There is a Crows Nest on the far Northeast corner that is almost a three-quarter circle and is accessible via a rope ladder. The corner it is built into is curved to match and is jammed full of books as well as other trinkets. He is certain, if he climbs up, he would find massive floor pillows to while away on. The walls have wonderfully old maps covering them, some in gilded frames, some held by daggers, even a few smaller ones traditionally hung. There is even an old pull-type that his primary school had used, but the three maps that hung on the clever mechanism look much older.
The walls themselves are an aqua, possibly teal, damask with honeyed wainscotting. More bookshelves, this time with sea glass and clear stained glass door fronts. There is a large white fireplace and massive floor pillows of all different variants of blue and purple scattered close by with two rounded backed chairs in the darkest indigo John has ever seen, presumably for a tutor, nanny, or parent that came to stay in the room for a while. When he finally turns to look at the other half of the room, he is no less amazed.
Set at an angle just off-center in the room is a furniture piece that screams whimsy and opulence all at once. It is clearly a pirate captain's bed, of this John has no doubt. The fabrics in clashing rich colors that looks haphazard, but in reality are the curtains for the bed. The ornate carving and dark stain that holds gouges from what can only be various swords and chains artfully applied to spark a child's fancy. Even the duvet, quilts, and sheets are of warring materials, especially the duvet. He counts no less than fifteen different fabric types and colors masterfully sewn together for the luxurious desultory feel.
"Oh my God, Sherlock." John breathes, "It's amazing!"
"Mummy always was one to give into fantasy when we were children, or so I've been told."
"So Mycroft's rooms?" John wonders, "Are they still his favorite from childhood then?"
"No, he would never allow that. I think some pieces are still in the attic for the eventuality of one of us having children."
"Ah, I see. So you chose to keep your rooms this way. I can see it, Captain Sherlock! Did you have a parrot in that massive cage by your desk that would feed you chemistry answers?"
John stands in awe, he can just feel the happiness that has been absorbed by these walls. He can see a little Sherlock, all of five in short pants and wild hair, completely dominating the space. So what then has happened to change him into an almost-hermit who is sliding toward curmudgeonly?
"When I went away for school, that's when things began to change," Sherlock meanders, practically answering John's thoughts. "Here I had been a bright star, even my tutors were full of praise. The masters where I boarded, though, they were there to instill like-mindedness and mediocrity. There was no place for the child that I was, except for when I would come home on breaks. Even then, it was hard to know I'd be going back, but it made them so proud..."
"Sherlock, I will never try to change you, alright? We're friends aren't we?" John asks as he laces his fingers in Sherlock's. He can't stand hearing the hurt echo in his voice from years long gone. "I might rail a bit from time to time, but I'll never be cruel if I can help it, alright? Now, come show me the rest..."
John learns so much about the man beside him over the next few hours. They wind up in the crows nest giggling like children over some experiment that Sherlock had gotten catastrophically wrong, John's rugby days, the garden snake that has gotten loose in his room by his sister, the climbing tree Sherlock used to clamor up, and all sorts of other misadventures. Here they are, on floor pillows, in a pirate's roost, giggling like five year olds.
"You're amazing, you know." John flops over onto Sherlock, acting on the courage he knows he has in him. "Brilliant, startling, overwhelming..."
The kiss is soft, fairly chaste. John leans his full weight onto one very surprised Sherlock, breathing along the shell of his ear. Bringing Sherlock's hands up, he traps them above his head lightly ghosting his other hand along his ribs. "... but now I must know something..."
"Anything, John."
"Ahh, good poppet." Rewarding Sherlock with another devilishly sweet kiss that borders on scandalous as he places it on the notch of clavicle available to him. "What I wish to know is this...are you ticklish?"
This is why, at half past five in the afternoon, Mycroft walks in on very raucous business with the only telling signs of what is occurring are the peels of laughter and few pieces of discarded clothing.
Sighing, he picks up the discarded shirts and single cashmere jumper, tisking and tutting at them loudly until they settle and come down.
"You two are not eight year olds..." He begins, "Could you please try for some model of decorum while here at Mummy and Father's?"
"Ocht! Is going to be here this evening?"
"No, John, but we will be seeing him soon enough with your day fast approaching. Can I please ask, why in the devil's sake are you doing this to yourselves?"
"Simple, Mycroft," John replies confidently. "We make each other better."