Chapter Text
John isn’t sure how it happens. One minute he’s arguing with Sherlock over the contents of the refrigerator, the next Sherlock has stepped into his personal space and the next they’re falling into Sherlock’s bed, kissing frantically and rutting against each other like a couple of horny teenagers.
Only he does know how it happens. It was inevitable, really, after so many years of dancing around each other, it was obvious they would end up colliding; it was just a matter of when.
If he’s honest with himself (and he rarely is, but in this particular case it makes no sense not being) when he thought about kissing Sherlock, he always expected their first kiss to be hesitant. Turns out that it’s anything but. Sherlock kisses like he does everything else: without an ounce of doubt, throwing himself headfirst, not sparing a second to think about consequences.
It’s rather exhilarating, truth to be told.
But when it ends… god, when it ends it’s exactly as John always thought it would be: guilt eats him up alive and he’s tempted to bolt out of bed as soon as the post orgasmic haze banishes. However, he squashes his urge to flee and instead smiles at Sherlock, who is watching him closely, obviously having already figured out the thoughts running through his head.
When it becomes evident he’s not going to leave, Sherlock’s stance relaxes and the taller man curls closer, a soft smile on his lips. They don’t quite cuddle, but they lay together in companionable silence, both quietly contemplating what has just happened.
As beginnings go, this isn’t so bad.
Not perfect. But definitely not bad.
***
They don’t really talk about it. They both seem to have acknowledged their relationship has shifted, but neither is quite willing to address the matter. They carry on like they’ve had in the last 10 months of cohabitation, with the sole difference that nowadays they just use a bedroom.
It’s far from ideal, to be honest. Both know how much their silences have costed them in the past, but their skills at communication haven’t improved at all and so they don’t try. They just hope that this time around, things will somehow work better.
And they do. For a while.
And then the date of the ‘Anniversary’ comes.
***
John doesn’t notice the date until he’s back at the apartment. It’s pretty early, not even 4 o’clock and the place is deserted. Sherlock left the day before, having found a case in Hampshire that required his immediate attention and since John was dealing with an influx of work because a ridiculous number of his subordinates had called in ill, he couldn’t follow.
It shouldn’t have mattered. It’s not, after all, the first case Sherlock has taken solo since John moved in, but when the doctor looks at the calendar hanging on the wall, he immediately freezes.
Today, exactly a year ago, Sherlock came back for the dead.
Today, 8 years ago, he married Mycroft Holmes.
He goes to make some tea, his body going on autopilot, his mind far far away. He supposes he shouldn’t get so emotional about a date; there’s no use on torturing himself with memories of what happened a year, or eight, or five, or whenever ago. Today is just another day like the one before.
Except it isn’t. Not really.
His phone rings and he picks it up in automatic. It’s a text, so he assumes it’s from Sherlock, updating him with news of his case. He finishes making his tea and goes to sit at the living room, determined to act like today holds no especial significance.
As it turns out, the text it’s from Mycroft.
They haven’t really talked since the night John announced he was signing the divorce papers. They haven’t seen each other since they had to go to courthouse to finish the divorce procedure. They have called each other in a couple of occasions; brief, informative conversations that felt a bit too stiff and that seemed to show that the whole ‘being friends’ thing wasn’t going to work.
And now this.
Dinner?
John’s fingers hover over the keypad, wondering should he answer. He should say no. It would be for the best, really; he’s technically with Sherlock now and he shouldn’t- tempting fate is-
Pick me up?
It seems some people never learn from their mistakes.
(But was it a mistake?)
***
Dinner is nice. More than nice, actually. The ride to the restaurant is a bit unnerving, but the actual dinner is quite pleasant: the food is delicious and Mycroft behaves charmingly. Conversation flows easily between them, the comfortable companionship they once shared is back without any sort of real effort on John’s part and all in all, he finds himself enjoying the evening immensely.
In the back of his mind there’s a voice nagging him about how wrong it is, but he keeps telling himself he’s not actually doing anything wrong. After all, what’s wrong with dinner between friends (even if said friend used to be your husband and today would have been your eighth anniversary)?
He can't entirely shake off the sense of wrongness, but he can ignore it quite nicely.
Mycroft drives him back home and when they say their goodbyes John’s eyes keep dropping to Mycroft’s lips. But that’s a line he’s most definitely not crossing, no matter what, so he exits the car hastily, almost tripping in his attempt to leave quickly. Mycroft notices, of course, but the car drives away without the older man attempting anything.
John stumbles back to the apartment shaking. He shouldn’t have gone out for dinner with his ex husband on their bloody anniversary, but he guesses that goes showing how incredibly unbelievable stupid he can be.
To be fair, Mycroft shouldn’t have asked either. But John agreed, so they both are to blame, he supposes.
When he catches his breath, he notices Sherlock has returned. He’s sitting at the kitchen counter, supposedly examining something in his microscope, but John can tell he’s just pretending to be occupied. His heart stops, but he quickly forces himself to act normal.
Nothing happened. He did nothing wrong.
There’s no reason for him to be feeling so damn guilty.
“Had a nice dinner?” Sherlock asks casually, not looking up. He must know who was John out with; even if he wasn’t a genius detective, John’s clothes are telling enough. Suits are, after all, as far from his usual clothes as they come.
“Yes,” he replies calmly and is proud of how collected he sounds. He steps closer, aiming to look nonchalant and goes to put on the kettle. “Have you eaten something?”
Sherlock grunts and that could be a yes or a no, but John knows better than to press for an actual answer. Instead he focuses on making tea, determined to keep acting normal. “How was the case?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at his- flatmate? who is still pretending to be terribly entertained with the microscope.
Sherlock looks up then, a vague look of disgust on his face. “Dull,” he replies and launches himself on an explication of a rather simple case of embezzlement that does, in fact, sound quite dull.
“Why did you take it then?” John asks, honestly curious, placing a cup of tea in front of the other male. “You must have known it was going to be a boring one.”
For a beat, Sherlock doesn’t answer. Then he shrugs non committedly. “It sounded more promising on paper.”
John realizes his friend is lying right away. And he realizes why he took the case a second later: Sherlock knows exactly what day is today.
Embarrassment and anger fight a battle inside of him, both demanding him to do something about the deception. It’s not fair to be this irrationally angry, he doesn’t think, but what was Sherlock thinking? Was this- what? a test? Of his- loyalty? Of his- feelings?
What was Sherlock trying to prove?
The consulting detective has noticed he has been discovered and although he looks sheepish, he doesn’t seem regretful. For a second, John’s anger flares at the observation, but he quickly forces himself to remain calm. Snapping at Sherlock will get them nowhere and-
“I’m going to bed,” he announces as calmly as he can and Sherlock nods. For a second, John considers heading back to his old room upstairs, but one quick look over his shoulder at Sherlock makes him realize that would be a terrible, terrible idea.
So with a deep breath, he heads into their bedroom, changes into his pajamas and lies down, careful to keep his mind blank so his temper may not rise again. A few minutes (or hours, he really can’t tell) later, Sherlock comes in too and curls next to him, not really touching him, but comfortably close.
John falls asleep shortly after.
***
Sherlock had planned to come back at least 2 days later. He’s not sure anymore what he had wanted to prove, what he was expecting to come home to, but he does know this: John is angry.
John wasn’t supposed to know he had done it on purpose. It hadn’t- it hadn’t really been a test. Or at least, he doesn’t think so. He was meant to be gone for 3-4 days and so when he came back, whatever evidence of whatever might had happened between his brother and John would have faded enough for Sherlock to easy overlook it.
But he had found himself incapable of going through with his plan. The mere idea of what could be happening… he had packed quickly and took the earliest train, but had managed to miss John for a few minutes. He had sat at the living room for the longest time, torturing himself with different scenarios and wondering what would he do if John didn’t come back tonight.
His fears had turned out to be for nothing; it seems John will be as loyal to him as he once was to Mycroft.
But the knowledge doesn’t make him feel any better.
***
They don’t talk about that night. They carry on like nothing has happened and John knows that it’s a terrible mistake, but he doesn’t know how to broach the subject and so he doesn’t.
And then Christmas comes.
The year before he spent the holidays by himself, while Sherlock went to visit his parents. Considering Sherlock had been back from the dead for a very short while, his attendance had been practically mandatory even if he didn’t want to go. John, on the other hand, had been sure it wasn’t a good idea for him to go.
This year however, Mrs. Holmes herself called to invite him and how could he say no?
He expects things to be a little tense, but his ex in laws treat him as if nothing has changed at all. He visits his own mother shortly and she does treat him with barely concealed anger, but Mrs. Holmes is as lovely as ever before.
It’s… unnerving, to be completely honest.
Mycroft arrives on Christmas Eve, just in time for dinner. Afterwards they chat politely, even if the conversation is a little tense. Sherlock sits next to him on the couch and contributes to the conversation on occasion, much to John’s surprise.
If Mycroft is surprised at all it’s impossible to tell.
Sherlock ends up retiring early and although John considers following him, decides against it in the last second. He’s not sure about his sleeping arrangements for the night, to be honest. He’s not entirely certain that staying in Sherlock’s bedroom would be appropriate, but-
“There’s a guest’s bedroom downstairs,” Mycroft informs him, his eyes fixed on the staircase where his brother disappeared a few minutes ago. “But my parents would hardly be scandalized if you decided to stay with Sherlock.”
He’s not sure what to say to that. How do you go about talking to your ex husband about your current love and sex life?
He finds himself thinking of their last Christmas together and of the enigmatic conversation they had on that night. In retrospective, he should have known something was terribly off, but he had preferred to ignore all the signs. Now-
“I really can’t- how could you-” he bites his lip, not really wanting to finish that thought. Mycroft sighs, leaning back on his seat and staring at the ceiling. For a while, neither speaks and John wonders if he should leave now, before he does or says something that could only make things (more) awkward between them.
“I can be a very selfish man, John,” Mycroft tells him suddenly, still not looking at him. “Feelings are not my forte, but I’m used to getting my way. If you- if you were anyone else, make no mistake, I wouldn’t have let you go.”
There’s something- dark and intriguing in the way he says it that makes John shiver. “Is that a good thing?” he asks, unsure of what exactly does that mean and wondering why he wants to know.
Mycroft observes him for a beat, his eyes dark and John gulps. “I want you, John. You have no idea how much I do.” He’s leaning closer and the doctor finds himself leaning in too, his heart beating erratically. “But I also love you. You, John Watson, made me fall in love with you. And because of that, I had to let you go.” He leans back once again and John feels like he has woken up from a trance. “I couldn’t keep you against your will.”
John forces himself not to say what he’s thinking. He forces himself to stop thinking about it, because really, that road will lead him nowhere but to another heartbreak.
But god, he wants-
He stands up abruptly, his whole body shaking. He wants to throw himself at his ex husband and he knows that if he doesn’t leave right now he'll do exactly that. And he can’t do that. It wouldn’t- he couldn’t-
God, he loves Sherlock. He loves him so much. And yet-
“Good night, Mycroft.”
The older man must know what he’s thinking and so he just nods in acquaintance, a sad smile playing on his lips.
He’s not sure how he’s going to survive this.
He suspects he won’t.
***
Mycroft thinks he’s coping admirably. Save for his little slip on what would have been their eighth anniversary, he has kept himself away, despite how much he longed to see John again. That dinner had been the biggest mistake of his life (even worse than those 2 years of damned marriage) because it had made him go back to stage one of his grief.
He had always known there would be no moving on for him, but he hadn’t been quite prepared to see that John seemed to be having the same trouble.
Of course John is happy with Sherlock. After so many years of wanting it just made sense for them to be together and to enjoy the sole pleasure of having each other without any guilt. Still-
He dares not to hope for- No, he shouldn’t even begin to contemplate-
But he does. And now he understands the hell Sherlock went through all those years ago and wonders how could he be so cruel to let him go through it in the first place. It’s awful and it just hurts…
Nothing for it, though. Maybe he should just… leave the country for a while. Distance is supposed to make things easier, isn’t it? He guesses he could try, because god knows that trying to work endlessly hasn’t really helped.
In fact, he doubts anything will help.
But at least he could spare Sherlock and John the sight of how profoundly affected he is.
***
It just won’t do.
Sherlock knows this with the same certainty he knows the sky is blue, Moriarty was insane and John will nag him until he eats something for dinner. He knows that in the long run what they’re currently doing will destroy them.
John is happy with him. And he does love him, that’s easy to see. But it’s also easy to see that he’s torn inside and that sooner or later things will start falling apart and then Sherlock will lose him and he can’t- he can’t-
Also, there’s Mycroft to consider. If what Lestrade says is true, his brother will be leaving very soon. But Sherlock knows that’s a short term solution, because he also knows how physically impossible is to keep oneself away from the man you love. Permanent imprisonment or death are the only things that could work in this case and he’s not particularly eager to see his brother in either situation.
So, what to do?
He’s a genius, surely he can work out a solution.
He just hopes he’ll do it in time.
***
On a cold February evening, John comes home to the Holmes brothers sitting in front of each other in perfect silence, like they’re evaluating each other and trying to figure out all of their weakness.
Which, to be fair, might be the case.
“Is there something-?”
“Sit John,” Sherlock commands, his tone breaking no argument and so John obeys, even if he does it a little hesitantly.
“Now that John is here,” Mycroft begins calmly, his tone betraying nothing, “care to enlighten me on the motive of this meeting?”
John arches an eyebrow, surprised that Sherlock was the one who organized this. He turns to his friend (lover?) and the younger male narrows his eyes at his brother, not responding right away. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, Sherlock sighs. “This isn’t going to work.”
John tenses immediately, his heart constricting painfully in his chest. However, he forces himself not to say anything, sensing Sherlock isn’t done just yet. “It doesn’t- Words don’t come easily to me. Not on this matter, at least. And as you know, as you both know, my experience with relationships is… non existent. But it’s to my understanding that if one of the parts isn’t completely satisfied, said relationship is bound to fail.”
“Sherlock-” John tries to interrupt, because he is happy, how can Sherlock think-?
“Oh, I know you’re happy,” Sherlock interrupts him smoothly. “But you’re not satisfied. You want- well, to be honest, I’m not sure what you want.” He turns to his brother then, frowning. “I don’t think it’s just sex; I don’t think it’s just physical.”
Mycroft sighs, leaning back on his seat. “We were married for 7 years, Sherlock. And maybe we weren’t- maybe there weren’t actual feelings involved for the whole duration of our marriage, but these things just don’t- they don’t simply disappear overnight.”
Sherlock nods, looking thoughtful and John suspects he ought to say something, but he has no idea what. He sends a desperate look in Mycroft’s direction, but he seems to be as at loss as himself.
Not a good thing, really.
“I don’t like sharing,” Sherlock states, his voice abruptly cutting through the tense silence. “Never have. Not even- not even when we’re working; I don’t like you paying attention to Lestrade, or Donovan or anyone,” he hisses, looking at John and the blond nods slowly, unsure of where this is going. Mycroft looks interested now though, leaning closer. “But losing you- That’s not an acceptable scenario. Under no circumstances.” Sherlock takes a deep breath, obviously uncomfortable. “So I’m willing to compromise.”
John just stares at him for a beat, trying to figure out what he means. He thinks he understands, after a while, but- “Sherlock, that’s not- that’s not how compromising works. You don’t- I can’t- This is ridiculous!”
Sherlock shakes his head vehemently. “No, not really. I don’t- Well, no, I do mind sharing. But I could do it. If it meant- if it meant you'd be happier, more satisfied with our relationship-”
“Sherlock!” John exclaims, feeling more than a little scandalized and standing up. “That’s not- that’s not how relationships work!”
He turns to Mycroft, expecting some support (although he doesn’t know why), but the older Holmes gaze is fixed on the younger one, a look of utter puzzlement in his features. Sherlock just stares at him patiently, as if he was expecting such reaction.
“It’s a perfectly sound idea, John. And if you look past your moral convictions for a while-”
John takes a deep breath and turns to Mycroft once again. “What do you think?”
Mycroft frowns, looking troubled now. “That’s an unfair question, John,” he replies evenly, lacing his fingers beneath his chin in Sherlock’s usual thinking pose. “At this point, I would agree with whatever idea Sherlock had that implied I could have you, even if not completely.”
John opens his mouth to say something and then closes it, realizing he doesn’t know what. He runs his hand through his hair, feeling mostly frustrated and unsure of what he’s supposed to do now.
“You might want to- think about it,” Sherlock says, sounding perfectly reasonable and therefore making John more frustrated than ever. He’s not the one being deliberately unreasonable, dammit! “I’ve already phoned Lestrade. He’s expecting you.”
This- they always do this. They make plans for him, anticipating his reactions and although yes, going to Greg’s is exactly what he was thinking, John isn’t happy with it. Still, he decides to choose his fights carefully and so he just stands up, nods to himself and exits the apartment once more, leaving the Holmes brothers behind, sharing a tense silence.
This isn’t going very well, is it?
***
“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” Mycroft can’t help to ask, wondering why would his brother do this. It just seems so- out of character.
“It’ll make John happier,” he replies evenly. “And- I do know what you’re going through. It’s a special kind of hell that I- that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.”
How much has his brother grown. “It doesn’t feel very fair on you.”
Sherlock stays quiet for the longest time. “What we’ve done before wasn’t fair on anyone. I think- I think it’s time we change that. Being selfish will lead us nowhere.”
Well… would you look at that?
How things have changed.
***
Greg listens in silence to John’s emotional breakdown, nodding thoughtfully every now and then and humming in sympathy at the right times. John feels a little guilty by burdening the man with all his emotional baggage, but he’s really better at this whole listening and helping him sort through his feelings than his therapist.
Which tells us an awful lot about John, doesn’t it?
“Why do you dislike the idea so much?” Greg asks once he has finished his tale and John groans, frustrated.
“That’s not how relationships work!”
Greg hums, “that’s not how most relationships work, I’ll give you that. But what about your whole situation is remotely normal?”
“Greg, you can’t honestly be suggesting-”
“But I did before, didn’t I?” he says, a soft tired smile on his lips. “I do believe you could make this work, John. If you wanted. If you’re willing.”
“I don’t- that’s not-” he starts pacing around the room, incapable of keep on sitting still. “They deserve better. Someone who- someone who would actually choose-”
“But John, it’s not exactly like that. I mean- you know them. Neither is particularly skillful at the whole relationships business, but they both care deeply about you. They’re not- they’re not going to move on any time soon, maybe never at all. And if they both agree-”
“That’s not the way things work!”
Greg rolls his eyes. “So what, you’ll stay with one and feel eternally guilty about still harboring feelings for the other, hoping one day they’ll fade away? How is that fair on anyone?”
“How is being with both fair?!”
Greg shrugs. “They’d agree to it.” John opens his mouth to protest and so the DI carries on, “I’m not saying- look, I know where you’re coming from. And it might sound- it might sound crazy, but I do think it could work. I mean, you have to talk this through. Really, really talk it through. And it’s not going to be pleasant or easy, but it does sound like a logical-”
“How is it logical?!”
“They both love you, you love them both. How is it not logical?”
“I don’t- it’s not-” John sighs, defeated. “Relationships aren’t meant to be like this.”
“What you’re doing right now it’s pretty messed up,” Greg agrees calmly. “Because you’re not being honest with yourself. But if you were-”
“Sharing, honestly? You think either of them can really do that?”
The DI seems to think long and hard about that. “They’re both pretty… possessive. So I expect it’ll be odd at first, but they both know-”
“Greg, they would be- they would be settling for less than what they deserve. They both- they both deserve someone who can love them fully-”
“And you could, John. It’s like- parents, you know? They don’t love one child more than the other, they just-”
“Oh god, you did not just make that comparison!”
Greg bites his lip. “Well… maybe it’s not entirely adequate, but the point still stands. Loving them both doesn’t mean loving either any less. And being with both is fairer than- whatever that you think you’re doing.”
“It’s not what they want. If they could choose-”
Greg hums. “Not necessarily. I mean- yes, ideally, none of this would have ever happened, but given the circumstances… it’s not as bad as you’re making it look, John. I think that what Sherlock is trying to do- to make you happy and stop his brother from being hurt- I think it’s quite sweet.”
God, how did it all come to this? When did Sherlock become the more emotionally mature of them all? “But is it right?”
“If he wasn’t sure, he wouldn’t have approached you with the idea. If he really didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have ever brought the matter up.” Greg bites his lip gently. “I shouldn’t probably tell you this… but Mycroft was considering moving out of the country. I think this is Sherlock’s desperate attempt to- do something for his brother.”
That’s- that’s not- oh god, this keeps getting more and more complicated. “He could have just let him go. Distance would have- would have make things more manageable.” Greg insists and something twists inside John. It’s just so- so-
John sighs once more. “I don’t know. I really don’t know what to think.”
The DI offers him a tight smile. “It’s not- socially conventional, but it’s not morally wrong, I don’t think. As long as you’re being honest- there’s nothing wrong with it. Not everyone would be supportive or understanding but- that shouldn’t matter to you, John. And you know Sherlock and Mycroft: social conventions are for dull people.”
That gets a laugh out of John. “I can stay here tonight, right?”
Greg smiles. “Take as long as you need.”
John nods. This might take a very long while indeed.
***
The weird thing is that it works. It’s weird as hell and for the first few months John feels vaguely disgusted with himself, but Sherlock and Mycroft take it all in a stride and put up magnificently with his bad moods and his guilty rants and his self hate. Trying to convince either of them that this is bad idea that will end in nothing but tears is absolutely pointless and so eventually, John forces himself to stop thinking about what he has believed his whole life to be right and start seeing things from a different angle.
It’s not easy, not at all. And he suspects that neither of the Holmes brothers is taking this as easily or as calmly as they both pretend they are, but Greg is right: neither really believes in social conventions and so they don’t particularly care of what others might think of their methods of solving things.
It’s not perfect, not by far.
But somehow it works.
***
When Violet Holmes met John Watson, she had thought he was perfect for her son.
So while she had expected Sherlock to become completely enamored with the doctor, she hadn’t expected her elder son to find himself in love with John too. Neither did she expected all the trouble that the arranged marriage would cause, nor the surprising ending of the whole affair.
Still, she believes the outcome was most positive.
It wasn’t an easy road and it was filled with more bumps and heartbreaks than she (or her children) would have prefered, but in the end, she thinks (and her boys would agree) it was all worth it.
“It didn’t quite work out as you expected, did it?” her husband asks, as they watch their sons talking animatedly among them, none of their usual hostility in their stances or tones, while John stands by with an amused smile on his lips.
Her husband never liked the idea of the arranged marriage, even if he never said it in so many words. Violet knew, of course, but she was convinced it was for the best and so she never let her husband’s displeasure affect her. Now, though...
“No, not really,” Violet agrees, as she watches Sherlock wrapping himself around John and Mycroft leaning in to kiss the doctor chastely. “I think it worked even better than I originally anticipated.”
Singer Holmes doesn’t comment.
He thinks that to.