Here you go you patient lovelies.
Warning: Man fluff. No like? Y U READ?
Disclaimer: If I actually owned Sherlock, do you think it would still be a beautifully heterosexual show with platonic room-mate love? No. It would be a beautifully heterosexual show with platonic room-mate SEX.
*ahem* Here you go.
James pulled away from the hotel and, when Mycroft gave him an order of "Baker Street", the driver pushed a small button. It made a blacked out screen divide the driver's and back passengers' section of the car, decorated with 'Holmes' in fancy blue writing. It made John quirk an eyebrow at just how normal that kind of thing seemed for a member of the Holmes family. Unlike Lestrade, he hadn't seen the handkerchief embroidered with his initials.
Sherlock was quiet during the car journey. Instead of talking, he took to staring out the window at the passing countryside. John, Mycroft, and Lestrade didn't talk about much save for a comment on the weather and a brief joke about Anderson (to which Sherlock cracked a smile.) Anthea was too engrossed in reading something on her Blackberry to care. One could swear she was almost blushing, being seated with two couples. Either that or she was emailing a secret lover. But more than likely she was just doing her job; being a good assistant and re-arranging the schedules of meetings to stop a possible war.
John reached down to his weekend bag beneath his feet and pulled out a familiar blue scarf. He placed it on the detective's lap and took his hand, entwining their fingers. Sherlock almost breathed a sigh of relief to John, with a murmur of "thank you". His coat looked incomplete without it. The journey home seemed to take less time than the journey to Sussex. John had it down to the fact he had Sherlock back with him and out of Moriarty's clutches. To stop himself thinking of it, he closed his eyes and leaned into Sherlock, who gripped his hand tighter and rested his cheek on John's blonde mop.
"We're here." Mycroft said, tapping his umbrella on the car floor (something of a habit when they reached their destination, John gathered.) The car pulled to a smooth stop right outside 221B and Sherlock smiled. John felt extremely guilty and silently pleaded that the detective wouldn't say something like "home at last," or "home sweet home," that would really make things worse.
"Um, Sherlock…" John started, stepping out of the car and holding out his hand for Sherlock to take. Sherlock shook his head and got out by himself, careful not to put strain on his injuries.
"Yes, John?" The detective didn't see the furtive glances between his brother and John at that point. Mycroft gave a slight nod to tell him it would be okay.
"…When we get inside," John wanted to continue that by saying 'I'll make you a nice cup of tea' but he couldn't, "we have to pack."
"Pack?" Sherlock knocked on the door and craned his neck to look at John. "Why pack? … John?" At this point Lestrade and Mycroft were coming up behind them. The doctor heaved a sigh. But Just as he was about to say something the door opened and Mrs. Hudson was standing with an expression that could only be described as 'Shocked-happy-relieved'.
"Boys!" She started forward, obviously about to hug Sherlock, but John stepped in front and hugged her first.
"He's very sensitive to other people touching him right now, Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry but we shan't be staying long." John whispered into her ear, careful of letting Sherlock hear. "But don't fuss about him, alright?" He pulled away with a little smile and a pat to their landlady's arm. She gave him a (maybe slightly obvious) knowing wink.
"I missed you dears. Come inside. Oh, hello Inspector." She gave the DI one of her warm smiles and let the four of them in and up the stairs. When Sherlock opened their door he went straight for his leather armchair and sank into it with a small sigh. It seemed he'd forgotten about them having to pack because when he suddenly remembered, he sat up a little too fast, and slowly melted back into the seat with a little "ow".
Mycroft stepped up to his brother and made him sit still. They may have been on friendly terms, but the detective still grumbled when Mycroft played the protective older brother card.
"I'm fine, Mycroft." He said, shrugging off his hand and looking around to John. "Now, can someone please tell me what's going on? Where are Tobias and Bitsy?"
"In Kent." John finally said it. He ran a hand through his cropped hair and walked nearer to Sherlock.
"Kent. Kent is almost two hours away! Why are we going?" When John knelt down to eye level with Sherlock he took his hand. Mycroft backed away to Lestrade so he could give them some space. He spoke up on behalf of John too.
"Baker Street is not safe for you right now, Sherlock."
"And we're going to stay in Kent." John finished, finding Sherlock's hand again and stroking the side of it with his thumb. He really did have a soothing effect on Sherlock, for the detective took a deep breath.
"And that's where the cats are?"
"Yes."
"But why Ken- Oh… The house?" Sherlock glanced at Mycroft who nodded.
"It's the closest and best option." The elder Holmes brother offered one of his thin lipped smiles. "You did love that house as a boy." Sherlock almost grimaced but ended up nodding.
"How long until we leave?" He asked, holding onto John's hand just a little bit tighter. It was almost like he didn't want to leave the place he and John had both called home; the place where their relationship began.
"I'm going upstairs to pack our clothes. Give or take about fifteen minutes, love." John gave Sherlock's forehead a light kiss as he stood up and brushed a wayward curl out of his eyes. "You just rest for the minute, okay?" Sherlock nodded and reluctantly let go of Sherlock's hand. Seeing his younger brother's slight annoyance at having to depend heavily on both he and John, Mycroft followed the doctor upstairs to pack their bags. Lestrade sighed and went to make tea for Sherlock and himself.
"How do you think he'll do? After everything…" John folded some shirts and placed them into the waiting open suitcase. Mycroft stood leaning on his umbrella by the doorframe. John made a quick dash into the adjoining bathroom to retrieve his Blonde Bombshell shampoo.
"It's Sherlock." Mycroft helped to pack some trousers while he was there. "Remember that he is strong and has you. The estate you will be staying in will be good for him too."
"In what way?" John stopped packing and looked straight at Mycroft. Mycroft's face took on a look of nostalgia before he went about explaining his story.
"It will bring the old him back if nothing else. That estate was the summer home of us both through all our childhood. Sherlock loved it. Loved the smell of the fresh cut grass, the rolling hills… It was the only calm and quiet place he didn't consider dull."
John smiled and handed Mycroft a pile of socks to add to the case. "The thing Sherlock loved most," Mycroft continued, "was the freedom. He would spend hours upon hours exploring the house and the countryside."
"I can imagine." John laughed. "What was Sherlock like when he was younger?"
"A trouble maker, as you can imagine. Our mother would call him bold, but she did have a soft spot for him, bless her." Mycroft zipped up the case and took it from the bed. "He was a handful I can say for sure. But the house in Kent always calmed him down."
John just smiled at Mycroft and the thoughts of little Sherlock being adorable, and took the case by the handle. "Help me get this downstairs?" The elder Holmes brother nodded and took the rear end of the case.
Downstairs, Sherlock was sitting with his head lying back against the cool leather of his chair. His eyes were closed and the half-drank cup of tea abandoned on the table beside him. Lestrade was reading a two month old newspaper, glancing up when he heard the two coming down the stairs. Sherlock gave a start when the case echoed off the bottom step and sat up straight, smoothing down the front of his coat.
"You ready?" John asked, going to the kitchen shelf and taking down the box of Darjeerling tea. Sherlock's taste in tea had grown on him. Sherlock sat up and stretched, stopping halfway because of the branding on his back. Standing up slowly, he nodded.
Mycroft took Lestrade down to give the couple time to say goodbye to their flat in peace. John joined his lover in the middle of the room.
"We'll be coming back eventually, you know. As soon as Mycroft's people decide that London is safe enough for you." He brushed a wayward curl off Sherlock's forehead, tucking it into the detective's tousled mop. "I don't think Mrs Hudson would let us stay away forever, anyway. You know how much she likes having us around."
Sherlock managed a half-smile and slipped his scarf loosely around his neck. "I know, John. Even Mycroft isn't generous enough to let us stay rent-free at the Kent estate for too long." He took one last long look around the flat, then gave a short nod. "I'll tell Mycroft to send someone back for some of my things... My lab kit, at least. And the rest of your clothes. And the books. I don't want to be out in the country without my books." With that, he took John's wrist and led him down the seventeen stairs to the street. There was a quick goodbye to Mrs Hudson, including a hesitant and awkward hug, before they clambered back into Mycroft's waiting car.
John breathed a slow sigh of relief as they pulled away. He had fully expected something to happen between going up the stairs and coming back down. That was just how their lives seemed to be going these days. Settling down into his seat, he laid his head over on Sherlock's shoulder again. Within a little while he had started dozing off, but not before he felt Sherlock press a light kiss to the top of his head and murmur some endearment that he didn't quite hear.