Chapter Text
Victor Trevor was going to kill John Watson.
He was hung-over, sleep deprived, had a million other things to be doing but no, he was awake at 9-bloody-am, wandering around Regent’s-bloody-Park looking for a runaway- bloody- boyfriend.
When Sherlock had first rung he was annoyed but unsurprised considering the other boy’s social graces. It wasn’t the first time and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last but god damn it was irritating. However, when his friend’s panicked voice spoke over the line, hurrying over a brief description which basically amounted to ‘John gone, need help’. Then Sherlock had instructed him to look round Regent’s Park and promptly hung up with a quick thank you. It was this thank you that had been the most worrying of all and was the thing that had Victor rolling out of bed and running over to the nearest bus stop.
The puzzle that had kept Victor occupied while he wandered around the freezing cold park was why. Why had he disappeared? He’d been acting a bit odd at yesterday’s party (well, what Victor could remember of the party anyway) and Sherlock had lost him for a while until he was spotted chatting to another group of people. Between then and now Sherlock had somehow managed to lose his beloved and was now frantically running around with a search size the area of the entirety of London. Now if you asked Victor, John had probably either a) gone out for something or b) was passed out on someone else’s floor but as a good friend here he was, wandering round a freezing park and-
Maybe Sherlock was onto something. John Watson looked like he hadn’t slept. He was slumped on a bench, clutching a to-go coffee, hair ruffled, still in the clothes he was in yesterday and was a general mess.
Victor didn’t quite know what to do at this point. He hadn’t been expecting to actually find him so this was something of a surprise. Luckily John spotted him while he had paused in his indecision and was making his way towards him. Unluckily, John looked pissed off. Like really pissed off. Victor felt the urge to run even though he was fairly certain he’d done nothing wrong. Oh God he was right in front of him.
“Good morning John.” Casual. Keep it casual.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s not illegal to go for a walk is it?” He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t just telling him the truth.
“You live a tube ride away.”
“I fancied coming here instead.”
“Stop lying to me. Just stop.” John glowered at him.
Victor sighed. “Sherlock sent me. He was worried.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why was he worried?”
“Wh-” Victor was perplexed. “Why wouldn’t he be worried? You up and leave without telling him and then don’t come back? Anything could’ve happened.”
“Surprised he noticed me leaving. Seemed to be pretty happy with you from what I saw,” John said, his jaw twitching.
The pieces began to slot together in Victor’s mind and he did not like the picture that was beginning to see. “What do you think is going on here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you could tell me.”
Victor was just about the bloody well tell him what was going on when, in a blur of coat and hair, Sherlock rounded the corner only to freeze at the sight before him.
“John.” Victor winced. How could one voice contain so much relief, so much happiness when it was tainted with so much hurt that it sounded broken? Hell, John had only been missing for one morning; Victor couldn’t imagine what would happen if something worse was to ever happen.
John swung round instinctively at the sound of his name so Victor couldn’t see his expression as he stared at the child-like Sherlock, long coat partially covering the jumper he swore he would never wear and his jeans from yesterday thrown on in a rush, hair rumpled and a face that bore the signs of a mild hangover.
“He found you,” Sherlock said, breaking the long pause. John just nodded. This interaction seemed to satisfy Sherlock however as he strode forward. Victor took this as his cue to give the two some privacy and sneaked behind a group of bushes, just so he could keep an eye on proceedings, without intruding.
***
They’d found him. He was safe. So safe. Nothing bad had happened. It was okay.
Sherlock kept repeating these to himself as he walked the few steps it took to stand before John. His first instinct was to bury his face into John’s neck, to wrap his arms around him, to feel himself become enwrapped in his John, to feel the reassurance of his touch, his voice.
John’s eyes stopped him. His eyes looked wary, with a hint of anger underneath (hands clenching, bad sign, think, think) but it was the tiniest hint of relief he noticed, in the slight fall of John’s shoulders, in the way he slumped ever so slightly after hearing Sherlock’s voice, that’s what kept Sherlock speaking.
“You weren’t there.” Sherlock didn’t say it as an accusation, it was merely a statement of fact, a request for a why.
“Yeah, well neither were you.” Sherlock tilted his head to the left. John debated something, opening and then closing his mouth before his expression cleared into a blank mask.
“Tell me what’s going on with you and Victor.”
“Me and Victor?” Sherlock asked incredulously.
“Yes, you and Victor, and don’t you bloody lie to me Sherlock Holmes, otherwise I swear I will,” John couldn’t finish his sentence before frustration got the better of him.
“Nothing is going on between me and Victor. John, how could you even think-”
“Because you left me no other choice! All the time, every day, all I hear is about how you and Victor had a wonderful time that day and what great adventures you’re going on tomorrow, and oh look you’ve got another party to go too together and who do you take along to your first ever crime scene? How can you not see it, you that tells everyone in the goddamn universe to simply look closer?”
Sherlock stood shocked. That was a ridiculous assumption, a complete misreading of the facts, totally and utterly incorrect and worst of all he could see just how he’d forced John into believing it. Sure there were times when he and John were what his 17 year old self would have called disgustingly domestic but recently, yes, he’d been busy and the case and his work had been distracting him. But he had to put this right somehow.
“John. There is nothing between me and Victor. I can see how you might think that but I swear I don’t think I can or will ever feel for anyone the way I feel about you. I love you, plain and simple as it is to say. And yes I did just say that,” he added, noticing John’s shocked expression. “All I talk about sometimes is you. My friends set up a drinking game around it. They even had to complicate the rules because simply taking a shot every time I mentioned you would have given them all alcohol poisoning. I’m mad about you. I’m sorry I haven’t shown it recently but I was worried about you.”
“Worried about me?” It was John’s turn to tilt his head in confusion.
“Of course I was worried. After everything we went through last year, after you literally had to leave everything behind, you think I don’t worry? I suppose I didn’t want to overwhelm you before you’d found your feet. I did not realise you would feel left out, an oversight I won’t be making again. I don’t know how to say I’m sorry enough.”
“So nothing’s going on with Victor?” John was still frowning but he no longer looked angry.
“No,” Sherlock said, his shoulders dropping. He felt drained.
“And you were trying to protect me? To look after me?”
“Always.”
Sherlock could see John deliberating. He could only stand and hope what he said was enough. He didn’t know what he’d do if it wasn’t.
“Sherlock, I am so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“I just accused you of cheating when I should have known that isn’t you. At all. That’s a bit not good.”
“When have we ever been good?” Sherlock said with a smirk. He had never heard anything as sweet as John’s laugh.
“Forgiven?” John said, his lips twitching into a hopeful smile.
“Only if you forgive me.”
John answered by lifting his hands up to pull Sherlock into a forceful kiss, one hand cupping the nape of his neck, the other sliding into his hair. They both pulled back quickly though.
“Well that was-”
“Gross?” Sherlock supplied
“Yeah. Think we both need to clean up a bit before we do much else.”
Sherlock was just about the suggest they head back home when Victor appeared from around the corner. One sweep and Sherlock knew something was wrong. Very wrong.
“Sherlock, sorry to jump in but Jake’s been attacked.”
“Who’s Jake?” John asked.
“Case. I’ll explain on the way,” Sherlock replied, mind kicking back into action.
“On the way?”
“On the way to the scene. If you’re coming that is?” Sherlock hurriedly added. John liked options. Had to remember to keep asking.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” John smiled and Sherlock felt himself replying.
“Off we go then,” Sherlock turned to Victor.
***
“You go in, try to get to Jake if you can. John and I need to go deal with something.”
“What?” Victor and John asked simultaneously.
“Trust me. It’s relevant to the case I assure you.”
Victor scowled at both of them for a minute but then launched himself out the taxi all the same, muttering angrilyas he went. Sherlock gave the driver another address and then settled back in his seat.
“I can tell you’re trying to avoid my sceptical look. Acknowledge it.” John stared until Sherlock glanced at him.
“Tell me what’s going on. Why aren’t we going to question Jake?”
Sherlock allowed himself a smirk. John looked puzzled and Sherlock watched the cogs turning in his brain a while before replying.
“We’re headed towards Jake’s attacker.”
“Wait what? Then what’s Victor doing talking to Jake?” John glanced back at the rapidly disappearing hospital.
“Satisfying his need to check on his friend and keeping out of the way.”
“What so we can go play hero?” John asked, trying (and failing) to look serious.
“I felt that was implied,” Sherlock said, turning his head to hide his own smile.
Oh this was going to be fun.
***
The taxi pulled up outside a posh office building, its exterior mainly glass reflecting the image of the opposing skyscraper. John felt acutely aware of just how scruffy he looked as several heads turned towards the two teens. He followed behind Sherlock as they strode through the standard, modern reception, past the curved lines of the front desk and glass coffee tables and straight towards the elevators.
“Sherlock are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he said as he shot a pleasant smile towards the woman getting out of the lift who shot them a startled look. He had a bad feeling the only thing preventing them being stopped was Sherlock’s imperious demeanour and that wasn’t exactly full proof.
“Of course I do John, stop worrying,” Sherlock dismissed him with a wave while hitting the button for the 34th floor. John was about to ask how he knew where he was going but it was a pointless endeavour. He resigned himself to the unexpected, letting Sherlock know by heaving a massive sigh. Retaliating, Sherlock poked him in the ribs with an elbow, smiling slightly. Dammit, he knew John couldn’t resist that shy smile.
That didn’t stop his gut from clenching when the lift doors dinged and opened. It opened out onto a waiting room with an empty secretary desk along the left side wall and some comfy chairs alongside the other, creating a runway up to the door. The door itself looked out of place, oak wood contrasting the cream and lilacs of the room. It looked imposing and ominous and it reminded him of-
“Is this Mycroft’s office?”
Sherlock chuckled a dark laugh as he paced forward. “No.”
“Someone trying to imitate him then?”
“Not trying to imitate no. This? This is the original.” He emphasised his words by taping on the engraved name plate affixed to the the door. John read it with sinking horror.
W.S.S.Holmes.
“Sherlock is that-?”
“The man I’m named after John. The one I don’t mention ever. You noticed but you never pressed me on it. Now, you have a choice. You can either go in there with me and meet him or stay out here and remain blissfully unaware of the scum that he is.” Sherlock’s lips curled as he spat out the words.
“If you go, I’ll follow.” To John it really was that simple. Even when he was angry he wouldn’t have let Sherlock voluntarily walk into danger on his own. He still cared for the idiot after all.
“Well then,” Sherlock said, drawing himself up, “Here. We. Go.”
With that, he twisted the handle and threw open the door.
You could tell the two were related. In fact, John felt an odd sense that the elder Holmes was like looking into Sherlock’s future. Both raven haired, both with keen, steel eyes, both looking at each other with polite curiosity.
“William, do take a seat” Mr Holmes’ voice was pleasant, as if they’d simply stopped by for lunch.
“I go by Sherlock now Father,” was the reply as he sprawled, “not that you would now,” he muttered under his breath.
“You always were an unconventional one. And you are?” John tried not to flinch as attention turned to him.
“John,” he stuttered out, holding his hand out on instinct. Mr Holmes’ hand was cold. His tight smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Lovely to make your acquaintance. Now what brings you both here?”
“The name Jacob ring any bells?” Sherlock asked.
“No, should it?” Mr Holmes frowned slightly, a picture perfect look of mild curiosity.
“You should. Your secretary just hospitalised him.” Sherlock was using his “casual” voice. John hated the “casual” voice. It always ended badly.
“What?”
“Oh there’s no need to sound quite so scandalised,” Sherlock scoffed. “Your billion-pound business was under threat from a teenager with nothing more than a computer and some dodgy looking friends, of course you needed to neutralise the threat. That’s why you messed up his flat, to scare him off, easy, efficient, but it wasn’t enough for your dear secretary Matthew. Matthew, who idolises you to the point that your picture is on his desk, had finally got his bright idea. The idea that would make you adore him, as much as he adores you. He’d take away the threat altogether. Luckily for him he failed but that does rather leave you in a compromising situation.”
Mr Holmes had sat very patiently through Sherlock’s speech but the mocking look in his eyes suggested he was listening to a child throwing a tantrum. His reply, “Oh does it?” an indulgence.
“Oh yes,” Sherlock said smugly.
“Pray do tell how. You say it like a disgraced secretary is a going to be a ground-breaking revelation.”
“Oh I’m not using the secretary. He’s already in police custody. Forgot about the CCTV you see and I know someone who has access to all the feeds so it was child's play in the end. Also, a tip for next time, at least get someone who won't run to their mother's house at the first sign of trouble. No, what I’m using is the destruction of a community centre in the heart of the town, several local politicians with an election to win, teenagers that can influence millions in less than 140 characters and the fact that you abandoned your entire family when your youngest son was 6.”
As much as John hated “casual”, he hated silence more. They were two predators sizing each other up and the only thing protecting Sherlock from his own recklessness was John. John, who could do nothing but sit there and wait it out while the ball was in that bastard’s court. A bastard who was looking decidedly unimpressed.
Maybe there was something he could do.
His magic had been severely weakened and he rarely used it anymore, getting frustrated when he hit his limit. On top of that emotional manipulation was not his greatest skill. He hadn’t bothered to learn much as his own morality stopped him but he had the basic knowledge and he had to try at least. Anything that might help his Sherlock.
He took a deep breath and reached out. Aura colours were always a bit temperamental and the tension in the room was an overwhelming navy layering everything. He ignored the tumult of Sherlock’s emotions next to him too with another breath. Mr Holmes was his focus. His disapproval was clear, as was his doubt over Sherlock’s play. Other subtler emotions were a mess and John cursed his lack of power. He couldn’t think about that too long however. Change what he could; hope that it would be enough. Emotional changes were difficult as it had to be done without the subject being aware of being changed. First he began slowly , so slowly, drawing back the scepticism. However, the doubt had to be replaced with something so he began talking.
“You should listen to him you know.” Two sets of eyes snapped to his face but there was only one he could concentrate on.
“And why’s that?”
“Sherlock Holmes stops for no man,” he said with a little smile as his plan began to work, curiosity filling the gaps. “Not even his own father.”
“I will not be bullied by two teenagers. What do you want anyway?”
Now just to plant a seed of self-doubt. John felt his palms sweating as he concentrated, felt the magic shake as it kept a tenuous hold.
“For you to stop your designs on the community centre for a start. If you try anything like this again, anywhere, and I will find out, I’m more than willing to offer the same ultimatum.”
At Sherlock’s words, John saw the outcome play out in the elder Holmes’ emotions and let out a breath of relief.
“Fine.
Just as John allowed the thinned magic to slip through his fingers he caught the tail-end of Sherlock’s disbelief. Outwardly Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow.
“It’s only a small project Sherlock, it’s not like it’s a disaster,” Mr Holmes waved a hand, so reminiscent of a Mycroft dismissal.
And in true Sherlock fashion, the younger Holmes simply nodded, swept himself upright in his stupid coat, paused long enough for John to get to his feet and strode out the room.
John went to follow, before he turned, not being able to help himself.
“He’s happy.” Mr Holmes looked up at him. “Just if you care. Because you should. You really, really should because you know what, you should see him sometimes. He’s brilliant, more intelligent than anyone I’ve ever met and what makes him great is that behind all that he does care. He’s stunning and not being in his life is one of the biggest mistakes you’ve ever made.” With that parting remark John stormed out the room, not even waiting for a reaction because really, what did it matter what that idiot thought, and as he made his dramatic exit, he nearly ran into Sherlock who was hanging around outside the door.
Without a word Sherlock walked towards the lifts and John wondered if he’d heard what he’d told the elder Holmes.
They were silent on the way out of the building and John’s mind had wondered onto a shower and some breakfast when he was suddenly enveloped in limbs. He brought up his arms automatically, palms flat on Sherlock’s back.
“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered in his ear, refusing to let John move back and see his face. "For what you said and I know you did something extra, I know it and just-."
John chuckled. “You big softie,” he said, giving Sherlock a kiss on the cheek.
“Oh shut up,” Sherlock turned and John pretended he didn’t see him scrubbing away a tear as he flagged down a taxi, returning to his natural poise and coolness.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” John grinned as Sherlock stuck his tongue.
“I really have no idea why I love you,” Sherlock sighed after he’d asked the cab to return them to Baker Street.
“I don’t either sometimes. But you’re stuck with me now.”
Sherlock turned to him, suddenly serious.
“John, everything you said to my father, only you see that. Everyone else always focuses on my faults, it’s in their nature too but you, you make me stronger. Better than that you make me happy.”
John couldn’t think of an appropriate response and so reached over and pressed their lips together, hoping the simple kiss would express his gratitude. Sherlock moved to deepen in and made an annoyed huff when John pulled back.
“It’s all well and good that we are declaring our undying love but you’re still going to have to brush your teeth before kissing me.”
Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh. “What stupid pedestrian rules you make John.”
“Only for you my love, only ever for you.”