Runaway Home

Chp 21

Mycroft, Sherlock, Mycroft, Sherlock, Mycroft, Sherlock. God, it was like a bloody tennis match. Not one John was particularly fond of either, especially given he'd spent the night sweeping up glass and actively ignoring the detective's incessant questioning. He thought himself clever the boy supposed, the way the man would coyly offer to help with one thing or another, the way he'd stare and ask seemingly innocent questions about his day. Sherlock always noticed when he was upset, and he always seemed to think that it was only a matter of time, like John was just so predictable, like he knew John would have to tell him. It was bloody annoying. John didn't want to tell him, didn't plan to tell him. If he'd wanted to tell Sherlock he would have done so. No, this was one thing that detective did not need to know. Ever.

The problem with being acquaintance with the Holmes brother's though is that where you might succeed in tricking one, you cannot dream of getting one over on the both of them. Therefore the boy wasn't really surprised when Mycroft appraised him with a knowing look as he handed over the case file on one Andrew West. He had hoped the detective wouldn't have seen it though, which of course he did. When Mycroft was around Sherlock's observation skills were at full capacity, nothing got passed him, not even the fleeting look the politician gave the boy. The detective might have been passive in his attempts before, but if his brother already knew, there was no way Sherlock would settle for anything less than full disclosure. Not that he'd have to worry about that much longer as Mycroft was not a man who skirted around the issue, with him things were taken care of in a quick and efficient manner.

"Don't look so troubled John. Don't think that I haven't been keeping an eye on my brother and his only friend. It will all be sorted by the time you return for classes."

The Politician explained with a tight smile.

"What exactly is there to be sorted?"

Sherlock asked darkly, as if his brother knowing something like this before him was a personal insult.

"Well, I rather think that's John's business."

Mycroft retorted not taking his eyes off the boy who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with this amount of attention.

"Didn't seem to bother you apparently."

Sherlock spit and he stood from his chair, violin still in hand, although he was holding as if it were more of a weapon than an instrument now.

"I wouldn't have interfered if I didn't think it was necessary brother dear."

Mycroft quipped finally moving his gaze off of the boy and onto the seething detective. Sherlock glared at his brother for a beat before turning towards John with a calculating stare.

"It wasn't necessary."

John said finally, breaking the tense silence that was forming.

"I was handling it just fine."

He continued as he looked the politician dead in the eyes. He hadn't asked for help, whatever it was that Mycroft had done he didn't need it. John was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

"Yes, well you'll pardon my confusion as it seems we have two very different understandings of the word 'handling'. You see, shutting down your blog along with any accounts you had on social sites such as your facebook page didn't appear to me as though you were 'handling' it. I much liked that blog of yours, it's a good way to keep an eye on Sherlock since he keeps ruining my surveillance equipment; I would like to find a solution that didn't include putting it out of commission."

Mycroft replied smoothly pinning John to the floor under his stare. Sherlock looked accusingly at his lap-top for a moment as if he blamed the thing for his apparent lack of information. Then the detective looked back over towards the boy with a growing concern hidden beneath the surface of his agitated disposition.

"Sometimes the best solution is to let things sort themselves out on their own."

John said simply and turned so that he no longer had to see the looks on the men's faces. He didn't need their pity or concern; he could do just fine on his own.

"Afraid that's never been my forte; I like to deal with situations like this head on. Especially when they involve members of my own family, and make no mistake John, I do consider you one of my own at this point. Although, perhaps not legally yet."

Mycroft said and punctuated his last statement with a sly smirk directed towards the detective who blushed profusely. John wasn't exactly sure what the politician meant by that, did they mean to adopt him? Oh god, no, not that. There was only so much a man could take, and that would be John's breaking point. There was no way they were thinking of making him their brother, there was no way John spent all that time thinking of his flat mate in various-erm-positions only for him to be imagining John as some small sibling. Nope. Though…Sherlock had seemed embarrassed by the prospect so perhaps this was something else entirely that had gone over his head.

"Not that I wouldn't love to sit around and argue with you boys all day, but I really do have some important business to attend to. So if you don't mind I'll just see myself out."

And with that, he did. Mycroft strolled out of the flat just as easily as he'd strolled in a mere twenty or so minutes ago. There was a pause that was filled with as much tension somebody could possibly put into a pause. It made John tempted to lock himself back in his room. Which he decided, after quickly looking at the determined expression on Sherlock's face; was a good idea.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing you turned down your brother's case any way since I don't much feel up to any investigating today."

He yelped when the detective took a step towards him. John turned to make a run for the stairs when a large hand encased his arm and held him firmly in place.

"John…what was he talking about? I don't like Mycroft knowing more about you than I do."

Sherlock said with a sort of quiet intensity that made John shiver. Whether it was from his slowly fraying nerves or from something else entirely he wasn't sure.

"It's really nobody's business but my own. Your brother found out because he's a wanker, not because I've been giving him information I haven't been giving you, so really there is no reason for you to be upset."

John clarified before tugging his arm out of the detective's grasp.

"You misunderstood me John; I didn't mean it like that. I…want to know, I want to…help."

Sherlock stammered in a panic. The brunette wasn't normally one for platitudes so it sounded odd coming out of his mouth, but there was a sincerity to it that John couldn't ignore. This wasn't some manipulation, Sherlock did seem to genuinely care….and he would find out eventually…but it was so personal! It was too much. Even if he only told him the lesser of the two evils, Sherlock would work the rest out, he always did. For now, John needed time. He needed to think about this, about what all of this meant. There was a good chance Sherlock wouldn't want him around after he found out, and the boy wasn't sure he was ready to face that. Not yet.

"I…please let it go for now. Just…I just want to pretend for a little while longer it never happened ok?"

John replied earnestly. Sherlock opened his mouth as though he were going to add something more when his phone rang.

"You should get that."

The boy said quietly before finally retreating to his room. Once there he promptly plopped himself down onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. His bed was soft, much softer than his had been as a kid, which was fitting he supposed. It said a lot about this new home he'd made for himself, that everything was perfect, every thing right down to the bloody mattress. He didn't get to muse about mattresses long before the detective was knocking at his door. It wasn't as much of a knock as it was a tap, which was odd considering the originator of the sound. Sherlock was far more keen to burst through a door than to be bothered to knock on it. So the hesitant tapping against the door was highly out of character.

"John?"

His voice sounded just as careful as nervous.

"Come in."

John sighed, knowing that saying no was of no use, if the detective had something to say then he'd make sure John heard it sooner or later. Sherlock entered the room and his eyes landed softly on John's all but relaxed form resting on the soft mattress.

"I-we have a case. From Lestrade, it's about the explosion last night."
He reported quietly as his eyes trailed down the length of John's body, no doubt making any number of observations on what could have happened.

"It was a gas leak I thought."

John answered blandly as he sat up on the bed to get a better look at the detective.

"Apparently not. Lestrade said they found something he wants us to have a look at down at the Yard."

John froze up at that. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave the house so soon. What if they knew? He knew Lestrade read his blog, they would often discuss his entries while Sherlock went to work at the crime scenes. What if he'd read it yesterday? Before John had a chance to take it down?

"I just thought it might, um, make things easier for you. Since you insist on pretending whatever it is happened didn't happen."

Sherlock said with just a hint of bitterness. The detective was definitely not a fan of John leaving him in the dark on things like this.

"Fine, just…just give me a minute ok?"

If John was going to do this, it would be in comfort.

They walked into New Scotland Yard at a quick pace that left John in that sort of half jog he always seemed to do when they were on a case. When they entered Lestrade's office John was extremely glad he'd changed into his favorite jumper because the look that man gave him made him want to turn around and run. He was going to need all the comfort he could get.

"Hello, uh, I didn't know John would be coming around as well-not that it's not good to see you!"

Lestrade stuttered and a weak apologetic smile spread across his face.

"Of course he came, why wouldn't he?"

Sherlock snapped eying the inspector suspiciously.

"Well because…don't you…?"
Lestrade obviously had expected the detective to have already known. John shook his head slowly to signify that, yes; for once he had managed to keep something from his nosy flat mate.

"What about this explosion then?"

John interrupted before the situation could get more out of hand. Both the inspector and the detective stared at the boy for a moment before Lestrade held up an envelope.

"We found this in a strong box outside your flat…it's addressed to you."

He said quickly handing over the envelope to Sherlock but never moving his eyes off of John. Sherlock looked back at John for a moment before turning his attention on the envelope and rattling off a number of deductions. Finally he opened it carefully and found that inside was a pink mobile.

"There's a message on it."

The detective mumbled before pressing a few buttons on the devise. When he finished the group was listening to a series of high pitched beeps.

"Pips, five pips."

Sherlock thought aloud and then began to stare at the phone intently. Lestrade looked over at the screen and let out a huff of irritated breath.

"It's just a picture of a basement, what are we supposed to make of that?"

Sherlock sniffed and narrowed his eyes at the image.

"I've seen this before…"

With that they were rushing back to the flat. The cab ride was a good reprieve from Lestrade's pitying looks, however it did leave him alone with the detective.

"He knows too."

Not a question, no, that was the last thing from a question. John could see Sherlock was going to start taking this personally.

"He probably saw my blog before I took it down; it's not my fault everybody but you seems to never get off the damn site."
John hissed. He wasn't really angry at the detective as he was at the situation. There had been a time where he'd felt proud of how many people looked at his blog every day, now it was just a reminder of how many people knew. They were silent after that and entered their flat along with Lestrade so that they could search the basement. Inside there was a practically bare room with a pair of trainers sitting in the center. Sherlock stepped toward them and John all but yanked him back.

"We're dealing with a bomber remember?"

He reminded the detective before releasing him. Sherlock observed him for a moment then proceeded to more carefully approach the shoes. The air was practically electric as the three of them observed the trainers, although the detective was much closer than John felt comfortable with. Suddenly the shrill sounds of a mobile phone could be heard and it nearly gave John a heart attack. He had leapt at least a foot in the air it felt like and it was towards the detective, which of course meant when he looked back at the inspector there was a knowing look painted all over his face. It made John blush and curse himself all at the same time. Sherlock answered the phone upon standing and began having a conversation with (from what John could make out) what sounded like a crying woman. With only Sherlock's half of the conversation the whole thing seemed very confusing, but from what John could tell they were most certainly in contact with the bomber. Not only that, but he was the sort that liked to play games.

"We've got twelve hours, come along John."

"Twelve hours until what?"

"Boom!"

When they reached the lab at Bart's John was filled with a sort of hope when they found it empty. With any luck they wouldn't have to deal with any other people. Which at first looked extremely promising, nobody came into the room for a good hour while he and the detective analyzed the trainers. John assumed Sherlock was trying to get on his good side by asking for his help with looking at the shoes, although he didn't do it very well. But John was glad for that, he didn't need people making doe eyes at him, he just wanted things to go back to normal. That's when they walked in. Molly came practically skipping inside with an ordinary looking bloke by her side.

"Oh! Hi Sherlock, fancy meeting you here."

Molly chirped with a huge grin on her face that was the furthest thing from surprised John had ever seen.

"This is Jim."
She continued and motioned towards the man.

"Gay."

Sherlock quipped under his breath and John almost hit the man.

"What?"

Molly asked in a higher pitch that brought further attention to the panic behind her large brown eyes.

"Oh, um, hey."

Sherlock corrected and went back to looking through the microscope. John did his best to block out the rest as he really did not need to hear what happened next, he already knew. He knew it from the moment that naïve girl skipped in the room. Sherlock Holmes was a man who broke hearts, not one who pitied them. So when he tore out the girl's metaphorical heart let's just say the boy wasn't surprised. When she'd run out at last and Sherlock was tossing the number Jim had left behind to the floor John let out a sigh.

"You could have handled that a bit better don't you think?"

"I was just saving her the trouble, isn't that kinder?"

"No, Sherlock, that was not kind."

Sherlock didn't say anything after that, he just gathered his findings and led them out of the hospital. The cab ride back was silent save for John's inner monologue. Which really was just the telling of a thousand scenarios that included Sherlock performing a similar 'kindness' to John when he found out, and John acting in an equally similar fashion to that of Molly.