Chapter 16
"Sherlock!"
Mrs Hudson's shouts were heard from downstairs, but by the time the two men had decided to answer, there was already a firm knock on the front door. Out of instinct, John went to stand and get the door, but was gently pushed back into the chair by a large hand. With a resigned sigh, John made himself comfortable again.
"Ah, Mycroft. Come in," Sherlock greeted. John looked up to see the older Holmes brother standing in their flat. John smiled and gave a curt nod.
"Ah, John! It's good to see you're home so soon, and looking quite well too," Mycroft approached John with a smile. Sherlock smiled at his flatmate, who could feel that something was a little odd.
The tall detective put a hand on John's shoulder. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, looking down at his flatmate, who managed to stammer out a quick yes. "I thought so. Mycroft, would you like a coffee or some tea?" Sherlock asked politely. John raised an eyebrow.
"Coffee, thank you," Mycroft replied. Sherlock made drinks and took up his place standing by the window. The three men engaged in general conversation, which to John's surprise, stayed quite civil. It was only when Sherlock's mobile rang did the detective finally furrow his brow and tut in annoyance.
"Lestrade, what is it?" he demanded, a very Sherlock kind of greeting.
"We need you down here. It's definitely a triple homicide, but the body parts have been cut off and mixed up to stitch together three weird… creatures. It's horrendous," Lestrade sounded as if he was going to be sick.
Sherlock felt an internal struggle taking position in his head. "I need to stay with John," he replied bitterly.
"This is way too serious to ignore, Sherlock. John's a grown man who can look after himself for a few hours," The detective inspector was getting audibly impatient.
Sherlock argued with himself for a moment, and then made a decision. "Text me the address, I'll be there as soon as I can," he finalised, before hanging up.
"Mycroft, I need you to keep an eye on John until I get home," The detective instructed, and before anybody could protest, he had swept out of the door and down the stairs.
There was a lengthy moment of awkward silence between them, and John would be damned if it stayed that way. With a subtle lean forward, he cleared his throat and began to speak. "Okay, what's going on?" he asked sternly.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow and looked confused. "Whatever do you mean?" He replied innocently.
"You know what I'm talking about, with Sherlock. You two haven't strangled each other yet? What's the deal?" John pressed the question further.
Mycroft gave in with a short chuckle. "We agreed to settle our differences. Is that so hard to believe?" The reply came in the familiar, secretive voice.
John gave a short laugh of disbelief. "If we're being honest, yes, it's hard to believe. How did you get him to agree to that? Did you drug him up?" the smaller man started to laugh again. Mycroft gave a chuckle and leaned back in his chair.
"I'll let him tell you, if he will," Mycroft replied.
John shrugged, thinking of every possible method that Mycroft would have used to persuade his adorably stubborn younger brother. Perhaps he'd ask Sherlock when he returned from his business. Whatever his business was. The more John thought of Sherlock, the warmer he felt in his chest. It wasn't until Mycroft had given him a strange look did he realise the huge smile on his face.
"I assume you're enjoying your thoughts?" the Holmes brother queried, his voice containing an elusive layer of friendly sass.
"What made it obvious?" John joked back. His face turned slightly more serious, and he cleared his throat again.
"Thank you, by the way, y'know, for the help. It's really appreciated," he said clearly, looking Mycroft in the eyes as he spoke.
Mycroft smiled, "It's really no problem at all. You most certainly deserve a lot more than second rate care. Sherlock would have run wild if he thought you weren't getting looked after properly".
John pictured Sherlock running amok in the hospital. It wouldn't be the first time, which made John chuckle a bit.
"So when will we be expecting a happy announcement?" Mycroft smiled almost cheekily. John's cheeks went a light shade of pink.
"What do you mean? I'm not actually gay," John replied a little too quickly.
The tall man looked at him with a look as if to say you can't fool me. John knew he was caught out this time. Instead of becoming too embarrassed, he figured it would be a good time to ask for advice. If anybody knew how Sherlock's brain worked, if would be his brother.
"John, really. You should know by now that you can't put anything past me. You obviously fancy him. It's really quite obvious, sorry to say," Mycroft spoke matter of factly.
"Wait, what do you mean obvious? Look, I need advice," John inquired.
"You want to know if Sherlock reciprocates your feelings".
John shrugged. "Sort of. I mean, he's said before that he's married to his work or something. What I really want to know is if I should even bother trying?" the question came quietly. John felt like a silly teenage girl asking her mates for advice.
Mycroft thought for a second. With a smile, he stood from his chair and picked up his umbrella. "I don't quite know how to give you the answer you're looking for, but if it makes any difference, I can offer you one piece of advice. Sherlock is most definitely married to his work. It will do you well to remember that you are a part of his work. Now I must be going. I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Lovely seeing you, John".
With that, Mycroft gave a polite nod and exited the flat, leaving John to ponder the small amount of advice.
Sherlock had been working his way around the crime scene for a while, picking apart the evidence and occasionally insulting Anderson. With a flourish, he finished his examining and moved over to Lestrade to rattle off his deductions, a few of which had genuinely shocked the Detective Inspector. It took at least fifteen minutes to ensure that all the details were written down properly.
Lestrade exhaled heavily and leaned back onto the front of the nearest police vehicle.
"You aren't going to be sick are you?" Sherlock asked, not exactly too concerned. Lestrade gave a smirk and a shake of the head.
"Nah, can't say I've seen worse though. I can't believe there are people out there that could bring themselves to do that," he replied, trying to keep somewhat light hearted.
"It's not that hard to believe, when you think about it," Sherlock responded.
Lestrade shrugged. "Oh, by the way, how are things with John? You guys y'know," Lestrade started.
Sherlock interrupted, "Are we what?" he retorted with a perplexed look on his face.
"Well, are you guys... together yet?" Lestrade finished, drawing out the word together.
Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "John is home from the hospital, yes," he responded.
Lestrade tutted and tried to make it clearer. "No, I mean, are you two together. Like, umm, are you two dating yet?" he corrected, figuring it would be a lot easier to take away the subtlety.
Sherlock frowned, "No, why would you think that?" he reacted.
Lestrade laughed a little, making Sherlock frown a little harder. "Oh come on, you're crazy for him!" his laugh turned into a quiet chuckle.
Sherlock acted as if he were offended by the remark. There was no way he was love-sick for John. Well, he told himself that there was no way. He knew that he had some feelings for John, and that he had probably confessed them stupidly whilst drugged up on morphine. Oddly, there wasn't a hint of regret in his mind. They did kiss, and Sherlock could remember it foggily. John had just come out of surgery, and was most likely still a bit delirious. He probably didn't mean the things he'd said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he finally replied.
Lestrade rolled his eyes and exhaled, "You can't lie to me, especially when I've known for months. You fancy him, that's about as blunt as I can put it for you".
Sherlock thought about this for a moment, pondering the possibility that he really was in love with John. Neither of them had spoken about the incident, and Sherlock continued to act as if it never happened.
"Even if I did fancy John, I would never tell him," Sherlock quietly replied, trying not to draw attention to their conversation.
"Why not? Afraid that Doctor 'I'm not gay' Watson will reject you?" the DI replied with a short chuckle, cut short by an icy glare gifted to him by Sherlock. "Look, you two are bloody made for each other. For somebody as smart as you, I'm actually surprised you haven't noticed yet. All I'm saying is, just tell him".
Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, "Oh yes, like that won't sound ridiculous at all. 'Oh by the way John, I really quite fancy you'. Pathetic," he sassed.
"Who said you have to sound like a young lad. John's a tough one, so you don't have to sugar coat it. Just tell him. Trust me. And if it all goes wrong, you have my permission to punch me right in my face," Lestrade reassured, holding his hand out to Sherlock, who shook it firmly.
"I shall keep that in mind," the consulting detective replied, making his way out of the crime scene and into a cab.
The whole cab ride home was spent deep in thought. It was definite that he was going to tell John, but the remaining question was how?
Planning ahead was fruitless, and Sherlock decided that he would work out what to do when it came time to actually tell John. Getting out of the cab, he tried to think up a last-second plan, to no avail.
It was now or never.