Warning: This case briefly mentions sexual violence.
A/Note: I'd like to apologise to RoseJustice and 20000 WPM, I misinterpreted what you said. Please accept this chapter as my most respectful and humble apology.
This chapter is a bit more serious, but contains mildly BAMF!John. And mischievous Mycroft. So I hope it's still enjoyable.
5. Bloody lip
Sherlock scanned the crowd. He had agreed to take this case much to his distaste. If it were up to him, he'd never work with/for Mycroft ever again, not after last time. But Mummy and Auntie Willelmina had asked both brothers for their help, as it involved one of his cousins. Mummy was particularly emphatic, he had to.
His cousin Edward had gone to a similar event a week ago, the guest list being almost identical. The next day we was found in a park, severely beaten, showing clear signs of sexual violence. He was still in hospital, unconscious. Sherlock and cousin Edward shared similar physical attributes, so the plan was to identify his attacker tonight. Edward was a shy young man, and wouldn't have accompanied a stranger upon meeting like this, especially now that he was in a steady relationship. Clearly, he had been forced, being that he was lanky and not very strong.
Reading the guests, he had narrowed down the suspects to five men. They had noticed him and after "interviewing" one of them, he had four. Given that one didn't seem interested in Sherlock (he likes domineering bears), there were only three left. No, that one is impotent, so it's between those two. Tedious! Not even a four.
He wondered if John would have gotten the busty brunette's number, the woman he had been chatting up last time he had seen him. How unfortunate that he looks so good in that suit.
Then he saw his brother carrying two glasses of wine. It occurred to him to check who would have merited such gallantry from his brother. He followed him with his gaze, and was not completely surprised when he saw Mycroft handing the second glass to John. He could see John's face, looking up and smiling politely at his brother while sipping the wine. With the music they had to talk right next to each other's ears to be heard.
'Hello there,' said a voice close to his ear. Sherlock turned and saw the second suspect he had been evaluating this evening. He was tall and handsome, but that was all. Boring. Yet, Sherlock used his acting skills, eyeing him with a calculated smile and a fake interest.
'I'm Brian,' the stranger smiled.
'I'm John,' Sherlock replied, noticing his own unconscious slip of the tongue.
'You seem a bit lonely, are you here all by yourself?'
'I'm afraid not. I'm here with my partner,' he replied - which was true.
'Oh? And he left you all by yourself the whole evening? That's not very nice of him. Where is he?'
'Over there, the blond one,' he indicated the two men. Just then, Mycroft had a hand in John's arm and was leaning over, talking in his ear, much closer than before. Closer than what would've been strictly necessary. John's chest rose and fell with his breathing, he looked a bit alarmed and was blushing. Sherlock was taken aback.
The suspect noticed his discomfiture. 'He seems to be enjoying himself. Maybe you should too. Would you like to go outside? It'll be easier to talk, less noise.'
Sherlock reminded himself of the task at hand and turned to smile at the suspect, 'I'm flattered, but maybe this is not such a good idea.' When Sherlock looked back, John was the one with a hand in Mycroft's arm, talking in his ear. Sherlock felt like burning inside.
'Come on', Brian said seductively in his ear. 'If he can have fun, so can you. I can see you want to. He doesn't give you enough attention, does he? I can give you what you need.'
Sherlock looked back at him as if pondering, and nodded after a suitable "struggling time with himself", chest heaving and all. The plan had worked, he knew this was the right man, but he was distracted. He just couldn't stand seeing his brother doing this. He felt he should interfere and snatch John out of his reach. But he knew that if he did anything of the sort, it would only push John into doing exactly the opposite. As his brother had most likely planned. How dare he do this while I'm on a case? His case too!
As he walked, the stranger took the liberty of touching him lightly on the small of his back, rubbing it. This brought up two disparate reactions in him simultaneously. Part of him recoiled at the mere idea of letting a stranger touch him again. The last time he had allowed that, he had been high. The other part of him felt the frisson of being desired again. He wished... if only someone else thought he was desirable.
...
Mycroft turned off the microphone on him and lowered his mouth to John's ear. He was very aware of Sherlock's eyes on them and what this would look like to him. He knew his people were watching and listening to Sherlock, so he allowed himself this indulgence.
'This suit looks good on you, John. Sherlock agrees with me. He does love sharp dressed men, especially the ones who know what they want and how to take what they want.'
John's eyes were wide, and his heartbeat thudded loudly inside his chest. He wasn't expecting Mycroft laying it out like this, dragging out the words, making them sound so dirty.
Without pause he added, 'He couldn't take his eyes off of you tonight, it'll be a miracle if we manage to capture our suspect given how distracted he is. I've seen him react when you're fighting criminals, John. He likes it when you're more... assertive. All you have to do is push him against a wall, pin him and kiss him. He'll be putty in your hands then, and you will be able to do everything you want to do with him.'
John blinked nervously as Mycroft pulled away and looked down on him with a condescending smirk. He swallowed, embarrassed, the last words echoing in his head. Mycroft leaned again.
'Don't bother denying John. I know you want him. Well, he wants you too, he just can't see that it's mutual because sentiment is his blind spot. I can't stand you both being this blind, it's ridiculous.'
'Mycroft!' John pulled him by the arm and in turn spoke in his ear, urgently. 'Another suspect is chatting Sherlock up.' Mycroft turned his microphone back on. 'Now he's walking out with the suspect!' John urged.
Mycroft didn't look at his brother, but turned to John's ear again. 'Go after them and get Sherlock away from the suspect. Don't fight, he could be armed. My people are on stand by and will take him once you're both out of his reach.'
...
As Sherlock walked outside onto the terrace, Brian suddenly spun him around against the wall.
'You are really hot, you know that? If I were him, I wouldn't let you leave the house. I'd be spending day and night with you in bed. Oh, you and I are going to have fun tonight, John. All. Night. Long.'
Before Sherlock could respond, the man pressed against him, claiming his lips with searing kisses. When he finally caught on, he tried to push Brian away. To his surprise, the suspect held his wrists against the wall and continued assaulting his mouth. Sherlock was struggling now, trying to free himself. He knew he could throw his assailant off of him, he only needed to get his right foot behind-
'Get away from him.'
Sherlock felt a chill when he heard John's voice. It was low and calm, but that contained more menace than if he had shouted. He was instantly freed, and his bottom lip was bleeding. Brian held his hands out, trying to placate John. 'Hey, you seemed to be having fun with that other guy, so why shouldn't he?'
'He wasn't having fun with you. Anyone looking would be able to tell he was saying no to you. Now, you have two options: you can either leave on your own two feet, or you can leave in an ambulance. Your choice.'
The man just stared at John in disbelief. He could tell shortie here was dangerous; fighting him would be much more challenging than his lanky prey. Unbelievable! No wonder he was reluctant, maybe he'll get beaten at home for this. 'Easy, tiger. He's all yours. Don't know why, but he's yours.' He eyed Sherlock up and down. 'Pity.'
As the suspect moved away, both rivals walked in a circle, staring at each other. John made sure to place himself between the two, shielding Sherlock. Only when they were alone, John turned and handed Sherlock the handkerchief from his breast pocket. 'All right there, Sherlock?'
Sherlock nodded, pressing the silk handkerchief to his split lip. It was warm and smelled like John.
'What were you thinking, leaving the room with a suspect?' he hissed. 'Lucky for you, I just saw that in time and warned Mycroft. His men are tailing him right now.' Sherlock remained quiet. 'Here, let me see your lip.' He approached and held Sherlock's chin with a crooked finger, turning his face slightly sideways to inspect the cut. Staring at Sherlock's mouth, John licked his lower lip.
Sherlock was having difficulty breathing, now that John was standing so close. The fact that he had defended Sherlock and had acted almost like a jealous partner had pleased him. He felt - claimed. The John-scented silk, so soft on his lip just a second ago, now the finger holding his chin... He could smell John and feel the heat emanating from his body. And there was that habit of his, unconsciously licking his lip, making it look so wet and slick.
All these things were doing something to Sherlock. For a second he fantasised that John was going to do exactly what the suspect had just done to him. Attack him, pin him to the wall, have his way with him... There would be no resistance on his part. All he could hope for would be for his legs not to collapse under so much pleasure.
Something flickered in John's eyes, but it disappeared just as fast.
'John. Sherlock. We have him.'
John spun around and stepped away from Sherlock. 'Good. So are we done here?'
'Yes, John. You can both leave now if you want,' Mycroft smirked with a tilted nod of the head. Even in the dim light outside Sherlock noticed John's embarrassment at Mycroft's gaze.
'He's the one you're looking for,' Sherlock interjected, panting slightly. 'The other suspect couldn't have done it, he had an arm injury that would have prevented him from physically overpowering the victim. He hides it out of pride. This one, on the other hand, not only has the necessary strength, but also enjoys dominating and forcing himself on others. He enjoys hurting his partners,' he said, checking his own lip. It had stopped bleeding. 'Check his phone for numbers called recently. I'm sure you'll find other men willing to testify against him.'
John always hated when Sherlock put himself in danger like this. Tonight had been even more aggravating, that both brothers thought nothing of it. Mycroft too, could sometimes be too over-confident in his own powers. It had bothered him that he had chosen such an inopportune moment to switch off the microphone just to egg him on and, in a way, insult him. He made it sound like all he wanted was to get into Sherlock's pants.
No, it was far more complicated than that. John was straight, had never been even remotely interested in men, and didn't believe one could change orientation at will. Surely, it was some passing phase, this fascination with his flatmate. Nothing more.
Mycroft's knowing smirk made him feel foolish, as if not only he had read this thoughts, but was mocking him for making "lame excuses". Annoyed, he turned away, he just wanted distance from those eyes right now. 'Come on, Sherlock, let's go home. Good night, Mycroft.'
'Good night John. Sherlock. And John?'
John turned around and stared at him. Mycroft's smug smirk accompanied his words, 'Remember what I said, John.' He gave John a final once over, 'This suit looks good on you.' He turned and went in, leaving both flatmates behind. John swallowed and blushed. He turned to the door and, staring straight ahead, merely said 'Let's get out of here, Sherlock.'
They rode home in silence, in one of Mycroft's black cars. John was thinking so loudly Sherlock could almost hear him. Too bad he couldn't hear the exact words. Sherlock himself was still thinking of his own reaction as John had held his chin. He had felt tempted. If he had dipped forward and down, he could've kissed John and delete that most disgusting attack to his mouth. A kiss and all would be better. His lip still stung a bit, reminding him that John would never kiss him. And that stung deeper.