Sorry for the slow updating, I had a three year old's birthday to plan and execute. This week should have a steady stream of updates for both of my stories.
It's so weird, because in my other story, Mycroft is not this cold, however, I feel like this Mycroft is a little more cannon or maybe Greg is the reason he softens up.
I just want everyone to know that John and Sherlock had been together for at least six months before Mycrofts party, and in the sixth months are experiments and cases.
Reviews are welcome
OMG I'm so tired, I wanted to get this up for you, the mistakes are probably horrendous I know, I'll go back and fix it later but for now, onwards.
Peace&Love
Shot at, help would be nice - SH
Mycroft enters the library in a panic, he had guards immediately search the grounds as Mycroft went to go and find his brother. As soon as he sees the genius, he quickly reigns in his emotions.
The politician expects blood and a frantic doctor fussing over the detective, like usual.
Instead he sees a passed out John Watson laying in Sherlock's arms, next to pieces of glass and a breeze that makes the older man shiver.
"Someone tried to kill me." Sherlock states calmly, stroking the doctor's hair. Mycroft sends out a text wishing for an update of the sweep of the estate, his face disinterested, but Sherlock sees right through it, he can see the faintest traces of worry.
"Enemies? You?" Mycroft states still hovering in the doorway.
"Someone named Moriarty." Sherlock states, not taking his eyes of John.
The elder Holmes's mobile beeps.
The ground is clear, shooter gone. -Anthea
Mycroft moves into the room farther after reading the text and sits down on the chair opposite, being careful to sidestep glass.
"Who is that, baby brother?" Mycroft asks nonchalantly, crossing his legs trying to hold back his anger and frustration at the attempted assassin.
"A fan." Sherlock snarls.
"Some fan." Mycroft muses.
"I would like to take John to a hospital." Sherlock commands, ignoring the very sarcastic, very dull Mycroft.
"What's wrong with him?" Mycroft asks curiously.
"The same thing that is wrong with all of your guests who drank the champagne. It was drugged, Mycroft." Mycroft sighs, that explains the rowdiness of the crowd. He raises his eyebrows at the detective.
"They are fine, John just hit his head when he pulled me away from the window." Sherlock states, running a hand over the doctor's face and intertwining their fingers, sending warm and comforting thoughts to John, hoping that in his unconscious he can see the detective. That is, if he still can hear. Sherlock frowns for a half a second at the thought of John losing his telepathy.
Mycroft narrows his eyes, he always knows when his little brother is lying, not to mention the fact that Mycroft sees the frown briefly. Something is off and now Mycroft is intrigued to the doctor and the detective. Plus, there is no blood anywhere and head wounds bleed. So why lie about what happen? Especially when the evidence is lacking? Even if John did hit his head, the fact that there is no blood just reinforces the idea that Sherlock is lying, both brother know fully well that the doctor and the detective avoid A&E religiously. No way would the younger Holmes willing go into the hospital. So Mycroft makes no effort to move, he just stares at Sherlock, telling him with his eyes how big that he is faking.
"Fine. Mycroft." Sherlock scoffs, "He's prone to extensive migraines and nosebleeds and I don't know what the drug was. I'm uneasy with his unconsciousness and I would like to double check everything." Sherlock didn't necessarily lie that time and he believes Mycroft accepts his answer with a nod.
"I trust you will be running tests on the drug?" Mycroft asks, texting for a car on his mobile.
"Of course," Sherlock says, "Once I know if John will or will not have nosebleeds." Sherlock adds.
However, Mycroft sees through his fibs, the older brother could see that there is a half truth but the politician is definitely missing an important piece. Nevertheless, Mycroft, despite the lies, pulls his face into a neutral acceptance enough to fool Sherlock into thinking Mycroft believed him, the detective sighs visibly out of relief for a split second before focusing on tracing patterns into John's hand.
Mycroft can't remember seeing Sherlock so tactile before. It seems John has done a lot more to Sherlock than Mycroft had originally realized.
He will have to remind Anthea and schedule a kidnapping for the doctor once he is well.
The trip to the hospital is uneventful. John is still out of it as they wheel him in for an MRI at the insistence of Sherlock, after informing the doctor's not to touch him.
The doctor's make no fuss and get straight to work, they don't even question Sherlock insistence for an MRI.
Sherlock sits and waits for news, impatiently and with boredom, but there a seldom few things Sherlock wouldn't do for John.
John slowly works his way into consciousness. His thoughts jumbled and not quite there, the doctor's first coherent thought is if he still possess his gift. John doesn't feel any different. He thinks about finding someone to make a connection with but honestly, he's scared. The doctor is afraid that he has lost his gift, he doesn't want to deal with reality yet if that's the case.
"I like the silence but who would I be without my ability?" John thinks to himself sleepily, genuinely worried. After a while, he tries to move, but his tiredness prevents him from doing anything. The doctor muses about the drugs that are so obviously in his system. He wonders if they are lasting side affects from Sherlock's crazed fan or if he is on something the doctors given him. John can't seem to care, he is fine just laying here and resting, resisting the urge to probe a wandering nurse who's shoes squeak loudly down the hallway. Instead, he just lays there, drifting between wakefulness and sleep, basking in the silence and hoping that maybe he could go back to sleep.
Of course, Sherlock would have different scheme in life.
"John." The doctor flinches. "Well that's one mystery solved," John thinks forcing his eyes to remain closed. He didn't realize the detective is absent from the room. He just assumed the detective is currently sitting in the hard plastic chairs beside him, escaping into his mind palace, not making a noise. John ignores the genius, feigning sleep to get some more rest. He doesn't hear ruffling of clothes so John figures Sherlock thinks he is either sleeping or he has lost his gift. Either way, John appreciates the minutes of silence in the room. However, suddenly, John has a thought. The fact that he almost lost his gift of never hearing again, John suddenly dislikes the silence. "You'll regret thinking that." He tells himself, picturing his mind exploding when Sherlock finds out he can still hear him.
"John." John sighs and reluctantly opens his eyes. The detective isn't even in the room, John's face falls a little bit in disappointment, suddenly feeling as if the doctor isn't important enough to Sherlock. Not important enough to wait by his bed side, waiting for him to wake up. "Watson, you were drugged, you've been out for who knows how long, you are in a hospital, with a forensic lab. Deduce." John yells at himself. His self is right, Sherlock is probably in one of the labs right now trying to find the make up of the drug.
"John please hear me. Dull." John snickers at Sherlock's thoughts. "What is doing? Getting distracted by shiny things? Chanting his name over and over again as he meanders the hospital hallways?" John sniggers at the thought of Sherlock walking throughout the hallways deduce things about the people his passes. "That should last him all of five minutes."
"John, please wake up. New shoes." John chuckles at the deductions that slip through.
"I'm lost without my telepath." John's heart melts a little at the confession.
"John." John laughs at the whiny tone of the last thought. John thinks about sending the detective a text to come and sit next to him, but then John remembers the last time he held his phone was at Mycroft's and then being thrown across the floor to save Sherlock, it's probably broken somewhere. "No loss there." John hated that phone anyway.
He hears shuffling and suddenly, a six foot form leaps into his room with glee. Sherlock shuts the door quickly, facing away from the doctor on the bed. John resists the urge to laugh out loud at the man's expression. The detective's face is flush with relief and frustration at the same time, with a tint of intention. John recognises this look, he has seen many men fall from that expression, including John himself.
"Who did you piss off? And why are you hiding in my room?" John asks surveying the genius in front of him.
"John! You are awake!" Sherlock turns abruptly and beams at John, his smile practically giving off solar flares. Sherlock straightens and walks over to the doctor, intertwining their hands together.
"How could I not be, my boyfriend keeps calling my name." John says smugly, feeling Sherlock's lilac and honey senses. A memory of Sherlock and John eating at Angelo's one of their first dates. John smiles at the memory.
Sherlock looks confused for a moment and then realisation hits.
"You can still read my mind." John smiles at Sherlock's happy expression. Sherlock sends another happy memory to John who readily accepts it beaming.
"It's kind of hard not to when your keeping me awake." John teases. He awaits for a reply from Sherlock but instead his body is ambushed by lanky arms and dark curls, embracing the doctor tightly.
"I'm so happy for you." Sherlock says, John grips the detective suspiciously.
"Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?" John asks him, weary of his this emotional detective and his polarizing behavior.
Sherlock straightens and sits down on the chair next to the doctor. John immediately regrets what he said, he would take an overly and newly emotional Sherlock over a stroppy and distant detective any day.
"Sherlock, I-" John starts.
"No, I'm just happy." Sherlock beams grabbing the doctor's hand and giving him a reassuring squeeze, like trying to convince John. A flash of Sherlock's memory intrudes John's brain pleasantly.
"Okay. I've never seen you like this," John narrows his eyes, "Are you high?"
"Please, you are an idiot. You already know that my pupils aren't dilated." John rolls his eyes. "Plus, I don't get happy when I'm high."
"Okay. Then at least tell me why you are so happy." John prods, A flash of Sherlock's memory intrudes John's brain pleasantly. the memories is Sherlock seeing John awake, John revels in the lilac and honey as well as the overwhelming euphoria that the detective was feeling. John smiles stupidly at Sherlock when the memory is over. The doctor blushes slightly.
"Oh." Is all John says. Sherlock stands up and plants a kiss onto John's lips and pulls back before John has a chance to respond properly.
"Wait," John whines. "Where are you going?" Sherlock is already walking towards the door.
"I'm seeing if the coast is clear, John." Sherlock states simply, poking his head out of the door.
"Good, I'll be back in a little bit. Sleep, you still need rest." John sighs and tries to call out to the detective, but the taller man is already out of the room. "I love you."
"I love you too, you irritating git." John says out loud to himself, snuggling into his bed and letting his eyes droop close.
'A little bit', turned out to be three hours later.
John is positively, absolutely, irrevocably bored. Yes bored. Even crap telly holds no interests for him and when crap telly can't entertain John Watson, shite is going to go down. The doctor sighs miserably, his eyes counting the dents in the ceiling tile, waiting for something exciting or at least the return of Sherlock, who he hasn't heard anything from the entire time. John tried to explore his mind but Sherlock noticed right away and silenced himself off from John. John is keeping the link open to annoy the detective, seeking revenge for leaving him alone.
The door opens and John doesn't look away from the ceiling, wallowing in his own misery.
A gentle pressure on his chest makes him look at the curly-haired man currently laying on his torso.
"John! Guess What?" Sherlock says leaning into the doctor and planting a kiss on his lips. John responds with fervor, making up for when the doctor left early. John tries to find the answer in Sherlock's memory, but all he gets is a warm hand on his torso, the detective pushing himself away.
"Stop cheating." Sherlock huffs, making a move to get off the bed.
"No. No, What is the good news?" John asks timidly gripping the detective, pulling him closer.
Sherlock's face curls up in a huge smile and takes up his previous position the bond between them warm and Sherlock is choosing for it to be silent. "I got an MRI." Sherlock giggles proudly, fumbling with an envelope in his hand, bringing out the piece of film, showing John the picture of Sherlock's brain.
"Where? Wait, What?" John says bewildered.
"I may have borrowed the hospitals machine." Sherlock says confidently. "This hospital doesn't know how to lock doors properly."
"Why on earth would you get an MRI?" John asks incredulously. "I honestly though your ego wouldn't fit onto a single piece of transparency."
"I've seen your MRI," Sherlock states ignoring John's comment pointedly, "And there is nothing different from the average person's brain scan. But, I'm the only one who seems to have progressive success in regards to your abilities. I hypothesized that I may have an abnormality."
"Wait, I can read minds and you were worried that you have an abnormality?" John questions, his eyebrows raised teasingly.
"Yes, it's only logical." Sherlock responds.
"Yes..well logic..."John mumbles. "Sherlock nothing is logical about any of this." John says, a mix between exasperation and adoration of Sherlock's sheer eagerness.
"Yes, I know, but the more we can learn about it, the better when can know the limits." Sherlock says, already knowing that he has won, if there is one thing John cannot ignored is the base line curiosity that makes him hunger to master his skills.
John knows the logic and he knows his curiousity, John relents without argument. The doctor thought he knew all there was to know about his gift, but once Sherlock came into the picture, John realised how wrong he was.
John had barely scratched the surface of his ability. The genius helped John master his skills more in depth in the past few months than the doctor was able to do himself in the span of a year.
Together, they've learned distance limitations, they've learned how to block out white noise, without Sherlock around or course, that experiment holds little success and John doesn't like testing it often, he prefers to stick around Sherlock, his own private silencer, but it does help when the doctor is at work, away from Sherlock, so John can focus on his patients and not the incoherent thoughts of London.
John has also figured out that thoughts have a taste, well, actually after more research it turns out it's more than a taste, its a taste and a scent, mixed together with interestingly pleasant results. Sherlock found this intriguing and tried to make John only experience one or the other. This failed with an epic nosebleed, needless to say Sherlock benched that expereiemtn indefinitely, the detective is insanely adamant about not causing pain to John. Now he just tries to find the senses when he reads minds, and that's very rare nowadays, John still has impeccable self control.
So with the new information, John reevaluated those around him. Sherlock smells of lilac but taste of honey, the perfect mix that John loves from Sherlock.. Using the two senses allows John to pick his connection up easily no matter what, distant or the amount of people around.. The smell/taste isn't tangible like his physical senses. It's floating and always out there, John has to focus and open an outward, random connection like tendrils inthe open air hoping to catch something. Then when John senses taste/smell he can pick it up and then find and latch onto the senses unique to the person. It's a new part of his gift, a new part to experience with Sherlock. John smiles to himself at the thought.
After the taste/scent experiments (Sherlock stills insists on trying new foods to manipulate his scent/taste), John has bent some his rules to familiarize himself with the palate of those near him. Mrs. Hudson, in all her motherly glory, smells like cotton sheets and taste like cookies. Lestrade tastes of bacon and smells of grass, a very interesting mix but it works for the DI. John didn't even bother with Anderson or Donovan, not really intrigued to know what goes on in their heads.
Mycroft is by far the most unpleasant, not because of what his connection puts forward for senses, his bond is actually very sweet and pleasing, caramel and chocolate (Sherlock snorted when John told him of Mycroft's link, mumbling something about Mycroft always having a sweet tooth). The cold and unfeeling thoughts inside Mycroft disquiet the doctor, turning him off of probing. Not to mention, the fact that Mycroft notices when John explores, faster than Sherlock ever did, and Mycroft honestly, scares the absolute crap out of him. He avoids looking into the politician's mind at all cost, besides if he actually stumbles on a secret and Mycroft finds out, John is a dead man. He tries to stay away from the politician by any means.
Molly's connection is John's favorite, besides Sherlock's own, she smells of fresh grass and tastes of cinnamon. Whenever the two of them are at the morgue, he always opens the link briefly to envelop her connection. He does this rather guiltily and he refuses to tell anyone, although John is sure Sherlock knows.
The last thing that has improved over the last couple of months is John's reaction to unexpected severed links. Sherlock has helped him make the experience less painful. This experiment has been the most difficult to test, mostly because they had to get someone to touch John without rising suspicion or hurting John. In the end, Sherlock just asked Mrs. Hudson to touch John for an experiment. The landlady didn't even bat an eye at Sherlock's social niceties jargon excuses and laid a hand onto John's exposed forearm, John didn't probe her mind and instead chatted about crap telly, which Sherlock made notes occasionally lifted the old lady's hand off John at abrupt intervals.
The first time they tried this, John got a nosebleed. John convinced the poor woman that he was prone to them and it was completely random. They didn't try the experiment again for a week, Sherlock, being the apprehensive one in hurting John. The older man would bring it up and Sherlock would decline, stating it was too soon to try again. John eventually took matters into his own hands and invited Mrs. Hudson for tea and to try Sherlock's experiment again. She agree without hesitation, even teases the doctor about his nosebleed.
Sherlock was reluctant at first, but when John encouraged Mrs. Hudson to touch his forearm, Sherlock was forced to continue, forced being a strong word. John saw the pensive almost maniacal look on the detective's face.
John welcome her senses, the cotton and cookies filling his mind, he probes her mind gently and feels pure adoration coming from the landlady, John, until this moment, didn't realise how much he cared for the older women. Before he could continuing, the link was broken abruptly. John had flopped back to the couch but he only suffered a mild headache, not torrential nosebleeds. They were improvements.
These sessions are still ongoing, but John has gotten surprisingly better at dealing with severed links. it's astonishing simple, the solution is all about conditioning. John is learning that when touched, he automatically begins a safety barrier of his mind so he is ready instantly when the connection is broken. The results are fascinating, John never thought he would be able to master his ability like this.
However, John can't help but wonder if his new control is genuine, is it becoming easier and easier to be prepared for severed links because he's familiar with Mrs. Hudson or is it because he is actually getting better? "John." Sherlock pulls him out of his thoughts.
John didn't hear any Sherlock's thoughts previously, granted the thoughts are weak and faint attempts while Sherlock is distracted at the two pieces of film in his hand, Sherlock had moved to the chair sometime in the span of John's thinking. "Wait? Two pieces of black film?" John steels.
"Is that my MRI?" John asks, staring at the two pieces of black film in the detective's hand.
"Yes, how else am I supposed to compare?" Sherlock replies, eying him through the transparencies.
"How did you even get that? Do you just break into every office in the building?" John snorts.
"John, you are very sarcastic and grumpy this time around in the hospital." Sherlock states, after watching John for a couple of minutes.
"I'm sorry, "John sighs, "You're right, I'm anxious and bored." Sherlock intertwines their fingers and John relaxes at the silent connection.
"Now you know how it feels."
John huffs, "Leave it to Sherlock to ruin the adorable moment." John thinks. He grips onto the detective regardless and they wait for the discharge papers, seeing how long he can ignore Sherlock's mental intrusions, just to teasingly spite the detective.
"That doesn't get you off, I still want to know how you got my MRI."
Thoughts?