Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belong to Sir ACD and in this reincarnation Moffat, Gatiss and the BBC. We own nothing and are only writing this for fun.
AN: Collab between Trulywicked and Acherona. More feels in this chapter. Thank you so much for your comments and feedback, it drives us forward and makes us smile.
Please enjoy this chapter.
Tell Me This Night Is Over.
Chapter Eight.
Greg put the finishing touch on the cake's icing just as he heard the front door open and close. The dinner was already finished and the table was set with candlelight the only source of illumination. If Mycroft had been a woman he'd have sprinkled flower petals leading to the dining room but thank God he wasn't. There were flowers on the table of course but nothing as ridiculous as overblown roses, it was a simple bowl vase with a stalk of hyacinth, some ivy, and myrtle.
He carried the cake on its plate to the table and went out to greet Mycroft.
Pale blue eyes lit up with heat and something more as Mycroft put his overcoat away and placed his umbrella in its stand. He let his eyes rake over his lover's form taking in the black slacks and the perfectly tailored shirt, clinging to Greg's form.
"If I knew this was what I was coming home to I would have been here even sooner, queen and country be damned. Also something smells absolutely delicious...The food doesn't smell too bad either." Mycroft walked over and buried his nose in Greg's neck, breathing in fresh soap, a splash of aftershave and the wonderful scent that was all Greg.
Greg chuckled and cupped Mycroft's jaw, bringing his head up for a brief, chaste kiss. "Well I'm glad you approve." He trailed his fingers over Mycroft's cheek, "Get a little more comfortable then join me in the dining room? I've got your favorites on the table."
"That DI Lestrade, is an offer that I cannot refuse." Mycroft smiled at his lover and walked toward their bedroom, taking off the suit jacket, waistcoat and tie, being sure to place the tie pin in its proper box and in its right place. He rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows and kicked off his shoes, Mycroft hated wearing shoes when he was at home, he liked to feel the carpets beneath his feet, squeeze them with his toes.
Once he had shed the layers of his official self, Mycroft walked to the dining room, smiling softly at the sight of the candles and the setting. Gods it was wonderful to have someone to come home to. "This looks lovely."
"Let's hope you think the food tastes as good as the setting looks." Greg smiled at Mycroft's bare toes and reached out to run a hand down his arm. "Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo, steamed asparagus, and red skinned potatoes in lemon pepper sauce. And of course German chocolate cake."
"Dear lord that sounds like heaven on a plate." Mycroft nearly moaned and his mouth definitely watered. "Sherlock said you were good for me, that I'd lost my paunch but after this decadent temptation he might have to reconsider...Unless of course, you help me work it all off afterwards." Mycroft licked his lips and gave his lover a smile.
"Oh I think a post meal work out can be scheduled in." Greg pressed a nibbling kiss to the corner of Mycroft's mouth. "Have a seat and we'll get started."
Mycroft reached out and latched onto Greg's shirt, pulling the other in for a much more heated kiss. Once he'd finished his tasting of Greg's mouth, after a suck on his lover's tongue he released Greg and walked to sit down at the table. "Just needed an appetizer to tie me over."
Greg grinned and sat down just across from Mycroft. Rather than set their plates at the head and foot of the table, he'd set them across from each other at one end so they were still close enough to touch each other. "So aside from the events at 221, how did your day go? According to plan?"
"Yes, nothing taxing or shocking, just business as usual." Mycroft reached across the table and laced their fingers together. "How about your day? Not too bad after the talk with John I hope." It was probably wrong to feel happy for someone's death but Mycroft was glad Donovan was dead and he hoped that things would be easier for Greg at work now, that he would be allowed to form a team he felt comfortable working with.
"It was pretty smooth, all things considered. Did paperwork and helped a couple of constables subdue a PCP addict high off his arse in between planning for tonight." His thumb traced circles on Mycroft's skin, "And the talk with John went pretty well too. He was fine with not needing to be bothered with the mess."
"Good, that's good." Mycroft truly honestly cared for both John and Sherlock and he wanted nothing more than for the two of them to get their heads out of their behinds and patch things up. It was clear that they belonged together, couldn't live without each other but for tonight, for right now he wanted to put the mess his brother had made out of his mind and just focus on the gorgeous, amazing man sitting opposite of him. "I love you...In case I've forgotten to tell you that today." He could forget, he knew that. Words of love and sentiment always felt stuck in his throat even though he felt them.
Greg squeezed his hand, his smile widening. He'd never tell Mycroft, mainly because he worried that the man might be embarrassed about it, but his lover talked in his sleep and none of it was about his job. Almost every night Greg was woken up for just a moment as Mycroft snuggled closer and murmured 'Love you Greg'ry.' in his sleep. "I love you too Mycroft."
Smiling at his lover, Mycroft lift his fork with his free hand and dipped it into his food. Normally he would never eat with just one hand but he was reluctant to let go of Greg even for a little while. He brought the fettuccini to his mouth and moaned in pleasure. "Mmm, ambrosia of the gods this is."
Lestrade just hooked his ankle around Mycroft's under the table and nibbled at his own food while watching Mycroft enjoy the meal, making almost orgasmic sounds that were really bad for his control. He loved watching Mycroft actually enjoy his food, it was foreplay all of its own. Despite his cool, unaffected demeanor outside of their home, his lover was the most delicious sensualist. One day he was going to convince Mycroft to come on a holiday with him to some private place where he could get his lover to freely indulge all his senses without worrying about other people around. "God you're sexy."
Mycroft looked up from his food and locked eyes with Greg, his own turning a shade darker. He had never considered himself sexy in any way but for some reason, for some miracle he was sexy to Greg and that was all that mattered. Greg was the only one he wanted to entice. "You really are a strange man, all I'm doing is eating."
"In a very sexy way, trust me. I am the one looking at you, and listening to you, right now after all." Greg's eyes were warm with both affection and stirring lust, "And strange or not I'm your man."
"That you are, all mine, just as I'm yours." Mycroft sucked on his fork and kept his gaze on Greg.
Greg knew his pupils were dilating just as well as he knew Mycroft had done that on purpose, "Careful or I might just decide to eat the rest of my dinner and dessert off of you and really that's not supposed to be on the menu just yet."
"Mmmm, you're not really enticing me to behave here." Mycroft looked into Greg's darkened eyes with a small smile playing on his lips. "For you I think I'd like to be spread out for you feast upon, food or no food covering me, making me all sticky."
He didn't know if he made a groan or a growl but it was definitely on the list of hungry, lustful sounds. "I'll put that on my list of 'Things to Do With Mycroft' for a future date, spring it on you when you're not completely expecting it. For now though," He got up just enough so he could pull Mycroft's hand to his mouth for the sole reason of licking up the side of one long finger, taking it into his mouth, pulling it out slowly while sucking so his cheeks hollowed, then nipping the tip as it popped out of his mouth, "I'll take that taste and stick to my plan for tonight."
Mycroft's pulse jumped and he could hear it thumping in his ears. Greg's mouth was so warm and wet and lovely and suddenly Mycroft wanted more than fingers inside it. How could Greg possibly think he could finish dinner and dessert now that he was harder than stone? "What exactly are your plans for the evening? Aside from a delicious dinner, a good workout and being an immeasurable tease?"
"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," Greg's eyes gleamed with wicked amusement, "And teasing turnabout is fair play baby. You know I like to give as good as I get." He turned Mycroft's hand and pressed a sweet, affectionate kiss to his palm, "Though I do have a selection of massage oils for after that workout. I told you I was going to spoil you remember?"
Mycroft made a placated hum and shifted a little so he could rub his thumb over Greg's cheek. He loved that Greg gave as good as he got, he needed that, needed to know that to be able to let go and be himself through and through. "Massage oils are lovely, especially that one that smells like almonds but you know that you don't have to spoil me. All I really need is you."
He leaned into that little touch, "I like spoiling you. You don't get spoiled enough."
"I will simply have to spoil you in return because you deserve it." Mycroft just had to figure out how to do it, most of his spoiling attempts involved buying things and he knew that wasn't the way to go with Greg.
He shook his head and smiled as they moved on to the cake, "I don't think you realize how much you already spoil me. I've noticed those sneaky little CCTV cameras moving away when I do something that might, possibly, get me into trouble, just as I've noticed them trained on me like a laser when I'm on a dangerous case. There's also the evenings when I know you'd normally have to work late yet you slip into the library or rec room to join me. And the lunches," his lips twitched, "I think yesterday makes forty eight mysterious lunches that have shown up on my desk with Anthea's handwriting on the bag."
"Is that so? It seems I'm going to have a very serious conversation with my assistant, it looks as if she's got her eyes on my man, feeding him and such." Mycroft's eyes went wide and impossibly innocent, especially for being a Holmes. A small smile played on his lips though. He hadn't done those things to spoil Greg though and he was amazed that it could be that easy, that it didn't have to be more complicated than that. Maybe he wasn't completely hopeless after all.
Greg snorted, "Anyone but me and that innocent look might actually work. Anthea doesn't jump during working hours unless you give the go ahead and I know it." He knew it very well because he'd seen an after work Anthea sigh just a bit dejectedly when John and Sherlock had gotten together romantically and her eyes had been a bit wistful on John.
"I will admit to nothing." Mycroft took a small sip of the truly excellent wine Greg had chosen. "Hypothetically speaking though, were the lunches favorable? Anything that should be added or removed?"
A warm chuckle and Greg nudged Mycroft's toes with his, "You don't have to admit it, I just know. The lunches are good, nothing missing and nothing needing to be chucked. Thank you."
Mycroft just smiled and moved his foot so he could run his bare toes under Greg's trousers, stroking them over Greg's calf. Of course he needed to take care of his lover, he'd seen what Greg lived on at work before he'd begun arranging the lunches and that was not food for human consumption.
Greg let the footsie pass and returned the play as he ate his own cake and watched Mycroft licking frosting and cake into his mouth with those blissed out sounds. The closer they got to the end of the meal the more nervous Greg felt. He knew that the evening and their relationship wouldn't be ruined if the answer to the question he was about to ask was no. He loved Mycroft and nothing was going to change that and he knew the other man loved him so if he said no, that was fine. They'd continue living together and loving each other. Still he was nervous because it struck him just how badly he wanted the answer to be yes. So much more than he'd ever wanted anything except perhaps to have shared custody of his children.
"I'm not sure this cake is entirely legal, nothing this...this amazing can be legal." The chocolate cake was a decadent temptation and Mycroft couldn't resist it, no more than he would ever be able to resist Greg in any aspect of his life. He finished his cake and barely resisted the urge to pick up the plate and lick it.
The DI's eyes crinkled, "My Nan taught me that recipe, I'll be sure to convey that to her. I'd hate for someone to have to arrest her." He got up and rounded the table so he could sit in the chair beside Mycroft, wiping a slight smear of frosting away from the corner of his lover's lips, "I had planned on giving you this for the morning after the Christmas party but we both know that got turned upside down." He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and pressed it into Mycroft's hand.
Every sign of mirth disappeared from Mycroft's features as he looked at the small, square box as if it might attack him at any second. He slid his eyes from the box to his lover, trying to read him before looking back at the item in his hand. Candlelight, dinner, temptation and now a velvet box. It didn't have to mean what Mycroft thought it meant, he'd been wrong before, not often but still, it happened. He gingerly flipped the lid open and met his lover's eyes. "Greg..."
He cupped Mycroft's cheek, "I considered hundreds of fancy, poetic things to say but really the fancy and poetic just get in the way of the core of it. I love you, and no matter what your answer I'll still love you and I'll still stay with you and be happy because I'm with you. I want to marry you though. I want the world to see a ring on your left hand and know you're taken and all the rest can just fuck off and go cry in their cornflakes because you're taken. If something happens to me or something happens to you I don't want some arsehole doctor turning the other away because of 'hospital policy' or any other bullshite," they certainly were pretty or fancy words but they were honest to the core, "Will you marry me Mycroft?"
"Don't be idiotic, it doesn't suit you...Why would I ever say no?" Mycroft looked down at the simple, tasteful ring inside the box. "I'd be proud to wear your ring. Have you thought this through though Gregory? Living with a man is one thing, marrying one is another matter...It will not make it easier to get shared custody of your children."
He traced his knuckles over Mycroft's cheek, "I know and I thought it through. Might not make it easier but that just means that when I do finally get shared custody Cynthia can't sneak up from behind and take it away again if I marry you after I get shared custody. Not to mention I'm not going to let her force me and certainly not you to put any part of our lives on hold because she's got a bug up her arse the size of a rugby ball."
"Charming imagery there Gregory." Mycroft wrinkled his long nose but couldn't completely disguise his smile. He picked up the gold ring from the box and held it out to Greg. "Well then, I suppose you'd better ring me. We'll take on that shrew of an ex you have together. Yes Gregory Lestrade. I'd be happy to marry you."
Greg took the ring and slid it onto Mycroft's finger, leaning in to catch his lips in a slow, loving kiss.
"Mmm." Mycroft looped his arm around Greg's neck and held him close as they kissed. He could feel the ring on his finger and strangely enough it didn't scare him. It felt like coming home. He pulled away and breathed against Greg's lips. "I fully expect a matching ring on your finger even before the marriage...As stated before, very, very possessive here."
He smiled and nibbled delicately at Mycroft's bottom lip, "Anticipating that, I might just have spoken to the jeweler," he kissed his way along a sloped jaw, "and requested that he hold the matching ring for one Mycroft Holmes to come in and purchase."
"Good, we'll go pick it up as soon as they open tomorrow." Mycroft tilted his head and nibbled at Greg's jawline. "So my husband to be...Could we please get started on the workout now?"
Greg grinned and shifted his hands to catch Mycroft under the bum and lift him as he stood. "Oh yes, we can." He made a purring sound of approval as Mycroft's legs wrapped around his hips as he walked to the bedroom and caught his fiancé's mouth with his again.
oOo
Sherlock paced and drummed his fingers and muttered and riffled through his mind palace until he'd nearly up ended it before he finally gave in and phoned his brother, his scowl deepening with every ring. It was the middle of the day. Mycroft had better be in negotiations to keep someone from dropping an atomic bomb on Buckingham Palace if he didn't pick up.
"Yes Sherlock what is it?" Mycroft answered, keeping his voice light and pleased just because he knew it would annoy his brother. He pushed his lunch salad away, knowing that if Sherlock actually called him then it probably meant that lunch time was over.
"The cottage and farm in Sussex that Nana left me, is it still in good repair?"
A dark brow went up. "The Sussex estate? Of course it's still in good repair, I look after everything don't I? Can't keep by big nose out of your things as you so pleasantly inform me on regular intervals. It's in good shape and it's still yours. You have a very lovely couple who tend the land and keep the houses in order."
"Are there any recent photographs of it?" Sherlock spun and began tapping out a spate of text on his computer, "The sort you might find if it was up for sale, showing off its best."
"What are you up to? Either you are really trying to sell or you're trying to impress...Not sure what would be more disturbing." Mycroft couldn't help but be intrigued. "There are some photos from this summer, you know that country places always look their best in summer. I'll get Anthea to e-mail them to you right away."
"Not impress and certainly not sell. Selling would be counterproductive." Sherlock paused, "John asked how could he trust me after everything. If I would do the same if another madman came after us." He looked over at the album Molly had given him, "The estate is part of my answer."
"A safe place? I can bury your ownership of it so deep it would take an archaeologist to dig it out if you need me to. It would be yours but no one would know about it." Mycroft wanted Sherlock and John together. His brother needed John and John needed Sherlock. This was one of a very few times when he didn't have a hidden agenda. "Anthea has sent the photographs, you should have them now."
"Thank you." Sherlock opened his e-mail and downloaded the photographs to post on the blog along with the entry he was making as his reply to John's comment. He didn't bother telling his brother that anyone with Moriarty's skill set and cleverness could dig it out without the archaeologist because the goal was not to have a safe place to run to if things got dangerous. It was a more long term solution that he had in mind if it was what John needed to trust him again.
"You're welcome little brother, just let me know if you need anything else. I am in a particularly good mood today so strike while the iron is hot."
"Dangerous suggestion however if that empty outbuilding still stands, perhaps a fully functioning lab would not go amiss." He knew John would worry about him feeling trapped or stagnated no matter what Sherlock could protest to the contrary so the more things that he could suggest stood to offer him what John had once called brain food the better. "Would I be correct in offering congratulations?"
"You know you are correct so why bother with pretence? Don't know exactly when it will be yet but I would be proud if you stood up with me." Mycroft glanced down at his ring. "And yes, I think a lab could be procured for the outhouse, be careful though so the locals won't think you are making drugs in there."
"Hmm," Sherlock tapped his finger on the edge of the table, "dull. If Lestrade needs ammunition for the next custody hearing, incentive for Cynthia to at the very least play fair, tell him to arrange a raid on the gambling hell off West India Avenue on Friday."
"My turn to say thank you. I will pass the information on to Gregory and he can do what he deems fit with it." Mycroft would love to take care of the situation for Greg but he knew better than that. "Best of luck with what it is that you are planning Sherlock. Those of us who have actual jobs really do need to return to them now. Call if you need anything else...Depending on my mood I might trade you another favor for a case." He grinned and hung up.
Sherlock merely cleared his screen and murmured, "You may have to amend that thought brother." Then he turned back to the blog. He didn't see the reason for titles mostly, something John had always despaired over, but this time he used one.
oOo
TRUST
I would not put you, put us, through this again. I do not think either of us would survive it. However as you asked, how can you trust in that? I have words but my actions would make you doubt them would they not?
I will not offer a comforting lie. It is possible if I continue taking cases that I could attract the attention of another madman of Moriarty's skill set and intelligence, a low probability but possible. And it is possible that such a man could again put my brother 'on the ropes' as they say. How do I prevent such a thing or prove that the overall well being of both you and our son, including emotional well being, are now my complete priority? The answer is, of course, simple.
I cease taking cases.
No, don't look like that. I know what you are thinking John. Do not think that I would consider such a decision lightly or without due diligence to the pros and cons. I have weighed every possibility in my head. I could take cases, small ones, ones provided by my brother, that offered little chance of a 'madman' but it would still draw public attention would it not?
I know you think I would go spare but just looking through a modern text of human development, I cannot see how parenthood could ever bore me, not with a child from you and I certainly. Babies develop so quickly from day to day and discover new things every moment. How could I grow bored watching our child make discoveries? Children are always so inquisitive and curious and adventurous, it's astounding everything a child can think of to ask or consider. Did you know the AVERAGE four year old tends to ask four hundred questions a day? Our child, I would think, would certainly be above average and ask so many more. How could I grow bored with such an active, busy mind wanting to learn?
And yes John I can see you in my mind's eye coming up with arguments about tedium and normalcy and how you think I would still need an escape. If we were to stay in London then 221c could be permanently converted into a complete laboratory, never again would you find body parts, insects, nor arachnids in the refrigerator as there would be one for such things down here. If I needed an escape I could come down here, work on a myriad of experiments, and be within voice's reach if you or our son needed me. There are outings to parks and museums and zoos and the like for variety as well.
That's if you wish to remain in London. There is another option.
That is a cottage on farmland my grandmother left me. A safe distance away from the cottage there are bee hives, you recall being subjected to my many lectures on the fascination of bees I am sure, the plants in the gardens all have some medicinal value as my grandmother believed strongly in homeopathic therapy and was very picky about what herbs and plant she used, preferring to grow her own. There is a peach orchard, several different varieties so the number of genetic experiments I could conduct on peaches is innumerable, a pond, algae and wildlife to study, and an outhouse that can be fitted to become a lab.
I am not trying to impress you (Mycroft's assumption) or bribe you. I am explaining that I would not be bored without cases so long as I could be with you and offering you examples of what I could do so you can not argue to the contrary. You cannot bore me you know. I still find you utterly fascinating and I rather think I still will long after our son has children of his own.
The thing is John, I cannot prove my trustworthiness. That is the nature of trust, it cannot be proven. I can only offer proof to you that you and our son are more important than the work and that I have means aplenty to keep me occupied without cases if it is what is necessary to prevent another Moriarty from coming after us.
Again I will not lie and tell you I won't miss working cases. I will but without you the cases would be mere distractions as they had been before I knew you. That is what they were you know, distractions, toys to keep my mind from rotting, means to maintain my 'sociopathy' so I could not be injured. Then you came into my life and gave everything meaning. The work became something important beyond a distraction because of YOU.
Without you it means nothing.
I love you John. More than I have ever or will ever value any case that could exist. But I do not know how to earn your trust back if you cannot let me, if I have hurt you too far beyond you ever seeing your way to giving me that chance. And I would not blame you if you never gave me that chance.
Still I am, as ever, yours
Sherlock
John read the post and actually growled so that Sentinel looked up in alarm. He cracked his fingers and slammed them onto the keys as he attempted to type up a reply.
Jesus Christ...You great...tall git! You still don't get it do you?
Read through your post again will you? It is great that you can do experiments and live in London or Sussex and give up being a consulting detective. Jolly for you. You, that was what your post was about, all about you.
What about what I want?
Does it matter?
It's not about the danger, it never was...I quite like the danger if you recall.
The only thing I want Sherlock, is for us to make the decisions about our life together. That is the only trust I need. For you not to pull shite behind my back and leave me behind.
Now get upstairs, we need to talk face to face.
John
A slam and a flurry of footsteps later and Sherlock was peeking around the doorframe like a naughty child afraid of being scolded for sneaking out of time out.
John snorted. "Gun is locked up and Sen's been told to behave just get in here will you. I'm not going to throw something at you or hit you."
That might be preferable to Sherlock, words had far more impact than physical blows for him but he came inside the bedroom anyway. He grabbed a chair and set it beside the bed. He'd rather sit on the bed with John but he didn't know how welcome that would be. Settling his long frame onto the chair he turned his attention back to John, once more mapping out his face and well everything about him.
"I had a dream last night, well a nightmare really. About you jumping, about drowning in your blood and not being able to get to you in time. Woke up screaming your name. That's not unusual, the point is that then I remembered that you were just downstairs, alive and warm and breathing and I realized I can't give that up, can't give you up." John wasn't looking at Sherlock though; he kept his gaze on the mound of his stomach instead. "I just need to know that you get it Sherlock, being a couple and soon being a family...You can't lie to me anymore. Can't make decisions that affect the both of us, affect our lives without telling me about them. I can help, I want help. We won't always see eye to eye or agree but we can do it together, it just can't be all you. You are not alone anymore so please, please get it."
"I do." He spoke quietly, "I...I did not think you would simply believe my promise that I would not keep you in the dark about problems and dangers again." Sherlock knew all too well that some promises were not worth the air they took to speak them.
John looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes, really meet them for the first time in much, much too long. "I'm a simple man Sherlock, if you promise me and mean what you say then I believe you. Just as I mean every promise I make to you, I won't break them." He took a deep breath. "Now come over here and let me hold you."
Sherlock was aware that he was trembling as he slid up onto the bed next to John, his hands shaking in a way they'd not since his last time going through withdrawal as he tentatively put his arms around John.
"You huge, brilliant, moronic pain in the arse...I love you so much." John turned a little so he could wrap his own arms around Sherlock in return, as much as he could without the belly getting in the way. He buried his nose in curly hair before moving and placing light kisses all over Sherlock's face, being careful not to jostle the plastered nose. "You haven't been eating, that will change because you are going to set a good example for Benjamin."
Sherlock leaned his face against John's in a tender nuzzle, his eyes having slid shut in a futile attempt to keep the tears forming behind them from escaping. Being here, John holding him again, it was just a little too much for his strangled emotional foundations to keep his composure completely. His voice was steady though when he asked, "Benjamin?"
"Mmhmm, Benjamin Johannes Watson-Holmes." John moved a hand to rake his fingers through Sherlock's curls, his heart pounding at being able to touch again, knowing that Sherlock was alive and there with him. He took one of Sherlock's hands and slid it beneath his jumper and shirt to rest on the bare skin of his stomach. "Our son."
Sherlock smoothed his hand over the taunt rounded belly, ignoring the faint tremor in his fingers as he did so. His mind was, of course, speeding through all the gestational data he'd read over and anatomical data and his intimate knowledge of John to figure out how much was baby and how much was support for the baby and how big the baby was right now. His brows jumped up in surprise when he felt a thump against his hand. "He's strong."
"He is yes and just as fidgety as his daddy." John smiled at the marveled expression on Sherlock's face. "Not all comfortable at times. As you no doubt already know, my uterus is behind my intestines, so every kick is very much felt. It's all fine though, it lets me know he's there and well."
Another thump had Sherlock's lips curving up and his mind readjusting his deduction on the weight of the baby, "Nineteen point twenty four percent," it was a rumbled murmur, "The rest of the weight gain is support for him, blood volume increase, amniotic fluid, placenta and such, he's nineteen point twenty four percent of the eleven point eight kilograms." Anyone else it would be the equivalent of calling John fat but from Sherlock, especially with the amazed smile on his face, it was nothing less than a declaration of utterly besotted wonder.
John just chuckled. "I've missed your sweet talk." He was not going to mention to Sherlock just how much he'd struggled to be able to gain those needed kilograms, it was Sherlock, he would know soon enough anyway. If he didn't already. That didn't matter now, the future did, their future. He maneuvered Sherlock so he could press his lips against Sherlock's.
The sound Sherlock made held the flavor of John's name but it wasn't a whimper, he would never, never admit that it was a whimper but oh God to have John's lips on his again after so long. He'd missed this, missed everything about John but especially his kisses. John had a way with a kiss that left you in no doubt of what he felt and Sherlock sank into this one. The hand that wasn't on John's belly came up to curl around the back of his head, a tender, delicate hold as Sherlock tried to put every single emotion his crippled soul was capable of into the sweet touch of lips. All of the longing of the past eight point two five months, all the desperate need, the regret, the hope, and most of all the endless love he felt for John was communicated in that simple, gentle kiss.
John felt it all and it left him crying, this time though it was good tears, cleansing tears. He hadn't kissed Sherlock since the night their child was made and even then the kisses had been desperate, what with the running from the police and knowing that Moriarty was out there posing as Richard Brook. John continued to card his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he held on to the man he loved and kissed him. John knew that he would never, ever let go again.
Sherlock tasted the tears, the drops running into the corners of John's mouth, and feathered soft, barely there kisses up John's cheek to kiss the tears away from his eyes. Then all of a sudden he felt something push into his back then squirm around his side, a big black furry head reaching over his shoulder to whine worriedly and lick at John's face. Sherlock made a slight grunt but didn't complain as the dog had maneuvered so that he wasn't bumping John's stomach.
John chuckled and grunted as he pushed the big fur-clad head away from his face and wiped at his now even wetter cheeks with his sweater sleeve. "It's okay Sen, it's all fine. Nothing to worry about, I'm good as gold, see?" He scratched behind floppy ears and down Sentinel's neck. "We are going to have to do something about your breath though." He looked at Sherlock. "Sorry if you got trampled there, Sen's a worry-wart."
"It's fine." Sherlock offered his hand to the dog to sniff, not startling when the Labrador took his hand in its mouth very lightly and made a short, non-hostile growl before releasing it and allowing Sherlock to pet under his chin. "He's a clever dog. Mycroft thinks I'm stupid for not being afraid of your Sentinel."
"Well Mycroft is convinced that Sentinel is a soulless demon, we do our very best to enforce those beliefs, don't we boy?" John chuckled as Sen gave an agreeing bark. "It's just highly amusing to see Mycroft Holmes lose his composure over a black lab of all things."
Sherlock gave one of his long rolling chuckles and shifted so that his head rested on John's shoulder and he could smell the skin of the other man's throat. "Foolish, Mycroft I mean. A moron could see that Sentinel is simply very good at his job and well attuned to his owner. As I said, a clever dog."
"Yes, that seem to be my fate, to live surrounded by blokes much cleverer than myself." John heaved a put upon sigh though his amusement could be heard through it. "It's a tough cross to bear but someone has to do it." John kept his arms around Sherlock, stroking over his shoulder and back lovingly. "Why don't you get some sleep love? I'll be right here holding you, promise."
Sherlock's eyes were already drooping, an exhaustion built up from months on the run, hiding, and the strain of fearing he'd never get John back making itself known. Still he tried to protest, "Might not be wise right now. Don't want to hurt you in my sleep." He'd developed nightmares from many close calls and when he did sleep he often woke thrashing around.
"I'm not made of glass, if you start flailing I'll push you away or have Sen bite you in the bum. I'm very familiar with nightmares and I know how to handle them." John continued with his soothing touches. He could see how utterly exhausted Sherlock was and he wanted to take care of him. "Don't worry love, just sleep, I've got you."
"I love you," Sherlock's hand stayed on John's stomach, feeling the restless movements of their child inside and the fingers of his other caught and hooked into the back of John's jumper, holding on as if afraid he'd disappear as he dropped off into sleep like a stone.
"I love you too." John whispered. "Christ do I love you." He squirmed into a more comfortable position, smiling gently when Sherlock's fingers tightened in his jumper before relaxing again. John closed his own eyes, listening to Sherlock's soft breathing mixing with Sentinel's huffs of breath. For the first time in almost nine months this bedroom finally felt like home again.
To be continued…