Right - well I was having a right sulk because ff decided not to send me anything for days! So there i was, convinced hardly anyone was caring that the new chapter had gone up and then bang! I go to get something off my email in the middle of a lesson and have to trawl through the sudden wave that ff decided to finally send me! I am sorry if i haven't got to you yet if you reviewed but thank you and thank you to all the favouriters and alerters :)
I would say my poor students were left to do nothing for five minutes but as half the class have irritated me beyond belief today I won't say that at all!
Anyhooo - then I managed to sort out this mess of a chapter so here it is :)
Rant over, I promise!
WARNINGS: Discussions of childhoods which aren't overly happy and smut! (Was that not what you guys where expecting?)
In the morning Sherlock left the flat having sat in thought most of the night.
He needed to speak to John.
It was pathetically easy to get into the hotel. He even managed to spot one of Mycroft's people giving him a sour look as Sherlock walked up the stairs.
He'd picked up the extra room key and swiped the door easily; trying to work out how many attempts it had taken John to get the card to work.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn tightly and so thick that they managed to keep the sun out with ease. On the bed Ava sat having rearranged the blankets to cover her feet while John slept on beside her, oblivious to the fact that Ava had turned the television on.
He looked as if he'd been awake most of the night too.
Slowly Sherlock closed the door behind him and then stood against it as if he could barricade the pair inside from the world. Ava turned her head and watched him with wide, confused eyes as the television whispered so quietly he was amazed she could even hear it.
"The police tell people off when they break into houses." Ava said solemnly curling her arms around her knees.
"This isn't a house." Sherlock muttered, glancing at John who looked as if he were on the verge of waking up.
"I'm not sure that matters." Ava replied seeming thoughtful.
At her tone Sherlock glanced back over at her, noting the way she was curling on the bed and almost shivering. "I'm sure you're right," he said after a moment. "But the police also tell people off who leave where they live all of a sudden."
"No they don't," Ava said, as if she were the authority on police procedures.
"They do. It's called wasting police time," Sherlock said, thinking of Lestrade's angry phone call a few hours ago when Sherlock suddenly remembered that he'd called him yesterday and had forgotten to update him.
"Daddy's really mad with you."
He was about to be more so Sherlock thought bitterly. Mycroft's reaction had been bad enough.
Still it might help if Ava had some clue as to exactly why John was in such a snit over Irene Adler of all people. There had been an indication a few weeks ago that John had some issue with the woman that went far beyond Sherlock's momentary fascination with her.
"Why?"
Ava shrugged and all of Sherlock's attempts at patience evaporated.
"I have told you time and time again, that is not an acceptable answer." he snarled, his voice raising in frustration.
Ava stared at him in wide eyed horror, lip trembling and eyes starting to fill. Sherlock clenched his fists at the look she was giving him and looked up and away.
Into John's fuming gaze.
John pulled Ava into his arms and let her bury herself into him lifting the covers so she was tucked away from Sherlock's view.
It just annoyed Sherlock even more.
John had been tucked in a hotel room watching bad TV and talking to Ava. Sherlock had been at dinner with a psychopath and a dominatrix, surrounded by Moriarty's lackeys, battling with his wits to keep them safe.
His temper fractured even further.
"Go away," John glared at him, "I'll talk to you later."
He would not be dismissed like a child.
"We will talk now_" Sherlock started to hiss.
"No." John levelled his chin at Sherlock. "This is not the time or the place Sherlock."
Despite the fact that his temper was still on a razors edge, despite the fact that he wanted to scream in frustration now that he could lower his guard, what passed his lips wasn't the droll comeback he'd intended.
"You left. I came back and you weren't there."
Had he just said that? From John's expression it was hard to tell out of the pair of them who'd been more surprised by those words.
Sherlock could feel the weight of John's gaze as it passed over him and saw the worry start to set in.
Throwing his hand up in frustration he turned to the door again, intending to leave.
"I'll meet you in two hours," John called after him sounding calmer. "Let me get her up and then I'll take her to Mrs Hudson." He waited until Sherlock turned to face him. "We can talk afterwards."
Sherlock turned back; ready to snap that he wasn't some patient John could wander over to talk to every so often. His darkening expression must have been clear in the half light of the room because John's softer expression vanished.
"Sherlock," John snapped, "Not now. You're frightening her."
Ava hadn't so much as peeked in his direction and John looked exhausted.
This whole exercise had been a terrible idea from start to finish.
He left before John could say anything else.
Five hours later John found him at Angelo's.
"Didn't know they opened at this time," John commented as he sat opposite Sherlock at a table that was far from the window and closer to the empty kitchen.
"They don't," Sherlock traced the edge of his coffee cup with his eyes, not allowing himself to fidget. "I assume I have the proprietor to thank for your presence?"
John winced, "Mycroft."
Unsurprised Sherlock nodded. "He never can keep out of it."
John took a deep breath.
"It's fine." Sherlock said, ignoring the brief flash of the first time they'd ever had a conversation at the restaurant. "You were right it seems."
"Sorry?" John's furrowed his forehead, "I'm not-"
"This," Sherlock waved a hand between the pair of them, "You were right. I should have left it alone."
John's eyes narrowed and he sat back. "Really?"
"Yes. " Sherlock sniffed, "Perhaps Mycroft can reimburse you for your troubles-"
"Sherlock," John cut across him in a no nonsense tone and surprisingly ignoring the insulting implication of Sherlock's words, "Do you honestly think Mycroft didn't tell me what you did last night?"
"God sakes," Sherlock muttered glaring at the table.
"Yeah," John agreed looking unimpressed. "It was an…interesting chat."
From the look on John's face it was clear that Mycroft has been on the receiving end of the fury that Sherlock had managed to dodge.
That was annoying. He had hoped to be able to use it. But if there was one thing that Sherlock prided himself on it was knowing how to get a reaction.
"Well go on then, what do you want to whine about first?"
"Mycroft told me she was dead." John seemed to somehow still manage to ignore him. "In fact he told me it would have taken Sherlock Holmes to have fooled him and saved her."
Tilting his head to the side Sherlock considered John, "That isn't what you told me."
"No. Mycroft gave me a choice." John crossed his arms, "I chose to spare your feelings."
"I've told you before I do not-"
"Then explain to me why you travelled half way around the world to save her like some damsel in distress when it was you who condemned her in the first place?" John asked utterly calm.
It was infuriating how little temper was showing. And how much hurt could be seen through John's careful tone. His voice wavered just a little as he started to talk and the pads of his fingers were pressed hard into the tablecloth.
It was so much easier to deal with John when he was angry.
"I made a deduction," Sherlock said watching John carefully.
John raised his hands in supplication, "And?"
"I owed her," God how he still hated those words.
John scrubbed his face with his hand. "Sherlock…I am not running on much patience today, would you just answer the damned question." His voice turned waspish as he spoke.
"She called when we were at the pool," Sherlock stared at the door far behind John. "That phone call saved our lives."
"You can't possibly know it was her," John said after a moment.
"I can. And I could look through her call history," Sherlock took a sip of the almost cold coffee.
"So you owed her your life-"
"No, not my life," Sherlock snapped looking at John finally.
John closed his eyes and seemed to deflate slightly. Slowly he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, staring at the tablecloth sliding his head back up to meet Sherlock's gaze.
"What were you thinking?" he asked quietly. "Walking in there like that last night?"
"That Moriarty doesn't do subtle for long. It seemed easier to go along with it rather than test his patience."
"You don't do easy." John stated firmly.
Sherlock paused, "I said easier," he snapped, " Not easy."
"Then tell me-"
"No." Sherlock stood imperiously, "No. We're done."
Lestrade's call was a welcome distraction as Sherlock stormed down the street and ignored the sleek black car that was waiting round the corner.
"Long time no see!" Lestrade's voice rung out in genuine pleasure.
Sherlock raised his eyes from the wrist of the elderly man in front of him and looked up at Donovan's face.
John.
"How's that little girl of yours?"
"This is a crime scene not a social club!" Sherlock snapped swapping his gaze to the scarred knuckles in front of him.
He didn't get to hear the answer because of all the noise behind him. Sherlock managed to resist for seventeen seconds before he turned to glance over.
Lestrade had raised the police lines for John who ducked under with ease and laughed at something Lestrade said. They were clearly at ease with each other so why hadn't John…
Sherlock cut that thought off quickly. It sounded far too melodramatic to be pondered upon.
Within minutes John had knelt opposite him.
"So?" John asked, sounding for all the world as if the past five and a half years hadn't happened. And certainly as if the events of the past 24 hours had just passed him by. "Any ideas?"
"I didn't invite you along." Sherlock snapped.
"I noticed." John replied evenly, "You also didn't say I couldn't come."
Sherlock glared up at him, "I wasn't aware I needed to give exacting instructions during our every conversation."
Infuriatingly, John just smiled.
Perturbed, Sherlock refocused on the hands in front of him. The pale strip that denoted a missing ring, the bruised wrist telling the story of a missing watch, yet his money hadn't been missing-
"Repeated strangulation?" John asked pointing a hand at the neck.
Sherlock glared at him, "You're interrupting the process."
"So I can have hints, but I can't point things out?"
"I told you." Sherlock said carefully, "You were right. We shouldn't pursue this."
"And you told me I was being a coward."
Coward.
Coward?
There were too many people around. But with a snarl, Sherlock stood, grabbing John's arm as he did so and practically hauling him to his feet and then propelling them both around the corner.
Lestrade shouted something but John made a movement that must have deterred the detectives. Only when they were out of sight did John twist in his grasp and make Sherlock release him. Then John stood; legs slightly apart and firm with his arms folded.
Demanding.
"What did he say to you?" John asked, jaw set in determination.
He did not want this conversation. There was nothing in the world that he wanted less than to have this conversation.
Sherlock turned to return to the crime scene.
"I will not hesitate to follow you out and continue this conversation." John threatened calmly.
Even the briefest glance at John revealed he wasn't bluffing.
Closing his eyes Sherlock took a moment. Unfortunately, with Mycroft whispering in John's ear, there was little room to manoeuvre out of this.
So Sherlock stared at John's shoes, hastily laced up from the morning and the muddy edges of his jeans.
"He's bored."
John's leg twitched.
"Bored?" he asked sounding nervous.
Sherlock nodded slowly, "He's playing without an opponent."
"Sherlock-"
"You said," Sherlock pulled his eyes up suddenly, standing taller and stronger. "You said that you couldn't watch me go down that path again."
John took a deep calming breath. "Is that what I said?" he asked taking a step closer.
"Yes." Sherlock's memory was far better than John's.
"When I gave you my one condition, is that what I asked for?" John's mouth was tight with annoyance.
Full partnership.
"You did not mean-"
"Yes," John nodded once, "I did."
Oh.
Oh.
Three words should not have had such an effect. Three words should not make his knees feel unsteady and suddenly make him feel as if he had just started to breathe again.
"What about Ava-"
John took a deep breath and looked away for a moment as if struggling and then back.
"It's what you've said all along isn't it. Moriarty knows how to get to you. Hiding how we feel…it will only give him an opening."
Swallowing tightly Sherlock watched John carefully. "He's dismissed her entirely. It's you he will focus on."
"It's better that way."
It wasn't. But then the other option was unpleasant as well.
John took a step towards him, almost touching. "Sherlock-" he begun softly, reaching up.
"Not here," Sherlock warned, trying to get his thoughts in order.
John accepted that without complaint or question. "Do you want me to stay here?" he asked, leaning back a little to let the slither of light between them widen.
There was only one acceptable answer to that.
Having John on a case while their relationship was still in this early, fragile stage was distracting. Terribly and annoyingly distracting.
Especially after John's admission.
Sherlock was hyper aware of where he was at all times. His mind, while trying to work the puzzle out, was still cataloguing the smiles that John gave, the way his face would crease in happiness or confusion and the different tones he used for the various detectives on the crime scene.
It was gratifying to see his slightly cool attitude to Donovan. There was nothing in his words or inflection that revealed his emotions but the body language and odd frosty look was perfectly obvious to Sherlock.
If only it had been Anderson who had pointed Sherlock's potential culpability to Lestrade. But it did just show that, even with a map and directions, Anderson couldn't arrive at an idea if his life depended on it.
At least Donovan had followed her instincts. And seemed sufficiently remorseful without feeling the urge to converse.
John stood close as Sherlock handed over his notes so far. As Lestrade looked down at what Sherlock had written in the artificial police light John let his fingers brush across the backs of Sherlock's.
Just once.
Sucking in a surprised breath Sherlock glanced over and felt a thousand words pass between them.
"Will that be all tonight?" John queried.
Lestrade glanced up, puzzled. "Do you have him on a curfew or something?" he asked.
John pulled a tight smile, "You have no idea,"
Lestrade looked at Sherlock expectantly.
And waited.
Even John looked over at him curiously, the strangest look on his face.
"He sets the child on me if I get in too late and wake them up." Sherlock said eventually realising that he probably would have been stalking away and getting in his own taxi if it weren't for the fact that he was currently trying not to think of how John had looked a few nights ago in bed.
Lestrade grinned, "God bless Ava!" He winked. "'Suppose she's closest to the front door being with Mrs Hudson tonight."
Ava was with Mrs Hudson.
The flat was empty.
His room was above Mrs Hudson's sitting room which would also be empty.
"So can we go?" John asked sounding rather breathless.
Sherlock barely closed the door to the taxi before John yanked him forward by his scarf and pressed their lips together.
Taxi driver be damned.
Sherlock slammed John against the door as he fumbled at the lock with his key. John was pressed in between Sherlock and the wood and was fisting the back of his coat and scarf.
"Get it open," John murmured into his mouth.
"I'm trying," Sherlock muttered back, between fierce lashings of tongue and lips.
Finally the lock gave way and the door swung open, Sherlock and Jon stumbled into the entrance hall turning as they went to avoid crashing into the table with the telephone and waking everyone up.
Somehow Sherlock managed to close the door behind him.
"Stairs," John gasped between frantic kisses, "Bloody stairs,"
"Shut up," Sherlock hissed, fingers fumbling at John's jacket, almost snarling when John pulled away.
"We'll never get up otherwise," John muttered and turned to walk up the stairs.
Sherlock gaped after him and then followed seconds later.
John had him against the fridge door and was yanking on his belt.
"Bed," Sherlock muttered, lips searching for John's as if he were magnetised.
"Here's fine," John growled.
Huffing out a laugh and a moan as John's hands unfastened his trousers Sherlock leant his head back against the fridge door.
"Not for what I have in mind." Sherlock managed to get out.
John paused and glanced at him curiously and the expression made Sherlock nuzzle his way in for a kiss. A slower, deeper kiss than they'd been bothering with in their previous haste.
Sherlock herded them into his room, knocking the door shut as he went and dislodging some books that were stacked on the table by the bed.
"Shush," John scolded into his mouth.
"Your fault," Sherlock whispered as he shoved John's jacket off his shoulders (finally) and started on his shirt.
"How?" John protested. "I didn't leave them there." He said between kisses.
"You're here." Sherlock answered, as if that explained something, tumbling them both to the bed.
It was better now. He knew more spots that made John groan and swear. He was starting to lean how firm he could touch to elicit the best response and how to make John's eyes widen and darken with need.
His hand fumbled at the bedside table, knocking the clock to the floor, before he found the drawer and the handle as John's hands swept over his body and pulled his shirt half off. Frustrated John batted at his arm as Sherlock stretched out, tapping around the drawer.
"Stop it," John all but whined into his mouth.
Annoyed Sherlock pulled back and glanced over at the drawer, pulling up a little and giving John room to shift.
Just a glance was all it took for his hand to finally fall on the lube and condoms.
Under him John raised an eyebrow.
"Objections?" Sherlock asked pausing.
John shook his head, "Not one." He muttered before yanking Sherlock back down.
John's face was tight as he turned to the side, as if to bury his head in the pillow. Gasping and half mad with lust, Sherlock managed to calm himself enough to brush a hand against his cheek.
"John,"
"One second," John screwed his face up even further.
Concerned Sherlock pulled back up to study him which just made John gasp even more and screw his face up further.
"You're being ridiculously chivalrous about this," Sherlock scolded, barely resisting the urge to fold his arms in displeasure.
John cracked open an eye lid, took in the sight of Sherlock and screwed his eyes shut again, his breathing even heavier as he struggled for control.
"It's been a while," John complained. "Will you just shut up and give me a moment."
"Should I be concerned that your adjustment period is getting longer and longer?" Sherlock asked with a snotty tone that he knew would be like a red rag to a bull.
John's eyes snapped open and Sherlock felt the lust surge back at that look.
"No, we're good," John said, face tightening as he seemed to accept the gauntlet Sherlock had laid down.
Amused Sherlock stretched lazily above John and watched his gaze blur for a second. "Are you sure?" he asked in mock concern.
Johns hands slid up Sherlock's thighs, his eyes drinking the sight in. And then, with a wicked smile, he thrust.
It took merely seconds to find a rhythm they were both comfortable with.
The bullet wound itself was almost neat. The scars from where it had been dug out were not.
Sherlock traced it with his finger, noting when John's sucked in a tired breath and when he barely reacted at all. The web of scar tissue and nerves was simply fascinating.
He would need weeks to study it.
"Go to sleep," John murmured quietly.
The texture and taste was different when he traced it with his tongue. Beside him he felt John relax and gasp at the sensation. Gently he nosed the knobs of John's spine that disappeared into the nape of his neck.
With a huffed sigh, John patted behind him until he found Sherlock's hip
"We're not cats." He scolded without heat.
Taking advantage of the fact that John's arm was now out of the way, Sherlock allowed his hand to slide down John's side and trace circles on his stomach.
"There's no way we're doing round two," John yawned. "Not tonight."
"I'm aware of that," Sherlock replied, momentarily damning the fact that he hadn't met John when he was still in his twenties and then, on consideration, counting his blessings. "I'm observing."
"Oh." John turned his head further into the pillow as he lay on his side. "k."
"You're very pliable when you're tired." Sherlock pointed out, sliding down slightly so he could study all of John's back. There were smaller scars from stray shrapnel, a grazed scar from a passing bullet that John had luckily missed.
And a curious one almost in the centre of his back.
Tracing it Sherlock frowned. It was older than the rest and a very odd shape indeed…
All traces of sleep faded as he realised what sort of scar it was.
"What?" John asked, sounding annoyed now. "I swear to god if you've just had some sort of epiphany about the case you can tell me tomorrow-"
"Someone took a belt buckle to you as a child."
There was a very long pause.
"I…" John sighed heavily, "It's not what it looks like."
Sherlock traced it again.
"You know me. Do I seem like a victim of child abuse to you?"
"There's a scar on your back-"
"I got in the way of my step dad and Harry. Or rather my drunk step brother and Harry. The second it happened the row stopped. No-one seemed to realise quite how out of control we'd all gotten until that moment."
Sherlock continued to trace it.
"Harry was difficult. She took our parent's divorce hard. And believe me, my Dad went nuts. Took us both back with him as soon as I was fixed up by the nurse."
"You never mention him." Sherlock said quietly.
"He died-"
"When you were young. Before you left school," Sherlock had been able to deduce that much.
"Six months later in a car crash. Sent us straight back to the mad house. Mum got divorced a year later."
Sherlock was silent.
"I'm an ex-army doctor with a love of danger and unusual reactions to stress. Surely you didn't think I had a stable childhood?" John teased, his muscles in his back twitched as if he had been tempted to roll over to face Sherlock but had thought better of it.
"What happened to the step-brother?"
"Not a clue. I heard Paul went into IT consulting." John shrugged. "Which is probably punishment enough."
Not really.
"And your step father?"
This time John did turn over and Sherlock was forced to abandon his tracings lest his arm become trapped by John.
John studied him, "You're not honestly doing this? Creating a list of people to…" John trailed off as if the idea was too ridiculous to continue, "…Are you?"
Sherlock was stonily silent.
"Fine." John shifted and wriggled. "Then I want every single name of anyone who made you sad or upset you."
Sherlock tilted his head into John's shoulder now that he lay on his back and nodded as if he saw John's point. "Then you should probably stop glaring at Donovan."
"I don't glare at-"
"You do." Sherlock pulled back and placed his head on the pillow.
John scrubbed a hand over his eyes, "You're far more forgiving about what she did than I expected you to be."
"She did what she was meant to. She'd have been a fool not to have brought up her concerns."
John's stared at the ceiling. "She should have known."
"You were blinded by emotion."
Smiling bitterly John shook his head, "You'd never have let yourself get caught. Genius or no"
Amused Sherlock propped his head up with his hand and scanned John's face.
"True." Sherlock leaned over, "But if you insist on glaring at Donovan then I get to visit this step brother."
John scratched at his forehead and then rolled back over to his side. "Fine. I will be kindness itself with her."
Satisfied, Sherlock nodded, "By all means glare at Anderson though."
John chuckled, "I love that you can bring up Donovan and Anderson but I can't mention-"
"-Don't." Sherlock reached over to place a hand over John's mouth. "We discussed this."
John's body rumbled in amusement and Sherlock returned his attention to the scarred shoulder.
There! Now I have to do 2 lesson plans so i can teach (terrorise) the bad half of the class and the TA can teach the good half of the class in the ICT room.
I was so looking forward to the ICT room. It's so much fun when the kids don't realise you can call up what's on their screens to your own computer! They think you have magic or something!