I'm still gone til the fourth, but I decided to split this chapter up a bit.
Reviews are welcome,
Flattery will get you everywhere,
Peace&Love
The manor is magnificent, John knew it as soon as he walks into the hallway, after staring for ages at the gaudy, yet gorgeous Great Hall, John looks up at the ceilings.
Mycroft would have a mural painted on his ceiling like he lives in the bloody Sistine Chapel.
John stares up at the ceiling and admires the fancy mural, he hums a little bit at the theatrically but it's not entirely unpleasant.
John lowers his eyes and a man stands in front of him, his three piece suit put together wrinkle free and immaculate as ever. John's a little disappointed the man is sans his usual umbrella.
"Hello John. Welcome to my home..my ah..other home." Mycroft states, his tone flat and unwavering as usual. The politician signals for a servant to come over and manhandle John out of his jacket and push him along to follow Mycroft down the hall.
"Hello Mycroft." John finally manages, both of them already half way down the hall. John continues to shamelessly gape at the enormous hall and it's features.
Mycroft veers left towards an ornamented wooden door off of the grand hallway. The politician opens the door, both hands on each side, pushing the door open with a wooden groan and John really has to hold back the scoff at the flamboyancy. John follows Mycroft into the large room, very posh looking library. The room is lit by synthetic light, no windows grace the chamber along with no fireplace, much different from the other library of Mycroft's that John had been in. Floor to ceiling bookcases on every wall loom over the three pieces of furniture. A long, comfortable looking sofa sit in the middle of the room across from a coffee table and two lush chairs.
Mycroft wordlessly sits down in the chair closest to the doorway and John follows, the door closes with a snap behind the doctor.
"What am I doing here Mycroft?" John asks, his body tense as he sits down in the chair, his back straight, not relaxing in the chair. The meeting seems too formal and yet too personal at the same time. The hair on the back of John's neck stand up.
"I don't want you there." John catalogs Sherlock's thoughts but focuses more on the situation at hand, like what does the elder Holmes want?
Mycroft seems to regard the doctor for a minute, looking him up and down, trying to analyse him. John shifts uncomfortably under Mycroft's gaze.
"How does it work?" The politician asks nonchalantly, his legs crossed and his body relaxed against the back of the chair. John, again finds himself feeling is semi-disappointed that Mycroft is sans umbrella, it would have added tremendously to the outrageous display of intimidation, at least he would be disappointed if he had the time. Presently, he is focused solely on keeping his face neutral and believable and as far from panic as possible.
"Excuse me?" John asks, forcing his body to relax and lean into the cushions of the chair. He keeps his hands on the arms, not gripping the fabric tightly but enough to anchor John to the chair.
"Don't be pedestrian." was Mycroft's simply answer.
"John." John insides are panicking and without hesitation he finds the chocolate/caramel senses of Mycroft and explores the thoughts. The politician's mind is slow but his images present themselves too fast to read. Images would appear but then disappear just as fast, his mind in darkness until the next memory appears. This is why John doesn't like being in the man's mind, he can't slow it down enough to figure out what Mycroft is thinking and the general feeling of coldness turns against the doctor's usual mental comforts.
"I know what you are," Mycroft states confidently, his eyes scrutinizing John intensely.
They sit in silence for a minute, John trying to find anything he can about the politician's plan and Mycroft dissecting the doctor.
"And what am I?" John asks with a sigh, he knows that Mycroft knows, he puts the pieces of Mycroft's brain together even through the challenge. There is no use beating around the bush anymore.
"A telepath, a freak, a mutant." Mycroft spits the words, in an uncharacteristically nasty manner. John doesn't think that the words should hurt this much, especially coming from Mycroft, however, he is taken aback by the politician roughness and bluntness.
"How did you find out?" John asks, letting his hands rest on his thighs and he lets himself lean back fully, a pose of resignation. There is no need to hide anymore, Mycroft knows and the thought scares the doctor, the ex-soldier fears for his future, his future either non-existent or his future as the government's puppet. Mostly, he fears for the future without Sherlock.
John wonders idly if he has given up to soon, but then again he wants someone else to sit in a room with the British Government and not feel a loss of hope and secrecy.
"I hypothesised for a while, I knew something was different with you." Mycroft remarks, he leans forward a bit in his chair, placing his hands on his crossed knees in excitement. The politician's face shines a little brighter with his happiness. John hides his disgust at the site with a scoff and an eye roll. He didn't really hide it all that well.
"To your credit, you hid it very well and I admire your skill," Mycroft adds, "However, there where key points that gave you away in the end." Mycroft's smile is devilish and cold, not anything like his younger brother, in fact, in this moment, John sees nothing of Sherlock in the politician and John feels a giant weight of relief.
"And those are?" John doesn't even attempt to keep the snappiness out of his tone, in fact he adds venom to his voice to convey his displeasure.
"Well for starters, every time we had a chat, I could feel you. Kind of like I can feel you know. So stop it." John immediately breaks the connection, his suddenness scaring him a little, his suddenness to obey Mycroft, the thought sickens him. The politician smiles, like he just realised how easily John had obeyed. "It only happened around you, it was my first clue."
"My second clue was how fascinated my little brother was with you." Mycroft leans back conversely, "My brother doesn't waste his time on dull people, John."
"You are actually wrong, he didn't know right away." John huffs, wishing that Mycroft would get on with the death or the torture, whatever the British Government intends to do with the doctor. There is no way the government would allow a mind reader to roam the streets.
"That may be true, but when he did find out, he wanted you to stay because you had a purpose now. He could use you." Mycroft's voice is cruel and meant to hurt.
"You're wrong." John spits. His emotions playing with his mind. He has seen how much the detective loves him, he feels the love through their connection. The politician is lying.
"Am I?" The politician stares at John, his eyes scanning the doctor, cataloging the reaction and the body pose, dissecting the soldier's thoughts. John resist the urge to squirm under his eyes.
"The third, would be obviously when my little brother was shot." Mycroft says after a few minutes of silently inventorying the doctor. "You knew he had gone into cardiac arrest before the paramedics did. You were listening weren't you, you listened as his brain stopped." Mycroft had uncrossed his legs and leaned forward by this point, his elbows resting on his knees, his whole body intrigued.
John doesn't answer, he looks away from the elder Holmes, desperately trying not to think of the moment when Sherlock Holmes had died mid-thought.
"John. GET OUT OF THERE NOW!" Sherlock interrupts his thoughts and John tries to keep his face neutral, but a small wince crosses the doctor's features at the detective's screaming thought.
Of course this doesn't go unnoticed by Mycroft.
"You are listening to him right now, aren't you?" Mycroft asks excitedly, he leans forward still, his face remaining neutral but his eyes glistening with curiosity. John remains silent, his eyes avoiding contact. The doctor knows he is in trouble.
"How far is the range?" Mycroft asks delight dripping from his voice, John considers not answering, so far there has be no administration or punishment for not answering, so far there haven't been any threats. Yet, John knows that he probably won't leave this house, just a feeling the doctor has.
"Far, farther than normal with Sherlock." John sighs and it's true, the detective and the doctor's range has increased dramatically since the very first time at Regents Park. Each day, John could hear Sherlock farther and farther away. However, this distance is the longest it has been. At least Sherlock will be happy about something that happens today.
Suddenly, the white noise of London dissipates and John has to force himself to not show any indication of a change, Mycroft doesn't know the aspects of his gift, he doesn't know how important and how powerful Sherlock is involved in his gift, and there is no reason for the elder Holmes to know. No reason for Sherlock to get dragged into whatever John has been dragged into.
"John."
The doctor sighs heavily, his eyes darting around the room lazily.
Mycroft freezes and tenses, his eyes scanning the doctor's body, looking for something.
Before John can even react, Mycroft is up and out the library door. The locks click and John is left alone, the soldier is immediately up, his insides full of panic but his exterior calm and collected.
"Hey. MYCROFT! You can't just leave me here." John bellows, reaching the door and slamming his fists into the locked wood. He latches onto Mycroft's connection bitterly and sends coldness, sadness, grief and despair into the politician's mind. He sees the thoughts Mycroft has when each emotion comes up. John watches as Mycroft stumbles his way in the Great Hall, his emotions threatening to make his knees buckle.
John laughs coldly at his kidnappers pain. John gasps. He is enjoying this, he is enjoying causing the synthetic emotions and the pain into Mycroft's mind.
The doctor drops the connection immediately, one of his hands flying to his mouth. He berates himself on his loss of self-control. The doctor grows furious, furious at the situation, furious that he enjoyed hurting a person, granted it is Mycroft and he barely qualifies but the sentiment remains.
John doesn't connect with Mycroft again, he prefers to stay in the dark, not after how close he came to losing it. The ex-soldier, instead takes out his frustration and fury on the door and in return his knuckles and fists bruise heavily and start seeping blood, but the doctor doesn't stop, he takes his rule breaking, self-depreciating self out on the door.
"John." He knows Sherlock is close, based on the fact that the white noise disappeared and Mycroft's general rushed manner as he abruptly left, but really what chance does the detective have against the British Government. John sighs in resignation. His hands beginning to hurt, and his voice sore from his screaming demands. He gives up pounding on the door and instead moves to the sofa.
Just as he is about to pull out his mobile, he hears a commotion in the hallway, he hears Mycroft yelling and people's footsteps screeching against the tile.
John stands up instantly and walks around to the backside of the couch, facing the door, red droplets of blood stain the door from where John pounded against it.
The voices get louder and the footsteps grow in number. John braces himself, the army training ready for whatever comes in through the door.
The door's burst open, in an explosion of noise, wooden bits flying all over the room, John brings his hands up to protect his face from the debris, but seconds later, his fists are at his side, clenched and ready to ambush the intruder.
A flash of dark curls stops the doctor short.
"John." Sherlock's face softens, all expression of fury and determination gone. John almost melts into the expression.
Sherlock crosses the room in seconds, wrapping an arm around John's waist, but placing his body slightly in front of John to protect him. John doesn't move, he revels in his rescuer.
Not seconds later, Mycroft enters the room, stepping over the cleaved door and standing firmly in the library, followed by five men with guns, fanning out behind him, all barrels pointed at John. Sherlock tries to put his body completely in front of John but the doctor pushes him aside and brings his entire height straight and stands directly beside the detective, mostly because Sherlock's grip prevented John from shielded the younger man.
The detective lets out a inhumane snarl. "Mycroft." His arm wrapped protectively around John. "What are you doing?"
John speculates how far Mycroft will take this. Are they intending to kill the doctor? Would they risk getting Sherlock hurt? What could Mycroft want with John? Would Sherlock get punished for being here, or worse hurt?
John makes a promise to himself in that moment, anything to protect Sherlock.
The Holmes brother continue on with their very heated bickering, presumably over the value of the doctor's life. John is preoccupied with his task at hand to listen to their conversation.
John should feel fear, he should be afraid of the men pointing guns at them. Instead, he feels a strange form of calm, instead he realises the urgency of the situation.
"John." With one last whiff of lilac and honey and a calm and loving feeling sent to Sherlock, in which the detective sends a sideways glance to the doctor, John breaks the connection with Sherlock and focuses onto the men with guns.
He opens the connections one at a time while the Holmes brothers argue. John makes a decision, the choice tears at his morality and his intelligence. John wonders how many armed people are currently in the manor, more than what Mycroft had brought, clearly if he thinks John is dangerous there would be more gunmen, unless this is all he has.
John takes a chance and one by one he sends confusion and calming thoughts into the gunmen. Each of the armed men faces twist in perplexity and their stances shift with uncertainty. John watches the expressions change while Mycroft's expression just get angrier at Sherlock's words, completely unaware of the confused army behind him. John knows the detective sees the guards but he eggs Mycroft on for a distraction.
John then connects all five men at once, something he's never done before and will probably reap the consequences later, but he does it anyway and ends up calming the men all at once and with such power that the men all fall asleep, the calm so overbearing, one gun after another dropping to the ground as their owners crumple into heaps, two of the men snoring heavily.
As Mycroft's men fall to the floor, John's eyes roll into the back of his head as his legs give out and he plummets towards the floor. He stays conscious and he can feel Sherlock's grip tighten, keeping John standing, but barely.
"John." John face twitches and winces slightly at Sherlock's thought pushes through in pain. John closes his eyes and leans heavily onto the detective, he fights against nausea and the headache forming. He knows instantly that he took on too much. The doctor thinks it's worth when he opens his eyes and sees Mycroft.
Mycroft's face is in utter shock, he glances over his shoulder, seeing the sleeping men on the ground behind him. The elder Holmes is speechless. John smiles sloppily through the pain in his head and the weakness in his knees. He closes his eyes again and grips Sherlock's shirt as he swoons.
"John. John. Can you hear me?" Sherlock's worried voice rings through John's thoughts, the detective wraps anther arm around the falling doctor, embracing John completely, holding his full weight.
"Sofa." John whispers out and feels himself moving.
"Jesus." John hears the politician exclaim as the genius guides John to the sofa.
"John. You are bleeding." Sherlock remarks, gently placing John on the plush cushions, John chuckles and wipes at his nose. John feels the detective leaving his side.
"S'not a bad one." John states, closing his eyes and tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose. John feels a cool hand against his forehead and cloth underneath his nose. The bond is instantaneous. John indulges in the genius's senses. The detective is unusually quiet for a tactile contact. John guess that Sherlock's anger with Mycroft is the cause of the younger man's taciturnity.
John opens his eyes at the silence and sees a concern detective staring back at him. "Ah." John thinks, Sherlock is silent because he doesn't want to hurt John further and most of all, he doesn't want the doctor to know of his consternation and emotional upheaval. "Too bad I can see right through him." John smiles and brings a shaky hand to cup the detective's cheek, John sends feelings of love and tranquility, along with feelings of reassurances and trust, Sherlock closes his eyes, smiling at the positive emotions, the genius leans into John's touch and hums slightly at their intimate embrace.
"Ah." Mycroft states and John is shaken out of his reverie, he mistakenly thought that Sherlock and himself where the only ones in the room, only ones in the world. John immediately breaks all connections with Sherlock, tactile and mental, hoping that he can still get the detective out unharmed. All though, Mycroft's lack of goonies does put the politician at a disadvantage.
However, John has shown the older man the potential of his gifts and John doubts very much that Mycroft will be able to let the telepath leave without hesitation.
"Mycroft this is your fault." Sherlock shouts, his tone dripping venom. John sits up taller on the sofa, his back tense and straight. His nose is still bleeding but the flow is slowly stopping, meanwhile the headache has subsided quickly and the nausea is almost gone.
"Quite the contrary. I'm sure that Dr. Watson is too blame for my men and everything that follows." Mycroft snaps back, his back against a bookcase, standing in front of the two men, Sherlock kneeling beside John and the doctor ready for a fight, a run, or an ambush.
"Everything that follows? What is that suppose to mean? I'm taking John to the back to the flat." Sherlock stands, his fists clenching in anger.
"Be reasonable, brother, you can't expect me to let this freak walk freely." Sherlock's head snaps up and looks directly at Mycroft. His eyes are red with anger and John recognises Sherlock's stance.
World War Three is not worth it over John Watson, so the doctor latches and instantly sends relaxing emotions into Sherlock, not caring when the detective's glare turns towards John and bares into his soul. John involuntarily shudders under the scrutiny but he continues to calm the detective down. John grabs the genius's hand reflectively, enhancing the feelings vibrancy and until Sherlock has to sit down next to John, due to the intensity of the feelings.
John knows he is bending the rules, even though he will argue with himself later on that he is saving billions of lives by derailing this fight. Despite all of it, Sherlock's face softens and he leans against John on the sofa. The doctor notices the detective's droopy eyelids and John stops pushing and lets the feelings linger, he doesn't want Sherlock sleeping, so he smiles at the genius and in return, Sherlock gives a tired sloppy smile back, through his less than intimidating glare of course.
"I hate you." Sherlock states out loud, slightly unusual for the detective to say something out loud but John accepts the statement as an endearment nonetheless.
"I will not let you fight with your brother over silly things." John says simply, throwing an arm around Sherlock's shoulder, cradling the man closer.
"Ah." Mycroft says clearing his throat, once again making his appearance known, because John seems to keep forgetting being wrapped up in the Sherlock-John bubble. John raises his head and meets the politician's eyes. He doesn't dare open the link, instead he tries to read his expressionless face with no avail.
"What do you want with me? Kill me?" John asks, exhaustion creepy on him, his tired of beating around the bush, he's tired of this room and his tired of not knowing his own fate in the hands of Mycroft Holmes.
"No." was Mycrofts simplistic answer. "You are too valuable an asset to exterminate."
Exterminate, was John a bug or something. John sighs nevertheless, knowing that this was coming, an endless service of indentured service with the British Government.
"John. Don't." John notices the extremely calm, almost to a point of sleep, detective struggling with the idea of talking about John's death so freely.
"If I agree to whatever ridiculous thing you have planned, will you let Sherlock return to the flat unscathed and able to continue his life?" John asks simply, looking at Mycroft, trying to keep disgust and ridicule out of his face while asking this favor.
Sherlock struggles and writhes with these words.
"No John. I'm not leaving without you." Sherlock pushes away from the doctor to face the man. In this unguarded moment John sees the love and the determination, hell even the stubbornness. He sees it all and it makes John's heart grow strong.
John cups the detective's cheek once again and brings up memories of their times together, the first time they said 'I love you's, their laughs, their first criminal chases. John leans in and kisses Sherlock, their lips meet in a longing and passionate frenzy.
John calms the detective and Sherlock goes limp in his arms, his face slack in his sleep. John lays the detective down gently and brushes the hair out of his face.
He feels disappointment that Sherlock won't be able to test this new part, the ability to cause anyone to sleep. John could have gained amusement out of this, he wouldn't abuse the gift at all, no never.
"You would sacrifice everything for my brother?" Mycroft asks, his tone full of curiosity. He propels himself off of the bookcase with grace and walks over to the two men.
"Of course. Wouldn't you?" John says without looking up, his thoughts focused on the colors in Sherlock's brain.
The three sit in silence, John lost in Sherlock's dreams, part of his keeping the red away like always and the other part wishing Mycroft would get on with it all.
The three engross themselves in the silence of the room for minutes.
"He's too stubborn." Mycroft sighs finally, John's body is so tense from anticipation that he thought he is going to burst.
"What?" John's shocked at the off handed statement, he is confused at the direction Mycroft is steering the conversation.
"He would never stop no matter what." John turns his head to stare at the older man, who has moved to the chair he had previously occupied. John just stares in flummox. "I'm afraid Dr. Watson, you are not worth the endless years of strife and nuisances my brother would provide if I took you away." Mycroft sighs like he just admitted a great defeat.
"Wait. What?" John exasperates. "So after all of this, you are going to let me go." John's whole body is turned toward the politician, one hand still intertwined into the detective's, keeping the tactile contact alive and reassuring.
"I'm going to let you both go." Mycroft clarifies, whipping his mobile out of his pocket and typing a message away furiously. John just stares at the elder Holmes in bewilderment.
The decision seems a bit too easy.
"What's the catch?" John asks, his eyes roaming the politician suspiciously.
"I don't think Sherlock gives you as much credit as he should. Your deductions skills are coming along." was Mycroft's dubious answer. John eyes narrow. "I would simply like to know about your..mutation."
John chuckles sourly, he looks down at the still sleeping detective and weighs his options.
"Fine." There is never any doubt, John would tell Mycroft if that meant Sherlock would be safe, although, John doesn't think that Mycroft would have really hurt his brother, the man's a bastard but he's not evil enough hurt his own family.
Mycroft claps his hands together and stands up. "Good."
Two men enter the room just then, John looks from the men to Sherlock to Mycroft, his eyes wide with panic and his stance ready for fight, although as John stands up abruptly, he can feel the exhaustion taking it's hold, if John has to make another mental connection and knock out the guards, he would be in worst condition than he already is.
"John, relax, they are here to take Sherlock to the car." Mycroft states, putting his hands up in a surrender pose.
John relaxes, but only a little. "I could wake him up."
"Can you?" Mycroft's fascination is back, he turns his full body towards John, who despite it all, looks warily down at Sherlock, unsure of how safe it would actually be.
"No worries, John. Let him rest, and same for yourself. Judging by the bloody nose and your general weakness, you are under-practiced."
"The mind isn't meant for other people to be meddling in it." John states, letting his voice sound as tired as it is.
"Yet, you should no hesitation with knocking out five of my men." Mycroft says conversationally, without accusation or bitterness.
"They had guns pointed at me, at Sherlock. I didn't have a choice." John remarks firmly as he watches the two men scoop the lanky form up and carry the man out of the library. The sleeping agents bodies have been removed. He follows the men out and knows that Mycroft is following him. "One day I will tell you about my rules, but not today." The doctor adds, mostly to just keep Mycroft's conversation at bay, he doesn't want to be in the manor anymore and he doesn't want a prolonged conversation to become obliged to.
The two men carry Sherlock through the front door and out of the house. Somewhere, a servant comes by and thrust John's coat at him, John doesn't stop his walking and just grabs his coat and scarf and follow Sherlock out of the house.
"John, I feel as thought this conversation is a must." Mycroft starts, his stand slightly uncomfortable and his eyes darting, the expression is new and surprising to John continues his fast paced walking but stares at the politician in anticipation.
"If you hurt my brother in any-" Mycroft starts, striding in front of John stopping the man in his tracks in a demand for attention.
"Mycroft, are you seriously threatening me?" John ask incredulously, not sure if he wants to hit the man or walk away laughing at his ignorance. "I just spent the last hour and a half of my life in chaos. You kidnapped me, kept me here against my will, found out my biggest secret, threatened Sherlock and I at gunpoint, witnessed how powerful my gift can be, witnessed how much I was and will always be willing to sacrifice for your brother. I think it's safe to bet that we will be together for awhile." John says, staring fondly at Sherlock being carried into the car. "Besides I love him."
Mycroft looks at the doctor as if seeing him in a new light. John just walks towards the black sedan with ease, letting the politician beside him focus on the thoughts of a pedestrian.
"Very well," Mycroft admits as John and the older man walk up to the car. The door open, ready for John to climb in next to the sleeping detective. "Oh and John, I hope we aren't parting on bad terms."
"Mycroft, I should hate you, I really have every right to. But since living with your brother, my usual responses are a bit peculiar, so yes, against everything in my being that says you are dangerous and should never be forgiven, I find that my head feeling that we are okay." John replies hastily, anxious to return to the flat. Besides, Mycroft doesn't need to know that even though they are on generous good terms, John is scared shitless of the man, yes best Mycroft not know that.
Right now, they just escaped the most dangerous man on the planet and they will both live to tell about it, although they best not.
Who would believe the story anyway?
Coming up next, John meets Moriarty.
Dun Dun Dun
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