Right, review replies are at the bottom. Thanks as usual to "Sherlock" who helps a great deal. Kudos!
Slightly longer chapter to get things moving.
Warnings: Contains slash.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC. I only own this plot.
"Thanks Mate." John dug a tip of five pounds from his jeans pocket and slipped it into the awaiting bellboy's hands. The bellboy, whose nametag read Terrence, graciously nodded to John and held the door open for the former army doctor to wheel the food trolley in. Terrence left them in peace with a polite "thank you, Sir," and tottered off to do his next duties.
Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands folded in his lap. He had to admit to himself that he was feeling better than he had been last night, thanks to the bath, the burn cream and now being fully dressed. John had insisted he leave his suit jacket off, seeing as it was such a tight fit that Sherlock risked having it dig his dressing into the injury. Instead, John lent him one of his own blue and white striped loose fitting (on Sherlock's lanky frame) jumpers. It was odd, seeing Sherlock dressed in something so John-like. But it was comfy, nonetheless.
"Right, so we have a full Irish breakfast with some toast." John wheeled the trolley over and took down the two platters of food. He un-lidded the full Irish and placed that on the bed beside Sherlock, along with the toast on another plate. There was more food than necessary. Sherlock had heard John add "and a bit extra if you will," when he ordered the food.
"Do you want some tea or coffee?" Sherlock's stomach gave a growl when John asked that and he looked down at his plate. In any other situation, a few bites and maybe a slice of toast would have been good enough for the consulting detective, but his stomach had been empty for quite a while now.
"I think some tea will go best with this. N-not too strong, though." He smiled weakly at John and pulled his feet onto the bed. John immediately piled some pillows up against the headboard to support his lover's back. He would have protested, but the feeling was relieving and quite cooling against Sherlock's back so instead he just gave an appreciative sort of noise and settled back.
"I also have some paracetemol in my bag somewhere. But you have to line your stomach first so tuck in, love." John poured out two teas, adding some sugar to Sherlock's to give the man energy.
"Thank you, John." Sherlock took the plate of toast and pushed one of the slices onto the full Irish plate. He then took two of the four sausages, both of the tomatoes (seeing as John didn't like them) and a rasher. He took his new plate and put it beside him. "Stop fussing over me and eat something too. Please." Sherlock tried his best not to look helpless and carefully bit into his toast.
John sat cross legged across from him at the foot of the bed and ate some of his own food - not before adding some pudding and a rasher onto Sherlock's plate, though - John was going to make it his personal duty to put some meat back on Sherlock's bones. And Sherlock didn't protest, seeing as his stomach was grateful for the sudden nourishment. When their plates were clear (almost - Sherlock never ate the top crust of a slice of toast) and Sherlock had taken his paracetemol, John piled the plates and empty cups onto the tray and wheeled it to the opposite side of the room.
"I think we should drop in on Mycroft and Lestrade. He was quite worried about you last night." John held out a hand to Sherlock.
"Since we got together," Sherlock started, grasping John's hand and letting the older man help him to his feet, "Mycroft and I have been getting along a lot more."
"He loves you, you know. You're his baby brother." John could have sworn he heard Sherlock snort weakly but when he looked at the man, his face was more a mixture of embarrassment and happiness. Breakfast must have settled nicely in his stomach; it definitely gave the detective some energy back and put a little bit of colour back into his pallid face. John took a minute to fidget with Sherlock's (John's) jumper to make sure it hung right off the detective's much narrower shoulders. It was finally too much for Sherlock, who planted his hands into his lover's stomach and pushed him back.
"John, if you keep that up we'll never get out of here and Mycroft will come looking for us." He made it to the door without wobbling, but when he was actually opening the door the step back that he needed nearly pitched him backwards onto the floor. John caught him gently, an arm around the narrowest part of Sherlock's waist to hold him up. He left his arm there as they made their way downstairs and to Mycroft and Lestrade's room. Sherlock didn't protest either; even with breakfast, tea, and a bit of sleep in him he still didn't feel quite like himself. Hopefully that would change later on in the day.
Lestrade woke early enough that Mycroft hadn't even stirred yet. He yawned and moved to stretch, wincing a bit when muscles that hadn't been put to use in some time made their protests known. He settled down against the elder Holmes brother with a lopsided grin. Even with all the aches from the night before, he couldn't help but be smug. He'd gotten Mycroft into bed. A Holmes. That had to be worth some kind of medal, right?
Mycroft started waking up as Lestrade lay there silently gloating, and when the body nestled against his shifted in a massive yawn Greg lifted his head. "Morning," he murmured.
Mycroft looked down at him as though surprised to see him there, then broke into a grin of his own. "Good morning, Gregory. Fancy seeing you here." Lestrade thumped him lightly in the stomach, making his breath puff out in a quiet laugh. "I'm kidding, love. I fully expected you to be there when I woke up."
"Well, I'd hardly be moving after last night. You're quite a firecracker for the older brother in the family." That earned Lestrade a gentle thump of his own, and he laid his head back down on Mycroft's chest to muffle a laugh. It was good to wake up next to a warm body and be able to have this sort of talk. It had been far too long since he'd had a soft morning conversation like this, and far too long since he'd talked to anyone except Anderson first thing in the morning...
"SHIT." Lestrade sat upright so fast that Mycroft, who'd had his arm around the DI, was pulled halfway up into a sitting position.
"What is it, Gregory?"
"We left Anderson at the manor last night!"
Mycroft was silent for a long moment, then rolled his eyes. "No we didn't, Gregory. James took him back to the hotel very early. He was... Excessive."
"Excessive?"
"Unnecessary. I don't think he was quite made for ambush." Mycroft pulled the DI back down again with a small laugh. "Now come on, it's still morning and I'm sure we have at least another hour in bed."
Lestrade sighed and consented to nuzzling against Mycroft's chest, his fingers drawing lazy pattern on his only slightly plump stomach (not an 'I need a diet' plump, more of a 'not a gym user but I still take care of myself' plump. It was quite cute in Greg's eyes.)
"So, I was thinking…" Lestrade's hand travelled up and down the younger man's chest, fingers kneading and prodding and tweaking. "Since we have 'at least another hour', we should make great use of that."
"Oh?" Mycroft arched an eyebrow, smirking. "Whatever could you mean by that Gregory?" The DI hummed and pressed quick, nipping kisses along Mycroft's collarbone and neck. The elder Holmes brother's smirk grew and he pulled Lestrade on top of him for a kiss.
"Am I making myself clear?" Lestrade murmured against his lover's lips, shifting his legs so they were either side of Mycroft's hips. The sudden exposure of skin against skin made them both breathe deeper.
"Crystal." Mycroft attacked the older man's mouth again, fiercer this time. His hands travelled down Lestrade's sides to his ass, pulling him closer and making the friction between them sharper, drawing a gasp from both men. The kiss got heated, with Lestrade sucking the skin just beneath Mycroft's jaw and Mycroft grinding up into his lover.
Then there was a knock on the door; two short, sharp raps. Both men froze. Lestrade craned his neck to look back at the door, chest heaving. Mycroft was about to say ignore it, thinking it was just room service. Until the knock came again followed by a voice.
"Mycroft? Lestrade? It's John."
"Shit." Mycroft whispered, fumbling with Lestrade as the DI dragged himself off. "Just a minute, John!"
"Mycroft!" Lestrade hissed. "I can't find my underwear-"
"Never mind that just go to the bathroom! Get a towel or something. Quickly."
Outside the door, John was standing next to Sherlock. His arm had a firm grip around Sherlock's waist, keeping him upright even though Sherlock was assuring him he'd be fine.
"What do you think is taking them?" John rolled his shoulders.
"It's Mycroft, John. He doesn't like to rush." Sherlock said that in a casual, almost stoic voice. But when John looked at him there was a hint of a smirk on his face. It was confusing to say the least, but John was too relieved that his lover was actually smiling to bother questioning it.
The door was taken off the latch and opened slowly. Mycroft was standing in a silk royal blue robe. His hair was messy and Sherlock could swear there was a love bite just under his jaw.
"Sherlock! You're up and about?"
"Thanks to John. He made sure I ate something." Sherlock pressed tighter to John, and Mycroft stepped back to let them in. The bed was an absolute mess; a flurry of quickly thrown back sheets and askew pillows. A pair of trousers were peeking out from under the bed, mangled with two shirts and, just a few feet were John was standing, a pair of grey boxers.
John coughed and kept his eyes pointedly away from the floor and the bed. Until Sherlock suddenly looked up that is. Both John and Mycroft followed his eyes, all the way up to a slowly turning ceiling fan sporting a pair of maroon briefs.
"Oh, um…" Mycroft turned the same shade as the briefs. "Well." Lestrade chose that moment to emerge from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a small hotel towel around his lower half. His face was cast down and his expression one of embarrassment.
"They're… Mine. I'll just…" Standing on the end of the bed, the DI reached for his briefs and scurried back to the bathroom, grabbing a pair of trousers on the way. All the while, John was looking between the two men and Sherlock was arching an eyebrow. They didn't know what to say.
"Well, we really just came down to uh… Say good morning? We didn't mean to disturb your-" John bit the inside of his cheek. Really, this was such an awkward moment.
"Anyway, should we pack?" Sherlock dared to look at his older brother. Mycroft nodded quickly and rubbed the back of his neck. It was really obvious what had happened. The fact it was Lestrade and his brother... Was slightly mind-boggling, but then again just look at him and John.
After a moment Mycroft nodded. "Yes. Yes, go gather your things."
"Should we meet in the lobby then?" John asked, backing towards the door. Sherlock followed with a brief smirk to his brother.
"Oh, yes. Forty-five minutes or so?"
"Suits us." John looked from Sherlock to Mycroft. He wanted to ask Mycroft some questions, but not in front of Sherlock. It was too early to bring up what happened again. With a nod, he took Sherlock's hand and they left. Once they were out of earshot, John couldn't help but grin.
"Mycroft and Greg. Really?" He paused to open their hotel room door and Sherlock smiled back.
"Apparently so. To be honest, I never thought of that before."
"It is quite strange. But they suit each other well."
"Yeah," John led them inside, "they do. Now come on, we need to pack up, love."
Sherlock and John were seated on a leather couch in the foyer. Anthea was texting away on her Blackberry on an armchair and Anderson was nowhere in sight. More than likely he had been sent home (because he was useless really.) John, without Sherlock knowing, had texted Mycroft earlier. There was no going back to Baker Street, not for a while anyway. It was too soon and for all they knew, Moriarty could have spies lurking around and Mycroft was not chancing having his baby brother go through that all again. He would rather, in all honesty, chew his own arm off or start World War Three. Sherlock was too important to him – the same could be said for John – and so he had an alternative location for the couple.
"There they are." Sherlock nodded to the left where Mycroft and Lestrade (both fully dressed) were descending the stairs. Mycroft had obviously used concealer on the half love bite under his jaw, seeing as it wasn't visible. He did hold a minor role in the government; he couldn't be seen sporting love bites, not visible ones. The detective rolled his eyes when they got closer. "Oh for goodness sake Mycroft, hold his hand. Are you a couple or not?"
That got some raised eyebrows. It seemed Sherlock's old self was shining through. Mycroft smiled, John smiled, Lestrade smiled, and even Anthea smiled over her Blackberry. Still smiling, the elder Holmes brother reached out and took the DI's hand. Though he was blushing, Lestrade held back.
"Sir? James has a car waiting outside." Anthea stood up and looked at all four of them.
"Then we should leave. How are you feeling now, Sherlock?" Mycroft twirled his umbrella (sword?) around and tapped the ground.
"Better. I'll sleep in the car on the way home." John's heart dropped at that moment. He still thinks we're going to stay at home…
"That's the best thing. You go ahead with Greg and get the best seat. John, will you help with the bags?" John gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze before letting go with a nod. When the other two were out of earshot, he turned to Mycroft.
"I haven't told him yet. And what about the cats? They can't stay at Baker Street."
"They're already on their way to the estate, John. And don't worry, Sherlock isn't one to argue over his safety… anymore…"
John picked up the weekend bag he packed back at Baker Street. "But we still need more clothes."
"You can go home to pack necessities. Maybe you should tell him there." Mycroft picked up his own bag and started for the door. "I'm just looking out for the two of you John."
"I know. Thanks Mycroft… For everything." Mycroft smiled thinly at John and held the door open for him. It was going to be a long day.
Long chapter feels long. Right, review replies:
Vannah5234 – Yep, John is super awesome!
Vikki20 - I gave them all virtual hugs for you. ^^
XMillieX - John IS an ex-soldier. BAMF is his middle name!
chibiwolfgurl - Thank you :) I plan to.
OnTheWinterSolstice - Caring John is caring :P
Dreamwalker-Bibliophile – Don't worry, fluff will continue soon. But Sherlock has been through a lot so the aftershocks are deep. And yes, I am very cruel ^^
Update will be soon!