Chapter 6
"Good morning." John's eyes darted toward Sherlock as he noticed the man had woken. He realized for the first time in days how bad the man looked. Sherlock's hair was throwing itself in all different directions; his bruises were a mix of purple, blue and yellow on the side of his face, shoulders, chest and right leg. He was dead. There was no logical explanation for how he had survived; yet he had. The only things seemingly unaffected by the disaster were Sherlock's deep silver eyes. Those eyes that always reacted to the world with a retort even when he was silent, and read every detail of a person in a matter of seconds, they were still so bold, yet there was a new deepness to them, a wise deepness. He had been from the top of the world to dead and back to become a living-dead disgrace.
"Good morning, John." Sherlock said, looking up at John.
"How are you feeling this morning?"
"Like I jumped off the roof of a hospital, but other than that, I am perfectly fine."
John's lips pursed and he looked down at the newest Sherlock-headline. The papers were still writing unintelligible and disgusting reports of how every day more and more psychologists were analyzing the dead man's pre-suicide mental status. This one had claimed the truth: that Moriarty was real and Sherlock was framed and destroyed by him. The public did not take the report seriously; they were too enveloped in the story of a man caught in his own world. One actually posed the question of where John had escaped. No one knew.
"That sounds boring."
Sherlock smirked and in reply, "Always."
There was a knock at the door, John shot up and Sherlock's eyes became thin, he analyzed the situation. Mycroft.
"Oh, it's only Mycroft." John said, Sherlock began giggling with amusement. He was quite easily amused now that everything was so boring all the time.
John opened the door while glaring at Sherlock. "Hello, Mycroft."
"Hello, John." Mycroft entered the small basement flat. "Sherlock."
"Mycroft." Sherlock addressed the man coldly.
"I have come to see how you are doing."
"Well, you see. Now, you leave." John snapped at Mycroft.
"Yes, well, that is more for me to ask Sherlock. Sherlock, would you like me to leave?"
"Yes. But first, I want you to tell me why." Sherlock said flatly.
"Why is a very incomplete question, my dear brother." Mycroft gave a twisted smile.
"You know what I am asking, Mycroft." Sherlock spit out the words like they were poison.
"Yes, yes. I suppose I should not have said that."
At this point, John was close to exploding with anger. He had wanted to kill Mycroft when he first confronted him about his betrayal of trust, but after the affirmation of feelings, his own were amplified when regarding Sherlock. He hadn't even dared to think about the future.
"I had no choice, Sherlock. I did what I shouldn't have, and I apologize." Mycroft was almost grinning, as if the incident happened years ago.
Sherlock looked over to John, only to see him red with rage and practically blowing smoke through his flared nostrils. "John, calm down. I am not as angry as you, and I very well should be."
"Yes, John. Relax. Let's act like adults. You aren't even this protective with your girlfriends." Mycroft had a mischievously twisting grin on his face. His comment made John flustered and blush a newfound deep red, noticeably different than his rage.
Sherlock showed no sign of intimidation; his face remained in the same stoic snarl he had worn since Mycroft entered the small dwelling, "Mycroft, why don't you go and find Lestrade, I can live with not knowing why you betrayed me."
Mycroft's eyes went wide for a moment, and Sherlock was the only person quick enough to catch the shock of what he said. Mycroft took no time regaining his stone countenance that the Holmes brothers shared. Their faces… they look so alike when they are arguing. It is ridiculous. John thought for a moment, just looking at the two men caught in a silent argument in front of him. Just like old times… Except this time, Sherlock was severely shorter than Mycroft in his wheelchair and was glaring with a severe tilt. John thought it rather amusing.
"Perhaps I will leave." Mycroft turned away to walk to the door, but stopped after one step. "I'm-."
He stopped as soon as he started and continued to the door to let himself out.
John rushed to follow him as Sherlock sat in the middle of the room, not moving. John grabbed Mycroft's arm and wretched him back to look at him.
"He doesn't mean it, you know. He is just being moody, you know how he gets."
"I know, but I also know that we have never been in this kind of situation before." Mycroft said resigned. He sighed. John could not help himself; a chuckle escaped his lips.
"This situation? Never been in this situation? Mycroft, no one has ever been in this situation. This isn't exactly the most conventional of circumstances."
"You are right, but I have never betrayed him, nor him to I." Mycroft fiddled with his cuff links as they spoke, a nervous habit he picked up during his first year in his government position. "It wasn't intentional."
"He will forgive you, but I don't know if I will." John placed a hand on Mycroft's shoulder but kept his glare fixed. Mycroft grunted in accord and got into the usual black car that waited on him.
"Why did he come?" Sherlock looked up at John with cold eyes and a soft voice.
"I don't know. Hell, he told you why he came. He wanted to check on you. You fell off the roof on a bloody hospital, Sherlock. It's quite obvious why he wanted to check on you. Maybe you should have deduced that." John stopped himself; he was agitated already with seeing Mycroft.
"Maybe I just wanted you to tell me.I didn't want to deduce. I'm tired."
He is doing that thing again. Being all hurt and sensitive. I hate that. I hate that I can't be angry.
"Go to bed."
"It is only 8 in the morning."
John looked over at Sherlock with stern eyes. Sherlock turned to face him in his wheelchair as John walked over to the kitchen and took the eggs out of the fridge.
"Breakfast, Sherlock?"
"Fine."
Sherlock looked at John with a critical brow, he just noticed the deep bags under the man's eyes and the ruffle of his blonde hair. He never used to cook. He must pity me. Sherlock's lips curled up into a snarl as he thought of the mere prospect of pity. He is exhausted; he shouldn't do all of this work for my benefit.
"Sherlock, what is the matter?" John had been staring at Sherlock during his phase of mental contemplation. The places had been set at the small table, except- there was a third…
"Why three plates?"
"Molly."
"Oh, yes, the wonderful Molly. Where is she, anyway?"
"Well, considering I made a place for her, what can you deduce?"
"Oh, shut up." Sherlock snapped in retort. The two men stared at each other for a good ten seconds before falling into laughter.
"Hello." Molly had tiptoed into the kitchen, or at least that is what the men though. John had brought in the eggs and bacon only to have the men gain a quiet moment, both thinking about the previous day.
"Molly! I made special eggs, so eat up. Come now, I made a place." John hurriedly spoke, realizing she had walked in upon their mutual introspection. Molly smiled at him with a friendliness she had never possessed before. She sat across from Sherlock, next to John's place at the small table. Sherlock's eyes widened at her, for the first time sitting away from him. John walked over to the table with pride over sharing his cooking with the people he loved. It was rare that he was able to share, so for the first time, he loaded the plates on the table full of eggs with spinach, cheese, and spices. John grinned at Molly as he asked her to say "when." He looked at Sherlock with a smaller smile and a bitten lip as he asked the same of the injured man. Anger never persisted the men any more, they fell into the routine of two lovers in sad, useless denial. Sherlock looked up at John and said, "when," in the most seductive and soft tone that could come out of a human. All of the eggs dropped onto Sherlock's plate, leaving none for John. John's mouth was parted the slightest bit and he felt he couldn't move.
"Now, John; that is not how we act around company. Quite rude." Sherlock scrunched up his face in a joking scowl. John immediately snapped out of his state of shock; a countenance of irritation and anger replaced the previous lust and aching.
"Sod off." John sat down without doing anything about the mountain of eggs on Sherlock's plate.
Molly had been taken aback. Her mouth hung wide as her gaze shifted from Sherlock's playful grin to John's irately pursed lips and back again. The men's eyes shifted from each other to her slack jaw and she snapped it closed as fast as she could. I was right. They finally figured it out. All those times I tried to make them see it, and they just now figure it out. Ridiculous. Sherlock may be brilliant, but they are both daft and stupid about each other, neither can deny that. Molly giggled audibly at her thoughts and the two men shifted their heads to be cocked to the side, confusion clouding their previous emotions. Oh! They think… Oh, dear. "You do know that I don't care, don't you? I had feelings for Sherlock, I probably always will, but I knew you two would eventually get to it."
It was the men's turn to have slack jaws. John was the first to drop his head into his hands and laugh. Sherlock gazed over at John and placed his hand on the other man's shoulder. John's laughter died out and he let out a sigh. The feeling of Sherlock's hand on his shoulder had given him a calm he hadn't experienced in a long time. The stress of the accident had kept him tight and unconsciously stressed. Sherlock's touch relieved him as none else would, his fingers pressing just harder than the rest of his hand. John placed his hand on Sherlock's thigh, but not in a sexual manner. He just wanted to signal to Sherlock that what he was doing was perfect. His actions had put John at ease, not made him uncomfortable. His muscles relaxed, and his eyes closed for a second or two too long. Sherlock rubbed his back softly and although this surprised Molly, it surprised John even more. Meanwhile, Molly had been rigid, she may have given them her blessing, but she her whole body was tense and she felt in the way. She was about to get up and give the two men space before John cleared his throat and spoke up, suddenly aware of Molly's presence.
"I think I will take a portion of those eggs I dropped all over, Sherlock."
The rest of the breakfast went easily lax, the three spoke of Molly's work new boyfriend, Anthony. There was not much to speak of on the subject of John or Sherlock. Sherlock had still been known as dead to the outside world, and John was broadcast as "the universal traitor, Richard Brook's friend and protector gone Holmes' accomplice" as of the morning's paper. They reached a pause in the conversation and Molly used it to become serious.
"What are you going to do?"
"Excuse me?" Sherlock replied.
"About the situation. What are you going to do? You can't keep cooped up in here forever. You have to leave sometime. Even if you didn't, I know you would get bored." Molly had a point and both John and Sherlock's eyes dropped. They had not contemplated this yet. They were still focused on Sherlock's healing and although he had made a surprisingly quick recovery, the only things still in disrepair were the bones still healing. They needed to make a plan, but they hadn't even thought about it.
"You're right. We do, but we haven't even thought about it." John was the first to reply, Sherlock still had his head in his hands, reaching his mind palace and thinking of a plan.