Warning: Homophobic comments and dealing with them. Sherlock's attitude is sort of based on the attitude and conversation I had with a guy while working behind the bar for a gay wedding - which was kind of an eye opener! That said, my manager, also gay, disliked the attitude so I guess i'm also warning for a rather one sided approach!

Thank you all for the lovely reviews and alerts/favourites. Over 200 reviews now - eek! Yay :D

Just as a note - I have posted a fic The Bet which is a silly follow up to "Paved with Love" if any one is interested :)

24th January

"I do not need a baby sitter," Sherlock huffed as they sat in the back of the taxi together.

"Mycroft thinks you do,"

"Oh Mycroft thinks the world needs a baby sitter, it's his job after all." Sherlock stared out at the passing traffic that flowed through London in the darkened evening. "I had to wait all day for this meeting."

"Well I had to apologise for the amount of times my text alert went off, so I'd say we're even."

Sherlock smiled faintly into the reflection on the window and then turned back to John. "You surely can't be complaining about all of them?" he asked smoothly.

John's eyes flickered up to his from where he'd been typing a text on his phone. "We're in a taxi and going to a meeting with your brother." He warned, "I am not getting into trouble because you're bored."

Sherlock arched back against the seat to find a better position and stared ahead as he slid a hand on to John's knee. "I'm not bored." He said watching the cab driver's head. Slowly he started to trail one finger along the seams of John's jeans.

"Don't do this," John warned in an even, lilting voice.

"Why? Is that a challenge or a threat?" Sherlock turned his attention back to John and raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm, because Captain Joseph Hammonds is a homophobic idiot at the best of times without us walking in, looking as if we've just shagged in the back of a taxi," John replied still not looking up from his text.

"And that bothers me because?" Sherlock asked frowning.

John sighed and slid his phone into his pocket, having finished his text to Mrs Hudson about Ava's homework that the little brat had insisted she was allowed to put in the bin. "Because the whole point of delaying this was so that it wouldn't escalate into a shouting match again."

"I didn't shout," Sherlock muttered, insulted at the idea. "And if he chooses to be a moron then that's his problem; as long as he isn't equally idiotic about Moran's contacts." Sherlock paused considering, "Though I've seen no evidence to indicate that is the case."

John turned his head sharply, "It really doesn't bother you? That people can be homophobic?"

"I never care what people think," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "present company excluded of course."

"Jesus, if that wasn't a proclamation of undying devotion I don't know what is!" John sat back.

His hand twitched.

Sherlock eyed it, his interest suddenly zeroing in on the man beside him. "You've had words with Hammond before about this?"

John took a deep breath, "I'm supposed to be going with you to make things better not worse."

"Then tell me now. Otherwise I'll work it out when you see him again."

John looked at him and then dipped his shoulders, "When I made CO he thought I should…hammer out the…" John scrubbed a hand over his face "Fuck it, he thought I should break up Gav and Ryan."

"The two you told me about?" Sherlock asked.

Nodding, John shifted in his seat again, "Yeah. And I told him where he could shove it."

"Then what was the problem?"

"He repeated it," John stared out the window, not seeing the city outside. "When Ryan…he made some thick comment and Gav went nuts." John swallowed, "The army isn't exactly lenient when that sort of thing happens. Gav was court marshalled. He lost the army and Ryan in the space of twenty four hours."

"That quick?"

John threw him a look, "Sherlock he beat him. To a bloody pulp. It took three men to pull him off Hammond. It was obvious what was going to happen."

"Three men?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, "Where were you?"

"Digging a bullet out of someone's thigh," John muttered. "There wasn't a lot I could do."

Unsure what to say Sherlock stared at the seat opposite and at the left over indicators of the previous passenger; an elderly woman visiting her brother…could be sister he supposed, he had made that assumption before. "You're a very patient man John," he said eventually.

"Mm," John said sounding as if he were a million miles away.

"It wasn't your fault." The words sounded strange against his tongue, foreign. It was such an obvious thing to point out and yet it seemed like the thing John needed him to say.

John nodded sharply.

The minute they walked into the room, Hammond's mouth curled in disgust and Ashcroft glanced between John and Hammond as if expecting them to start shooting at each other before walking over.

Ashcroft saluted with a grin, "Damned good to see you sir," he said with a nod.

John nodded, seemingly uncomfortable already, "It's been quite a few years," he said with a smile.

"Yeah," Ashcroft almost managed not to look behind him as he duck into his wallet, "Got myself a boy now," he showed a picture of a grimy faced toddler that John made some appropriate comment about.

Curiously John didn't mention Ava.

This time the entire team was there with Graves and Mycroft sitting at the head as they debriefed.

"We'll use Walters as our way in," Graves said, placing the picture on the table. "He-"

"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock closed his eyes pained.

John jammed an elbow into his side, "What? He is." Sherlock muttered.

"Why?" John asked, eyes studiously focused on the photograph.

"Walters is too new to make a mistake, too caught up in the romance of it all." Sherlock reached for Batir's folder instead, "This one."

"Because what? You're fucking prophetic?" Hammonds snarled.

"No, I used my brain. A foreign concept to you clearly."

Beside him John sunk down into his chair with a sigh.

"Well that could have gone better," John said as they sat in the empty meeting room next to the one Mycroft had just forced them out of.

Sherlock glared at the mirror opposite. "He's incompetent."

"He's not incompetent. He's far from incompetent," John replied, "He's just an utter arse."

Sherlock turned his head to John, "You aren't very good at this when you don't like the person you're defending."

John sighed, "I'm not very good at mediating when the person you're insulting hates me more than you." He tapped his pen on the pad of paper in front of him.

"No-one hates you more than me, don't be an idiot." Sherlock glanced over at John in time to see the brief flash of a smile.

"I thought you were going to try?" John said after a moment, tossing the pen down.

"I was."

"That was not you trying." John replied frankly.

"No." Sherlock agreed.

John let out a huff, "So…what? His watch told you he was a tosser or his hair cut made you decide to-"

"You were uncomfortable." Sherlock said standing, hoping to distract John from the conversation. "We should go-"

John was staring up at him with an amused triumphant smile that was bordering on offended. "That's…that's very thoughtful of you."

"Shut up."

"Romantic, one might say,"

"Shut up."

"You're like a white knight-"

Sherlock stopped at the door and whirled around to see John's half amused, half peeved expression. "Yes, fine. Mock."

"I don't need you to fight my battle with Hammonds." John said seriously.

Sherlock shifted and stared at the seat Hammond had been in. "Your hand." He said letting out a deep breathe. "It was trembling."

John glanced down instinctively and pulled the hand in question into him slightly. He looked so surprised, so taken aback that Sherlock risked taking a few steps towards him.

"I didn't… John swallowed and clenched his hand as if trying to firm it up, even though it was now as steady as ever. Disliking watching John react that way, Sherlock covered John's fist with his own hand gently, still keeping a certain distance away from the chair. Slowly John slid his thumb to rest on the back of Sherlock's hand.

"I didn't realise," John said after a minute, staring at their joined hands.

"I've never seen it shake when you were under pressure." Sherlock said after a moment.

John stared ahead, seeing something that Sherlock couldn't. Hating it, Sherlock bent to John, resting against his temple and then slowly pressing a kiss to his ear, his cheek, his neck until John turned to him.

Cool, calm lips sought his in an almost business like kiss and Sherlock frowned into it. Sliding his hand to cup John's neck with splayed fingers and his cheek with his thumb, Sherlock pulled back.

"Not here," John said quietly, casting a quick look at the door where Mycroft was soothing ruffled feathers.

"Why?" Sherlock pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth.

John closed his eyes and tensed, "because I will not keep my temper if he starts in on you."

"He did start in on me."

"Because you were being a dick. I will not sit there and listen to him…"John pulled his head away from Sherlock's hands suddenly.

"John-"

"Sherlock," John scrubbed at his face in frustration. "You don't get it! You might be able to sit there and listen to them but I can't. I cannot sit and listen to someone telling me that I'm wrong to love you , that what was have is unnatural and we should be ashamed. I will certainly not manage to sit there while that wanker implies that because we've had sex your opinion counts for nothing and should be ignored. I couldn't give a flying toss what they think, I give one about what they do and how they will act with you."

"Oh." Sherlock stared down at him. "I see."

Dark blue eyes stared up at him suddenly suspicious. "Do you?"

"Yes." Sherlock stepped back with a dangerous glance at the door.

"Right," John still seemed wary or doubtful. "What exactly have you just got from that?"

"That someone is stupid enough to pass comment on my relationship."

John let out a frustrated noise and sunk down the chair until he was almost completely slumped in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.

"And that had never mattered before because no-one else has ever mattered before." Sherlock said staring at the chair leg.

John cracked an eye open and regarded him seriously. Slowly he dropped his hand to rest on the arm of the chair, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together.

"I don't like the idea," he said slowly, "Of people not listening to you because of me. More than anything Sherlock, you should never be ignored. You're too bloody brilliant for that."

Sherlock rested against the table thoughtfully, "John I have never been regarded as normal. People are usually not that surprised to discover I don't tend to label what comes into my bed."

John winced at the phrasing even as his lips twitched.

"And I am more than capable of getting people to listen." Sherlock stood, adjusting his suit, "I believe I have made something of an art form out of annoying people and still have them hanging on my every word."

John tilted his head to one side as he watched Sherlock.

"So, I suggest you stop whinging and give me full permission to make Hammonds as uncomfortable as he has just made you for the past hour."

"You don't care?" john asked sounding a little more wondering this time.

"Why would I? I am far more used to being the only person with the correct way of thinking in the room than you are. Their vitriolic comments make them no less wrong and me no less right." Sherlock paused, "Unless you agree with them,"

John drummed his fingers on his lips thoughtfully.

"There are times Sherlock when I forget just how extraordinary you can be."

"That was stupid of you," Sherlock muttered.

"You're not worried about burning bridges?" John asked siting up.

"Exactly what gave you the impression there was a bridge to begin with"? Sherlock asked, confused at John's thought process.

John snorted and then stared at Sherlock in that way that usually meant he was about to take the plunge.

And then he stood and kissed Sherlock so utterly and completely thoroughly that for a second Sherlock forgot exactly where in Cuba it was Moran had met Moriarty.

And then found himself subjected to an assessing look as John stepped back.

"Well, your hair always looks as if you've just rolled out of someone's bed." John sighed, "But I think that will do."

"No it doesn't, does it?" Sherlock angled himself to catch his reflection in the mirror.

"Yeah it does," John called as he walked towards the door.

Hammonds threw them a suspicious look when they walked back in, his eyes narrowing on their flushed cheeks and John's suddenly relaxed stance.

Mycroft glanced between the two of them and threw Sherlock a fierce look. The one that he had used the time Sherlock had come in with the dead cat while Mycroft was attempting to date.

"Brother, dear, have we missed anything?" Sherlock asked in a tone that had John glance at him in surprise, it sounded so warm and friendly. Mycroft stared off to the side as if about to order a missile strike and Hammonds gave a quick glance between them all.

Everyone else was just reading through the reports, but Hammonds couldn't seem to focus.

Sherlock held out his hand for his and John's documents and then, with a gentle hand on John's back, steered him back to the table, pulling out his chair for him.

"Don't push it," John growled under his breath as they sat down. "Just because I said yes to this does not mean you treat me like some romantic heroine."

"Of course not," Sherlock soothed, flicking open the cover and reading while keeping an eye on Hammonds.

"What do you think of this?" he asked minutes later, twisting his chair to get closer to John and placing a finger on John's report while crowding his personal space.

Sighing with resignation John started to shake his head and then seemed to catch sight of what it was that Sherlock was actually pointing to.

Moran's psychological profile.

Pulling away from Sherlock, John snatched the report up and started reading properly.

"This isn't right," John shook his head.

Hammonds sat up, spoiling for a fight even though he had absolutely no way of knowing what John was talking about.

Mistake.

Sitting back in his chair Sherlock stretched lazily.

"What isn't right?" Graves asked curiously, apparently having a lot more patience for John than he had for Sherlock.

"The profile," John was still scanning it as he talked, a slightly impressive talent that Sherlock had always been grateful for when he was reading the newspaper and Sherlock was bored.

"And you know this because-" Graves started to ask.

"John was trained by Moran." Ashcroft said carefully.

Nearly every eye flew at John.

"You said he gave you lessons," Sherlock muttered sitting up.

"He did." John continued to read. "Lots of them."

Mycroft settled back, "You are aware he was recruiting even back when you were stationed with him?"

John nodded, "Yeah, we had a minor disagreement."

Ashcroft snorted, "Yeah, that was the rumour that was still going round when you were my CO. A minor disagreement."

Sherlock caught Mycroft pointedly flicking through the file and looking at Graves who looked a little pale.

Good.

"Over?" Mycroft asked with a sigh. When John looked up curiously, Mycroft huffed, "What was your disagreement about?"

"John refused to shot a civilian that Moran suspected was armed." Ashcroft said.

"Ridiculous rumour, he'd have never have made that shot anyway," Hammonds sneered.

Ashcroft gave him a look at to Sherlock's amazement Hammonds seemed to relent.

"It surely adds more weight to the profile," Hammonds muttered after a moment. "He was like that; trigger happy-"

"He was cruel-" Graves corrected.

"No," John shook his head, "he simply didn't think you could win a war and play nice at the same time."

"Couldn't you have been in trouble for that?" Sherlock asked glancing at Mycroft.

"For which? Shooting or not shooting?" John shrugged, "He liked me. As much as he tore into me for it, as far as he was concerned that was the matter over. He isn't…wasn't vindictive." He tapped at the report. "Despite what this says."

"He holds grudges-" Graves started to say.

"For incompetence," John argued, "For cowardice, but not for genuine mistakes or for just acting against him. He's incredibly pragmatic. There are always two sides in a war and he can respect, like and even admire the opposing side. Doesn't mean he won't shot them in the heart the first opportunity he gets but he'd never slag them off. One of the lads did that one evening and Moran scared the poor kid witless for being disrespectful."

Hammonds flicked through and seemed to grudgingly nod, "He takes no pleasure in pain," he added as he read the profile properly, "He just doesn't feel any guilt in causing it."

John nodded, "It's a justified necessity. If it needs to be done, he'll do it."

"Which was always your problem," Hammonds muttered under his breath.

"Why? Because I didn't turf out two of mine for daring to fall in love?" John asked sounding utterly calm and this time not backing down.

Sherlock glanced at his hand and saw the tiniest tremor, but nothing as bad as it had been previously.

There was utter silence.

"Moran hated the influence of the press," Hammonds added as if John hadn't spoke, "He thought they compromised our way of doing things by arguing for things they didn't understand. Liberal thinking getting in the way or our mission."

John tilted his chin in a very Ava'esque way.

"He also despised hypocrites," John said, and the wobble was only faint enough for Sherlock to detect.

Hammonds eyes darted between Sherlock and John, before locking gazes with John.

"Why don't we take a br-" Graves started to say, darting up from his chair, while Mycroft scribbled something on a piece of paper.

"That doesn't surprise me," Hammonds snarled. "You always were too fucking weak in command. But then you couldn't take orders properly either you little poof."

John didn't flinch.

But his hand did.

"Hammonds that's more than enough-" Graves begun.

"You're not doing this very well," Sherlock leaned back so that no-one else could hear his soft words to John as Graves hissed at Hammonds.

"Sherlock-"

"Enjoy it. Show me how easily you can make him lose his temper. How apoplectic he can get."

John stared at him in stunned amazement and Sherlock smiled wolfishly.

"Unless you want me to do it," Sherlock shrugged, "Either way, I wish to walk away while the man has the closest thing to a coronary we can manage."

John darted a glance at Hammonds, "We do need him for this. Despite all this, he is the best person to lead this team."

"Which is why I said closest thing to a coronary fit and am letting you do it."

Studying him John nodded slowly, "You're letting me rip the guy to pieces rather than doing it yourself?"

"I think it might be more satisfying that way." Sherlock mused, "An experiment you understand: to see the effect of different approaches."

John took a deep breath, "Start me off?" he asked almost shyly.

Sherlock nodded and stretched back, "These chairs are far too uncomfortable," he complained loudly, "Perhaps you should be more generous with the lube tonight."

Hammonds' mouth gaped.

As did the rest of the rooms.

There. And at least that should nudge Hammonds into having a little more respect for John; men like him always seemed to have more of an issue with the receiver.

John looked torn between bursting out laughing and sinking to the floor in horror. For a second Sherlock feared he had pushed it too far and was about to just barrel on in when John's grin over took the horror.

"Yes dear," he said patting Sherlock's hand patronisingly, which Sherlock suspected was revenge for holding out the chair for him earlier. "But we are running through the bottle very quickly,"

Mycroft stared at Sherlock with fury a he penned another note.

"Cancelling appointments?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly,

"You haven't even got the decency to be ashamed-" Hammond screeched.

"For having fantastic sex?" John appeared to think about it for a moment, "Why would I be?"

"Have you seen what you've let into this room?" Hammonds screamed at Graves.

Graves seemed to have lost control of his jaw. While next to Hammonds, Ashcroft looked like he was desperately trying not to laugh.

"Is he aware your brother runs the government?" John asked Sherlock in a mock whisper.

"Clearly not. Nor his penchant for kidnapping people, though I have suspicions it's how he gets dates nowadays." Sherlock studied his nails thoughtfully.

"I'm not sitting in the same room as these two-"

"I think he's jealous," John commented, his hand utterly steady.

"-disgraceful little-"

"You' think he'd managed to ignore it if it upset him so much. The same way he's managed to ignore that his son is ashamed of him, his wife is scared of him and the dog is the only thing that tolerates his company at home."

Hammonds stiffened in shock as everyone stared at Sherlock, surprised.

John huffed, "I thought you were letting me take this?" he muttered.

"Apologies." Sherlock shrugged, "It's a natural gift."

"I refuse-" Hammonds started, pointing a shaking finger as his face turned a rather fascinating shade of puce.

"Yes," Mycroft stood finally, "I imagine you do."

"Oh I'm not finished," Sherlock sat up and cracked his fingers.

John shoved him against the stalls in the bathroom, "You mad, crazy, wonderful man," he whispered, attacking Sherlock's mouth.

"You do realise that just because I implied we'd be doing this, doesn't mean we have to," Sherlock gasped, as John started to trace his way down his front.

"Makes it a hell of a lot more satisfying if we do," John commented.

Sherlock couldn't argue with that.

Ava stared up at them as she munched on a chip.

"Yes?" John asked, pausing. Sherlock looked over at her from unwrapping his scarf.

"Mycroft phones and said to tell you that you are spoilt little children and that next time he'll treat you as such." Ava frowned, "And that you could have just told him that the man was noxious."

"Obnoxious?" John asked tilting his head to the side.

Ava shrugged, "And that I'm far more mature than the pair of you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John filled the kettle up.

"And that next time you should use the stalls because there are cameras in the bathrooms."

John dropped the kettle.

Ava stared at it. "I don't know what he was talking about," she said, sounding annoyed as she took another bite. "Mrs Hudson went very red though."

I'm so not good at smack talk!

Next chapter, finally, is Sherlock's pov of "A day with the Consulting Detective."