"I have little left in myself - I must have you. The world may laugh - may call me absurd, selfish - but it does not signify. My very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame."
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

"They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth."

-William Shakespeare

Chapter 13: Taking Root

"It is not so much that I think he can't do it, Mycroft, it is the fact that I think he wants to do it with something that feels an awful lot like an obsession." Greg's voice was slightly muffled as he spoke through the re-breather mask. His breath is just slightly faster than normal as he swings the heavy sword in a perfect arc. Its shiny steel blade catches the mishmash of sunlight and shadows from the foliage around them as it hits against the blade that the admiral is holding.

Mycroft stands with his feet shoulder width apart to accept the heavy blow without being knocked to the ground. He can feel the strength of the hit travel down his arms, through his shoulders and down his back. He steps back one step, twirls the sword around in a circle with a supple wrist and meets Greg's next thrust between them. They stand that way in the afternoon light, in the clearing filled with the strange sounds of exotic bird-like creatures, sizing each other up and waiting. Their gloves are almost brushing against each other between the handles of the two weapons.

Greg gives Mycroft a little nod and then steps back, allowing the tip of the sword to just brush the ground. "That was good."

Mycroft picks up the thread of the conversation. "John will keep him anchored, Greg. You did not know him before, so you will just have to trust me." He takes a deep breath and paces a little, rolling his shoulders.

"Aye. Again." Greg raises his sword as Mycroft moves forward. Metal clashes against metal loud enough that the clearing around them goes completely silent. This time, Greg uses a quick flick of his gloved hand to force the sword out of Mycroft's grip. He starts and his mouth opens in a perfect "o" when the blade clatters to the ground. Greg lets his weapon fall to his side. He lets out a deep chuckle and offers Mycroft his hand. They shake, holding each other's grasp just a little too long before they both turn away.

Mycroft finds his brother standing completely mesmerized beside a huge tank that is now sparkling clean and filled with a clear, viscous fluid. What looks like one hundred bright tubes run through the liquid to be hooked up to one of several machines that are beeping in time with one another. A faint blue light is hung up overhead, giving the entire thing the look of some strange, empty aquarium. Another tank stands beside it.

Sherlock leans against the tank, one broad palm against the glass and the other hanging limply at his side. Mycroft moves beside him and takes in the sight of a tiny blastocyst five days grown. It is already a deep sapphire color and pulsing faintly with partial life. Mycroft has had his doubts about the entire project, but now? Seeing his brother so immersed in the whole thing has changed his mind. If anyone could be strong enough to attempt a seventy-five year old experiment, then he would want no one else but Sherlock.

Very slowly, Mycroft reaches out a lays a hand on his brother's shoulder. Sherlock turns to him with a strange expression. His green eyes are pale jade and there is a softness about his face that Mycroft has never before seen. His voice, when he finally speaks, is a quiet rumble. "That is part of me." Sherlock points towards the blastocyst.

"Yes." Mycroft answers, carefully removing his hand. This is a seriously unexpected turn of events. He tilts his head a little and cocks an eyebrow. "Sherlock, it is never meant to be alive. It is a mere vehicle that needs a pilot…"

"I am fully aware of that, Mycroft." Sherlock spins on the balls of his feet, his entire posture suddenly tense, wary, and protective. His body blocks all sight of the ball of cells floating in the tank. "It is just…" he trails off, waving a hand in the air as if trying to pick out the correct term. "It is something unique, something I never thought I would see…"

"Sherlock. Do not get overly attached…"

Sherlock snarls at his brother. "Really, Mycroft? What kind of idiot do you believe me to be? I am fascinated with the whole experiment. Growing an entire being….it doesn't matter that it is basically a costume full of blood vessels and organs, dammit! It still breathes and eats and shows all of the other attributes of life!"

"Sherlock." Mycroft is now sternly pleading. Sherlock's eyes are wild. He reaches out to lay a comforting hand back on his brother's shoulder but it is not-so-gently slapped away.

"I am not overly attached!" Captain Holmes growls as he attempts to turn away. Mycroft hand tightens on his shoulder and the other one comes up to tightly grip his upper arm.

"Sherlock, stop." For a second, it seems that he is going to break out of Mycroft's grasp. He is looking past Mycroft's shoulder when he notices that John has entered the lab. John takes in the situation and hangs back, waiting to see if he is needed. All of the fight goes out of Sherlock and he stills, leaning against the tank. Mycroft knows this trick so he does not let go. "Tell me."

Sherlock gazes up at his brother, now that he is slumped against the warm glass if he looks straight ahead he will be studying Mycroft's chin, so he has no choice. Mycroft's hands are firm and unyielding. Sherlock knows when to back down; he may be the biggest dog in the pack normally, though he knows frightfully well what Mycroft is capable of.

"I have no desire to destroy it." Sherlock murmurs, lowering his eyes to stare at the toes of his brother's ultra glossy boots.

"What?" John asks from behind them. He walks around to Mycroft's side and studies Sherlock.

Sherlock makes an attempt to speak, to explain what he is thinking. John knows full well that he will not do that around his sibling. "I've got this, Mycroft."

Mycroft lets go of his brother and backs away from them. Seeing that John does indeed have the situation under control, he heads back to the cabin.

John waits until the admiral has departed before asking any questions; he is pretty sure of the answer to this one, but he's got to hear it from Sherlock's own mouth. "What do you mean you have no desire to destroy it? Sherlock, why do you think that?"

"It is going to be beautiful, John. You will meld with your second body. I am not so sure it will work for me." Sherlock finally looks up at John. John is completely taken aback by the lost look in his eyes. Is this the same person he fought for the Time Gate with? What is happening here?

"Sherlock, maybe this whole thing is a bad idea." John rests his back against the glass beside Sherlock, crossing his arms over his chest. The lab around them is quiet except for the beeping of the machines; even George has finished his arduous task of updating seven decades worth of information into the new system. The lights are all slightly dim and night is falling outside.

"No." Sherlock says, his voice strong once again. He dips his head and presses a soft kiss to John's mouth. "No." His eyes grab John's and hold them. "No. I can work through this, whatever this is. The mission will continue as planned. We have a purpose here and I will not let my own failings keep us from succeeding."

John rests one hand against Sherlock's hip. "Explain it to me, Sherlock, so that I can understand."

Sherlock's eyes seem to gaze inward, going deep into his mind where no one else can possibly hope to follow. "I have never been a part of something so beautiful. I am afraid that I will destroy it before we even get started."

John frowns. "What even gives you that idea?"

Sherlock actually shrugs. That is as close to I don't know as John knows he's going to get. "Look, Sherlock, I think you are pretty much exhausted. You have been working on this thing almost non-stop for days. Let's say we have an early night tonight." John considers the last week of falling asleep and waking up to find that Sherlock did not even close his eyes for two hours. He tries not to let himself whine about it, though it is starting to get to him.

"Alright, John." John lets his arm rest around Sherlock's waist as he steers him towards the cabin and their bed.

At what would pass for three AM in Earth time, Sherlock is once again to be found in front of the tank in the lab. The ball of cells has gone from the size of a thumbprint to the size of a baseball in several hours. He knows that its growth would be accelerated, but actually seeing it is absolutely stupendous. He is completely enthralled, leaning against the glass with his nose pressed against it like a little kid staring into the shop windows dreaming of Christmas morning.

He has pulled one of the chairs over, so that the growing ball of cells is almost directly in front of him. He runs his fingers across the temperate glass, his eyes full of wonder and the throb of excitement pulsing through his veins a very different feeling from the rush of orgasm riding on the cusp of the way he feels about John from a few hours ago. He sighs and rests his forehead against the glass, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could just tell John the way he feels. After all of this time, especially when they have been along for months and months-why is it so difficult to say?

After the mission, he tells himself, his words inaudible to anyone except him as they escape on a sigh. If he can complete this mission successfully, he will give John more to be proud of, give him more than just a rank and a life out gathering research. It is not that John has asked for any of those things, rather that Sherlock feels he needs to uphold some unspoken end of an unmade deal. John gives him so much, it is only right. He stares at the blastocyst, so completely unaware of anything else in the moment and so misses it when John steps into the light for just a second, a worried expression on his face as he turns back into the darkness of the sleeping cabin.