Sorry for the delay. Let's call it "summer slump".
Special thanks to tonnaree for helping out as beta once more. If you haven't done so already, go and read her poems. They are wonderful.
The silence stretches for a while. Finally, Janine looks up from her mobile and gives everybody an apologetic smile. "Sorry if I'm keeping you from something important."
Mycroft (of course) is the first to recover from the surprise. He starts sending messages from his mobile quietly while his mind is (apparently) racing. (And I am so relieved that he is surprised, because if he is, it is no shame that I am, too.)
Mary is the first to speak. "You never told me," she says, in her own special way meant to show vulnerability but only comes out accusing. (Face pale, hands shaking, eyes wide open. Scared.)
"Oh please, dear," Janine smiles sweetly, "don't worry. If I had had any intentions of making you pay for what you did to Jimmy you would have paid already." She goes to Mary and gives her a friendly hug, "Oh my, you are VERY pregnant now." Then her eyes fall onto one of the laptops. There is (real? Surely not. Very well faked) realisation on her face, "Oh Mikey, you were working on that clip already. Did you think it was meant for Sherl?"
The question hangs in the air, further bruising my ego. Because yes, of course we did. "Oops," Janine goes, looking even more apologetic now. Comes back to me to pad my back. "Hope your ego survives that blow." She grins now, and I remember why faking a relationship with her has not been as unpleasant as it could have been.
"It is wounded, but will recover," I sigh, and lead her back to the kitchen table. "About that Blue Book ..."
It turns out that this Book is a very effective life insurance. Containing extremely valuable information on the criminal upper class, it is stored at a reliable notary. Should Janine not die of natural causes, parts of it will be published, exposing several secrets that should better be left in the dark.
"But if I'd go nuts like Jimmy," she explains, "it would be destroyed. Daddy's way of telling me to pull myself together, I think." So that is why someone is trying to gaslight her.
We spend some time debating who could have both a motive and access to the technical know-how. John and Mary join us. I can see how glad John is that he can finally contribute something. (So glad that he does not even frown every time Mary contradicts him just to keep him at bay.) Janine notices that, her (minimal) reactions telling me that she knows how it feels to be rebuked by Mary in front of others.
In the end, there are four people left. Four potential culprits. All with very different motives.
I open a new room in my mind palace for this part of the case. (A copy of the open plan office of Sebastian Wilkes' bank, re-decorated with a nice carpet and an interesting wallpaper. Chose this because back then I thought I had to impress John so he would like me a little. Avoided thinking about it for a long time, but now that he loves me I can gloriously return there.)
I give each of the culprits their own part of the office where I store information on them. In working place number one there is Thomas G. Hanson, London's betting king who holds a personal grudge against Janine. "He is angry because I used him for work for a while," Janine explains.
"What kind of work was that?" John wonders, and Janine gives him the cutest smile.
"Con artist."
Which explains how she could play along so nicely when I faked our relationship (rather amateurishly). "Don't worry, you did quite well," she tries to reassure me and pads my arm once again. "But next time you try to be convincing, you should really have sex. I always do that." (Love how John's face tells me not to.) (Good for us that Mary is looking at Janine at that moment.)
At working place two there is Evelyn Montamar. "She is trying to raise a criminal empire like ours for years now," Janine explains, "Only restrains herself because of what is written about her in Dad's Blue Book. With me dead or admitted, the last obstacle would be overcome." (I have never heard about her. Really need to talk about that with Mycroft. What else might we be unaware of?)
At working place three there is Benjamin Jesterton. Former business partner, ended the liaison when it turned out that they were aiming at different goals. "I never wanted to have much to do with the family business," Janine explains, "only needed the Blue Book to get a good head start with the con artist thingy, and to keep some of the big fish at bay."
Jesterton, on the other hand had had big plans to take over Daddy Moriarty's network. "The Work has turned daddy into a grumpy, distrustful old man and drove Jimmy insane," she tells us, with (honest) sadness in her voice. "I vowed to myself not to be infected by it long before Jimmy blew his brains away."
At that, she gives me a sad little smile and pads my arm once more, "I'm not blaming you for his death, Sherl. He was completely obsessed with you, and a danger to the whole family with him being round the bend that much. If it hadn't been you, someone else would have taken him down pretty soon."
(Not sure how I feel about that, so I store it in the back of my mind to look at it again later.)
At working place four there is Elisabeth J. Farnsworth. Congress member with criminal family background kept secret and a few side tracks herself. Should the content of the Blue Book become known, her political career would be over within the second. (That at least I have known before.)
It is those four then. Mycroft joins us in the kitchen, gets the names and starts to do some more research instantly. Mary, on the other hand, has been touching her belly from time to time. "False labour," John says and hushes her into my bedroom. (False labour means she is getting closer to giving birth. Can still take another two or three weeks, but it is the first step. My hands are (just slightly) wet, my heart (mildly) racing. GraceNotEmilia will soon be reality. Need to solve Janine's case soon, for otherwise I will not be able to stay in London and John will be left alone with the baby. And Mary. Unacceptable.)
I am so lost in thoughts that I don't realize that Janine and I are alone in the kitchen all of sudden. She gives me a piercing glance Itry ignore (without success). "Oh Sherl," she says then, patting my back happily (which gets really annoying), "you and John? Finally!" She gives me a conspiratorial grin and another pat on my cheek. "I mean, really, there is nothing wrong with a little marginal shag with someone else's husband now and then, is there?"
Her comment does something funny to my body. On the one hand, the thought of shagging John (Lord, has it really been that long?) sends a wave of arousal through my loins, leaving a burning feeling I can barely ignore. The thought of someone believing it to me marginal, on the other hand, sends a cold shiver through my chest. Both feelings mix in my belly and the result renders me immobile.
Out of the corners of my eyes I see Janine tensing up. Her eyes sad, she reaches for my face again. She cups my cheek this time, strokes it with her thumbs. "Sherl, no," she says, "something serious?" She watches my face attentively. Shakes her head a little.
"He loves me," I blurt out, not really understanding why I feel the need to defend our relationship.
The sadness reaches her eyes now, "I don't begrudge you of it." She moves even closer, and whispers, "But no matter how cute the two of you are together Sherl, what is happening is this: John is cheating on his pregnant wife and you will steal her child."
I want to tell her that the cheating is necessary to protect John, that GraceNotEmilia will be better off with us than with her murderous mother. But the words get caught in my throat. But that does not mean she is right. She is not right. No no no.
"I am not judging you two," Janine says quietly, "but one day, John will. He is doing something WRONG, you know, and sooner or later that will catch up with him. All I'm saying is that you need to be prepared for that."
With that, she turns and leaves me standing in the kitchen alone. Just me and my misery.
No matter what I do, I cannot shake off the discomforting feeling of forcing John to do something WRONG. (Neither can I shake the arousal.) I fail to concentrate on the case, miss an obvious trail (as Mycroft feels obliged to tell me twice) and finally retreat into the kitchen to prepare tea. There, I break a cup and cut my finger.
It is bleeding rather spectacularly, and John has to take me into the bathroom to treat me. Places me on the toilet so I won't swoon. While he holds my finger up in the air, I allow my head to lean against John's waist. It is soft and warm and safe and John. I block out the pain in my finger as good as I can, concentrating only on my body touching his.
"It is only a flesh wound, no serious damage done," I hear John's (comforting doctor's) voice.
"Of course not," I huff. I have given it a lot of thought beforehand, after all. His waist tenses. (Unpleasant.)
"Sherlock, you didn't ..."
But of course I did. Threw another WRONG in his way. To get some time with him alone, and to see how much WRONG from me he can stand. I wish I could find the words to explain. "I've missed you," I whisper into his waist instead.
Underneath my forehead I can feel his belly softening again. His hands, now done treating my finger, find their way into my hair. (He loves that.) "I've missed you too," he says softly. "You know that, don't you?" I nod. Close my eyes when one of his hands move down my neck to stay on my back, slowly rubbing it. Finally let go of the breath I must have been holding for three weeks now.
He rubs my back for a long time. When he steps back a little to look at me, he has to grin. "Lord, Sherlock, you really need to think about sick puppies or cold showers or something." I follow his glance down to my pelvis. Apparently the arousal has not subsided along with the tension. He laughs quietly (that wonderful laughter that always reaches his eyes and his soul). "I can't let you walk out with a boner like that," he grins.
True, there is a burning in my lower body, closer to pain than to pleasure. Pure, physical need mixed with emotional craving. And John is right, the result is clearly visible. I am sure that I flush, for I am more than ashamed of my uncontrollable body. But John (understanding glorious hot John) smiles at me as if my obvious arousal was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
"I'll think of something sobering" I promise. But John has other plans. ( That grin. Oh that grin alone sends little shock waves through my body. ) He presses his index finger against my lips and whispers, "Hush, love, not a sound." His other hand has already freed my (fully erect) penis. (No idea how.)
The touch if his (cool) hands against my (hot needing) erection only intensifies the burning. Spreads it. I moan silently. Slowly, very very slowly (but strong) John pulls back my foreskin, as far as possible. Then he applies pressure, squeezes, does not let go. That does not relieve any tension at all, only makes me want it more. My legs go rigid and my head falls back. I'm sweating already.
He does not move his hand, just holds it in place, and my hips start moving involuntarily. Only that with my foreskin pulled back and the flushing tank of the toilet in my back and John in front of me there is nearly no space for them to move. Was was burning need when he started is pain now that erases everything else from my brain. (Bliss.)
He finally, finally lets go, but only to repeat what he did. I think my arms are flailing, my hands finding some part of John's body (arm? back?) and I grip him hard.
After some agonizing seconds he lets go again, and now my hips find some space and I am fucking his hand (frantically). My genius lover picks up the rhythm my hips are seeking, and after only a few steady strokes there is relief pulsing through my body. (Goes on and on and on.)
My body goes from jerking to trembling, my hands slip from whatever part of John it was that they were clinging to. My brain is still not online again. I feel entirely boneless and would surely melt to the ground if it weren't for John to hold me and rock me and whisper words without meaning into my ear.
It takes several deep (silent) breaths before I become fully aware of the world again. (How I managed to remain silent all the time eludes me.) I should be sticky but am not. The solution: my genius lover has caught most of my come with a towel. (Without me noticing. A technique surely learnt in the army.)
Finally I find the strength (and courage) to look into his eyes. Should feel awkward but doesn't (because it's John). He smiles at me, sweetly and lovingly (as if he had not pushed me into a short painful brain- numbing orgasm just now). Caresses my curls, presses innocent kisses on my face. My head lolls forward to rest against his belly once more. ( Right where it was when we started. Full circle.) I bury my face and love him for a while.
All too soon he gently pushes me back. "We need to come out of the bathroom soon," he says (softly with regret). A glance at the clock shows me that the whole thing has only taken four minutes.
I can only nod. "I'll go first and tell them you are down with your nerves," my genius lover tells me. Brilliant plan. That gives me some time to pull myself together, wipe that post-orgasmic smile from my face (grinning like an idiot now), re-arrange my hair and my trousers and my mind. I nod again.
Open my mouth, but fail to find words. Close it again. Look at John. Does he (once again) know what it is I am not saying? Of course. He has already been at the door but comes back and whispers, "I love you too."
Then he is gone, and I am still grinning like a fool.