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“I did it!” Sherlock declared marching into the flat. He went straight to the skull sat on the mantle where it always was. “I dropped him off. Like you said I should.”
He waited for a response but it seemed like the skull was thinking.
“I've never done it before. And yes, I know I shouldn't have stolen Mycroft's car to do it. It was either that or a real crime. I think you'd agree I made the right choice.”
He waited again.
“No! I wasn't about to hire a car, nor buy one … why do I have to do it again? It's boring!”
Sherlock huffed and paced the flat in front of the fire place.
“Why should I be bored for love? It's not like he's ever going to love me back.”
“…”
“He's a doctor. An ex-army doctor, who is quite frankly gorgeous. He also makes it quite clear that he isn't gay. At every opportunity, in fact. Every opportunity.”
“…”
“No that doesn't suggest he's hiding something. He's ex-army! And what am I? Some boring chemistry graduate shooting the wall with his gun.”
“…”
“You make a good point. It has been many years. But maybe he hasn't moved out because it's cheaper staying here? And I do genuinely believe he enjoys chasing me around London on cases.”
“…”
“No. It isn't because he's with me. It's exercise. The thrill of the chase. The last piece of the old army life he has left. The bit he's clinging onto.” He flopped into the nearest chair which just happened to be John's. “If I tell him how I feel he'll laugh in my face. They always do.”
***
Across London Mycroft Holmes was walking passed his 'Sherlock surveillance room' at the Diogenes. He made a habit of walking passed regularly to check up on him.
What he heard this time surprised him. Sherlock was clearly alone. The tracker in his sedan showed that Sherlock had taken it straight home and then to the surgery where John worked. He hadn't bothered berating him for it because when he'd brought up the security feed it was just his baby brother dropping the doctor off at work. Nothing illegal, just slightly unnatural.
But now he was talking to himself. Or rather, talking to the skull. He knew he did that a lot. It was usually when a case was going through his Mind Palace but this was different. There was feeling in what the younger Holmes was saying.
He smiled in relief, pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped out a text to Anthea.
Collect Doctor Watson from his work. Invent an emergency if needed - MH
***
It was only half an hour later when John followed Anthea into the room.
“Mycroft, what the hell?”
“Hello, John. Sit.” He indicated a chair.
“No. Why? I was busy.”
Mycroft stared until the doctor let out a huff and collapsed into the chair.
The government official leant over the desk and flicked a few dials. What came next surprised the blond. Sherlock's voice. Sherlock's… angry voice.
“What?”
“Don't be dim, John, just listen.”
“But why?” Came a yell from the speaker. “Why? Why? Why? Why him? Why me?”
John frowned.
“This isn't right,” Sherlock seemed to be talking to himself. “He's made it clear. He could never love a man. Never love me.” He paused for a moment. “How could anyone love me? And since when was I gay?”
Mycroft was biting his lip, it hurt to hear those words from his little brother, his clearly distressed little brother. But he needed John to hear them. Needed John to listen; to understand, and maybe, hopefully he could fix the detective.
“Why do I even bother talking to you?” Came Sherlock's voice, even angrier than before. “You just sit there looking at me, inflicting your opinion inside my head, telling me to tell him. How can I tell him?! He's always on dates with women.”
There was another pause.
“Yes, I understand they don't last very long. Maybe they're boring? John doesn't like boring. That's what I love about him.”
There was suddenly a yell, deep, deep and furious. The sound of a table cracking came next. Then items were being thrown.
John stood up, his own chair falling back and hitting the floor with a clatter.
“Take me to him.”
***
“No! No! No!” A vase went through the window.
John raced up the stairs and put his foot through the door.
Sherlock spun around, the coffee table raised above his head.
“Drop the table, 'Lock,” John said softly, calmly. He was trying hard to keep his emotions under control.
“Why?” He croaked.
“Why what?”
“You're here?” He instantly knew his brother was outside. “No!”
The table clattered to the floor behind him and John rushed forward. Sherlock had collapsed to the floor in a heap. The trashed flat around him made him look so young. The doctor gathered him up in his arms.
“I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I should have seen. I shouldn't have been so blind. And I definitely shouldn't have hid the way I felt about you…”
“You feel the same? How do you…”
“Mycroft didn't remove all the surveillance he told us he had.”
Sherlock peered up at his brother who had appeared in the doorway. “Thank you, Mycie.”