Magic One Shots (Sherlock BBC Fic)
AN – this is basically a dumping point for all the one shot cracktastic stuff that the magic verse threw up but didn't fit into the two fics. Also, it's an excuse to torture Mycroft.
Warning – slash, established relationship. This holds for all the chapters.
Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in BBC series (or any other established setting) are not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.
AN – timed to coincide with ACD's 'The Empty House' (the reunion scene once Holmes has seen Moran arrested and taken Watson back across the road to their rooms in Baker Street) and a random dangerous event that John has excluded Sherlock from.
Time Slip 3
Sherlock was so incensed that he barely noticed the two men in Victorian clothes in the front room. He let the door slam against the plaster, knowing that John hated it when he damaged the flat but too angry to really care. The odd overlay of modern and old fashioned furniture swum before his eyes, but he ignored it in favour of expressing his dislike of John's latest actions explicitly – namely by dramatically stomping across the room.
"What were you thinking?" he whirled to glare at his partner, his back to the nearest window, the moustached Watson echoing his words with an equal amount of fury and frustration in them.
"I wanted to protect you!" John and the other Holmes retorted heatedly, "There was danger…"
Sherlock and Watson shared a look that spoke of perfectly matched emotions and understanding.
"I'm not afraid to face the dangers!" they chorused together, and Watson threw his hands up and stalked over to the further window, peering out while Sherlock folded his arms and glared. The other Holmes had noticed them and was torn between answering Watson's distress or getting to the bottom of this latest mystery. John was standing in the doorway, inching his nose between his thumb and forefinger in a way that spoke of exhaustion and patience and frustration. Sherlock huffed and glanced at their past selves, noting that Holmes was wearing clothes that were slightly too large for him, that he'd been travelling; he was also – for a change – not high. Watson was wearing all black, even his white shirt was bordered with black at the collar and cuffs – he was in full mourning then, the wedding ring on his right hand declaring that it was for his wife.
"I couldn't ask you to risk your life, Watson," Holmes spoke from where he stood in front of the mantelpiece, "You had obligations in England – Moriarty would not have hesitated to attack Mrs Watson."
"It should have been my decision!" Watson hissed in reply, "I mourned you for three years, Holmes! I had thought that after all we shared I deserved at least a warning that you were about to go into hiding."
"Sherlock, please, lets not argue about this," John reclaimed his partner's attention, evidently deciding to ignore the shadows in the room and their own argument, "Given a chance to do it over, I wouldn't change a thing. I was protecting you – you'd never have survived if Markwell got a hold of you."
"I don't agree," Sherlock snarled, aware that his counterpart was watching them and his Watson at the same time, "I'm not some helpless fool to be coddled!"
It was difficult to keep track of their argument, with disparate people speaking simultaneously, but Sherlock found it harder to accept when their past selves echoes their future comments in synchronisation – especially when it wasn't the two Watson's and the two Holmes speaking together. It was more unsettling that John and Holmes seemed to be on the same side of this argument – Sherlock was not used to being the wronged party as it was usually him giving offence and John calling him on it.
"I was trying to protect you!" Holmes and John blurted at the same time and winced at the looks they received in return, "It wasn't an ideal situation, but I did what I thought best!"
"I don't need your protection!" Watson and Sherlock spat back, "I can take care of myself!"
The emotions washing around the room were exhausting – doubtless it was this that had forged this overshadowing of past and future. Sherlock was practically vibrating with it where he stood, wanting John in his arms, but still too angry to welcome the connection that would come.
"That's not what I meant," John and Sherlock retorted, "You know that!"
"Do I?" the eerily echoed reply hung in the air, "Give me one good reason to forgive you! Explain to me why you would think leaving me behind was acceptable."
"Because I love you!" the cry hung in the air, and while John looked exasperated at having to remind his lover of two years that they were together because of an emotional connection and not just because they were compatible in bed, Holmes looked terrified.
Love between two men was not only illegal in Victorian London, it was considered to be a heinous sin. Confessing that love to someone as traditional as Dr John Watson – he of the trimmed moustache, with his mourning suit on for a wife that he'd loved – was tantamount to committing murder in front of a policeman.
Sherlock gave John a long look, seeing once more the man he loved behind the disappointment of being relegated to the sidelines by the Mage of London. John did indeed love him, and put up with all of Sherlock's foibles and quirks. Sherlock had left John behind once or twice on a case, and had been forgiven fairly quickly for his own transgressions. It behoved him to be just as forgiving now.
"I know you do," Sherlock dropped his arms from across his chest and held them out to John instead. He and Watson spoke the next bit together, as he knew they would.
"I love you too."
Holmes almost sobbed as Watson crossed to enfold him in his arms. They made an odd picture, two men in formal suits hugging in front of the fireplace. Sherlock lost track of them after that – mainly because John was in his arms now, pressing close and warm against his body.
"I'm sorry," John murmured, and Sherlock kissed him gently.
"Alright," he replied and put the argument aside, "Does that mean I get make up sex?"
"Sure," John grinned, his hands already trailing up to Sherlock's hair and down to his arse, "I'd like that."
"Me too," Sherlock mumbled and bent his head to take John's mouth in a passionate kiss.
End (for now…)
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