A few days later and the packing had been finished, though Sherlock did most of the packing for John, something that John allowed only because it was amusing and also because even if he packed his own bag, he's fairly sure that a certain detective would just unpack it and repack it when he wasn't looking.
"Sherlock, calm down!" John says in frustration as he watches Sherlock still pacing, probably wearing a hole in the carpet. He's finished cleaning up, and putting the presents into one bag to carry with them. Sherlock has been forbidden from looking at his presents because he has a tendency to be able to guess them before he even opens them, so John has had to get quite creative when it comes to wrapping them.
Unfortunately this time John's words do nothing to calm Sherlock down, who has run his hands through his hair enough times that it's all messed up, even if the rest of his suit is impeccable. Finally, he glares around. "I need a cigarette." he mutters, moving over to the window. "Where did you put my emergency supply, John?" he demands.
With a little sigh, summoning his patience, John slowly gets up. "Bloody hell, Sherlock, you're making /me/ want a cigarette. I am not getting you your emergency pack just because you're nervous about your parents and siblings." he says as he looks over at the other man, walking over to the detective and grabbing his wrists to keep him from touching his hair again. "Alright, Sherlock. Hey. Look at me. Calm down.. deep breaths." He says as he takes deep breaths as well, hoping to get Sherlock to mimic it.
Focusing on the smaller, yet slightly intimidating man in front of him, Sherlock takes a few deep breaths with him, nodding slowly as he starts to feel less like panicking, his shoulders dropping a little as he relaxes, the tension easing out of his body. "Thank you, John. For coming with me." he says honestly as he looks down at him, not trying to free his arms from John's grasp just yet, still taking deeper breaths to keep himself calm. For a moment, he tilts his head to the side, focusing on John's deep blue eyes.
"You're welcome, Sherlock. There.. are you feeling better?" John asks as he looks back at Sherlock, smiling a little with a slightly amused look, thumbs unconsciously rubbing along the side of the taller man's wrists as he continues to hold them, not even realizing he's doing it.
Of course, the world's only consulting detective misses nothing, but he just ducks his head a little and nods slowly. "Yes, I am feeling much better." He says quietly as he watches the other man, then he clears his throat and pulls his arms away slowly, not sure why he should feel so awkward right at the moment. Luckily he's saved from any further awkwardness by the sound of a car pulling up in front. "The car is here." He announces, striding past John and putting on his coat and scarf, pulling on gloves as well.
John nods, more relieved than he cares to say that there car chooses to pull up there, since when Sherlock pulled away he realized what he had been doing. He really needs to get control of this very odd situation. He is not gay. He is not attracted to Sherlock, but he is starting to do some weird things. Or at least his body is, without his mind's permission. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he grabs his jacket, and then grabs his bags, letting Sherlock get his own and getting downstairs to pile everything in the boot of the sleek black car, keeping the bag of gifts in the car with them.
"Alright. Anything I need to know? About your family, etiquette or anything?" John asks once they're heading out of the city. "Your mother really likes odd names, doesn't she? Mycroft, Sherlock, Ford.." He muses, shaking his head for a few moments.
"Just be polite, not something that will be a problem for you." Sherlock says with a little smirk as he looks over at his flatmate. "Ford isn't his full name, it's just the more preferable nickname." He says before he smirks slightly again for a few moments. "His full name is Sherrinford." He says with a slow smile.
For a few moments, John doesn't know what to do or say, he just stares at Sherlock, finally getting his brain to kick into gear. "Sherrinford?!" he asks in shock, then he laughs a little. "Bloody hell... No wonder he goes by Ford. It's better than Sherry." he says with a little chuckle, grinning as he relaxes back in the seat, looking out the window thoughtfully.
Sherlock just watches his flatmate and friend for a few moments, humming his agreement but not finding it necessary to verbally reply. John has been different in the last month, he's been acting strange around the detective and he hasn't been able to figure out what the difference was. At first after he returned, there was awkwardness. John was a little more tactile than he was before. He would touch Sherlock's arm or hand, take his pulse just to assure himself that the detective was real. It was a small price to pay for being accepted back to Baker Street, back home. And really, it wasn't that bad. In fact, when it stopped, Sherlock found himself missing the touches sometimes, as well as still standing a little closer to John, having gotten into the habit of just generally staying closer to the broken army doctor to be a reassuring presence, and he never really stopped. Maybe that's what's odd. No, his mind rejects that idea immediately. It's been eight months, but besides the changes to their relationship since he returned, there has been something more recent, a change. He caught John staring at him a little bit more, not even seeming as if the doctor realized he was doing it. In fact, most everything appeared to be unconscious on his part. And all of this is extremely vexing. Sherlock is still not good at expressing feelings or understanding them, and he is fairly sure this has something to do with feelings.
"Mummy is very excited to meet you. Apparently Mycroft told her about you and our friendship." Sherlock says casually as he looks over at John to see how he reacts.
"Bloody Mycroft." John grumbles, coming close to a growl. "Why can't he mind his own goddamn business for once?" he asks, still pissed at Mycroft, for his part in Sherlock's Fall, and then for not telling John that Sherlock was, in fact, alive. "I'm sure he's skewed things to suit his own agenda, and only told your mother half of what is true, which means I will spend likely an entire conversation correcting your mother, of all people. Not the way to make a good first impression." he notes, finally turning to look at the detective.
The expression on the detective's face is, in a word, shocked. He didn't expect John to react with such vehemence, something he hasn't heard for a while from the doctor. Sherlock clears his throat to school his features back into their impassive mask, and then he says, "Mummy is quite intelligent, I am sure that she can tell if Mycroft is skewing the information he's providing her with. She will judge you when she sees you, I'm sure. Mycroft and I got our skills from somewhere." He says with a slight smirk. "But until then, she is quite looking forward to it. She hinted that Ford might be bringing a friend as well. Which would be a first." he says thoughtfully, before he tilts his head back and looks out the window.
John relaxes a little and he nods. "Blimey. Right. Of course. She would have to be smart. You already told me as much." he says quietly, before he sighs. "I think I'm going to try and rest a bit, didn't sleep much last night. Wake me when we get close." he says before crossing his arms and tilting his head back against the seat.
"Mmmm. Very well. Perhaps I should do the same, I need to be sharp around my family." Sherlock says thoughtfully, tilting his head back against the headrest as well.
John fell asleep easily as he often does, but Sherlock had a harder time, ending up with his head resting against the widow dozing off, but he wakes when he feels the slow down, almost stop as they have to wait for the gate, and he straightens in his seat, stretching as much as he can before he rubs his eyes and reaches over to shake John's shoulder a little. "John." He says, his normally smooth baritone voice a little rough from sleep. "John, we're here."
With a start, John looks around, getting his bearings before he nods a little as he looks at Sherlock. "Right. Thanks." he says as it registers, and he rubs his hands over his face for a few moments before he peeks out the window to see just what sort of place that they've come to, that Sherlock grew up in, having been intensely curious about it. Once he catches sight of the manor though, his jaw drops a little in shock.
"Oh bloody hell."