Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The blood pulses through his veins. Pounding in his ears as his feet splash on the path. The puddles from the earlier downpour soaking through to his socks. He's catching up. He knows it. Even in the dim lighting, he knows he's getting close. Has to be. Right?

Sherlock turns into the alley, hot on the tail of the murderer. He's been working this case for a few days now and is desperate for the end. If only, he would just stop running. Sherlock follows him out of the alley onto a busy London street, just to see the suspect turn into another. This is really starting to get tiresome now. Sherlock follows into the alley just to stumble over his feet. The murderer had stopped -brilliant, finally- to brandish a knife -okay not so brilliant after all.
Sherlock has to fight. Not for long. Hopefully. Lestrade should just be behind. Back-up is on it's way. You held your own against bigger guys then him before. But that doesn't stop his nerves reaching new levels.

"You're surrounded. We know it was you, Lucas. Just, put down the knife." Sherlock prayed his voice sounded calm.

The snarl was obvious, even in the dim light. This was not a good sign. Where was Lestrade? Surely he should be here by now. Wasn't he right behind?

Okay Sherlock, think. You need to get behind him. When Lestrade gets here, he'll be easier to apprehend if he's facing the other way. You need to keep him moving. But at a distance. And maybe get rid of that knife. Yeah, that'd be a good idea wouldn't it?

"You were smart. So clever. It took me days. Days. Me," as Sherlock spoke he began to slowly circle Lucas, trying to get behind. "You got too confident though. Breaking your pattern? That was all it took. That's all I needed to find out where you were working from. Tut, tut, Lucas." Sherlock had now managed to switch places with the murderer. The only issue now, of course, was the fact that he looked more angry than before.

It's all a blur, Sherlock hits and kicks to get the knife away from his skin. The murderer keeps coming. Sherlock knows he won't last long. Where is Lestrade? Then he's gone. Sherlock is on the floor fighting against a knife wielding maniac. Then he's laying on his back, looking at nothing. Lestrade.

Sherlock sits up to see what happened. Not Lestrade. But someone is fighting Lucas. The man had managed to knock Lucas unconscious. He checks Lucas' pulse before standing and moving towards Sherlock. The man, blond, mid-twenties, soldier on leave, doctor, out for a walk, hot, hot, hot, hot. Not helpful. Focus. The man is holding his hand out for Sherlock to take.

"Hey, are you okay? He didn't get you did he? You must have really pissed him off," The man chuckles nervously as Sherlock stares at him with open mouth and wide eyes. "Sherlock, uh, uh Sherlock Holmes. That's me. Um, no i'm fine. T-thank you, that was uh, good." His voice is quiet and he has to fight against the stammer.Sherlock reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of handcuffs and walks over to the unconscious Lucas before wrapping the bracelet around his wrist and a nearby pole.

"You always carry those?" The man spoke in a light tone. Sherlock swirls around and looks at the man. His face reddening at an alarming rate. "It's okay. I'm only teasing. I assume you're a copper. My name is John. John Watson. Pleasure to meet you Sherlock." This seemed to break Sherlock out of his reverie.

"Uh, yeah, sorry, um. I'm a consulting detective, only one in the world, i help out the police when they're too stupid. He was a murderer. Got him. To be honest I don't care about that anymore. He's no longer important. Can't even remember what he did. You. You were amazing." this time it was John's turn to redden. He moves closer to Sherlock. Stepping around the man on the floor. John looks around the alley before his eyes fall back to Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes never leave John's face. His breath quickens with each step John takes. How has this happened? How have you fallen for a complete stranger? This can't go far. But why not?

"Do you want to come to mine?" Sherlock spoke so fast that it seemed to come out at once. John stops and looks at Sherlock, eyes roaming his face. A smile begins to spread across John's face as he begins to decipher what the younger man had just said.

John reaches for Sherlock's hands. "Yeah. I can if you want." Sherlock is frozen. Staring into the blue eyes, unable to believe what he was hearing. He realised that he must have been standing still for longer than necessary when John said, "we don't ha-" he was cut off when Sherlock seemingly came back to life with saying, "Yes! Back-up it's on the way. I live near here."
Before he had time to second guess his decision, he pulled John closer as he finally lifts his gaze away from John. Sherlock pulls John out of the alley and in the direction of his flat.

Chapter Text

Hands clasped together, John and Sherlock made their way to Baker Street. Their journey was filled with giggles as they rushed through the busy London streets. Thankfully, Mrs Hudson had gone to visit family or something. Sherlock had found it really hard to care about what his landlady had told him. He had much more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. All that mattered to him was that he wouldn't be interrupted.

Sherlock had sent a text to Lestrade telling him where to find Lucas. As soon as the message was sent, he switched his phone off. Sherlock had planned to not be interrupted at all tonight. He turned to look at John, the smile that Sherlock was met with made his stomach lift. What was this? Why was he feeling like this? It was all so foreign. All Sherlock could think about was the intriguing man who had decided to join hands with him.

Trapped in his mind, Sherlock almost didn't notice he was walking right past his flat. He stopped dead in his tracks, to the confused look John gave him, murmured a quick, "Sorry, that one" and raised his free hand. Still holding John's hand as if scared he would lose him, Sherlock dug for his keys and brought them to the lock. He fumbled to unlock the door with only the one hand but still refused to release John from his grasp. A small chuckle came from the young soldier and he too, raised his free hand to the lock, "Together?" Sherlock's face reddened once again. You'd think his face was destined to remain red.

The door opened with a bang as the two men stumbled inside. Somehow the door had shut. No idea how that happened. Sherlock was pressed against the wall, John's face inches from his own. The haste that they had seconds ago, gone. They stared into each other's eyes as if they held all the time in the world, between their clasped hands.

The space between them growing thin, John's eyes dart over Sherlock's face. The tension is so thick between the two strangers, and yet, this all feels so natural to the young detective. He releases John's hand, causing the man to look down in confusion. Sherlock takes this as his opportunity. With both hands free, he places one on John's hip and the other on his neck, bringing them together. They are joined from the hips to their mouths. You can't let him go. A small moan and gasp is all that is heard throughout the London house. Reluctantly, John pulls back. Further proving Sherlock's theory that breathing is boring.

John leans in again. Smiling against the younger man. Time doesn't exist in the little bubble they created for themselves. Sherlock pulls John back. "I'm upstairs" The words barely above a whisper, but that's all John needs. His lips collide with Sherlock's again as he takes hold of his hips and lifts him. As he staggers up the stairs, their lips remain connected. John stops every so often as he wonders through the flat looking for the bedroom. Using the walls and furniture to hold Sherlock up. He reaches the far room. Sherlock reaches behind and opens the door. They collapse in a tangle on top of the bed sheets.

Chapter Text

Lestrade had lost him. Again. I swear I spend all my time chasing after him. His phone buzzes in his pocket. Fishing it out, Greg tries to catch his breath. A text from Sherlock.

Alley on your left. SH

Grumbling to himself, he runs ahead towards the next alley on his left. Empty. Did he miss one? Sherlock always seemed to know where he needed to send Greg. He's about to turn, hand reaching for his phone to call Sherlock when he hears a moan. Don't be Sherlock. Please don't be Sherlock. In the dim light he sees a limp figure on the floor. Praying it's not a certain genius, he steps closer. Lucas? Great. Sherlock has knocked him out and handcuffed him to the pipe. Why does he have handcuffs? Doesn't matter. Where's Sherlock? He's been bugging Greg about interrogating this guy, so why would he just disappear?

He pulls out his phone again. Calls his team to tell them where to pick them up then calls Sherlock. No answer. Tries again. Nothing. Straight to voicemail. That's strange. He never turns his phone off. Unless? No he wouldn't. It's been months, he's fine. Greg sends a text. Then another. Just to check he's okay. His team arrives and takes Lucas away. He tries to call Sherlock, to no avail.

After clearing things with his team, he sends another text to Sherlock, then begins to head home. Hoping he won't be alone when he gets there he sends another quick text,

on my way home, you there? X

The reply is instant,

Of course. Dinner will be done by the time you get here. X

Greg can't stop the smile that breaks across his face, and he doesn't even try to stop it. Quite often he ends up falling asleep alone. He hates it. Who knows what time they'll get together. Both with high pressure jobs, they could be called apart at any moment. Donovan is writing up paperwork for Lucas' arrest. This is their first big case. Seems that promotion is on the table for them both. Pocketing his phone he points to Sally, "Don't call me unless it's really an emergency. Like, murder level. Got it? I have very important plans."

As he makes his way home all he can think about is Sherlock. What if? No, don't go down that path. He's been doing well. Maybe he should just check. Go there quickly. But, it's the other direction. Just talk to Mycroft. He'll sort it. Hopefully, Sherlock answers his phone so Greg can relax.

He gets home and hangs his coat by the door. He is hit with the smell of dinner. "Love, I'm home." Before he can turn, arms wrap around his waist and hold him tight. The arms stiffen as if they notice the conflicting thoughts in Greg's mind. "What's wrong?"

Greg turns in the arms, "I'm worried about Sherlock. We were chasing a criminal, a criminal I found in an alley unconscious, no sign of your brother anywhere. He was so tense during this case and he really wanted to interrogate. Now I can't contact him, I'm worried he's done something stupid." Mycroft lets out a soft exhale, the cogs in his mind turning. "If he's done something stupid, he would be crashed out right about now. The only thing we can do at this point if we head over is cover him, and take the inevitable punch. I'll call Anthea. Take the day off tomorrow, we'll go over and check if he's okay in the morning."

Greg gives the man in his arms a quick kiss before they move towards the kitchen. He'll be alright. Mycroft has a point. No point worrying about him. He's probably fine. Just being a brat. All thoughts of Sherlock are pushed to the back of his mind as his boyfriend kisses his neck repeatedly.

Chapter Text

The world was at peace. Well, as a soldier, John knew this wasn't true. But, in that moment, everything could just quite frankly, sod off. It was the best night he's ever had. The sun hadn't even begun to rise. You should leave. He won't want you here. You had a great night, don't ruin it and overstay your welcome. John knew this. He knew that it would be awkward when Sherlock woke. He looked at the soft face, resting on his chest. The lanky detective has somehow managed to curl around the whole of John's short body. A soft smile across his face, a hand under his cheek.

This. This is what John wants. He won't want you. Look at him. Oh, he's looking. He can't stop looking. His internal thoughts make a good point though. He will not want to get involved in a soldier. Back in a week. It will be unfair on both of them. You still haven't got up. What if I leave and he wakes alone, sad that I left? And if he wakes pissed that you're still here?

John looks around. He sees all the clothes, strewn about the room. It really was a good night. Better than any alternative he had. To be honest that wasn't too hard. Watching over Harry in case she chokes on her own vomit. That's happened before. Too many times really. What if he just stayed? Sherlock looks happy. He seemed very happy last night. You don't want to leave do you?

The sleeping detective curls further into John. If that was possible. John's hand absentmindedly runs through Sherlock's hair. "Morning," John's hand stills. He must have woken Sherlock. How long has he been awake? John looks down at the man on his chest. "I'm glad you're still here. Thought you would have left. I-I mean if you want you still, you still can. I won't, uh, stop you --" Sherlock's rambling was swallowed by John's mouth. As they break apart John breathes, "I didn't want to leave you but… I didn't think you'd want me." They fill the morning with soft smiles, kisses, and sharing body heat in bed.

Something doesn't feel right. His military instincts kicking in, John breaks apart from Sherlock. Sherlock's eyebrows furrow. John rests a kiss on his forehead, telling him that he liked it. A movement. A whisper. They're quiet, someone is coming. "Do you have a roommate?" The words have barely left when the door begins to slowly open. Both men stiffen, John grabbing hold of Sherlock as if to protect the man.

Two men stood in the doorway. A scowl on one face, a look of shock on the other. As the shocked man utters apologies, the scowling man points at John. "Leave, or I'll have you removed and jailed," They both leave the bedroom, ushered out by the shocked man. Sherlock's expression turns sour. He scrambles up, "MYCROFT!" Sherlock swings the door open and stalks out.

At least it wasn't an intruder. Who the hell was that? John sits up. The daft git is naked still. A small chuckle passes John's lips as the sound of shouting passes through the flat. John reaches down and pulls on his pants. He moves towards the door and grabs a housecoat, hanging from the door. He walks through to the living room and is met with the shocked man watching Sherlock arguing with the other man. John steps forward toward the naked detective and pulls the housecoat onto him. He ties it. Sherlock stops his shouting to smile at John, "Thank you, John," and plants a kiss on John's lips. The smile fades as he carries on his argument with the man. John makes his way to the other man.

"Greg Lestrade. That's Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother. He wasn't answering his phone all last night and this morning. We were worried. Sorry." The man - Greg, holds out his hand for John to take. With as much dignity a man in his underwear can muster, John takes the hand and introduces himself. This gains him a smile from Greg as he drops his hand. "They'll be at this for a while, want a cuppa?" Greg inclines his head and begins moving to the kitchen. He rummages in the cupboard for four mugs as he flicks the kettle on. "So how'd you meet?"

It takes John a few seconds to realise the man was talking to him. John moves forward to help with the tea as best he can in the unfamiliar environment. "He was being beaten up, properly getting his arse handed to him. I helped out. Said he was a detective or something, and that back-up was on the way. Then he invited me back, how could I say no?" He says this with a chuckle as he pours the boiled water into the cups. Greg adds the sugar and milk to the right cups, takes the bags out, and picks up two. "Yeah, I was the back-up. That's his." Greg walked into the living room with the tea and handed one to Mycroft.

John hears snippets of what the brothers are shouting as he hands the mug to Sherlock. "I'm 24!" "So I can't have a bit of fun?" "You've been out a month! You can't just disappear and end up in bed with some man! You could have been in a ditch!" What was Mycroft talking about? Out? Of what? The closet? John sits on the sofa, cup of tea resting on the table. He looks at the brilliant man ahead of him, trying to work him out. Told you to leave this morning. Sherlock turns, argument dying on his lips as he looks at John. Mycroft is still bellowing behind him, Sherlock places his tea by John's and climbs onto John's lap.

The room grows silent. Sherlock's face is burrowing into John's neck. The two men on the other side of the room looked on in astonishment. John places a kiss in Sherlock's curls. "I won't mind if you leave," The words are hardly audible. Uttered only for them. John pulls Sherlock's head in front of his own, "Only if you wish it. Otherwise, I'll never leave." The face falls back into place on John's neck, arms wrapping around each other.

Chapter Text

No one spoke until the tea had been drunk and the mugs put in the sink. Mycroft had sat in a red armchair with Greg across in the black chair. Sherlock was still curled into John's neck on the sofa. Neither of them had gotten up to dress, but that hardly mattered anymore. John looked around the room. Everyone was obviously uncomfortable. Looking at their nails or the floor. No one knows what to say. Whether they should leave, or stay. 

"I leave in a week. Back to afghanistan. That's going to be hard now. It never was. I knew I'd have to leave, you see, they need me. You're making it harder. I don't want to leave now. I really like you, Sherlock. Hell, I even kind of like your insane brother. Mycroft? Greg? Let's go for a meal tonight. All of us. Clear the air." During his mini speech, Sherlock leaned back with a small smile tugging at his lips. Greg looked impressed. Approval etched across his features. Mycroft looked down right disgusted. Everyone slowly moved their gaze from John to look at Mycroft. He looked like he could commit murder with the glare, and it was directed at John. This man is going to be trouble.  

Mycroft took a deep inhale before slowly standing up. He held his hand out for Greg to take. He smiled at Greg before turning to John again, "Fine. Sherlock, Angelo's at eight." With that he swept out the room. Greg looked at the men on the sofa. He looked so happy for them. "Pleasure to meet you." He then left the men and went to catch his partner. 

Sherlock turned to look at John before capturing his mouth in a passionate kiss. What have I done? He's going to kill me. Sherlock began to chuckle, "He can do that, but I won't let him. You handled that really well. Not too late to run?" So apparently you said that out loud. "I'm not going anywhere. I actually, really, really like you." Sherlock's face turned a deep shade of red, he stood and held out his hand. John took it and stood, then was dragged back to bed by Sherlock. 

John was on the tube. He had to change his clothes. Perhaps pick up an overnight bag. He has to check on Harry. His sister is four years his elder and already has a drink problem and a divorce under her belt. She'll either be passed out on the sofa or demanding to know where John was last night. His money is on the former. She never really notices him. He's never there in the day. Sherlock didn't want him to leave. That thought was somewhat comforting. He jumped off the train and his phone buzzed, 

    Hurry up would you. Would you like to stay tonight? It was nice, this morning X SH 

Before he could answer he got another message, 

    I'm sorry, I'm being clingy. You don't have to, I just thought you liked it too. I mean I've got nothing on all week, so we could hang out? For the rest of the week I mean. SH

John couldn't hold back the smile. Why was this man so enchanting? It hadn't even been a full day since they met. John couldn't believe how he felt already. Everyone is going to call him crazy. He sent a text. He's a soldier. Take a risk. 

    I'd love to stay the week <3 John

His heart was threatening to burst through his chest as he made his way to his sister's. Was it too fast? Was the heart too much? Is he being too pushy? Oh God, Oh God, Oh God . He's taking a while to reply. Great, you messed it up. He makes it to the door when his phone buzzes after what feels like an age. 

    <3 <3 <3 Now hurry and pack. 

John is about to text, or maybe call. It's only been 20 minutes but he finds himself missing that man. He digs in his pocket for Harry's spare key when the door is thrown open and a wild haired woman is standing in front of him. "Where the fuck have you been?" Harry looked furious. What had he done? Well, she's not drunk. Definitely not drunk. You have to answer her. How? How on Earth can he explain that he is practically moving in with a man he just met? "You stink of sex. We had plans and you ditch me to meet up with some floozy ? I can't believe you." With that she leaves him on the doorstep and makes her way to the living room. Plans? What plans? Oh. OH. Oh God no. Their dad was visiting for dinner last night. He left Harry to deal with their dad. Fuck. 

"Harry?" John moved further into the house. Harry and his dad never got on. Neither did he but Harry's relationship was worse. Far worse. "I'm sorry. I forgot. I had to help someone, he was in trouble. I couldn't just leave him. The other guy had a knife. Forgive me? Please?" Harry snorts. She won't look at him. It must have been bad. Then again, she's not drunk, so maybe not too bad. John sits next to his sister. Forcing her to look at him, she shakes her head. Silently telling him not to ask. "So tell me about this woman then." John spots the small smile that is pushing past her annoyed exterior. He can't stop the grin. He's never smiled so much. He misses this. The talks with his sister, spending time with her, laughing about nothing, stupid smiles through the night. 

"He's amazing. Truly wonderful. I saved him then got invited to his place. Spent all night together, and this morning. I've never felt like this before. I'm taking him to dinner tonight, he asked me to stay with him this week." John was so wrapped up in the mental image of Sherlock he didn't even notice the look on Harry's face. He was about to tell Harry more about the brilliant man when she said, "He?" Taken aback John tried to figure out what he missed. Then it hit him. Probably not the best way to come out. His face must have shown some fear, Harry burst out laughing. John slapped her arm and laughed along with her. 

After he calmed down, John headed into the spare room and packed what little clothes he needed and what he would need for being deployed at the end of the week. All he had was jumpers and his fatigues. He hopped in the shower and dressed in his best jumper and jeans. Harry showed up in the doorway. "Do I look okay?" John was staring in the mirror, messing with his outfit and hair. "Stop worrying, you look fine. Now, tell me about this man." 

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood in front of the mirror. Dinner, with John. Yeah, and your brother, and Lestrade. Alright not the best first date but that will not stop his good mood. John had left to get changed for dinner tonight. Would it be too much to ask him to stay until he left? You've only just met, stop pushing. He grabs his phone from his nightstand. John had written his number down for Sherlock that morning. His phone explodes with messages as he turns it on. Each one left unread and ignored. He punches in John's number and sends a text. 

    Hurry up would you. Would you like to stay tonight? It was nice, this morning X SH 

Oh no. That was so stupid. Why? He's definitely not coming back now. Well done Sherlock, you completely screwed it up. Got to fix it before he never comes back. How could he possibly fix this? A small note showed at the bottom of his message. John has read the message. Sherlock is in full panic mode. Finger's flying across the screen as he tries to fix it. 

    I'm sorry, I'm being clingy. You don't have to, I just thought you liked it too. I mean I've got nothing on all week, so we could hang out? For the rest of the week I mean. SH

This one was read instantly. Well this is it. Sherlock knows he's ruined this. John is taking too long. The only explanation is that John has deleted Sherlock's number. He wouldn't want to be involved in someone as clingy as Sherlock. Sherlock was panicking so much that he almost didn't see the reply. 

    I'd love to stay the week <3 John

He wants to stay the week. The week. Wait. What is that? " Less than three? What the hell does that mean?" Phone still grasped in his hand, Sherlock makes his way to his laptop. He types the offending symbol into the search bar. Heart. Love. Love. Love. Love. Sherlock holds the phone closer to his chest, a smile breaking across his face. His eyes well slightly. He is loved. Sniffing back the inevitable tears, Sherlock types out to John again. 

    <3 <3 <3 Now hurry and pack.

Sherlock waits for the little read symbol underneath. Then an extra minute, just in case. He then jumps up with force and runs to the bathroom. You have to look great for John. Scrubbing every inch of his body in the shower, taking extra care of his hair. He washes as fast and as thoroughly as one can when they have an important date and a man waiting. 

Sherlock stood in front of his wardrobe. He's been there for 30 minutes, just stood in his boxers. There is only one option. He runs through the flat and whirls down the stairs. He is met with Mrs. Hudson's closed door. Oh no, that won't do. He runs forward and bursts through, startling the woman in the process. Before she can scold him he nearly shouts at her, "I have a date. Need clothes. Which ones do I look sexiest in?" She looks at him with a small smile and a pitying glance. Mrs, Hudson, without a word walks up to 221B. 

She begins going through all his clothes that he threw across his floor. Sherlock stood in the doorway, wringing his hands. She is the only person he will let see him like this. His complete loss of control. She picks up a black suit and a deep purple shirt. These are folded and delicately placed into the detectives arms. Her hand resting on his cheek she looks at him fondly, "Don't worry. He will love you. Now fix that nest on your head." She leaves him in the doorway. 

Sherlock got dressed and spent ages trying to make his curls perfect. He even dug around for some cologne mummy had gifted a few years back. Now was the waiting game. John said he'd dress at his sisters then head back. It's almost seven. John should be here any second. Unless… No, don't think like that. He'll be here. He arranged it. His phone begins to buzz. HE pounces towards it where it's resting on the kitchen table. The name plastered on the screen makes Sherlock's heart flutter. 

    <3<3 John <3<3 

"John!"

"Hey, I'm on my way. I know, cutting it fine."

"It's alright, I don't mind. How's your sister? You said you'd check on her,"

"Yeah, yeah. She's good, good. Uh, I had to explain where I was last night. Told her all about you. Well, not everything," He chuckles softly through the phone. Sherlock could hear him move through the underground. 

"I miss you, is that crazy? I mean we've on--" John cuts in before he can finish.

"I miss you too. I'll be ten minutes max." 

"Do hurry, John. See you in a minute then."

"Yeah, see ya." 

The line goes dead and Sherlock looks at the name. He changed it after he got out of the shower. All he could think about while showering was John, and the little heart. Sherlock feels content, for the first time in his life. Everything feels good. He slips his phone into his inside breast pocket. Then stands. Waiting. 

Sherlock can hear talking downstairs. John. A grin spreads from ear to ear. He stood taller, back straight. John's here. He's coming. John. Any second now, he'll stop talking. Okay he's saying goodbye. Come on, come on, come on…  

The stairs creak. More uttered words. Why can't she leave him alone? Silence. A small shuffle. Door closing. Silence. Feet pounding on the stairs. He's running up the stairs. Running to Sherlock. Running, running, then just stops. The door opens slowly. John drops his bags as he moves through the room. "Sher- wow" John stands ahead of Sherlock, mouth agape. John has a pair of blue jeans and his brogues from yesterday. This time he paired them with a cable knit jumper. All Sherlock wanted to do was bury his face in that jumper. 

"Wow, you look amazing, Sherlock. Really. Wow. Uh, I didn't have anything fancy, so this'll have to do, I guess." Sherlock looked John up and down. What the hell is he going on about? Will I do it? It's definitely doing something. Sherlock takes two strides across the room and buries his face into John's neck. Breathing deep. Mesmerising the smell that is John. "I didn't think you'd come back. I, uh, thought I messed it up." Sherlock chuckles into John's shoulder. John just holds on tighter. 

"What made you think I would ever give this up? I've found something great. Something I don't want to lose." John pulls Sherlock back and kisses his face. He slowly kisses it all over. Then captures his lips for a passionate kiss. They stay in the embrace for a few minutes. Holding each other. Sharing kisses in the fading light. 

They are broken apart when their phones buzz at the same time. Mycroft, telling them both to hurry up. It takes about twenty minutes by cab to Angelo's. Their reservations are at eight. They have ten minutes. How long have we been standing here? Sherlock takes John's hand and moves towards the door. Guiding him down to the busy street, where they climb into a cab.   

Chapter Text

Mycroft hated being late. He had to arrive everywhere five minutes early. And that's why Greg was stood outside a restaurant while they waited for the rest of the party. He knows they'll be late. When is Sherlock ever on time? Mycroft sighs and pulls out his phone. He must have come to the same conclusion. Sherlock will be late. His fingers danced across his screen before he dropped it into his breast pocket. His fingers find Greg's and pull him into the restaurant. "Reservation for Holmes." They are shown to a round table by the window. 

Mycroft has a certain air about him. Greg leans into him slightly, "John seemed like a good guy, you were too busy shouting to notice." Mycroft turns toward Greg, "A good guy? He's a soldier." He then turns back and continues to look towards the door. "So? So he's a soldier? That doesn't make him a villian." Mycroft snorts. He's acting more like his brother as the day goes on. They only came because he's a man of his word. But that doesn't stop him complaining all day. It's going to be a long night.  

They sit in near silence while they wait for Sherlock and John. A cab pulls up by the window and Greg watches as two men stumble out the cab. They are laughing and grabbing hold of each other as they pay the cabbie. The smiles remain on their faces as they enter the restaurant and sit with Greg and Mycroft. The smiles only fade when Mycroft hisses across the table, "Do you really have to make a spectacle in public like that?" He sits back and waves for the waiter to bring menus. Sherlock's face dropped and he looked down at the table. John moved to hold onto his hand. What does Mycroft have issues with? They look perfect together.  

"So, John, you're in the army. What rank?" John seemed to hesitate for a second, glancing at Sherlock before turning to Greg. "Uh, yeah. I'm a doctor. Mainly. But I've been made captain. So, I'm in charge of a group of guys, both at base in the med bay and out in combat." He gives off a soft chuckle and adjusts in his seat. Why is he so nervous? Greg's questions were answered when he looked over at his partner. They all continue to read the menus, an awkward silence falling over them all. 

Sherlock moves the menu to the side. "I don't see what your problem is." Oh god. This is where the shouting starts. Mycroft moves his menu to rest atop Sherlock's. He picks up his glass and takes a sip of water. An air of calm about him, with the rage simmering just visible underneath. "He's a soldier." That's it? That's his whole defense. Greg hazards a glance at the other men. John looks defeated. Sherlock looks like he could kill. Sherlock's mouth opens, but closes as John shakes his head slightly. Sherlock looks to his side then turns back towards his brother. "Doesn't stop me falling for him." He sounds so small. Like a child being told off and trying to justify their actions. John looks up. Looking right as Sherlock, mouth agape. Look of astonishment and adoration plastered on his face. 

The waiter joins them again just as the air begins to grow tense again. They place their orders, Mycroft ordering for both him and Greg, followed by John ordering his. Sherlock waves him off. Mycroft is seething. "Come on Sherlock, you have to eat something." Greg tries clearing the air before Mycroft's rage becomes known to everyone. "Not. Hungry." This sets it off. Ah, the Holmes brothers. At this stage John raises his voice to be heard over the bickering. Turning to the waiter, "Can I get a side of chips too? He'll share with me. Thank you." He gathers up the menus and passes them over as everyone stares at him. Amazing. That's twice he's stopped the brother's arguments. How is he so calm? He's just taking a sip of his water as if nothing has  happened. 

The meal arrives and not a word is said throughout. Not as bad as you envisioned. Sherlock ended up eating quite a bit. Even Mycroft looked surprised. As we waited for the bill, Sherlock excused himself, giving John a short kiss, and climbing over him. John watched as he walked towards the bathroom then turned towards the other men. "Look, I don't know why you don't like me, or soldiers in general. It doesn't matter. I care about that daft bastard more than I can fathom. What can I do?" John looks with pleading eyes. Greg turns to Mycroft who inhales deeply before saying, "You're going to war. You'll die. You die, you kill him too." So that's what this is about. "The standard big brother, don't break his heart schtick." As Greg said it he gave a small laugh and Mycroft glared at him. "There's no guarantee I'll die. If I'm honest, I'm trying not to." John says this with a sideways glance at Greg as the both chuckle. "But you could, and that's enough to worry him to death." With that he stood, placed some notes on the table, then swept out the building. Rendering both men silent.

Sherlock had reappeared at that point and Greg looked at them both. "I'm happy for you guys, honest. He just needs talking to. I won't call you this week. Enjoy." He shook John's hand, then gave Sherlock's arm a squeeze. Now to find your partner. Greg found Mycroft stood outside holding the door to his black car open. Greg climbed in. They rode home in silence. It takes them ten minutes to arrive at Pall Mall. They potter about, sorting out what they need. Brushing teeth, collecting clothes for the next day. Eventually, they make their way to bed. Still silent. 

"He'll be okay." Greg looks at Mycroft. He doesn't appear to have heard. Greg continues to dress for bed and climb under the covers. He is joined a minute later. Greg looks at Mycroft. Mycroft looks at the ceiling. "I know." Mycroft looks at him, worry etched into his features. He turns to shut off the lights before moving to hold Greg. 

Chapter Text

John woke the next morning with a detective wrapped around his body. He could get used to this. But you can't. You're leaving. This hits John at incredible force. He can't stay. Mycroft was right. His leaving will kill them, even if he lives. He looks at the form on his chest and plants a kiss in the untamable curls. Breathing deep, why could they have not met earlier. John will be gone for six months before he can go on leave again. Six months he will spend fighting to come home. 

John lifts carefully out of bed. Moving slow so that he doesn't wake the man. He makes his way to the kitchen, and switches the kettle on. Pops some bread in the toaster, then looks in the fridge. Is that? No? Fingers? He reaches towards the bag. Holding the small food bag up to eye level he inspects the appendages. Small, clubbed, male? Arms wrap around him, "They're for an experiment." The words are slurred from sleep and gently spoken into his ear, as if worried of disturbing the quiet atmosphere they created. A nose nestles into John's neck. Their bodies pressed close. The fingers forgotten. 

John placed the fingers back and moved towards the breakfast he began to make. "I was making you breakfast in bed." Sherlock is leant against the counter, arms crossed against his chest, watching. John focuses on the tea, not looking at the man next to him. You're leaving him. John makes the tea, remembering how Greg had made it the first morning. Sherlock watching his every move. Neither had gotten dressed, both stood bare in the small kitchen. John places the tea things down and takes a deep breath. Gaze is still away from Sherlock. "What's wrong?" Sherlock's deep voice radiates through the flat, breaking the silence they had created. Trust him to notice.

John squeezes his eyes shut. Shakily he exhales. A tear rolling down his cheek, caught when Sherlock moves forward. Can't hide it now. Sherlock's hands wrap behind John's head as he pulls them together. John begins to break as Sherlock holds him. Somewhere distant the toast pops up, forgotten in the moment as the men hold each other.  John cries into Sherlock's clavicle. The silent tears pool and trickle steadily down to their joined torsos. Sherlock makes small shushing sounds into the blond hair as the shoulders beneath his palms shake. John begins to calm. 

The half made tea now cold along with the toast. John had not made a sound for an indeterminable amount of time. Sherlock never broke his hold on the man. Sherlock pulls back slightly, taking hold of John's face. He wipes away the tears and kisses the tracks left behind. John's eyes are cast downwards, marking out possible escape routes. You don't deserve him. John breaks apart from Sherlock completely, stalking into the bedroom to find some clothes. Sherlock close behind. 

John puts on his boxers as Sherlock throws on some pajama bottoms. "What did I do?" John brings his gaze towards Sherlock for the first time. He looks like a lost puppy. John wants to hold him until all the hurt fades from his voice and face. Sherlock is fighting back the moisture in his own eyes as he climbs onto the bed. He sits on his knees staring at his hands. The other side of the bed seems to separate them by miles. A shirt in John's hands acting as his anchor. "Please tell me what I did wrong" Sherlock sounds so small. He pulls the shirt over his head. He looks over at Sherlock. This is what he meant. John just wants to hold him, never let go. 

John sniffs and moves to climb on the bed. He takes hold of Sherlock's face, willing himself to be strong. "It'll be easier like this. I'll go away. I'll die, and leave you alone. If I leave now it won't hurt as much." There are tears falling down both their faces. Landing on the bed sheets between them. The bedsheets that had their combined scent as a staple of their time together. John tries to move closer, but Sherlock's hand stops him. Pushing him slightly away. He wipes his eyes, only to clear the way for more to fall in their place. He stands up and sweeps through the room. John scrambles to catch up. Sherlock has made a beeline for his coat. No! What have you done?! John starts forward to catch him before he leaves. Wait, what? Sherlock is searching through the pockets to produce his phone. His coat falls to the floor. With trembling fingers he wipes his eyes and starts tapping on the device. "Sher-" 

Sherlock looks up at John, eyes scanning over him. Cataloguing. Analysing. He carries on typing. Glancing up at John every so often. Tears still falling, landing on his phone. John's face is also covered in a salty film. Sherlock finishes typing. Phone falling to the floor seconds before Sherlock falls to his knees next to it. John reaches forward, hesitating. He doesn't want you. The phone on the floor lights up. Lestrade . Is that who he was texting? John crouches down and picks up the phone, leaving it to ring off. The screen cracked. A spider web spreading from the top corner. Sherlock looks up at John's face. "This is what he said. Isn't it? You're an idiot. A fucking idiot." His words are broken by the quiet sobs threatening to spill again. Despite himself, a small sad smile tugs at the corner of John's mouth.

John looks down at the phone in his hand. Unlocked. Open on the messages. Mycroft and Lestrade. He looks at each as Sherlock wipes his eyes. 

                  Mycroft 

                             I hate you. 

                             Do I not get a say? 

                             Oh, I do hope you're happy. 

                 Lestrade

                             Get your boyfriend under control. 

John places the phone back then looks at Sherlock before standing. He walks over to the red chair, plonking down aggressively so that the man looks at him. "Hey," John's voice is soft. Sherlock wipes his eyes again and John holds his hand out for him to take. Sherlock stands slowly and moves to hold the hand. Hands joined, John pulls, ending with a lapful of detective. Sherlock makes a sound not unlike a squeak as he lands. John holds onto him not allowing Sherlock to leave as he is clearly trying to. "You're right!" John nearly shouts in the quiet space. Stilling Sherlock's attempts at escaping. Their eyes are boring into each others. "Your brother told me that leaving you would kill you. I'm trying to help you." John's throat tightening as he speaks. 

Long tense moments pass. Neither moving nor speaking. Hardly even breathing. Finally Sherlock takes a deep breath, preparing for what was on his mind to be shared. "Then never leave. We can keep in contact. You can move in. Spend leave with me. I'll send letters through Mycroft. He has to be useful for something, he can make sure they get to you. Just don't leave," He looks deep into John's eyes, a level of intensity they had yet to share. He carries on, "I love you." His eyes fall shut and his head moves to rest on John's chest. 

John takes hold of the curls. Fingers carding through them. Somewhere the phone rings again. The phone and John's fingers being the only sign of life in the flat. John pulls on the hair lightly until the face emerges. "I like the sound of that. I love you too." He pulls him in for a peck on the lips, before resting his forehead against Sherlock's. They kiss away each other's tears, and curl further into each other. Sharing the moment they almost lost.   

Chapter Text

Mrs Hudson had been thinking about her upstairs tenant. He always seemed so alone, so lost. Always looking for the next fix, in whatever form it came in. He was up at odd hours pacing. The noise was horrendous. She was on a first name basis with many government officials and police officers. She had to replace the dining room table twice, and leave due to hazardous equipment. That being said, she loved him to bits. She treated Sherlock like he was her own son. He hadn't been living there for long though. But even in that time, she could tell just how lonely that boy was. 

When Mrs. Hudson had met John, she was ecstatic. Finally, someone to save that poor boy. She could tell that he had a kind soul, even if he tried to hide it. At least someone would be there to bring it out of him. She had spoken to John the night previous. They were off for dinner. She noted John was carrying bags. I'm not stupid you know. She knew what that meant, she might be needing a refill on her herbal soothers. John had seemed like a lovely lad. Perfect person to bring Sherlock happiness.  

It was then that she decided she would bring them tea in the morning. Maybe some biscuits too. As a congratulations. She's not their housekeeper, mind. It wasn't too early, but not so late that they would already have made their own. She was using her tea set. She only used if for when Mrs Turner came to visit, as she didn't know how John took his tea, this was the only option that made sense. The tea brewing, milk in a small jug, sugar in a miniature jar, and mugs resting neatly beside the digestives. She began to climb the stairs. 

As she pushed open the door she saw Sherlock's phone on the floor. Cracked? That sod must have thrown it again. Resting the tea tray on the coffee table she tuts and leans down to pick up the device. "Sherlock, you shouldn't leave your things all over the place." Half expecting that she had been speaking to an empty room, she resolved to place it by his chair. That's when she saw the two men curled into the red armchair. Both sets of eyes on her. 

The phone rang in her hand and she crossed the room quickly to place it in Sherlock's hand. Sherlock took one look at her, then the phone, before turning back to John. His gaze lingering. His phone became silent. He switched off the phone and threw it behind him. Letting it fall where it will. His hand moving to the back of John's neck. "Thank you Mrs Hudson. We really appreciate it." She was shocked at how polite the young man had been. At this time he tends to be quite hostile. 

"That's quite alright dear. Wasn't sure you'd be awake." As she spoke she leant down to pick up the coat that was dropped and forgotten. Placing it away she carried on, "Good to see you're still here John." Mrs Hudson carries on into the kitchen, oblivious to the looks exchanged by both men. Shaking her head she pours away the half made tea, and throws the cold toast. Placing the unused plates and mugs into the sink. You can never be too careful with that boy.  

She made her way back into the living room. Her hands falling on each man's cheek. With a fondness to her voice she whispers, "My boys." She takes her leave with a smile on her face and joy in her eyes. 

Chapter Text

        I hate you. 

        Do I not get a say? 

        Oh, I do hope you're happy. 

Mycroft looks at his phone. Greg laying beside, picks up his, groaning. His mind raced. Conclusions forming quickly, before being cast aside. Why did he react? That wasn't supposed to happen. He can't be this... attached yet. A soft curse comes from next to him. The bed sheets rustle as his partner sits up. Mycroft sat, back against the headboard, phone in hand. His gaze had not shifted since opening the message. Greg is calling Sherlock. He won't answer anyone now. 

He feels his partners gaze on the side of his face but he can't look away from the words in his hand. They will become imprinted into his mind, I hate you. Mycroft felt like shouting. Why? He never feels this way about anything. Greg keeps trying to no avail. There's no use. You've taken your brother's happiness, not John. Greg begins to move out of bed. Flipping the covers off and leaving Mycroft with a sudden chill. He turns to look at Mycroft, hands on hips. "Well?" Mycroft breaks out of his trance and looks up at Greg. He holds his phone forward for him to take. "Last night. Jesus." He lets out a long breath. Moving to the wardrobe. 

Mycroft, on shaking legs, stands and walks over to dress too. "What have I done?" The words are almost silent, although seeming to fill the entire room. Crowding into their lungs, pushing the air from Mycroft's chest.  Greg looks at him, his face a mixture of emotions. He carries on dressing. Passing Mycroft clothes, "It doesn't matter what you did. It matters what you're going to do." With that Greg left for the bathroom, trying his phone again. 

Greg joined Mycroft in the bedroom again. They were both dressed. Greg took hold of his partners hand and pulled him through their flat. Mycroft letting himself be led. They bundled into Greg's work car. They brought the crowding silence with them on their way to Baker Street. Why are you so affected? Why was he? Did John leave? Because of him? He looks at his boyfriend. His face was unreadable. 

They pull up outside of Baker Street. For the first time that trip Greg looks over at Mycroft. "Right." He lets out a sigh before continuing. "I'm going up there because I consider both of them my friends. I am going to offer support if needed. I'm hoping John hasn't left yet. If you're to join me, you are on your own. I'm not bailing you out of this. You fix it." With that he swept out the car and knocked on the black door. As Mycroft stepped out of the car, Greg threw the keys at him. They hit him in the chest before he managed to catch them. Stepping forward, the door was opened by a cheery Mrs Hudson. 

"Oh, hiya, love. I didn't know you were coming. I just took the boys some tea." She opened the door wider. Boys? "Boys? So John is there? Both John and Sherlock are upstairs." Mrs Hudson and Greg both looked at Mycroft. Hope shining through Greg's eyes and the slight grin on his lips. Not too late. Mrs Hudson gives a soft chuckle at him, "And I thought you were the smart one. Of course they are. Ah, my boys. Love them to bits." 

This gained a chuckle from Greg as she left them alone. After her door shut they began the climb up the stairs. The door has been pulled shut. Nothing can be heard through the door. Greg in the lead, he pulls open the door and calls out for Sherlock. He stops dead in the doorway. Blocking Mycroft's view. He taps him on the shoulder. A gentle reminder that he's still there. Greg moves further into the room, allowing Mycroft to enter. 

Sherlock's head is resting against John's chest. John's head resting on Sherlock's neck. Arms holding tight. Both the heads begin to slowly rise. Facing the two men in the doorway. Both faces are red and puffy. Traces of tears across their faces and necks. Wet patch on John's top. "Fuck off, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice is hoarse and broken. The words quiet and uttered with only half the enthusiasm usually in his speech. The head falls back into place. John's fingers reach for the curls to smooth them. Sherlock's phone is seen on the floor behind him. 

Greg moves to sit on the sofa. Picking up a biscuit from the coffee table and plopping it in his mouth. Mycroft looks back over at John and his brother. John looks back at him, face covered in emotion. Sadness, anger, relief, pain, heartbreak, joy, suffering. No one moves. No one speaks. The world outside doesn't exist. Nothing matters at this moment. Only his brother and his honorary brother. 

Mycroft moves forward until he is at the side of the armchair. He crouches down to the floor, looking up at the men. "How can I help?" The words dripped with sorrow. Sherlock turns his head to face his brother, eyes closed. His breathing deep. The hand on his head moves to his back, rubbing circles, pressing close. They stay like that for a few moments. 

Sherlock's eyes open. Filled with his unshed tears. "Keep him alive." His eyes sliding shut as his head turns back into John's body. He will live. He will come home. He will be there. They will grow old together. You will save them both. The gentle breathing is all that is heard throughout the flat. Not a move is made. They have no idea how long they all stay like that. Finally, Mycroft reaches forward to pick up Sherlock's phone. John and Greg watching as he moves. The phone is covered in cracks, spreading across the small device. The screen is sharp, enough to cut. Must have thrown it . He slips the phone into his blazer pocket. Fix that, then fix them. "I am sorry brother. Both of you." Sherlock lifts his head at this. All eyes on Mycroft as he stands again. 

"You are both my brothers and I will ensure you're safe and happy. Welcome John." He nods at the men. All faces plastered in shock. No one is able to move as they watch Mycroft walk over to the sofa. His hand outstretched, reaching for his partner. They take hands and walk down to the car before starting their day. 

Chapter Text

Sherlock had been curled into John for the better part of an hour before he finally stood. Their second cup of tea that morning was already cold. He paced. Is this too much? Is he only staying because you cried? Is this pity? Sherlock had let his mind begin to wander as he was with John. What happened? Sherlock looks at John. They stare at each other for a few moments before Sherlock carries on with his pacing. John's eyes fixed on him, they never leave his form. His pacing slows slightly and he starts for his room. 

Sherlock stands in his room pulling out his clothes. He bolts upright and looks around, noticing he's alone. "Oh for…" He storms out of his room and rounds on John. He hasn't moved. Sherlock lets out a large breath before grabbing John's face. He pulls them together, swallowing John's surprised gasp. As he pulls back he grabs John's shirt and pulls him through to the bedroom. He searches through his clothes as John looks on with an amused smile.  Sherlock carried on throwing his clothes around his room. He even pulled out all of John's clothes. Mixing their outfits across the room.

Sherlock lifted a striped jumper and threw it at John. He grabbed two pairs of jeans and stood comparing them. John had picked up a discarded white shirt from the mess on the floor. As Sherlock continues his examination of the jeans, John moves closer, picking up a black suit jacket and trousers. Sherlock throws one of the jeans behind him, narrowly missing his partner as he comes up behind. John pressed his nose behind Sherlock's ear, nuzzling softly. Sherlock gives a small start at the sudden contact, before melting into the embrace. 

John steps back and hands Sherlock the clothes he chose, and Sherlock hands the outfit he had chosen. His ears burn as he takes the clothes. They both get dressed in the clothes their partner had picked for them. John had gone into the bathroom when he finished. Sherlock had followed him soon after, holding him and breathing in the domesticity. They brush their teeth together. Sherlock pressed against John's back the whole time as John laughed at the ridiculous situation and man. 

They made it out of the house. Sherlock grasping hold of his partner's hand, pulling him along. "Where are we going?" Sherlock stops. Turning on his heel and giving John a quizzical look. Has he forgotten? Wait… Did you not tell him? He must have been there for a while, John had started laughing. Ugh, that laugh . It was intoxicating. Sherlock had already begun cataloguing his laughs. They sat by his smiles in the room in Sherlock's mind. 

Sherlock made a vague gesture around them, cheeks turning a shade of rose. "This is a date, of sorts. I thought I said, we haven't had a real date yet, and since we're dating -" John had cut him off at this, "Woah, dating? Who said anything about that?" Oh god, no. What is happening? Sherlock was panicking so much he didn't notice John had begun to giggle. "Sherlock," The laugh died on his lips as he saw the panic in his partner's eyes. Sherlock's lips are captured in a chaste kiss which breaks him out of his trance. 

John is looking in his eyes. His face dark and serious, much like it had been that morning. Sherlock replays the last few seconds in his mind before he then begins to giggle. John looks horrified until a grin forces itself onto his lips. A giggle then forming at the back of his throat, "You git. Utter cock." His words were punctuated with a small slap to Sherlock's arm. The two men tried to control their laughter as they stood on the busy London road. John takes his hand and suddenly sobers, "I'd love to be your boyfriend, if you'll have me." Sherlock calms instantly. He pulls him into a passionate kiss. To hell with the people passing. 

When they break apart, Sherlock takes his boyfriend's hands and pulls him toward the nearby park. Their hands remain clasped the whole way through the park. They wander without purpose. Just holding each other close and sharing the moment together. John begins to take pictures of them together and of just Sherlock. They were acting like fifteen year olds, but that didn't matter to them. People stared, let them.  

They leave the park and let their feet wander. Enjoying their time together. They stop occasionally for a bit of window shopping, and to buy a hot drink. They talk about nothing, holding each other close as they wander through the city. After a few hours John stops outside a busy Costa, inclining his head in a silent question. "You go in and grab them, it's crowded, I'll wait." He plants a kiss on John's lips as he pulls out his wallet. Passing John a twenty pound note, he plants another kiss to silence the protests from his partner. Sherlock watches him join the queue and moves out of sight. 

Sherlock darts down the road, running as fast as his feet will carry him. He estimates he only has ten minutes. Ten minutes to get the perfect gift. Something he saw a while back during their walk. Pushing people out of the way. Nine. He bursts through the shop door. Eyes scanning for a free employee. Eight. Crossing the store in two strides he says in his last remaining breath, "Window, number twenty seven. Quickly." The employee, in a state of shock at the man ahead of him, doesn't move. Seven . Sherlock barks at the employee until they move for the window. As the store worker walked off, Sherlock took out a notepad and pen from his pocket. Six . The employee comes back over and stands behind the counter. Sherlock wrote down his details and took out a card. M Holmes was shown on the front of the card as Sherlock handed it over. "My details. Do it as fast as possible. I'm in a hurry." The card is accepted and the employee starts saying how long it will take to be delivered, five, Sherlock hears none of this as he runs out of the store. 

Darting past all the Londoners and tourists alike, making his way back to John. He can't breathe. Four. He rounds the corner, time to spare, time to calm his breathing. Except he almost collides with his boyfriend. "Where were you? I was looking. Jesus, are you okay?" Sherlock is gulping air. How did you mess that up? John stands, patiently waiting for Sherlock to catch his breath and explain. Sherlock's brain is working at incredible speeds. John can't know. It would ruin the surprise. 

His breath caught, he produced his wallet. "Was pickpocketed. Got him. Ran back so I wouldn't miss you." John's mouth dropped, he handed Sherlock his takeaway cup and moved for the road. What is he doing? A cab stops and they climb inside, giving the address Sherlock couldn't catch. John, looking extremely calm. Sherlock, still gasping slightly and - quite frankly - having a bit of a gay panic. The ride is silent. They hold hands over the middle seat, sipping their drinks. 

The cab pulls up outside New Scotland Yard. "John? What are we doing here?" John had already moved towards the doors. Sherlock rushed to catch up. He found them standing at the front desk. "Greg Lestrade in?" John speaks to the officer at the front. She looks at the pair of them before answering, "Uh yeah. In his office." She casts a look at Sherlock who looks at John. When neither man moves she gives John directions. He casts a thanks before following her directions. 

They reach his office and John gives a brisk knock before moving into the room. Greg is sitting with a doughnut in his hand and paperwork on his desk. "What? What did he do?" Greg mumbles around the doughnut. John strides in and drops onto one of the chairs. Sherlock stands hesitating by the door. Rolling his eyes at Sherlock, John says, "Someone pickpocketed him" Shit.

Chapter Text

Shit.

Sherlock looks at Greg's surprised face before taking a deep breath and sitting in the chair next to John. Greg's gaze doesn't waver from Sherlock's form, his doughnut still in his mouth. He steadily sat back, still eyeing the men across. John kept looking at Sherlock, arms crossed as he waited for his boyfriend to explain. It's suddenly very hot in the office. 

Sherlock doesn't say a word. His eyes darting between his partner and his brother's partner. Greg is still watching in idle fascination. John cannot know, it needs to be a surprise. "Sherlock? So, uh, what happened?" Sherlock's eyes land on Greg, then turns back to John. John moved forward and took hold of Sherlock's hand. What is he doing? He looks deep into Sherlock's eyes, gives a small nod, and gives his hand a small squeeze. They think you're shaken up about it, idiot.  

Sherlock shakes his head, clearing his thoughts out of the way before giving a smile to each man, "I'm fine. Caught him. Got my wallet back, no big deal." Greg reached forward to take his notebook and pen. Flicking to a clean page he turns to the young detective, "Tell me what happened, who we're looking for. Anything. You said you chased him? So you know what he looks like." Sherlock has begun to sweat slightly. Why are they taking this seriously? 

Scrambling for something to say, anything. If he can just get John to leave, he can tell Lestrade what really happened. Sherlock fiddles with his coffee up in his free hand. It had been drained long ago but it's all he has to occupy his hands. Think. Think. Think. He drops John's hand and takes out his wallet. Throwing it onto Lestrade's desk he says, "Nothing was taken. It's all there. Go ahead and check, it's no problem," He turns to look at John, "Can we finish our date now?" 

Greg picks up the discarded wallet as Sherlock goes to stand. He moves to pull John with him. A deep sigh ripped through the room. "Sherlock! Sit down." He turns to tell Lestrade that they're leaving, the words die on his tongue when he sees the man. Greg had his head in his hands and the wallet open in front of him. What? What could possibly be wrong now? Sherlock slumps back in his chair, his exaggerated eye roll seeming to take over his whole face. 

"You will sit there, and you will not move. You move? I arrest you." Both John and Sherlock look up, startled at the tone in his voice. The man in question rose from his seat and left the room, making a call. Silence loomed over his office. Pulling the men in deep. Lestrade takes his space back behind his desk and the silence reigns over them. 

They sit and wait for twenty minutes. Lestrade looking at them both. Neither daring to move or speak lest it break the tense atmosphere. A man in a suit sweeps into the room and stands next to Greg. Why is this a matter for Mycroft? The Government reaches forward and picks up the wallet and places it inside his jacket. "Why this time, brother dear?" Sherlock looks at all the eyes on him. For once the confusion displayed on his features is genuine. All you wanted was to get John a gift.  

The tension in the room is thick with unanswered questions. All of which can be answered by Sherlock. That doesn't mean however, that he will answer their questions. He knows that he needs to somehow send a code to his brother. He needs to be left alone. Sherlock looks towards his brother, looking him in his eyes, "Ask me again in half an hour." Mycroft's eyes narrow as John stiffles a giggle. That didn't work. Think.  

Mycroft seems to grow slightly irritated at a lack of response. "You will tell me now why you stole my card again." His voice never raises but in the quiet of the room is rumbled through to every crevice. John's head turned at a whiplash inducing speed, "You what!?" So that's what this is about? Not like he's never done it before. Sherlock looks back into his brother's eyes, "Money that comes from a tainted source is a degradation." 

Sherlock hopes that his brother will pick up on the quotes. Anything to get through to him without John realising what he was doing. From the looks on the faces around him, no one got it. Great. "Sherlock. You are given money at the start of the month. A controlled amount. What use do you have for MY debit card?" Sherlock is wearing thin. They won't quit. "There is some flaw in each one of us." Sherlock's voice drops lower as he leans forward, "Mycroft, please." Sherlock knew of the desperation in his voice, it was probably over his face too, but that didn't matter. Not with an audience. John couldn't find out like this. 

Greg looks angry, sad, disappointed? Why? "Oh Sherlock. They didn't steal from you did they? Did you go shopping? For christ-" He cut himself off. Mycroft looked almost as defeated as his partner. John looked on in confusion as the scene began to unfold. "List?" No, no. NO! They've got it all wrong. Mycroft is pulling out his small notebook and pen so he can make note of the list. But, there is no list. 

"I didn't. No. NO Mycroft! There is no list. I'm better. I'm- I- I'm okay now." His voice breaking slightly towards the end. His eyes grow moist. It was supposed to be a happy date with John, not this. His head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He sat. Looking at a spot on the carpet next to his discarded cup. Coffee stain , his brain unhelpfully supplied. 

They sit in silence. Everyone is waiting for Sherlock. John, waiting for his moment to ask what is happening. Greg and Mycroft, for either the list or what he brought. Sherlock took a deep breath. Now or never I guess. He stood. Looking directly at his brother and Greg. "Nothing," Before turning to John. John looked up at him. Concern colouring the blue within his eyes. "I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to find out like this. London is too matrimonial. People are either hunting for husbands, or hiding from them." With that he knelt in front of John. 

Chapter Text

John looked down at Sherlock. Understanding began to flood through him. He looked up at Mycroft and Greg, shocked eyes looking back at him. What is happening right now? His mouth opens, then closes. His brain is not connecting with his mouth. Sherlock's face begins to fall as he casts glances at the other men in the room. In the distance he can hear Mycroft muttering, "What is he doing?" 

"Sherlock? Are you… are you proposing?" Sherlock looks up at his partner, his face doing a bad job at hiding the hurt and embarrassment. He shifts slightly on his knee, "Well that was rather the point, but I feel a bit stupid right now." His voice is almost lost in the space between them. His eyes still look at John as his head bows slightly. Painfully aware of the company, John leans forward slightly. He reaches for Sherlock's hands. His focus dropped to a fixed point on the floor. 

"Sherlock, look at me? We've known each other less than a week. Isn't this a bit… fast?" Sherlock takes hold of John's hands, chewing his bottom lip. His gaze had moved to their joined hands. His cheeks turning a soft pink, eyes slowly lifting. His breathing is controlled. Slow breaths, passing through his slightly open mouth, speeding up the higher his eyes lift. 

Their eyes lock. A fogginess clouding Sherlock's pupils, hidden tears breaking though John's. Sherlock takes a shaking breath, "It was the only logical path. You said you loved me." A wave of affection swept through John. Still grasping hold of Sherlock, he slid off the chair so he was level with Sherlock. His calloused hand comes to rest on the smooth cheek of his lover. He holds tight. 

John's thumb smooths over Sherlock's cheek. "I do love you. I love you so much, but we can't just get married after less than a week. I'm a soldier, I'll be leaving in a few days, it will… it will break me. And uh, and it will break you too." His voice cracks, the hidden tears flow from his eyes in a steady stream. His hand slides across to hold at Sherlock's nape, their hands still held tight between them. John pulls them closer, resting his forehead on his partner's, their hands raised, held against their chests. "When I come home, when I come back to you, we will marry and spend our lives together. I don't want you to have to wait while I'm away, I don't know when I'll be back." 

They sat on the floor in Lestrade's office, the days have turned emotional as the reality of their relationship sets in. John is the first to break off. With a sharp inhale he pulls back and stands, holding his hand out for Sherlock to take. Wordlessly, John takes the wallet from the desk, nods towards the two men and pulls Sherlock out of the office. They hold onto each other as John pulls him outside.

John keeps pulling, dragging Sherlock behind him. He walked with purpose and determination. Sherlock looked on with confusion mixed with a small hint of humiliation. They wove through the busy streets. Both are still walking in silence. They walked side by side for nearly ten minutes before John turned into a building. 

Billy greeted the two men at the door and showed them to a table. Sherlock followed closely behind, confusion shielding his face. John sits and picks up a menu, casting a glance at Sherlock as he stood looking on. "Sit. We are finishing our date." Sherlock started and slid into the chair opposite. He picked up the menu and started reading after seeing the pointed look directed at him. 

Chapter Text

Sherlock looked down at the menu. Eyes flickering across the paper, occasionally lifting above while his partner wasn't paying attention. He'll miss this. Just the quiet moments together. John nods to Billy to show he's ready. He gave his order and looked over at Sherlock who gave his own. 

They were seated at a small round table. The distance between them is slim. Sherlock's eyes are trained on the table, hiding from John's gaze. Sherlock had been trying to make himself as small as possible all day, trying to sink into the floorboards. 

John moves his foot. Tangling under the table with the other set of feet. The small action helps to ground Sherlock, John knows this. He knows that he needs to bring his partner back down to Earth. His eyes are no longer glassy, no longer staring blindly at the table. Almost as if he can actually see the wood in front of him. John leans forward to hold the side of Sherlock's cheek, guiding his vision again. John looks into his eyes with fondness and admiration. His thumb rubbing against Sherlock's cheek. A movement they have begun to enjoy. The familiar repetition. 

Looking into John's eyes, Sherlock leans into his palm, taking in the warmth. "I do love you. You know that right?" Sherlock looked deep into his lover's eyes and took hold of the hand on his cheek. "Of course I know. I love you, too. I just didn't account for the day to go like this. Graham will never let me live it down." He chuckled at this. John tilted his head slightly, a soft laugh breaking through his lips. "You mean Greg? His name is Greg you daft git," His face drops and he lets out a sigh. His bottom lip caught between his teeth. "I don't expect you to wait. You --" 

Sherlock's hand slams onto the table, shocking a nearby couple, "No! We are not talking like this. You said we were finishing a date. You can't make me feel like this on a date. Unless you're breaking up with me and I won't allow that! You! You are stuck with me." A radiating smile covered John's face as he became red. His saving grace came in the form of a bowl of pasta placed right under his nose. His gaze refocused on it as he withdrew it to pick up his fork. 

They both ate in silence. John kept looking over at Sherlock, who would shift under his gaze. John's foot began to detangle from the other pair. His right hand slid across the table, crossing an invisible boundary that split the table. His little finger wrapping around Sherlock's. His foot slowly moving across the same boundary under the table. Sherlock stopped to look at John, fork hanging from his mouth as he watched on. John's foot begins to rub along the length of Sherlock's leg. Moving so lightly and slow that he almost couldn't feel it. John's fingers begin to loop around the other fingers underneath his. 

Sherlock, finally breaking from his spell, places his fork down, swallowing the half chewed food. John watches on as the food is swallowed. As the Adam's apple finished bobbing, John shot forward and captured Sherlock's lips with his own. Swapping the taste of the food they ate. Mixing the flavours. Their hands wrapping tighter. Their lips interlocking. A mad clash of teeth and tongue as their passion steadily grew. 

They were broken apart by a rough coughing on the right. The nearby couple stared at them so they would separate. John shared a small smile at Sherlock's rapidly reddening face. John called over Billy and watched as Sherlock disentangled himself to stand. He walked to the bathroom, albeit slightly awkwardly. John pulled out his wallet and emptied some cash on the table before going to find his lover. 

Sherlock stood at the basin as John walked in. He wrapped his arms around the lanky figure from behind. Sherlock doesn't shift. He carries on washing his hands, reaching for a paper towel to dry them. Taking his time. Holding the paper delicately as he dries his hands. John's grip never falters as Sherlock screws up the paper, he throws it in the bin. He turns within John's grip to meet the awaiting lips. 

They are once again locked in their passion. John took hold of Sherlock and lifted him to sit next to the basin. Their grip never loosening. Their passion growing, clothes becoming tight and restricting. They fought for breath. Hands clenching around fabric, trying to rip through to the skin underneath. Fingers twirling around their hair, tugging to bring them closer in the limited space. John was held tight between Sherlock's thighs. His legs connected behind John's back. 

"We have to go home." John spoke heavily. His words were broken by his breaths. The space scarce between their faces as he spoke. Their eyes shifted over each other's faces. Sherlock places a hand on John's chest. Reluctantly pushing him away as he slides off to stand. Another kiss is planted on John's bruised lips before he starts to fix his clothes. With that, he swept out of the room, leaving a breathless John to catch up. 

John catches him outside when Sherlock grabs hold of his hand. They walk close, hands clasped. Making their way back home to baker street to finish what started in the bathroom. Both silently praying that Mrs Hudson has noise cancelling headphones. 

Chapter Text

Sherlock woke to the early morning sky filtering through the small slit in the curtains. His body was hot where it was sandwiched between the covers and John's own sleeping form. His face pressed against John's chest as he soaks in the scent. They had hardly slept last night. A smile spreads itself across Sherlock's face as he recalls the events of the previous night. He turns in further to plant a line of kisses along John's sternum. It vibrates against Sherlock's lips as a content hum emanates from the sleeping soldier. 

Sherlock makes his way up from the chest to the jaw. Slowly pulling John out of his slumber. John holds tight to Sherlock, kissing back. Applying more pressure as he begins to fully wake. His eyes remain closed as he moves his hands and lips along with the man above him. Their grip tightening as they became more and more passionate. 

John began to move so he could rest above Sherlock. He was like putty in John's hands. An agreeing hum sounding through the room as they turned. Becoming increasingly hot under the blankets and each other. Then it was gone. Sherlock let out a groan and thrust his hips slightly, trying to recapture John. John moved and lifted himself completely out of Sherlock's grasp, chuckling to himself. "Jaaawwwwn? Why? Come back." Sherlock had opened his eyes and was presenting John with the biggest puppy eyes he could muster. John stood next to the bed, looking down at the moaning detective. 

John walked through to the bathroom. Leaving his pouting partner in bed. He brushed his teeth before moving to stand in front of the loo. Sherlock got up to stand in the doorway behind John, admiring from behind. His arms and legs crossed as he leant against the door frame. John tilts his head slightly so he could see behind. "Would you stop watching me piss?" It was more an order than a request, but the command was undercut by the light tone. He moved over to wash his hands. Still with wet hands, John was pulled back through to the bed room, both giggling like school boys.

"John, no." Sherlock kept grabbing hold of his partner, refusing to let him leave. Both of them dissolved into fits of laughter as Sherlock grabbed any part of John. He was pushed back down to the bed again, they laid next to each other, entangled. John gave a passionate kiss to Sherlock before jumping back up. They kept grabbing hold of each other, John trying to fight him off, Sherlock trying to keep them together. 

"You ordered the food. I am not answering the door with no clothes." He picked up a pair of Sherlock's discarded joggers from the floor. As he lifted his leg to put them on, a hand stopped his leg. John looked down at Sherlock's face, his head hanging slightly off the edge of the bed. "Leave it for Mrs Hudson. She'll get it and bring it up. No scared delivery guy, and you keep on my favourite outfit." He said this with a smirk, withdrawing his hand so it can gently rest against his chest. 

Much to his dismay though, John pulls the joggers on. He leans down and kisses Sherlock. "I am not answering the door to Mrs Hudson while naked either. We'll eat in bed if it means that much to you." His tone was teasing and they both knew it. That didn't stop Sherlock throwing in an overexaggerated pout, however. 

The door knocked from downstairs and John swept away, grabbing a shirt and wallet before Sherlock could stop him. Sherlock listened to John's laughter and his feet on the stairs. Flopping back on the bed with a smile on his lips, laugh in his chest, and warmth in his heart. 

Sherlock was laid, looking at John's sleeping form. He had woken about ten minutes previous, and immediately looked to his left. It had become his habit. He would wake up and look at the relaxed face next to him. He would either wake John, or curl up again with him, drifting off into his warmth. He silently vowed to memorise every detail on John's face. How it shifted with his many emotions. Every colour within his eyes. The many shades hidden within his hair. Not just on his head but also his beard - something Sherlock desperately wanted to see.

Sleep calling him back. He began to move back into John's arms when a small knock could be heard from the door. Mrs Hudson? No? Lestrade? Surely not? Client? Bloody hope not. Another knock, this one more sure. Next to him, John shifted slightly. Shit! John has to sleep so Sherlock can climb back in. He carefully withdraws, reluctantly. Casting another glance at John before opening his bedroom door. 

A yawn rips through him as he walks to his door. He pulls it open to see a startled woman looking at him. Nervous, why? Startled? Oh right, naked, not important. Spent ages on her hair, in fact her entire appearance. Making an impression? A little confused, eyes looking behind him into the flat. Uncomfortable. Alcoholic, slight rim over lip and reddish complexion. Gay. Sherlock's rapid fire deductions come to a halt. Gay and alcoholic . He pushes the door open further, silently inviting the woman into the flat. He moves through to the kettle and pops it on as he walks back to his room. 

He climbs back under the sheets. John's arms circle around him, humming as he settles against the cold body. Sherlock presses his face into the chest, breathing out. Becoming pliant under John's arms. " Hmm. John? Your sister is here." The body under him goes immediately tense. Sherlock shifts further into the body, trying to make it relax again so they can sleep. 

"What?" His voice is hoarse with sleep, his muscles begin to flex as he prepares to get up. Sherlock groans and tries to settle further within John's chest. John's fingers begin to card through Sherlock's curls as he mentally wakes himself up. A yawn pushing past John's lips as his other hand moves to rub at his eyes. 

The bedroom door opens and the familiar face of Harry Watson peaks through. Her eyes move around the room before it settles on the two men in bed. After seeing John, she steps further into the room. Moving closer to the bed, she sits on the side by Sherlock. Her eyes carry on with her inspection of the room. She turns towards her brother's confused face before her gaze drops to the man on his chest. Looking over the rest of the bed, she moves up so her back is resting on the headboard and her feet spread out in front of her. 

Sherlock lifts his head at this and turns to look at her. They both glare at each other, mentally striping the other of all the information they can gather. John looks between them, unable to form words. Harry hums and looks back at John, Sherlock turns back and places his face back on the chest. "What are you doing here, Harry?" 

"And by here he means, our bed" Sherlock mumbles against John's chest. Not doing his best at a first impression. Harry begins to glare daggers at the back of Sherlock's head, this is going well. Without her gaze wavering she says, "I wanted to meet the man my little brother was raving about. You don't happen to know where he is?" Oh god, this is not going well at all. 

Sherlock begins to chuckle against John's skin. Not the exact reaction John had hoped for. The head raises to make eye contact with John. A playful smirk on his lips as his eyes dart over the face. "Oh John, been raving about me, huh? I'm touched, truly. I didn't know I meant that much." His smile grows with each word as he watches John's face becoming redder in the dim light. He was seemingly unaware of Harry right next to him as he leant forward to cover John's embarrassed smile. 

A violent cough from beside them, broke them apart. "I'll put the tea on. You, put pants on." She pointed at the two men as she said this, moving to stand off the bed. She cast a smile their way from over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen. 

Chapter Text

Harry moved in search of mugs and tea. She could hear the men talking and moving in the bedroom as she opened a cupboard. Inside were a wide array of chemicals, she moved some to the side, to find a few tins of beans and soup. What the fu-  

She turned to the sound of someone behind. John walked towards her. He had a pair of joggers that were too long and his grey tattered top. She knew the top, he wore it often when he was home, but the joggers were clearly not his. He moved around her and held his hand to the side of the kettle before flicking it back on. He shifted in front of Harry to open the cupboard next to her. He grabs out three mugs and begins the tea making ritual. "I told him about those chemicals, keep meaning to organise. He's useless with that sort of thing. But, I just keep getting… uh, distracted." He lets out a soft laugh as he moves towards the fridge. 

Harry moves to sit on the sofa after John hands her a mug. He places another by an armchair before he sits opposite with his own mug. They sait in silence, the sound of their breathing, the only sound filling the room. They both looked up to see Sherlock sweep into the room. Thankfully, this time, clothed. John's eyes follow him as he dumps himself in his chair. "So," He turns to face Harry, "What can we do you for?" Harry gives a short smile and looks between her brother and his partner. 

"Well, you're leaving again tomorrow and I want to meet the man that made my little brother a bumbling mess. I figured you wouldn't do anything about it, so, here I am." John's face had turned a light shade of pink while Sherlock smirked across from him. They sit and drink their tea, enjoying the company of each other. No one says anything, but they don't really need to. 

Their bubble they had created was going  to pop. They all knew it. They also knew the real reason Harry was there. She needed to check on her baby brother, see just how badly he fell. And from the look of it, he fell pretty damn hard. John would be leaving in the morning. A week not long enough for them. That's all they'll get though, for now at least. Harry needed to meet Sherlock, she was on damage control it would seem. 

Harry clears her throat and places her mug down, leaning forward slightly. "Sherlock, right?" He hums and directs his attention toward her, "We can keep in touch if you want. You know…. while he's off gallivanting around the desert." She lets out a weak chuckle as Sherlock's lip curls sadly. He picks up his phone from the table next to him and tosses it to the seat next to her. 

They spend an hour together. Sharing stories of a young John, and stories of Sherlock's work. Eventually, Harry moved to take her leave. John carried their mugs to the sink and Harry pulled a shocked Sherlock into her arms. She whispered gently into his ear, "You're my brother too. I'll be here if you need me, okay?" She breaks off when a weak nod comes from Sherlock. John joins them at the door to wish her well. The lanky detective wraps himself around John as they stand in the doorway. 

They had spent the rest of the day much as they had spent the previous days. They held each other, studying their partner. Holding on for dear life. Neither able to sleep, just holding. 

Curled around each other in bed, John's phone begins to ring. It's time . John leans over to shut off his alarm. His feet following, Sherlock clutching from behind. They pull apart as John moves for the shower. They hadn't spoken for hours. They had nothing to say. Sherlock follows John into the shower. Slowly washing each other against the pouring water. It's going to take some getting used to. They had stuck to each other over the past week. Neither is able to seperate. Now they seemingly had to go cold turkey. Sherlock had grown accustomed to sleeping with a body next to him. John had realised how this was the first time in a long while, that someone is listening to each word he utters. 

Mycroft and Greg had offered them a lift to the airport, an offer John grabbed. He had spent some time yesterday trying to pack. He would be stopped by long arms. They roped around him and pulled the clothes back out before wrapping around John's hips. Both trying to keep it together as John dressed. Under the circumstances, Sherlock couldn't even appreciate John in his fatigues. 

John's bag was by the door and both men were sitting curled on the sofa. Sherlock's eyes closed as his face pressed against John's neck. Soft kisses placed on his neck. John kept planting little kisses onto the curls he could reach, a hand running along any part of Sherlock he could reach. That's when he heard it. Sherlock's face turned further into the body with a slight moan. The footsteps on the stairs seemed to boom in the still flat. 

Greg stood in the doorway looking over at the two men tangled on the sofa. He stepped forward and his foot hit the bag on the floor. He bent to pick it up. He cast a glance at the men before picking up the bag and walking back down the stairs. With a final kiss on the lips, Sherlock stood, pulling John with him. Sherlock began to move towards the stairs. He turned slightly to grab John's hand and saw the man looking around the flat. The pain held tightly within his eyes and jaw. Sherlock shifted and took John's hand in his, he pulled him gently, they walked to the awaiting car hand in hand. 

Greg was closing the boot as the men stepped outside. All three climbed into the back of the black car. Mycroft was already seated on one side. It was one of his larger ones, but that didn't mean it was large. They all sat close in the small space, everyone exchanging looks before Sherlock huffed. He climbed onto John's lap, much like in the flat. The car lurched forward. Sherlock's long limbs fitting neatly into the confined space. 

The men hardly shifted until the airport. He had already done two years in Afghanistan, but this is the first time he's had something to fight for. The flight took almost six and a half hours. Could catch up on the sleep missed . The car stopped and Sherlock climbed out after John. They began to walk through. 

Mycroft and Greg hung back, just watching the men. Maintaining a distance so that they wouldn't intrude on the last moments of the men. 

They held on tight in an almost bone crushing embrace. "Don't you dare fucking die." Sherlock's voice was cracking. It was the first words uttered all day between them. "I don't plan too. You better not either." John said this with a small broken chuckle, trying to break the tension so that they don't break down. "I love you so much." They were practically whispering the words against the other's skin. Repeating their love, peppering light kisses. In what could only be less than five minutes they are forced to break apart. They pulled back just enough to press one last bruising kiss and share a smile. 

Squaring his shoulders John gave Sherlock a nod and began to walk away. Sherlock remained fixed to the point as he watched John walk away. The second John was out of his eyeline, he spun on his heel and walked back to the car with purpose. He wove through the crowds. Much like John had done on their date , his brain unhelpfully supplied. 

He climbed into the car. His back straight and his eyes fixed on the people passing in the tinted windows. He didn't shift as Greg and Mycroft joined him in the back seat. The car once again pulled forward. They were off, leaving John. Sherlock turns his head to his right. Mycroft looks back into his eyes. Sherlock takes a deep breath, still maintaining eye contact with his brother. In a rare moment Sherlock slumps down, his lip quivering. Once Mycroft got over his initial shock, he held his brother close as he cried into his suit.