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John Watson opened the door to 221b and shrugged off his coat. The weather had been getting noticeably colder in the last few weeks which he would normally have welcomed but frost and the winter wind made his shoulder ache. All he wanted to do, he thought, as he climbed the stairs, was take some paracetamol and sit down with a cup of tea. It was when he reached the twelfth stair that he heard the familiar rumble of Sherlock’s voice speaking to another he’d never heard before. He stopped to listen, straining his ears to work out if it was a client.
“Tu es ridicule Boucles d'Or. Bien sûr que ça me va. Je te suis très reconnaissant..”
John concluded the other voice definitely belonged to a man. His voice was as deep if not deeper than Sherlock’s which meant that it certainly wasn’t Mycroft. He smiled softly to himself for a moment, wondering when Sherlock’s ways of deduction had rubbed off on him. Fuelled by curiosity, he climbed three more stairs to try and make out what they were saying. The doctor made sure to tread carefully in case Sherlock heard him.
“Ne m'appelle pas Boucles d'Or. John habite aussi, tu sais. Nous ne sommes plus à l'université.”
It was then he realised that Sherlock and the other man were speaking French. He had no idea what they were talking about, he’d taken German while at secondary school and his knowledge of the French language was limited to about ten words at most and none of those appeared to be coming up in the conversation Sherlock was having. Thinking about it, he hadn’t even known that Sherlock could speak French until today. He’d seen the detective read books in what appeared to be Russian and possibly even Norwegian before but never French.
“Je suis désolé . Oui, je sais mais- I think your flatmate is home.“
John was startled by the sudden switch to English and gulped guiltily before climbing the rest of the stairs. He pushed open the living room door and made his best attempt at seeming as though he’d only just got in and hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop. “Sorry, I got a text when I was on the stairs.” John said weakly. He turned around to face the man sitting in his armchair. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise you had a client.”
The look on Sherlock’s face showed that he had every idea of what John had been doing in the stairwell but he just smirked and looked at the man in the chair across from him. “This isn’t a client. This is Victor Trevor an old... acquaintance from university. “
“Surely I am more than an acquaintance, Sherlock.” Sherlock’s acquaintance rose from his chair and strode across the room to shake John’s hand. “I am, as Sherlock said, Victor Trevor. You must be John Watson. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
It was when Victor got to his feet that John realised just how tall the other man was. He was easily two inches taller than Sherlock and when he spoke it was clear that he had some sort of European accent. French, perhaps? That would make sense. “I wish I could say the same to you. Sherlock has never mentioned you before.”
Victor looked to Sherlock in mock horror. “Honestly, Abeille. I thought I meant more to you than that.”
“Ne m'appelle pas Abeille..” Sherlock snapped but it was immediately clear to John that the detective wasn’t really annoyed, in fact he was faintly blushing. “You just never came up in conversation. I do have things other than you to concern me.” John watched as Sherlock smiled at the other man, an actual genuine smile, one that was only ever used at the resolution of a case or at a particularly challenging crime scene.
“So.” John said, breaking the silence and hopefully the weird atmosphere that seemed to surround the two men. “I take it you’re from France.” He knew it was a stupid remark but he needed to say something to break the tension.
Victor smiled and glared at Sherlock until the smirk on his face disappeared. “Yes, I’m from France. I am more than capable of speaking English but Bouc- Sherlock insists on speaking in French to me.”
“You’re very good to practice on. I don’t get as much opportunity these days as I used to.” His expression turned to one of disgust. “You don’t expect me to just speak French with mother and Mycroft, do you?”
Victor laughed, a warm sound that seemed to make Sherlock blush faintly every time he did. “Well no, but it wasn’t as if we spoke often until this week, of course.”
John glanced between the two men, struggling to handle all of the new information he was learning. “Wait, so your mother speaks French?” His thoughts finally caught up with his mouth and he furrowed his brow. “And you and Victor weren’t speaking until this week? You seem so,” John struggled for a word that described what he’d seen between the two men, “Close.”
“We were once, I suppose you could say. It was very kind of Sherlock to let me-” Victor stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of the expression on Sherlock's face.
The detective put his hands on his hips before either of the other men could say anything more. “Perhaps you should make some tea and take those painkillers you’ve been thinking about taking since approximately three o’clock this afternoon, John. Then I suppose Victor and I owe you an explanation.”
John was so confused by what was happening around him that he didn’t even bother to question Sherlock’s order in the way he normally would have done. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He mumbled rubbing his forehead as the pain persisted. It probably wasn’t helped by the strange situation in front of him. “How do you take your tea, Victor?”
Victor moved to the sofa, having the decency to give John his chair back. “Well, actually I prefer coffee. I brought some with me. I don’t want the instant coffee that Sherlock saves for Lestrade. It’s foul. Mine is in a jar by the kettle.” He offered John a charming smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” John said heading off to the kitchen and shutting the doors behind him. He needed to get his head around this. He filled the kettle and set out the cups, taking a cursory sniff of Victor’s coffee for no reason in particular. So, there was a strange but friendly man in his living room. One that has known Sherlock for a very long time but no longer sees him anymore. Why had Sherlock invited him to the flat? That didn’t make much sense at all. Sherlock was hardly one for friends. He rarely spoke of his past at all and now there was a living artifact from it. None of this made any sense to John and he sighed slightly as he poured the water into the teapot, leaving it to brew. He’d just wanted a quiet evening in, doing nothing in particular but now he supposed he’d have to entertain Sherlock’s friend for the best part of the night.
Sherlock had said that he and Victor owed John an explanation. What did that even mean? John scrubbed at his forehead again, putting the tablets into the palm of his hand and filling a glass of water before taking them. He had no idea what the detective could be referring to but as he poured out the tea and placed Victor’s coffee onto a tray he knew he’d find out soon.
As John opened the doors to the living room, he once again overheard a brief sentence of French before Victor quickly switched to English for his benefit.
“Thank you, John. This coffee is about one hundred times better than anything Sherlock could have managed.” Victor remarked, as he took the mug from the tray and set it on the table in front of him.
John handed Sherlock his tea, which he cradled in his hands before taking a seat in his armchair, a soft huff escaping him as he finally relaxed. “So you said you owed me an explanation, Sherlock?” John said, sipping his tea.
The detective sighed and glanced across the room at Victor, who provided him with a vaguely sympathetic look. “Victor and I met at university after Victor’s dog bit my ankle while I was on my way to the chapel to tell the Vicar who was stealing from the collection plate.”
A deep laugh from the corner of the room made John turn to look at the Frenchman. He waved his hand dismissively and grinned at Sherlock. “You make it sound so violent. Mimi was a poodle not a Rottweiler. She barely even pierced the skin.”
“It wasn’t you that was bitten. It was painful.” Sherlock said with a glare, clearing his throat to get John’s attention before he could carry on with his story. Despite being less than enthusiastic to speak, once the detective had the attention of everyone in a room he was reluctant to give it up.
“After Mimi,” Sherlock said the name with obvious disgust. “Had bitten me, Victor insisted on helping me back to my room and checking on me every day for a week.”
Victor laughed again, hiding his smile behind the lip of his coffee cup. “Sherlock didn’t take very kindly to my concern at first but what he forgets to say is that by the end of the week he looked forward to my daily visits and that he enjoyed my company immensely.”
John turned back to the detective who appeared to be blushing and suppressed a smile. “So you two were friends after that? Why haven’t I met Victor before?” He asked curiously.
Sherlock sighed again, lowering his gaze to the rug underneath his feet. He huffed and drew his knees up to his chest. “Victor is an astounding mathematician and can decipher codes faster than I could possibly ever manage. He is also one of the few people on Earth who matches my level of intelligence.”
A comment like that from Sherlock was high praise, John wasn’t sure if he’d heard Sherlock talk about anyone in such high esteem before. The memory of Sherlock deciphering the aeroplane code for Irene came to the front of his mind and he had no idea how anyone could have made sense of it faster than Sherlock had done. The sound of Victor’s coffee mug being set down onto the table interrupted his thoughts.
“You flatter me, Abeille.” Victor smiled. His affection for Sherlock was clear in his tone but the look Sherlock gave him in reply soon made it disappear.
“I don’t do flattery, Victor. You should be aware of that more than anyone.” Sherlock muttered before continuing with his story. “As I was saying, in our final year of university, Victor’s father passed away and Victor felt he held some sort of duty to his father, throwing away a glittering career in code breaking and therefore has wasted ten years of his life working at his Father’s vineyard in France.” Sherlock’s tone was acerbic. “You were doing the accounts or something, weren’t you?”
The faint smile that had been on Victor’s face for the entire conversation had now disappeared. “You’re not being quite fair there. What Sherlock forgot to mention, John, is that we were romantically involved at the time and Sherlock was convinced that I was going to stay in London with him once we’d graduated. You know how he is.” Victor gestured to the man sitting in the chair across from him. “He didn’t take it well when I went back to France.”
“Putain.” Murmured Sherlock just loud enough for Victor to hear who responded by rolling his eyes and suppressing a smile.
“I know you don’t mean that. I was just telling it like it is.”
John cut off Sherlock’s reply before he said anything else that was probably French and offensive. “So you two were together for two years? And you broke up because of that?” He asked in disbelief.
Sherlock nodded and propped his chin up on his knees. “Yes. I didn’t see any other solution. It wasn’t as if I could run over to France to see Victor whenever I desired to.”
“So you didn’t even try to live apart?”
Victor shook his head. “No we didn’t. Of course, there were other factors that I assume both Sherlock and I would prefer not to go into but it was mainly the living apart that made us reconsider our relationship. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”
John looked across to Sherlock who nodded mutely.
“So if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here today?”
“Didn’t Sherlock tell you that I was coming?” Victor asked.
John put his mug down on the table beside him, shaking his head as he did so. “No, I had no idea. I didn’t even know you existed until today.”
“Victor will be staying with us for the next week while he finalises the sale of the flat he is going to move into. I may have forgotten to mention it.” Sherlock, clearly bored with the conversation, sighed dramatically as he reached up onto his desk to pick up his violin.
“And how long have you known that he was going to come for?” John asked, clearly disgruntled.
“A month.” Sherlock muttered, reaching for his bow.
John raised his voice.“And you didn’t even think-“
John was interrupted by Victor getting to his feet and smiling apologetically. He looked at his watch and picked up his jacket. He had never enjoyed conflict and didn’t intend to sit through the argument. “I’m afraid I have to go to an appointment. Goodbye John.” He nodded in the doctor’s direction and headed to the door. “Au revoir, Boucles.”
“Tu mens et ne m'appelle pas Boucles d'Or !.” Sherlock called after him, smiling fondly at the violin in his lap.
“Adieu, Abeille!”
John stared at Sherlock, an amused smile on his face. “So that was Victor Trevor. Your former boyfriend. And you never even mentioned him to me before.”
Sherlock refused to acknowledge John as he rosined his bow.
“You know, people don’t normally invite their ex-lovers to stay with them. Unless-“
“Unless what?” Sherlock snapped.
John attempted to suppress a smile. “Well, unless they wanted to... get back together?”
Sherlock put his violin down forcefully and stood up from his chair. “Victor is my friend, nothing more. He has been invaluable to me over the past few years and I saw it fair to do something for him in return.”
It was rare for Sherlock to become so defensive and so John made the decision to back-off. “Right okay. So you’re comfortable with having your ex-boyfriend staying in your home for a week. Do you even know where he is going to sleep?”
“I am completely comfortable. Unlike you John, I don’t have the need to flirt shamelessly with everyone I am attracted to.” Sherlock said, placing his violin on his desk and stalking over to the bookshelf to choose a book. “Victor can sleep in my bed. It’s not as if I really use it anyway.”
“Just at least try to tell me a few days in advance before you go inviting anyone to stay.” John called as he walked to the kitchen. He was extremely tempted to mention the fact that Sherlock had just admitted he was attracted to Victor but he doubted that the detective would have acknowledged his existence for a week or so. As he washed out the cups at the sink, he decided that there was definitely something going on between those two. Even if they weren’t aware of it. Victor had multiple nicknames for Sherlock for goodness sake.
It was on the third day of Victor’s stay at the flat that John decided something had to be done. He watched from the other side of the dinner table as Victor leaned over Sherlock on his way to get some milk from the fridge and tucked the label into the back of Sherlock’s shirt. The detective looked up from his microscope and smiled gently at Victor. The gesture was so intimate and came so naturally between them that it was clear to John that they’d been one of those couples that everyone envied. The kind of couple that don’t have arguments they have debates, where jealously didn’t exist and trust was implicit.
John wondered what it would have been like to know them back then. Victor’s presence had definitely unlocked a part of Sherlock that John didn’t know existed. He couldn’t ever remember hearing the man laugh so much. Admittedly, he often didn’t have any idea what the men were laughing at because most of their conversations took place in French but Sherlock did seem genuinely happy when around Victor.
During the past three days, it had also come to light that the reason Victor had moved to London was to code break for Mycroft. That was something which John didn’t quite understand, as surely Sherlock would have something to say about that. However, Sherlock just seemed content to have the man around. Although, he supposed that Sherlock was probably keeping a close eye on everything Mycroft got Victor to help him with.
“I’m going out with Mike tonight.” John said, looking up from the newspaper he was reading.
Sherlock glanced up from his experiment, giving John a look that said he knew exactly why the doctor was going out with Mike just a few days after he’d last seen him but made no comment. After all, John was always happier after he’d gone out with a friend and he wouldn’t say no to evening alone with Victor. They still had a lot to catch up on.
Victor wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation and was instead checking the calculations that Sherlock had written on a piece of paper beside him. “Je pense que tu te trompes.” He murmured into his coffee a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“Non!” Sherlock grabbed the paper from him and studied it carefully. “Where? I’ve checked it multiple times and haven’t come across any errors.”
Laughing at the detective’s indignation, Victor gently prised the paper from Sherlock’s hands. “Well, you haven’t exactly made an error in your calculations but I’m quite sure you’ve used the wrong constant.” He held it out to him, pointing at the mistake. “Regarde.”
Sherlock sighed in defeat, taking the paper from the other man and writing out the calculations again, this time using the right formula. “I certainly haven’t missed this.” He murmured quietly.
“Yes but think of all the time I’ve saved you. You would have been trying to figure out why the experiment wasn’t working for most of the afternoon at least until I let you out of your misery. There must be lots of other things you’ve missed about us living together, though.”
It was at that point that John decided to leave the table and get ready for his shift at the surgery. The look Sherlock gave to Victor as the doctor walked out into the hall was more of a smile than a look of indignation. It was clear that a clever retort was on the tip of tongue and John really didn’t want to sit there while the two men blatantly flirted in front of him.
John dressed quickly and called out goodbye as he went down the stairs. He could hear laughter coming from the kitchen and shook his head. Despite Sherlock’s apparent reluctance, he did seem very keen on spending time with Victor. Although, John tried to reason with himself, it might just be because he gets to spend time with his friend again. Just because they dated in the past it didn’t mean they had to get together again.
It was almost midnight by the time John got home from the pub. He’d thoroughly enjoyed his evening with Mike and had drunk a bit more than he perhaps should have. Climbing the stairs took more concentration than it should have done and John barely heard the sound of the television playing in the living room. Thankfully, he pushed open the door to the living room with just the right amount of force which was more by luck than judgement and stopped suddenly at the sight in front of him.
Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, his head resting on Victor’s shoulder as they watched a repeat of last week’s University Challenge. Victor smiled at him as they both said the correct answer simultaneously and reached out to tuck a stray curl back behind his ear. At John’s entrance they both sat up straight, Sherlock lifting his head off of Victor’s shoulder and clearing his throat, the fond smile that was on his lips had disappeared.
“Hello, John. I can see that you had a good evening.” Sherlock remarked, reaching over to turn the television down.
“Hmm? What?” John rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I did really. Mike and I bumped into another friend from Bart’s. It was nice to catch up with him again. Yeah...” He finished, sitting down in his armchair and seeming to drift off to sleep immediately.
Victor covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing and got to his feet. “Je vais me coucher. Bonn nuit Boucles d'Or.” He murmured softly. Patting Sherlock’s shoulder affectionately, his hand lingering for just a little bit too long.
“Fais de beaux rêves.” Sherlock replied before going into the kitchen to check on the next part of his experiment, he’d wake John and tell him to go to bed in an hour or two otherwise he’d be complaining about how his neck ached for the next three days.
It was two days after his evening out with Mike that John walked into the living room to find that Sherlock was not curled up on the sofa. Over the past week he’d become accustomed to finding Sherlock draped across the sofa, his duvet wrapped tightly around him while Victor slept in his bedroom but now the detective was nowhere to be seen. Sherlock’s phone was still in the fruit bowl on the coffee table so he obviously wasn’t on a case.
John shrugged his shoulders and went to the kitchen to make himself some tea to drink while he read the Sunday papers. He hadn’t realised before just how quiet the flat was when Sherlock wasn’t there. He sat down at the table and began flicking through the papers, his attention always being drawn to the articles about disappearances and murder, just in case there was anything that Sherlock would find intriguing.
The doctor listened to the sound of Mrs. Hudson opening and closing the front door as she went across to open up the café. It was only when he was listening closely that he heard the familiar sound of Sherlock’s laughter. He sat up straighter to try and work out where it was coming from. At the sound of another peel of laughter, John decided that the noise was coming from Sherlock’s bedroom but it couldn’t be. Victor was sleeping in there.
“Oh.” The doctor stopped filling in his crossword, pen suspended midair.
John blamed the fact he was so slow on only being on his first cup of tea of the day and thanked some sort of higher being that Sherlock hadn’t been around to see him. He smiled to himself as the sound of Victor’s laughter joined Sherlock’s and the detective’s bedroom door opened to reveal the two men.
“Good morning, John.” Sherlock said cheerily, sitting down at the table and immediately reaching over to check on the beakers of river water he was testing the decay of fabric samples in. Sherlock’s hair was much more unkempt than it usually was after he’d woken up but the doctor decided to stop that thought there.
Victor nodded to the doctor from where he was searching in the fridge for something to have for breakfast that didn’t involve toast. Was that a love bite just above the neck of Victor’s t-shirt?
John grinned, he was going to have fun with this. “Good morning, Sherlock. How come you and Vic-“
The detective held up a hand to silence John.
“Use your brain, John. The sofa was obviously too small for the two of us so we had to move to my bedroom. Logistics, you see-”
This time it was John's turn to tell Sherlock to stop talking.