Part one of the Kent chapters. I'm planning to keep John and Sherlock there for about a month, so the next few chapters will be nice and romantic-y. It's to get the broken Sherlock back to his normal self and, towards the end of this fiction, a nice little surprise.
There'll be fluffy moments and smutty moments so yeah. This is a longish chapter, going by my usual chapter lengths. MUCHO thanks to Sarah for helping with the house imagery and description, and general saint-like patience with my writing.
Warning: Sherlock and John fluff.
Disclaimer: of course I own Sherlock… I wish. Sherlock belongs to Mark Godtiss and Steven Moffat so yeah.
John had to keep from pressing his face up against the window like a small child as Mycroft's car followed the gently curving drive up toward the estate. The whole length of it was lined with massive trees, oaks or elms, with heavy limbs that arched over the drive and let in a few speckles of golden sunlight. Sherlock didn't seem all that excited about coming back to Kent, even if he had loved the house as a boy. He waswatching out the window, though, obviously waiting for something.
What he had to have been waiting for came into view around the next wide, sweeping curve of the driveway. The trees swept away from the road and arced off to either side, straightening out and disappearing out of the line of sight. John's jaw dropped onto his chest; it felt like they'd just driven out of the late 2000's and back into the Victorian era. The driveway opened out into a large round turnabout around a massive apple tree, fully clad in pink blossoms that showered petals onto the soft clipped grass beneath it. As they came around the huge tree, John got a better look at the house.
His jaw was already on his chest but it might have well been in his lap at this point. The house only amplified the Victorian feeling; a porch lined with columns, high arched windows with thick curtains, and a sweeping expanse of manicured lawn.
As the former doctor sat staring like a dolt, a long hand reached over and pushed up on the underside of his jaw. "Do stop staring, John. They'll think you've never seen a house like this before."
"I haven't! Except in films, anyway!" The car rolled to a softly crunching stop near the front porch, and James stepped out to open the back door for them. John was the first to clamber out, craning his head backward to stare up at the three stories of stone towering above him. Sherlock and Mycroft followed a bit more slowly, and Mycroft stayed out of the car only long enough to unload the single suitcase they'd brought and to promise that the rest of their belongings would be sent over. John barely noticed as Mycroft got back in the car and drove off. In fact, he hardly noticed anything until Sherlock touched his shoulder.
"I hope you're not planning on standing here staring at the house until we fall asleep. I wouldlike to go in and have something to eat, and maybe a cup of tea." John finally blinked and shook his head, twisting it around to look at his lover. He smiled and took Sherlock's hand off his shoulder with his own and twined their fingers together. It was nice to see Sherlock slowly coming out of his shell.
"I'll make us two nice cups of Darjeerling in that case, love."
"No need, John. I'm sure one of the maids will do that for us." Sherlock lead the way up the remainder of gravelly ground and up to the porch, John staring around all the way.
"Maids, you say?" Now John really felt like a celebrity. Or a Holmes.
"And cooks. We have one of the best cooks working for us, from the Bronx in New York." Sherlock smiled at John, who picked up their suitcase, and opened the door. "Welcome to Kent."
The inside of the house opened into a large lobby. The first thing John noticed was the staircase, wide at the bottom and then widening at the top again as it swept to either side. It was a deep mahogany with a dark runner carpet running through the middle. The floors of the lobby were white, golden flecked marble. What illuminated the whole lobby made John shake his head in utter surprise; a crystal drop chandelier, the kind he only ever seen on those "Beverly Hills Houses" programmes.
To the right hand side of the lobby John could see double doors which were open, revealing a library. From where he stood, he could just barely make out the silhouette of a spiralling staircase inside.
"That's our three story library." Sherlock stated, his voice a mixture of awe for the room with something like resentment for owning such a house.
"This house is beautiful. I mean… Absolutely fucking stunning. Excuse my language." Sherlock smirked and cleared his throat as two maids came trotting from the left.
"Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson. Welcome." One of the maids, a young woman with short, wavy red hair in a navy dress and embroidered white half-apron bowed. The apron had "Deirdre" printed in the same navy shade thread as the dress, on the bottom left corner. John wondered how they knew who he was, but then again they were more than likely informed by Mycroft earlier.
"Can we offer you something to eat, Sir?" The second maid, this one called "Emily" asked. She was taller and slightly older looking than Deirdre, with her greying blonde hair scraped back into a tight bun.
"Thank you. Can you please get Rory to prepare us a meal?" Sherlock turned himself and John so their connected hands were on full display to the maids. The younger one blushed and tucked her head down slightly to hide behind her hair. "And please send up a tray of Darjeerling tea to whichever bedroom Doctor Watson chooses."
John glanced at Sherlock once before smiling to the maids, who nodded and turned away (the younger of the two still blushing.) "Which room are we staying in?" He asked, picking up the suitcase again and walking for the stairs with Sherlock.
"Like I said, whichever you choose. All the bedrooms are down the left hand side." Sherlock nodded down the appropriate hallway as they reached the top of the staircase. "Down the right is the second entrance to the library."
John looked down the impossibly long hallway and saw five doors. He walked to the first door and stopped outside it, twisted the decorative doorknob and opened it to reveal a spacious, but cosy room. "I like this one."
Sherlock chuckled and allowed John to enter. "What?" John questioned, putting the suitcase down against the nearest wall.
"Nothing. I just find it cute that you chose my old room."
"Your room?" John looked around him, grinning. The top half of the walls were a rich, burgundy wallpaper with a Victorian brocade design. The bottom half was dark wood panelling, which contrasted nicely. There was a small fireplace that had never served any other purpose than decoration, the mantelpiece displaying a small vase of white roses. It stood proudly opposite the bed.
The bed itself was a king-sized four poster in the same dark wood as the walls, surrounded by a thick cream curtain. The bedsheets were silk and designed to match the pattern of the curtain – delicate swirls. On the far side of the bedroom stood a massive wardrobe (big enough to squeeze Sherlock, John and Mycroft inside!) There was a door beside the fireplace that led into a small and very unused en-suite, just a simple white and black tiled room.
"Do you like it?" Sherlock asked, sounding a tiny bit unsure. "There's always Mumm- the master bedroom at the end of the hall. It's bigger than this-"
"Sherlock."
"And the fireplace actually gets used in that room, so-"
"Sherlock!" Sherlock stopped short to look at his lover, whose goofy grin was still intact. "This is fine. This is more than fine. I love it." With that, he reached up and gave Sherlock a small kiss to his lips; a light, barely there peck.
"Alright." Sherlock dipped his head down to meet the light kiss, almost resting a hand on John's hip. "Should we unpack, then? While we wait for supper." At that point the shy maid knocked on the door.
"Your tea, Mister Holmes." She put the tray down on a small table next to the door and was about to pour the tea when Sherlock stopped her, gently touching her shoulder.
"I'll take it from here, Deirdre. Thank you." He flashed a little smile and she blushed again, stepping back and bowing.
"R-right, Sir. Thank you, Sir." She stammered, glancing at John before scurrying off.
"She's very shy." John pointed out, going over to take up where she left off.
"New one. Only here about six months and the only Holmes she met before today was Mycroft." Sherlock took his tea with a grateful sigh and sat on the edge of his bed. John decided she was either having a little crush on Sherlock or was shy being around an obviously gay couple.
"Oh. Right, well, you relax and I'll start unpacking." John ran his hands through Sherlock's thick curls, while unconsciously checking his forehead for signs of a temperature. After a moment, he unzipped the suitcase and started to take out the first of his shirts. Sherlock put his tea down on the bedside locker and joined John.
"John, I'm perfectly capable of unpacking a few shirts. Please, stop fussing about me." He took a the pile from the doctor's hands and went to the wardrobe.
"If you say so, love."
Smells of roasted chicken wafted through the house. It was mingled with the smells of home-made gravy, fresh baked bread, and something distinctly spicy. It made John's mouth water and his stomach grumble.
"Hungry?" Sherlock looked over at John from where he was adjusting some shelves in the wardrobe. "Usually Rory sends the smell through the house to entice us down."
"Starving." John grinned and stood up with a stretch. "Now, how do we find the food?" They joined hands and Sherlock tugged him out of the bedroom. Looking around as they descended the stairs, John could see an array of large oak doors to the left of the main entrance.
"What do they lead to?" John asked, pointing with his free hand. "Those doors there."
"Well, that first one there is the parlour. It's barely used except for when company is over. The one beside that is the guest downstairs bathroom. It has a sort of hot-tub bath in the centre." Sherlock led John towards said doors and turned a corner, down a hallway that couldn't be seen from the lobby. "Through the very last door there are stairs leading to the kitchen and pantry. The next room up is the smaller of two dining rooms where we'll be dining."
"Where is the bigger one?" John asked, trying to make a mental note of the maze that was this mansion. Sherlock smirked at John's curiosity.
"Well, we'll have to see if you can find that next time, won't we? Anyway, the nearest room on this side is the music room. It has a grand piano in it and a very old record player. Mycroft is the only one who can play the piano with any real skill and Mummy thought it was a good idea to have one here for whenever the family got together. She does love to show off his skills..."
"This is very nice, Sherlock." John gave the hallway an appreciative glance again and started for the dining room.
"You haven't seen outside yet." Sherlock chuckled. "Come on, before the food goes cold."
They walked to the dining room. It was a relatively big room with a long, wooden table adorned with a white laced table runner, and white, high backed fabric chairs. Two candle chandeliers lit up each end of the table and the glow gave the room a vintage feel. Thick curtains adorned two Victorian sash windows. Because it was darkening outside, John couldn't see anything but the silhouettes of fields and hills. He took a seat in the middle beside Sherlock and they waited.
This time a butler and a maid came out to serve them, wheeling a small trolley. The butler was short, shorter than John was. He was middle aged but the obvious hair dye gave him a younger appearance. The maid was pretty, if John was honest. Probably in her thirties, going by the bright eyes and good skin. The only let on about her age was the lines around her eyes. They were both dressed in black and white pant suits, tailored to fit their gender and body shape.
"Your food Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson." The butler laid out an array of silver platters before them on the table, and the maid set two wine glasses and a bottle of both red and white wine.
"Rory says welcome back, Sir." The maid spoke, un-lidding the platters and dropping a very slight curtsy before wheeling the trolley away.
"Thank you Miriam!" Sherlock called. "And thank you, Dorian. Make sure you give my compliments to Rory. And tell the boy to come talk to me tomorrow." With a wink to the butler, Sherlock turned his attention to the food. When the butler left, John laughed.
"Well, it seems you're very well respect around here, Mister Holmes." He gave his lover a gentle smile to show he was being light-hearted.
"We can thank Mycroft for that. He only hires people who he knows will treat any guest like royalty. Even you, Doctor Watson." Sherlock smiled back and gestured to the food. "Mycroft also told Rory your favourite meal – roast chicken. And he knows my love of Thai food."
"So I can see. Shall we?"
They tucked into the food, Sherlock even taking extra and John making an appreciative sound as he bit into his chicken. White wine was poured but neither of them really drank any of it, just a sip here and there to wash some of the food down.
John finally sat back in his chair, his feet stretched out under the table and one hand resting on his stomach. He had made rather a pig of himself, but he could see why Mycroft had bothered to bring Rory in all the way from New York. The man was a genius with spices and a roaster, he had to admit, and the spring rolls had practically been to die for. Sherlock watched him with mild amusement, still picking at his own nearly cleared plate with his chopsticks. "I'm really going to have to thank your brother for all this."
"Don't bother. He knows that you'll appreciate good, home-cooked food and we wouldn't want his head to swell up any further." Sherlock's mouth twitched into some semblance of his old half-smile as he glanced down at his plate. "If you want to go exploring, John, I wanted to spend some time in the library. I havemissed it more than anything else around here."
"I think I might get lost! This place is an utter maze, you know."
"Well, you could go explore the grounds. You're not going to get lost out on the lawn, are you?"
John stared at him across the table for a moment before chuckling lightly and taking another sip of his wine. "Alright, you have a point. I'll go outside for a bit and meet you in the library afterward."
"Do try not to get lost, then." Standing up with only a slight wince, Sherlock padded over and stooped down to press a kiss against John's cheek before slipping out. John finished the last bit of wine in the bottom of his glass before getting up himself. He started to gather up the dishes to take them to the kitchen before remembering where he was and that the maids, or the butler, would collect them for him. Shaking his head a bit at the ridiculousness of it all, John left the little dining room and made his way out the front door. The sun had started to set, and the light washing over the front grounds of the Kent estate was a rosy golden colour now.
He was taken anew by the beauty of the place, especially in the ruddy evening light. He didn't quite believe it all just yet. Maybe after a good night's sleep in Sherlock's bed would help all this sink in. He went down off the step, following the porch around to the side of the house. The manicured lawn that followed the front of the house swept around to the back, finally ending in a post-and-rail fence. Inside the fence, much to John's surprise, was a small herd of glossy, well-kept horses. Leaning on the fence, he counted eight in total; three blacks, a small spotted foal, a dark colt, a smaller white one, a large dapple-grey, and a smallish, rather round reddish one cropping grass on the other side of the fenced in area. Given the fact that it was a country estate and this wasMycroft Holmes, John imagined he rather should have expected there to be horses.
He stood there leaning on the fence for quite some time, long enough for the spotted foal to leave its mother and prance over to the fence. John held out a hand for the foal to investigate, eventually lightly scratching the velvety nose and between the small, pricked ears. The creature eventually lost interest and went back to its mother, nuzzling up against her side as she grazed.
While the horses were very nice, it was quite quickly getting dark and John had been outside for quite a while. Sherlock was probably wondering what had happened to him.
Making his way back inside, across the massive marble lobby, and up the stairs was an expedition all on its own. In fact, it was almost full dark outside before he finally found himself in the library. The massive room occupied the entire right wing of the house on all three floors. Sherlock was on the bottom floor, fast asleep in a leather wingback chair, with Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethicsspread open on his knee. John almost didn't have the heart to wake him, but the way the detective was sprawled was going to create problems in the morning. Reaching out a hand, he brushed one of Sherlock's curls off his forehead. "Sherlock... Wake up, love."
Sherlock mumbled something and opened one eye a fraction. "Don't wanna..."
"You can't sleep in here. Come to bed."
With obvious reluctance, Sherlock heaved himself out of the chair, put his book down where he'd been sitting, and toddled obediently after John. Back in Sherlock's room, it was like struggling with a petulant child to get him out of his clothes and into his blue silk pyjamas. Manoeuvring him around so he lay on John's chest rather than on his back was like wrestling with a sack of wet flour, and by the time all his limbs were arranged to John's satisfaction the detective was out cold again. Smiling a bit, John pressed a kiss to the top of his lover's head and let him sleep. He soon dropped off himself, one arm loosely over Sherlock's back and the other resting on the back of the detective's neck.
Thank you to the reviewer and of course, readers. You are all deserving of a high five.