Offerings To The Temple Of Mendacity
HowlynnChapter 12 - 35: Silence and tears
Summary: Baggage plays on the relationship between John and Rat.
Chapter TextIn Silence and Tears Chapter 35/12
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
When We Two Parted - by George Gordon Byron
Ford absolutely returned to London, despite what he'd said in the past. Poor John would never know that he was the person who insisted Irene call the consulting criminal at the perfect moment. No hell on earth would have protected Little Jimmy from the big bad Rat if he had actually harmed John or his idiot offspring.
He'd been distracted by a political skirmish that threatened to give certain sudo-religious affiliations another solid base of operations in the world and worse still, a new leader with a surplus of immense resources and a more dynamic fanaticism than even his recently fallen martyr. The Zoo was technically Rat's employer, but his freelance services were often the leverage needed to secure indebted but hostile allies for her Majesty. In fact, Mycroft's spectacular rise to the position he so casually enjoyed, was in part thanks to a father that Mycroft had yet to abduce existed.
He'd taken chances to implement the measures that had resulted in his son taking the point in the clan of ravens, but Mycroft was an asset to the crown by his own right. Rat had provided opportunities for Mycroft to achieve, but he'd rarely been disappointed with the boy's sharp grasp of subtle political games or the art of intimidation.
He was proud of Mycroft for the most part, though his ability to maneuver had often hindered Rat's own commitments. He had become rather disappointed that Mycroft had failed to make the necessary leaps of reasoning it would require for Rat to have his cover revealed. Mycroft was now in a position in which he had more than the necessary authority and clearances to welcome his dead father back into the world of the living. Too bad he had simply failed to give the matter his attention.
Rat had never made this information easy, but he hadn't covered his trail with such impenetrable force that his son could not follow the compass and adjust to true north. On the day that Sherlock had made his international headlines and Rat had been in cover far too deep to impose upon his own resources to determine the merit of Sherlock's demise, Rat had experienced such profound grief that he'd blown his operation.
He'd rushed to safe-haven and then made for London as if he were a common fellow with an actual identity and mundane life. He went in disguise, of course, but at the moment, he'd honestly believed his youngest son had followed the path he himself had not actually taken.
It didn't take him long to learn the facts and he'd found the idea of Sherlock actually following in his own faked-death footsteps both amusing and moderately flattering in a way that would have made Sherlock's Mother frown severely. He felt foolish for having jumped to conclusions on the basis of the normally witless media. He attended the funeral, purely to get a glimpse of his darling Merletta, for whom he still carried a brilliant torch and yet his eyes had been instead, locked on the broken remnant of John Watson.
Merletta was, after all, Merletta. She would gaze at the realm with her cool green eyes and her world would be set to right before she chipped her face-cake for the night. She would only pine when nobody might be looking. She had known for years that her husband was alive, but she had played her role of widow with great dignity and tenacious resolve. She had, in fact, used her own resources to track him down and bloody well have a row whilst in the field and under fire. Merletta was not just any woman, she was the singular woman of all time.
Oh, she had other lovers, he could expect no less, but she never had another love. She looked beautiful that sunny spring day as her son was supposedly lowered deep into the earth. Their eyes had locked and her lips curled as she nodded to him. She had slid up next to him at the small gathering and he allowed her to see him for a split second.
"So good of you to come," She'd whispered with genuine pleasure.
"You know this is a farce?" He'd whispered as he pretended to kiss her cheek.
"He was always just like you," She'd softly murmured as a complaint but truly meant as a compliment.
He'd smiled at her, just the way she'd always liked, and replied, "Only his naughty bits, it was your contribution that made him dazzling."
"You are getting old and sentimental, my dear. Do come home soon, or I shall wed some horrid toad just to annoy you." She had winked.
"Soon."
"Do keep him under wing, Sherri. He's yours now." She had patted his arm and moved on to the other mourners.
Mycroft had caught his eye, making his way toward him, a look of determined nosiness set on his otherwise bland features and his umbrella speaking volumes of irritation by the way it tapped precisely on the side of his highly polished shoe. His mother speaking confidences to a stranger at her son's internment did not pass Mycroft's notice and only his need to make graceful inquiry kept him from at once confronting said stranger when the servants couldn't identify him at a glance. All he needed was for his wife's story of with whom she spoke and his own, not to mesh precisely. Rat had quickly made his exit, only to then spend a half hour dodging his son's amateurish junior minions.
He had planned to go home one day. He needed Mycroft to figure it out. He needed his son's resources to get out cleanly and quietly. He had become something of an entity unto himself, so long as he was active, but he knew that it would take dynamite to pry him from the arms of his controllers. A change of venue would be needed before he made any steps toward exit. He needed Mycroft to recruit him and so far his son was obviously oblivious. This however, changed the game, and his youngest son needed his help far more than his oldest son needed his curiosity mollified.
He had watched out for Sherlock. Sherlock was resourceful and rarely needed assistance, but he did make mistakes and when he did they were spectacular. God but Sherlock had gone off the deep end in South America. Ford had even been appalled. The balloon animals Sherlock had left, made from his marks intestines, were poignantly off the rail even in the mind of Sherrinford Holmes, consummate collector of human keepsakes. Oh, yes, he needed to keep a close eye on his son.
What had made him follow John instead that summer night was hard to explain. He knew the look he'd feared before had gone nuclear. He'd seen it often enough in his business. Movies called it the 'thousand yard stare' but that was only part of what he saw on Watson's face. One foot in the void and the urge to dance, would have been his description. Lust for death, Soul in the grave, broken hearted, or walking the mountains of the moon all meant John Watson.
The Rat had been off leash for a while, begging off for his supposed grief, and numerous pet projects Control objectively needed addressed, but could not appear to have connection with. He was in London; it was a beautiful night. Sherrinford Holmes was high on a smooth transaction that led to a very bad man no longer breathing and he'd decided to try to snap John out of his moony downward spiral by offering him his old position, so to speak. He knew he'd be easy to push through the system because of his prior service. Things had not worked out quite how he had expected.
John had been so very drunk. He had to step in.
John is a mouthy drunk but he also has no boundaries when it comes to trouble and those combined, were a very dangerous recipe any day, but add in his recent attitude and four teen boys could be goaded into more than a beer-money roll. They just wanted his cash, but John had grinned and decided to end his night with a dance for life instead. John had been far too drunk to notice the home-made and crudely fashioned mace that arched toward his skull.
He'd drunkenly taunted them and hurt them enough to enrage them. They were in the process of dragging him to a more private location whilst John struggled with consciousness and the four young perverts had relieved their victim of his trousers when Rat had finally stepped in.
John had been utterly still, face down with a boot at his neck, a knee between his shoulder blades and his eyes were wide open and glimmering with fear and a dreadful resolve. As the first had knelt unceremoniously between his legs, the gruff teen told John of the lessons he intended to enact to expunge his sisters disparaged virtue.
John's eyes had met his former commanders for a split second and yet he had not shouted for help or made any gesture that said he acknowledged his presence. His eyes had filled with tears and he'd closed them as he spoke, "Your sister likes my cock better than any of yours and as soon as you little bastards get done, I'll be giving her a knock up."
One of them laughed and knelt beside John, a blade in his hand. "You won't be having a chance, mate. Shoulda' just forked out a few quid. We still nicked that, but now you die soon as we quit finding your ass worth the trouble of holding you down. You just meat now, old man. Another word and I start with your tongue."
If John had been sober, these boys would have had no chance of causing him injury, but there was something more that had brought the former soldier here. It was in John's eyes. He may have been concussed, but that really wasn't the case, but John offered the paltry struggle of a child, not the fight of his Rhino.
John was here for the pain. He didn't want this, but there was a resolute acceptance in his eyes that proved he didn't 'not' want the outcome to be heinous and better yet deadly.
Ford should have known better, but even the great Rat could act like a common rat when the temptation was sung sweetly. He would never forgive himself, but there was no reason to fully explain what occurred during the doctor's memory lapse. He had saved the man from a much worse probable outcome, but he could not quite manage to justify that night to himself and he would never speak of it to John.
He wished John could want him, no, demand him that way whilst sober. Sherrinford had basked in every glorious second of that night and yet he knew that the man he adored would feel taken advantage of in the morning. At least he would be alive to be angry. What if their activity pushed John to his limits? Ford had made an unforgivable pact with himself and after a thoroughly devastating search for understanding, otherwise known as snooping, Sherrinford had made his decision.
He had saved John, then betrayed him because he let his emotions and the scene he'd just witnessed get under his skin. He knew John was a mess, but when he'd begged, it had broken something in Ford and he'd tried to say no at first, but it was John and he failed the test of temptation.
He'd planned to stay but when Mycroft showed up at John's flat, escape was really his only option. He waited for John to contact him but when he realized it was improbable, he grieved for John and then the inevitable call of the crown pried more time and more doubt into his thoughts.
He'd left John to his fate after that, too ashamed of his actions and too afraid John would repeat his own to stay. It seemed ok. John had left him no death threats. Ford lay low but John sat in his flat at night and Ford couldn't stand to watch John give his hi-power mouth to mouth each night.
John's future had soon encompassed the attention of a young woman. He'd left before he was tempted to make John aware of their recent encounter. He offered what comfort he could, but he still had obligations to meet and the hope he'd had to take John with him was unrealistic at best, an old man's folly wrapped in sentimental twaddle.
He'd managed to follow much of his son's activities. It had kept his attention far from thoughts of a certain broken doctor. His controllers unsurprisingly were sending him on missions at odds with Sherlock's purposes, but he'd still managed to keep an eye on both of his son's. He knew Mycroft was heavily involved in the mess with Moriarty and conveniently the strands of that web were so vast that he could skew the covert assessments of individuals entangled enough to justify his involvement.
His placement in London, coordinating with Sherlock's revelation to John, had been an accident, however utilizing all opportunities was second nature and in this case had worked in his favor. If Sherlock had accepted John's offer, Sherrinford would have never made contact. But, he'd watched Sherlock enter the flat and he'd seen John's reaction to what he assumed was a robbery. It was purely instinct that had made him follow the couple to the park and hear the astounding exchange.
John had actually run past Rat's hiding place when he'd exited the hourly dive Sherlock had secured for their meeting. He'd watched John stand in the rain, evaluating his body language and knowing Rhino was lost to all rational acceptances that he'd, again, been left behind. It was odd. Rat had left this man behind so many times, yet had never witnessed John's reaction to the event. How could he have done that to John? How had he never seen
He knew Sherlock would be watching, so he'd sent John across town with a puzzle. He was not surprised that John had taken his bait. He'd followed him in another taxi and then bought coffee as if he'd been awaiting his arrival.
John stirred at the touch on his shoulder. He inhaled deeply and scrunched his face up before asking, "How long was I asleep?"
"Not long. It's our last night here. I thought we could…"he trailed off letting his hands do the talking.
"Oh god. What the hell," John replied with a knowing smirk. "You may as well give up this time. Not happening."
"What is it? Obviously you want to," came the whispered suggestion accompanied by a hand squeezing the evidence of John's interest.
"Ford. You know how I feel. Always have. But you always leave. "
"Because you always cheat with some tit-packing trollup and expect me to …"
John leans up and rolls to his elbows, confused. "Cheat on you? We are not a couple. We are friends with benefits. That's all. And every time I blow that and care and the bloody second you figure it out you can't get away from me fast enough. Yes, I like women. They are beautiful creatures and a whole other world. But, don't tell me I expect too much of you then try to wheedle me into something, that means something to me, just because you are selfish."
"Selfish? You think I am a selfish lover?" Sherrinford honestly looked horrified.
"I didn't say that, but you are selfish," John says sitting up now, eyebrows down and anger building.
" I didn't realize I had ever failed you in that area, despite your ridiculously childish rules. Tell me, do they come in to play for all your male lovers or do you deny me only?" Ford couldn't ever remember feeling more anger directed at John.
"You know I have never done that. Not with anyone. Why is this even an issue? If you want to discuss childish-"
"Don't play the virgin, John. I know better," Ford said, face alight with wrath.
"Then you are wrong." John's voice remained calm, but there was a hollow rasp in it. His eyes flitted away as if looking for escape before returning to meet Sherrinford's with steel determination and a glare of hatred.
Ford smiled like an evil cat and murmured, "Am I? How would you even know? Do you even remember all your lovers?"
John's face grew red, "That's none of your business. In fact, what I do or don't do is officially none of your concern…ever again." He stood up and headed for the door.
Rats face fell directly into his ice cold mask and his words blasted the man in front of him like rock salt. He too stood but didn't step toward John, his chin lifted slightly and his eyes narrowed in a familiar deduction manner. "And off-out you go. I suppose you are right. And, it was none of my concern the night I followed you and watched you offer yourself, not to mention you very life, to four young hoodlums. You didn't even fight."
John shook his head in utter disapproval and silent disappointment, marked only by a minor pursing of lips and an appalled sound similar to clearing the back of his throat.
John's mocking sound and annoyance further flamed Rat's anger, but it only manifest in the change of his tone, his face didn't offer a twitch of emotion. " I should have just stood by and watched them each take you while you blubbered on the filthy urine and rubbish soaked mews, then stood by and observed them slit your mouthy, drunken throat when they were sated? Is that your underlying truth Rhino, my baby, my friend, my brother, my sometimes lover? You'd far prefer that sort of attention to mine? I wonder, John, how often were you an ally slut, just lucky to have survived, but because you don't remember, think you can tell me…it doesn't count." Ford regretted the words level of harmful intent as soon as he spoke them. His breath caught and he seemed to return to himself, horrified by what sentiment had just loosed from his tongue.
Six heartbeats seemed to mark an hour before John began to tremble slightly.
In secret we met
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
When We Two Parted- by George Gordon Byron
I know, it is shocking – but these were close to ready and I thought I'd go ahead without obsessing and publish. Hope you enjoy. Next chapter may happen soon as well.