Everybody Loves John Watson
Collective Effort
John Watson: is Not Happy With Us
John had searched his hospital room twice over and found nothing that Moriarty could possibly be after. His stress was building up to be something awful. He had to think about his newly found little fan club and Moriarty wanting something he didn't have. It would have been fine if it had simply been Lestrade. John would have been pleased if it was just Sherlock. Hell, John would have at least given Mycroft a chance if it had just been him, but that was far from his choices. Why any of them were interested in him was far beyond the little army man. The obvious answer was to say no and call it over with. He could think of so many reasons not to do that.
He had to handle this situation with the utter most caution. There were pros and cons to each of them, of course, and John had finally been forced to actually make the list on paper. He needed more paper. Sherlock was the obvious choice, but much more dangerous than the others. Sherlock needed him the most but with the possibility of failure, would lose the most. Mycroft was safe. He could imagine things would be simple and quiet with Mycroft and if things didn't work out, there wouldn't be a fuss. Lestrade was normal. He was just another man and John could get use to that idea. A breakup would mean tense meetings but little else.
However, John had to think about the results of turning down the others, too. The brothers would fight, more so than they did already, but it wouldn't be particularly dangerous. Lestrade, on the other hand, would be in constant danger. That was if John was even considering this. Was he? It wasn't entirely fair not to. It wasn't fair to do this to him in the first place! This wasn't his fault. He had nothing to feel bad about. He was straight and they should expect rejection.
However, John couldn't. Well, he couldn't flat out. Was there really any harm in at least giving one of them a chance? Yes. There was a lot of harm in it. The world would possibly end; his mind told him. Then why on earth was he still thinking about this?
o-o-o
"This is your fault, you know." Sherlock grumbled. If anyone were to ask, excuses would be made up on the spot. They were working on a case and Mycroft was obviously there to give a hand considering John was still in the hospital and Sherlock could not properly work without someone keeping him on the right track. The real reason they were all in the living room of 221b Baker Street was to discuss John Watson. It was painfully obvious that the blonde man was not capable of making this decision himself, no matter how much Lestrade insisted that it wasn't okay to make the choice for him.
"Right. I made him mad. I'm so well known for doing that." Lestrade responded sarcastically. He could do with a beer right about now. They remained at a proper distance from one another with Mycroft firmly stationed before the fireplace, Sherlock puffed up on the couch, and Lestrade leaned against the cluttered dining room table. Had these been any other men, it was likely that the evening would have been in a fist fight already. Sure enough, the Holmes did not fist fight. At least, Lestrade couldn't imagine they did. If this went on much longer, he was going to find out. Often times he felt the need to punch Sherlock. Hell, he felt the need to punch Mycroft and his smug silence sat up so proper. His confidence was eerie and by par, made Lestrade feel very unconfident.
He was sure he had nothing to worry about. The only thing Mycroft had on him was a bit of age and he couldn't imagine the older Holmes was that much younger than him. He might have even been a year or two older than him. It was hard to tell with the Holmes. Not that it mattered. They were Holmes. Cold, distant, calculating creatures. Hardly people at all. The very fact they could be actually attracted to someone was amazing, let alone think they could love him. Sherlock was easy enough to explain; he was a child. He didn't want to give John to anyone else and that was why he kept chasing away his girlfriends. Well, most of his girlfriends. Lestrade might have had a hand in one or two of them. Mycroft was a little harder to explain. Lestrade had no idea what he wanted with his army doctor. Perhaps simply to keep him away from his brother?
"We can solve this like adults." Mycroft stated as if he were attempting to gain control of the situation which instantly made the other two weary of his intentions.
"I'm not sure Sherlock counts as an adult." Lestrade murmured. Sherlock gave him a nasty look.
"Be that as it may, we cannot expect John to make a proper decision. He is too kind hearted to choose now that we've been forced,"
"Thank you, Lestrade."
"To confess at an emotional distressing time. I believe we should give him the chance to weight his opinions until he does decide." The man explained as if it were the most casual thing in the world. Sherlock instantly looked put off.
"Wait," Surely he couldn't be suggesting.
"John would never agree to that."
"Wait. Are you really suggesting that we all go out with him?" That sounded like a bloody awful idea. It was a bloody awful idea!
"We have asked him to rather fly blind. I find it very unlikely that any of us would care to be judged based on our," Mycroft paused, as if to search for a more elegant word. "Attempts to woo him." A moment of grim silence weaved through the room. No. Lestrade didn't want that at all. He'd made a downright fool of himself on several occasions, though John never seemed to notice. Sherlock sure noticed. Not that Sherlock didn't have his own fair share of crime scene flirting failures.
"So what? Now we're a dating game?"
"Potentially." Mycroft nodded. Lestrade had no idea how he could be treating this so calmly. He shook his head, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to communicate with it.
"I agree with Sherlock. John will never go for it." He wouldn't refuse it himself, knowing well the brothers would take any argument as a forfeit. It wouldn't be that easy for them. Mycroft was right, though. John wouldn't simply choose and while he wasn't entirely on board with this idea in any way, shape, or form, he didn't exactly have a better idea. The best he could do was keep his footing and hope that he had the advantage in this situation. As far as work was concerned, yes, the Holmes usually a few steps ahead of him. Lestrade was fantastic at his job and as much as people tried to insist that he would be useless without Sherlock, it wasn't true. Sherlock took the stress off his shoulders sometimes, sure, and he was insanely accurate about it, but there was more than 'interesting' murder cases to being a detective inspector. He had feelings. He actually cared about what happened to those people and their families and sometimes, yes, it was even painful to watch.
Sherlock was socially inept and even more so, could barely make heads or tails of John's emotions as it was. Even 'high functioning sociopath's had trouble noticing minute difference in facial emotions. As for Mycroft, Lestrade couldn't imagine he would be much different. Perhaps he could pretend to be a real person in public, if he was ever in public, but there was no way he could actually fake his way through an emotional relationship with John. If he felt any romantically attachment to the man at all, he was probably expecting something that John was not. John was not a toy.
"He will if we ask him to." Mycroft assured them. Lestrade couldn't find any more argument. John would, after all, and he couldn't deny it. Perhaps a little explaining would be needed, and a tiny bit of convincing, but he would. Sherlock didn't look pleased at all.
"Rules." Lestrade said firmly.
"What do you mean rules? You can't have rules." Sherlock insisted.
"Because I know you, Sherlock." The older man reminded him firmly. He'd try something sneaky, they both would actually, and Lestrade wouldn't be able to call them on it. Besides, Sherlock lived with John. There were all kinds of damage he could do. Knowing the Holmes, he'd probably wake up and find his house under quarantine.
"I agree." Mycroft eyed his brother pointedly.
"Fine." Sherlock scowled.
Rule One: Bad talking, insulting, or general lying about the other 'participants'. In fact, it would be better simply not to mention them unless completely necessary.
John frowned deeply as the three of them entered the little hospital room. He was being released today and though he hadn't contacted any of them in the last few days, it didn't keep them away. It wasn't an angry frown, it seemed, thankfully. He seemed more distraught than anything. There was no reason he shouldn't be with the three of them in the same room. Under normal circumstances Sherlock was ready to fight with any one of them. His worry swiftly turned to mistrust, and suspicious beige eyes darted between the Holmes and only on a side thought wavered to Lestrade.
"How are you feeling, John?" Mycroft asked calmly enough.
"Why?" The doctor demanded instantly.
"Because you're injured, of course, and I wanted to know if you were feeling better."
"No," John said with a tense sigh. He was definitely off the drugs now. "Why are you here?"
"Well," Sherlock began to explain. "We have a proposition." John was not comfortable with them declaring themselves as 'we'. They didn't need to have done anything, especially coming here. He hadn't made a choice yet and just because they all gathered around didn't mean he was going to right now, either. If he didn't think this out properly, bad things would happen and John wasn't going to be responsible for that.
"It's not like that." Lestrade corrected the other. "We had a thought." Still using 'we'.
"We,"
"Stop saying that." John demanded viciously. He felt threatened, obviously. A wounded, ex-army man in a small room with three very threatening men standing about his bed. Now would have been the time for them all to take a cautionary step back but none of them did. Forfeiting and all. Lestrade raised his hands a little as if it would make him less intimidating. Now wasn't the time to think it, but he couldn't help but see the smaller blonde man as a little broken hedgehog.
"Sorry. The three of us were talking and we realized that w- the three of us kind of sprung that on you and it really wasn't fair. So, if you want, it's completely up to you, you could date all of us." Lestrade hadn't realized just how stupid the idea was until it came out of his own mouth and John stared at him as if he'd just spoken in tongues. He swallowed thickly.
"What?" The blonde man responded in disbelief.
"He's saying, we would take turns taking you on dates until you decided on one of us." Sherlock added on. John's expression didn't change. Dread was filling the room like desert sand. How on earth had the Holmes talked him into this? Lestrade could applaud them for that. They were very good at getting him to do things that were so obviously bad ideas.
"It would be completely up to you, John. We're not trying to force you to do anything and it would only be until you could decide." Mycroft added on as if his voice would make a striving difference. Perhaps under normal circumstances it would, but not today. John was scolding them each, individually, with his beige eyes. There was absolutely nothing good about this idea.
"And you all came up with this together?" He finally asked. "Sherlock didn't talk you into this. God knows why he would." His point remained, though. Sherlock opened his mouth as if to put the blame off of himself, but no words left his mouth. Lestrade was impressed. He would have debated whether or not that was bad talking, but the very fact that Sherlock didn't test it was proof enough that he was serious about this.
"It wasn't my idea." He managed to correct his unsaid accusation.
"It was mine. I find it completely reasonable." Mycroft added properly. With the admission, John seemed to consider it a little bit. He adjusted himself on the bed a little, moving to get out of the simply too white and too firm bed. His chest heaved with a large sigh, but his apprehension disappeared. He glanced between the three of them again, catching each of their eyes in a firm, questioning glance.
"And you're all okay with it?"
"Not really, but I'd rather share you than give up." Lestrade admittedly with a single nod. It was absolutely true, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it. If he had to, then yes, he would fight for John. He would fight for John and he would win. Not that John was an object, but that was why he was being very careful not to say things like that out loud. That would earn him absolutely no points.
"Only if you haven't made a choice yet." What Sherlock really meant was 'only if you haven't chosen me yet'. He was the obvious choice, after all. They were practically in a relationship already, just without the romantic actions. He could start cuddling better. He would have to look up the proper way of dating, however, and make some minute changes.
"If it's the only way, then absolutely." Mycroft nodded politely, but his lips insisted that he preferred to do it any other way but like this. Maybe violence was the answer just this one time. He knew better than most people that sometimes violence was the only answer, but he was trying to handle this appropriately seeing as it meant his brother would have hurt feelings and John spent most of his time with Sherlock.
"Alright. Fine." John agreed, holding his cast with his good arm as he pushed himself out of the bed. "If that's what you want, fine." He expected this to be awful, but he could see the advantages of it. He would be able to make up his mind faster. As long as things didn't be too physical too fast, everything would be fine. Plus, this way there wouldn't be any more 'we'. Mycroft wouldn't have to hang around, and Lestrade and Sherlock wouldn't interact anymore than they had before. He was impressed they'd came up with a solution together. They were very useful when they actually worked together instead of fought with each other.
Rule Two: Dates will happen in the following order: Lestrade, Sherlock, Mycroft. Everyone has exactly one week to claim their date otherwise it is forfeited to the next. A 'date' is as defined: a meal or activity shared intimately. 'Intimately' is as followed: romantically touching, casual conversation, and flirting. John does not need to be asked for it to be a date.
Rule Three: Price of said dates will not exceed the agreed amount. Gift value will not exceed the agreed amount.
Lesrade, seeing as he had confessed first, was awarded with the first date. He had to wait for John to get his cast off, but he was okay with that. It had given him time to think and plan what exactly he was going to do. He couldn't treat this like any relationship he'd had before, considering he'd been mostly straight up until this point in his life. Mostly because he'd been married to his wife up until now. He'd spent some time researching it, or rather, he'd tried. He wasn't good with technology and in the end, had to ask for some advice from less than reputable sources. Sally still giggled at him when given the chance and Anderson had plainly walked away. He had other friends, sure, but they weren't helpful, either. He was on his own with this.
Flowers were definitely a no. He'd made reservations at a nice place, though not overly expensive and still very casual. Then he planned on a bit of dessert and a nice walk through the park. It wasn't overly fancy and he certainly wasn't beyond his limit. He didn't want to look like he was trying too hard, either. John would actually notice now meaning it wasn't the time to fall on his face. He dressed up nice (but not overly nice) and even dug out his timberwolf grey tie that matched the color weaving in and out of his black hair. He wasn't getting old. It was stress. He'd had a full head of black hair (give or take some) before he met Sherlock and started working as a DI and began having troubles with his wife. Regardless, he thought it made him look very distinguished looking. He already knew he was quite a bit older than John, but they were both full grown men. His hair wasn't something he was going to worry about.
He picked John up just as the sun was going down and the sky was the sweet color of pale pink. He knew Sherlock was glaring at him from the window, but not even Sherlock could make him chance his mind now. He faced down criminals and murderers, he could face one simply date without making a fool of himself. He met John at the door, smiling happily. He was excited, though he was sure he was hiding it well. John smiled back.
"You look fantastic." The older gentlemen commented. Lestrade wasn't sure he'd ever seen John out of his usual jumper, but he looked fantastic in his waistcoat.
"I haven't worn this thing in so long." John chuckled, but his discomfort was evident. He was still unsure about their proposition. At least, Lestrade hoped that was it. If it was him, he might as well throw in the towel not.
"You look great too. I've never seen you out of your work clothes." He swiftly bounced the compliment back. Lestrade was at a loss of how to bring him along. Grabbing his hand seemed a little too childish, but grabbing him by the arm seemed every forceful. In the end, he opted to rest an open palm gently on John's back and lead him to the car. There would be no discussing Sherlock tonight and that he had planned for. He'd thought about bringing note cards, but on the off chance John found them, it would be hard to explain. He wasn't a kid anymore, even if being on an actual date with John made him feel like one again.
He was very careful to avoid any conversation that would lead to Sherlock. It wasn't too hard and after John realized what he was doing, it became even easier. They arrived at the restaurant and managed through with only minimum amount of head bashing. Lestrade was use to being very chivalrous towards his dates, which was not a bad thing, but so was John. He was glad for that. It meant John was actually considering this a real date. It wasn't serious and they laughed with each other soft heartedly.
"Sorry. I keep thinking- never mind." John waved it off with a single hand as positioned himself more comfortably in the seat beside his date. He was John's date. Lestrade would never tire of saying that.
"I know. Don't worry. I'm new at this, too." The restaurant was buzzing with noise and a little music, but it was still nice and crisp without being overboard. He was happy with his choice. They could talk freely and the food was good.
"If you don't mind me asking, why exactly are you-" John hesitated, as if he didn't know the proper way to ask his question. Lestrade knew what the question was.
"Attracted to you?" He finished. The other nodded. "Well," Lestrade wasn't sure how to answer the improperly asked question. "Because you're brilliant."
"Sherlock's brilliant."
"You're definitely brilliant, John. Sherlock's brilliant, too, but in a different way. Sherlock is incredible and amazing in his own way, yes, but you- you're a man of action and warmth." He smiled a little. "You remind me of the little army men I use to play with. I always imagined them to be brave, but kind, and strong, but polite. The kind of people who always knew who to protect and always did the right thing, even if people weren't sure why they did some of the things they did. I don't know why you stay with Sherlock, but I'm glad you do. He needs someone like you to keep him on the right track." He placed his hand on the back of John's softly.
"There's so much more than that, too. I really hate to say this out loud, but you're adorable and kind and attractive and smart and funny and if I could just have the chance to make you happy, I would try so hard, John. I really would." He confessed. At first, he felt proud with himself. It was about time John knew. However, the longer John went without responding, the more fright tugged on his heart. He'd said too much.
"I hope you know, I really am considering you, Greg." John admitted. "I've never actually been attracted to a man before, but I would never just reject you because of that. I don't want you to think this is a pity date." That was good to know! Lestrade hadn't thought of that, however, which worried him a little, but it was still good to know.
"Thank you." That did mean a lot to him. He knew he had no reason to think that John would even consider such a thing as to date him, so Lestrade was happy to hear that he wasn't completely against the idea. Dinner went perfectly and Lestrade discovered that they were rarely short of conversation whether it was about sports, or tell old school stories, or even giggling unmanly after one too many drinks. Not drunk in the least, but loosened up. They split the bill down the middle with no need to debate it and followed it up with a visit to a little creamery. The walk was short and they traveled arm in arm down to the park in the bustling dark of London streets. Thankfully, the park wasn't considered 'night life' and they were mostly alone.
Lestrade was content. He was afraid things would be awkward with his new confession, but John was acting as he always did, only with much more touching. He could get use to the touching. They finally crashed on a curved bench, shoulders pressed together as if to hold one another up.
"This is delicious."
"It's my secret weapon."
"Oh. Is it? The mighty Gregory has a secret weapon for dating his wife?"
"Of course. When she got into bad moods, I'd just bring her here. Well, until she started blaming me for her weight gain." John busted out in laughter and Lestrade joined him. The cold treat was finished and laughter soothed into relaxation. It wasn't particularly cold, but they remained huddled together on the bench, hands tied gingerly together between them courtesy of Lestrade. The city lights made it impossible to see the stars, but the silhouette of the trees against the moon was just as nice.
"I guess we should head back soon." The older man mused.
"It's getting late." John agreed. Neither of them moved for a few minutes longer, though, simply enjoying the quiet. It was soothing and sharing it with John just made it better. Finally, he looked down and squeezed the hand in his own. Champagne eyes met glaucous blue. Several stressed moments lead to John getting impatient and taking it upon himself to brush their lips together. Lestrade knew what he had wanted to achieve with this date and he was absolutely sure he had. He deserved this kiss and enjoyed ever tender second of it.
Rule Four: Interfering with dates in progress is strictly forbidden.
Rule Five: Intercourse is forbidden. All kissing must be initiated by John. No 'marking'.
Sherlock was confident in his decision of a date. Lestrade, as he had guessed, had gone for the normal approach. Unfortunately, he was right in thinking that it would appeal to John. However, John couldn't be satisfied with normal. He wasn't sure what his brother would do considering their price set. He could imagine Mycroft trying to show off at some cheap little restaurant like Lestrade.
He'd spent a few minutes searching (and shooting down) first date ideas before deciding that they were utterly useless and boring beyond his wildest belief. John wouldn't be impressed by any of them. Sherlock would end up pulling his hair out before they were over. He scraped together something far better. It was sort of not a date, but it definitely was. He packed a bag and insisted John get dresser properly and began their date.
"You still haven't told me where we're going." John scoffed in the same way he did when Sherlock failed to tell him where the crime scene was. At least he wasn't nervous. Neither of them were, though. Sherlock still was the obvious choice and now all he had to do was make John's little brain realize that. Logic wasn't going to work, but there was no harm in playing the game like the others. He'd watched John go on dozens of dates, he knew exactly what he was doing. Sherlock glanced down both sides of the streets before taking a brisk walk in one direction. John swiftly followed.
"We're not taking a cab?"
"I doubt a cab could take us there." He doubled down an alley and when they came upon a dead end, he knocked the fire escape lose and climbed that way. The blond man watched him with confusion and Sherlock had to stop and peek over the bars.
"Come on John." He yipped. John sighed heavily and followed as he always did and always would. He continued onto the roof, brushing himself off and taking another look around. He heard John close behind, struggling with the metal stairs. He knew London perfectly and the direction they wanted was that was. Sherlock took off in a sprint and John yelped at him with more confusion. It was going to be a surprise and the man would just have to wait. It was easier to move this way and they covered far more ground than they would have walking. He had to take a few detours due to the height diffractions of the buildings, but they were never lost. The higher they got, the more nervous John was about hopping between the buildings. Sherlock would never let him fall.
Sherlock came to a stop at the edge of one of the buildings and John came up beside him, catching his breath. The taller man glanced around a little, making sure they were in the appropriate spot before chucking his bag into the window of the next building. John gaped at him, but that wasn't unusual. Sherlock leap off the building with surprising accuracy and rolled against the hard floor. A quick check assured him that it was completely safe. He'd already known that, though. The man brushed some of the glass away from the landing spot and looked up to where John stared at him stupidly.
"I'm not doing that." He yelled down at his supposed date. This was a death trap! Not a date! He'd have to explain the difference to Sherlock later.
"Come on, John! You'll be fine!" The other insisted.
"No Sherlock!"
"It's a two foot jump!"
"This is not two feet!"
"Fine. It's a two hundred and seventy foot drop, but you're not supposed to fall down there."
"That doesn't make it better, Sherlock!"
He'd come down eventually. Sherlock walked away from the window, leaving his date yelling at him to come back and solve their non-existent problem. John just needed to jump. It wasn't that hard. He opened up the pack he had brought, strewing the thick blanket over the cold ground of the abandon building floor. They were a long way up. Not the biggest building in London, but the position of it didn't need it to be. He hurriedly plated food for each of them and set up a few candles around the window. Right on right, John flung himself through the window, rolled across the floor and was momentarily disoriented. Sherlock helped him up to his feet, brushing a bit of glass off of him.
"Don't you ever make me do something like that again." John instructed, thought he didn't look any worse for it. Sherlock knew he wasn't afraid of heights and he knew John was perfectly capable of making the jump. He wouldn't willingly put him in any danger. He stepped aside, giving John the full view of the broken window.
"Wow." He breathed and Sherlock felt rewarded. "This is amazing Sherlock." From the one window where no one ever looked from, a large part of London could be seen. The sun outlined the buildings and once it was dark, the lights would shine like stars on the building and the stars would shine like stars in the sky.
"I did some experimenting and this is the only place when you can see everything." Sherlock explained, wrapping hands with the shorter male. He'd never done so romantically before, but it felt so natural to both of them. His long, slim and pale fingers fit in perfectly with John's shorter, darker ones. They stood there quietly for a few minutes as John searched over inch of the landscape, picking out places he recognized and over all simply enjoying the view. Finally, Sherlock tugged him down to the blanket. He could tell John was pleased with his ability to remember his favorite food. They enjoyed their meal in silence. It was probably one of the few times John saw Sherlock actually eat.
The best thing was, neither of them had to say anything. A good meal and a perfect view between the two of them sitting close together was a rare occasion on itself. Usually John had to make Sherlock eat and usually they only had a view of Sherlock's mess and experiments. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Sherlock drink, either, but he obvious had no trouble with having a glass of very good wine.
"From a client." Was his only explanation. Afterwards, Sherlock brought out a small tin of sweet bread and a canteen of warm coffee. The sun fell and the sight lit up even more. The different colors of the town and the different areas created a perfect sight and from here, the stars and the clouds hovered over like a painted picture. Sherlock's mind had since wandered, however. He preferred the run here over sitting here doing absolutely nothing. This was boring. He was trying really hard not to do anything about it. That seemed to be a very bad thing to do on a first date.
"You're thinking about the case?" John knew him too well.
"Yeah." Sherlock admitted.
"What are you thinking?"
"He couldn't have made it all the way across the city, kill his wife, and be back again in such a small amount of time. Even if he was on foot and not in traffic, there's no route that would allow him enough time." He mused out loud. John wondered if Sherlock was making the routes down in the dark city in his mind. Sherlock's mind was a wonderful thing, but he couldn't imagine thinking like him.
"Well," John bounced back. "What if he did what we did?" He suggested. Sherlock turned periwinkle eyes on him immediately and he could see the man running the scenario through his mind at breakneck speed. He smiled widely.
"Don't just smile like that. Tell me."
"He didn't kill his wife. His assistant did."
"Cots? Is that the same problem?"
"Exactly. However, unlike his boss, Cots is very familiar with the art of Parkour. He could easily make it through the city, into his boss's house, kill his wife, and be back at work on time with enough time to stop and get coffee." He explained as if it were so simple. John nodded in agreement. That sounded reasonable enough.
"But why would Cots kill her?"
"Because Cots was having an affair with his boss and he wanted her out of the way. Mackineze was in on it, though. There were no signs of a break in. She wasn't killed in the kitchen, she was killed in her bed. Mackineze had to have given Cots a key. He's strong enough to strangle her, drag her from her bed. He cut her throat to cover up the bruise marks from his hands. He would have gotten rid of his clothes. They'd be incinerated by now." Sherlock frowned deeply.
"But she would have fought him, right?" John reminded him. "That's why her nails were broken. I bet he has some nasty marks. Those nails of hers would have left some peculiar marks."
"I knew it. Those claw marks weren't from a cat. He doesn't have a cat." Sherlock was already typing away at his phone, alerting Lestrade to his conclusion. John chuckled softly to himself. A date with Sherlock wouldn't be too different from normal day, after all. Still, it had been nice.
"What about Mackineze?"
"What about Mackineze?"
"He helped plan the murder of his wife, Sherlock. That's not okay." He was reminded sharply. Sherlock didn't see why, since he hadn't actually done anything, but he wasn't about to argue with him. John was usually right in these situations.
"He'll have to confess. I'll leave that to Lestrade." Lestrade was very good at that part, at least, and Sherlock would respect that.
"Can you stop thinking about the case now? We are supposed to be on a date."
"John, I have no idea what else I should do." He'd hit all of John's sweet spots; a bit of danger and adventure, a creative spot where he could relax, and his favorite meal. The solving of the case was just a little extra sweet. The date was over now, wasn't it? John grabbed his scarf firmly, pulling him close and their lips met. Sherlock wasn't sure what to do with himself besides think. He'd never been kissed like this before. The first thing he noticed; John's lips were rough and cracked, but not completely unpleasant. The second; He still tasted like sweet bread. And finally; he didn't entirely hate it. He didn't like it, but he wasn't as repulsed as he thought he would be. That would take some time to get use to. It was short, only a few seconds, and John looked at him worriedly when it was over. He had no reason to be worried. Sherlock was already aware of the physical aspects of a relationship.
"Now our date is over."
Rule Six: Informing John of the rules is forbidden.
Rule Seven: Breaking the rules will result in punishment.
Finally, it was Mycroft's turn. He was alright with going last. It gave him the upper hand. The value limit on the date made it a little more difficult than he would have liked, but he managed a way around it. He could make a proper date without the need for his power. He needed something intimate, but private. His brother had the right idea. Abandon buildings were free and Mycroft knew the location of a lot of them. However, a date with legwork was a bloody awful date. He had something better in mind. He picked John up in person, stealing him from outside his work rather than having to potential deal with Sherlock.
"Good afternoon, John." He greeted his date. "I hope you're not busy."
"Uh. No. I'm not." John offered a small, casual smile.
"Good. I'm here to take you on a date." If it weren't obvious. Mycroft would have informed him before hand, but it was unnecessary. He planned everything perfectly to fit in to John's schedule. His brother made it nearly impossible but not completely.
"Okay. I hope it doesn't involve running." He joked.
"Certainly not." Mycroft stifled back a 'good dates don't involve running'. That was much too close to insulting. "Don't fret. It's really very calm. I think you'll enjoy it." Despite John being action deprived upon his return, with Sherlock in his life, the last thing he needed was more adventure. Someone like John needed a balance of both and that was why no matter what happened, he hoped dearly that the man remained with his brother. On friendly terms, of course.
"After the day I've had, that sound fantastic."
"Oh? What happened?"
"It's nothing bad. I was just doing a lot of physicals today with kids that really didn't like me." John sighed mildly and touched a hand to his side. "Got me pretty good."
"Oh dear. I can't see why anyone wouldn't like you."
"I don't take it personally. Children usually don't like being around doctors." If there was one thing he was good at, it was sharing conversation with John. He couldn't share much himself and the other man knew that, but it wasn't a problem between them. Mycroft was not now nor would he ever be a person that shared things. It was one of the few of many reasons that he preferred not to date. After he had gotten to exactly where he wanted to be, he stopped trying to impress anyone with a pretty woman on his arm. It was unneeded now. This, of course, had nothing to do with that. John was a different kind of man. It was less about what he had and more about what he wasn't. He wasn't needy, or talkative, or prodding. He'd seen Sherlock arrive home covered in blood and John was more worried about him being hurt rather than who he might have hurt.
"Where are we going?" John brought up with sneaking suspicion.
"To a museum."
"I- really?" He sounded a little surprised. Mycroft didn't think it was that surprising.
"Do you not like museums?"
"It's not that. I haven't been to one since- since Sherlock got us shot at with the Chinese smuggling ring." He chuckled at the memory. Mycroft remembered that, took. Good lord, it was amazing his brother was still alive. Some sort of witch craft, he was sure.
"Trust me. They'll be less shooting this time. It's abandoned for the time being. Details." Mycroft assured him. It was still completely dressed up, but no one owned it. Some deaths just left parts of the world to stop and the museum happened to be one that people forgot about. Mycroft was very good at making people forget about things.
"Are you okay?" As usual, John managed to blindside him with questions that he wasn't asked often. In his business, people asked him all sorts of things, but never about his wellbeing. After all, he was not important. What he did was important and how he did it was important, but he was not. That was why it was so important to stomp out threats before they became threatening.
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"It's a kind question." John would never admit it was because Mycroft never looked 'okay'. He primped himself a little, though it felt awkward with the older Holmes watching him the way he was. Thankfully, work hadn't worn him out too badly. He might have to start keeping a spare change of clothes if Mycroft was going to surprise every date on him.
Mycroft stepped out first and offered his hand to his date. John couldn't place where they were, but it seemed a little familiar. He was led inside with a dainty little touch. Not because he was a dainty thing, but because Mycroft had no idea how to properly touch another person. John was okay with that. The massive building was lit only by the skylight and despite what he thought, everything was kept fairly clean.
"It was really just abandoned like this?"
"Completely. It's amazing what people will not look at."
"You mean what they don't see." John turned his pale eyes away from the display to look at the more interesting Mycroft. He wasn't sure what to say. It was obvious what he was trying to say, he just didn't have a response. He saw everything, much like his brother, but he could handle it better than Sherlock could. He didn't have the same compulsions that Sherlock had. Not to mention he could prioritize.
"Sorry." The smaller male apologized. "I didn't- I don't know why I said that."
John saw. Why was that?
They walked the museum with small little stories and exchanges of all the little exhibits. When all was seen, Mycroft sat them down inside a darker part of the walk through exhibit and brought out cake. John wasn't sure where he'd been hiding it, but he supposed there was a lot Mycroft could hide on his person.
"So- your diet?" John teased gently. Mycroft held a finger to his lips.
"That's top secret, John." A small piece of cake wouldn't hurt anything. The doctor giggled softly and he couldn't help but smile. He got to walk hand in hand with John and a bit of sweets, Mycroft called it successful. He could do better, though. He glanced over the other man's face, instantly spotting his winning ticket. He reached for John's face, catching his attention instantly, but pulled back when he 'discovered' he was wearing gloves. Instead, he calmly dipped into his date and flickered his tongue against the bit of sweet cream frosting there. He pulled away and hovered a little, giving John more than enough time to make his decision.
He hesitated, but not for the reason Mycroft thought. John had noticed twice before; they weren't making the first move. That wasn't coincidence. Mycroft was much more confident in everything in general, and dating would not change it. John could taste cake and the after taste of tobacco on his tongue and he momentarily wondered if he always tasted like cake. He'd certainly find out. For someone referred to as the 'Ice Man', his kiss was warm and all too natural.
Rule Eight: John is not property. Do not treat him as such.
Rule Nine: This is love, not war. Priorities are a must. When John is in danger, rivalries will be put aside.
John was getting more comfortable with the idea of not dating one, but three very different men. He'd been on a few dates with each of them over the last month or two, but he couldn't say he was any closer to making a choice. To be perfectly honest, he was more comfortable with all of them rather than having to pick out one of them. He wasn't a greedy man, though, and the sooner he could stop this, the better. They were all so great in their own ways, though, from Lestrade's domestic, to Sherlock's exotic, and Mycroft's formal. This 'experiment' was meant to help him pick out the better choice, but it was only assuring him of the things he already knew. They all had pros and cons and he was seeing no easy way out of this now.
His problems were worse than that. He had completely forgotten about Moriarty in the sea of doom (and cake) until he was snatched off the street by someone who wasn't Mycroft. It had been a completely surprise, giving him mere seconds to try to fight back. It wasn't nearly enough against the brute of the man and his brutish hands around his mouth and throat. He wasn't actually taken anywhere, rather pulled into a building he was passing. Instantly, he saw all the blood, specifically the blood trail leading into the kitchen.
"Oh, Doctor Watson," God John hated that voice. "Do you think I was joking?" He wouldn't have responded even if there wasn't a cigarette flavored hand over his mouth. He would have punched himself in the face. How stupid was he to forget about Moriarty?
"Give it back." Moriarty demanded. There was a spot of blood just below his ear. It made him look more threatening than the bloody knife in his hand. John still had no idea what he wanted. The knife was thrust into his face and he did his best to remain calm. He wouldn't hurt him if he still had whatever it was he wanted.
"I will take it from you." The man ground out through his teeth. He calmed himself down and ran a bloody finger over his eye and cheek and down his chin.
"This is your last warning, John. You have three days. Rough him up a little to make sure he remembers, Sebby." Moriarty turned to leave, but he stopped just short of the door.
"Oh. And don't tell your little boyfriends about this. We wouldn't want something bad to happen to them." He laughed as he left.
Sebastian did as he was told and John was thrown on the sidewalk outside his flat. No one noticed he'd been gone and no one saw him being 'returned'. He limped to his flat, holding his thigh and the bruise rapidly forming there. They weren't serious wounds. He had a bruise around his mouth and throat and a few others forming over his body, but none of them broke the skin.
Sherlock would assume it was Lestrade.
Mycroft would assume it was Sherlock.
Lestrade would assume it was Mycroft.
They all assumed it was from sex. Jealousy would prevent them from asking and envy would drive them to catch up over the next three days.