Chapter 44
About a week after John had started working, he got a call from Mycroft in the evening. He resisted the urge to put the phone down immediately, and answered, coldly polite.
"Good evening, John. How are you?"
"Fine," John said shortly.
"Good to hear that," Mycroft said smoothly. "I heard you found work at Charing Cross Hospital."
"Yeah right, you'll sure have heard that. Why are you still stalking me while I don't have anything to do with your brother anymore?" John asked impatiently.
Mycroft actually sounded a little taken aback. "Surely you'll get in touch with him again at some point."
John huffed. "I don't know, and it's none of your business anyway. Have you heard anything from him?" He could hear Mycroft hesitate for a moment before he answered, truthfully for once.
"No. You know how he was after I took the journal away. He only came to resent me even more than he already did. But he is safe. I know that the only thing we really have in common is worrying about Sherlock, but he's alright in Cardiff."
"In Cardiff?" John asked, his eyebrows flying up.
"Yes, he brought Professor Gryffydd the books, and is staying in his guest room," Mycroft explained.
Oh, fantastic. And he was still there. Apparently it was possible for Ian to get what he wanted. "I'm sure he enjoys himself there," John said wryly.
"Professor Gryffydd seems to have employed him once again," Mycroft said.
Employed? Did he have another lost book? John had difficulty biting down his curiosity; after all it was not a part of his own life anymore. "Okay. Thank you, I guess."
"You're welcome. And John... If at one point you feel ready to contact him, please do so. I'm not sure you realise how much your company changed his whole life for the better."
John sighed. "It doesn't suit you to get sentimental, Mycroft. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, John."
Mycroft sounded tired in those last few words. Worried, then. Apparently Ian wasn't as good an influence on Sherlock as he thought John had been. Yet, they were less likely to argue, as Ian would bend to Sherlock's every whim anyway, unlike John who had a character of his own, thank you very much. What would Sherlock tell the boy? That he hadn't charmed him on purpose, that they had developed a bond and that he had fallen in love with him? Come on. Probably it hadn't even been true that Sherlock had never had a relationship before John, then, if it had been so easy for him to go to Cardiff and live with another man within days.
That night, he had difficulty falling asleep, cursing himself because he knew how early he would have to get up again for work. When he finally fell asleep, he was on the battlefield, seeing his friends fall and finally jolting awake as the bullet hit his heart. He groaned and covered his face with his hands.
…
It was on Sherlock's last evening at Gryffydd Hall, that Ian finally worked up his nerve to make a move, probably motivated by the fact that it was his last chance. His uncle had left early in the afternoon to bring the book and the history that he and Sherlock had produced to Warwick in person, and to attend the small ceremony that had been planned for the inclusion of the book into the museum's collection.
Ian had cooked a dinner that went beyond the usual high standards at Gryffydd Hall, and Sherlock had actually enjoyed the meal. He suspected that Ian had been taking note of his preferences since the food and portion sizes had changed to become more and more to his liking, during his stay.
It was a quite unusual feeling to have someone so focused on his actual needs, rather than what he was expected to require. But he supposed Ian did the same for his uncle and it was second nature to him. It was also undeniably clear that Ian had grown, if possible, more fond of Sherlock and increasingly eager to please him.
To his surprise, Sherlock had found that he quite enjoyed the attention and constant pampering. And Ian asked so little in return. As long as Sherlock listened politely and smiled at him occasionally, Ian seemed content and happy to the point of giddiness. In a way it was quite endearing, he supposed. The term 'smitten' was probably the most appropriate description of Ian's feelings towards Sherlock.
As they enjoyed a glass of wine after dinner, Ian grew quiet, and Sherlock found himself thinking more about his own situation than he had since arriving in Cardiff. He had kept himself busy and thus managed to reduce the pain of missing John to a dull ache in his chest and at the back of his mind. And now, when he allowed himself to feel for the first time since leaving Baker Street, he realised that the pain did not rush over him, as he had expected it would. It still hurt, but he could handle it.
He looked up and found that Ian was watching him intently. The young man was really very pretty, Sherlock mused. And he was so gentle and easy to get along with. So completely unlike John who had been difficult, demanding, interesting, thrilling, sexy... Sherlock suppressed that line of thought immediately.
What would it be like to be with someone like Ian, he wondered. Someone who would never try to change him, but adore him exactly as he was. Someone who would never stand in his way but rather follow in his footsteps, ready to aid him, whether it was with the work or something simple and mundane.
A relationship with Ian would certainly be easier. But what about kissing? Closeness and sex? Would that be simpler too? Would that make it better? Or less thrilling? Ian would surely never push him up against the bathroom wall and take him like... No, he refused to think of it. Not now. Not ever again. Those thoughts would always be too painful.
Ian was smiling at him, blushing slightly. He seemed to do that a lot. He cleared his throat. "Did John tell you..." he began, but then seemed to lose his nerve.
Sherlock returned his smile. "That you were interested in me? Yes, he did mention that. He was rather jealous I think." Sherlock chuckled.
Ian looked away. "Yes, I can understand that. Though it was not like there was really anything to be jealous about... Right?"
Okay, Sherlock thought. This was it. If he was to find out if things with Ian would be simpler, better or just different from John, this was the most obvious opportunity he would be given. "Oh, I don't know," Sherlock said with a smile. "He must have sensed the connection we had. I know I did, during those phone calls."
Ian practically gasped. "Connection? So... so you felt it too? I wasn't just imagining?"
Sherlock chuckled softly. "Oh, come now, Ian. How could you imagine something like that? It was clear from the first time we talked, that we have a certain chemistry."
Ian sat stunned for a moment, then he practically leapt out of his chair and went to Sherlock's, kneeling down in front of him. "I thought so too," he said eagerly, taking Sherlock's hand in his. "But you were with John. He said it was serious..."
"Well," Sherlock leaned forward a little. "I'm not with John anymore, am I?"
