Chapter 1: Your Worst Nightmare
Molly was keeping a close eye on Sherlock. He had stopped the pills cold turkey (had to because she dumped them down the toilet and flushed and then made sure to cancel his prescription), and he was stressing out about cases and work. "If you aren't careful, you're going to get very sick," she had warned him. And now he had just walked into her flat, sniffling and coughing, his eyes almost unnaturally bright. "Sherlock? Are you all right?" she asked him cautiously as he hung up his coat. He shook his head, body convulsing as he gave an almighty sneeze.
"Dizzy," he groaned, sinking into the chair he had claimed in the sitting room, not even bothering to take off his shoes.
Molly walked over and felt his forehead and face. "You're burning up!" she exclaimed, her brow furrowing with worry. She ran and got the oral thermometer, sticking it under his tongue. It read 39° C which didn't help her nerves in the slightest. "C'mon, up you get," she said firmly, leading him to the bedroom. Once there, she carefully stripped his clothes off of him and put him in his pajama pants. "Try to get some rest... I'm going to go get you a cool cloth and some water," she murmured softly to him after she tucked him into bed.
"mmmbfmbfk," he grumbled, shivering as he felt the cold slam into him. He closed his eyes and curled up, trying desperately to get warm. His fiancée brought the water and a damp flannel and felt her heart ache as she saw him shaking because of the chills. She curled up next to him, trying to warm him and comfort him as best she could
...He is bound and gagged, faceless men walking around him as he struggles... he can make out some of the voices... certain criminals... Moran... then Moriarty's face leers at him from the gloom, tracing a knife tip down his jaw... Sherlock fights to keep still, succeeding until Jim brings out John and Molly. John is bound like him, his eyes wide with terror... the criminal wraps his arm around Molly and kisses her deeply, the woman wrapping her arms around his neck, clearly fighting the urge to jump into his arms...
She relaxed slightly as she felt him drift into a restless sleep. "Oh my dearest love... I hope this breaks soon," she murmured softly, moving his sweat-damp curls off his forehead to place the cloth on his brow, trying to cool him down.
..."Like that little display, Sherly?" the criminal leers before turning back to Molly who looks at the chocolate eyed man with nothing but love and admiration. "She's so pliant, ever so changeable... like me."...Sherlock is struggling but it doesn't make a difference as Jim crosses to John, Molly handing the criminal a knife. "Shall we see how good your little pet here looks under my knife?"...the gag bites into Sherlock's mouth as he strains, desperately trying to save John. The man's blue eyes are watery, tears streaming down his face as he looks at Sherlock. The detective can see the forgiveness there before Jim raises the knife, plunging it into John's chest...
Molly jumped as Sherlock cried out. "Sherlock... Sherlock, wake up!" she said, her voice slightly frantic as she shook him to wake him from the nightmare he was caught in.
He fought his way to consciousness, his eyes blazing with intensity when he saw her. "You," he snarled, throwing himself away from her.
She was taken aback. "Sherlock, what's the matter?" she asked, confused. The face he was making was one she had prayed she would never see on him when he looked at her; disgust, betrayal, hatred.
"You filthy, lying bitch! Moriarty's whore," he spat. "Get away from me!" he yelled, scrambling back until he hit the wall.
Molly felt like she had been punched in the gut. "Sherlock... no. I never, EVER would do that," she said, voice soft and strangled, like she could hardly believe she was saying this. She reached out to him, hoping to shake away the vestiges of the dream that still clung to him. "Please..."
"GET AWAY!" Sherlock roared, tripping in his haste to get away, sweating like a stuck pig. Her kissing Jim... handing him the knife... John bleeding... John dying.... "You have John's blood on your hands, you filthy, lying, cheating little-"
She exhaled sharply. She showed her palms to him, hoping for one last chance to reason with him. "NO, Sherlock. Look... my hands are clean. No blood. I would never hurt John, or you," she said, pleading that he would believe her.
"I saw... you were there... you MURDERED HIM!" He was crying, his face contorted in a mask of pain and rage. "I trusted you, and you KILLED him!"
She recoiled like she had been struck, and then...ah. She had vague flashes of when she had been delirious; he was now, and he had snapped her out of it by... making it true. She swallowed hard and screwed up her courage and dug her fingernails into her palms, vaguely aware when she broke the skin and drew blood. "Yeah, I did. Poor, sad Sherlock... thinking that I could have loved you," she sneered, each word cutting her heart as much as it must have cut his. "His blood on the knife was such a lovely shade of red."
Sherlock froze, his heart almost stopping. "No." It was barely a whisper before the tears started back full force. "WHY?!"
"Because it was fun, you stupid man. Watching you dance like a puppet on the strings I pulled. Oh, how Jim and I laughed at you. Especially in bed together," she said. The words made her feel sick.
"You slut... in bed with the Devil himself. How... fitting."
She clenched her hands again, driving her nails deeper, causing the blood to flow down over her knuckles. "And to think that you loved John when he clearly wanted nothing to do with you. Married happily to some woman. Driving you straight to me. Oh, you should have heard him beg, though. 'Don't hurt Sherlock, don't hurt my best friend.' Pathetic. Glad Jim knifed him," she said, willing her voice not to break.
Sherlock screwed his eyes shut, his mouth open in a wordless, soundless scream, his body convulsing with sobs. "Get out... get the fuck out... traitor... GET OUT!"
He lunged to his feet, slamming her against the wall. "Or I'll kill you myself. His life for yours. Hardly a fair trade but it will have to do."
Her breath was forced out of her as her back slammed into the wall. She was terrified; he was so strong, and now he thought all those things about her. "Sh-Sherlock..." she gasped, lifting a hand to his face, dropping the act. "Sherlock... please come back to me... dearest love, come back..."
He shook his head, his mind at war with itself. "John... no..." he whimpered, sinking to the floor as the strength left him. He collapsed, feverish and unconscious, trapped once more in his mind.
Molly sank to the floor with him, pulling his head into her lap. "Wake up ,wake up, wake up," she murmured to him, as if the words could break his fever and delirium.
...He is limp in the chair, sobbing as the light leaves his best friend's eyes. Jim and Molly turn to him, the criminal sliding one finger down the knife before crossing to the bound detective, drawing three letters on Sherlock's forehead in John's blood... I-O-U...
She rocked him gently. "Sherlock, please..." she breathed, feeling desperate.
...Sherlock looks up at the criminal through his tears, fighting the urge to look at John's corpse. "Why?" It is almost nothing, barely even there. "Because everyone you care about will die if you don't... starting with John. You survived. He dies." Jim looks positively giddy as he claims Molly's mouth with his again..."Your pet... your girl... I am you, Sherlock... I have everything you want... you are nothing..."
"Right. Hospital," Molly said, steeling herself. She dragged Sherlock up to a sitting position and put a shirt and slippers on him before grabbing her keys. She threw an arm around his waist and put his arm over her shoulder and managed to get him out of her flat and to a taxi. "St. Bart's Hospital. And step on it." she snarled to the cab driver, who obeyed. She checked him in as soon as she could, using her clout as a pathologist for all it was worth. Sherlock was admitted in record time.
..."Well... you've succeeded, Jim," Sherlock mutters, twisting his wrists against his bonds. "Just go ahead and kill me."...The psychopath laughs at him. "I told you DOOFUS... I'm not going to kill you. I'm burning the heart out of you..."
Molly paced the waiting room as the doctors examined the detective, trying to figure out how she could help him; then she had an thought. John. She needed to call John. She whipped out her mobile, free hand still clenched tight as she dialed. He picked up and she didn't even wait for him to go through the pleasantries. "Sherlock is in the hospital, and I need you here now," she said, her voice edging on hysteria. "He... oh God... he thinks you're dead and that... that I helped kill you. He needs you here when he wakes up," she said miserably, feeling eighteen different shades of worthless. Back to the mousy pathologist who stood by and offered him ignored coffee dates, who was only good for a fiber analysis or access to a corpse.
..."Leave me, please," Sherlock asks, looking up at Jim's sneer. "Just leave me to wallow in this."...The consulting criminal only smiles, turning the knife on Molly. "Your heart, Sherlock," was all he says before plunging John's blood-soaked knife into the pathologist...
"Molly! Molls, slow down," John said, frightened. "Now, tell me what's going on."
She took a breath. "Sherlock's sick. Delirious. Hallucinating. Can't snap him out of it. I tried... but I can't. He... the hallucinations... he thinks that I joined up with Moriarty-" here she took a breath to fight back the feeling of being sick, "-and that he and I... killed you. He needs you to be there when he wakes up," she reiterated.
"I'm on my way," John said immediately. She dully told him the room where Sherlock was staying and sat in the nearest chair, too tired and heartsick to cry.
...He doesn't think he has any more tears, anything left that could be taken from him, but the sight of Molly's blood gushing everywhere-Jim riding her into the knife, her blood on his own hands, unable to save her- nightmares are colliding and melding, he is drenched in innocent blood, Jim is laughing, it's so loud, too loud... "Let me out, please..."
"Sherlock Holmes, you stop this right now," John said, voice harsher than he would have liked, but he was nervous. How does one snap a person from delirious hallucinations? They didn't cover this in medical school...
John didn't know if it had worked, but he clasped a pale, sweating hand in his. "Sherlock, I'm here," he said, squeezing lightly. "I'm all right. C'mon, wake up..."
...He feels something, amidst the cacophony of sound and color, he can feel a warm, strong hand on his, can hear that voice that had gotten him through so many cases...
"Come back to the land of the living, Sherlock... you have people waiting for you," John said, feeling a little foolish now. "C'mon. It's John. Wake up."
Sherlock's eyes snapped open, the light in the room nearly blinding, but he could see in the chair next to his bed, holding his hand, alive and well and completely fine... "John," Sherlock croaked, his throat dry and rough.
John's face split into a wide, relieved grin. "Oh, so now you decide to listen to me," he said, laughing slightly. "Good to have you back, mate. Have some water, you sound like shit."
Sherlock let John help him drink, smiling weakly. "You would too if you'd seen what I did," he said quietly, the water a godsend. He didn't really remember being awake, but pits and pieces were drifting through his mind. "Where's Molly? Why are you here?"
John frowned a little. "I'm here because she called me. She was nearly hysterical, saying that you... you hallucinated I was dead and that she had teamed up with Moriarty to do it. I don't know where she is...waiting room, still, probably. I didn't stop to see her, I just came straight here to your room," he said.
Sherlock took another sip of water, gripping John's hand tightly. "The dream... she and Moriarty had you captured, she handed him the knife that he- that he-"
"Hush. You and I both know that she'd set herself alight before she'd even dream of hurting either of us," John gently admonished him.
The detective nodded in agreement, his body shaking from the broken fever and exhaustion. "I need to apologize... I don't want you to leave." He feel foolish, childlike and stupid for being so dependent.
"I'll ring for a nurse to go get her," he said, pressing the call button. The nurse came quickly and John relayed his request. Molly came in not five minutes later, pale as death, stepping hesitantly into the room. What little blood Sherlock had regained in his complexion drained when he saw her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, clutching John's hand tightly. "Did- did I hurt you? I- I can't really remember..."
"Ah... not much physically... you flung me into a wall," she said. Her hands were bandaged now, red staining the gauze where her fingernails marked her palms, five half-moon stigmata.
"I threw you into a wall?" he whispered, tears leaking from his eyes as he trembled. He glanced at John, terrified of what he'd done. "Your hands," he said next, examining the bandages from this distance. "Self-inflicted... drove your nails into your palm." She nodded.
John frowned at her. "Molly," he said gently, looking back and forth between them. "I think it's best that I leave you two alone for a moment," he said. "Don't worry, I'll be right outside, telling jokes with the orderlies." This was more for Sherlock's temporarily fragile peace of mind.
Sherlock almost didn't let go, but John's gaze was open and honest, and the detective finally released his hand and watched his friend step outside the room. Sherlock's gaze landed back on Molly. "I'm not right for you-"
"Don't you dare say that," she said, voice soft but fierce.
"Don't. I didn't bring you here just so you could be rid of me," she said.
"Then why did you bring me here?"
"Sherlock, you were out of your head with fever. You thought that I had... joined with Moriarty and he killed John. I tried to snap you out of it, to get you to come back, but you were too sick. J-John got you better when I couldn't," she said, guilt mixed with a tinge of jealousy rising in her, forcing it down as best she could.
"He was what I clearly needed in the moment. If I thought you were in league with Moriarty, there was no way I would be able to believe anything you said in my state of delirium." Her words felt like knives in his chest. "Do not be jealous of John. We were friends long before I ever realized or admitted how I feel about you. It is a different bond."
She swallowed a sob. "You were burning up... I..." she reached to him, her bandages staring at her like a rebuke, forcing her to withdraw her hands.
"I was able to care for you in your delirium, and you were unable to shake me from mine," he finished, letting his right hand rest palm up on the sheets. Molly nodded. She wondered if she should tell him the things he said...
"You can take my hand. I... I don't think I'll hurt you now."
She did so, gingerly but eagerly. "I'm glad you're back, that you're all right," she murmured.
He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry... Molly I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me."
She pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "Forgiven always, my dearest love."
He started to cry again, cursing the hot, stupid tears that betrayed him. "I don't deserve you. I've been horrible, I hurt you, Molly. What's to say that I won't do that again? I'm certainly capable-"
"Stop it, stop it right now," she said, her voice sharp. "Both times that happened, you were not yourself."
"When you had just come off the pills, you had a nightmare and accidentally hit me. And this... the wall. But you were delirious. Neither time was your fault. You would never consciously cause me harm, Sherlock."
"It doesn't matter. Out of control, I hurt you. That is not acceptable. I am not someone who plays with lives or toys with others and threatens their safety. I am NOT MORIARTY!" he yelled.
"No, you aren't," she agreed. "And like it or not, I'm staying with you. I love you, Sherlock." she grasped his hand tighter.
"I don't see how."
"Because you are the brilliant man who faked his own death to save his friends. Because you came back when you knew they were safe. Because you put up with all my faults. Because you're you."
The truth in her gaze-that was what he finally managed to grasp. It tethered him as the rest of his doubts began to fade. "Molly..." he breathed, his head clearing. "You're safe. John's safe. Moriarty is dead."
She let out a long sigh. "Yes." she said softly, holding his hand tightly.
"Good," he breathed, leaning back against the pillows. "Call John back. I need to thank him." He squeezed her hand very gently, rubbing his thumb along the bandages.
"D'you want me to leave the room?"
"If you want. It's up to you."
She nodded and went to fetch John, staying in the hallway as the former Army doctor walked back into Sherlock's room. "Everything sorted?" he asked cautiously.
The detective nodded, beckoning to John to come closer. "I wanted to thank you, John, for being able to succeed where Molly could not. I believe you've saved my life once more."
John flushed. "That's what friends are for, Sherlock," he said as he drew closer to the hospital bed where his best friend lay.
The detective gave him a small smile. "You were my first friend, my only friend for a long time. Now I can never truly apologize for what my absence did to you, but I can at least rest easier knowing that I am once more in your debt and that you are safe and alive."
John flinched a little when Sherlock mentioned his 'absence' but rested a hand on the detective's shoulder. "Same, Sherlock. Same. Knowing that you're back and alive does me a world of good," he said, his voice slightly thick.
Sherlock rested his hand on John's, looking up at the blonde man. "Thank you, for everything. I was so alone and I owe you so much," he added quietly.
John's eyes widened. "You fucker. You absolute fucker, you were there," he said, his voice strangled.
"I- ah- John-"
John took a deep breath. "I have many things I want to say to you, but right now you're in a delicate state. Regardless, they are loud and angry. I also understand that you couldn't talk to me because of the snipers, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt anymore," he said, keeping his voice even.
"Then when I am well, I will make sure you get a chance to say them, John."
"Oh, that you can count on," John said, darkly. Sherlock shivered slightly as the blue eyes darkened.
"I have to go home now. Mary is expecting me," he said. "Bye, Sherlock. Be seeing you later."
Sherlock nodded. "Goodbye, John."
Chapter 2: Explain Yourself
Chapter by roseforthethorns
"Hello, John," he murmured. "I wasn't aware you were staying...ah, someone has to keep an eye on me, I presume?"
"Actually, no. I'm here because I want an explanation. I know you were at your...your grave that day. And you owe it to me," he said, his eyes flinty.
This also happens before Chapter 9 and is a direct follow up of Chapter one of this fic. Time to see if John can truly forgive Sherlock for everything, especially after his revelation in the hospital.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
"Mary and I will be gone all afternoon. Are you going to be all right?" Molly asked Sherlock. She was still anxious about leaving him alone.
He nodded, wrapped up with a blanket and a mug of tea in his chair as per her request. "Stop fussing, love, I'll be just fine."
The pathologist let out a sigh. She needed to stop fussing, he was right. She bent and gave him a long kiss. "I love you," she murmured.
His free hand went to her cheek, holding her close until the kiss ended. "And I, you. Now enjoy yourself."
"Oh, I shall," she said, grinning as she walked out the door.
John, who had come over with Mary, closed it after them and crossed the room to sit in the chair adjacent to Sherlock. The detective stared at the doctor, clutching his tea a little tighter. "Hello, John," he murmured. "I wasn't aware you were staying... ah, someone has to keep an eye on me, I presume?"
"Actually, no. I'm here because I want an explanation. I know you were at your... your grave that day. And you owe it to me," he said, his eyes flinty.
Sherlock flinched, setting his tea down and sitting forward in his chair, steepling his fingers and looking at John. "Yes, I was there. I had to see you were alive and well before I left."
John met his gaze. "And you couldn't tell me... why? I could have kept it secret... I could have kept it under wraps. I could have gone with you, helped you clear this mess up faster. Instead, you kept me waiting. For three years, you had me thinking that you were dead. Three years, Sherlock!" he said, his voice raised and intense.
"You had to believe I was dead. It was the only way I could guarantee that you would be left alone, that I could come back and find you alive!"
That was the one question that had plagued John the most. Why had he done it? Why hadn't he gone for help? Why had it hurt so bad that his friend was gone? Why hadn't it stopped hurting, even though he was back now? These queries circled around his head like a swarm of bees, buzzing their wings, their stingers dripping hurt and betrayal.
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked down, unable to meet John's pain filled gaze.
"When I met Moriarty on that roof, as we briefly explained when I returned, he told me that if I did not jump, the three people who mattered most to me would die: You, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. When I deduced that he could call them off, he shot himself in the head; only after my return did I discover he'd faked his death. I had a feeling beforehand that I would need to fake my own, so I enlisted Molly's help. I was going to defeat him once and for all; I even managed to send you away... but then you came back. You came back and I knew I would have to convince you I was gone. It was the only true way to ensure your safety. Then I jumped. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you there, dead. I truly couldn't, John. My one and only friend, bleeding and lifeless on the pavement... the thought was enough to steel my resolve over the next three months when I wanted so terribly to reveal myself before I left, but I had a job to do. I spent the next three years tracking down every last operant in Moriarty's empire and destroyed them all, to make sure you and the others were safe. I'm not proud of what I've done, but I only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me because I never wanted to hurt you, John. I can swear to that."
John took a deep breath and let it out; this was the most he had ever heard Sherlock speak in a single go, each word sincere and true. "Stand up," he said. Hesitantly the detective rose and set down his mug. He could tell what was coming easily enough, but he knew he deserved whatever John gave him. The doctor wrapped the taller man in a hug, squeezing his friend tightly. The he broke the embrace, looked Sherlock dead in the eyes, and punched him in the jaw.
"I forgive you," he said, tersely. "But I'm still angry. I'll probably be angry for a long time. But that doesn't mean that you aren't my friend. I still care for you, Sherlock. And I'm glad that you're back and that you're safe."
The hug was unexpected; John could certainly still surprise him, but then the doctor's fist connected with his jaw and he stumbled slightly, seeing stars. He rubbed the quickly forming bruise, nodding. "You have every right to be angry with me. And I deserved that."
"Yeah, you did. Subtext usually, but that one was warranted."
Sherlock almost cracked a grin. "I am very sorry that I hurt you so badly. I did entreat Mycroft and Molly to watch you, make sure you stayed safe and alive. I know it won't help you to know that they knew and lied to you, but it was under my orders because of how much you have grown to matter in my life."
John nodded once. "Right," he said, massaging his knuckles from where they had collided with Sherlock's jaw. The detective eyed his hand uneasily. "If you're going to punch me again I suggest you do it before the women get back and Molly goes to town on you."
John laughed. "Don't worry, I'm through with punching you. Tea? Or something stronger?" he asked.
"Tea is fine." Sherlock handed the doctor his empty mug and watched as John went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. It reminded him so strongly of life in Baker Street that he had to sit as the memories consumed him.
John puttered around Molly's kitchen, putting the kettle on, watching Sherlock carefully as he sat down hard in his chair. "You all right?" he asked.
The detective shook his head, wrapping the blanket around himself again as he gave his mind over to his former life chasing criminals, late nights, no sleep, little food, always John, best friends, danger, experiments, messy flat...
The doctor was concerned, walking over to his best friend. "Hey, what's the matter?" he asked.
...Moriarty, Semtex, the Pool, tea, villain, snipers, danger, fraud, Kitty, Brook, Storyteller, IOU...
"Memories," Sherlock whispered, clutching his head in his hands. John laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "It's all right... I'm here," he murmured.
Sherlock twitched, opening his eyes. There was so much comfort in that touch, and there always would be. "I know. I'm- I'm glad you are," he replied
John smiled. "Good." The kettle shrieked, and he saw to it, making tea for the both of them, just like old times.
Sherlock took his mug and thanked John, sipping it slowly as he watched his best friend sit across from him. "Marital bliss really does suit you," he said after a few moments.
John nearly spat out his tea. "Oh?" he said, laughing and coughing at the same time.
"Your face is looking fuller than it did before I left, so Mary is feeding you well. I have noticed a spring in your step that only appears when you've just left her presence, (usually she has just kissed you) and you are clearly feeling euphoric. You've put on a few pounds but are glowing with health, clearly still happy in your work, and thankfully the limp has not returned. You've managed to keep your life interesting without it being too dangerous."
John shook his head, smiling. Still the same Sherlock, in many ways. "And being with Molly suits you," he said.
"Your face is fuller as well. And you've calmed down considerably. You're not as... manic as you were. And you've grown... kinder, I want to say, but that's not the right word. More empathetic, I guess. She's good for you, Sherlock."
The detective felt a flush creep into his face. "Haven't forgotten everything I taught you, I see."
John's eyebrows went up. "Oh my God... you're blushing!" he said, his voice gleeful.
"I am not!"
"You are! You're as red as anything!"
"John Watson, I do not blush, I do not beg, and I almost never apologize."
"You are blushing, you've apologized to me... and I bet Molly could make you beg," he said, finishing with a leer and a wink.
Now Sherlock was crimson. "You are infuriating!"
John laughed. "I learned from the best," he said between chuckles.
"Really?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, setting his mug down.
"Really. You're the most infuriating person I've met."
"And how, pray tell, am I so infuriating?"
"As I said, you've gotten better. But: practicing violin at all hours of the night, calling me away from work to do a case, never getting the milk..."
"Cases took precedence, you knew that when you started working with me, my violin helps me think, and you did the shopping or Mrs. Hudson when she was feeling particularly generous. I warned you about my bad habits and you still complained about them-"
"Keeping body parts in the fridge wasn't a bad habit, it was a biohazard."
"I had to keep them cool somehow."
"You should have labeled them and kept them at Bart's! I know Molly would have been more than happy to help you. It would have given her an excuse to see you more," he said, raising an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth quirking up.
"You know full well I did not notice her like that until I returned. Goodness knows she flirted with me enough when I was there. And I needed them easily accessible for my experiments"
"I know. And she really did. But in our fridge next to the food? You could have gotten another fridge and kept it in your room, keeping your body parts there."
Sherlock shook his head, chuckling softly. "I have missed this."
John smiled. "As have I."
Sherlock stood and crossed to John before pulling him up and into a hug, holding him tightly. "I am very, very sorry."
John was taken aback before he returned the embrace. "And I forgive you."
He smiled and patted Sherlock on the back. "You're welcome."
One final squeeze and Sherlock pulled back, smiling down at John. "Now, what should we do until the women get back, hmm? I doubt this will be a short trip."
"Don't know about that, Mary is fairly single-minded when it comes to shopping," John mused. "Oh... OH! I have an idea! We could always go over our old cases. Still have them on my blog," he said, beaming.
"You were so proud of that thing."
"Yeah, I was. Dammed counter is still stuck, though."
"At 1895? Probably trying to tell you something."
John chuckled. "Possibly."
Sherlock pulled out his laptop and sat down, bringing up John's blog, the doctor coming over to perch on the arm of the detective's chair.
"Oh, the case of the Speckled Blonde! That was an interesting one."
"Why did they need titles?"
"Because it makes them more interesting, Sherlock, that's why."
"But I don't see how that makes them more interesting, John. They were interesting enough, of course. I solved them all, but-"
"It makes them interesting for the readers who are not of your mental caliber, meaning most of them."
"Meaning all of them."
"Whatever. Oh, and then there's this one... the Blind Banker. THAT was a tough one."
"Came very close to losing you on that one. And that one was... Sarah yes?"
"Yeah. Wow, seems like ages ago..." John mused.
"More than four years now."
Sherlock sat back, sifting through the memories. "I still haven't gone back by 221B. I- I can't."
John nodded. "Nor have I. I think, though, that Mycroft has it rented and keeps it untouched. For... sentiment, if you can believe it."
"I never would have pegged him for submitting to sentiment. Are you sure it's Mycroft you're talking about?"
"Tall, ginger bloke, cold, generally annoying, umbrella fetish...?"
Sherlock snorted into his tea. "Well, well... the Iceman melts."
"And the Virgin is no more," John said, leering genially at Sherlock and gently elbowing him in the ribs.
"Stuff it, 'confimred bachelor,'" Sherlock teased back
John snorted and scrolled down the page. "Oooh, this one... 'A Scandal in Belgravia.' Hoo boy. That was... interesting."
Sherlock stiffened slightly. "Ah... yes... the Woman."
"You ever manage to change that text tone?"
"Yes, John, I did. It really wasn't that difficult."
"Just thought I'd ask."
"It would cause endless difficulties with Molly if I didn't."
"Can't say that I'd blame her. Bring back bad memories. That Christmas party for one... but that was, I think, the first and only time I've seen you apologize."
"I've apologized since then, but that was a definite first for me."
"I thought Greg's jaw would come unhinged."
"I thought he and Molly were going to be a thing after that, especially the way he was looking at her in that dress."
"Are you kidding me? She wore it for you."
Sherlock's face started flushing again. "Oh, yes, right."
John's eyebrows went up. "What's with the blush now?"
"I am not-"
"Not blushing, fine, whatever. If you were, though, why?"
"Do I have to have a reason for everything?"
"It's you, Sherlock. You always have a reason for everything."
"Embarrassment, all right?"
"And why are you embarrassed? C'mon, we're friends. And lord knows you've embarrassed me enough..."
"I don't particularly like thinking about how I was to her then, not after everything that's happened. And to think about how... utterly blind I was to the effects of my actions and behavior."
John stopped smiling. "Hey... it's all right. Things are better now, and you've apologized. Water under the bridge, as the saying goes." He gave Sherlock a comforting pat on the shoulder.
The man nodded, closing the computer and putting it on the table, rubbing his face. "Why didn't I see it before?"
"Because you were busy with other things."
"Yes, but that's such a simple deduction-"
John's lips quirked up into a smile. "You see, but you do not observe," he said.
Sherlock punched him in the arm. "Shut it."
John laughed and rubbed his arm. "Nope."
"I'll tickle you, John Watson. Don't think I've forgotten."
John blanched. "Okay, okay. Point taken, I'll stop."
Smirking, Sherlock smacked him with a pillow. "Prat."
John laughed and retaliated. "Wanker."
"OI! You take that back!"
Molly blinked as she opened the door to hers and Sherlock's flat, only to find an explosion of feathers and hearing... giggling? Masculine giggling, but giggling nonetheless. Sherlock was hardly aware of the door opening, focusing solely on trapping John beneath the dining room table and brandishing two of the throw pillows from the couch at him. John, ever the alert soldier from his bunker under the table, noted the new arrivals. "Ha-HA!!" he shouted triumphantly, darting from his fort and dragging Molly away from the door. "Holmes, I have a prisoner! Call for a cease-fire and negotiations!"
"Not so fast, Captain Watson!" Sherlock cried, grabbing Mary by the wrist and pulling her close, pretending his pillow was a gun. "No such luck, sir."
Molly laughed, and Mary rolled her eyes. John cursed. "Damn... it seems we are at an impasse," he said, frowning theatrically.
"Are you sure about that, Captain?"
John smiled wickedly. "Mary, m'love... VATICAN CAMEOS!!" he shouted, before lobbing a pillow across the room, hitting Sherlock square in the face with it as Mary dropped to the floor.
Sherlock spluttered as he got a mouthful of fabric, unable to duck in time. "John!" he roared, diving for the table. The doctor darted away, dragging a laughing Molly along with him. "You'll never catch me, Holmes!" he said, grinning from ear-to-ear.
Sherlock scrambled up, catching Molly's eye. He saw her nod once, and he smirked. "Well, Captain," he said, pacing around the table, watching John closely while keeping his eye on Mary. "I think you forget who you have as your prisoner."
Molly shifted and twisted, snaking out of John's grasp and running to Sherlock. She playfully stuck her tongue out at John as she joined her beloved, pressing a kiss to his cheek. John gaped. "Tricky," he said, his lips quirking into a half-smile.
"Told you." Sherlock risked a deep kiss with Molly before rounding on the soldier. "Now, Captain Watson... to the death."
"No... to the Pain," he said grimly, picking up his pillow and 'cocking' it (in reality, fluffing it up) and taking a battle stance. (1)
Sherlock's brow furrowed as he glanced at Molly. "I don't understand," he whispered before turning back to John, readying his pillow and coming to the same side of the table as his friend. "Ready to go down, Army Doctor?"
"Have at thee!" John cried, raising his pillow and charging. Sherlock dove, tackling John at the knees and sending them both crashing to the floor, smacking his friend on the head and torso with his pillow but making sure his head landed on it when he hit the ground. John was laughing as Sherlock drove him to the ground. "All right! I surrender! The day is yours," he said between gasps for air. "Now, can I have my wife back?"
"Of course you can. What a ridiculous question."
The doctor snorted. "Git," he said fondly, ruffling the dark curls of his dearest friend.
Sherlock punched him in the arm. "Prat," he grinned, getting to his feet and helping John up, clasping him in a hug which John returned.
"Good to have you back, Sherlock," he said, sobering for a moment, holding the detective by the shoulders.
"It is good to be back, John," the detective said, smiling down at his best friend.
The doctor smiled again before disengaging and wrapping his arms around Mary, giving her a kiss. "You all right, love?" he asked, grinning.
"Of course. Better now that you've 'rescued' me, but I'm quite all right you silly man," she grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck. John gave her a deep kiss before breaking it and resting his forehead on hers.
"Good," he said softly, happiness and contentment radiating from them both. Molly sighed happily and held Sherlock's hand. One day, soon, that would be them.
"You know," Mary whispered softly, "if you'd like, we could try for kids again." She kissed him again before resting her head on his shoulder.
He beamed. "Yeah, yeah I'd like that a lot," he replied, just as quietly.
"Want to go home and try?" she teased.
"Oh god yes," he said, slightly breathless. "Sorry, Sherlock, Molly, we have to go," he said, turning to their friends.
Molly raised an eyebrow. She wasn't the deductive wizard that Sherlock was, but she could figure out what was going on. "All right. Nice seeing you," she said, smirking.
"I'll be in touch about your things," Mary said, giggling as John pulled her from the flat. "Later!"
"Bye!" Molly called after her. She started laughing as the doors pulled shut.
"What... exactly just happened?" Sherlock had some idea, but it was still odd to see it happen with John of all people.
Molly grinned. "Well, when two people love each other very much," she teased, before dissolving into laughter again.
He rolled his eyes. "Molly, I had that talk from Mycroft of all people. Please, spare me the trauma."
She winced. "Oooooh. I'm sorry. Well, anyway, I should think that we'll be hearing an announcement from John and Mary sometime soon," she said, smiling again, this one a secretive smile.
"Announcement, as in, moving houses or new jobs? Or announcement as in- ...oh. Oh!"
She started laughing again, softer this time. "Yes, exactly that," she said, feeling all sorts of warm and delighted inside at the fact that their friends were so happy together and that they were going to be bringing a child into the world soon, hopefully.
"Soon, I think. Not yet. Let's focus on the wedding first."
"Of course," she said, mind already drifting to how things were going to be arranged, and then other things... like the special item she had picked up for their wedding night.
(1)- Reference to The Princess Bride. John would definitely know it. Sherlock wouldn't.
Chapter 3: Lullaby
Chapter by roseforthethorns
Now we skip to after the birth of little Baby Benedict Tobias Holmes; this would be after Chapter 18 in the original story. Enjoy!
The entire rest of the fic is in sequence and fits between Chapters 18 and 19 in the original.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Molly sighed happily as she unlocked the door to their house. Sherlock was carrying little Benedict in his car seat, insisting upon doing that as she was still tender from the birth. She smiled as they walked in, looking down at the sleeping babe in the car seat. "Welcome home, Ben," she murmured.
Sherlock closed the door, careful not to jostle the baby. "Welcome home, love," he murmured, kissing Molly on the forehead.
She smiled at him, resting her head briefly into his chest after he kissed her forehead. "It's good to be home," she said softly. "Now, let's get Ben up to the nursery; he'll be in want of a feeding soon."
Sherlock set the carrier down and undid the straps, lifting the sleeping baby into his arms; Ben was so small and light as the detective carried him up to the nursery, Molly following right behind. Just as they reached the nursery, Ben woke and started making little whining cries, hungry cries. "Right on time," Molly said. "Give him here, love, so he can eat," she said, sitting in the rocking chair with a cloth over one shoulder as she shimmied out of one side of her shirt and undid her bra so her son could feed.
Sherlock handed over the fussing baby before sitting next to the chair, one hand on Molly's knee. She sighed as her son ate, happy to relieve some of the pressure in her breasts. She absently noted Sherlock's hand on her knee while she focused on the baby in her arms. Soon he switched sides, and then he was finished. Burping was easy; he was good about that. Then it was time for him to get to sleep, his brilliant eyes already drooping. "Sherlock, d'you think you could settle him in? I have to run and get my things from downstairs," she said quietly.
The detective got up, taking the baby carefully as if afraid he'd break. He watched Molly pull her shirt back up and head down to get her things from the car. Sherlock looked down at the baby with his jet black curls and the little bit of blue he could see from his half-closed eyes. Cradling and bouncing him ever so slightly as he'd seen Molly do, he began to calm him. He smoothed the hair on Ben's head, noting how it made him curl up closer against his chest. Softly, almost absently, he began to sing. "Te lucis ante terminum. Rerum creator poscimus..." (1)
Molly managed to get the things from the car and bring them upstairs. She heard soft singing from the nursery as she placed her bags down and looked in, standing in the doorway. The sight made her breath catch and her eyes well up with tears. Sherlock was standing, holding a sleeping (or nearly asleep) Benedict, singing their song to him. The room was filled with gold, the late afternoon light streaming in through the window, making it seem warm and safe. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms. This was what she had seen in her mind, all that time ago; this is what she now had.
Sherlock finished the chant, moving into a very soft rendition of Simple Gifts as he felt Ben's heart slow and saw his eyes fall closed. Moving slowly, he set the baby down in the crib, tucking him in with his blanket before standing and turning to see Molly in the doorway, tears in her eyes. Molly swallowed hard and gave him a watery smile before crossing the short distance and embracing him, holding him to her tightly, burying her head into his chest. "I love you. I love you." she whispered almost desperately.
"Hey, shhhhh." Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "I love you too, Molly." He kissed the top of her head, rubbing her back with one hand. "It's all right, I've got you."
"I'm all right, it's just... I saw this; almost exactly this, when we first got together. Remember, that night when I was standing at the sink? And I just kinda... stopped? This is what I saw," she murmured, feeling a little silly.
He pulled back slightly to look her in the eye. "Really? Right about when we had our pregnancy scare?"
"Yes," she said, again feeling a bit foolish. He leaned in slowly and kissed her very gently. "Don't feel foolish. I'm glad it came true."
She smiled and kissed him back, slowly, sweetly. Ben made a small grunting noise and they both paused. "We should probably get out so he can sleep," she said, nearly reluctantly. It would be the first time since the nurses had handed him back to her that he would be in another room.
Sherlock turned on the baby monitor before quietly leading Molly to their room, turning on its twin by their bedside. "Just in case," he whispered. "Of course, we could always move his crib in here."
"No, we should let him get used to the nursery," she said. She hugged Sherlock again, content to be in the circle of his arms and basking in his warmth and the love that spilled from them both.
"Come on. You need a shower and then sleep. I'll get the bed ready and your pajamas, don't worry. Early night for you."
Molly chuckled a bit. She was rather tired. "All right. Thank you, dearest love," she murmured as she stepped away and began to strip. Her body was softer now, to feed and comfort her child. Her belly was sagging a bit as it was still going back to gaining its elasticity after the birth, since she was no longer 'occupied' as it were. Sherlock turned down the bed and got out her pajamas, taking a quick trip downstairs for some water and snacks; he was suddenly ravenous. He brought a tray to share back upstairs with him.
She nearly moaned as she felt the hot water hit her skin and loosen her muscles. It felt divine, especially as she worked the shampoo in her hair. She managed to finish her shower and wrap herself in the towel before she wandered out back into her room. Sherlock was there, sitting on the bed and eating off of a tray that held enough for them both. "You really do think of everything," she said, laughing softly.
"Genius detective," he murmured, gesturing to her clothes before heading to the shower himself.
"Obviously," she said, imitating his dry voice, grinning. She dressed in her pajamas and sat on the bed, picking here and there at the food, content to wait until Sherlock came out so they could share it together. He hurried the shower as best he could but wound up standing still under the stream for several minutes as the grime of the past few days swirled down the drain. Hunger finally winning out, Sherlock emerged, toweling off and heading back to their room to put on his pajama bottoms that matched her own.
She watched as he emerged from the shower, trailing steam, his curls damp and sticking up every which-way as he dried them. He smiled at her, dressing and joining her on the bed to eat. "Well, you can relax now. And sleep maybe."
Molly chuckled. "I hope so... Ben's been really good about sleeping through the night thus far," she said. "But we'll keep our fingers crossed for that." That brought to mind another thing. "Sherlock... what were you like when you were a baby? I mean, what did people say you were like?" she asked, genuinely curious.
He shrugged. "Very quiet, almost alarmingly so. I cried when Father held me which was rarely; nannies raised me for most of my life. People used to describe my gaze, much like Ben's is now, as piercing. I'm told it still has that quality."
She shivered. "Oh yes," she said. "And I love it. It can be unnerving at times, but I still love it."
"Why what? Why I love it or why it's unnerving?"
"Why do you love it if it unnerves you?"
"It's very... intense. And I love it because it's you. It's like you can see straight through me which, well, you pretty much can. And you still love me, even when you do stare straight through me, even after you've figured out everything there is to me," she said, fidgeting slightly.
He brushed a stray hair back from her face. "Somehow, inexplicably, you are still able to surprise me, and that is I was only ever able to say about John, but it now applies to you as well."
She grabbed him and pulled him in for a long kiss. "Good," she said breathlessly when she finally broke it. His head spun slightly as he reached for a strawberry, pressing it gently to her lips. She opened her mouth and gently sank her teeth into it, brushing his fingertips with her lips as they closed around the fruit. He smiled, pulling the rest of the strawberry back and finishing it. "You are so beautiful, Molly," he murmured, the words muffled by the half eaten fruit on his tongue.
She chewed and swallowed before kissing him again, tasting the flavor on his tongue, mixed in with the taste that was purely Sherlock. She had to suppress a little shiver and fight down a feeling of want; no intercourse for a fortnight, at least. He pressed another chaste kiss to her lips and pulled her back against the pillows before tucking her in and getting the food tray, turning the telly on very low. "Pick something."
She was suddenly very tired. "Doesn't matter," she said, waving her hand vaguely as she snuggled in under the blankets. He let her lean against him, flipping channels.
"Oooh, this is good," she said, smiling as the music came up.
"What is it?"
"Harry Potter. Boy finds out he's a wizard, delves into his past, which is important. Makes friends, fights evil...stuff like that. Seven books, each one better than the last," she explained.
"I believe you said I needed to read them. Would they be good for Ben when he's older?"
"Yeah, this is good stuff for kids; teaches them about the importance of having friends, love, being yourself, standing up for what's right," she said. "But probably when he's seven or eight."
"I'll trust your expertise on the matter," he replied, sitting back to watch. He figured out the lie about Harry's parents and many other things, but he did not manage to deduce Voldemort's identity until Harry arrived in the chamber; it frustrated him no end. "It was clearly Professor Snape!"
"Just watch," she said, snickering. He grumbled, watching to the end and grudgingly admitting it was a good film
"And there's six more where that came from," she said, pleased that he liked the films.
"Mhm. Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban, Goblet of Fire, Order of the Phoenix, Half-Blood Prince, and Deathly Hallows."
"Suppose I should get on it then. Later though. You need to rest."
"Right," she said, settling into the pillows. Sherlock set the tray on the floor and kissed Molly on the forehead before turning off the light and closing his eyes. She snuggled into his warmth, sleeping hard and deep. She didn't even wake up when the baby started fussing on the monitor next to the bed.
After an hour Sherlock started awake, Ben clearly crying and fussing and making a racket. He glanced at Molly and rolled his eyes before struggling out of the bed and warmth to go calm the child. He was screaming and crying when Sherlock picked him up and held him. "Shhhhh, I've got you... Daddy's got you," Sherlock whispered, both amazed and terrified to call himself the boy's father. He bounced Baby Ben gently in his arms before rocking him, the child settling down a little.
Molly woke when she felt the lack of warmth on Sherlock's side of the bed. The baby; she started up and darted to Ben's nursery as fast as she could, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, nearly bumping into the wall. "Hungry?" she asked, head still muzzy, indicating the baby in Sherlock's arms.
"Check his nappy. He might need a new one," she said, resting against the door frame.
Sherlock barely touched it before the liquid nearly soaked through. "Molly... he's leaking."
She was nearly instantly awake. "Bring him over to the changing table, lie him on his back," she instructed, watching him as he looked around, helplessly, 'leaking' baby in his arms. He obeyed, setting Ben down on the table before hesitantly undoing the sticky on the diaper. He'd read books and looked at diagrams, but nothing really compared to this first moment, especially not when Ben peed again, hitting him square in the chest.
Molly had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as her husband was hosed down by their newborn son. "Get a new nappy; wipe him off with a wipe first, though," she said, her voice slightly strangled by her mirth.
Sherlock did, getting the hang of it as he went. He did wipe himself down first before Ben, glaring as the boy seemed to be smirking at him. Molly really did laugh when she saw Sherlock glaring at their son. "Not like he could help it," she said.
"Of course he could have," the detective grumbled, putting the new nappy on with ease. "There. And now I'll have to take another shower"
"Well done, you," she said, grinning. "Hail the conquering hero."
He glanced at her. "Sarcasm. Very nice," he drawled, kissing Ben on the forehead and handing off his son so he could get clean again.
She took the now-cooing infant in her arms, inspecting Sherlock's handiwork. "Daddy's did a good job," she told the boy, who was settling down to sleep now that he was clean and dry. She smiled; Sherlock was a father. "And I...Mummy loves you," she whispered into his fine baby curls. She could hardly believe it; this little life that she had carried inside of her was here, he was here, and they would teach him about life. She swallowed hard, her fears about being an inadequate mother suddenly rising to the surface. Molly pushed them back, though, and rocked the baby, beginning to sing under her breath. "Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns brings Autumn's pleasant weather..." (2)
Sherlock took a fast shower, scrubbing down his chest before drying off and putting on clean pajama pants. He could hear Molly singing to Ben over the monitor and smiled. He really did love her voice. The detective got back into bed and was soon asleep, lulled to dreams by his wife's voice. As soon as Ben was asleep once more, Molly set him down in his crib and made her way back to her own bed, crawling in beside Sherlock, who was already out. She pressed a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder before settling in beside him, curled into his warmth.
Songs in this chapter:
(1)- Vespera, also Te Lucis, found frequently in the parent fic
(2)- Now the Westin' Wind, Irish Folk Song, also found in the parent fic
I loved the idea that since JKR was able to terrify Stephen King, she should be able to stump Sherlock at least once in his life. Whether or not you agree is up to you, but I thought it interesting to at least hint at if not explore slightly. Comments are always welcome. Chapter 4 should be up within the next week or so.
Chapter 4: On Being a Father
Chapter by roseforthethorns
"Hm?" he asked, turning to Greg.
"You went somewhere really dark for a minute. Look, I know you didn't have the best childhood-"
"That is the understatement of the century, Greg," Sherlock interrupted quietly.
References to child abuse
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
"Molly, they'll be here any minute!"
"I know, Sherlock, but I'm a little busy feeding our son," she said, a bit irritated.
"Yes but-" The doorbell cut Sherlock off before he could finish; he answered, letting Greg and Mycroft into their home. Molly was quiet as her husband entertained their guests for a moment while Ben was finishing up eating. She covered herself and burped him, going to join the group just as Greg was asking where she and the baby were.
The DI went bonkers for the kid, instantly asking to see him, holding him up and every so gently shaking and bouncing him. "Good God, Sherlock, he looks just like you."
The detective smiled slightly. "Well, I suppose he does take after me."
Mycroft was blinking and staring at the infant. "Carbon copy," he said, raising an eyebrow.
Greg was playing nosies with Ben, kissing him on the forehead and tickling his tummy. "Don't be so scientific, Myc," he teased, cradling the baby in his arms. "Dawww, aren't you just the cutest little thing? Aren't you?"
Molly smiled warmly as the silver-haired DI took instantly to the baby, being cuddly. "Mycroft, you should hold him," she said, looking at the dour-faced man. He sniffed. "Infants are not really... what is it that you say, Gregory? 'Not my division,'" he clarified.
Greg smirked. "It's because you haven't given them a chance," he replied, cooing at Ben one more time before handing him back to Sherlock. "He really is precious. Congratulations."
Molly looked at the time. "Sherlock, would you go put Ben down for his nap?" she asked.
"Of course. Mycroft?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his older brother as he turned and headed upstairs to Ben's nursery
Mycroft begrudgingly followed his younger brother upstairs and into the nursery. "He is a beautiful baby," Mycroft acquiesced, watching as his baby brother held a baby of his own. The politician did want children, but there was the crippling fear that he'd end up like his father... better to remain childless for now. Besides, he could observe Sherlock while he bundled along. There was a sudden call for Sherlock from downstairs and the oldest Holmes found himself with a baby being thrust at his chest.
"Please, Mycroft? I have to see what Molly wants. Won't take a minute." And Sherlock was gone through the door, calling "What is it? If it's about the arrangement of the tea cabinet..."
Mycroft gingerly took the infant, who snuggled into his chest, a small knuckle of warmth as he heard Sherlock go down the stairs. Satisfied that he was alone, he began talking to the baby. "Oooh, who's a big, handsome boy? You are! Yes you are! Suchahandsomeboy," he gushed, smiling broadly at the infant.
Sherlock skidded into the kitchen only to see Greg and Molly staring at the baby monitor. He was about to ask why when he heard his brother's voice. "Such a clever boy. Yes you are. Oh, yes you are." The detective gaped at his friend and his wife. This wasn't something he'd ever imagined in all of his years, Mycroft speaking baby talk. Molly snorted, then snickered, then she laughed, a full belly laugh, sides heaving and tears pouring down her cheeks. "Oh-my-god," she gasped between bouts of laughter, "your brother!"
Sherlock and Greg soon followed, the DI pounding the counter with his fist. "Never... in all our time together..." he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes, "have I heard him do anything like that."
This just made Molly laugh harder. "Him... talking to you like that... can't breathe!" she gasped.
Greg tried to glare at her, but that just made Sherlock laugh even harder, trying to imagine his brother talking baby talk to Greg.
"Who's a handsome DI," Molly cooed, then started laughing harder, sinking to her knees to the floor. Sherlock slumped against the counter as Greg glared at them both.
"Really-that's not funny," he said, coming down off his high. He really did want kids, but Mycroft was being so stubborn and now look! He was getting on just fine with Ben.
"I'll go relieve him, shall I?" Sherlock gasped, excusing himself and creeping back up to the nursery.
"Good idea," Molly said, trying to catch her breath. "Sorry, Greg," she apologized.
Mycroft heard footsteps on the stairs and quickly regained his composure, setting the baby in his crib.
Sherlock poked his head around the door, suppressing the smile that threatened to give him away. "Everything all right? Tea is ready, Mycroft." He came over and looked at Ben, tucking him in, smoothing the curls on his forehead, and flicking out the light.
"Everything's fine, Sherlock," Mycroft said, rolling his eyes and watching from the doorway as his brother tucked in his son. "And tea would be lovely," he said.
As soon as his back was turned, Sherlock smirked, leading Mycroft back down to the kitchen where Molly was preparing tea.
Molly had to bite her lip to physically stop herself from laughing just so she could see what Greg had in store for his lover. Mycroft glanced around the kitchen at its occupants as he entered. All of them looked like they had a secret, and, being the nosy man he was, he wanted to know what was going on. "Well? What's everyone keeping so quiet about?"
Biting his lip, Lestrade grinned at Mycroft. "Who's a clever, grumpy man? You are, yes you are."
Mycroft went an alarming shade of white then red in rapid succession. "Fuck," he hissed. He knew that he was missing something: the baby monitor. It had been on.
Greg started howling, sinking to the floor at his fiancé's expression. "Your-face-" he gasped.
Molly and Sherlock were laughing again. "Mycroft, it was so cute," the pathologist gasped.
The British Government looked a combination of embarrassed and pissed off. "I am not... cute," he spat, voice heavy with disgust.
Greg crawled forward and yanked Mycroft down to the floor with him before throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him hard. "Yes you are," he whispered, running a hand through the short, ginger hair of his lover. "You're adorable."
Mycroft surrendered into the kiss. "Not adorable... I prefer the term 'devilishly attractive,'" he panted, making a small acquiescence to his lover. Molly smiled at their behavior and could nearly hear Sherlock rolling his eyes behind her.
Greg's voice dropped to a purr. "Oh, just wait until we get home, handsome," he whispered, kissing Myc again before pulling them both to their feet. "I think we're ready for tea now," he said, turning to Molly.
Mycroft cleared his throat. "Ah...yes, tea," he said, rearranging his hair and tugging slightly at his collar. Greg smirked, resting his hand on Myc's lower back as they followed Sherlock and Molly out into the greenhouse, a table and chairs already set up; Sherlock had the baby monitor with him as well
"So, do you have a date set for the wedding?" Molly asked as she poured the tea, Mycroft admiring the verdant surroundings.
"We were waiting for you and Mary to give birth, you know, didn't want to risk a labor in the middle of the ceremony, but we've been thinking about November, maybe even December around Christmas."
"Oh, a Christmas wedding! How sweet," Molly said, beaming. Mycroft blushed. "Yes, Gregory is all about sentiment," he said.
Greg elbowed him in the ribs. "He is too, just won't admit it."
Sherlock snorted into his tea
"Oh, don't you start," Molly gently chided Sherlock. "You are as well, even though you'd never admit it. Seems like you and your brother have more in common than you think."
Mycroft looked like he had taken a bite out of a lemon. Sherlock's head jerked up to look at his brother, something akin to surprise and shock across his features. "If you insist."
Molly took Sherlock's free hand and squeezed it gently. "Not so bad to enjoy sentiment," she murmured into his ear, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. He felt himself relax, turning his head to capture her lips in a quick kiss before returning to his tea. "I assume you'll want us in the proceedings."
"Yes, actually. Sherlock, I was..." Here, Mycroft coughed and colored, looking a bit out of his depth. "I was wondering if you'd be my best man," he finished quietly.
The detective flushed, looking stunned. "I-well-Mycroft-"
"Because you are, with the exception of my fiancé, you're one of the best men I've known. I know we've never...gotten along well together, but it would mean a great deal to me-to us if you would," he blurted out, the words just falling from his mouth.
It was one of those rare moments when Sherlock found himself completely speechless. All he could do was nod, amazed to hear these words from his brother, a man who had not shown him true kindness or sentiment since he was seven years old. Molly was astonished; Sherlock was speechless, and Mycroft was talking. She swallowed hard; they were reconciling. There were a lot of old wounds and hatchets to bury, but they were getting over it. She gently nudged Sherlock; his brother was still in want of an answer.
"Y-yes." Sherlock had to clear his throat, it was so thick with emotion. "I would be...honored, dear brother."
Mycroft smiled. He genuinely smiled, teeth bared in a wide grin. "Thank you...this...this means so much to us," he said, clearing his throat a bit. Molly had to blink back tears. This was so beautiful... and then the moment was interrupted by a squawk from the baby monitor. "Oh, Ben probably needs a new nappy," she said, rising from her seat.
Sherlock jumped slightly at the interruption, letting go of Molly's hand and standing so she could go. He set down his tea (Mycroft and Greg had also risen) and embraced his brother. Mycroft hugged his younger brother hard; the last time he had done so was...right after their father had beaten Sherlock for the last time, when they were eight and fifteen, respectively. He held his baby brother to him and swallowed hard. "Thank you," he said softly.
Sherlock fought back tears, long suppressed waves of emotion and memories threatening to drown him as he truly let his brother back into his life. "You are welcome, Mycey."
When they broke the embrace, Mycroft's eyes were bright with unshed tears. He cleared his throat and turned away, dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief. Greg was staring at both of the men in awe.
"I-um-so-" Sherlock cleared his throat again, blinking back his own tears. He could hear Molly cooing and talking to Ben so he focused on it, letting it ground him and bring him down to reality.
"Right," Mycroft said, trying to regain his composure. "So that's settled." He listened absently to Molly talking to her son, his nephew and his lips quirked up into an almost-smile. Greg laced their fingers together, pulling Mycroft back into his chair. "I hope that can be us someday."
Mycroft went cold. Visions of his childhood flashed through his head: his father, coming home in a drunken stupor that turned to a rage. Broken bottles, bruises decorating the pale flesh of his arms and belly, Sherlock looking worse. "Someday," he said. But not soon. Not until he could be sure he wouldn't turn into his father.
"Hm?" he asked, turning to Greg.
"You went somewhere really dark for a minute. Look, I know you didn't have the best childhood-"
"That is the understatement of the century, Greg," Sherlock interrupted quietly.
Mycroft nodded. "Sherlock is right. I...no children. Not yet. I'm sorry, Gregory," he said softly.
Greg nodded, shoving back anger and frustration at whomever did this to the men to make them so hesitant and shut down and afraid. "How are you coping with it, Sherlock?"
The detective was suddenly very interested with the chocolate biscuits Molly had made for the tea. "Not well," he confessed. When he looked back up at them, his eyes were full of tears.
Mycroft looked at Sherlock. "Sherly?" he asked gently, concerned for his brother.
He flinched at the nickname. "The terror of becoming my father at some points is overwhelming. I can hide it well enough from Molly, but-" he shook his head "-Mycey, I have the occasional drink. You know my personality. Who knows how much longer before I'm just like him? He hated me."
Mycroft bristled. "Stop it. You are fifteen times the man he was-no, more than that. You're so much better than him. You won't ever get to that point. I wouldn't let you. Molly wouldn't let you. John wouldn't let you. You have friends who would get you through this," he said, his voice soft and fierce.
Sherlock tightened his grip on his teacup. "Then you can too, and you know it."
It was Mycroft's turn to flinch now. "I...I can't right now. I know I'll be ready to be a father some day, but just...not now." He turned to Greg. "I'm sorry, my love...I just can't," he said, his voice sorrowful.
"Shhhhh." Greg stroked Mycroft's face gently. "Then if you say you will be, I can wait."
The younger man let out a shuddering breath. "Thank you, Gregory," he murmured, closing his eyes and leaning into his lover's touch.
"Anything for you, Mycroft."
"And the same goes for you, my love."
A smirk appeared at the corner of Sherlock's mouth, old habits about storing information to tease his brother with coming back. He sipped his tea, watching them and rolling his eyes when they began to kiss. Molly rejoined them a few moments later, bearing a wide-awake Benedict. "He wanted to see Daddy," she said, smiling softly and placing the baby in Sherlock's arms. She wrapped herself around his neck as he held their child, nuzzling into his skin and gently ignoring Mycroft and Greg, who were kissing. Fighting his insecurities, Sherlock cradled the boy, smiling slightly. "Baby Ben...our baby Ben"
She felt him struggling with something. "You're a wonderful father, Sherlock. You love him so much. Don't worry; I'm here with you, every step of the way," she murmured into his ear.
A single tear fell and landed on Ben's cheek; Sherlock wiped it away with his thumb. "What if I hurt him? Or you?"
"You wouldn't. I know you wouldn't."
"Sherlock; when have you ever raised your hand or voice to me in anger? We've had our disagreements, yes, but every married couple does. It's natural."
"If the nightmares ever returned-"
"Then I would help you fight through them, come what may. I'm here, Sherlock. You...you can't always do everything alone."
He leaned his head back against her shoulder, breathing in her scent. "All right..."
"I love you. Never, ever doubt that I love you," she said, pressing a kiss to him.
"I won't. I promise." He looked back at his brother and the DI, raising an eyebrow. "You might want to breathe."
"Stuff it, Sherly," Mycroft drawled, quirking his lips in a smile to show his brother that he didn't mean it harshly. Greg smirked, pulling Mycroft closer and really kissing him now, just to show off.
Molly blinked, her eyebrows going up as Greg and Mycroft kissed...and kissed....and kissed. "Seriously, boys, breathe," she said. Finally, the DI pulled away slightly, reaching for his tea. "If you absolutely insist."
"I'm afraid I must, children present and all that," Molly said, smirking.
"He won't remember." But Greg was still grinning as he fed Mycroft one of the biscuits.
"Yes, but we will," she muttered.
Sherlock chuckled, shifting his hands so that he was holding Ben up in the air. "Want to see your Uncle Greg?"
The baby cooed. "I take that as a 'yes'," Molly said, chuckling, then laughing out loud as Greg's eyes lit up and he reached for the baby with grabby hands. Greg excitedly took the baby, swinging him gently around and beaming, kissing his face all over. "Beautiful boy...you are just precious."
Little Benedict burbled happily at the attention, looking up at his 'uncle' with keen eyes for a month-old infant.
Greg played nosies with him before turning to face Mycroft. "Isn't this the face of a little angel?"
Mycroft smirked. "I can see it being the face of a hellion, but, yes, I suppose it is," he said, before smiling into his nephew's face and stroking the softness of his cheek. Molly surreptitiously took a picture with her mobile; this was one for the photo albums.
"Give him time, Greg. Neither of us had a strong, paternal influence so we are both-ah-learning."
Mycroft nodded. "And it's clear you'll be a wonderful father, at any rate," he murmured, before pressing a kiss first to Benedict's head and then to Greg's.
"Thank you, Mycroft."
The elder Holmes smiled softly before saying "You're welcome," and turning his attention back to the baby. Sherlock watched Molly snap several more pictures. He was observing the scene with his own eyes and yet it was almost as difficult to believe as the HOUND had been.
Molly put the phone down. "Sorry, gents, but I'm going to steal him back. I want him to see some of the flowers," she said, taking the baby from a reluctant Greg. She cooed to Ben and walked slowly around the greenhouse, the late afternoon sun framing her silhouette golden against the green of the leaves and the bright flowers, babe in arms.
Sherlock was grinning at the pair of them before turning back to their guests. "So, Christmas?"
"Not actually on Christmas, but near enough," Mycroft said, holding Greg's hand.
"So, will you be in white? Match the snow?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "No, Sherlock. A tux will suit us both fine," he said.
"Yes, but there has to be something festive. Elf hats, maybe?"
He snorted. "Hardly. Although...bells would be nice," he said, half to himself.
"I should put a bell on you," Greg murmured, resting his head on Mycroft's shoulder.
"Whatever for?" he asked Greg, confused.
"Make sure I can always find you."
Mycroft grinned. "Oh, don't fret, dearest, you will," he said. "No bells on me, though."
"Maybe just one..." Greg dropped his voice to a whisper in Mycroft's ear. "You know where..."
Mycroft's eyes went wide. "Greg!" he hissed. "Not here."
"No, tonight." He licked Mycroft's ear and really went back to his tea this time. Mycroft flushed and shivered as he cleared his throat to compose himself. "So...bells," he said, his voice somewhat hoarse now.
The DI chuckled. "Yes, Myc. Bells."
"I meant for the wedding!"
He flushed. "Oh. Church bells. I think one of us should have a red waistcoat and the other should have a green one."
"Too Christmas Village. Oh, but red and gold would be lovely. Still festive. And red would go wonderfully with your coloring," he said, looking Greg up and down.
"Then my wonderful, rich and powerful and sweet love, you get to wear the gold."
"Exactly. After all, gingers shouldn't wear red, so the saying goes," he said, smoothing back his bright hair.
"Do you want a big ceremony?"
Mycroft snorted. "Please. I have to deal with enough pomp in my job. No, something small would be wonderful."
"Just family and close friends."
"Not that this isn't very touching, but you men may want to get a room. The amount of eye-sex is getting quite ridiculous," Sherlock murmured, smirking at his brother.
Mycroft looked stonily at the detective, then back to Greg. "Actually, I do believe we should be going," he said, slightly loud so Molly could hear them. She came walking quickly. "Thank you for coming over!" she said brightly, smiling. Mycroft beamed at her. "Thank you for having us. It was a blessing to see Ben, it really was."
Greg gave the gurgling baby one final kiss before surreptitiously kicking Sherlock in the shin and leading Mycroft to the door. Mycroft snickered as he heard Sherlock's soft 'ow!' as Greg kicked him. "Bad man...how I love you," he said, grinning.
"Careful, I know you get up to some dodgy stuff. Would hate to see you cuffed and brought in."
"Oooh, Detective Inspector...would bells be involved in this, perchance?" Mycroft purred as he closed the door behind him.
Sherlock collapsed in his chair. "Finally."
Molly chuckled. "They are something else," she said, sitting next to him and propping Ben up on her lap so he could look around at the environment.
"How have we made something so innocent? So curious about his world?" Sherlock laughed as Ben grabbed one of his Daddy's fingers and popped it in his mouth.
"We all start out like that," she said, smiling softly as Ben gummed on Sherlock's finger.
"It seems so much simpler," he murmured.
"And the best part is watching them learn," she said, running her fingers through her son's soft curls.
"Do you think he'll be like me?"
"He might; he takes after you a bit already, always looking around. I could swear he was deducing me earlier," she said, grinning.
"In every way?"
"Not every way, Sherlock. He's still his own person."
"All right." Sherlock kissed Molly gently, his hand still trapped in Ben's mouth. She kissed him back, smiling against his lips. "You are an amazing, wonderful man, Sherlock Holmes," she murmured.
"You are patient and wise and kind, Molly Holmes."
She flushed. "Come off it," she said gently.
"You are. Do I lie about that anymore?"
"Any more? You lied about it previously?" she said, quirking her lips into a smile to show she was teasing.
"Yes, before when I was still-" He caught her eye. "Ah. Right."
She kissed him again. "I know you know it already, but...I never lied about that. Not once," she said.
"Stop making me feel guilty about being so insensitive. Honestly," he huffed, kissing her temple and taking Ben. "You gonna let my finger go now?"
She chuckled. "Apparently, he thinks you taste good," she said.
"Clearly." He managed to extract his finger in the end, cradling the now sleepy baby to his chest. "Sleep little darlin' do not cry. And I shall sing a lullaby." (1)
Molly smiled at them, the two men in her life, the people that she loved most in the world. And she felt so strongly that she wondered if what she was harboring in her breast could be made tangible. Sherlock smiled at her, kissing Ben on the forehead. "The love you make," he whispered before taking the boy upstairs. His wife followed close behind, watching as Sherlock laid their child in his cot. Ben yawned once, small pink tongue curling, then fell asleep. Sherlock stood over the crib, watching him. "You'll be all grown up before I realize it, won't you," he murmured.
She joined him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "They do grow fast," she said.
"And maybe one day, we'll have a nephew or niece, even."
"Oh, I'm sure we will."
"Good. I love you."
"And I, you."
(1)- Golden Slumbers- The Beatles
And yes, both of us are huge saps, but we liked the idea of Sherlock and Mycroft reconciling, and it seemed to fit with our particular characterizations of the two men. There is some lovely Mystrade coming up soon, after Sherlock and Molly celebrate their one year anniversary first.
Chapter 5: Anniversary
Chapter by roseforthethorns
The detective took his seat, smiling at her in the flickering light, her hair down in flowing waves over her shoulders, her face tired but smiling. He lifted his glass. "Happy anniversary, my Rose."
She smiled back in return. "Happy anniversary, my dearest love," she said, lifting her glass in return.
Sherlock put the finishing touches on dinner and the dining room, everything ready for when Molly returned from dropping Ben off.
"Ben's spending the night at Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg's," his wife called, beaming as she came through the front door to her waiting husband. "Mycroft looked the color of day-old porridge, and Greg was ecstatic, both of which you'd find amusing, I think."
Sherlock smiled. "Serves my brother right," he murmured, pulling Molly close and kissing her, helping her off with her coat. "Close your eyes," he whispered.
Molly melted into the kiss and did as she was told, closing her eyes as her husband wished, feeling safe but vulnerable at the same time. Sherlock took her hands and led her through to the dining room, grinning even though she couldn't see. "Wait here," he whispered, kissing her ear ever so slightly before letting go of her hands and lighting the candles on the table. She did so, keeping her eyes closed, shivering slightly as he pressed a light kiss to her ear. Molly heard the rasp of a match against its strike strip on a box, and things got marginally brighter. Candles. She started wriggling a little in anticipation. Sherlock turned back to her. "Now."
She opened her eyes and gasped. An elaborately set table was laid, steak and asparagus and potatoes with a red wine breathing, two glasses already poured. Roses covered every free surface, and their intoxicating perfume filled the air. "Oh, Sherlock..." she whispered in awe, taking in the gorgeous setting.
"Do you like it?"
"This...Sherlock, this is beyond words," she said, wide-eyed, still taking in the surroundings. He beamed, leading her to the table and pulling out her chair for her.
She sat and just watched him, following his movements with her eyes as he served them both and sat. He looked inhumanly beautiful in the muted glow of the candles, the shadows throwing the structure of his face into sharp relief and softening other aspects, like his eyes. The detective took his seat, smiling at her in the flickering light, her hair down in flowing waves over her shoulders, her face tired but smiling. He lifted his glass. "Happy anniversary, my Rose."
She smiled back in return. "Happy anniversary, my dearest love," she said, lifting her glass in return and downing the contents, but she stopped Sherlock from refilling her glass after that, his eyebrows raised at how quickly she had drained her drink. Things were already delightfully spinny, and she focused on eating instead. Sherlock sipped at his wine before starting to eat, savoring his hard cooked meal. "How do you like it?"
"It's delicious and flawless. Like you," she said, grinning cheekily.
He raised an eyebrow. "Subtle tonight, I see."
She nodded. "As a brick."
He smirked and continued his meal, finishing his glass before sipping his water. Molly drank her water as well; the last thing she wanted was a hangover and a crying baby in the morning. She knew he would be crying when they picked him up from Mycroft and Greg's place the next day.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Hmm?" she inquired. "Oh, nothing. Just how Ben will be fussing when we pick him up tomorrow. And how I don't need a hangover for that," she said, chuckling.
Sherlock shook his head, setting down his fork and standing to get dessert. "Very true, but only because Mycroft might scare the poor darling. With any luck, Greg will keep him in check."
"Oh, stop that. I think Mycroft will be a good father," she scolded lightly.
"If you say so." Sherlock retrieved the cake he'd made for dessert, cutting them each a piece. She laughed as he served the cake: Swiss chocolate. "Mr. Holmes, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to seduce (and deduce!) me," she said slyly.
The corner of the detective's mouth began to curl. "Why, whatever do you mean, Miss Hooper?" falling easily into the roleplay. "I'll have you know I'm a married man."
"Really? Well...maybe I can help you forget that," she said, undoing one or two buttons on her shirt, allowing the candlelight to deepen the shadows of her bosom and fire the darkness of her eyes.
He cocked his head. "I don't know. My wife is an extremely jealous woman."
She snickered again. "Seeing as I am your wife, I give you permission to seduce/deduce me."
"Don't spoil my fun," he whispered, abandoning the food and pulling her up into his arms, leading her to the sofa in the sitting room.
She smiled, feeling a thrill go up her spine as he whispered into her ear. "Well, I can try," she replied, unbuttoning another button on her shirt and leaning in closer to him, her breath puffing warmly against the skin of his throat.
He rested his hands on her hips, leaning in to smell her neck, tongue snaking out to taste her skin. "I must say," he purred, barely touching her, "you smell like roses."
She let out a gasp of air as his tongue tasted the sensitive skin on her neck and barely held her hips. "So...with that in mind, let us see all the forbidden fruit that this night has to offer. Deal with the thorns later," she said, voice breathless.
"Mmmmm, heavenly," he said in barely a whisper before latching his lips onto her neck, kissing and sucking as he hadn't in months. Molly fisted her hands in his hair, letting out a gasp and a strangled sort of moan as he continued his work; she had missed his lips and mouth on her skin when she was pregnant with Ben.
Sherlock chuckled to himself, kissing his way down to her breasts before coming up for air and attacking her mouth, kissing her absolutely breathless. She couldn't even formulate a sound as he plundered her mouth, kissing her with the most heat he had shown in a long time. In the past two or three months, he had been reasonably attentive to her, but nothing like this. God, she had missed it. He finally pulled away, eyes black with a ring of blue as he looked down at her. "I love you so much," he whispered, brushing hair from her face. "God, I love you."
She swallowed hard and cupped his face in her hands. "And I love you. Never, ever doubt that I love you," she murmured back before pressing a kiss full of spice and fire back to his mouth.
He growled, getting a grip in her hair and tugging her down on top of him on the sofa, struggling to breathe through his nose; it had been too long. She arched into him, breath sobbing in her throat as he gave her a kiss that she felt to her toes, making them curl. She was astride him, and could feel the heat of him under her, which was absolutely fantastic.
"Need you...want you," he gasped between kisses, trying to pull her close. The detective could taste the wine on her lips and tongue.
"Want you too, Sherlock. God, I want you," Molly panted, pressing as close to him as she could, their clothes limiting both of them from touching the other fully. She slid her hands from his hair and started tearing at his shirt like a wild thing.
He helped her, buttons flying as they bared his chest before he made short work of her blouse and bra, stroking and kissing her flesh as it was exposed. His trousers and pants were next before he kissed her deeply again. She arched and keened as he bared her breasts to the air, stroking and kissing them. She ran her tongue down his sternum, reacquainting herself with the taste of his skin, feeling his hardness against her through his trousers. She was wrestling with them and her own, trying to get out of them as quickly as possible. He kicked himself free from his clothes, his fingers fumbling with the button on her jeans. "Come on," he growled, voice dropping an octave.
Molly brushed his hands away, bucking against him as his voice dropped and she shivered, loving the sound of it. She removed her jeans swiftly and was left in only her knickers. Her knickers...and a surprise. Sherlock thumbed the waistband of her panties but noticed a bulge by her hip. Dipping his fingers down behind the fabric, he fished out a condom. "Oh, my, Miss Hooper, I do believe it's you who have been seducing me."
She grinned, the gesture feral and wanting. "We'll call it even," she purred, wriggling out of her panties until she was bare before him.
He ripped open the package, rolling the latex on before gripping her hips. He looked up at her. "I want you to ride me, love," he whispered, barely breathing. She looked down at him and said nothing, merely lifting herself and sliding her sex along (but not over) his in response, the feral grin turning into a savage smirk. He groaned, eyes narrowing as she teased him. "Molly-"
With a low hum of longing, she slid herself onto him, taking him into the hilt, gasping as he bottomed out. She had to hold very, very still, so she didn't come instantaneously.
She slowly began to rock herself on him, purring as she moved, remembering the feel of him inside her, his heat and his hardness, the way he moved against her, the way it felt as he came inside her.
"Molly...my Molly...my Rose," Sherlock moaned, gripping her hips and rocking back, her heat and power almost undoing him from the start. He would need to learn how to last all over again.
She felt her eyes roll back into her head as he began to move with her. "Sherlock...my Sherlock... my dearest love. Father of our child...my husband," she said, her voice breathless.
"My love...my wife...mother of our ch-child!" he gasped, nearly there. He thrust up, meeting her every move. "Can't-much-longer," the genius whined, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Mnnhh...nor me..." Molly gasped. She bent and sealed her mouth to his, kissing him as she rocked frantically against him, stimulating herself as she dug her nails into his shoulders. Sherlock tasted her tongue, and then couldn't sense anything else as he came hard, crying her name as his hips bucked frantically.
He cried her name against her lips and she was lost, clenching hard around him, her inner muscles rippling and fluttering as she gasped his name as well; Molly fell to pieces in a bright shattering. Sherlock caught her as she collapsed, struggling to remember how to actually breathe as he slowly pulled out, getting up to dispose of the condom once he could feel his legs again. She was still twitching as he somehow managed to dispose of the used condom, laying on the sofa and feeling wonderfully wanton and sultry. "Ooh, Mr. Holmes," she purred.
"Was that satisfactory, Miss Hooper?"
"Hmm...a bit. One can't judge an experiment on merely one test run, now can one?" she said, arching her brow, grinning at him.
"Goodness, you are insatiable. Shall I show you to my quarters? You might find them more to your liking than the sofa."
"Oh, yes. that would be most satisfactory," she said, getting up, still a bit wobbly.
He swept her off her feet and carried her upstairs, setting her down on the bed. "This is where I sleep...well, my wife and I, but she's not home, is she?"
"No, she isn't, lucky for us," she said, giggling as he set her down.
"So, what shall I do with you, heavenly creature?"
"Whatever. You. Want." she said, voice designed to tease and inflame.
He straddled her on the bed, reaching in the drawer for another condom. "I do believe I'd like to ravish you, make you scream my name until you are hoarse," he whispered, his breath hot on her ear.
"Then by all means, Mr. Holmes...do just that," she said, her body breaking out into gooseflesh at his threat...no, at his promise.
He leaned closer, his mouth hovering just over her full, pink lips. "I intend to."
"Good," she breathed, and closed the distance, claiming his lips with her own kiss-swollen ones. She moved one hand down and grasped him gently, reveling in the feel of him, hard and hot and wanting her.
He really was desperate to be so hard again, and even though he wanted her touch, he pulled away. "I don't think so, Miss Hooper. That would imply you've been a good girl...have you been a good girl?"
"Oh, I've had my days," she said. "Good girl one day, then wicked girl the next. and it's all your fault...you and your tight shirts and that coat. Your beautiful eyes that see through everything, and the way your voice sounds..." she shivered.
"Yes, but have you been good today, Hooper, hmmm? Or do I have to show you who your master is?"
She nearly came without him even touching her. "...Master..." she breathed.
"Very good. You remember." He stood, walking around the bed and pulling the cuffs and his riding crop from underneath, holding them up. "Do I need to use these? Have you earned them?"
"No, Master," she said, biting her lower lip.
"I don't know, I think you've been rather wicked lately." He came back, touching the side of her face with the crop, memories of their honeymoon surfacing and almost overwhelming him.
She shivered at the touch of cool leather against her skin. "Then, Master, please deal with me as you see fit," she murmured.
"You know, I do believe I shall." He rolled her onto her stomach and cuffed her to the headboard before trailing his fingers down her back, followed by the crop. She fought to keep still as he trailed the crop slowly down the length of her spine, her hands cuffed to the posts of the headboard. She also had to fight not to shiver out of her skin. The leather of the crop was cool against her skin at first, but warmed as he continued his path down her spine.
He gave a light swat to her lower back before slapping each of her cheeks. "So beautiful...all mine. You belong to me, Hooper."
She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood so she wouldn't move. "Yes...yes Master," she said, voice breathless and needy.
He slowly climbed onto the bed, stroking himself a few times before rolling on the new condom. "Hands and knees."
"Hands are cuffed to the headboard, Master," she said, hanging on to the wood of it as she rose to her knees, her legs spread slightly.
"Of course. Simply testing your observation." He knelt behind her, reaching forward and flicking her button a few times. "Do you want this? There is no turning back."
She writhed and keened as he toyed with her. "Aah...yes. Oh, Master, I want..." she gasped.
Sherlock slapped her bum with the crop. "It's what I want, not you, girl."
She let out a strangled noise as the crop stung her. "Yes, Master. Whatever you want, Master..."
"That's right." Withdrawing his hand he seized her hips and thrust into her with one motion. "Mine."
She shrieked as he entered her. "AAAAAH!!! YES!!! Yours...all yours...always yours," she gasped.
He didn't give her much time to adjust, pounding into her roughly, taking what he wanted. "Oh yes, oh perfect..."
She dug her nails into the headboard, feeling him rough and hot inside her, the sensation slightly painful as he set a hard pace and didn't let her adjust. But she loved it.
"Scream my name, my first name," he growled, leaning in to kiss and nip at her shoulder blades. "Name the man who owns you, makes you come, gives you pleasure."
"Ah...ah...ah...Sh-SHERLOCK!" she screamed, riding out her climax as his teeth marked her skin. He pulled back and bit his lip, slowing down to try and stave off his own climax, but it was too tempting. A few more thrusts and he was gone.
She went over the edge again as she felt him come, twitching inside of her. She milked his cock with her inner muscles, squeezing him unmercifully.
"Oh God...ah...Molly," he whimpered, his entire body shuddering as he stilled and reached up to un-cuff her, massaging the blood back into her wrists.
She was panting as he undid the cuffs and helped the blood find its way back into her hands and wrists. "Sherlock..." she murmured, smiling warmly, brokenly at him as she kissed him, tasting him on her tongue.
The detective was gentle, almost reverent with her as he helped her down onto the sheets and disposed of the condom before curling up with her. "Molly..."
She felt their bodies twining, slick with sweat still that was rapidly drying. "I love you. Oh, my dearest love and Master, I love you," she said, conviction in every word.
"Any my submissive and fiery Rose, I love you."
Chapter 6: Oh God, I'm Getting Married
Chapter by roseforthethorns
Mycroft showered quickly, then toweled off, teeth chattering and eyes glaring as he marched back into the bedroom. He put on his tuxedo and straightened it, flicking imaginary pieces of dust from the cuffs, lapel and shoulders. He took a deep breath and let it out. "Were you this nervous?" he asked his little brother, swallowing hard.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Thought I was going to vomit until I saw her walk through the doors."
Ohmygod FLUFF!!! We never could resist the temptation of writing vows, so here you go!
Mycroft paced, his dressing gown swirling around his bare frame. It was the night before his wedding, and he, the usually cool, reserved, and unflappable politician was so nervous he thought he was going to be sick. Greg came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, drying his hair; he smiled when he saw the man restless. "Still nervous?"
"You have no idea," Mycroft said softly.
Sighing, the DI pulled his lover (soon-to-be-husband) close, hugging him tightly."You dolt, you're going to be fine."
"I know...it's just...this feels like a dream. A wonderful, perfect dream. And I'm terrified that I'll wake up."
Greg pinched him
"Ouch! Gregory," Mycroft whined. He pinched his soon-to-be-husband back.
"Oi!" That started an all out battle, pinching and tickling as the solver-haired man chased Mycroft around the room. The younger man snorted as he ran from Greg, avoiding the DI easily with his long limbs. With a lunge, Greg tackled Mycroft, throwing them both to the bed; both of them were laughing. "I love you, you big, clever, daft, git."
"That's an oxymoron, but thank you. And I love you, you beautiful, wonderful, charismatic man."
Greg looked down at his lover, examining the curves of his face. "You are mine, and I love it," he grinned.
Mycroft rolled over, flipping them so that he was on top. "And you are mine. No one else's," he said, voice slightly rough, piercing eyes memorizing each detail about his lover.
"Oooo, taking charge, are we?"
"Perhaps a little," he purred as he bent to nip at Greg's throat.
"Hmmmm, dunno, pretty sure it's an offense to assault an officer."
Mycroft snorted. "Please. Not assault if you like it," he said, grinding into his lover, already feeling him growing hard.
Greg growled low in his throat. "Oh?"
"This says that you do," he said, snaking a hand down and grasping at Greg's burgeoning erection, squeezing gently.
The DI gasped, bucking up into the touch. "You're just so damn sexy," he purred, eyes rolling back into his head.
"As are you," he said breathlessly. He positioned himself so their cocks touched, both of them hard and straining. Biting his lip, Mycroft took both of them in his hand and began stroking, moving with Greg.
"Ung-Myc!" Greg rolled his hips in time with his lover, back arching up from the bed. "Faster-oh God, faster."
Just to spite him, Mycroft moved slower, squeezing a bit more firmly.
"Hmmm?" he purred, breathless and feeling naughty, smirking.
"You started it, Detective Inspector."
"Pinched me first. So yes, you did." Mycroft sped his hips up, needing the friction just as bad as Greg did now.
"Oh yes-oh hell yes, Myc." Greg knew this was just to tide them over, that they were going to go full blown on their wedding night, but he needed to be close to Myc right now, to get him to calm down and relax about the next day.
Mycroft sped his thrusts and strokes, knowing that neither of them were going to last long. He was so close; with a snap of his hips and a shout, he cried out Greg's name as he came, twitching and jerking. "GOD, GREG-LOVE-YES!"
"UNGH-MYCROFT-ILOVEYOU!!" Greg wasn't far behind, the sight of Mycroft undone always more than he could handle, making him come hard, gasping for breath as he always was after they were together. Mycroft was panting as he shakily leaned on his arms, staring into Greg's face, watching it twist and contort in ecstasy as he came. He bent his head and kissed him on the mouth as they both tried to regain their control.
Greg kissed him back, open mouthed with plenty of tongue as he took shuddering breaths through his nose. "You won't know-up from down-tomorrow night," he said into Mycroft's mouth.
"Oh, I'm counting on that."
"You'll beg for mercy," Greg whispered, reaching for his towel and cleaning them off.
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "A Holmes never begs."
"Oh, I think I could persuade you," Greg chuckled, rolling Mycroft off him so he could tuck them both in.
"We shall see," the ginger-haired man replied, snuggling under the blankets to get warm and close to Gregory.
"You will. Love you."
Mycroft slept deeply, waking the next morning to find Greg already gone. Another tradition: can't see his beloved before the wedding. He groaned as he heard familiar footsteps. "Must you pick the lock to my door on my wedding day, little brother?" he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"You let yourself into my flat on mine, only fair I do the same." Sherlock whacked Mycroft on the head with a pillow. "Up!"
He scowled, wondering if it was worth the effort to chin his best man; he decided against it and got up. Sherlock frog-marched him into the bathroom, turned on the shower and shoved him under the spray. Mycroft yelled. The water was icy cold. "GODFUCKINGDAMMIT, SHERLOCK!" he howled, trying to fiddle with the faucet only to discover that the hot water had been shut off.
"Only fair, dear brother. Now hurry, wouldn't want you to get ill." Sherlock grinned, strolling back into his brother's bedroom to lay out his tux, socks, shoes, waistcoat, everything.
Mycroft showered quickly, then toweled off, teeth chattering and eyes glaring as he marched back into the bedroom. He put on his tuxedo and straightened it, flicking imaginary pieces of dust from the cuffs, lapel and shoulders. He took a deep breath and let it out. "Were you this nervous?" he asked his little brother, swallowing hard.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Thought I was going to vomit until I saw her walk through the doors."
He let out a laugh. "I feel the same way," he admitted.
"Didn't think you were one to get nervous." Sherlock helped fasten his brother's cufflinks and studs, straightening his ascot.
"Taking the biggest step of my life today, have some empathy," Mycroft groused.
"I suppose I could find some." Sherlock's studs matched Mycroft's, John's would match Greg's. The detective had insisted on the doctor being a part of the ceremony.
Mycroft looked at himself and his brother in the mirror before he broke into a fit of nervous laughter. "Oh my God, I'm getting married."
"Now that is something I never thought I would ever hear you say." Sherlock gave a final nod, turning to go but stopping. "Does he make you happy? Truly happy?"
"How does Molly make you feel?" Mycroft countered.
"Good. Just checking."
"I have never been more sure of this than anything before in my life, little brother," he murmured.
"Then we'd better hurry. Wouldn't want to keep a Detective Inspector waiting."
"Of course not. Lead on."
"Greg, that plant is going to burst into flames if you keep staring at it."
The DI pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. "Sorry, John."
John clapped a hand to the older man's shoulder. "Relax. Everything will be fine."
"You keep saying that, but I feel like my insides are going to crawl out of my stomach."
"Deep breaths, mate. I'm sure Mycroft is feeling the same way."
"He never gets flustered."
"Oh, I'm sure he is today."
"And why is that?"
"It's his wedding day. And Mycroft still is human, even if you think the sun shines out his arse. Don't...don't answer that,"
Greg cracked a smile. "I won't answer that one." He turned as he heard footsteps and wheels on pavement. "Ah, here come the wives and the babies." He walked over to the strollers. "Hello, Meredith. Benny," he grinned, tickling the children under their chins. "Goodness, they've grown."
Molly beamed as the children gurgled happily. "They always do," she said. Mary smiled. "Mer wanted to see Daddy," she said, lifting the little girl out of her stroller and passing her to John. He took her from his wife. "Hey, sunshine! Say 'hullo' to Uncle Greg," he said. Mer waved, drooling down her jumper and smiling toothlessly.
Greg chuckled. "Six months already. Who is growing up?" he cooed, stroking one of her pudgy cheeks with his finger. He glanced at John. "You really have a beautiful daughter."
Mer babbled a stream of nonsense as John chuckled. "She agrees with you," Mary said, laughing. Molly smiled; Ben was still asleep in his stroller. She suddenly perked up. "Oh...they're here," she said, grinning. She could recognize her husband's mop of curls anywhere.
Sherlock strolled into the greenhouse, leading a very nervous politician and a clergyman into the building. John smirked as he caught a look at Mycroft's face, walking with Greg to their places. "Told you he was nervous," he whispered into Greg's ear. Greg didn't risk a look, trying to wait and see him for the first time when he the younger man joined him at the front.
Mycroft carefully averted his eyes; he didn't want to see Gregory until he walked down the aisle. Sherlock had taken his place and the music started, the small gathering of family and friends getting settled. Mycroft stood at the end of the aisle and his breath caught. He had never seen Greg look more handsome, and he was going to be his. His nerves vanished, so intent upon the man in front of him.
Taking a deep breath, Greg turned to face Mycroft, a slow, wide grin breaking out over his face until he was beaming at the other man. He relaxed, confident and cool, just like he was at work...only he never really smiled at work. Mycroft was beaming ear to ear, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. He walked down the aisle to join his lover and the preacher at the front, barely noticing anyone else. Greg took his hand and squeezed it, the DI and the politician flanked by the doctor and the detective as the service began.
Mycroft barely listened to the preacher, waiting breathless until it was time for his vows. "Gregory; I was stuck in a cold wasteland of my own making before I met you. You...you taught me how to love, how it was all right to feel. You helped me when I needed it most. And I so swear that I will do the same for you. To pick you up whenever you feel down, to comfort you when you are sad, to nurse you when you are sick. I swear, upon everything I hold important, that nothing will be more valuable in my life than you and what we share."
Greg had to swallow tears and clear his throat before answering. "Mycroft Holmes, you absolute daft git of a genius, I could not be happier than I am right now if my life depended on it. Today, I'm pledging myself to be always at your side, to love you now and for the rest of my existence, to be faithful and loyal, and to see you through everything life will throw at us."
Mycroft swallowed hard. He could hear Molly and Mary sniffling somewhere behind him. The preacher smiled warmly. "By the power vested in me by the Church of England, I now pronounce you married."
Greg grinned and yanked Mycroft in for a kiss, sealing everything. Mycroft wound around Greg, a sob stifled in the back of his throat. The cheer from their small group of family and friends was deafening, even the babies laughing and clapping. They walked down the aisle, hands clasped, bands of gold around their fingers, bound for eternity by words and by love.
Chapter 7: Practical Joke
Chapter by roseforthethorns
So, do you remember when Mycroft scared Sherlock with the Angel? Well, we kicked around this rather lovely idea for a retaliation practical joke. Sherlock conscripted John to help set it up, of course.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Mycroft sighed happily as he set down their bags, feeling very well-rested. "Welcome home, my love," he murmured to Greg, who was in front of him. It was good to be away, but it was even better to be back seeing as they now were married and had their bed to look forward to.
Greg turned to look up at him, smiling. "Indeed. Good to be home."
Mycroft stretched. "And my brother has been, surprisingly, well-behaved. What was it that you said? Oh right...'knock wood'," he said wryly, tapping the wooden lintel of the door to his-their house.
Greg chuckled. "Yeah, don't jinx it. I trust him about as far as I can throw him."
Mycroft snorted. "Seeing as he's the one who's put on weight now, I doubt that it would be very far. Wedded bliss suits him," the taller man said.
That made the DI howl with laughter. "As it suits us," he murmured, pulling Myc close.
"Yes, well, I think we've both lost weight. Our...activities do certainly burn calories," the politician murmured, nuzzling his husband's neck with a throaty chuckle.
"Only because you're so damned good at it."
"And I can say the same of you, my dearest. Now, are you up for another round of...calorie burning?"
"Have your way with me, my gallant sir."
The ginger man outright laughed. He seized Greg by his lapels and dragged him into the bedroom, flinging him to the bed and stripping himself quickly to the waist, before quickly making work of his husband's shirt. Greg moaned as Mycroft's hands brushed over his nipples before yanking the younger man down for a rough kiss, ravishing his mouth thoroughly. Mycroft fisted his fingers into the DI's hair as they snogged, tongue dancing in his mouth, interspersing kisses with small bites, gently sinking his teeth into his husband's flesh.
"Ohfuckinghell...Myc!" Greg groaned, grinding up against his husband.
He snaked his hand down between them to cup Greg's growing arousal. The pair of them were so lost in each other that they both failed to notice the slight mechanical clicking noises coming from above them.
The DI was rocking into Mycroft's hand, finishing stripping his shirt and going for his trousers when...
Several gallons of liquid chocolate came pouring down on top of them and their bed, coating everything in a big, sticky mess
Mycroft froze. "Ssssherlock..." he hissed, practically shaking with rage as the warm chocolate dripped off of him.
Greg coughed up a glob, slowly sitting up and wiping it out of his eyes. He got one look at Mycroft and burst out laughing
"This is not funny! I am going to murder him and make it look like a horrible accident," Mycroft glowered.
"Myc...Myc, c-calm down," Greg gasped, slipping from the bed and landing on the floor with a squelch.
Mycroft blinked and started laughing himself as he watched Greg go off the bed in a flurry of flailing arms and legs, landing with an unattractive squelching sound. "Fine. Anything f-for you," he gasped between bursts of mirth.
"Then come here. I-wanna t-try something," Greg said, curbing his laughter slightly.
"Oh?" he queried, joining his husband on the floor.
"Yes," Greg murmured, dropping the pitch of his voice as he lowered his mouth to Mycroft's neck, "because you look...absolutely...delicious."
Mycroft gasped and arched as Greg's mouth met his neck. "And you look good enough to eat," he responded, laving his tongue around the shell of Greg's ear.
The man's toes began to curl. "I think this is Swiss," he murmured, sucking hard on his husband's skin.
Mycroft blinked, starting to laugh again. "Of course he would, the bastard," he said, recalling the incident with the Swiss chocolate cake. The laughter turned into moans as Greg increased the pressure of his mouth on his neck.
"Well, I think it's perfect...makes you even more decadent than usual."
"Bet I can clean you off first."
Mycroft smirked. "Like you could beat me..."
"Yeah, I could." Greg pounced, pinning Mycroft to the floor and licking long trails down his chest. He gasped and arched as the DI's tongue began to move along his torso, before he regained his senses a little and flipped them over, pinning the older man and attacking his neck and chest, paying extra special attention to his nipples which he knew were extremely sensitive.
Greg could feel his extremities going numb as his arousal made his trousers very, very tight indeed. "No you don't," he growled, pulling Mycroft off of his chest and suckering his mouth to the man's shoulder, working his lips down the arm to the fingers, each one lavished in his mouth.
"Oh God...Greg," Mycroft moaned as his husband's mouth worked on his fingers. He pressed his hand against the straining bulge of Greg's crotch, squeezing lightly and taking the opportunity to trail his mouth lower as well, cleaning all the chocolate that had fallen there.
The silver haired man was doing just fine until he felt Mycroft's mouth on the bulge in his trousers and his concentration slipped. "Oh Jesus," he whimpered, determined to win but resolution slipping fast. Mycroft grinned and hummed as he heard Greg's oath, deftly undoing his husband's jeans and pants and freeing his erection, kissing the tip of it before taking it into his mouth briefly.
Greg went limp, quivering as Mycroft slowly sucked and swallowed around him, starting to tremble before he managed to remember through the haze in his mind that he was supposed to be licking the chocolate off of the man. Capturing his other hand and making sure Mycroft was looking up, Greg ever so slowly sucked two fingers into his mouth.
"Jesus, Greg," Mycroft gasped, releasing his husband and rutting into his leg.
Popping the fingers from his mouth, Greg smirked at Mycroft. "Like that, do you?"
"Y-yes. And you like this," Mycroft said, taking Greg's cock into his mouth again to the hilt, swallowing around him and cupping his balls gently.
"AHHH!!!" Greg shrieked, throwing every ounce of self control he had into not coming right then. Mycroft purred and hummed, swallowing again, relishing the sound of his beloved coming undone.
"N-not yet...please," Greg begged, dropping back against the chocolate covered rug with a distinct squelch.
Mycroft slowly, so slowly, released Greg from the clinging heat of his mouth with a 'pop'. "Why?"
The DI surged up and knocked Mycroft over, straddling him and pinning him firmly. "Because," he whispered into Mycroft's ear before licking it clean slowly, "I want" lick "to" suck on the lobe "to make love" lick the side of his face clean "to you."
"Then do it," Myc gasped, arching up into him.
Greg smirked and ground his hips down hard. "But you're still so dirty," he teased
Mycroft nearly shouted as their hips rolled together. "I yield!" he gasped. "You win...just...God, Gregory, I need you..."
"Wait...did the great Mycroft Holmes just...surrender?/"
"Under duress, but...yes. And I don't think of it as surrendering, more as a...a compromise."
"Oh no, I think you just gave in, you surrendered to me. And duress? Really?" Greg was smirking down at the ginger-haired man, although his hair was rather dark brown at this point.
"Oh, shut up and fuck me," Mycroft hissed.
"As you wish." Using the chocolate for lube, Greg shifted and lined up with his husband before pressing in slowly, making sure to give him time to adjust with no prep.
Mycroft had to force himself to relax, keening as Greg entered him. "Oh, Greg," he panted, his eyes fluttering shut as he rocked his hips upwards.
"Slow down, hot stuff," Greg hissed through gritted teeth, concentrating on not forcing in with a single thrust. "Don't want you getting hurt our first night back."
The politician nearly pouted but slowed...slowed down a lot. If he couldn't have what he wanted all at once, then he could at least tease his husband. Sticking his tongue out at Mycroft, Greg settled inside him, getting used to how it felt; he never really adjusted to it, the tight, soft heat that caressed and enveloped him. The politician let out a guttural sigh as Greg sank all the way in, feeling pleasantly full and stretched. His husband always felt just so good inside of him. He lifted his head and pressed a string of kisses along Greg's jaw and down his throat, humming in a pleased manner.
"And how does that make you feel, Myc?" Greg whispered, eyes closing at Mycroft's lips on his neck
"Fan-bloody-tastic," Mycroft murmured. "You're stretching me, and it just feels amazing."
Greg snapped his hips. "And how about now?"
Mycroft felt his eyes roll back in his head. "F-fuck," he gasped. "So good!"
The DI did it again. And again. He didn't go to town, didn't pound into his husband. Just drove in one snap of the hips at a time
Mycroft was going mad by slow degrees; his husband seemed intent upon torturing him. "Please, Greg...faster," he said.
"And-why-would-I-do-that?" The silver haired man asked, each word accompanied by another snap of the hips
Mycroft opened his eyes and stared into his husband's. "Because I want you to," he said, his voice lower than usual.
Slowly, Greg stilled. "And if I say no?"
"Then you're sleeping on the couch...kidding, love, only kidding!"
He just smirked, still not moving although the effort was starting to make him tremble. "You shouldn't threaten, Myc. Not if you aren't going to carry it out."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Then I'll just push you off and let you finish all by yourself," he said. As much as he didn't want that, it was the only real threat he felt like carrying out at the moment.
"Hmmmmm," Greg murmured, looking down at his husband's flushed face and neck. "But torturing you is so much fun."
"Then I'll deny you of your fun."
"Or you could just overpower me."
"Really. Boring? Even your brother can do better-"
"If you ever mention my brother during sex again, you really will be sleeping on the couch."
"Then why don't you ride me?"
"Because you won't shut up," said Mycroft, before flipping Greg so he was on the bottom, sinking slowly on to him and keeping his wrists pinned to the floor with his hands. "Now, will you please stop talking?"
Mycroft growled and claimed his husband's mouth with his own, shoving his tongue inside and occupying Greg's with something far more pleasurable than idle chatter. The DI squeaked and groaned, eyes rolling back into his head as he relaxed into the floor.
The younger man began setting a slow, steady pace, rising and falling on his husband's cock, keeping his lips glued to Greg's. The DI twisted his wrists in Myc's grip as he kissed back as best he could, the younger man completely dominating his tongue and mouth. Mycroft bit Greg's lip lightly before speeding up, moving his husband's hands to above his head and keeping them pinned with one of his own, moving the other to stroke himself.
The older man tried to fight back a bit, attempting to loosen his wrists from Myc's hand. The younger man bit a little harder. "Ah-ah-ah..." he panted into Greg's mouth. "You had your fun, now it's my turn."
"F-fuckkk," he groaned, twitching and jerking with every thrust.
"Exactly what I'm doing, my love," Mycroft replied, chuckling.
"Then take me...I'm yours..."
"Oh yes, you are. As I am yours," Mycroft said, slowing a bit so he could press a languorous kiss to his beloved's mouth. He sped up as soon as he broke for air, intent up on finishing them both off.
Mycroft purred as he sped up more, eyes rolling back into his head as he felt Greg's cock hit his prostate. A few more thrusts and he was lost, shouting his husband's name and coming all over his hand and Greg's chest and belly, tightening around him in spasms and waves. With an effort and Mycroft's voice and tightening muscles, Greg thrust up a few more times before shouting his husband's name and coming hard, riding out both of their releases.
Mycroft panted and slowly slid off of Greg's cock, rolling to one side. "I love you...I love you so much," he murmured to his husband, smiling and pressing afterglow kisses to his skin.
"Love...you...too," Greg gasped, realizing just how sticky they were. "We're sleeping on the couch tonight."
"I concur," Mycroft said, wrinkling his nose as he felt the chocolate squelch. "Shower, please... I really don't want this to dry in my hair."
"Oh, Greg, I'm too tired to- LAST ONE IN HAS TO CHANGE THE SHEETS!!!" Bolting upright and giggling like a child, Mycroft used his youth and long legs to his advantage, sprinting into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.
Greg ran headfirst into the door, feeling it buckle but not give. "Open the door."
"N...hm...close. But still, negatory."
"FOUL. More than one word."
There was a click and the door swung open. "That was the answer," Mycroft said, smiling softly. "Now get in here so I can scrub your back."
The shorter man tore into the room and jumped in the shower, turning the water on and shrieking as he was struck with an ice cold blast
"Oh, fuck! I'm sorry, Greg! I forgot that Sherlock shut the hot water off," Mycroft said, looking both mortified and sniggering as Greg sang soprano for the first time in his life after he had hit puberty.
"I-it's f-f-fucking c-c-COLD!"
"Right, let me go turn the hot water on! Turn it off, you git..."
"Y-you h-h-have t-t-t-to l-leave f-f-or th-that..."
"I already won, so just stay put. I don't want this to harden, so let me go do that now!"
Greg shut the water off, shivering and groaning as he felt the chocolate hardening on his skin. Soon he was going to be a new kind of candy bar: a 'Choco-dipped DI.'
Mycroft cursed roundly as he felt the chocolate begin to coagulate and harden on his skin, racing to turn the hot water on. He managed to make it back to the bathroom before it solidified completely. "Hot water's on. Now get it going so we can go to bed. I really am tired now, and I'll dream sweet dreams of murdering my baby brother once we're rid of this mess."
Greg turned the water back on, sighing audibly as a thick coat of steam filled the room...after of course, shrieking when the cold hit him initially.
"Thank God for indoor plumbing and water heaters," Mycroft moaned as he managed to rinse the chocolate off of them both.
Greg lathered up an extra thick helping of shampoo before working it into his hair. "Oh fuckinghell that feels good."
"Tell me about it," Mycroft said, grabbing his own shampoo and lathering his scalp, making sure to get all of the chocolate out.
"How do you propose we get our revenge?"
Mycroft stopped and thought. "As much as revenge is excellent, I think this warrants no further retaliation. Sherlock was badly scared by the angel, so...we did deserve that a bit." Then he mused some more. "Not to mention that he'll be expecting some form of a prank in return, so it'll keep him on pins and needles for months."
"That might actually be the best revenge of all." Greg tugged Mycroft down for a steamy shower kiss, pressing close to his husband.
Mycroft smiled into it. "Of course, my dearest, of course."
Washing the last of the soap down the drain, Greg turned off the water and fetched their towels. "We'll be cleaning chocolate up for ages," he groaned, seeing their foot prints on the floor.
"At least it's chocolate and not something noxious," Mycroft said, wrinkling his nose as he saw the trail that they had left. "And we have wood floors, so it'll be easier to clean than the rug in the bedroom. THAT will be interesting to explain to the cleaning service..."
"You're the British Government. They won't ask questions."
Drying off, Greg padded carefully down the hallway to the sitting room where, thankfully, their bags were still sitting, untouched by the chocolate mess.
Mycroft followed, gingerly avoiding the drying trail of chocolate. "Could you be a love and toss me my pyjamas?" he asked, ruffling a towel over his hair before securing it around his waist.
Opening the suitcase and rummaging through it, Greg tossed the politician his pyjamas before grabbing a pair of bottoms for himself and a nice warm pair of socks.
Mycroft pulled them on and tossed the towel aside before settling in on the couch, sighing as he stretched out his legs and worked his way under a fuzzy blanket that had been a wedding gift from Mrs. Hudson ("Not your landlady or your housekeeper, dears, but I thought that you both would appreciate it!" she had said at the reception).
Greg strolled over to the sofa. "Room for one more?"
"Always room for you," Mycroft said, scooting over to allow Greg access to the sofa.
The DI curled up, pressing his back to Mycroft's chest as the warmth of the blanket settled over them. The younger man wrapped his arms around Greg and buried his face into his neck, snuggling into his husband. "I love you, Gregory," he murmured.
Resting his hands on Mycroft's and feeling the man's ring, Greg smiled. "And I, always, love you," he whispered
Mycroft smiled into Greg's skin, humming contently as sleep took them both.
The next two chapters are /pure/ fluff, so enjoy.
Chapter 8: Billy Goats Gruff
Chapter by roseforthethorns
Storytime with John!
We adored the idea of John reading a story to the children when they were babies...well, toddlers and old enough to enjoy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Holding into his Daddy's finger, Ben toddled out into the greenhouse to find John and Meredith sitting on the sofa. Sherlock was holding a book. "Ben is insisting on a story but won't let me read it. He says you do the voices better."
John chuckled as he took the book from tall detective. "The Three Billy Goats Gruff? A classic," he said, gesturing to Sherlock to sit down as he cracked open the book. "Once upon a time, there were three billy goats who lived on one side of an old bridge. On the other side, there was the softest, sweetest grass. But there was a troll who lived under the bridge, whose favorite food was...billy goats," John said, lowering his voice threateningly and scowling as he showed the pictures of the troll who was plotting how to get the goats.
Ben shivered, snuggling back into Sherlock's lap as he fiddled with the clip on his overalls. "Twoll?"
"Don't worry, Benny-boy...the troll isn't going to hurt the goats," John reassured. He continued on with the story. "One day, the littlest billy goat decided to go across. /Trip-trap, trip-trap, trip-trap/ he went over the wood. The troll sprang out and roared, "WHO'S THAT TRIP-TRAPPING OVER MY BRIDGE?!" The littlest billy goat stopped, scared. "Just m-me, a little billy goat," he bleated. "Well, I'm going to eat you up!" the troll said. "No no! If you wait, my brother should be coming, and he's much bigger and tastier than I am," the littlest goat promised. "Fine," said the troll, "you may pass." The littlest billy goat walked over the bridge and ate the soft, sweet grass on the other side." John roared with the troll and shivered with the littlest goat, smiling as he saw Sherlock as rapt and attentive as the children.
Ben grabbed Sherlock's hand, sucking on his thumb. The detective saw Meredith in as much awe and wonder as his own son, clutching her daddy's jumper tightly in one tiny fist.
"The next day, the second billy goat crossed the bridge. /Trip-trap, trip-trap, trip-trap/ he went. The troll heard him and sprang out, roaring, "WHO'S THAT TRIP-TRAPPING OVER MY BRIDGE?!" The second billy goat stopped. "Me," he said, "a billy goat. Whaddaya want?" The troll scowled. "I'm going to eat you up!" he growled. "I'll be hardly more than a mouthful. You should wait for my brother to come across. He's the biggest and tastiest out of the three of us!" the goat said, only a little afraid. The troll ground his teeth and thought. "Fine," he finally said, "you may pass." The middle billy goat crossed the bridge, and ate the soft, sweet grass on the other side with his brother," John said, grinning as he went through the voices, feeling Meredith's hand holding tight to his jumper.
Sherlock almost asked what was going to happen next, even though he'd figured it out already. He winced slightly as Ben bit down on his finger. "Ben, please don't do that to Daddy," he whispered, kissing his son's mop of black curls.
John snorted as Ben gnawed on Sherlock's finger. "The next day, the third billy goat crossed the bridge. /Clomp-stomp, clomp-stomp, clomp-stomp./ The troll, of course, heard him and sprang out, roaring, "WHO'S THAT CLOMP-STOMPING OVER MY BRIDGE?!" The third billy goat snorted. "Me," he said, "going to join my brothers on the other side." "Oh no you aren't!" said the troll. "I'm going to EAT. YOU. UP!!" "Really?" said the billy goat, "I'd like to see you try." So the troll ran at the biggest billy goat, and the goat shoved him off the bridge with his huge horns. He trotted across and ate the soft, sweet grass with his brothers. And they never were bothered by the troll again. The End," the doctor said, smiling as he closed the book.
Ben let go of his Daddy's finger to clap, smashing his palms together as his arms swung back and forth. "Gen! Gen!" he shouted, grinning toothily up at the doctor and his daughter who was doing the same thing.
"Ohhhh, all right," John said, laughing, and he launched into the story once more, to the delighted squeals of the children.
Only one chapter left!!!!
Chapter 9: Bedtime Story
Chapter by roseforthethorns
Mycroft and Greg putting their son to bed.
This was actually the story that started us on the path to writing the missing chapters for "Putting Us Back Together." I begged ladycorvidae for a bit of fluff after finishing "Kitten" (currently a WIP in terms of editing and posting, we've finished writing it).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
"Greg, could you come here? It's time to put Archie to bed," Mycroft called, gently rocking the squalling bundle in his arms in an attempt to calm him down.
"Hang on." The DI rummaged through the bookshelf until he came up with the book he was looking for, coming over and sitting on the toy chest next to the rocking chair. "Which poem tonight, Myc?"
"'Land of Nod' seems appropriate," the taller man said, standing and rocking the child more. The squalls had quieted some; Archie was winding down for the night, and he could see that both his parents were in the room, which made his infant mind a little easier to pacify. (1)
Greg beamed up at Myc and Archie, finding the page and beginning to read, his voice soft to help soothe the child.
"From breakfast on through all the day
At home among my friends I stay,
But every night I go abroad
Afar into the land of Nod."
Myc smiled as his husband read, and chimed in with the second stanza.
"All by myself I have to go,
With none to tell me what to do--
All alone beside the streams
And up the mountain-sides of dreams"
Greg could feel his own body relaxing. Of course Myc had the thing memorized.
"The strangest things are these for me,
Both things to eat and things to see,
And many frightening sights abroad
Till morning in the land of Nod."
Myc nearly chuckled as he saw Greg starting to relax as well.
"Try as I like to find the way,
I never can get back by day,
Nor can remember plain and clear
The curious music that I hear."
The baby stopped his crying, his tears drying up as he cooed and sucked his thumb. Greg rose and joined Mycroft, slowly taking the baby and holding him. "Hey, big guy," Greg whispered. "It's Daddy."
The baby gave a toothless smile and gurgled at his Daddy, before yawning. "Looks like the poem worked," Myc said softly, beaming at his husband and their son in his arms.
Greg bounced him slightly, cradling him close to his chest. "Let him have your finger, Myc. We still have to find his pacifier."
"Should be under his wubbie in the crib," Myc said as he let little Archie grab a hold of his finger and stick it in his mouth.
Greg passed the baby back of to Mycroft and searched under the blanket and-"Ta da," he grinned, bringing the binky over to Arthur. "Here you go," he murmured.
The baby made a small noise of protest as Mycroft removed his finger, but latched on to the binky and started sucking away happily, his eyes beginning to close. "Time for bed, cariad," Mycroft said softly. (2)
Greg placed a hand around his husband's shoulder as the younger man gently set their child down in his crib, tucking him in with his wubbie. Mycroft bent down and pressed a soft kiss to the sweet-smelling head of their son before murmuring a 'good night' to the boy, moving slightly so Greg could do the same.
"Goodnight, Cariad," Greg murmured, kissing the baby's head as he closed his eyes. He turned on Arthur's lullaby recording and night light before turning out the lamp next to his crib, leaning against Myc for a moment to watch him.
Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg and sighed. "You have no idea how happy you both make me," he said softly.
Greg squeezed Myc's hands where they rested on his stomach. "You both are the best part of my life," he whispered back.
Mycroft kissed Greg's cheek. "Time for us to go to the land of Nod ourselves," he said, smiling softly.
"At least I'm not on my own...I have you by my side."
"Always, cariad. Always."
(1)- "Land of Nod" is a poem from Robert Louis Stevenson's "A Child's Garden of Verses."
(2)- Caraid- Welsh. Term of endearment, means 'sweetie', 'dear heart', 'loved one', etc
Thank you so much to every single person who has left comments, favorited, followed, everything with this story and its predecessor. We both are truly feeling the love. Ta!