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Parallel Lovers

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Mycroft scowled when he heard thumping sounds coming from the bathroom. Danny looked over at him. “What’s that noise?”

He sighed. “My brother, most likely getting his brains buggered out.”

Danny laughed. “You must be joking, Sherlock and John on a plane. I would expect that John had more restraint.”

He looked down at the ground, avoiding Danny’s intense gaze. “The good Doctor Watson has no restraint when it comes to my little brother.”

The noise intensified. “Oh, for god’s sake.” Then he got up and knocked on the door. “Stop this instant, I just had the plane detailed. Sherlock, was that breaking glass I heard? My Waterford crystal decanter better be intact. SHERLOCK, ANSWER ME NOW.” The Queen of the Night Aria from Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute echoed back at him, accompanied by muted laughter. He knocked again, just as the plane shifted. The door flew open and Sherlock and John, spilled out into the hallway, naked from the waist down.

“Fuck,” John swore, while Sherlock lie there laughing.

“For god’s sake, get up,” he hissed.

“Well, alright, brother mine but be prepared to be shocked. John is huge. The plane might shift again, throwing us completely off course.”

Danny threw Mycroft his own blanket and pillow. “Here, give them these.”

John grabbed the blanket, while Sherlock ignored the offer of the pillow. “No, thanks.” Then he watched while Sherlock pranced bare assed towards the bedroom.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked back at him, while John attempted to hand over the pillow once more. “Mycroft, you have only yourself to blame. I asked nicely if John and I could have the bedroom and you said ‘no’, so this is all your fault.”

“Get your clothes on, now and if my crystal decanter is broken, it’s coming out of your trust fund annuity.”

“Fine, whatever, John and I will be in the bedroom. Don’t bother knocking. John needs to finish what he started. Come on Big Daddy.”

John’s face flushed, then he shrugged. “Yes, Sherlock.”

He looked back to where Danny sat laughing. “I’m sorry, Mycroft, but it really is kind of funny and at least I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“You’re not mad at me anymore?”

“No, well yes a little. When is it going to happen, Mycroft?”

“When is what going to happen?”

“Come on, the kiddies are in bed, you can tell me. Am I going to die of heart failure on the table, or succumb to some kind of air-borne virus, get pricked in the leg by a poisoned umbrella tip or what?”

He sighed, attempting to keep his arousal at bay when the scent of sex filled his nostrils. “Danny, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not going to have you killed?” Then he walked over to the bar and poured himself a large glass of scotch, enjoying the burn when it slid down his throat.

“You drink too much.”

“And you ask too many stupid questions.”

“Is that supposed to hurt me?”

He looked into Danny’s green eyes, with his own blue red rimmed ones. “Is your constant lack of mistrust supposed to hurt me?”

“Does it?”

Yes. He drank another gulp of scotch. “We’ll be landing in a couple of hours, you’d better get some rest.”

***

 Danny rested in a hospital bed, while John made sure the drugs administrated were the appropriate ones. “This looks good. Danny, you should be flying high in a minute. I’ll be observing and if I see anything out of place, I will come charging in there. Got it?”

He looked up at John. “Sure, John, thanks.” Sherlock gave him an awkward nod, then they left. Mycroft walked over to his side and looked up at the IV line. “You should be going to sleep, now.”

His eyes fluttered shut, his body relaxed and then a voice whispered in his ear. “Danny, I love you.”  Alex, is that you, or am I dreaming?

____________________________________________________________________

When he opened his eyes, John looked back at him. “Welcome back, Danny, the surgery went well.”

“You mean that thing is out of me?”

John nodded. “Yep.”

Then Mycroft stepped forward. “Danny, we have things to discuss. You’re going to be getting a new identity and an estate on the Cayman Islands.”

Sherlock edged closer to them. “Mycroft, that wouldn’t be your private estate, would it?”

Mycroft tensed. “Does it matter?”

He sat up staring at the two brothers, facing off. “Mycroft, I don’t want to take your estate.”

“The estate has become a bother, besides I’m taking Scotty’s old house, so think of it as a house swap, if that helps.”

He nodded. “Okay, we’ll talk about it later. I feel so sleepy.”

John checked his vitals and then nodded. “You have enough morphine to knock you out awhile. Sherlock, quit drooling. Mycroft, are you coming?”

Mycroft looked back at them. “I’ll be there in a minute. You two go on ahead of me.”

The door swung shut. “What is it, Mycroft?”

Mycroft looked at him, allowing his eyes to travel the length the bed. His mouth opened, then shut again. “Danny, I…. oh, never mind we can discuss it later.”

“Are you sure?” he slurred.

“Yes, it can wait.”

“Mycroft?”

“Yes, Danny?”

“Did you say anything when I was going under?”

Mycroft’s eyes glazed over like a dead fish. “No, why?”

“Nothing, I thought I heard something just before I went under.”

Mycroft smiled, an ingratiating smile. “It must have been the anesthesia.”

He watched Mycroft’s lids grow heavy, hiding his expression, but not before he observed a flicker of sadness? Mycroft, sad, never, England would fall.