Title: Making the Connection
Story Summary: A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade
Chapter Summary: John and Sherlock discover that they have something in common. Prompt: Dismissed
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.
A/N: First of all I'm sorry that I didn't update yesterday, it was a stressful day. Then I'd like tot hank the people who have added this story to their favourites or their alert list. I'm grateful for any kind of appreciation for this story. And then last but not least: This prompt came from oneword(dot)com, if you'd like to prompt me you are welcome to do so in a review or a PM.
„Thank you for your help, gentlemen, you're dismissed" Mycroft Holmes said just as the black limousine came to a halt in front of 221B and the door opened automatically.
Sherlock grunted, but got out of the car wordlessly and John followed his example. The grunting, however, continued all the way up the stairs.
"He knows I hate that word. Only reason he ever uses it is because he knows I can't stand it" Sherlock ranted while he hung up his coat.
"Something we have in common then", murmured John while he took off his shoes.
"Army?" Sherlock asked without looking over his shoulder.
"Yes. Every time my superior didn't like my suggested course of treatment for a patient he would just say: 'Thank you, Captain Watson, you're dismissed.' He might just as well have said: 'Overruled.' I hated it. He was a daft bastard who only cared about patching the guys up as fast as possible so that they could go back to fighting a war he could no longer actively participate in. He saw them as broken equipment, not as patients." John's anger came flushing back. He hadn't thought about that time in his life for a while now. He took a deep breath and then flung himself in his armchair.
He looked at the still visibly worked up Sherlock and asked "What about you? What makes you hate the word?"
"When I was a child our mother would have afternoon tea with me and Mycroft every day. She had us sit down, eat a piece of her favorite cake and drink a cup of bitter tea with milk and no sugar in it. We had to converse about the details of our days, what we learned at school that day, how our instrumental lessons were coming along and what we thought of the latest reading she assigned to us."
John frowned and Sherlock turned around to look outside.
"Yes, mother gave us reading assignments. About fifty pages a day, to 'properly educate us as young men'. Anyway. Every time I told her about an observation I had made about my teachers or one of our staff, every time I had a different opinion on our reading she would close her eyes, sigh inaudibly and say: 'Sherlock, you're dismissed.'" He stood by the window, feeling John's eyes on the back of his head.
His voice was calm when he continued: "Whenever I hear that word it makes me think of her disappointed, silent sigh. It still makes me feel inadequate."
John shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was seldom that Sherlock volunteered such private information.
"Well, it's for sure then." He said.
"What is?" Sherlock turned around and came over to sit down opposite John, his expression a bit confused.
John looked Sherlock straight in the eyes when he said: "Your brother is a bastard."
He watched with satisfaction as Sherlock smiled genuinely, his body relaxing into the familiar armchair and agreed: "He most certainly is."
After John had made a cup of tea for both of them – Sherlock's black with two sugars, just like his coffee – they settled down in respective chairs with their books and read in comfortable silence. He looked up when Sherlock, who read twice as fast as he did, turned yet another page. He noticed the eyes on his face and raised a silent, questioning eyebrow without looking at his friend.
"You're not inadequate. A sociopath, yes, but not inadequate. Thought I'd let you know", was the calm reply to the unasked question. John turned back to his book.
"I know that." The remark was almost snide, but John could see the wide, satisfied smile on Sherlock's face without having to look up.