Chapter Text
John was just leaving from a shift at the clinic. He was taking the last step down to the side walk when he saw the sleek black sedan pull up the curb. John tugged up on his coat collar. The car’s black door opened. John walked over and cautiously peered inside.
Mycroft smiled pleasantly. “I’d very much like to offer you a ride, John. I believe you were on your way home.”
He only had to think about it for a moment.
He got in.
Once the door was closed and the car was moving, John turned to Mycroft. “I take it you want to talk about something?”
“What ever gave you that idea?”
“You’re…here,” John replied.
Mycroft’s reply began with an enigmatic smile. For a few long moments that’s all there was, then he finally said, “I was close by. I thought I’d offer you a ride. But if it makes you feel better, I can ask you intrusive questions about my sibling.”
“So, you just want to give me a ride?”
“Yes.”
John sat back and waited. He learned the hard way that there was no point in verbal duals with a Holmes. it was easier in life to ride it out and see where their logic took you. He couldn’t imagine that his strategy could be any different when dealing with Mycroft.
The car pulled up outside 221 B Baker Street.
John turned to Mycroft. At first, he wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, he settled on a simple, “Thanks.”
A few days later, it rained. John got caught at work unprepared. He had just finished with his last client of the day. His paperwork was done. He had no more excuses. John was looking out at the white haze of pounding rain beating the street, and the dark skies which promised more to come. He was simply dreading the run to the tub station.
It was as he was contemplating the walk of wetness that he noticed the black sedan cut through the haze and come to rest in front of the clinic. John couldn’t help the smile. He got his coat, said his good byes, and left.
He got into the car and it pulled away before he realized that Mycroft wasn’t inside with him. Instead, there was a big, soft, fluffy towel and a compact umbrella wrapped in a silk ribbon. There was a card sitting just under the umbrella, elegantly white and heavy bond.
In elegant script, it read:
My dearest Doctor,
So happy that I could be of service.
Sincerely,
Mycroft Holmes
Predictable as clockwork that sedan would show up no matter what days of the week he might be scheduled.
So far Mycroft had been in the car only the one time. The towel and the umbrella weren’t the only things he’d found. A few times there were expensive French chocolates in a little crystal dish off to one side. Twice a week a small compartment would open and a crystal glass would slide out with whiskey. Good and very smooth whiskey. Really good whiskey, better than anything he’d ever gotten at any pub.
It simply became a habit.
This is why he looked up so quickly, so expectantly that day.
It was cold and wet out. He and Sherlock had been on a stake out in a cold abandoned building for hours on end. When the suspect finally arrived they had given chase. As had become the norm, it was a chaotic run as they chased behind a murderer according to the dictates of Sherlock’s mind. The streets were all but abandoned. Only the chill and mist accompanied them on their late evening mad dash.
John tripped. He didn’t see the ice on the pavement, lost his footing, and slammed down. The sharp pain went straight up his leg bone. He even felt his teeth rattle in his head. The wetness began seeping into his clothes, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was lay there and let it pass.
Slowly, he pulled himself up. First to his knees, so he didn’t get any wetter. Then, he braced his uninjured leg on the ground. He stood as a matter of will, gingerly placing his foot down when he had the courage to do so. The strained muscles protested with every limp, but he made it to a bus bench.
He was still sitting there ten minutes later when Sherlock returned.
“How’d he get away?”
“It absolutely astounds me that tube officers actually still expect me to pay during a case!”
“Those idiots! Don’t they know who you are?”
Sherlock gave him a disdainful side glance that made John laugh. Laughing caused a jolt of pain to spike upwards.
“Is it broken?”
“Don’t think so, but I’m going to need an x-ray.”
That’s when he saw it.
An expensive black sedan cutting through the street. Out of place, in that part of town, it was a beacon of warmth and comfort. It came close but turned off on it’s journey somewhere else.
“You can’t trust him,” Sherlock insisted.
“Sherlock, I’m not getting involved in some childish sibling rivalry.”
“You already are,” Sherlock insisted. He stood and adjusted his scarf. “I’ll find a taxi.”
John was laid up for three days with a sprain. He didn’t get much rest because Sherlock was restless and bored. On the second day, he called his office wanting to get away. There was constant violin and crap telly when Sherlock wasn’t dreaming up other entertainment opportunities.
John dressed and struggled down the stairs in his crutches. He locked the door and carefully turned to find the best surprise that he could have gotten. A black sedan idling by the curb.
John actually smiled as he hobbled to the car. The drive to work was peaceful and so comfortable that he actually fell asleep. A honk of a horn woke him up.
John went about his day trying to limit his pain meds. He was uncomfortable and a little short. He made it through because he knew he’d have a ride home. Also, he was exhausted enough to sleep through anything, even Sherlock’s boredom.
When he did finally get in the car, he almost cried. On the seat next to him was a big bag of Chinese from Sherlock and his favorite place. Even though he wasn’t due for a pill for another two hours, he was grateful.
When he got out of the car, John tried to catch the driver’s attention. He’d wanted to thank the person, but there seemed to be no opportunity. As usual, the car drove away before he could speak to the driver. And so, John began his journey up the stairs as he managed the bag in his hand.
He was sweating by he time he reached the flat. John wandered in and hung his jacket up. He moved to the table, set the bag down, and lowered himself into a chair. John lowered his head and gave thanks that he hard part of his day was now over.
“It took me a while to piece it together, but that only because I’ve never seen Mycroft court anyone before.”
“Get me a pillow for my leg,” John asked too tired to explore the man’s thought process.
“He doesn’t do sentiment. The fact that you are in my life is next to meaningless to him. Finally, I realized that he is playing for your affection. He hasn’t wanted anything of mine since we were children. No. No. No. This is him. His idea of a relationship.”
John took the bag of Chinese and got back up. He made doubly sure that his pills were in his pocket before he started up the last few steps to his bedroom door. He wanted a pain killer, food, and sleep, in that order.
John got to eat half an egg roll before the painkiller and exhaustion got the better of him. He woke up the next day with the egg roll still in his hand, but felt better than when he’d dragged himself up those stairs the previous evening.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He walked out of the house late, but with the intention of going to work. When he walked out, the car was waiting. This time John went straight to the driver and knocked on the window. A dark, Asian man wearing a chauffeur’s uniform rolled the window down.
“I needed to thank you. I was really in a bad way yesterday.”
“Whatever you need, sir. Would you like help getting in?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
John got in and was taken to work.
During the drive, John took out his mobile and called Mycroft’s office. He got a voicemail. He left a brief message thanking the man. Appreciation was easy when the alternative involved taking the tube on crutches between bouts of Sherlock and work.
A few days later, John walked out of work to find Mycroft standing out by the car. Elegant three piece suite and umbrella in hand.
John couldn’t help the smile. He offered his hand to the man. “I hope your trip was enjoyable.”
“Ah, the tan. Very good, John. I trust your foot is better?”
“Yes. Thank you. I left you a message. It didn’t seem near enough. Would you let me buy you a drink?” He hadn’t intended to ask the man out, but it seemed the right thing to do.
Mycroft smiled. “Actually, I came to ask you to dinner. As you surmised, I’ve been away on business. I’m positively dying for good, old fashioned English food.”
“So, a pub?” John kidded. “Guinness. A nice Shepherd’s pie and buttered peas.”
“There’s an excellent place that comes to mind.”
The smile slowly melted off of John’s face.
Mycroft carefully said, “I’d appreciate it if you said yes. We have a few things to discuss, namely Sherlock.”
“I thought you weren’t going to ask me intrusive questions about your sibling?”
Mycroft watched him closely. Finally, he said, “You’re adorable when you’re frustrated. As entertaining as it may be, you can quell your fears of letting me down gently. I shall explain everything to you over dinner.”
Mycroft opened the door expectantly.
“Right,” John said.
He got in.
The ‘pub’ turned out to be much more up scale than John had anticipated. Simply staring at the exterior of the pub and looking in through the windows let John know without a doubt that he was grossly under dressed.
“You don’t do things halfway, do you?”
“Eating and drinking are pleasure. It should be done well.”
John couldn’t help laughing. “If Sherlock ever said anything like that I’d die of shock.”
“I am not Sherlock,” Mycroft said poignantly as he walked to the door.
John happily followed.
They were seated quickly at a good table that was out of the way.
The waiter promptly took their drink orders. John was a bit surprised that Mycroft would want a pint. But it was a pleasant surprise.
“So,” John said when they were finally alone. “How are the fish and chips here?”
Mycroft smiled. “Fine, but they are better known for their beef Wellington, roast dinner, and their scotch egg platter.”
“Roast dinner sounds good,” John replied quickly. “I don’t cook much. Sherlock’s not a big eater some days. A nice roast dinner would hit the spot.”
“I was actually craving beef today. I usually eat more vegetarian but I haven’t had meat in two weeks.” he put his menu down saying, “It’s decided.”
The waiter arrived with their pints and they ordered quickly.
Mycroft sipped from his pint. A sight that John wasn’t sure he’d ever get used too.
“First, I need to ask you to keep this conversation between the two of us.”
“That depends on the nature of the conversation.”
“I suppose that’s fair. I am conducting a type of experiment. My hypothesis begins with my supposition that Sherlock is more than capable of engaging and maintaining a romantic relationship. My testing is designed to see if he is able to react to the strongest stimuli available. That would be his personal John seemingly engaged in an outside relationship with the strongest protagonist available, namely me.”
John let out a long breath. He look a long draught from his pint before he could trust himself. “What you are telling me is that I am the blanket caught between two fighting juveniles.”
“Aren’t you either curious…or concerned? You are the closest thing to an intimate relationship that he has. Wouldn’t you want to see him happy?”
“Sherlock does not have feelings for me.” He tried to keep his tone as civil as possible. “We are not a couple. I am not gay. I’m actually tired of explaining that.”
“I’m sure you are. Probably as much as I am of seeing my brother alone.”
John shook his head. “You’re a fine one to talk, Mycroft Holmes.”
“I’ll have you know that I currently have a romantic partner. It’s difficult to maintain a relationship with my schedule, but so far…”
“Really? I mean, good for you. So, why don’t you sit down like a normal human being and discuss your concerns with Sherlock?”
Mycroft raised an eyebrow.
“Right,” John replied. “I heard that come out of my mouth and I’m wondering what I was thinking.”
“Sherlock clings to the label of sociopath in an attempt to keep himself isolated from others. No one has ever gotten past every wall that he has erected expect for you.”
“We’re friends,” he insisted.
“Outside of family, my dear doctor, you are the most profound relation that he has ever had.
“Then why try to damage that?”
“Not damage. Never that.” Mycroft sat back and said, “I’ve gone to lengths to ensure that Sherlock not know about my current relationship. Time-to-time, we have on occasion discussed the fact that he is worried I’m lonely. I’ve done this with intent.”
“Mycroft, all Sherlock knows is that your car is giving me a lift. He’s slowly driving me balmy. Is your intent to have me kill him?”
Mycroft smiled pleasantly. Like an adult humoring a child. “My intent is to wake my dear brother. My intent is to make him realize that he cares.” Mycroft carefully crossed his legs. “I ask you, what will happen when he comes to realize that you and I are possibly in a relationship?”
“He’ll drive me round the bend,” John answered immediately.
“And what happens when he suspects that you are being mistreated or treated poorly?”
John shrugged. “Why should he do anything? I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”
“Yes. I know. However, I take the liberty to remind you of the incident at 221B Baker Street where Mrs. Hudson was frightened and slightly injured. Do you remember his response?”
“Yes,” John said simply. “Mrs. Hudson’s bins will never be the same. But he deserved it. Mrs. Hudson was defenseless. He and I are both protective of her.”
“As he is of you.”
John watched Mycroft carefully.
“I’m serious, Doctor.”
“Let me see if I understand correctly. Mycroft Holmes, of all people, believes that he can rattle Sherlock Holmes into sexual awakening by suggesting that he and I are dating. And then I’m to play the damsel in distress so that he can rescue me?”
“It’s more complicated than that, but essentially.”
John smirked. “And how’s ‘our’ tumultuous relationship going to revolutionize his sexual identity?”
“Please Doctor, let me worry about that.”
John picked up his pint and drank deeply. He put his pint down saying, “Sounds like manipulation and lies. I’m sorry. I’ll not participate in this.”
Their food arrived. While the waiter set their food down neither man spoke.
When the waiter left, Mycroft tilted his head saying, “I’m disappointed but I understand. I wonder, Doctor, would it be terribly rude on my part if I were to leave early. If this endeavor is fruitless, then perhaps this evening can still be salvaged.”
John smirked knowingly. “Late night call?”
Mycroft managed a little smile. “After two weeks, any time with my significant other is welcome. I hope you can understand?”
John mirrored the man’s smile. “I’m not going to stop you. Enjoy yourself.”
Mycroft waved the waiter over. He ordered food packed to go.
“I shall pay on my way out. Please stay and enjoy your traditional roast dinner.”
“I’m glad you’re being so understanding.”
“We are all adults.” Mycroft picked up his pint. In one impressive gulp he drained his remaining glass.
The subsequent burp was a shock that left John unable to speak.
“Excuse me,” Mycroft said quickly. “I’ll be sure to send a car in thirty minutes or so to wait for your return home. Good night, John.”
“Night,” was the best he could manage.
John sat back a little dazed. Mycroft Holmes. Regular bloke. At a pub, a fancy pub, but a pub. Draining a pint and running off eager to shag.
John had to drain his pint just to clear the cotton in his head.
He happily tucked into his dinner. The waiter brought him two more pints, and then brought him a choice of desserts. He happily chose the spotted dick which was served with a generous dollop of cream. John was reminded of dinners at his grandmother’s when he was a child. He inhaled his pudding and scrapped the plate clean of cream.
Despite the strange start to the evening, it was one of the nicer dinners he’d had in weeks. On his way out, he was informed that his meal was indeed paid for, the tip as well. John was also handed a bag. The waiter said, “Mr. Holmes insisted that you take a snack for later.”
John walked out of the pub. A moment later a black sedan elegantly rolled to a stop in front of him.
John smiled and got in.
He froze when he saw the unknown woman sitting inside. The beautiful woman was dressed elegantly. She even smelled beautiful. Long black hair. Pale skin. Big, blue eyes.
“Please, Doctor Watson. Do sit.”
He was a little unsure, but he complied.
“I was just going home,” he explained.
“I know.” She smiled beautifully. She crossed her legs. He couldn’t help but gawk.
“Would you like a night cap?”
“Thank you, but no. I’ve already had a bit to drink. I find that it’s good to keep my head given my room mates antics.”
“You’re extremely handsome. Do you mind my saying so? I know it’s forward of me.”
He felt his face heat a little, but said, “No.”
She smiled. “You have a little cream. Just there by your lip.”
She caught his hand before he could wipe it away.
“Let me,” she said leaning in. She smiled seductively. Gently, ever so languidly, she licked his face. The second lick, she wound her slender arms around his neck. On the third lick, she slowly slid her silk clad leg up and around his leg.
John happily leaned in and kissed her. She easily complied kissing back enthusiastically. He wasn’t quite sure how long it lasted. All he really knew was that when she pulled away, the sedan was parked in front of 221B.
She moved back to her side of the bench saying, “Good night, Doctor.”
He smiled a bit awkwardly and hesitantly left.
John watched the sedan drive away. He stared for a good while.
Finally, he said, “I’m the blanket.”
Self-consciously, he began arranging his clothes. He raked his fingers through his hair trying to put everything into some semblance of order.
John turned. Instinctively, he looked up. No one was there, but a slight sway of the curtain told him that he’d been too slow.
“Mycroft,” John whispered in frustration. “You’ll burn in hell for this.”