Thank you very much to jenpix, oatniel, ENTWolf, JGHB, Drunken Strawberries, EJ 12212012, The Lord Writer, rlu1, SakuraBlossom58, Lisbeth, Guest, , Agar Loki, and all those who have favorited/followed this story. Your support and comments are very appreciated and encouraging.
I would also like to thank my dedicated Beta, and own personal Sherlock, Geoff.
Note: This version of the story will not be the explicit version, that will be posted on my Archive of Our Own account. On this posting there will be censored content. If you want the complete, explicit version, just visit the link to my Archive of Our Own account in my profile. This warning/notification will appear in every chapter with explicit content from now on, as a reminder.
Chapter: 18 What if...
John walked into their hotel room holding a chai latte in one hand and a coffee in the other. Sherlock, who was being prodigiously impossible today, had ordered him out for coffee. Although wary of loading Sherlock up on caffeine, especially Starbucks caffeine (they had an exceptionally high level of caffeine because they only lightly roasted their beans then added a handful of heavily roasted beans to 'enrich' the flavor -Thank you Sherlock-) John had returned with the coffee rather than risk Sherlock's wrath by returning empty handed.
It had been almost a week since Albert and Trevor began their honeymoon and there had been no new facts in the case. Sherlock would rather die than admit it, but John knew him well enough to recognise when Sherlock was doubting himself, wondering if he'd gone wrong somewhere.
John had listened all morning as Sherlock had argued back and forth with himself about how the killer should have made a move by now, but Albert and Trevor were highly, if discreetly, guarded by Mycroft's agents as well as their own, and if the killer had been watching Sherlock and John as closely as they suspected he had, he may know the danger in attacking now and be biding his time. Three hours of those kinds of back and forth arguments had been enough for John to think he might start bleeding from his ears, so the coffee run had been a welcome relief.
As he strolled into their room John rolled his eyes when he found Sherlock hunched over the bible that had been in the drawer of their nightstand, muttering to himself.
"One peppermint mocha, as requested," John muttered, thrusting his hand towards Sherlock, who blindly accepted the drink. "Sherlock," John continued, "Do you really think this is helping?"
" 'Course it is," Sherlock insisted, "Mycroft has the same information about the case that we do. Trust me John, if he found something new, he'd be only too gleeful to point it out." Sherlock tapped the pages of the bible rapidly and repeatedly while muttering, "If we're going to get a break in the case outside of the killer making a move, it will be here."
John sipped his tea and studied Sherlock for a moment. His husband was all twitchy, nervous energy. If they hadn't been out and about trailing Trevor and Albert this past week, John would call it cabin fever... or boredom. John didn't know whether to be upset or happy that it had taken all of a week of Sherlock being in John's company to get bored.
"Sherlock, why don't you go for a walk?" John suggested, glancing outside at the rainy weather that had driven most of the inhabitants of the Hamptons inside. It wasn't any worse than a London rain, but still. "With your coat, of course."
Sherlock sat up straight as if something had just occurred to him. "Of course!" Sherlock muttered, "A walk, yes, in disguise. I may turn up some bit of local information that pertains to this case."
John bit back a sarcastic comment and nodded. "Yeah, and, you know, help you burn off some energy."
Sherlock didn't seem to hear John, instead rushing to their dresser and fishing through the clothing for whatever would make a good disguise. He chose John's Jacket instead of his coat and, although it did not exactly fit, Sherlock managed to make it look more comfortable than it probably was. He also chose, of all things, a pair of jeans John hadn't seen before, and a button up short sleeved shirt with a pineapple print (John's taste in all shirts seemed to be poor, aside from a few items such as his black and white striped jumper).
John was forced to turn around sharply when Sherlock began to change. They hadn't exactly been shy about changing in front of each other in general (especially during this case) but with everything that had been going on lately...better not to look.
Sherlock brushed past John, who nearly spilt his tea, and into the bathroom. Whatever Sherlock did in there, it didn't take long and resulted in his beautiful curls being smoothed almost flat against his head. The effect of the styling and the clothes was quite remarkable; John thought even he might not know Sherlock at a glance.
Before his energetic husband could get away, John snatched Sherlock by the arm and held him. Sherlock rounded on John, looking cross. "What?! You said I should go out and it's actually a good idea."
John's lips tightened with unhappiness before he spoke again. "I just wanted to ask you to be careful."
Sherlock's features softened slightly and he turned to face John properly. "Don't be ridiculous, John, I'm perfectly safe."
John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock lifted a hand to cup his face. "Honestly," Sherlock insisted. "Mycroft is paranoid of me getting to the killer before he can swoop in and finish it; he's got us both under tight surveillance."
John let out a bark of laughter and settled his hand on Sherlock's hips. "Yes, Sherlock, that's why he has you under surveillance, not your propensity to run recklessly into danger."
"There is that, too, I suppose," Sherlock admitted, looping his arms around John's neck. "Fine," he continued, looking somewhat more serious, "I promise only to observe for today. It's not like I'm expecting to run into anything interesting anyway."
John groaned as if in pain and rested his forehead against Sherlock's chest. "And if you do run into something interesting? Are you still going to just 'observe'? You are impossible sometimes; you know that, right?"
Sherlock shifted his hands through John's hair and smiled. "I believe you mean improbable. I will call you if I do come across something interesting. Alright?"
John lifted his head and nodded. "Alright."
On instinct Sherlock leaned down and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss. It was almost frightening how easy that action was, how automatic. As he slipped out of their hotel room and down the hall, Sherlock decided he would really need to do something about that...after the case.
Greg sat in the small common area on the third floor of their accommodations. This common area had polished, smooth tile floors; or maybe they were marble-Mycroft did have expensive tastes. Spread over the smooth white floor were plush, richly coloured area rugs. Not all over the floor, but by the sofa, along the hallways, and there was one near the windows. One wall of the room was almost entirely windows. Currently, because it was night, and the only light in the room came from the fireplace on the other side of the room, and the windows displayed a brilliant picture of New York City all lit up. While Mycroft had only procured three floors of the building, it was still a skyscraper, and they were very high up.
This both enhanced the view, and increased Greg's sense of detachment from the case. While he had now taken a more active role, via doing some research of his own alongside Mycroft's agents, and speaking with the 'States officials they were working with, there wasn't much for all of them to do that ended up being truly helpful. Was all this really worth it, on the off chance that they stumbled across something useful? Absolutely. Greg had only to think of those couples who had lost their lives to this madman to remember that; but it was still tedious work.
It was getting late and he should be sleeping, but Greg's worries were keeping him awake, so he had decided to play a game of chess with himself instead. Pressed up near the windows was an ornate, round wooden table with a beautiful classic chess set, and two surprisingly comfortable leather armchairs. Greg currently sat in the chair facing the fireplace, his back to the door that led downstairs. Greg stared morosely at his chess game. He enjoyed chess, as long as his opponent wasn't so good as be impossible to beat, then it was just frustrating.
He'd hoped the game would distract him, and allow him to get some rest. Sadly, that did not seem to be the case. Greg would go back and forth, moving pieces on different sides of the board for a few turns, before his doubts dragged him back into a melancholy reverie. He was just about to get up and turn on the television instead, when movement caught his eye. Mycroft was padding silently along, over rug and tile alike, with a small plate of cookies and a mug of tea in his hand.
A smile curled on Greg's lips and his eyes crinkled with both amusement and satisfaction. After Mycroft and he had watched Sherlock and John purchase a vibrator and some lube, Mycroft had shown him the basics of navigating the surveillance system. Mycroft had explained that more than one person could survey the system at once, given the use of multiple computers, and it would be convenient if Gregory knew how to operate the system in case it became necessary to search for, say, Mycroft's errant brother during this case. It had been a pleasant afternoon, but he hadn't seen Mycroft try his cookies.
Given Mycroft's current position with what must be some of the last of Greg's cookies-Greg still couldn't believe they'd lasted a week- Mycroft must have either tried them and liked them, or decided to try them before they were gone.
"Midnight snack, Mycroft?" Greg murmured.
The only indication that Mycroft had been startled was the stiffening of his posture and his abrupt halt of forward motion. Greg continued to smile at first but when Mycroft remained stiff for just a few moments too long he guiltily remembered Mycroft's sensitivity about his weight. Sherlock made a point of teasing Mycroft about it whenever Mycroft annoyed him, which was always. Actually most people annoyed Sherlock most of the time, that was the reason Greg needed to replace his ID as Detective Inspector so often.
It was so silly though, because Mycroft wasn't overweight. Okay, so he probably could stand to lose some weight by medical standards, but Greg had never put much stock in that. His ex-wife had been obsessed with her weight too; ridiculous. No matter how much he had tried Greg had never been able to convince her he found her more attractive with a little extra weight-despite whatever the going standard for beauty was. Greg knew Mycroft would never voice it if it was true, but he wondered if Mycroft struggled with self-doubt in the same way.
Still, Greg knew better than simply insisting that there was nothing wrong with a few cookies; lord knows that had never worked on his ex-wife. Instead he tried a different tactic.
"I'm flattered that you decided to give them a try; I know you don't have sweets very often. Will you tell me what you think of them?" And Greg meant it too.
Mycroft turned slowly and 'studied' Greg for a long moment before speaking. "They are well made Gregory; very moist. I tried the ones you ended up leaving on my desk earlier."
Greg broke out into a grin. There was something special about a compliment from a Holmes brother. If they weren't trying to manipulate you-and Greg could see no reason for Mycroft to be trying to manipulate him now-they were always honest. "I'm glad to hear it." Greg looked back to the chess game for a moment before asking. "Would you care to join me? If you're not otherwise engaged of course. It's boring just playing myself."
"You should be sleeping," Mycroft murmured as he approached the board, studying it.
"I could say the same for you," Greg replied. "This case won't let my mind shut off; I couldn't sleep."
Mycroft 'hmmed' softly, and in that 'hmmm' Greg heard understanding. Mycroft had felt the same way-could be feeling that way now; probably was given that he was up so late.
"You never answered my question," Greg continued, "Do you want to play a game?"
Mycroft eyed Greg for a long moment before giving the barest of nods. "Very well," he murmured, settling himself in the chair across from Gregory.
Greg beamed and rest the board. "Try not to kick my ass too badly, okay?"
Mycroft arched an eyebrow at Greg and took a bite of a cookie.
They played in amicable silence for a long while, and Greg basked in the quite companionship. One thing he'd always liked about his relationship with Mycroft, neither of them felt the need to fill silence unnecessarily, and they were, generally, comfortable around each other. Perhaps more than anyone else Greg knew, except for John and himself, Mycroft seemed to appreciate the stillness in moments like these. When you lived a hectic life, like Mycroft and he did, these moments could be healing. Space to gather your thoughts, space to ground yourself. It was very peaceful...
"Am I boring you that badly Gregory?"
Greg's head snapped up and he realized he most have dozed for a moment. He grinned sheepishly at Mycroft. "Sorry, though you should really take it as a compliment." When Mycroft made no other move, other than to raise an eyebrow, Greg elaborated. "I don't feel comfortable relaxing this much in front of just anyone."
It was subtle but, Greg saw Mycroft's mouth quirk up in a slight smile. "You mean when you're not living at your office?"
Greg chuckled and nodded. "Yeah that." He looked down and the board and whistled softly. "Wow, I am losing so badly right now."
It was Mycroft's turn to chuckle. "I do not have my heart set on thrashing you; you may retire to bed if you wish."
Greg stretched his arms over his head and studied the board. As he lowered his arms again he said, "No, that's okay. I think I can stay up to watch you win." Greg paused to glance up at Mycroft through his lashes before he added, "I'll make you fight for it though." It felt very gratifying to see Mycroft smile back at him.
In the end Greg had been right on both counts. Mycroft had won, and he'd made Mycroft fight for it. "Congratulations," Greg murmured as he tipped over his king.
Mycroft gave a small nod of his head, "Well fought."
Greg smiled up at Mycroft, then noticed a small smear of chocolate at the corner of Mycroft's mouth. It was undoubtedly leftover from the cookies he'd eaten over the course of their game. "You've got a bit of chocolate there," Greg murmured. Without thinking, Greg swiped his thumb over his tongue, leaned forward, and rubbed it back and forth at the corner of Mycroft's mouth until the chocolate had disappeared. Greg studied his work for a moment then nodded. "Got it."
When his eyes met Mycroft's surprised, wide ones Greg felt a definite blush creeping up his neck. "Sorry," Greg murmured, sliding back into his chair. "I must be more tired than I thought; I forgot myself there for a moment."
Mycroft blinked slowly, and his face resumed its usual, neutral expression. "It's fine Gregory. We should both be getting some sleep."
Greg nodded, stifling a yawn behind his hand. "Just make sure you get enough sleep. Your assistant is talking to me again, I'll know if you were up early."
Mycroft smirked as they stood. "That same goes for you, Gregory."
"Sounds like a deal," Greg replied and moved to walk past Mycroft towards his room. As he did so Greg paused and laid a hand on Mycroft's shoulder briefly. "Sleep well."
Greg was almost down the hall before he heard the soft reply, "You as well, Gregory."
John knew he really should be asleep by now, but he felt antsy. Sherlock wasn't back yet, but that wasn't much of a surprise. When out on disguise, Sherlock could be gone for days at a time. John expected Sherlock to be back by morning, but even still...he was worried. Worried and frustrated...
Greg would call if something went wrong with Sherlock, he'd promised John he would before they left. They were both well aware of Sherlock's penchant for running off. That thought, and the thought that Greg was with Mycroft, who undoubtedly had them both under surveillance, comforted John. Still, if he couldn't sleep, then John decided he would wait up for his errant husband.
John ran his hands back and forth over his arms and found himself eyeing the drawer of the nightstand on Sherlock's side of the bed. That was where Sherlock had placed the vibrator when they'd returned home from the sex shop. Since then, John had been keenly aware of its presence; especially when he was particularly...frustrated. Like now.
John trailed a hand over the fabric of his loose tank top, and down over his pajama pants, not surprised to find himself already half-hard. God...Now was as good a time as any to try to find some relief.
Standing, John dimmed the lights and walked towards the door to their hotel room. Sherlock might surprise him and come back early, so he threw the dead bolt just in case. That would give John enough time to hide the evidence. Sherlock would still know, of course, but John would be at least slightly less embarrassed.
As he turned back towards the bed, John felt a tingle of excitement brush across is skin. It had been a while since he'd found relief, and John felt more easily aroused because of it. This time, he felt sure he'd be able to satisfy himself.
John stripped off his clothes and turned down the covers of their large, plush bed. Scooting near the center, John made himself comfortable, propping pillows behind his head, and under his hips. Then, he just let his hands wander. He felt highly sensitised, his responses more exaggerated than they would normally be. John focused on just relaxing, and trying not to overthink anything. He drew his lower lip between his teeth, and his hips jerked involuntarily as his fingers circled his right nipple. Normally John would be tempted to linger there, but at the moment he just wanted release.
*Censored Content.*
John lay there, panting, shaking, and dimly aware of his cum cooling on his chest and stomach.
Holy fuck...
That had to be the most powerful orgasm John had ever had. His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated as he tried to move. His calves were sore from the sudden stretch; he felt dizzy and breathless. A flurry of unexpected, relived laughter burst from John's chest He stretched out slowly, bathing in the tingles of the afterglow. Yes, this was exactly what he had needed. Now he could only hope that when Sherlock found out, because he would find out, that he could excuse the urgings of John's biology. At the moment John was too pleased and too relaxed to worry much about it.
Stumbling to his feet, John made his way to the shower to clean up. Once he was clean John meticulously washed the vibrator in hot water and painstakingly returned it to its' packaging, just as he had found it.
John was ready to collapse back into the bed, and he would have, except for the condition of the sheets. Several globs of sperm had missed his chest, landing to either side of where his body had lain. Add to that the sweat, and the lube, and the resulting mixture kept him from collapsing just yet.
He knew Sherlock would figure out what had happened, but John had no intention of leaving this much evidence around. He had to do something, and quickly.
Wondering what to do about the sheets, stained as they were by his fluids, John looked around for a bit, and found that there was an extra set of sheets and a couple of blankets in the top of the closet. Smiling at his good fortune, John quickly stripped the bed and remade it with the new sheets, carefully folding up the soiled ones, and sticking them on the shelf... He made a mental note to take them back down tomorrow, and hide them in the new sheets so that the cleaning staff would wash them all when they came to clean... and to tip the cleaning staff a little extra.
Finally, John pulled on his pants, soft pajama trousers, and loose tank top. Hiding a yawn behind his hand, he trudged to the door to their room and unlocked it. With one final look around, John assured himself that everything was, more or less, as it should be, and slipped beneath the warm covers of the bed. Snuggling into the fresh sheets, John gave a sigh of relief and contentment. For once, he would sleep soundly.
Sherlock ambled slowly along the beach, making his way back to the hotel. He'd uncovered a great deal of local information on his excursion, but so far none of it seemed relevant. Still, best not to delete any of it until he was sure.
A trail opened up that lead to the hotel, and Sherlock made his way slowly along it as it skirted the back of the building. He could spot their room, which looked out onto the ocean. The light was still on, but dimly. John was probably waiting up for him. Foolish. Sentimental. And still Sherlock found a smile curled on his lips.
Sherlock stepped up, just beneath their balcony and listened. The windows were closed so he hadn't expected to hear anything. He certainly hadn't expected to hear a moan. That had been a moan, hadn't it? Yes, there was another one. Sherlock staggered back a step, eyes wide.
Of course it only made sense that John would masturbate to relieve tension and anything else their 'ruse' stirred up. It wasn't as though he hadn't dimly heard John masturbating before, they did share an apartment after all. But this felt different.
Sherlock knew John hadn't been unaffected by what they did, and hearing the proof of it made Sherlock want to return to their room and touch his blogger. ...A touch that wouldn't be welcomed...
Sherlock turned around and pressed his back to the wall of the hotel, facing the ocean as he listened. It was an interesting sensation, being in emotional pain while feeling a hesitant arousal. Even with his general lack of concern for manners, Sherlock knew it was not right to stand here and listen, and yet he couldn't make himself leave.
Sherlock closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. This, this was why falling in love was a dangerous, destructive idea. Sherlock had long ago given up the illusion that he could control his feelings as well as he could control his transport or his mind. He'd tried not to have feelings altogether, but apparently that want not possible...
Above him, Sherlock heard John finish. A few moment later Sherlock forced his hands to uncurl from the fists he'd squeezed them into. He focused on doing one of the things he did best: controlling his transport.
A half of an hour later, Sherlock was calm. As calm as one can be when one is pushing aside intense emotions; Sherlock had a wealth of experience with that so his presentation was nearly perfect.
Slowly, Sherlock made his way up to their room. He hesitated at the door, but all he heard was John's steady breathing. Sherlock slipped silently into their room and paused after shutting the door behind him to watch John sleep. He looked so relaxed, like he was about to melt into the mattress. Sherlock found himself smiling. Despite his inner struggles, seeing John happy had always been infectious.
John sucked in a deep breath then, rolling onto his back. He blinked blearily, barely awake, but he must have seen Sherlock because he held out his hand to him. There were many things, apparently, that Sherlock 'could not do' tonight. He couldn't make himself give John privacy earlier, and now he could not refuse John's silent invitation.
Mycroft had been right, he was using this case to satisfy himself. The fact that his marriage also worked so well for the case was a happy coincidence. It was selfish and it was wrong to take John's hand and lean in for a sleep warmed kiss. Worse to strip down to his pants, slip beneath the covers, and pull John flush to him so that John's back rested firmly against his chest. Even so, if this was all of John that Sherlock was ever going to have, he would take it; he wasn't a good enough man to refuse.
Sherlock's lips quirked in a smile as John nestled back against him, and he tightened his arm around John's middle. John rested his hand over Sherlock's for a moment before intertwining the fingers of their left hands, their rings nestled as close together as Sherlock and John.