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Chapter Text

Both Mycroft and John and Mary looked with concern at Sherlock, who sat in his chair in the newly landed plane, apparently totally absorbed in his own thoughts again...or rather in his Mind Palace. It wasn’t a normal behaviour...not even for Sherlock. It was just as if he hadn’t realised that the plane had landed, even if Mycroft had spoken with him on the phone only minutes ago.

John took a step closer and looked Sherlock into the face, then he turned to Mycroft to say something just as Sherlock snapped into being present again and almost yelled, “Oh for God’s sake.....yes I have....and why would you care?!!”

He pointed at Mycroft and almost spat out, “And yes...I have made a list!” and he almost threw a piece of paper in Mycroft’s direction. Mycroft silently picked it up from the floor and began to type on his phone.

“A list!?” asked John.

“Since I first found my baby brother almost dying in a junk den....he was only 18 then, he gave me a promise that he would always write down which substances he was on...in order for me to be able to tell the paramedics which anti-dote he would need in case of an OD..”

“An OD!” almost yelled John and turned towards Sherlock again.

Mycroft had taken the briefcase that one of his minions had appeared with in the door of the plane and with deft fingers Mycroft brought forward a syringe and measured an amount of liquid from a small bottle. Then he went over to Sherlock, opened his cuff and pushed the shirt-sleeve and the jacket-sleeve up enough to be able to inject the liquid in Sherlock’s pale arm.

Mycroft just looked at John and said, “Over the years I found it necessary to learn to administer an antidote myself. Sherlock is not overly fond of doctors....with one single exception, of course! And his history of abuse....well it doesn’t go well with hospitals. He is an addict after all!”

Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders and looked away and didn’t say a word. John just looked between Sherlock and his brother. Somehow one could see how he barely contained his anger and frustration.

Sherlock said, looking at John’s anger, “Oh for God’s sake, John. How do you think I managed to be alone after coming back? Managing my nightmares and....and the rest? And for the record: I’m a user...not an addict. I can keep clean for months without any problems. I barely used as we lived together at Baker Street before I......before.”

Mary had taken Sherlock’s phone and had looked at it and then she looked at Sherlock, “You were looking at John’s blog.....reading about the day you met?” It was her attempt to defuse John’s anger. This was not the time for accusations and anger. Sherlock was in her opinion too fragile right now.

Sherlock looked at her. She understood him better than both his brother and John and that was why he .....almost....could forgive her for shooting him. He could keep her secrets a bit longer, he hoped. But his...return...this time would be more dangerous for her and the baby...and John. And she knew!

Sherlock sighed and looked rather sad, “It was nice.....to read about the ‘Sherlock Holmes’ on John’s blog. He is more heroic and so much cleverer than me.....just something nice to read before......”

“Before what?” asked Mycroft and John simultaneously.

But Sherlock didn’t look at them, just continued looking at Mary and it was as if he just talked to her, “Before the plane landed in Zagreb.....” His voice was low and monotone. Resigned.

Mary turned her eyes away from Sherlock, looked out of the window and had one hand up close to her mouth as if she wanted to hide something.

Sherlock continued turning towards Mycroft and John and now there was anger in his voice and in his eyes, “Mycroft....I couldn’t do this again....going back. Last time almost broke me. No not ‘almost’....it broke me. So much more than I already was. Maybe you should just have let them finish me off in that dungeon in Serbia.....God knows that you came in the nick of time. A few days more and I would have been gone for good. And then the parliament could have been blown to the Moon. And all those pity little power-crazed politicians whose pity little arses I sawed in November ’13 from being blown to pieces....they couldn’t arse themselves to be grateful for that...or for that I removed Magnussen from the ‘equation’!”

Mycroft raised his eyebrow, “You hardly expect them to reward you for murdering a man! And you knew the consequences when you pulled that trigger.”

Sherlock almost spat, “I knew...and was prepared to pay the price. That doesn’t mean though that I do not think that they are a bunch of ungrateful arses!”

Now John interrupted, “Are you saying that you intended to OD?”

Sherlock turned to look at John, “Oh God....sometimes you are too thick for your own good, John. Of course I intended to OD...I had no intention of being alive when the plane landed in Zagreb! Mycroft might have estimated me to survive 6 months......but that would have been the ‘old Sherlock’. I would have given myself 14 days maximum......so to spare me the pain of being tortured to death, I could do the job myself!”

And now he turned towards Mycroft, “If you wanted me to stay alive, you should maybe have arsed yourself to make that video just a bit before. Now it was almost too late...”

“I didn’t make that video!” said Mycroft as he sat down on one of the seats, “I intended to extract you from Western Europe within the time limitation. Maybe in a week or so. 14 days maybe...I didn’t have much time to ‘cook something together’ and having you put to prison would just have....been impossible!”

“Well...I have to admit that I left some loose ends in Serbia. That might explain how Moriarty can be back. And my trip back in time in my mind palace...well I might have found an explanation how he can be back.”

John looked at Sherlock with a frown, “How did you have time to be in your mind-palace from the time where Moriarty turned up on screen and we entered the plane?!”

And Mycroft said, “Oh for God’s sake Sherlock. The Mind Palace is a mnemotechnic construction. Nothing else!”

Sherlock shook his head, “It is so much more....with certain drugs involved. It is transcendent.....not into other dimensions, but a place with a life of its own. And there is no time in there. A minute here is hours, days, even months in there. And as I said I might have found the beginning of a solution....if Moriarty’s re-appearance is indeed not your work, brother dear. And your extraction of me..", He took a deep breath, "..Well...it would have been in vain, since I would have been dead long before! I had no intention of enduring more pain. I had enough for a lifetime in Serbia and in the rest of the world....thank you bloody very much!”

“I do not understand” said John but Mary did understand. She had seen the way Sherlock moved as he more than a year ago came into the restaurant and as he dragged John out of the bon-fire. She had observed, but not felt that it was her job to tell, if Sherlock wanted to keep it as a secret. He kept quite a lot of her secrets under lock and key. She could keep a few of his the same way.

Sherlock didn’t say a word. Just got up from his seat, took of his jacket and opened the buttons of his shirt and let it fall from his shoulders with his back to his brother and John.

“Oh my God...” was John’s reaction. Mycroft of course knew what Sherlock’s back would look like. And been given about 14 months to heal, it looked better than at the hospital in Germany where Sherlock first had been taken right after Serbia.

Mary didn’t cringe. She had seen worse and she had expected that much. There were a few round burn-marks from cigarettes. Scars from about 24 whiplashes. Four of them going a bit over the shoulders and onto the front. A bullet-wound on his left side, where a bullet had grazed him and a few more unclear injuries made by blows from a water-pipe. And a lot of now nearly invisible scars from countless cuts from knifes.....made to inflict pain more than damage.

“Why didn’t you tell me Sherlock?” asked John as he involuntarily reached out to touch and yet didn’t dare to do so. And then it hit John, “Oh Jesus....you were severely wounded when I hit you at that restaurant....and.....and....”

Sherlock had still his back turned towards John, Mary and Mycroft as he dressed again and then he slowly turned around, “Would it have made any difference? You were still mad as hell because I had dared to jump and deceive you to save your life...and Mrs. Hudson’s and Lestrade’s. What did you expect me to do, John? Strip in the middle of that restaurant so you could pity me....or mock me for my mistakes? It is just transport after all.”

He sat down in his seat again and closed his eyes, “I don’t need your pity.....from any of you! I did what I had to do. I just made a mistake to believe that I had something to return to. My mistake. And this time, knowing that I had nothing to return to......another lacking incitement to succeed in that new job!”

“We would not have excluded you, Sherlock” said Mary quietly, “You would have been most welcome in our house.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked just at her, smirked and said in a voice that rather well imitated her speech patterns, “Look kids. Here is uncle Sherlock. Your father’s old and very strange and eccentric friend. He solves murders and is not dangerous at all.”

Sherlock looked away, “You know, Mary....that is not ‘my cup of tea’. I’ve tried.....and I’ve failed. This is not something I would be able to do. ‘See...but not touch’.....that is not me...not in the long run anyway!”

Mary didn’t say a word, she understood.....but it was one of Sherlock’s secrets that she would never tell.

John looked between his wife and Sherlock, “I don’t understand...”

And Mary took his hand and gave it a squeeze: “We should really put that on a T-shirt!”

Sherlock was now actually slumping in his chair and waved with his hand uncoordinatedly towards Mycroft, “I’m afraid, brother dear, that I forgot to give you all the information.” And with that last remark he lost consciousness. Mycroft rushed to Sherlock and found the last piece of paper in Sherlock’s hand. With the last drug written on it.

“Damn it!” cursed Mycroft as he prepared another syringe. And then they heard the rotors from the helicopter that Mycroft had called...just in case.

Chapter Text

When Sherlock woke up in the hospital, he wondered if he really was there or if he still was in his Mind Palace...or rather ‘Mind World’.

What was the last thing he had done? Oh yes....He was talking to the ‘dead’ Moriarty, things had rattled and then he woke up in the plane. It had landed in England again. Well...Sherlock looked down at his body. He was in hospital clothing. Those strange garments that apparently only were in two sizes: ’too big’ and ‘much too big’. An IV in his arm. Did he feel anything about being alive? Not really...

He felt numb and that could indicate that he still was drugged and sort of trapped in his mind. One day he would risk being trapped there for such a long time, that his real body would thirst or starve to death. But dying whilst being in this world of his own creation...it would not be so bad at all. That was how he had been close to death in Serbia and only the pain from the torture brought him back when the pain became too much. If Mycroft hadn't.....

The door opened and in entered Mycroft, John and Mary. Mary didn’t wear her red coat, that would mean that it was the real reality then. And Mycroft was thin...and John fuming. ‘Real’ reality then.

“How long have I been here?“ Sherlock asked, “It feels like several days!”

Mycroft answered, “It is only 3 hours since the plane landed again. You overdosed on the plane. And had written something about you needing to ‘go back...even deeper’. You had written that on the paper, together with the formula for the drug you had injected just before we got on the plane and then you told me that you would prefer to be dead before the plane landed in Zagreb. Oh Sherlock....“ Mycroft sighed and pinched his nose.

“But it is the truth....I couldn’t face doing the jobs I did two years ago....I’m a broken man. A wreck! A drug addict as you said. I’m no use to anybody. I tried to tell you...that I’m no good as an agent anymore.”

John stepped closer, “I fail to understand how...as I’ve learned by now...you have managed to fool me for so long. I would never have thought......I thought that it only was the nicotine-patches...and an occasional cigarette. But Mycroft’s actions have proved me wrong. I should have known better...finding you in that crack den after my wedding! How could you? Misuse your brilliant brain like that? Hmm? Were you even sober as we said good bye?”

Sherlock just looked at him. Was he the real John or the one from his ‘Mind World’? Sherlock closed his eyes but answered, “I wasn’t sober. I took the first drugs at Baker Street as soon as I was allowed back to pack a bag before I should leave. I have always something stashed ...a secret place....and I needed it so badly because...because! I’ve never fit in...like Mycroft. I’ve always been the strange one. I couldn’t stop my brain from observing every little detail....like you, John, you have shaved this morning using new blades and a shaving foam that you do not usually use. Your shirt is new, and you haven’t even washed it yet. And you had coffee this morning instead of tea....and...” Sherlock’s gaze turned towards Mary, “You have stopped using your usually perfume and shampoo because your pregnancy makes their scent awful to you. You have all three stopped at John’s and Mary’s house on your way to this hospital and you, Mary, have changed your usual red coat to another one because you discovered that there was a hole in the other one. A hole that you made getting in to my brother’s car as you left the airstrip......”

Sherlock stopped and sighed and continued, “See...I can’t stop. All the information...it is a constant flow. And it drives me mad sometimes. Surely you must remember, John...” and Sherlock opened his eyes again looking at John, who nodded, yes he remembered several occasions where Sherlock had buzzed around like a blue-arsed fly in a bottle.

Sherlock closed his eyes again and sighed, “I discovered that a cocktail of drugs could slow my brain down to a more bearable level. And the effect would continue long time after the drugs would have left my system. The big issue was to find the right amount.....and I sometimes miscalculated.....or the drugs weren’t as clean as promised...”

“And that was the time were I sometimes had to interfere....” said Mycroft.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he snarled, “Yes thank you very much. When most of your interfering consisted of withholding my funds or restricting them. Asking the impossible of me....’cope without the drugs, Sherlock...see... I can do it!’ For fucks sake...I’m not you!”

He turned away, “Leave me please...all of you. Just leave me.”

And they turned around and just left. See... that was strange. Not ‘real’ reality then after all and suddenly he was on a churchyard together with John and Mary and Mycroft and Lestrade. How had he got there? He knew what he wanted to do...he wanted to dig up....Moriarty...NO...not him. The bride...yes..the bride from so many years ago. But why was it that he wanted that? Focus, Sherlock...Yes.. to establish if it was Mrs Ricoletti and if there were buried two bodies in the same grave. So...he just had to focus. Piece of cake!

__________________________

They found the grave and began to dig. It was strange, Mycroft actually helped him. Why would he do that? But Sherlock was so concentrated on the task that he pushed that thought aside. He decided that he liked this version of Mycroft and Lestrade, but not John, who had just left him together with Mary. He could have stayed, couldn’t he? It was important somehow that John was present. If Sherlock only could remember why.

They found the coffin and opened it. It was strange. Mrs Ricoletti had been dead for almost 100 years. Only the bones should be left by now....and maybe not even that. And definitely not the coffin. But there were maggots and flesh still. And the coffin was whole. And her dress was almost intact. But there was only one body.

Sherlock leaped into the grave and began to dig with his gloved hands. “There must me another....a body-double.” he kept on saying again and again as he frantically dug deeper and deeper.

Suddenly the corps raised and said “Don’t forget....” and Sherlock was back in time again. Lying on the rim of the cliffs of the Reichenbach Fall in full Victorian gear. He should remember something very important...but he couldn’t!

Then Moriarty was there.....his eternal inner daemon. That man had really got under his skin. And now John was here. The one with the nice moustache and he defeated Moriarty. Kicked him over the rim. Somehow that was important. If he only could remember why. He decided that he liked the Victorian ‘John Watson’, he had created, better than the ‘real’ John Watson. The Victorian John was a BAMF....and had stepped up and helped him.

He knew that he was dreaming now......the Fall looked like something from a film. Made of foam and paint even if he couldn’t see the bottom of the fall, or the floor, if he looked over the rim of the cliffs. He nodded to the Victorian John Watson and jumped.....

___________________________

With a start Sherlock looked up. He was still at the plane. His brother was looking at him. Sherlock looked down on his left hand. He had still a piece of crumbled paper in his hand and his brother stood there with a syringe in his hand. More anti-dote then.

Mycroft actually had tears in his eyes, “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I should have known what a week alone in a prison cell would do to you.“

“And what...pray tell, brother dear, would that do to me?”

“Leave you alone with your worst enemy...your own mind....with nothing else to do than cannibalize on itself...”

This world felt real. He could smell the sweat on himself. He felt disgusted. Oh God, he would prefer not to have to fight anymore. But Moriarty was back...well sort of...as he had found out as he.......what?........had transcended time and space, being in the Sherlock Holmes from so many years ago...in another reality? Just like those Stephen Hawking talked about....parallel universes. Like soap bubbles in a foam. Lying close to each other. But why should he care if Moriarty was back? Right now he was too tired to care. There were 7 billion people on Earth. Why should he care if someone wanted to kill a few hundred of them?

He got up...swayed and spat at his brother, “Shouldn’t you be out there doing something. Getting me a pardon or something. Like a proper ‘Big Brother’?

Mycroft just looked at him, “Contrary to the common belief in both you and John, I am not almighty even if I have a lot of power at hand. Even I can’t bend the law to let my brother get away with murder in plain sight. Despise the convenience for several highly ranked politicians. Thus this mission to Eastern Europe, which would be so much to prefer to several years in jail. Buying me time to do something more....efficient. Even if I’ve just learned that it would have been in vain. I told you the truth...not being able to help you.....it does break my heart!”

Sherlock just huffed and then he realised that John and Mary were there too. Mary in her red coat. Hadn’t they just left? Or was it in his dream?

“Aren’t you going to leave me?”, he asked.

“Why should we?”, said Mary, “We are not going to leave you now. You obviously need us to be here. While you were almost unconscious before the antidote kicked in, you kept on mumbling “don’t leave, I need you”....”

“And before we have established wherefrom and why Moriarty appeared, I prefer to have them close.” , said Mycroft.

John just looked at Sherlock, having a feeling that there was something shouting in his face....and that he couldn’t hear or figure it out. But Sherlock was so much more fragile than he had known and if Sherlock needed him, he would stay close. That was the least he....and Mary...could do.

They had had a bit more time to talk since Christmas and she had told him a bit more about her past. Not so much, but enough for him to start building a relationship again. And especially because she had pointed out how important he was for Sherlock. His best friend, and friends were supposed to help each other. John had cried when he had realised that Sherlock had sacrificed his own freedom to save John and Mary and now he had to face the fact that Sherlock had been prepared to die too. Somehow John had thought that Mycroft would have had the power to let Sherlock go free despite the murder. But as Mycroft had pointed out....Mycroft wasn’t almighty. And John had expected, no hoped, something to happen before the plane took off. Something....anything....

The way Sherlock had spoken.....the things he didn’t say. And all the time he had been ‘high’, and John hadn’t even noticed. Just as he hadn’t noticed that Sherlock had been severely injured as he turned up almost 24 months ago. And now it had turned out that if that picture of Moriarty hadn’t appeared, he would never had seen Sherlock again. Never! And that was a thought that took the air away from John....making it difficult to breathe. But why?

___________________

They were brought to a ‘Safe house’ where Sherlock had been examined by several doctors and declared ‘out of danger’. Later,in a few days, he would return to Baker Street to a sort of ‘house arrest’, he was told.

“How do they expect me to solve the whole shebang with Moriarty if I’m not allowed to leave my flat!” Sherlock had fumed and had continued, “Couldn’t they just insert a chip in me...to track me...if they are afraid I might try to escape?!”

Mycroft had just lifted his eyebrow and had said, “Sherlock...how did you think I knew where to look for you in Serbia?”

To Mycroft’s surprise Sherlock had just looked at him and said nothing.

“Aren’t you going to throw a tantrum...knowing that I have tracked you?”, Mycroft wanted to know.

“What would be the point? Well...would it be enough to allow me the illusion of freedom, then?”

“I’ll make inquiries.”

After that Mycroft wondered why Sherlock acted so much out of character.
_______________________

They were sitting in the living room in that safe-house waiting for some of Mycroft minions to collect necessary things for both John, Mary and Sherlock.

And John had come to think and wanted to know something and asked Sherlock, “I fail to understand how...as I’ve learned by now...you have managed to fool me for so long? I would never have thought......I thought that it only was the nicotine-patches...and an occasional cigarette. But Mycroft’s actions have proved me wrong. I should have known better, finding you in that crack den after my wedding! How could you? Misuse your brilliant brain like that? Hmm? Were you even sober as we said good bye?”

(Sherlock had a feeling of déjà vu and he thought...”haven’t we had this conversation before? Or was it in my dream?”)

He looked at John, “Do you remember when I acted like a blue-arsed fly in a bottle?”

John smiled a bit, “I do!”

“Well....I have honed my mind to observe everything when on a case...and sometimes I can’t turn the switch off again. Like now....”

And he began to ramble about a lot of the facts he could read of John, of Mary, of Mycroft and of the house they were in.

(“Haven’t I just done that...or was it in my dream too?”)

“I’ve never fit in...like Mycroft. I’ve always been the strange one. I couldn’t stop my brain from observing every little detail. And I’ve always been hyper-sensitive too...regarding my senses. Hearing things...the hum from the light tubes....the high pitch tone from certain television-sets. Smell...all sorts.Taste.....a lot of things tasting revolting bitter or just awful. Light, hurting my eyes. I could seldom stop it....the constant flow of too much information.....So when I found the drugs, it was a relief. Finally it was quiet...”

He turned his face towards John who was sitting next to him on the couch together with Mary and as he said the words, he had a strange feeling of having said them before, “I discovered that a cocktail of drugs could slow my brain down to a more bearable level. And the effect would continue long time after the drugs would have left my system. The big issue was to find the right amount.....and I sometimes miscalculated.....or the drugs weren’t as clean as promised...”

“And that was the time were I sometimes had to interfere....” said Mycroft.

Sherlock sighed and said, “Yes thank you very much. When most of your interfering consisted of withholding my funds or restricting them. Asking the impossible of me: ’cope without the drugs, Sherlock...see I can do it!’ For God’s sake...I’m not you, Mycroft. ....I’m not you.”

Now John looked really worried and he looked at Mycroft, “Right now it sounds like a case of self-medication to me, more than the usual misuse. Has Sherlock ever been evaluated, Mycroft?”

Mycroft looked at John with his eyebrow lifted, “Evaluated?!”

John could feel he was stepping on thin ice now, but this was his best friend Sherlock and all this new information had made him think.

“To me it sounds as if Sherlock has been self-medicating most of the time. Not seeking the high but rather to slow his much too active brain, when he didn’t have something to entertain it with.”

Mary could feel the contempt radiating from Mycroft and tugged at John’s sleeve to get his attention. There was no reason to make Mycroft their enemy when they would need every protection they could get from him. Her enemies were getting closer....even more so because Sherlock didn’t go to Eastern Europe.

John continued, “I’m not saying this to mock anyone or to annoy anyone. But please remember that I have three educations. As a doctor...as a GP...you have rather a big amount of psychology and that was a part of my education in the army as well...as an officer. And I might be slow compared to you and Sherlock. But give me enough time and I can put things together...”

(“Can you?”, thought Mary, “Sherlock is right. Sometimes you see, but do not observe what is right under your nose, John Watson.”)

“I can assure you, John, that Sherlock had been thoroughly 'evaluated' as a child”, said Mycroft.

“In the ‘70ties and the ‘80ties I suppose. And they didn’t know enough then. The science about how the mind functions has moved past medieval superstition since then, Mycroft. And I do not buy that about the “High functioning Sociopath” either. That is just a nicer word for a “psychopath” and I can assure you that if there is something Sherlock isn’t it is a “psychopath”. Oh my God. He has a heart and feelings....he is just clueless about what to do with them!”

“I’ve always been told that it is not nice to talk about people present as if they were not in the room” murmured Sherlock.

“I’m sorry. I’ll include you when I talk. It was very rude of me” said John, “But this is important! So much more make sense now: the way you always turn your T-shirt inside out. That you can’t stand anything but fine multi-threaded linen on your bed. Your preferences for silk-shirts and bespoke suits of the finest fabric. Your impractical shoes of the softest leather. It is not about appearance or fashion. It is about tolerating having clothes on at all. I suppose your parents found it difficult to keep clothes and shoes and socks on you when you were a young child. I guess that your bedroom would have to be totally dark and rather cold for you to sleep and that you were very picky regarding food. Not alone taste but texture and temperature as well.”

“It did hurt and itched....I couldn’t sleep if it was too warm or too bright. And things tasted awful. I lost my appetite easily. It is better now, but not easy.”, said Sherlock.

Mycroft looked at John with renewed respect. John had in few words summed a lot of Sherlock’s ‘peculiarities’ up.

“I’m not a paediatrician, but I think that Sherlock being a child today would be diagnosed as a “highly-sensitive-child” or HSP. That would explain a lot, but not everything. HSP is a personality trait, but you Sherlock have had more to battle with than just being highly sensitive. Please do not be offended, Mycroft....and your parents would not have to feel guilty, because they... or you.....haven’t seen it earlier. Your ability to ‘take everything in’...to notice even the smallest details. Sherlock, that, together with your high intelligence are traits that makes you such an extraordinary detective. And you are....despite your self-contempt right now. But you can only do that because you do not function like the rest of us...us ‘goldfish’. Only a few people on Earth are able to use their brain...their senses like that.”

John turned towards Mycroft, “But a lot of us have a touch of that. You have a bit more than a touch, Mycroft. That is what makes you sometimes even better at observing than Sherlock and having that big brain or yours to store information, neatly and orderly, makes you a sort of human computer, being able to ‘keep an huge amount of balls in the air’”

John turned towards Sherlock, “But my best friend here. He can imagine the ‘balls’ or just see the faintest outlines of ball’s and his fascinating brain of his can see the whole picture based on actually too little facts. He can connect the dots, the rest of us can’t even see. But you pay a price for that Sherlock. That brilliance. Things are never for free. And you do not have just a hint...a touch of it. You have got the whole package. Can you deduce, my dear friend, where I’m heading?”

Sherlock loved it when John showed him affection and admiration...if just....

He smiled a bit sad and said, “You expect me to be autistic. An ‘idiot savant’?

John shook his head, “NO....not an ‘idiot savant’. Oh my God no. But you may be an ‘Asperger’.”

He turned towards Mycroft, “It turns out, as I learned on the last conference I was on, that a lot of grown-ups would be diagnosed as ‘Asperger’ since we are now better at making that diagnose. It is not difficult to make that investigation. About 1000 questions all in all for parents, relatives and friends and that is that.”

“And what good would such a diagnose do my brother?”

John smiled and looked at Sherlock, “A lot. First: Sherlock would be allowed to be an antisocial prick...for a while. Because you are intelligent enough to learn the clues, Sherlock. Now you’ll not just have to find out by yourself. There are training-programmes that could teach you, if you want to learn. And the rest of the world would have to stop shouting at you...myself included.....when you fail. It can be learned...given time enough. And maybe you can be allowed to experiment, under safe circumstances, with drugs that can help not only you, but a lot of other people as well. You are a chemist after all....and must be on the track of something, since it has helped you to cope.

Mycroft looked at John. Well just as Sherlock used to say. That man was a conductor of light.

Mycroft smiled...not much, but he did,“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to answer those 1000 questions at all.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock was lying on his couch back in Baker Street. He had been at home now for four days and John and Mary was still in the safe house. Sherlock and John had both an untraceable mobile phone and were able to text each other and of course Mycroft had one too.

Sherlock had been evaluated. He had answered more than 500 questions, his parents and Mycroft had answered a similar number too. And John had answered 500 as a friend...and so had Greg.

Some of the questions had been ridiculous: “Is he able to visit the lavatory on his own?”

What was he supposed to answer to that? “Yes, normally, unless my best friend’s wife has shot me and I was recovering from a cardiac arrest”?!

And “If guests arrive is he capable at serving them refreshments?”

”Capable”..yes, but “most of the time has no wish to” would be more correct . Depending on the guests.

Finally a psychiatrist, one of Mycroft’s, had come to talk to Sherlock and Sherlock had really, really tried to be polite. But the man had been too ”What do you feel, when you have an urge to say that?”-like.....and Sherlock had lost his patience and had first politely asked the man to leave. When he didn’t get the message, Sherlock ‘deduced’ the man to tiny little pathetic rags until the man left and an elderly and far more competent lady arrived few hours after.

And the ‘verdict’?

Sherlock was a HSP, but not an ‘Asperger’. He was very close, though. And the psychiatrist explained that Sherlock being an adult and as such being able to manage so far, he could have internalised enough of the social clues to just use them without being conscious about them. Thus ‘clouding’ the evaluation a bit. In other words: had he been a child today he might have ended inside the Asperger-spectrum, or more precisely the autism-spectrum of which ‘Asperger’ was just one fraction.

But Sherlock was suffering from PTSD had the psychiatrist established and she went immediately to Mycroft to have a serious talk with him about using a damaged agent to do field-work again.

That diagnose together with something Mary had written on the mobile phone to him, might get him off the hook regarding the murder on Magnussen. Or it might not. At least he would still face some time in prison.

“Well” had Sherlock thought as the woman left after having given him the final evaluation, “Now I really have to drag my investigation of ‘The returning Moriarty’ out. At least until Mary has found ‘watertight’ proof. If....no ‘when’.... I’m not fit for fieldwork, Mycroft can’t save me by sending me to Eastern Europe and then there would only be prison left....and how long would I survive in there?”

He looked at the mobile phone at Mary’s words there in more than one message and read them once more:

*Sherlock. I should have said this before. I’m sorry I didn’t. And suddenly it was too late. I thought, just like John, that your brother could get you off the hook regarding Magnussen. And I’m deeply thankful for what you did...and why. I’ve had time to think. Oh God. Being in this house gives me too much time to think. You never asked me why I was at Magnussen office that night.*

*Or why HE was there when he was supposed to be at a meeting. You never asked why I threatened him. Maybe you thought you knew. That he was blackmailing me. And he was. And you know with what. And I’m grateful for you not telling John everything. But Magnussen wanted me to do something for him. Or else. You have of course figured out why he was blackmailing me. In the end it was to get to Mycroft. But you know that already.*

*The thing Magnussen wanted me to do, was to have you killed. He had called me to his office that night. To give me the order. My life, John’s life and the baby’s life. In exchange for yours. That is why I had to shoot you. Maybe you have figured that out too. It wouldn’t surprise me. At least Magnussen believed me. That it was pure luck that you survived. That I really tried to kill you.*

*I couldn’t shoot him there. My name would have been given free to my enemies, if he had died that night. I can tell you this, Sherlock. That if I hadn’t been pregnant I might have considered shooting Magnussen myself that night. But I could not take risks on behalf of my child. I hope that you’ll understand. At least I tried to give you a chance.*

*And being the incredible man you are, you made it. I felt so guilty and I thought everything was lost as you told me to meet you at Leinster garden. How you could find in your incredible big heart to forgive me, and not tell John everything, it is amazing. I’ll see if I can find any proof (to be used in a court) about Magnussen hiring me. In that case you shooting him could be pleaded as self-defence.*

*I’m ever so grateful for you to give me and John that chance for a normal life. And I know exactly why you chose to shoot that bastard Magnussen. Both to protect your brother (Does he know what Magnussen planned regarding him...and England?) and to protect us. But John is sometimes so blind. Would you like me to talk to him? I can accept that, you know. You and John. I owe you that much. Mary.*

Well of course Mary would see that he...loved John Watson. But what good would it do that Mary would talk to John? He was fond of Sherlock as a friend, but that was that. And Sherlock would just have to accept that. If he just was able to!

Sherlock had solved the case about the abominable bride. Mrs Ricoletti had indeed been dead...and the body-double must have been buried someplace else. Maybe he really should investigate what had happened to her grave. And by solving a least some of the mysteries concerning the Rocoletti-case, he had sort of solved the case about Moriarty too. So...Moriarty had to be dead too as it ‘were never twins’. And it had been Moriarty on that roof. The only remaining explanation for the 'miss-me-broadcast was that someone had been dormant, waiting for the right moment to launch those pictures. But what had been ‘the right moment’? That Magnussen was killed?...Or that Sherlock was sent abroad?

He would still have to go into his Mind Palace to find out. Time for drugs again...despite his promise.

But it had been a new drug. And it had apparently had a side-effect. Not only had it made his life inside the Mind Palace more vivid....he had apparently travelled side-ways(?) into another reality? His visions had never been that clear before. With colours like that...bodily sensations: He had felt thirst, hunger and the clothes on his body. He had felt coolness and hotness and the dampness from the fog. Only sometimes had he made ‘jumps’ in time and space. But most of the time it had felt incredible real. And there could only be one explanation for that: It had been real!

He had made a quite big amount of the drug as he had returned to Baker Street and had stashed it in different secret places. Places that Lestrade and the drug-squad never had found when they had searched for drugs before. Time to use it again.

___________________

Sherlock was lying on the couch in his pyjama-trousers, his old thread-bare T-shirt and his beloved blue dressing gown. The needle was in his arm...and as promised: the list was on the table. Not just a name, but the formula.....and a vial with the antidote, and the formula for that too. After all it was a new drug. Sherlock expected though that the new drug wouldn’t be as fatal as on the plane, when it wasn’t mixed with cocaine and heroin. He didn’t intend to OD now. Just help his mind to ‘time-travel’(?) or whatever had happened.
_________________________________

Holmes was sitting in his living-room at Baker Street in his chesterfield chair, silently smoking his pipe, enjoying a nice cup of tea and a few biscuits of Mrs. Hudson’s excellent making, as he felt it again. The presence inside his head. Last time it had almost managed to push him out, but this time he resisted.

“Who are you?”, he asked inside his own head. For the detached spectator he just seemed to be sitting there, with his pipe in hand, but as time passed the more observant spectator would notice that the tea turned cold and the fire in the pipe died.

“What are you?”, Holmes asked again, “You ‘pushed me away from my own mind and made me hallucinate. Even without me taking any of my seven percent solution of cocaine. Even if I have to admit that you helped me solve the mystery. But again: I would very much like to know: who or what are you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you and sorry for possessing you, but I’m actually you. Sort of. My name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes”,Sherlock tried to explain.

“Well. My name is Sherlock Holmes. Are you an angel or a demon?”

Sherlock laughed, “You do not believe in that! But I used to say that I’m on the side of the angels without being one of them.”

“Reassuring.”

“What year are we in now?”

“Well. Let me just humour you. We are currently in the year 1888.”

“And that makes you how old?”

“34 years old.”

“Well, then I’m about two years older....and my year is 2015. Now we just have to establish if we are living in similar universes.”

“Why not the same, just years apart?”

“Because I would have heard about you, wouldn’t I?”

“Guess so...yes...guess so.”

“I do not know how to explain what had happened. But I’m you...or you in another lifetime....another reality maybe. If I only could remember exactly how much you do know about the universe in your time. Could you please tell me?”

“About the universe? Well....solar-system. Earth around the Sun.....”

“Well I can hear that you didn’t delete that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. Continue, please.”

“Sun is just one of many million suns in the Milky Way and the scientist Immanuel Kant writes as early as in the 1750ties that the Milky Way is just one of many galaxies. I suppose he is right.”

“He is. In my time we have discovered so many more structures in the Universe. But can of course not see anything further out than from the beginning of the Universe. We’ve found out about the speed of light and scientists have proved that nothing can travel faster than that. And of course it limits the distance we can see even with the strongest telescopes.”

There were a pause...and then Holmes said, “Oh yes...I understand. You can’t see further out than the light have had time to travel to us since the beginning. Are you sure that there is a beginning though?”

And Sherlock told about the background radiation. The discovery of the radio waves that was the “stretched” radiation from the very early Universe. About the time when the Universe was a singularity and matter didn’t exist yet and Holmes absorbed every information that Sherlock provided.

Then Sherlock began to tell about multi-verses as explained by the scientist Stephen Hawking and the Danish scientist Holger Nielsen and the String Theory with more than 4 dimensions (the three describing space plus time) and Holmes began to understand Sherlock’s idea about how he ended up in another time-line. Multi-verses...several Universes lying beside one another like soap-bubbles in soap-foam.

They discussed wars and revolutions...as Sherlock said: “Such nice markers of time...and history.”

And they agreed on that the wars and revolutions in Holmes’ universe did match the wars in Sherlock’s: The American revolution, The French revolution, The Napoleon Wars and the Transvaal War in South Africa.

Sherlock told about the development in science and politics and women’s rights and Holmes was amazed, “Are you telling me that you have developed vehicles that can land a man on the Moon?” and he was even more baffled, when he heard about electricity and cars and aeroplanes.....and computers.

“It is only 150 years in the future....and some of the achievements only 30 years away from this time or even less. What on earth has sparked that amazing development?”

“Two world wars!” was Sherlock’s dry remark.

Finally after they had talked for more than 3 hours, Sherlock began to feel that he was dragged back to his own time again. He had realized that his stay in this time...being Holmes...would not last as long as the last time, where he had been in Holmes’ mind several times over a period of more than 15 months. From when Holmes and Dr. Watson met, till Watson had moved out to get married to his wife. But in his own reality, he had only been gone in about half an hour. Maybe it was because of the cocaine and heroin together with the drug. He didn’t dare to mingle them again though. He had no intention of dying this time...not yet anyway!

And Holmes had told him that he didn’t mind Sherlock ‘visiting’...as long as Sherlock didn’t ‘push’ him away again. Some of the things that Holmes had experienced had indeed been Sherlock’s thoughts from his Mind Palace, as he involuntarily had pushed Holmes away from his own mind: The fat Mycroft in the Diogenes Club, the meeting with Sherlock’s Moriarty in the flat and the meeting with Moriarty at the rim of the Reichenbach Fall. Holmes had felt very puzzled by those events.

Sherlock promised to come back so they could talk more and Holmes wanted to know more about Sherlock and his time...even if he had to promise not to use too much of his knowledge....he might change history if he revealed too much.
___________________________

With a start Sherlock woke in his own time. Just in time to hide his syringe and the list and the vial with the antidote as Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.

“How are you, Sherlock?” she asked.

And Sherlock just looked at her, “I suppose this was just a rhetorical question, Mrs Hudson?”

She smiled at him, “Yes, dear. You look awful!”

And then she sat down on the chair beside the couch as Sherlock turned around and sat upright. Mrs Hudson grappled after one of his hands and put it between her own two.

“You didn’t intend to come back,” she declared.

And Sherlock could do nothing else but answer, “What gave me away?”

“Oh, Sherlock..” she said and padded his hand, “Love...The flat has never been that clean. Nothing in the fridge and in the freezer. You only made a few experiments, before Christmas. Cooking something together. And I do not want to know about it! And then you did put everything away. Made your bed and everything. Don’t tell me that I do not recognize when you intend to leave. And this time even tidier than when you had to jump. I thought you to be dead then.....but seeing the flat 4 days ago, I realize that you indeed hoped to return 4 years ago. But not this time. Oh love....what made you so desperate?”

“Dear Mrs Hudson”, said Sherlock and took her hands between his big ones, “I can’t tell you. But yes. I didn’t believe that I could return this time. I’m sorry...”

“I had a suspicion when you hugged me for Christmas before you left for your parent’s house. Not that it is my business, Sherlock, but is it sort of sorted out by now? About Moriarty? He is really terrifying, you know.”

He smiled sadly at her...the woman that had been more as a mother to him than his own mother, “Not quite yet. But I’m working on that. And I can promise you that I and Mycroft would do our best to protect you this time too.“

“I’m sure you will, Sherlock. I just hope that you’ll not have to leave again. It broke my heart, you know!”

And she got up. Padded Sherlock on his cheek and left. In the door she turned around, “I’ll bring up some soup, if you’ll like. You do have to eat, you know.“

He smiled at her, “I know.”

Chapter Text

During the next several weeks Sherlock did set up a routine: got up, showered, dressed in trousers, shirt and dressing gown. No need to be so sloppy that he would be only in his pyjamas and old T-shirt for the next several weeks to come.

Then he would be eating breakfast, because he would need to be healthy to minimize the risks from the drug. After that he would text John to tell about his progresses in Moriarty’s case and they would ‘talk’ for a few more minutes. Then he would work till around 2 PM, interrupted by a lunch, he sometimes would share with Mrs Hudson. He would stop investigating around 4 PM and take a stroll in the park. Text to John again after that and then he would nap on the couch until Mrs. Hudson would call up the stairs that “dinner is ready, dear” and they would eat the meal together. After that he would either read or investigate a bit more or perform experiments. He would go to bed around 11 PM and remain in bed...at least in body if not in mind until the next morning.

After the first 2 days the home-call-doctor didn’t show up anymore. He had been in the safe-house and later at Baker Street to check on Sherlock because Sherlock had OD’ed. But Sherlock had been all right as soon as the cocaine and the heroin were out of his system. The other drug didn’t leave any traces. At least nothing that Sherlock could be tested ‘positive’ for.

Sherlock was allowed to leave the flat, but of course he knew he was monitored, so when he left..and that only for the walk to get some fresh air in the nearest park...he noticed that he was followed. He hoped that it was by Mycroft’s men, or the men from MI5 or MI6 and most definitely not Moriarty’s men.
He had discovered that he could stay much longer in the other universe, if he first shot several millilitres of the new drug and then administered very small dosages over several hours. That would make him stay in ‘the other place’ for several days. Not several months like the first time....but that was probably caused by heroin and cocaine. And that in rather high dosages. Sherlock didn’t dare to do that...at least not yet, as he didn’t want to die. Not yet anyway. And the easiest way to be injected with small amounts of the drug without being awake? Well...thank God so many things were easily available on the net, and Sherlock had ordered an insulin-pump. A needle inserted under the skin of his stomach, secured with a bandage and the devise would administer small dosages of the drug during the night.

Sherlock was allowed to leave the flat to go to other places, but only in London. But he would have to tell exactly why and where and he would be escorted. If he wanted to buy something he could leave a note, and some of Mycroft’s minions would provide the groceries, the chemicals for his experiments and his clean laundry and what else he might need. Courtesy of Mycroft, who had found out exactly how much Mrs. Hudson had done for Sherlock as Mycroft had visited the day after the ‘diagnosis’. There Mycroft had discovered that Mrs. Hudson not alone took care of Sherlock’s laundry, but made him food as well. The least Mycroft could do was to pay her some money and take care of Sherlock’s laundry and other errands.

Mrs. Hudson had said, “Oh Mr. Holmes...it is nearly no trouble at all. Most of Sherlock’s laundry goes to the cleaners anyway...and making a double portion of food is no trouble at all. It is nice to have company when you eat, and the poor boy is going to forget to eat, if I do not remind him!”

And regarding the investigation about Moriarty’s return, Sherlock had a lot of agents to his disposal. But just as carefully as he administered the drug during the night, he administered his results slowly...drop by drop. Dragging out the investigation, because he knew for sure what his fate would be as soon as he had solved the enigma. He couldn’t tell the solution and de-tangle the last part of Moriarty’s web yet. Not without having found the solution to all the other problems.

Mycroft visited him regularly. The first time right after the diagnosis had been sent to him and Sherlock. And Mycroft had told John about the results too.

Sherlock had been rather upset as Mycroft visited the day where he had got the diagnosis. Not because of the diagnosis, but because of something John had texted that had made Sherlock realise something. And of course the very enlightening talks Sherlock had had with the very competent female psychiatrist as a part of his ‘evaluation’.

John had texted as he couldn’t call....safety precautions.....and had asked how Sherlock was feeling about the diagnosis and then John had asked what Sherlock’s parents had said to it all. Had they felt guilty as John had? He knew it was irrational, but never the less he had felt guilty about reading Sherlock so wrongly...and John had apologised.

And then it had hit Sherlock: He hadn’t heard directly from his parents since Christmas. They had answered the evaluation-questions, but under protest. Mycroft had told that Mummy had found them ‘ridiculous'. And yes...Mycroft had told their parents that they couldn’t call. But they hadn’t even tried! They could have sent a letter....a message. Sherlock had only heard from them through Mycroft. He knew that he had ‘upset’ Mummy by drugging her and father at Christmas and that she had told Mycroft what she meant about Sherlock’s behaviour. But had it never occurred to her why Sherlock had acted as he did? It was as if his mother had believed Sherlock had done that drugging on a whim and not after weighing the options.

And she had refused to come to his ‘funeral’ more than 5 years ago. It had been too embarrassing that he had ‘committed suicide’ and had been proven to be a fraud. And she had believed it.

Mycroft had told Sherlock that their parents had believed Sherlock to be dead...until Mycroft had told them otherwise about 3 months before Sherlock returned to London. But even after he had returned...had they shown up to make sure that he was OK after having been away for two years?

Sherlock knew that Mycroft hadn’t told them in which state Sherlock was in when he was ‘extracted’ from Serbia, but which mother would abstain from checking in person if her son was OK after having been travelling through the world and detangling a criminal mastermind’s web for two years? Had she believed that he had played ‘hide and seek’ like a child for those two years?!

Thinking back, Sherlock wasn’t that surprised. His parents,most of all his mother, had always been extremely self-centred. It was never about Sherlock’s or Mycroft’s feelings, or their brother’s. It had always been about her being ‘disappointed’ because of especially Sherlock’s behaviour. And as children they had been told over and over again that she had given up her career ‘because of the children’. Implying that they had to be grateful for that.

And then all the things that had happened regarding Sherrinford. It was as if their parents, mostly Mummy, had blamed them even if Mycroft had only been 24 and just had got his job at the government and Sherlock had been only 17. And they had never talked about it since. Not since Sherrinford disappeared.

Everything was always about Mummy’s feelings, her needs. Even if she was clever enough to manipulate everybody around her not to notice. And maybe she didn’t even know herself...being used to being the cleverest in the room and believing that ‘cleverest’ would always mean ‘being right all the time’.
_______________________

When Mycroft had arrived at Baker Street, bringing ‘greetings from our parents’, Sherlock had confronted him with their parent’s lack of concern and their 'coldness’.

“If you had had a child, Mycroft. Wouldn’t you have shown up at the funeral despite you having plans regarding line-dance in America or bridge in Australia?” had Sherlock asked.

“I was there...at your funeral.”

“Yeah...but you knew that I wasn’t dead. And the only others were John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. Doesn’t it say something about our parent? That they weren’t there?”

And Sherlock brought forward all the other examples, that the psychiatrist had made Sherlock think about, regarding his relationship to his mother...and his more absent father: “You do realise, Mycroft, that we, as grown-ups, do not need our mother’s permission to smoke? It is not her damn business! Nor are you responsible for what I’m doing! She can’t blame you for my actions! Nor could she blame you for what happened to Sherrinford!”

Mycroft visibly cringed when Sherlock mentioned their brother’s name. It had been such a taboo for so many years. Sherrinford had disappeared right after the accusations and no one had found out yet, what had happened to him.

“Oh for God’s sake, Mycroft...don’t cringe! Neither you nor I were in any way to blame for what happened to Sherrinford before he disappeared. He was 26. A grown man. He should have been fully capable of telling right from wrong.....and that our mother in any way could blame you for not being able to help him...Oh my God. What did she imagine that you could have done? She blamed me for my harsh words...and my deductions that gave Sherrinford away to his superiors. How should I have known? That I was partly to blame, in Mummy’s eyes, well that was actually no surprise to me.”

Mycroft had looked at him with his eyebrow lifted, “As far as I recall it, you were her favourite child. You were always the one brought forward to be shown to their guests. Playing the violin and showing how brilliant you were.”

Sherlock shook his head, “But it was not ‘me’ that she wanted to brag about. She never saw ‘me’...the real Sherlock. I was never allowed to be ‘me’. Yes she ‘loved’ me...maybe the most....but it was not me. It was the glossy picture she had made of me. Not the difficult and peculiar ‘Sherlock’...but the bright child ‘William’. Her little ‘Billy’. And I was always told to be more like you...or Sherrinford.

“Think back, Mycroft”, continued Sherlock, “ I was only rewarded with affection and attention, when I behaved properly according to Mummy’s standards. When I acted...when I disguised the real Sherlock and behaved like the puppet ‘Billy’. And your skilled psychiatrist made me realise one more thing. She asked how we were treated when we were ill as children and how I was ‘punished’ when I was acting a bit strange: didn’t want to eat or lashed out, when things became too much. You know what I answered to that, don’t you Mycroft? You do recall?”

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes with his right hand: “Of course I do. It always seemed to upset her, when we were ill. But we were never shown affection. It was always about her feelings. And you were punished by isolation and silence, until ‘you learned to behave properly’.

“And Mummy meant: “‘Act , Billy! Stop being such a difficult child. Put on your clothes, your shoes. Stop making noises. Stop withdrawing into yourself. Stop deducing our guests. Stop being so incredible peckish about your food and your clothing. Stop being you...be Billy!”

Sherlock sighed and continued, “What do you think it does to a child’s self confidence, Mycroft? And who was the one who would read for me, when I was lying ill in bed. Who brought me water for the 17th time? Who would sit and keep me company and bring a cold cloth, to put on my forehead , when I was running a fever? Who would talk to me, when I had nightmares? It was always you, My...and not our Mummy. And it was not because she didn’t have time. Her friends could have found another bridge-partner and the flower-show and the dance-lessons could have waited. You were a child yourself, My....but it was you who were my ‘mother’. Doing all the things that she should have done!”

__________________

Mycroft had realised that Sherlock was right and they had talked and talked for more than 2 hours. Finally healing some childhood-‘wounds’. And Sherlock was right: he had never been allowed to be ‘Sherlock’.

Finally Mycroft admitted his childhood jealousy towards Sherlock and realised that he had had no reason for being that. Mycroft even admitted the joy he had found in humiliating Sherlock...always pointing out the he, Mycroft, was the cleverer one.

And that was the point in their conversation, where it could have gone wrong. Where they could have slipped back into old patterns from their childhood. This time Sherlock, despite all his flaws and failures, proved himself to be the grown-up. He had just looked at Mycroft and had stopped mid-sentence just before he would have said something utterly acerbic.

He just looked at Mycroft and said, very calmly, “I appreciate everything you have done for me...but I do wish that you would stop patronizing me. Treating me as a child!”

“I might stop doing that, if you stopped behaving like one!”

And right there their petty feud could have continued.

Instead Sherlock said, “I’m not behaving like one. Stepping aside...away from the man I love, knowing all too well that I can never give him what he needs and wants. That is not the act of a child, Mycroft. And at Appledore I pulled that trigger, in order to protect Mary and thereby John. Knowing what the consequences of my miscalculating, my wrongly assumed sure conviction that there were actual vaults under Appledore, would cost me. I knew that it would cost me my life. That is not the act of a child either. Mycroft...you do know the other reason why I shot Magnussen...and why I, frankly speaking, was a bit disappointed that you and your political colleagues didn’t show more gratefulness towards me for doing that?”

But Mycroft just looked at Sherlock, “I genuinely thought you shot Magnussen because of John? That your sentiments clouded your mind?”

Sherlock had looked at Mycroft with a peculiar look on his face and then he had said, “I do not know if you genuinely think that I haven’t discovered it...or if you think that I’m really that stupid. But let us just take it slowly apart: I shot Magnussen because he threatened Mary, because she was John’s pressure point. John is my pressure point...and thank God Magnussen underestimated the significance Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade represent for me. By threatening Mary he would have me by my throat and on my knees."

And he continued, "But do you genuinely believe that he would be content with stopping me like that? I was not his main goal! For God’s sake! He wanted me killed because I was getting too close. And because he was afraid that I might stop him. That I actually might be able to do so. And his pressure-point towards you, namely me, would have worked even if I was dead! You. Mycroft, was his mail goal...and through you...and a lot of other politicians, he would be able to rule England within a few years, maybe even months. He had a firm grip around your bollocks, brother dear and his last actions, if I hadn’t killed him, would have castrated you!”

Mycroft just looked at Sherlock and didn’t say a word for a long time. Sherlock came to think of the way he himself had reacted as John had asked him to be his best man: shock....that would be to ask too much. Voluntarily give John away? Impossible! And then....acceptance. ‘Stop being selfish, Sherlock. He’ll never want you that way. He is not gay, remember!... and he deserves happiness.’ And finally feeling a bit honoured...’I’m his best friend!’

Sherlock just wondered what happened in Mycroft’s head right now.

Finally Mycroft sighed, “I’m afraid that I’ve underestimated you, Sherlock. And you are right. I was already under his thumb. Or as you more bluntly put it: he had a firm grip around my bollocks. But I fail to see anything that could work just as efficiently as a topic of blackmail as your addiction...and it would have been gone if you were dead. So which pressure-point would he have had, that could have worked even if he had you killed back then? Don’t tell me he hadn’t calculated everything carefully before he hired Mary.”

Sherlock smiled at Mycroft and then he rose to get a folder...a very thick folder, “It is all in here. The material on the other politicians too. To you I’ll just say two words: “Sherrinford” and “Magpie”. Yes...Magnussen had found out about our brother and his actions and he had found my code-name from when I worked free-lance for MI6 and MI5. That alone could have brought me to jail for years. And you know as well as I know, that I wouldn’t have survived in a prison. Out amongst the other prisoners...how long would you estimate? 2 minutes? And in solitary confinement? Less than a month. My best estimate is that Magnussen had already threatened you and not just Lady Smallwood even before I interfered.. Am I right?”

“Yes you are. He threatened to publish all about your addiction.”

“And how could it have affected you, Mycroft? You are not responsible for my actions. Have never been. Please do not buy Mummy’s guild-trip. My actions and behaviour will never and have never been your responsibility. Only your willingness to care, to buy that responsibility, has made it possible for first Mummy to blackmail you, and later Magnussen.”

“But the problem is, dear brother of mine, that I do care about you, deeply!”

Sherlock went over to his brother and a bit awkwardly gave him a hug that Mycroft a bit reluctantly returned.

“I know...and that is why I shot Magnussen. He was a parasite and should not harm my brother!”

“Oh Sherlock. Your death would harm me.”

Sherlock moved away from Mycroft again and they sat down in the chairs, “Nope. You would be devastated...but be able to manage. I’m not that important. You are...and that is why I beg you: please take better care of yourself!”

“Says the drug-addict!”

“Says the drug-user. But I’m not heading towards a cardiac arrest because of clogged arteries. You know that you have grandpa’s body-type and he died before he turned 50. Please? I’m not important at all, but England would fall without you!”

Mycroft looked down at the folder and then back at Sherlock, “I’ll try. But please tell me...why haven’t you used this material to get off the hook? You could blackmail some of the politicians to give you a pardon. Some of these have more power than me...for the time being.”

“No... I would be just as bad as Moriarty or Magnussen if I used it to blackmail people. Even if I’m not a hero, I would very much like to be able to look in the mirror in the morning without hating the very face, I would encounter in there. I do realise that the contents of this folder could maybe be one of the very reasons, why some of your fellow colleagues would very much have liked to have me sent away to my death. The contents in that folder are not something I have accumulated now. It is from the time when I returned and worked on the potential bombing of the Parliament. Use it wisely, Mycroft. And take care.”

“I will”, said Mycroft and left. In the door he turned around; “I’ll do my very best to begin to treat you as the adult you are. And please accept my deepest apologies for having mistreated you before. And I’ll understand if you do want to minimize your encounters with Mummy and father. I’ll visit you regularly, but be assured that it is not because I’ll pry on you.”

He smiled a bit sadly and continued: “Maybe I should have a talk with that excellent psychiatrist too. I think I might need it. I have been tied to our mother’s apron strings too long. Time to find a pair of scissors!”

Sherlock smiled as Mycroft left. One problem solved. ‘Big brother’ disarmed and the chance for a more normal relationship would be more likely in the future...if there was a future. Right now Sherlock was more focussed on returning to the Victorian London or whatever it was.

Chapter Text

Sherlock injected the drug again lying on his bed in the dark bedroom, the night after Mycroft’s visit. He had made sure that he had eaten and as promised the list was on the night stand. With the formula and the vial containing an antidote...just in case.

During their talk, he hadn’t promised Mycroft that he wouldn’t do that drug again. And Mycroft had not forced him to make a promise. Some of the things John had said, had made Mycroft think. Maybe the drugs were necessary for Sherlock. “But please....safer ones. Not cocaine and heroin in amounts that made Sherlock OD.”, had Mycroft thought, but not said out loud.

_________________________

Sherlock hadn’t experienced anything unpleasant two nights ago as he ‘visited’ the Victorian Holmes again, so he thought that the new drug wasn’t as harmful as long as he stayed away from cocaine and heroin. The first time he had used the new drug, nothing out of the usual had happened though, only that it had been easier to control what happened in his Mind Palace, but apparently the OD of heroin and cocaine combined had...opened... something up and made him travel to someplace/sometime else.

_________________

This time as Sherlock visited Holmes, more than four weeks had passed. Not in Sherlock’s time, but in Holmes’.

He felt it immediately...the ‘travel’ and as he opened his eyes and came aware of ‘his’ body, he was back again. Sherlock Holmes was sitting in his chair in the living room in Baker Street. Enjoying a cup of tea, reading a book and smoking a pipe.

“Well. Here you are again, Sherlock. Welcome back.” , he said and put down his book. And again their whole conversation was invisible for the outside spectator, apart from Holmes sitting quiet for a long time, nearly not moving.

“I’m glad you do not mind, Holmes.”

“Why should I? It is entertaining and something you said the last time, helped me solve a mystery. It was about a false Vermeer-painting. And the painter had painted a ‘star’ that wasn’t there when Vermeer made the painting. It was a ‘nova’...an exploding sun...and you had taught me about that.”

Sherlock laughed a bit, “I’ve had such a case too.” But then he turned serious, “But I had to find out very fast. A madman had strapped a child in explosives and I had only seconds to figure it out!”

“I had more time than that, thank God......That ‘madman’...he was the one that you saw in your Mind Palace and made me see too.....that ‘Moriarty’, wasn’t he? Your version is rather disconcerting compared to mine. I mean...lacking the back of his head some of the time. Licking the pistol. I understand that it is your image of him...in your own mind. But he must have left quite an impact in you, the real one.”

“He did!”

And Sherlock told about the bombings in London, the incident at the swimming-pool. The whole Moriarty case. How he had to jump off a roof to save his friends and how he had travelled around the world to destroy Moriarty’s web. About the insanity in Moriarty’s actions and in his eyes.

Holmes listened carefully and asked questions sometimes, and Sherlock found that talking about the whole wretched business and that with a mind similar to his own, that made him see things in a new light. Before he had only focused on his failures and mistakes. But Holmes made him realise that what he had done had been a huge task, too much for a single man, a work of epic dimensions, a work worthy of a Hercules.

“I’m not a hero.”, had Sherlock replied.

“Maybe not, but you come close!” was Holmes reply, “I’m not sure I could have done it. You have had so much more to fight against than I have had. But I think that your memory-version of what happened at the Reichenbach Fall was a bit exaggerated and it seemed to be more a part of a cheap novel in a magazine of poor quality or of a melodrama on a cheap theatre, compared to what really happened in my life. And I wonder...what made you choose that specific geographical part?”

“Just before everything went down the sewer, I had retrieved a stolen famous painting: “The Richenbach Fall” and somehow my Mind Palace chose that place for my confrontation with my inner daemon, Moriarty.”

“Well..it sure looked like some piece from a theatrical melodrama. But the strange part is that I had my confrontation with my Moriarty at nearly the same spot in the German Alps. Our lives do share a lot of similarities...even if they are a bit twisted.”

And Holmes continued:

“My Moriarty was a mathematician-professor at Durham University and he had become that at the impressive age of only twenty one. But his impressive brain...I do not hesitate that his in some aspects even surpassed mine...was easily bored and he began to build a vast criminal empire. I do not exaggerate if I say that he controlled every important criminal act and important criminal person in all of The United Kingdom.

I crossed his path several times and he decided that I should not continue to live, if I insisted on stopping him. At that stage in his development into megalomania, he thought himself to be a benefactor towards mankind, just removing the ‘unworthy’ and thus making the world a better place. He even wanted to start a war....originated from the political unstable Balkan....so that ‘mankind could rise from the ashes like a Phoenix and become so much better.’ And he was a gifted orator. Could convince people of everything, if they just listened to him a few minutes. They all ‘bought’ his insane ideas.

At that point in Holmes narration Sherlock interrupted him and told about the beginning of the 1^st World War originated in the unstable Balkan area ....and about Hitler’s oratorical gifts and about Hitler’s and other scientist’s ideas about racial purity in the 1930ties Europe. The thought of ‘removal’, that was actually killing, and sterilization of retarded, gypsies, handicapped and homosexuals....and the Jews.

“Well, ‘nothing new under the sun’ I’d say. Maybe such ideas are just floating around in the ‘ether’, just waiting for the right...or the wrong...brains to catch them.”, was Holmes reply. And then he continued:

“I had dared to try to stop Moriarty and his attempt to have me killed by a new invention directed right here at the living room here at Baker Street failed. It was a sort of riffle, but working with air pressure, After that I fled to Europe with two purposes. One..to get away from his killers and two...to somehow destroy his connections in Europe. How I would do that, I didn’t exactly know at that time. I just knew I had to.”

“Who is a hero now?” asked Sherlock.

Holmes just huffed and continued, “I had tried to get to him in Berlin and again in München...Munich...and he had tried to kill me at several occasions. Finally we met at a path close to the Reichenbach Fall. He tried to shoot me but missed and we fought at the rim. I’m rather good at a certain Asian martial art called ‘Bartitsu’...and Watson has by the way written it wrong in ‘The Strand’ and called it ‘Baritsu’. Well, we fought and I used every skill I had to defeat him, but he had the strength of a lunatic and I realised that there only was one possible outcome, if I wanted to defeat him. That was to go over the rim together with him...making sure that he wouldn’t survive.”

“And you said you weren’t a hero?” asked Sherlock.

Holmes smirked, “Hmm. Yes..I better continue. We went over the rim together and my body, who apparently did not totally agree with me about that dying was an acceptable outcome, did grapple for hold on the wet cliffs, as we tumbled down together. At some point Moriarty and I were not holding on to each other any more and I landed hard on my back on a shelf half way down. I lost consciousness and when I came to my senses it was because I could hear Watson’s voice above me. Calling my name desperately. Well not my name exactly, not the way he used to call me. He called “Sherlock”....and that several times.

But the night was near and it soon became dark. Too dark to see anything. I swept in and out of consciousness and when I finally came to my senses, I think more than 8 hours had passed. My guardian angel must have kept an eye on me, because the shelf, I had landed on was so narrow that a single turn in my unconsciousness could have made me fall into the depths of the fall, where Moriarty had found his death. I was wounded, but not lethally and only my right leg was fractured. Actually my face had taken the worst. It was bruised and bloodied and I doubt my own mother could have recognized me. I had hit my head so hard, that I didn’t know my name or what I had been doing there and despite my injuries I managed to climb....not up... as it was impossible, because the shelf was covered by a cliff that totally would obscure the shelf’s existence, when you looked down from above, but I managed to climb down to a path below, where I lost consciousness again. There I was found by two mountain-peasants, a father and his daughter, and brought to their cabin.

There they took care of me for more than 2 months. Not because they expected any reward but just in the kindness of their hearts. I still couldn’t remember my name but as soon as my leg had partly healed I began to help the father and the daughter in the house. But my memories still did not return. We had actually quite a lot of fun trying to find out which nationality I was. The only papers I had on me turned out to be Moriarty’s notebook, but as it was written in code, it gave nothing away. The peasant and his daughter spoke more than one language. They spoke French and I did that perfectly well too. German...that was not a problem either. Italian...I was quite familiar with that too, so it wasn’t any help to establish my nationality. Then one day the father came home after having been to the market. And he brought home an English newspaper, more than a month old. He thought that maybe we could find out if I understood English that way.

It was like being hit by a lightning stroke because on the front page it said: “The famous detective Sherlock Holmes found his death in the Reichenbach Fall together with Professor Moriarty.”

And further down in the text it said: “There is no longer any hope finding the detective’s body, after the very destroyed but yet recognizable body of Professor Moriarty was found. The detective’s colleague, Dr Watson, has now left for England.”

I got up on my feet and yelled and they must have thought that I had gone mad. Finally everything fell into place in my head and I decided that this was an opportunity that I couldn’t miss. Moriarty’s men would think that I was dead too and that would give me an excellent opportunity to unravel Moriarty’s organisation. I stayed in the cabin until my leg had fully healed, grew a beard, let my hair grow longer and used the time to decipher Moriarty’s code-book. And I got so disappointed. Here I had thought that he was a genius and then his encryption was so simple. It only required a piece of paper and about one day of thinking before I had solved it. But then again, I’m rather good at solving codes. I remember a case. I recall that Watson called it ‘The dancing men’. I’m sure you are good at it too.”

“I am”, said Sherlock, “Or we have computer programmes that can do it for us. The most difficult part is to invent the computer or the programme to solve it. During WW2 the Germans used an almost unbreakable code. But a mathematician genius, Alan Turing, solved it, by actually building a computer. He made the allies: Great Britain, France and USA, beat the Germans because of that, I think.

“Well I suppose he was neatly rewarded for that after the war?”

“Oh yes, he was! So rewarded that he died from it!!”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“He couldn’t tell about the code since England’s enemies still used it. His job was classified...and about 7 years later he was accused for ‘gross indecency’ , you know of ‘being homosexual’, and had to choose between going to prison, and then be unable to work at his computer, or be chemically castrated. He chose the latter, but his body and mind was destroyed by the injections of female hormones. He committed suicide only a year later. One of his female colleagues had offered to marry him, even if he was homosexual and she knew about it. She would have allowed him to have sexual partners if he only would promise to be discreet about it. But he cared too much about her to do that to her, he had said. Well I suppose you are afraid of that accusation too.”

And Holmes totally forgot his upbringing and said, “What?!”

Sherlock smiled inside Holmes head, “Now you are being utterly stupid, Holmes. I’m inside you...and I was inside you as you had that conversation with Watson at the ‘Carmichael Mansion’...and I can ‘see’ some of your memories. We are ‘melting’ together somehow. I’ll bet you have some of my memories too by now. I know it is a difficult time to be...what is your word for it...’queer’? But I know that in my time-line, in the Victorian time and until it was allowed, both the men and women, who were homo-sexual, managed to hide it and despite everything did have a fulfilling life. It was just a question of being discrete.”

“Oh my God”, said Holmes and did hide his head in his hands. After a while he lifted his head again, “That is why I have chosen not to react on my....’carnal desires’.....and only when it becomes unbearable I visit a certain and very discrete private club here in London.”

“I know....I have some of your memories, remember? It is not easy for you either, being both queer and a masochist. I just wonder how it is...how pain can be something you actively seek. I’m not a whimper...not when I’m injured or if I want to find out about acids or bases and how human skin react and I can see that you use your own hands and arms too. But to find pleasure in pain? I do not understand.”

“Yes..you are right. Our personalities and memories begin to melt together. I do have ‘memories’ about that dungeon in Serbia. So of course I understand that especially that path of masochism would not be something for you.....and yet. It is a question of trust....and a way to still my/our over-active brain. More seeking that silence than seeking fulfilment of ‘carnal desires’...even if I would not say no to a good orgasm. I suppose, I can speak frankly to you, Sherlock.”

“No problem. I’m used to much more blunt and direct words. But my memories and yours are not the same. Maybe I should tell you more about my entangling of my Moriarty’s network and you can tell me more about your work. It is always a pleasure to talk to a kindred spirit.”

“What an excellent idea. How long do you plan to stay this time?”

“I do not know. But right know there are no signs of me leaving right away.”

_______________________________

And Sherlock told even more about what he had done and endured during his travel around the world and Holmes told his version too. Again they found similarities, but even more differences. Sherlock had had to kill quite a lot of people, had been more wounded and the organisation he had fought against had been vaster and more complicated.....and he had been tortured. And he had not managed to get home on his own.

“I would have died there, if it hadn’t been for Mycroft. But right there and then, in the hospital in Germany and being back in London again two weeks later, I had been angry and had accused him of enjoying seeing me been beaten. At that time I couldn’t stand having to be grateful of him saving my ar....saving me again. And then it is easier to lash out...”

Holmes had been wounded too, but nothing compared to Sherlock’s injuries. Again Holmes spoke out his admiration for what Sherlock had endured and Sherlock began to see that he, despite his failures, actually had worked out a miracle.

They compared their return:

Sherlock had laughed as he heard about Holmes’ return:

“I had disguised me as a book-monger...those old people who earn a few shillings by selling books to people. But Watson saw right through me, yanked at my unfortunately real beard, punched me.... and gave me a hug. And then I was forgiven. At first I was a bit reluctant asking him to help me solve crimes again, but we quickly picked up our old lifestyle. He had left the flat at Baker Street, but Mrs. Hudson had kept the flat as it was, reluctant to hire it out for new tenants. And my brother, who had refused to believe I was dead in the first place and whom I had telegraphed, as soon as I found out who I was, had paid the rent 3 years ahead. And John Watson returned to live with me, until he recently moved out to marry Mary, whom he had met as I was away. And yes, Sherlock, I do have very inappropriate thoughts about my former flatmate. But he is not queer and he is a married man. And I’ll have to be satisfied and honoured by having him as a friend. I was at their wedding...even if it was a bit difficult. And I even wrote a waltz for them and played it that evening. Mary Watson is a very clever woman, as you saw, and a very competent one too. As she doesn’t mind that I borrow her John Watson sometimes.”

Holmes paused and then he said, “And that will have to do...Now how about your return?”

“It was a disaster. I hadn’t realised that my John Watson would be so devastated by seeing me jump and not having been able to help me. Neither as a doctor, nor as a soldier. That I hadn’t trusted him...hadn’t told him, that I needed help. But I couldn’t. If I had said anything, he would have been killed! I had been so stupid by being intrigued by Moriarty’s riddles. His ‘brain-game’. He had invited me ‘to dance with him’...and I had stupidly accepted. And that had killed a lot of people in London....and nearly my closest friends too. So incredibly stupid and vain of me. I hadn’t planned on John being there to watch and I had sent him away. But suddenly he was there.....and I had no choice left. I had to jump to make the snipers on John, Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson believe that I would follow their leader into death. Mycroft and I had seen it as a......I don’t know.....10^th possibility maybe, but as Moriarty shot himself...”

“That is what your mind recreated, wasn’t it? But this time in my living-room and not at the roof of Bart’s, right?”

“Exactly, and I saw it with my own eyes. And he could not have faked it like ‘the abominable bride’. There was no time for that and I was too close. I saw the blood and the brain-matter. He really did shoot himself.....and must have thought, by the words I used, that I would follow him. I might have....earlier. In 2010. I was so close to eating a potential poisonous pill, offered to me as a game, by a cabbie, who had connections to Moriarty and had killed 3 other people. That too had been one of Moriarty’s games. I genuinely believe that Moriarty was insane and couldn’t find new ways to entertain his big brain. He said and meant that everything was ‘ordinary’ and ‘boring’ and had I not met John I might have said and meant the same.”

Sherlock paused and continued, “I jumped into a net and in order to save John. He had to believe that he had seen my dead body. I had not anticipated him to see me up so close, drugged so my heart had stopped. I was clinically dead for exactly 1 minute before a very potent antidote and adrenaline directly in my heart forced me back to life again. It was very risky but the only way I could be dead enough to save my friends without actually dying.”

Sherlock paused again and then he said silently, “I was so stupid that I believed that I could return...and nothing would have changed. I only fought so hard to come back, because I thought that I could pick up my old life. How incredible stupid of me. And first as I returned, I realised how close I had been to kill John. Had he not met Mary, he might have shot himself. Loosing that life-style with adventures and adrenaline, danger and puzzles almost made him put the clock back to the time where he returned to London feeling useless and lost, after he had been wounded. That is why I allowed him to beat me up, almost strangling me, giving me a split lip and a ‘Glasgow Kiss’ that almost broke my nose, because as I saw him fuming with repressed grief and anger, I suddenly understood what I had put him through and realised that I deserved anything he would have done to me. I would even have understood if he never would have seen me again. And yet I was selfish and wanted him in my life again....and in that wagon under the Parliament building, about 20 seconds from the bomb blowing the whole damned building and the government and the Queen as well, to the Moon, I forced him to forgive me. Not a very appropriate behaviour....but I had missed him so much. Even if he would never reciprocate my feelings, I would cherish every little scrap of his presence that I could lay my hands on. And it worked. We started working together again. And it was nice...but not what I had hoped for. Had dreamt about.”

Holmes could feel that Sherlock was a bit lost in his own thoughts, so he waited a few minutes before he spoke, “Do not misunderstand me, Sherlock, but I do not think our ‘John Watsons’ are totally alike. Even if they do not reciprocate our feelings, but...”

Sherlock interrupted Holmes, “You are wrong there, Holmes. Your John does share the same feelings for you, as you do for him. It wasn’t in my Mind Palace that you two had that conversation in the green house at Carmichael’s mansion. It was your Watson being curious and even flirting with you. And in the beginning of the case...as Lestrade came by? Maybe you didn’t notice, but I did as you said to John, “Then correct me, doctor!” You know just as well as I, that that word ‘correct’ could mean ‘be corrected by more than words’ as in the way schoolboys are ‘corrected’. And he licked his lips. I’m sure he would like to ‘correct’ you...just as much as you would like to be ‘corrected’. But leave that for a moment. I wasn’t really present before we/you/I saw Lord Carmichael’s dead body. That didn’t happen in my Mind Palace, just some of the events after. You didn’t see a note on the corpse, did you?”

Holmes frowned, “Oh...I’ll think about your observations on my Watson later. And..there was a note. It said ‘You’. When I read it, you disappeared from my mind. And Watson and I left the Mansion by horse-wagon and then train shortly after. I couldn’t feel you there, not until you dragged me into your Mind Palace and the Diogenes Club and fat Mycroft teased you and showed you another note. Not the one from the corpse. I think the ‘false’ note said: ‘miss me?’ and then your fat Mycroft said something strange and only the first two phrases did give any meaning. He said: ‘the crack in the lens’ and ‘the fly in the ointment’...I do understand them, but the last phrase: ‘the virus in the data’...it doesn’t make any sense. Did it to you?”

“Yeah...it has something to do with computers...and a ‘virus’ is like bacteria They make you ill...like the common cold or small pox...or even ‘rubella’. They are all diseases that come from ‘virus’.”

“Oh..I see. Well then Moriarty visited you, and shot himself.....”

“And I woke in my own time,” said Sherlock.

“Yes...but not for long. You returned after I had...well...entertained myself with my unfortunately bad habit, that my Watson loathes, but that I need...if I do not go to the club. You know...the ‘7 percent solution of cocaine’. And you were there again. Made me use words that Watson didn’t understand. And he was so angry. I remember he said something about ‘rather forcibly to show me who was the soldier and who was the drug addict’. Oh God...the way he said it...it sent shivers down my back and I had to make an effort not to show what effect it had on me. He kept on yelling at me.....and I was rude and impertinent and had quite an erection. If he had continued a bit longer, I might have knelt in front of him and asked him to show me...preferably with a riding crop! I wonder how he would have reacted? But I was saved by the telegram from Mary. And you were still there.

“I was...but not much. Not until the bride lifted the veil. And then I left you. I was in my Mind palace again. For me it was Moriarty dressed as a bride, but not for you, was it?”

“No...it was lady Carmichael. I promised not to tell about the secret loge and Mary Watson, John Watson and I left and went to my Mycroft, who indeed is thinner than your version, even if he is not as slim as I....and we told him the result of our investigation. The ‘brides’ were told to stop the killings. They could frighten and scare, but not kill if they would avoid further prosecution However...the men, who were killed, would have been condemned after the English law if their crimes had been published, and therefore Mycroft decided to do no more. What happened to you after your left me?

“I sort of woke up in my own time, except that I didn’t. I was still too deep in my own mind. I was at a hospital and then I was at a graveyard. It was so surreal. John left me...abandoned me as I needed him the most. And then....can you imagine that the coffin was intact? ....and the corpse inside only half rotten? Lestrade and Mycroft helped me but it made no sense. I think I was close to dying in real life there. Nothing made sense any more. And I should have noticed. No one can dig a whole day, without getting some dirt on their clothes. But both my brother’s and Lestrade’s clothes were total pristine, even if they had been digging the whole day.”

“And then you dragged me with you to the Falls, made of paint and ‘paper mache’...and now it turned out a bit strange. Because it was in your Mind Palace, but it was my Watson, who kicked Moriarty over the false rim before you jumped and disappeared for a long time. Why my Watson?”

“Because of what I’ve seen through your eyes, I like your Watson better. He does share your sexual observance....at least partly...”

“You think my Watson is ‘queer’...but he is a married man?”

“He looks at you with fondness and he licks his lips when he sees you...and if that conversation in the greenhouse wasn’t flirting...well, then I’m Queen Elisabeth the 2nd!”

“And you do not think that your Watson does share the same ...disposition...as mine do?”

Now Sherlock spoke with conviction, “He likes me....tolerates me as a friend. That is all. And all I can hope for and deserve. But to be honest, I’ll rather stay and be you, here in your time. You fit so much better in. It is as if my universe decided to give birth to me about 120 years too late. I do not fit in....and as I said. I like your Watson more. He is firm, but kinder and he has never given you more than a punch. He is nicer when he describes you in the Strand....and even if he is furious with you, he is still kinder and has never tried to strangle you. My John often yells at me and has tried to punch me or strangle me at several occasions. But to be totally honest, he has saved my life a lot of times too. It is just.....it is as if I do not know him any more. He took care of me after Mary shot me and I had to go back to the hospital after I had taken care of that they could talk together again....and he forgave her this Christmas....and he stayed with her after I shot Magnussen. Right now I don’t know where I have him...If he still wants to be my friend.”

Sherlock took a deep breath....but only mentally. He didn’t control Holmes body.

“He has acted so strangely around me. Before Christmas....and as we saw each other on the plane and in the safe-house. Maybe he is just mad as hell because I didn’t tell him that I was going away to die....or maybe he is just finished with me. I had hoped so....that I had pushed him away so much, that he would survive my real death this time. But it still hurts that he apparently wanted to be pushed away.”

Holmes didn’t know what to say to that, so he just said, “You are always welcome..”

He didn’t get an answer, so maybe Sherlock had left before he could hear Holmes’ words.

Chapter Text

The next night Sherlock injected the drug again and this time he had filled the insulin pump up, making sure that he could ‘stay’ the whole night...and that would be several days in Holmes’ time. He wondered if Holmes had followed his advice and had talked to his John Watson...maybe even made a suggestion about being ‘corrected’.
___________________
Again Holmes felt the jolt of Sherlock arriving. This time he was in his bed and it was early in the morning.

“Oh...welcome back, Sherlock.” said Holmes.

“It is good to be back.”, said Sherlock and continued, “Well. How much time has passed this time?”

“About two months.” And then Sherlock could feel it. They were sort of melting together and memories from Holmes began to ‘seep’ into his own mind. Feelings too.

“You did it. You admitted your urges and ‘carnal desires’ to your John! And he shared the same feelings. I knew it!”

Holmes smirked, “Well in some areas his ‘carnal desires’ turned out to be the opposite of mine.”

And then Sherlock ‘remembered’ and ‘saw’ and immediately understood the meaning of Holmes words.

“Well, you couldn’t fit together more neatly, even if you tried.”, Sherlock smirked back.

And he felt some other memories too, “You told him about me?!”

Holmes nodded...even if Sherlock would not be able to see it, “I had to. He had noticed that my behaviour was, to put it mildly, a bit odd at times. And he accused me of having increased the percentage of ‘my solution’. And I happened to say something, which I possibly couldn’t have known. So at first I tried to avoid mentioning anything, but he caught me off guard sometimes and I’m afraid that I’ve taught him too well in the art of observing and deducing and then he asked me directly if I was hearing voices and then I had to tell him about you, before I was accused of being a mental case as well. He first thought that I had gone insane because of too much ‘solution’, but as I spoke about you and showed more knowledge that your words and memories had provided me with, he finally accepted the idea about ‘parallel universes/worlds and you.”

And now the memories of what had happened came with full force:

Holmes had been thinking about Sherlock’s words immediately after Sherlock left the last time, about two months ago, and had begun to notice and observe John Watson, when he was around him, either they were just sitting talking in Sherlock’s living room or they were on a case. They were together on cases more frequently than before. And Mary Watson wouldn’t mind as she was busy with her own affairs and John Watson accepted that, encouraged it even. The case of ‘The Abominable bride’ had showed him exactly how skilled and capable his wife was, both at working for the government, that was Mycroft Holmes...the real Mycroft, not the extremely obese Mycroft from the other Sherlock’s Mind Palace, and ‘working behind the curtains’ regarding woman’s rights.
_____________________________
Watson’s POV:
Immediately after the case with the revenging ‘brides’, John and Mary had been lying in their conjugal bed and had been talking in the dim light before they would go to sleep.

“So..” had John said, “Am I in any immediate danger of being scared to death by any of the revenging brides?”

“No..” had Mary smiled, “You have improved impressively.”

“Hmm...glad to hear that, dear. But I’m afraid that years of bad habits and years of upbringing, telling me that women are inferior intellectual and are so emotional that they shouldn’t be allowed to make any serious decisions....well, I am going to make mistakes and take things for granted, you know.”

“I know...but I love you John, despite your male-chauvinism...and you are improving.”, Mary smiled again.

“Well, it’s good to hear that, thank you very much. I have no eminent wish of being scared to death or killed by women, who would say that I had it coming. After all, I do try to save lives, and that should count for something.”

“It does, John” said Mary and kissed him, “And you have never behaved in any way that would have called for revenge from the ‘brides’. Neither you...nor Sherlock Holmes for that matter. Despite being two men, you two, you are rather decent. And I do appreciate that you allow me to do what I do.”

“Thank you very much!! Well...you do accept that I solve crimes together with Holmes and that I often spend afternoons of evenings together with him working on the cases too. Many a wife would not accept that easily.”

“Well...you do accept that I’m away an awful lot of time too. It’ll of course have to change when we get children. Then we will both have to spend more time at home. That is if you want to be more than just an ‘absent father’ only seeing the children when they sleep or at their birthdays.”

John turned towards her: “No...I do not want to be a father like that, one who barely remembers his children’s names of year of birth. Just like my own father. I would like to read them stories and teach them about science.....but I can’t promise to bathe them or change their nappies. There are limits!”

“Of course there are, dear.”

And they kissed and went to sleep. And neither of them had spoken the whole truth.
__________________________

Holmes had decided to test Sherlock’s theory about John Watson’s desires, but the opportunity didn’t show up before a month later. That is about a month before Sherlock ‘returned’. Holmes and Watson were in Holmes’ living room discussing one of their old cases and then John Watson said something again that gave Holmes the chance of testing his theory.

“Now Holmes. This is an area where I know the best...and you should know that. You are wrong, Holmes!”, had Watson said.

“Then please...please correct me.”, said Holmes as he smirked and the word ‘correct’ was heavily loaded with more than one meaning....just as it had been as Lestrade had popped by and the case of ‘The Abominable Bride’ had begun.

Watson looked at Holmes for several seconds and then he cleared his throat and asked carefully, “When you use the word ‘correct’ in that way. Does that imply ‘correct’ as in the way...schoolboys...are ‘corrected’?”

“Indeed.”

Watson’s pupils were dilated. Much more than they should have been in the living room at that time of the day. There was enough sunlight to lighten up the room. And his breath could be heard.

John Watson cleared his throat again, “As in ‘correction’ that would imply...’implements’?”

Holmes smiled, oh yes, Sherlock had been right. John Watson was visible aroused by now, even if his will of steel nearly made it impossible to see. Oh...to have to obey that will....to be forced by that sternness....heaven! And now Holmes really appreciated that he was wearing that ‘contraption’ that would prevent erections. It did hurt a bit, and that made his breath hitch a bit too.

“Very much indeed.”, answered Holmes and then he decide to jump at it and continued, “I have sometimes attended a certain and very discreet club for gentlemen here in London....where such ‘implements’ are to be used. I prefer to be at the receiving end.”

He paused....waiting for Watson to continue.

“Hrmm..are we talking...canes?”

“Yes...and restraints and obedience and riding crops. All of it. But only welts and no blood. Discipline and obedience...most certainly!”

And Holmes decided to make a mental leap out into the deep waters, “And if you must know the depths of my depravations: I have the ‘vice of the Greeks’....I prefer to submit to men. My carnal desires are not towards women. So now you know enough to have me put into jail: I’m queer and a masochist!”

Now it was said and out in the open...and Holmes wouldn’t have dared to confess his darkest desires towards the very man he would like to fulfil them with, if it had not been for Sherlock’s remarks, deductions and encouragements. Now he just held his breath...hoping that Sherlock had been right about Watson’s feelings.

“I see” was Watson’s answer and then there was a pause where Holmes held his breath. Watson paused far too long...had Sherlock been wrong after all?

Holmes began to panic a bit before Watson finally spoke, “I’m sorry”, said Watson, “I realise that my...hesitation...could be misunderstood. I have of course no intention of having you put into jail or being accused of anything in front of a judge. I’m an army doctor. I’ve been abroad and I’ve seen a lot. There were places..... in Afghanistan. To be frank, it was ’brothels’ and at one occasion, when we had not been able to move away from the city for a long time, as we were waiting for another army unit to arrive, one of our attendants, an Afghan himself, came and asked for my help. In that brothel there were young women and young men too, who served other....men...sexually....in a lot of ways. So your inclinations don’t shock me, Homes. In fact....” and here Watson rose in his full height of 5 ft. 6 inches and looked down on Holmes as he continued, “...in fact...if it is what you truly want, then you would be kneeling in your bedroom, naked, except from your blue dressing gown, and hands behind your head within the next 15 minutes!”

Holmes stumbled to his feet and moaned an “Oh God...yes sir!” before he disappeared up the stairs to his bedroom.
______________________

Holmes had hurried to undress and washed himself thoroughly and now he was kneeling on a rug on the floor. He had removed the ‘contraption’ that Sherlock had informed him was called a ‘cock-ring’ in his time-line and Holmes erection stood proud and already leaking pre-come. It was a bit strange though to be nearly naked, just dressed in his dressing gown. In the club the anonymity of the ‘receivers’, called ‘servants’, was secured by them wearing tulle-hoods and leather gloves, obscuring the only parts, that would be recognizable when people were dressed and not naked. Now Holmes felt a bit exposed not wearing those garments.

In that club the ‘receiving’ clients would sign contracts, where they would describe what they would want and need and the things would be given a number. They would then only need to say the number and the other part would know what they would need. That would minimize the risk of being recognized by their voices. The ‘masters’ would be wearing masks and gloves as well and furthermore clothes specially designed for the club. Nothing could give either the ‘servant’ or the ‘master’ away. Everything was as anonymous as possible. Even peoples scent would be altered by everyone wearing scented oils especially made for the club. Each client would have their own scented oil.

Holmes was sure that he would have been able to deduce the identity of both fellow ‘servants’ and ‘masters’ if he had been able to be in his senses. But as soon as he undressed in the club and did put the gloves and the hood on, he lost his ability to think...to deduce. He would enter a state of mind, just as he was close to now here in his own bedroom, where he was free of every obligation. His job was just to obey...nothing more. It was that state of mind he was seeking and it would be even ‘deeper’ and last longer if he submitted and experienced pain. Holmes later learned from Sherlock that it would be called ‘sub-space’ in the 20th century.
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Watson’s POV:
Watson was standing in the living-room, thinking. He knew that his friendship with Holmes soon would be altered. Maybe even destroyed. But he would not be able to resist....and thankfully Mary did accept and understood that he had urges that he didn’t want to bring to their conjugal bed. He had told Mary about it, before they got married and she had praised his honesty.

Despite their mutual fondness for each other, he and Mary had drifted even more away from each other and she had confessed that she had kept secrets away from him. Right now she was on her way back from Kent, where she had been for more than a month. Actually she had left shortly after the case with the ‘Abominable Bride’ and had mentioned that John now had time to solve cases together with Holmes and without having to fear that he would neglect his wife.

He had told about the club, of which he was a member but what he didn’t tell her was that he preferred to outlive his sadistic tendencies with men. It seldom resulted in sex, even if it could result in ejaculations for both parts, but nearly always without direct contact between the two of them.

It had begun in medical-school. At Bartholomew’s, where parts of his medical education as an army-doctor had taken place and where he had met Mike Stamford. Stamford had asked him to be of assistance in certain ‘special clubs for gentlemen’ in London and at first Watson had been shocked and soon a bit more than interested...fascinated even. He found out that he liked to see submission and people getting caned or flogged or cropped with a riding crop. But only relatively mildly, just welts and no blood. Just submission and restraints and not too much humiliation. No bodily fluids except from semen and sweat.

There had been attempts to introduce more severe ‘variations’ to the club, and Watson knew it was practiced in other clubs in London, but the clients in this special club kept their limits. Not that there wouldn’t be actually sex between two men, and Watson, as a Doctor, knew the mechanics in homosexual encounters. He had been fascinated the first times, he had witnessed it, but he knew the dangers of it too, being a doctor and having to treat some of the injuries, if people hadn’t prepared themselves good enough.
First after Watson had returned from Afghanistan, had he tried to be more than a doctor in that club. He had repressed his darkest desires for such a long time, but being so close to death in Afghanistan made him realise that life was short and things maybe should not be postponed for too long.

In his darkest outlived fantasies he found it immensely gratifying to have men submitting to him and he enjoyed inflicting pain on others. Mostly because they seemed to enjoy themselves. He wasn’t sure if he would enjoy it at all, if the ‘recipient’ wouldn’t enjoy it too. But he liked a challenge...a strong man who would struggle against the restraints, before he would accept to submit, before he would accept his ‘punishment’. The moment where Watson forced someone to totally submit to his will and that man would do everything, he was ordered to...that moment could almost make Watson come on the spot. The stronger the man, the bigger the challenge and the more gratifying would the ‘submission’ be.

In his club in London there had been one special ‘servant’, who he would ask for every time. That ‘servant’ was relatively young and he had a body of a Greek god. He wouldn’t be there every time though and Watson had only had the pleasure of meeting him 11 times. Now Watson just wondered if Holmes at all could be compared to that man from his darkest wishes and fantasies come true. If Watson ever found out, who that man was, and he was free, he would leave Mary on the spot. And even if he really liked and admired Holmes as a friend...in a very platonic way... only the man from the club would ever be able to fulfil his darkest sexual needs and desires. And now Watson somehow felt that he was going to be unfaithful to that man from the club, even if he had to admit that the thought about Holmes as a sexual creature, would not be un-interesting at all.

Who would have thought that after their manly talk in the greenhouse at Carmichael’s?

Chapter Text

Holmes shivered as he heard Watson coming up the stairs. Even on his way down into ‘subspace’ he could still hear the steps. There were something familiar about them, but then again...it was Watson so maybe it was just because of that. And he couldn’t bother to deduce anything about them either.

Watson opened the door to Holmes’ bedroom and there was Holmes, kneeling as ordered and dressed only in his blue dressing gown. Obediently holding his hands behind his head. There was something familiar about his posture and the shape of his body. And then Watson went over besides Holmes, so he could see Holmes’ naked body. The man didn’t sport a single hair in his groin area except from a groomed dark tuft just above his cock. A delicious dark contrast to his white skin.....and below this, his proud erection and totally hairless testicles.

Watson shook his head...of course...he should have known. And then he touched Holmes gently on his shoulders and guided his pliant arms down. Holmes was on his way ‘down’ to that certain place in the mind, where submissives would go and now needed to be told what to do. And right now Watson would like to have Holmes back to his senses, as they needed to talk. Watson guided the silent and pliant man to lie in the bed; he undressed himself except from his undergarments...a pair of short silken drawers and a white cotton vest, and tucked the duvet over them both, waiting for Holmes to ‘come back’.

_______________________
Holmes came to his senses lying in his bed and looking at Watson’s face.

“Watson?”

“Sherlock!”

“Since when do you call me ‘Sherlock’?”

“Since I found out that you are the man of my dreams, Sherlock...or should I say ‘Servant 15’?”

“Oh....” and then Holmes looked closer at Watson, touched his face and let his hands touch Watson’s body under the west and finally he whispered, “You are ‘Master 25’.”

“I should have known”, said Watson, “I should have known that the man with the most beautiful mind in all the world would be the man with the most beautiful body in the world too!”

“Nonsense.....I’m not beautiful...not like you...John.”

“But you are. You are just like that marble statue from the art books: Michelangelo’s David. Or the Greek statues like ‘Hermes of Praxiteles’, ‘Diadoumenos’ or ‘The sleeping Faun’...All white marble and perfection.”

The two men sat up in the bed, side by side partly covered by the duvet. The room was nice and warm now, warmed by the fire that Holmes had lit, as he entered the room before the undressed. And their arousal had diminished a bit. It was more a time for a talk than a time for sex. Sex could wait a bit longer.

Holmes smirked, “Diadoumenos has lost his ‘penis’ and you do realise that Greek statues have very small penises, because the male ideal Greek body was that of a young boy?”

Watson smiled back, “Yeah...but if you squinted you could always imagine that they were well endowed...like you.”

“And the white marble....it was a misunderstanding. They were all painted in natural colours. The Greek wanted them to look like living people...”

“Shut up!”

Holmes did shut up but he looked fondly at his Watson...his John, “You do realise that I think that you are one of the handsomest men in England, John.”

“What?”

“But you are. Not tall..but with perfect proportions. Masculine....a firm chin. A thick moustache. Firm well-developed muscles. All manly beauty. Like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.”

“Well....thank you! Four arms and four legs!”

Now Holmes laughed with his rich baritone voice, “We are not very good at poetry, are we?”

Watson smiled back, “No...I think we are rather bad at it. You have no penis and I have four legs and arms. As if we were not ‘queer’ enough already!”

Holmes turned serious, “Is it wrong...to be like us? A sadist and a masochist and homo-sexual too?”

Watson shook his head and touched Holmes’ hand, “No...society wants us to believe that we are. Just like it wants us to believe that masturbation turn boys into babbling outcasts and invent horrendous torture implements to prevent ‘nightly emissions’ and masturbation. And even claim women to have no sexual desires too.”

Watson’s eyes were flaming with anger as he continued, “If I ever could lay my hands on the two idiots who wrote those books against ‘self-pollution’...that Graham and that Auguste Tissot....and all those ignorants that invented all those ‘implements’ to prevent ‘nightly emissions’ and masturbation. Oh God....they are pure torture. Sometimes even so bad that the poor young men’s penises or even testicles have to be amputated. And the aristocracy are the worst....with their ‘lectures for governesses and tutors’. Lectures for how to torture young men: Hitting their private parts with wooden rulers. Making them kneel for hours. Embalming their private parts in chilli or even more skin-irritating substances and promising to cane them severely if they do not endure the torture a whole night. I can understand that a spanking can be necessary....and even a light caning, but the rest. It is pure and wicked torture!”

And then Watson realised something, “Oh God...I forgot. You are aristocracy too. ‘The Holmes’ Squires’...oh my. I bet you have experienced something like that then.” And his expression was of pure concern.

Holmes shook his head, “My parents are and were rather unusual, even if they did believe in spanking and caning as a necessary part of upbringing. But it was something only to be used very seldom.
___________________
And Holmes began to tell:
“As you know Mycroft is 7 years my senior. Normally boys would be sent to boarding schools at the age of 8, but Mummy and Father had had bad experiences with such schools....even the best of them and they wanted us tutored at home. As we didn’t see many other children, Mycroft considered me to be a total idiot, until I reached the age of 5 and finally had learned to read.

No one bothered to tell him that a head start of 7 years would make a significant difference in knowledge and abilities.

We had a lot of different governesses and tutors from a lot of different countries: German, French, Italian, Russian, Danish, Swedish etc. And they didn’t stay for long and that is why ‘corporal punishments’ never were their area but Fathers.

He told me many years after about the events that had made him make that decision that his children should not go too early to boarding schools. He knew that they would be a necessary part of the education of an aristocratic young man, to ensure connections and friendships. But what he had heard and seen and experienced himself on such schools, had made him make that vow. All the boarding schools were very strict about punishments against disobedience, inability to learn, ‘self-pollution’ and ‘nightly emissions’ and even against bed-urination. And the answer...no matter what the problem was...were punishments involving rather big amounts of pain and humiliation.

Especially the punishments against masturbation..he didn’t use that word though.. were so severe and so damaging that one of his fellow school-companions died from the blood-loss during the night, trapped in implements that caused severe damage. Of course it was hidden and subdued and quite another explanation was given, but my father wasn’t stupid and a bit of a detective himself and he found the explanation. Older boys could...with frightened eyes ...tell how they would be punished if anything was found at the ‘bed-inspections’ in the morning. At that time my father was only 12 and had not experienced anything like that yet. But just as I later did, he had made friends...quite illegally....with the lower classes, the servants and staff in the kitchen. Especially a very motherly woman and he shared his worries with her, as he found it was something, he could not discuss with his parents. She gave him some advice. He never told what they were though, but he was never punished for that sort of nightly ‘crime’, while he attended a boarding school.

So...that was the reason for our home-tutoring. My Father would of course still expect us to show self-restraint and self-discipline and that was why I one day was summoned to Father’s study where a very embarrassed Mycroft was waiting. I must have been seven at that time...and Mycroft fourteen, because it was just before he left for his two years a boarding school and later the university, which he attended at the young age of only sixteen.

Father and Mummy always expected us to speak the truth and Mycroft had admitted to Father that he had failed to control himself at two occasions and had fondled his ‘member’ so much that he had ejaculated.

Father would not punish ‘nightly emissions’ as he said that one could not be blamed for what happened during one’s sleep. That was why we were not even punished if we up till the age of 6 happened to urinate in the bed. A Russian doctor had written about it and explained it with an ‘immature nervous-system’ and therefore not to be blamed on the child. But conscious fondling of private parts should be punished, even if it happened at night.

I asked Father a bit worriedly if that would apply to a thumb in the mouth too. And he had smiled and asked me, what I did if I wake up with the thumb in my mouth. I answered that I would remove it immediately because it was just for babies.

Father smiled and told me that I had shown more self-restraint than Mycroft...and Mycroft turned an even deeper shade of red of embarrassment and shame.

Father told both me and Mycroft why it was so important to learn to control oneself and Mycroft answered in a very low tone that he totally understood...and then he was caned. 10 strokes. Not on the bare skin as my Father found the caning humiliating enough and after that I was told to leave the study. Later my Father would give me the same talk, but without the caning. Fortunately I had Mycroft to tell me how to avoid fondling anything.”

Holmes rose and went to the drawers and opened the bottom drawer and brought forward a small box. Watson couldn’t help admiring Holmes’ graze and naked body and then Holmes sat down besides Watson and opened the box.

“I do not know if this is the reason why I’m a masochist. But arousal would cause pain and maybe that got mingled in my brain.”, Holmes explained as he showed the contents of the box.

There were some anti-erection implements with spikes and John Watson looked worriedly at Holmes.

Holmes smiled back, “I only used them twice and found out that it didn’t work. The pain made me even more aroused and I invented something myself.”

And he showed miniature belts made of leather and told how they worked by prevented the blood to enter the penis and make it erect, but not so tight that he couldn’t urinate.

“Of course, as I grew older, I learned to control myself better and avoid erections.”

“But I’m still that ‘trained’”, he continued, “that I despite the newest results from that Viennese Therapist....that Sigismund Freud.....feel extremely shameful if I give in to the urge of masturbation and afterwards feel that I need to be punished and therefore visit that club. Despite him saying that it is perfectly healthy and normal...to ‘self-indulge’.”

Watson smiled at Holmes, “Freud is right, you know.”

Holmes just smiled.
_________________________
Homes had shown Watson all the contents of the hidden place in the wardrobe: the canes, the crops, the birchs and two floggers. All of them hopefully only able to make welts and not wounds in the trained and skilful hand. Several other implements too. And then there was a wooden box. As Watson opened it it revealed a set of plugs of different sizes. The label attached to the lid called them ‘rectal dilators’. Watson knew of them and knew perfectly well that they were for pleasure...especially for men as they were long enough to stimulate the prostate-gland.

Holmes flushed a bit, “I...I used them to prepare myself the last 3 times I went to the club. I had put the number ‘9’ on my list to show that I wanted anal intercourse, but had told them that it would only apply if ‘Master 25’ would be present.”

Watson smiled, “So that is why you were so ready for me!”.

Watson had seen others in the club perform it and had mentioned that he would like to try it, if his preferred ‘servant’ would ever wish to have it done.

Watson looked at Holmes. “I’ll have to ask. Are you ‘ready’ for me...as in ‘clean’?”

What he meant was if Holmes had taken an enema.

Holmes smiled, “In every sense of the word....except I’m not ‘stretched’...it has been a while.”

And they both knew that being members of that club, they didn’t have to worry about ‘venereal diseases’. Even if they would participate in anal intercourse.

Watson should have known. Of course Holmes would be prepared.

“You’ve planned this?”

Holmes smiled, “Let’s say that I just looked for an opportunity to make you utter some words about me being wrong, so I could ask you...again...to ‘correct’ me.”

“Hm...I’m afraid that I didn’t really pay attention, when Lestrade was here. At least I heard you today!”

Watson looked in the small box again and saw several rings with a small ball on them and he recognized them immediately, “Are you pierced, Holmes?”

It was difficult to call him ‘Sherlock’ when he had thought of him as ‘Holmes’ for such a long time. And he hadn’t noticed that Holmes had been genitally pierced before.

Holmes looked in the box, “I am. It was the talk my Father wanted to have with me as I grew older. A way to prevent unwanted erections. A piercing through the urethra and out besides the frenulum....I think they call it a ‘Prince Albert’ or a ‘Prince Eddy’ after our Queen’s grandson by now, but it is much older than him. Our doctor performed it...very carefully and I was shown how to take care of it when it healed. The ring is supposed to be tethered to my leg with a small chain. In case of an erection the chain would tug and it would hurt and the erection would flag. But like the other things it didn’t work for me...the pain aroused me instead.”

Watson found the thought of a pierced Holmes very arousing and therefore he asked, “May I put one of the rings back in place?” and Holmes looked at him and saw his dilated pupils and the darkness in his eyes. That look went immediately to Holmes’ groin and he experienced a fast and almost painful sudden erection, “Oh God...yes.”, Holmes moaned.

And it had started like that.

Watson had to remember that he knew Holmes’ reactions to pain, to humiliation and to restraints. They had met 11 times in that club. That Watson could see Holmes’ beautiful face made it so much easier...and he didn’t have to worry about doing something wrong. He knew his Holmes.

In the club there had been various padded ‘couches’ where the ‘servants’ could be positioned...and occasionally the ‘masters’ too. But here in Holmes’ bedroom the bed would have to do. Watson had ordered Holmes to lie with his back down on the bed, arms over his head and legs bent at the knees. He had then tethered Holmes’ arms and legs to the bedposts with leather straps from the wardrobe. The idea was not to make it impossible for Holmes to move, but just to remind him of who was in charge.

Then Watson had chosen one of the rings from the box and had inserted it in Holmes’ now very erect penis. He then bent down and kissed the head...not worrying as the wound had healed many years ago and licked the small drop of pre-come. Holmes closed his eyes and made and effort not to speak or move, as he had been ordered to. Moaning was allowed.

Watson brought forward two small implements from the wardrobe. Each consisting of two rings...one inside the other and with a mechanism that could tighten the rings. They were meant for the nipples and Watson knew from the club that Holmes like the pain from the rings. Both when they were tightened around the nipples and when they were removed again.

He bent down over Holmes body and sucked gently one his left nipple and bit down on it...hard.. and pinched the right one with his hand. Holmes bucked and moaned...his nipples were so sensitive and Watson wondered if Holmes was able to ejaculate from the abuse of his nipples alone. He put on the clamps and screwed the mechanism hard. Not so they would bleed...but most certainly hurt. Holmes’ eyes were clouded now...he was good on his way to ‘the other place’.

That place of tranquillity and acceptance and peace that masochists would experience if they were in the hands of a skilled sadist. And mark that...a ‘sadist’...not an ‘abuser’. Being a sadist indicated one who took care of his ‘servant’ and despite his own joy at the submission and the things he would do to his ‘servant’ it was in reality him who were ‘serving’ and taking care of the submissive. That was the way John Watson saw it. Not that he wouldn’t punish disobedience...and would enjoy punishing it severely...but it was about bending another man’s will...not so much to hurt.

Holmes legs were freed and Watson turned the pliant man around. He felt just a pang of disappointment that Holmes by now was so obedient. Watson liked it more when Holmes would struggle a bit, but right now Holmes was so ‘down under’ that he would just obey.

They had agreed on how much and with what implement before Holmes had lied down and Watson now took the riding crop.

He slowly caressed Holmes surprisingly plush buttocks and Holmes arched his behind up against the light touch of the crop...almost like a cat. Watson lifted the crop and let it slap down with a satisfying ‘thwack’. Holmes moaned and bucked. Watson repeated the slapping and enjoyed Holmes’ moans and the redness that appeared on Holmes’ behind. After fifteen slaps Watson threw the crop away removed the last parts of his clothing, situated himself between Holmes’ spread and slightly bend legs and began to prepare Holmes for penetration.

Watson ordered Holmes to kneel up, resting on his knees and lower legs with his head down on the mattress, pushing his beautiful arse up in the air to be used as Watson saw fit and Watson had brought the jar with the grease that they had used in the club too from the hidden compartment in the wardrobe, and used first one finger, then two and finally three fingers to loosen Holmes’ orifice. Again Holmes’ showed remarkably self-restraint and only moved a bit. Now Watson couldn’t control himself anymore and tore his own remaining clothing off and positioned his own cock just in front of that lovely looking hole. And then he quite forcefully pushed himself in....but was doctor enough to take care that it might hurt, stretch an cause a burning sensation, but not injure... and now Holmes couldn’t not hold a deep moan back anymore. A moan in that deep voice resonated through Watson’s body and he only managed a few trusts before he felt almost too close to his orgasm. He stopped and reached down for the nipple-contraptions, loosened the screws a bit and with one last deep trust he tore the nipple-clamps away from Holmes’ abused and sore nipples.

The moan that escaped Holmes’ mouth and the clenching of his inner walls around Watson’s cock, as his orgasm hit him, tripped Watson over the edge too and he spend himself inside Holmes in several convulsions that just continued and continued.

Watson came to his senses first and guided Holmes down on the sheets, placed himself beside him and tucked the duvets up and around them. Finally he would be able to guide Holmes ‘up’ again from the ‘special place’. Something that wasn’t allowed in the clubs, where employees would take care of that and the ‘servant’ and the ‘master’ would be separated quickly after their release. Everything again to ensure anonymity.

When Holmes’ wonderful eyes again were clear and he was looking at Watson, being held firmly in an embrace of a very strong and assuring right arm, Watson kissed Homes on the top of his head and smiled and said, “It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to be with you afterwards. I surely hope that you were treated fine afterwards in the club.”

“We were. I always woke up, snuggled in a very warm blanket and there would be people keeping an eye on us.” He moved closer to Watson, “But this is much better!”

They were silent for a while.

“I’m going to leave her, you know. “, said Watson.

Holmes frowned, “Mary?”

Watson smiled, “Who else?”

Now Holmes had moved so he could look Watson...his John...directly in the face, “But you are married?!”

“I am....and I would continue to be that. As a disguise. But she is not the woman I thought I married and she had kept a lot of secrets from me. This actually is fine...now, because it will allow me to move in here. That is.. if it is all right with you?”

Holmes snuggled closer to Watson...his John Watson, and said drowsily, “There is nothing that would make me happier. But we’ll have to talk...later..”

And with that he fell asleep. John kissed him again and decided to try to get some sleep to.

Chapter Text

The next day Watson had turned up at his own flat and had said to the returned Mary that they needed to talk. And that they now both needed to speak the whole truth.

They had the necessary conversation that revealed a lot about Mary and a lot about John Watson’s vow that he had made if he ever would meet the man from the club again. And a vow that now could be fulfilled.

Mary approved of it and said that she was fond of John, but didn’t love him, and he confessed that the same thing did apply for him too. The fondness and not the love. He didn’t love her...not compared to the love he had for Sherlock Holmes.

She had laughed and said that that would apply for a lot of marriages and a marriage could be built on lesser ground than fondness. She had married John Watson out of convenience and because of the position in society it could give her being married to a doctor.

She said that they should pretend to be married still, as it would protect Watson and Holmes from accusations of being gay....and she would return from Kent, where she would live together with an aunt, every now and then. They should keep their flat in Northern London; still pay the reduced staff, a married elderly couple, the wife in the kitchen and the husband mostly in the garden. They would be unemployed if the Watson’s didn’t keep them.

Mary would take the maid with her to Kent (Watson had a suspicion about that curly-haired maid. That she and Mary were together sexually....but how could he say anything to that?) and Watson and Holmes could stay in the flat too if they wanted it. About once every second month she and Dr. John Watson should be seen in London together and preferably rather public...and she thought him very capable of inventing some sort of disease for her that would require staying in the mild climate in Kent for such a long period.

She had finally smirked and asked if Sherlock Holmes was ‘any good’ in a bed and John Watson had blushed and said that ‘Holmes had met his highest expectations’ and May had laughed and said that a ‘yes’ would have been enough.

_______________________

Then Watson had returned to Baker Street and had told Holmes about the arrangements. Mary would move back to Kent within the next week and she had actually been relieved that her secrets had been put out in the open by now.

Being in Holmes body Sherlock now got Holmes memories of Watson’s narrative about Mary’s life before she had come to England.

Sherlock had deduced a lot of his Mary’s secrets and was a bit astonished as he found out how much it resembled the secrets of this 19^th century’s Mary after all. And Sherlock wondered if the rest of his Mary’s secrets would be the same too.

Watson had told Holmes that he had had a rather serious conversation with Mary the day before he had turned up at Baker Street again and she had admitted that she was fond of John Watson, but didn’t love him. This Victorian Mary had been married before and that in the United States...in Washington. But she had grown up in Texas. That much had Sherlock found out about his Mary too.

Victorian Mary had been working for the government and had met her husband that way. His name was Theodore Williams and he was a ‘coloured’ man. A ‘black’ man, which in this case had been an utterly ridiculous label, since he was nearly as fair as John Watson, except from the dark brown curly hair and brown eyes.

His family...a rather wealthy big business-family in Washington...didn’t approve of his marriage because Mary was white and furthermore a ‘southerner’. That meant a former ‘slave-owner’ in their eyes, even if her forefathers hadn’t owned a single slave.

They got married none the less and kept working for the government. He had worked in a rather high position and they had been well off. They lived peacefully in a nice house and had a few close friends, who didn’t care about the colour of their skin.

Mary got pregnant and close to the birth, she woke up one night to the screams of her husband. 5 white men...white trash...had decided that this particularly young man didn’t deserve his position in society because he was ‘black’ and they wanted to kill him. A bit unfortunately for them they had underestimated his wife and she had found her hidden weapons. She had been rather fond of hunting, and had been a remarkable shooter and now she used that skill to kill her husband’s torturers. She got wounded during the confrontation and nearly lost the child. But they all recovered. Mary would just not be able to be pregnant again. And John was rather resentful that she had kept that secret from him.

Now Theodore's family took Mary to their heart. She had defended her husband like a lioness and she was accepted in that special ‘black women’ society, which worked in all the big American cities. She was educated in a lot of secrets, which white women would only learn about much later.

John Watson had actually blushed a bit, as he told Holmes about it, as he said, “I have to admit that I first had a suspicion that Mary had been a prostitute.....an exclusive one, like the French ‘demimonde’s....a mistress serving the noblesse. But it was the black women’s secrets about how to keep their husband’s happy that she had used on me too. Showing me and teaching me that women can enjoy sex too.”

And he had continued his narrative:

As Mary’s and Theodore's daughter, Samantha, who turned out to be much darker than her father, was about 2 years old, Theodore was murdered while working in his office and Mary left her daughter by her father’s family to go hunting for her husband’s murderers as the police didn’t do much. She found them and killed them, taking care that it looked like an accident and decided to leave America. She made the difficult decision to leave her daughter by her grandparents, who adored her and who could give her a much better life, than Mary could provide.

“I knew about her having been married before and that she had a child and I had offered Mary that I could adopt that little girl and raise her here in England.”, said John Watson, “but finally she explained why that would be a bad idea. Samantha could hardly remember her now, and she was adored and loved and had a place in that wealthy family in Washington. Mary had been afraid that I wouldn’t be able to understand how she could abandon her child like that. But I understood now that she had done the best she could do for her daughter.”

Holmes had remembered that John Watson had smiled a bit as he said, “What I didn’t know was the colour of the child’s skin. Not that it should or would matter. But it would make it more difficult for her to fit in here in England, having two white parents and Mary was right about Samantha hardly remembering her by now.”

Sherlock just wondered how much of this Victorian Mary’s life story would be the same as the modern time Mary’s. Being a crack-shoot...well that fitted, but the Victorian Mary had not shot Victorian Holmes and killed him. For it was what modern Mary had done...She had killed him that night in Magnussen’s office. He had flat-lined twice. He had been dead and the doctors had given up on him. Only his own inner demon Moriarty had made him remember that John was not safe. And that had made Sherlock fight death...again. And even if he had forgiven her, because he had understood the desperation behind her doings, it didn’t alter what she had done.

_______________________

Staying in Victorian London longer this time, Sherlock had time to ‘participate’ in several sexual encounters with Holmes and Watson and being in Holmes body, he understood why Holmes enjoyed Watson’s firmness and sadism so much. Sherlock could provide the scientific explanation for the sensations in Holmes’ body, but Holmes’ body’s reactions were a direct reward for Sherlock’s mind too.

Sherlock stayed almost 9 days this time and Sherlock felt so at ease in Holmes’ Victorian life. Most of the time, Sherlock didn’t interfere with Holmes but was satisfied by being a spectator to Holmes’ life, following him to crime-scenes and at a few occasions to theatrical plays and one concert.

And by coincidence Holmes provided Sherlock with some very vital clues, that Sherlock could use in his own time to unravel the mystery about the returning Moriarty.

Holmes and Watson were sitting in the living room discussing aspects of Holmes’ encounters with Moriarty and his men in Europe and Holmes mentioned two men, who had been close to his Moriarty. A ‘Sebastian Moran’ and a ‘James Winter’.

______________________

When Sherlock woke the next morning after having stayed in Victorian London, he experienced something that hadn’t happened to him for a while. He had a morning erection and he felt ‘horny’.

He smiled as he remembered Victorian Holmes and Victorian Watson comment on his vocabulary. Sherlock had learned them a few of the modern words since euphemisms, not calling a spade a spade and a cock a cock, an arse an arse, could lead to misunderstandings.

Now Sherlock actually laughed out loud in his empty bedroom in modern London, as he remembered that both men meticulously had written his ‘dirty’ words down. He had asked them if they didn’t know the right words in their own time, but had been told how ‘buttoned up’ the Victorian society was: that husband and wife should reduce their ‘matrimonial doings’ to once a month or even less, and only if they wanted children, preferably dressed in clothing with strategic placed holes for access and in the dark. And Watson told that it was not uncommon that people never had seen their own bodies, not to say their spouses’ bodies naked.

Sherlock had spoken inside Holmes’ head afterwards, “So it was an extremely open-minded Sherlock Holmes that obeyed my wish to see your body the second time I was here?”

“It was. I had not seen my own body in full figure in broad light and in my senses since I was a child. Not even in the club.”

__________________________

And Sherlock had remembered:

He had still been a bit confused and worried that he might ruin anything the third time he had done the drug and had returned to Victorian London in the other time-line.

After he and Holmes had had the conversation about their absence for two years, after ‘The Fall’, and the torture that Sherlock had experienced... and Sherlock had asked if he could see Holmes’ body.

Holmes had hesitated for a moment, but had then went into his bedroom, had closed his door and turned up the gas-light, because the curtains took quite a lot of the day-light and had undressed.

He had been standing in front of the big mirror and Sherlock could feel that Holmes was not quite comfortable being naked like that.

He had turned around so his back could be seen in the mirror too on Sherlock’s request.

“Hmm.”, had Sherlock said, “You are a bit too thin, I can see that, and you do have scars. But you have taken better care of your body, than I have of mine.”

And he had described where and where-from he had his scars, taking control over Holmes’ body and moving his hands to show where the scars were. But he told that they were not so terrible anymore and didn’t hurt much. Most of them were just white scar-tissue now.

Sherlock had told that he had been in Germany and that plastic-surgeons had ‘repaired’ the worst scars. Not so much because of the look, but mostly because of the function. It had been surgery and injections to soften the scar tissue and he should still make exercises and apply a special cream, to soften and stretch the tissue. He told about the physiotherapy to restore the movement in his shoulders that had been damaged by him supporting his own weight in his outstretched arms, chained too long to the walls in that cell in Serbia.

They had laughed as they discussed their hate for their curls. Holmes almost making them disappear by being that short-haired and by using pomade to slick it down and Sherlock on the other hand using his curly mop of hair as a sort of disguise, making him look younger and softer.

“While I was away, I shaved almost every day.”, he had told Holmes, “but I didn’t cut my hair in those two years. Just tucked it back and making a low pony-tail. I used it as a disguise and was a bit surprised that my captures didn’t cut it, but on the other hand shaved my face. And I still do not understand why they didn’t kill me, when I didn’t tell them what they wanted to know. At the end they perfectly well knew who I was...or at least I think so, and my brother almost broke every rule to extract me himself. Not that anyone else could have done what he did. He was the best agent ever in his young days, but he hates it so much. It brings back so many bad memories.”

Both Holmes and Sherlock had discussed beards as Holmes had dressed again and they had mentioned that despite the male fashion in beards in the Victorian time, they both agreed on that Holmes should avoid having a beard since it could not be more than a sparse and pathetic result and they had both agreed on that they would never be able to sport a masculine and thick moustache like Watson’s.

______________________

Sherlock decided to do something pleasant about his erection. He got up and went to his drawers to find a box. Not with the similar contents like the box Holmes had, but somehow similar anyway.

He found the rather big butt-plug (‘Rectal dilators’ he thought with a smile. Those Victorians...so buttoned up and yet rather kinky), the lubricant and the nipple-clamps. Even if he didn’t like pain like Holmes, he did like the sensations that those clamps would make.

He carefully inserted the plug while he imagined that it was Victorian Watson who did it to him. Not too gentle... and put on the clamps and sat down in the bed and then he returned to his mind to something Watson had said and done to Holmes the same day as Watson had moved back into Baker Street again. They had rented the ‘bedroom upstairs’ but seldom used it for sleep but very often for sex as it was longer away from Mrs. Hudson’s ears.

Watson and Holmes had woken up tangled together in Holmes’ bed and after that they had washed themselves.....or rather Holmes had washed Watson and Watson had washed Holmes...using a sponge, warm water, their mouths and a lot of love and adoration. It had of course resulted in erections that had to been taken care of and after that ...more washing.

Then they had dressed in shirts, ties, vest and trousers... and dressing gowns, since they had planned to stay in and read on old cases and look through newspapers and all in all taking care of most urgent businesses.

After breakfast Holmes had been sitting in his chair, absorbed in his book and Sherlock had just been reading as well...of course in the same book. Watson had sneaked up behind Holmes and had bent down to kiss him. Sherlock had retreated to a place in Holmes mind, where he wouldn’t disturb.

“It is not fair.”, had Watson said.

“What is not fair?”

“That you besides that brilliant mind of yours, being a genius, have a body of a Greek God and furthermore such nice facial features!”

“What are you talking about? I’m not the handsome man in here. You are. Every morning when I shave I see my face in the mirror and I see what I am. I look exactly what I am, Watson...John.”

He smiled at Holmes and sat down on the armrest of his chair, “What is it that you see, Holmes?”

“My inbreed weirdness. I look like the aristocrat I am. Too close family connections, too few forefathers, too many cousin and cousin marriages. My eyes are small and slanted and too pale. They can’t’ even decide which colour they should be. My cheekbones are too prominent, my chin is too weak. I can’t grow a decent beard and my mouth is too feminine. Mycroft isn’t as weird looking as I am...even if his growing bald quickly and his nose is too long...in more than one sense. But he can at least grow a decent beard and his posture is taller than mine. I know I wasn’t hit with the ugly-stick, but I wasn’t hit with the handsome-stick either. Not like you!”

“And yet you are blind, Holmes. Maybe seen one by one your facial features are....a bit strange. But put together they are stunning.“

As Holmes opened his mouth to say something, Watson looked at him sternly and said, “No..no. Now you listen to me. Your chin is not weak and together with your piercing eyes and those prominent cheekbones, your protruding nose and your brows , you would look like a cruel hawk if it were not for your beautiful mouth. You are stunning and surely you must have noticed that both men and women turn around to look at you more than once.”

“They do? I am?” said Holmes with that almost childlike naïveté that Watson found so endearing. Because it wasn’t something that Holmes pretended whilst fishing for compliments. He really didn’t know.

Now Watson bent down and licked Holmes ear as he whispered, “And that mouth of yours isn’t prettier than when it is stretched around my cock!”

“Oh God..”, moaned Holmes and Watson could see that Holmes was aroused...it was visible in his eyes, the colouring of his cheeks and around his groin-area.

Holmes shuddered and tried to compose himself as Watson whispered more filthy promises in Holmes ears. Sherlock was very much present now...he enjoyed Holmes’ arousal too.

Holmes was ordered by Watson to sit still, keep his mouth shut, keep his hands on his thighs and just listen.

“I should have bent you over the bed and fucked you hard, without so much preparation this morning. Not even an enema as I wouldn’t care.” , whispered Watson and continued, “...fucked you so hard that you would beg for mercy. But I would not allow you to come yet. I would have filled you with my semen. And afterwards I should have filled your arse with one of the butt-plugs afterwards, keeping my semen inside of you, forcing you to wear it with your clothes on...just like now. Not knowing if anyone could come up those stairs. Maybe even Lestrade...and then you would have to wear the plug for the rest of the day until I removed it in the evening and fucked you hard again.”

Holmes was panting slightly now, but held his hands obediently on his thighs. He had failed to control his erection by now and his cock strained against the fabric of his underwear and trousers.

Watson continued as he touched Holmes slightly on the chest, “I would put the smallest nipple-clamps on you. Tighten them hard so you could feel your nipples throb and I would find the thickest ring and put it through your piercing so you could feel the stretch and the slight pain and I would tether your cock to your thigh so the slightest arousal would tug...And you would just sit here and endure, because it is my order that you do so.....and you would love every second of it!”

Holmes had risen from the chair despite Watson’s orders.

“Ups...you better punish me for being disobedient.” , had Holmes smirked and had reached his hand out for Watson.

“What are you waiting for, Doctor? I need to be corrected!”

Back in his own time Sherlock shuddered and came with a low moan as he reconstructed both the bodily sensations, except from the “Prince Albert” piercing, and the mental ones.

__________________________

Sherlock found that those two names, Holmes had mentioned: ‘Sebastian Moran’ and ‘James Winter’ had given him very valuable information. He hadn’t solved it all yet, but came much, much closer. Almost too close. Sherlock knew what would happen to him as soon as this mystery was solved....and he would so much like to be able to return to Holmes’ London again. His life here in London in the year 2016 became insignificant. He really only felt that he lived when he was back in Victorian England and in Holmes’ body and surrounded by Watson’s everlasting firm love.

So he continued his work but was even more careful about giving too much information to Mycroft’s men.

Chapter Text

Four days after Mycroft’s first visit and after the night where Sherlock had been in Victorian London for 9 days, John showed up at Baker Street in the afternoon.

“I need to talk.”, he said. And he had been allowed to leave the safe house in one of Mycroft’s cars. Security guards were on guard outside the flat in Baker Street.....but they had been there all the time. They were outside Molly’s and Lestrade’s flats too.

John and Sherlock sat down...just like old days... in their arm-chairs in front of the fire. And Sherlock had offered tea and some of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits.

“I know it is not the right time to leave Mary alone, when she is so close to giving birth. But she told me to. No...she ’ordered’ me. She said something about ‘cleaning the air’ and giving me a break from too much ‘women’. All the female security guards are close to swooning over her pregnant belly and...Jesus...they are all sitting together...knitting!”

Sherlock smiled and said, “I do think that knitting needles could prove themselves to be deadly weapons.”

John just smiled. There was a pause...not uncomfortable. Like always John and Sherlock could be comfortable in silence together.

“I really didn’t think that you’d show up here.”, Sherlock then said after a while.

“Why on Earth wouldn’t I do that?! I’ve visited you every day since you had to return to the hospital. Every single day. And I didn’t move back to Mary’s and mine flat until after the disaster at Appledore...and even then it was rather awkward until Mary and I had a serious conversation.”

“But I thought that you and Mary....”

“Oh God, Sherlock. What kind of friend do you think I am? I moved out as soon as I found out about Mary in Leinster Gardens. Lived by Lestrade’s....”

“Oh...I thought that you went home...”

“NO...I couldn’t...how should I be able to do so? Goddammit...she had almost killed you. And yet, you asked me to forgive her. Told me that it was important...and that you had forgiven her. Said that you couldn’t tell me everything, but that you understood her. And I obeyed you.”

John continued, “Then Mary and I talked a lot after I returned after Appledore. Mycroft had made sure that she was brought home to our flat after he came to his senses and just before he left for Appledore himself. And our relationship is better now...thanks to you. So why on Earth should I not turn up here?”

Sherlock looked at John with a frown. He had to remember that this was the real John...and not the one who left him at the churchyard in his Mind Palace, and he said, “Because I’ve lied to you...and you hate and despise that. So I thought that you’d be angry as hell at me. Because I’ve kept secrets from you, again. Because I was going to die...being killed or by my own hand...and couldn’t make myself say it to your face, again. Because I’ve let you down, again. And I’m sorry for all my failures and lack of humanity and lack of honesty.... again!”

John looked at Sherlock several seconds and Sherlock looked at John’s left hand. It was clenching and unclenching and he looked back at John’s face, expecting any moment to be at the receiving end of...an outburst?.....Yelling?...Or maybe even a punch.

And John looked at Sherlock, nearly unable to read him, but thought to see...fear?... Resignation?

John shook his head, “Jesus, Sherlock. What did you expect from me? Looking at me like that? I had not seen you since you shot Magnussen and I still do not quite understand why you had to do that. Yes, he was an utter arsehole...and yes he humiliated me...but even so? And then I was told by Mycroft to show up at that airstrip on the 1st of January, just to see you leave in that plane and then learn that you were going to.....were going to.....”

John took a deep breath to steady himself, “...that you were going to be dead within 6 months, because, despite your brother having power enough to almost be ruling England, he did not have power enough to convince other powerful people that your had done them..us...England a favour. And yes...I know that lowlifes, cockroaches, maggots like Magnussen are unfortunately protected by the law as well. But indirectly that...that....’shark’ has killed hundreds of people, including lady Smallwood’s husband and that should count for something.”

He took another deep breath, “And then you had been taking drugs.....quite a lot.....so you OD’d.....”

He shook his head again and buried his head in his hands, taking deep breaths before he looked up again and continued, a bit amazed that Sherlock hadn’t interrupted him yet, “No....I’m not angry at you. I’m just sad and devastated about you, again, not having faith enough in me to tell me the truth. Both about your drug-addiction....”

Sherlock interrupted here, “drug-USE!”

“Well, OK...drug-use and all that mess with Magnussen...and then at the airstrip. I thought I was your friend!”

Sherlock looked at John for several seconds, before he answered, “But what good would it have done? To tell you everything? You are my friend. My only and closest one and that is why I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I came to value it too much. And again...what good would it have done to you, knowing that you were never to see me again?”

(And he thought: ‘Since I couldn’t have more than a platonic friendship, even if I so much would wish for more, what good would it do?’)

Sherlock continued, “...that is why I didn’t dare to tell you about the drugs. And to be honest. I did only use a bit at two occasions, while you were living here together with me and that only in very small amounts. And I had to shoot Magnussen, because he threatened to tell Mary’s enemies about her. I couldn’t and wouldn’t tolerate, that he did that. They would have killed Mary and the baby!

I could have lived with the humiliation of me: his peeing in this fireplace and his mocking of me, threatening me in the hospital, eating my food at the restaurant, but that he humiliated you like that and...and that he blackmailed my brother, it was intolerable.”

Sherlock gestured with his right hand and continued, “That he would ‘rule’ England and have every important politician under his thumb... that was intolerable! Compared to that, my life didn’t mean so much. Your child, your wife and Mycroft’s safety and political career and by that England’s safety, was much more important than my petty life. As soon as I had realised my mistake: that there weren’t any actual vaults under Appledore, that Magnussen would reveal Mary’s whereabouts, and how she looked now and where she lived to her enemies and that he would gain so much power over Mycroft, the decision was easy to make. Somehow I had even suspected to be shot on the spot by one of the armed agents....”

John suddenly understood that both Sherlock and Mycroft had expected that and that was why Sherlock had moved away from John and Mycroft had shouted, “Step away...”
He shook his head again, “Jesus, Sherlock.....you do not think that seeing you being shot in front of me would have affected me?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head, “Of course it would...but not as much as it would have affected you to see your pregnant wife...or your wife and your baby.... being shot in front of you! And that would have been the result, if I hadn’t shot Magnussen right on that spot. He had a metaphorical very firm grip around ......if I may be so frank....mine and your bollocks and around Mycroft’s. Even more because I had made that stupid mistake to believe in actual vaults. By my mistake I had made things so bad, that they were going to explode right up into our faces....and then the decision was easy. Even more so because that arse dared to try to kill you by putting you into that fire...and even taunted me with films of it shown on TV-screens around us at Appledore. Magnussen underestimated me...and paid the price! And I was more than willing to pay the price of removing him from Earth’s surface!”

John just looked at Sherlock, but didn’t say a word. That Mycroft had been blackmailed too, well actually that was no surprise, but that Sherlock had been willing to die to protect Mary and the baby and thereby John’s happiness......that wasn’t something that John could easily get through his thick skull.

He didn’t know what to say and he wasn’t quite sure which situation would have been the worst: to lose Sherlock again or to see his wife being shot. Well if the baby hadn’t been in the equation, the answer would have been that he had preferred Sherlock to stay alive instead of Mary. He hadn’t totally forgiven Mary for shooting Sherlock, even if the last week, since Christmas...and after Appledore, had been ‘better’. Mary had opened more up and John had been able to see the woman he fell in love with, instead of the ‘assassin-who-shot-Sherlock’.

“I don’t know what to say, Sherlock....I really do not know. There is nothing I can say that can express how thankful I am...or how much I admire you.”

“Admire me?!”

“Yes...goddammit. Admire you! You once said that I shouldn’t make you into a goddamned hero....but you have been one and that at more than one occasion. Jumping of that blasted roof and now killing a man in front of the whole of MI5....it is to ‘be a hero’. Sacrificing yourself. That is what heroes do. It is sometimes stupid to be a hero...especially if you’ve got friends, who could have helped you! But never the less, I have to admire your guts, even if it is stupid not to involve me in your fight, your quest. I am a goddamned soldier...and I was one hell of a one too! But right now....being on the other side of the eminent danger of dying, I think you owe me some explanations!”

__________________________

Sherlock expected John to be angrier at him. Sherlock had lied about his addiction...no... his ‘use’... and that right from the beginning. But John understood Sherlock’s self-medication and after John’s outburst they had a good and long talk about what had happened while Sherlock was away after he had jumped all those years ago.
John insisted on seeing Sherlock’s back again and they sat on the couch as Sherlock turned his back to John so he could see it again. John touched the scars and said out loud the explanation for each one of them.

After that he kept his hands at Sherlock’s back a bit longer that a friend would do, but Sherlock told himself not to wish for something impossible. It was just John in doctor-mode. Remember? Not gay!

Sherlock turned his head, “It is a bit chilly. Have you seen enough?”

And John blushed and turned his head away, cleared his throat and said, “Oh yes, well. I’m glad they have healed so well. I do feel extremely guilty for what I did to you as you returned.“

He made a small awkward laugh, “That was not a way to greet a friend, when I actually had prayed the God, in which I do not quite believe after having seen so much in a war, that that friend could come back. And when you finally were there, I did beat the shit out of you and you had to force me to forgive you!”

And then John realised something more, “Oh God, Sherlock. When you dragged me out of that fire, you must have hurt your back again.....and your hands. And I didn’t even ask if you were wounded?”

Sherlock smiled, “I think that you could be excused. As I recall it, you were busy breathing and being examined at the hospital. Quite a good excuse for not worrying too much about me.“

“But I should have....afterwards. But I didn’t!”

“It is all right, John. It wasn’t that bad. Nothing Mrs. Hudson couldn’t take care of. It is a bit awkward taking care of wounds on your back. And my hands? It was just 2nd degree burns. Just blisters. My gloves had taken the worst part and I actually didn’t notice, until I took the gloves off.

John smiled and said, “I still feel guilty about it though and if it is of some comfort to you: Mary gives her greetings and said that I should tell you that she still can’t quite understand, how you could forgive her, but that she is forever grateful and that she is close to have found the evidence of Magnussen’s assassination-plans against you.”

Sherlock smiled. Despite Mary hadn’t dared to trust him in Magnussen’s office and her fear had made her shoot him, he had really forgiven her. Even more so because of what he had learned about her doings, before she met John. But it was not his duty to tell John, even if it was yet another secret. He would keep his mouth shut. It would be Mary’s job to tell her own secrets to John, not his.
______________________

“You know..” said John shortly before he left for the safe-house again after another cup of tea and some sandwiches, that Mrs. Hudson had made, “...It is not so much the secrets themselves, their content, that bothers me. It is more the ‘secrecy’ of the secrets. You know....Mary finally found the courage to tell me something that I already had deduced. You can’t have sex with a woman without noticing that she has been pregnant before. And you know what? What bothered me was that she thought it was something, she ought to hide from me!”

Sherlock looked at John; “Did she tell you more than that?”

And John looked at Sherlock before he almost yelled, “You knew...you damned git. You utterly bastard...you knew it!!!”

“Not for sure...I deduced it. But deducing is never 100% certain...and her symptoms must have been different or she would have known at the wedding too, herself.”

“Hmm. Mary is American. Grew up on a farm in Texas and yes, she told me about the child. The child was a girl and her husband...and yes she had been married before too.... had been an African American, a ‘black’ man, even if it is a rather incorrect word. He was fairer than their daughter became. They both worked for the government and they got enemies that way. They knew about a lot of governmental secrets and both Mary and her husband had made field-work. Mary’s husband was killed, when the little girl was two years old and Mary left her daughter with his family, to go chasing and killing her husband’s murderers. The family is a big, relatively wealthy family in Washington and the little girl has got a new mother and father, who adores her, now. Mary showed me pictures and she is an adorable little girl. Mary was so afraid that I wouldn’t understand how she could leave her daughter....but I do. That little girl, Samantha, is loved and safe and can hardly remember her real mother. So I do understand...and do you know what I asked Mary?”

Sherlock smiled, oh yes he knew. He knew his doctor so well, “You wanted to know if Mary managed to kill her husband’s murderers.”

“Yeah...and she did. All 5 of them!”

Sherlock could hear John’s pride. Oh yes...Mary was the perfect wife for him. Even if it did hurt Sherlock so much to give up his minuscule possibility of a closer relationship to John. This was not 1889 and his ‘John Hamish Watson’ was not Holmes’ ‘John Watson’ with bowler and moustache and a never ending love towards Holmes despite the danger of being gay in those times.

“Give her my love.” said Sherlock after him as John descended the stairs to get back to the safe-house and his pregnant wife.

Afterwards he sat in his chair, thinking about the similarities and the differences in Victorian Mary’s life and this modern Mary’s life. He just hoped that the fact that Watson’s Mary never had a second child wouldn’t mean a thing here in modern times.

Chapter Text

Sherlock had visited somewhat regularly. About 2-4 days every second month, but not something they could put on a tight schedule. Sometimes he would come back after only 14 days...and then stay away for more than a month. In Holmes’ time it would be 20 days all together. And like this, almost one year had passed in Holmes’ time. In Sherlock’s own time it had only been 10 nights.

Holmes and Watson were often sitting in their chairs in front of the fire talking about their cases, since John had given up having his own clinic and only occasionally helped in a colleague’s clinic when he wasn’t busy solving cases with Sherlock Holmes. And Mary had, as promised, turned up twice in that year, to keep up the appearances of a marriage, both to protect John Watson and Sherlock Holmes and her own relationship with the maid.

The last time she had visited, Holmes meant to see something in her appearance, an extra paleness, a redness on her cheek, a special glint in her eyes, but he dismissed it. John was a doctor and surely he would see if anything was wrong.

Holmes and Watson didn’t try to match their sexual encounters to the time where Sherlock would be present, but if he was present, their encounters would be given an extra dimension. Sherlock would often be searching on Google to look for a lot of information. Information Watson and Holmes could use to find ‘dirty’ books in their own time.

‘The Ring’ was very enlightening, ‘Venus in Furs’ was that too, even if it was a man and a woman, but it gave valuable information about bondage, discipline and masochism and sadism. Several Greek books about homo-sexual relationships were very informative too. Very explicit in their descriptions. Holmes could of course read Greek and he would read out loud for Watson. Several of the stories were so arousing that it took them several evenings to finish them, as they had to go to their bedroom to ‘release some steam’ as Watson had put it.
________________________

One of the times, where Sherlock wasn’t present, was the time where Holmes made a rather special request to Watson. Holmes had ‘landed’ after a rather heavy session where Watson with skilled fingers, tongue and slapping canes and crops had mad Holmes ejaculate two times. Holmes was now drowsing in Watson’s arms and as he came more to his senses, he looked at Watson and asked a rather peculiar question, “Have you ever been asked to pierce a woman’s nipples?”

Watson looked at Holmes for a few seconds and then he answered, “I have...once. The woman in question had a condition called ‘inverted nipples’ and the piercing could ‘cure’ that. But I tried it only this single time. Why?”

“Did you use any sedation? And did it hurt much?”

“I used ice to numb the tissue and she said that it did hurt, despite the ice. Not so much though that she didn’t want the other nipple pierced. Why?”

“I want you to pierce my nipples.” , said Holmes very quietly and Watson caught his breath so much that he had to cough.

When he finally had finished coughing, he managed to splutter, “Why?!”

“Because you would like to do it, because I would like you to do it. Because I would like to experience the same sort of pain again, that the family doctor inflicted on me as he pierced my cock. I didn’t know what that floating feeling was.....and everybody thought it was because of the pain that I almost had fainted. The night after he had pierced me, was the first night where I deliberately touched my own member under the duvet. As I tugged gently in the gold-ring inserted in the wound, I experienced my first orgasm. It confused me and I tried to avoid doing it the next night. But I couldn’t help it. But gradually the pleasure of that piercing subsided as the wound healed. I was 17 and didn’t know how to react on my bodily reactions. So I tried to ignore it...and got rather good at ignoring my sexual desires...as I can ignore other bodily needs, like sleep and hunger. I do know it would not be wise to make more holes in my cock, but I think my nipples are that sensitive, that they would give me the same experience.”

Holmes looked at Watson and continued, “I want you to do the piercing in my moment of orgasm. I will use my hand to masturbate and when I come close, I want you to pierce one of my nipples.”

“You do realise that you’ll have to keep your hands of it...and that we’ll have to limit our ‘playing time’ with your nipples until they have healed properly? And that’ll take about half a year?”

Holmes smiled as Watson had not said a direct ‘no’.

As Sherlock heard about Holmes idea, he asked if he could be allowed to be present...and Holmes and Watson agreed.
___________________

Holmes again felt the jolt as Sherlock arrived. And groaned in frustration. It wasn’t the best of times as they were in the middle of a difficult case...a very delicate one. But Sherlock surprised him as he said......of course inside Holmes head..... “Oh this case. I know it. Or at least I knew something similar in my time. It was one of the cases I solved with John before...before I had to jump. It is the brother who did it. Being tired of being bullied around by his sister. He used the knowledge of tetanus and made a trap...”

And like that Holmes earned quite a reputation by solving the case in only 5 hours. He never admitted to anyone, except Watson of course, that Sherlock had given him the clues.

Watson said he had a few errands to make so Holmes took a hansom-cab back to Baker Street alone. Mrs. Hudson would be out, visiting her aunt and not return before late in the evening the next day, as it said on a note left in the hall.

Holmes felt a shiver of arousal as he realised that they would have time to ‘play’ and maybe he would get his nipple-piercings? But he knew that Watson was in charge as soon as the front door was closed. Or to be more accurate: the front door to their flat. Outside Holmes was in charge most of the time.

As Watson had put it: “You say ‘Jump, Watson’ and I just ask ‘How high, Holmes?’. But as soon as our front door closes I’m in charge, most of the time and when we cross the threshold of the bedroom doors...either of them...then I’m totally in charge. Is that clear, Holmes?”

And he couldn’t say anything but, “Yes, sir!”

Holmes did hang his coat on the hanger and put his hat on the shelf and quietly took of his shoes and put on the slippers, took of his jacket as well and dressed in the blue dressing gown.

Then he quietly sat down in his chair and lit his pipe, prepared to wait for Watson to return. And in the meantime he and Sherlock had time to discuss cases and solutions to mysteries. And Sherlock told about his own universe’s history.

The knowledge, Holmes had learned that way, had made him and Mycroft make an effort to avoid ‘The Big War’.....later known as ‘The First World War’ or ‘The war to end all wars’ happening in the 18th century.

The situation in Europe and at Balkan had been tense for a while, but knowing what Sherlock knew and had investigated in his own time and carried to this time in his memories, Mycroft had made inquiries and had attended meetings all over Europe.

To put it short: Mycroft had ‘pulled strings’ all over Europe and thus prevented ‘The Big War’ to start at a time, where the political and technical achievements would be too small. Mycroft had immediately understood why those wars, WW1 and WW2 would be necessary for the future of humanity, despite all the terrible losses, the almost genocide of the Jews, Hitler’s insanity and all the millions of lives lost. The alternative...the technological stagnation...would be worse. But the war wasn’t allowed to happen too soon.

________________

Holmes, encouraged by Sherlock, decided to make preparations, after having waited for more than an hour for Watson to return. The preparations wouldn’t do any harm even if they would not engage in sex caused by a new case turning up and besides...Holmes loved to surprise Watson. So...after a thorough washing and an enema and after having undressed and dressed again only in his burgundy pyjama with no underwear al all, Holmes sat back in his chair pretending to be deeply buried in his book.

When Holmes finally could hear Watson on the steps, a surge of arousal hit him. Oh God... how he loved that man, his strength and his impeccable moral and his firmness. And yet Watson found that it was Holmes, who was the strong one.

“It requires so much more strength to be submissive and masochistic, to give up all control, when you normally are so strong and confident. And that you are Holmes, outside our bedrooms and I’m honoured that you have that faith in me. Honoured.”

Watson had seen the possibility for their later actions in the bedroom earlier that day, when he had found out that Sherlock had returned as the case was solved and when he knew that Mrs. Hudson would be gone for more than 24 hours. She had told him so, but Holmes hadn’t heard.

And now Watson had been at the different shops, where he had ordered something some time ago: two special nipple-clamps with holes and hypodermic needles and several ‘bars’....made by a jeweller after advice from some French doctors. They had told Watson that inserting rings in the holes after the piercing could postpone the healing process and ‘bars’ would be less disposed to be pulled by the clothing. Watson had several made by the local jeweller, who had made the nipple-clamps too, just as he had made a lot of the things Watson used on Holmes previously. They were all claimed to be for ‘scientific purposes’ and the man never asked any questions. Watson just wondered if he would ask about the purpose, if he was ordered to make a butt-plug out of brass.

And he chuckled at the thought of the possible embarrassed jeweller as he entered the flat.....and was stunned by the sight in front of him: Holmes dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown...and it looked decent enough at the first sight, but Holmes was holding his proud erection through the thin fabric of the silken pyjama-trousers and there was already a damp spot on the burgundy silk. Oh God.....he was not wearing underwear! And the look he was sending Watson....

“I took the liberty to make some preparations...an enema and a sponge bath. If you would be so kind to close the door...and lock it.” , said Holmes and Watson could feel his mouth water by the thought of a totally clean Holmes.

“Oh God.”, he almost stuttered and hurried to close the door...and to lock it. They would most certainly not be answering any doorbells or knocking on the front door this afternoon.

Only fifteen minutes after, both Holmes and Watson were to be found in the upper bedroom. Holmes totally naked and on his back with his groin area covered in shaving-soap foam, and Watson looming over him with a shaving knife in his hand. Holmes could of course shave his own genitals, but it was so much more fun if Watson did it.

Watson had mentioned it the first time he had offered to do it, “It is quite a lot of trust to put in another man to allow him near your genitals with a razor knife in his hand.”

Holmes had smirked and said, “But I do trust you...totally, John. Or else I would not allow you to tie me up and leave me totally helpless at your mercy. And if you wanted to harm me beyond repair...well you have saved my life so many times, so who am I to complain?”

So now they used the shaving as foreplay and Watson loved it. He loved especially the feeling of a smooth-shaven Holmes afterwards. To be able to suck Holmes testicles into his mouth and hear the man moan......and to touch his orifice and feel and see how clean, smooth and ready the man was for him. And his perfect skin...all sheer paleness with only a few darker moles to accentuate the whiteness. That was the case of his ‘private parts’ too, a delicious pink and beige tone covered them.

Holmes was ordered to lie on his chest and lower legs with his buttocks wide spread, held in place with his hands so Watson could see and shave safely and as Watson had finished and whipped the soap away, he did something he had never done before, but had thought about: Watson bend down and kissed the opening. He knew how clean Holmes was and it looked so delicious. The deep guttural moan from Holmes did surprise them both.

“More...oh God...more, John” had Holmes pleaded and who was Watson so say no? So he bent down again and licked and tried to push his tongue in and he had to take a firm grip on Holmes’ buttocks as the man was trembling under him. And like that he continued, enjoying immensely the power he had over Holmes.

The ejaculation came a bit as a surprise for both men, because as Holmes said afterwards, “it went from ‘oh god, what is he doing?’ over ’more, more please’ to ‘I’m coming’ in less than 2 minutes.”

They agreed on trying to do it the other way around if Watson would accept an enema and a shaving first. Watson found the thought very arousing, but it would have to wait.

Right now Holmes was busy trying to take Watson’s length all the way down his throat. It was something that had impressed Watson in the club...’servant 15’s ability to swallow his cock all the way down. When Holmes began to swallow around Watson’s member and hum, Watson could feel his orgasm come close and he tugged in Holmes’ hair to warn him, but as always it just made the man swallow even more and Watson came with a cry.

They smuggled under the duvet and drowsed for about half an hour until they felt that they were nearly ready again. Sherlock had been present all the time, but had held himself in the background, just enjoying the impact on his mind that Holmes’ bodily feelings’ made.

Holmes sat up against the headboard of the bed. His legs were bent at the knees and Watson had disinfected his own hands and was sitting beside Holmes’ legs. Watson kissed Holmes and licked his nipples, did bite a bit and then used disinfectant on them...a bit reluctantly. He loved the way Holmes reacted when his nipples were touched. Then he attached the new clamps on them. Holmes hissed and took a breath in through his nose but asked Watson to continue...and Watson could see Holmes interest as his cock began to be erect again.

“You are such a pain-slut”, Watson said.

“Yeah...but I’m your slut.”, panted Holmes. He began to take long lazy stokes on his cock. Watson knew what those long skilled violinist fingers could do when they were around Watson’s cock and he took a deep breath. Right now it was about Holmes’ nipples.

Watson tugged gently at both clamps and the tissue did stretch a bit....Holmes moaned.

Watson tugged a bit harder and now the tissue was stretched even more. Holmes movement on his cock became more rapid. Holmes eyes were closed.....”I’m close...please John...please!”

Watson kept an eye on Holmes testicles and as they were drawn up against his body, Watson put the needle in between the two holes in the clamp and thus through Holmes’ left nipple.

Holmes opened his eyes in the very moment and the loud moan he gave, made Watson happy that Mrs. Hudson was not in the house at all. Holmes’ orgasm continued longer than normally and he actually lost consciousness for a short while. Watson began to worry as Holmes ‘returned’ and said, “That was utterly incredible!”

Watson had used the opportunity to insert the gold plated silver rod as Holmes’ had been blissed out and now Holmes looked at his a bit red and swollen nipple with the gold rod through. He smiled and looked at Watson, “It’s looking nice...I like it.”

“And what about the other nipple?”, asked Watson.

Holmes looked at the other nipple still trapped in the clamp and answered, “Even if I enjoyed the pain immensely, I think it would be the best if you just pierced it now.”

And so it was...without so much fuss. Holmes just hissed a bit. The rod was inserted and the pierced nipples were then bandaged and Holmes was very sternly ordered to keep his hands away.

They dressed in their nightshirts, but without underwear. Watson liked the idea...that Holmes would be so easy accessible the next morning and that they could sleep together. Something they only did, when they were sure not to be disturbed. And they made sure that both beds looked used every night.

As they went to sleep in each other’s arms, Sherlock allowed his mind to sleep to. He wouldn’t feel that he lacked sleep like that, when he woke in his own time.

Chapter Text

At one of the other occasions where Sherlock visited he had asked Holmes how he had learned both to meditate and the martial art...the Bartitsu. Sherlock used meditation to cope as well but he had learned that at the university as well as the Ashtanga-yoga and Sherlock still used it to keep in shape.

Holmes told more about the Bartitsu but the story about the meditation was a bit strange:

“You do ‘remember’ when Mycroft was caned by Father because he had masturbated?”

And Sherlock ‘remembered’. But the way their memories sometimes got mingled was a bit strange. Sometimes Sherlock would have Holmes’ memories just as if had experienced it himself. Other times not at all.

So to be sure Holmes told Sherlock about the events from his childhood, just as Holmes had told Watson:

“And then Mycroft was sent to his room and that was where I found him as I brought the ointment, that Mother had told me to bring him. He was lying on his bed, on his stomach of course , and looked up a bit surprised as he saw that I had brought the ointment.

“What good does a caning do, if it is soothed afterwards?” , he said as he made room for me on his bed.

“Maybe Mother thought Father to be to stern?” I asked.

“Father wasn’t stern at all. In fact he was rather lenient compared to what others might do in a case like mine. I deserved every blow.”

And Mycroft told me a little about what other punishments would be. He even showed me the book, nicked in Father’s library that told about the dangers of ‘self-pollution’. But even if he was only 14 at that time, his mind was as scientific as ever and he pointed at the weaknesses of the arguments in the book.

“Why do you then accept to be punished, if the book is wrong?” I wanted to know.

And then he told me about the necessity of being able to control yourself. That that was the part that distinguished us from the animals.

“Small children are not very good at control. They wet and soil their nappies and if they want something they scream till they get it. Later they learn control.”

And he rose....and flinched a bit because of his sore backside...and went to his cupboard and fetched a jar of sweets. My favourite candy..the peppermint ones with the red stripes.

Then Mycroft placed one in front of me and told me to look at it and if I managed to sit there and look at it for 5 minutes, I would get two.

Sherlock had smiled at the challenge and had been sitting there for five minutes looking at the candy with no problem at all.

“Mycroft had asked me how I’ve done it. It was a game he had played with me since I was 3 years old. And I had never failed.” ,explained Holmes.

“And I told him about ‘the place’...a state of mind I used when I wanted to observe animals in our garden. It wasn’t like your ‘Mind Palace’, but never the less a place of tranquillity, a place of peace. By coincidence I had taught myself to meditate, as I later found out by learning the Bartitsu. When our instructor wanted to teach us about it, I already knew. On the other hand he gave me the knowledge of positions of the body that somehow made it easier. You know...’the meditative pose’...and even if we are sometimes not agile enough to maintain the totally correct one, according to the Buddhist or the Hindus, it still works for me. ”

Holmes continued, “And it worked for Mycroft. The one and only thing I ever taught him. How to meditate and thus avoid being punished ever at the boarding school. He still says that he uses it...and he still gives me credit for it. Every year on that date, a jar of the finest peppermint candies are delivered her at Baker Street. It is his way of saying ‘thank you’.

Holmes could feel Sherlock’s sadness as he said, “I cannot recall anything that I’ve ever been able to teach my Mycroft.”

Holmes answered, “May be he and you just do not know. And it is not easy to be 7 year his junior. I know how it is.”
____________________

Last time Sherlock had only stayed a few hours...equivalent to only 15 minutes of his own time. He had talked about new developments in his Moriarty-case and that he was busy working around another problem. And that he was running out of that special drug. He was trying to recreate it though, had he told.

And he found out that Mary had died, only a few days prior. Holmes and Watson had just returned from Kent, after having been called down there by an express telegram. And they had arrived just before Mary had died. She had been in London only one month before and it was then Holmes’ thought he might have seen something, but the sight of her now, shocked both him and Watson. She looked terrible. But still managed to be as acerbic as ever. Just as acerbic as she had been the last time in London.

Finally all the layers of politeness had been removed and the real ‘Mary’....and it wasn’t even her real name...had emerged. She even admitted that she had been married whilst being ‘married’ to John Watson. Mycroft pulled some strings from London, notified by a telegram from Watson and Holmes about that fact, and before Mary had died their marriage had been annulled. That was the last thing Sherlock learned before he disappeared again.

______________________

Many years after, in the year 1920, Holmes and Watson were sitting in the living room in their cottage in Sussex, having a drink after dinner. They were discussing their old cases and first and foremost the strange ‘visits’ from that other Sherlock Holmes. They dared to call each other by their Christian name, but only inside the protecting walls of their home.

“He never returned, did he?”, asked Watson.

“Not since that very brief visit, just after Mary had died.”, was Holmes’ answer.

“Oh yes, Mary. My traitorous wife, or not my wife at all. It was one of my biggest mistakes, Holmes, to fall for that woman. To marry her. Thinking that finally she was honest.....and yet there were so many layers of lies.”

“And I....the observant Detective...couldn’t see through it. And neither could Mycroft. She worked for him, and sometimes he was even more observant than I.”

Watson took yet another sip of his brandy, “I thought that she finally had spoken the truth as she told me about her daughter.....and I thought I was being so cunning figuring out that she had a relationship with the maid. And who was I to blame her for having a sexual relationship outside our marriage? But that she all the time had been married to that other American....well I hadn’t seen that coming!”

“Well, neither had I.”

Holmes took a sip of his brandy too and the two men sat in comfortably silence for a while and then Holmes continued, “It is a bit strange to think of....that your illegal relationship with me must have saved your life. Even if my friendship is a life-threatening one. As I recall it you have been wounded more than 10 times, one seriously. You have been kidnapped and held hostage 3 times and stabbed 2 times whilst solving crimes together with me...not to mention the more than 20 times you have saved my life, and yet...being with me, not seeing your wife sexually. Well that prevented you from catching her disease.”

“I know...but who could have known? It was...and is...a very rare condition. I had to contact colleagues from Central Africa to find out....and you know how long time such a correspondence took. Almost one year.”

Holmes frowned and asked, “It had to do with chimps, didn’t it?”

Watson nodded and turned the glass between his fingers before he emptied it. Then he got up to fetch the bottle to make another drink, gesturing at Holmes with his eyebrows lifted, speaking without words as they had been able to almost since they first met. Holmes shook his head...no...he didn’t want another drink. And Watson sat down again...lifting the glass to look at the amber fluid.

He took a deep breath and explained, “The doctor, with whom I had that correspondence, told me about it. It is a disease amongst the chimps to be compared with ‘The Spanish disease’...the influenza, that recently killed so many young people. They sometimes found ill chimps lying in the jungle close to the clinic, where my colleague would be working, but the natives always told them not to touch or even try to help them. ‘The evil spirits possessing the ape could jump to humans’ as they said. So my colleague had a suspicion that the illness in the chimps could infect humans. Like some of the diseases of sheep might infect humans...or cattle-diseases too. He had heard of whole villages in the jungle, where no one would help the people in it or visit it, because they had got the ‘chimp-curse’. There would be armed guards on the paths to and from the village, to prevent travel in and out of it...and within less than a year all the villagers would be dead. If not if the disease, then of hunger.”

Watson took a sip of the glass and continued his explanation, “He wrote to me that the chimp-curse could be spread by sexual encounters between man and woman and by eating chimp-meat too. That was the reason for a ban amongst the natives against eating it. The description he gave me, did fit with what I observed by Mary...or whatever her name was. A total collapse of the health....succumbing to illness, that shouldn’t affect her at all, being young of age. It could have been tuberculosis....but she was too young and had lived a too healthy life to fit with that. And it happened far too fast. That husband of hers had caught the disease in Africa. She had thought him to be dead and therefore she saw no problem in marrying me. But he returned and they had continued their relationship...in Kent. What I do not understand...did not understand... was why she hadn’t her marriage with me declared illegal, as she was still married to that David, but maybe she preferred the position it gave her to be Dr. Watson’s wife.”

He shook his head and looked at Holmes, “You know....I had nightmares as I read the answers from that African doctor. About how that disease could be spread. That I might have caught it after all and the latency-period would just be long....like in leprosy. And that I might have infected you. All the discoveries Pasteur made...and Robert Koch’s discovery about micro-organisms. It just gave me nightmares!”

Holmes smiled, “And you didn’t say a word and I had to discover by myself why you were so reluctant to having sex with me. And I thought that you finally had enough of me.”

“Yeah...sorry about that. I know it made you use that bloody syringe again and that damned solution.”

“Well at least your yelling at me revealed the real reason...and the reconciliation-sex afterwards was worth it.”

The two men, who had loved...and made love to each other for more than 30 years smiled. They couldn’t get married by law, but they had been married in every other sense of the word for more than 30 years.

It was Watson who spoke again, “Well, according to what you have learned me, after having eliminated all the other explanations, I think there is only two explanations left, why that young Sherlock never visited us again: First possibility: he wasn’t able to re-create the drug. Against that is the fact that he made it himself in the first place and that he was a very skilled chemist.”

“I agree.”, said Holmes.

“Second possibility: he was in danger and he didn’t make it. He must have died shortly after he had visited us the last time.”

“I agree again.” , said Holmes and continued, “Such a shame. I would like to have known how he managed. He was such a brave young man. Even if we shared the same name, he was so much more than me, John. He had endured so much more. His parents were not very understanding towards the way he was and it gave him so many problems. He always said that he felt he fitted better here in our time than in his own time . And he had been wounded so many times, and tortured...and shot by ‘his’ Mary. No matter what your Mary did, she at least didn’t try to kill me.”

“No..I’ll give her credit for that.”

“Such a shame...he was such a fine young man...even if it is a bit strange to know that he was older than me the first 3 times he visited. That parallel-universe-thing is a strange thing. Twisting time like that. And he did help me solving some of the cases.”

“And you helped him!”

Holmes smiled, “Yes...I did.”

He lifted his glass, “To William Sherlock Scott Holmes...the other me in the other place.”

Watson lifted his glass to, “To William Sherlock Scott Holmes. And I really do hope that it is not because he died, that he never visited again.”
__________________________

Six days after John’s visit Sherlock’s world tilted upside down. No...that would be the wrong expression. But it definitely changed....for the worse. Or had that change started before?

Was it when he first saw John Watson, ex-army doctor and soldier walk..no ‘limp’...into that laboratory at Bart’s? Or was it when John shot that cabbie? Or at the pool when John was wearing that semtex west and they agreed that if they had to die, it would be together? Or as he said good-bye on that roof? Or as he returned to find out that he had been replaced by Mary? And John never wanted to know what happened and never asked about it and had married a woman that later killed Sherlock.

When did Sherlock finally realise that his love for John Watson never could be reciprocated?
____________________

Sherlock had been thinking about that enigma and finally accepted it as he saw something he would never be able to compete with....the first image of John Watson’s newborn daughter sent to Sherlock’s telephone when ‘Baby Watson’ was only 5 minutes old.

Sherlock needed some time to think and he picked up his violin and played a rather melancholy piece...Mendelssohn... and he was so absorbed by the music that he didn’t stop playing before another ‘ping’ told him about another picture about an hour later.

This picture was of a sleeping Mary and ‘Baby Watson’ followed by words in which John said that it hadn’t been an easy delivery, but Mary had been in the best of hands as they had been moved to another safe-house with better facilities and room for a baby. And he had promised to visit Baker Street as soon as possible. And he would bring the material that Mary had provided about Magnussen. ‘Bulletproof material’ if Sherlock would excuse that expression, had John written.
__________________

Sherlock was still standing at the window playing his violin as Mycroft came by. Sherlock didn’t say a word, just put his violin down and showed Mycroft the pictures.

“I was there in the new safe house, when they were taken, Sherlock, and you do realise that when I told you that ‘sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side’ it was to protect you? A sentence which you have adopted. You have to be realistic.”, Mycroft said as he sat down in Sherlock’s chair.

“I know. And I am realistic. Realistic enough to realise that I can’t postpone my results forever.”

Mycroft’s head snapped up, “You have found something?”

“Almost everything...and I haven’t told about it all yet. But time is running out and you, and the people in MI6 and MI5 too, have to react and do something against those people, before they discover that we are on their track. But you know as I know that I'll be back on that plane to Eastern Europe and my death as soon as the plan is launched.”

“I’ve brought Mary’s papers....about Magnussen.”, said Mycroft and handed the folder to Sherlock, who took it and hurried to read through it.

Then he put it aside and he got up to fetch a folder too, printed and written on paper: “I wouldn’t risk sending anything over the net, so a lot of it is written in hand.” And he handed Mycroft the folder.

Then he positioned himself on the couch again, “I’m working on something else, too. It is in that folder too. Don’t you find it strange that all the work I’ve done for the government as a freelance, apparently would put me in jail instead of those people, who ordered the actions? That I...despite saving the whole Parliament-building together with its content of ungrateful politicians....still am facing a death-sentence? I’ll admit though that I would prefer that to jail. And isn’t it peculiar that that Moriarty-video turned up almost in the second I left England, heading for Eastern Europe....”

He turned around and sat up and his piercing gaze fell on Mycroft, who just sat there looking.

Sherlock continued, resting his elbows on his knees and with his hands under his chin, “Magnussen is dead, and can’t threaten you anymore. Nor can he threaten anybody else in the government and I was the one who removed him. But things are not in place yet.....someone is slowly undermining your influence....and they want me in to stay in England.”

Sherlock continued, “How ironically that the very action, they thought would protect them against the threat of me discovering their plans in Eastern Europe, was the very action that could have given them the wanted end-result. I would have been dead and Mycroft Holmes would have been alone, isolated...without his baby-brother, who has far, far too many connections to the under-world of England...or at least in London.

He continued, "Lady Smallwood is...should I call her the ‘red eminence’ behind it all? As you are the a bit more visible ‘gray eminence’ and now I would like to know who the last person of this ‘triumvirate of power’ is. You three ‘eminences’ rule England...from the top and have done it for years. But right now you are extra vulnerable...and now the blow is imminent. So...who is the third part? And who is the mole in your organisation? And why Eastern Europe?”

Mycroft still didn’t say a word.

Sherlock smiled at him, “You know....I’m not as stupid as you thought I was. But you can’t risk your position by protecting me against that invisible enemy. I made a mistake by shooting Magnussen, but it was the only way to prevent an even bigger disaster....and you know that. At least do me that favour to use the pause that that removal of Magnussen has given you to secure your position instead of undermining it by saving a brother, who is not worth saving!”

Mycroft sighed, “The last ‘eminence’ is hidden for me and Lady Smallwood to. A true ‘eminence’ unknown to everybody. And what make you think that you are not worth saving, Sherlock?”

Sherlock jumped up on his feet and almost shouted, “Because I’m not!”

He continued a bit calmer, but still pacing up and down in front of Mycroft, “Just as Magnussen rightly saw....I am your pressure point. And since all that with Irene Adler, I’ve done nothing but undermining your position. I know that I have done so much more to outbalance my doings, but it doesn’t work that way, when the ‘pan of balance’ only is able to show the ‘bad doings’ and all the good ones are invisible and without substance. If you keep on trying to save me, you’ll lose your position and you’ll drag the others with you. Since you three, or at least the two of you, do have some kind of moral, I think that I would prefer you to be ruling instead of others of more dubious morals. In that picture my life is insignificant.”

And Sherlock kept on talking in the way he did, because while he was talking and pacing up and down,, he would sometimes hear or discover something...those tiny little clues that could show the whole picture.

Mycroft Holmes knew that his brain was better at sorting things out. Connecting the dots and know which people could be put where, with maximum effect. And always with the intention of doing the best for England....and the Western Hemisphere. But Sherlock could do something Mycroft Holmes was not capable of. He could connect the ‘invisible’ dots....see connections that were barely there and actually based on too little data, see the whole scheme behind it all.

So Mycroft just listened to Sherlock’s ramblings that were not ramblings at all, and provided the soundboard that first the skull and later John Watson had been too.

Now Sherlock stopped in the middle of a sentence and sat down on the couch. Mycroft looked at him...What had been the last thing Sherlock had said? Something about Lord Moran, the man who had attempted to bomb the parliament more than two years ago and then Sherlock had stopped. Mid-sentence.

Mycroft sighed and went to the kitchen. It could take hours before Sherlock would return from his ‘Mind Palace’. And in the meantime he would make them some tea...they were Brittish after all and would still make tea when the world came rambling down around them at doomsday. He found some of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits too and an apple. He really should remember to eat more healthily.

Now Mycroft got a terrible thought and hurried back to look at the coffee table and on the couch. No...thank God....no note. So Sherlock hadn’t done any drugs.

__________________________

Mycroft used the time to read through Sherlock’s folder.

When Sherlock ‘returned’ from his ‘Mind Palace’ he frowned as he saw two tea-mugs and a plate with some leftover biscuits and an apple core.

“How long have I been gone?” he asked.

“About an hour”, was the answer. And then Mycroft smiled...”And you even managed to drink a cup of tea and eat two biscuits, while you were in your ‘Mind Palace’.”

Sherlock smiled back and then he began to explain about the results of his deductions and contemplations. About his discoveries about the connections between Magnussen, Moriarty, Moriarty’s remaining network and Lord Moran, who almost blew up the parliament...and the mole in the government.

Sherlock explained and Mycroft contemplated for a few seconds and then he said, “Magnussen must have been unaware that it was real explosives and the size of the potential explosion. Lord Moran must have got out of hand. Hired or blackmailed by Magnussen, but only as a pretended threat...not a real one. Magnussen must have been scared as he later learned about the real explosives.”

And then the two brothers began their ‘ping-pong’ of observations and deductions, where one sentence from one of them lead to another mental leap for the other:

Sherlock: “And the mole in the government must be in a rather high position.”

Mycroft: “And he or she must have known about the cover-up for the cleaning of explosives under the Parliament. Everyone else was told it was just props.”

Sherlock: “The connection to Eastern Europe is quite clear. And the purpose of it all is to make England political unstable. I do realise now that you couldn’t tell more than only a few from the ‘inner circle’ about how close they came to be blown to atoms two years ago. The knowledge would have been almost as devastating as if the building had been blown to pieces, if the rest had known or the public had come to know. I see now, Mycroft, that those ‘ungrateful’ politicians have been totally unaware of what I did for them.”

Mycroft: “A political unstable England would ...together with the planned events in Eastern Europe...make a political unstable Europe.”

And like that they continued for a while.

When they had finished their ‘ping-pong’ Sherlock just looked at Mycroft...and took a deep breath, “Please tell me, Mycroft, that I’m an idiot and that I’m totally wrong.”

Mycroft shook his head, “I’m afraid that you are totally right. Even more so because of your discoveries in this folder. But there are a few loose ends though.”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and ran mentally over all the things that Sherlock had said. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I have been such a rubbish big brother. Not taken my time to actually tell you how clever and skilled I sometimes think you are. Maybe out of envy? To me you always seemed to be Mummy’s favourite child....and you grew up to be so damned pretty!”

Sherlock just looked at him with his mouth open.

“Do close your mouth, Sherlock...even if you are a genius, you do look stupid too... with your mouth open.”, Mycroft said and Sherlock closed his mouth with a click.

Mycroft continued, “I have never said it to you and now I think it is about time: even if I’m better at connecting things and am better a deducing than you.....you can do something extraordinary that I’m not capable of. Like finding the bomb under the parliament building...or finding Moriarty’s bomb-victims in time...or nearly all of them in time. You can see the invisible dots...even if I have to guide you sometimes. I can’t. That is why I’m better at ruling a country and you are far, far better at identifying the threats against it.....and I’m afraid that you are totally right. And I do loathe that...because I can only see one possible way out of all this whole misery. And I can’t live with that possibility!”

Mycroft took a deep breath, “As I’ve said before. The loss of you would break my heart!"

Sherlock looked at his big brother....the brother that had protected him so often. The big brother who had been his shield against a not understanding world. A brother who had saved his life many times.

Sherlock rose and went over to Mycroft and actually knelt by his feet, looked at him from his position on the floor.

“You have saved my life...more times than I can count. Even if I hate to admit it. You have saved me from jail and accusations and from myself. Even risking your own life.....in Berlin...in Moscow.....in Johannesburg and last time in Serbia, as you went undercover again and got me out. And risking your political career. England need you now.....more than ever. So would you please allow me to save you this time?”

Mycroft sighed and nodded and then he said, “It can’t be managed by you being put on a witness-programme?”

Sherlock rose and went to the couch again and he just smiled and said, “You do know that you’ll have to cut off my head to alter my appearance so much that I wouldn’t be recognized. And you know that everything is going to be scrutinized when the news break. And it is all right. If my death can buy you enough time to protect yourself and the rest of the government.... If my death can take the pressure of your shoulders, it would be worth it. Nothing holds me back...not now. Nobody needs me except from you, brother dear. And I’ll be so much more valuable to you as dead than alive, as the things have turned out. Please allow me to save your life this time!”

Mycroft sighed...yes unfortunately Sherlock was probably right.

“I’ll have to make further investigations regarding this theory, before we make further actions. Is that clear? I have to be more than 100% sure that this is the reality. That those connections are real, before we react and before....” Mycroft took a deep breath before he continued, “......before your death will buy me, us, England, Europe enough time to prevent this disaster. I see the necessity, but it doesn’t mean that I will not...desperately... try to find a way out!”

Sherlock smiled, “Don’t be absurd, Mycroft. Your big brain has told you exactly why my death would prevent this disaster. And I’m ready. I’ve never been afraid to die....and I’m sure that you’ll be able to ‘cook’ something up that‘ll suit the purpose of giving me my reputation back, destroy your enemies and give me a more easy death than rotting in a jail.”

He pointed at the folder Mycroft had brought from Mary, “Even without the discoveries today, I would never have been able to ask you to use the contents of this folder. I cannot and I will not take Mary away from John or take the mother away from her child. No way! I would probably have got away from being accused of murdering Magnussen and earned myself a verdict of ‘self-defence’. And even that could have given me some time in jail. But the contents of this folder would have put Mary in jail for several years. Not something I could allow. You do realise that, don’t you Mycroft?”

“I do, brother dear. Unfortunately I do.”

And Mycroft turned around and left. He had a lot to do...and so had Sherlock. This ‘mole-in-the-government’ and ‘we-are-trying-to-blow-up-Europe’ cases would require a lot of work from both brothers...and they were running out of time.

Chapter Text

When John turned up as promised, but of course without Mary’s folder, Sherlock was standing in the kitchen. He was trying to recreate the drug that had brought him back...or sideways....to the other Holmes’ Victorian times.

Until now in vain.

Normally he would meticulously write everything down, but he had only been allowed to be in his flat for about than an hour, before he had been be guided to the airport the 1^st of January to be flown to Eastern Europe. Wiggins had managed to deliver both cocaine and heroin at such short notice and had managed to hide it just outside 221B Baker Street for Sherlock to find. But the other substance had to be made from scratch.

Thank God it was a process that only took 15 minutes, but maybe his hands had been shaking a bit or he had taken just half a millilitre too much of one of the ingredients. He had been under extreme duress after all. The end-result was that he didn’t think he could re-create it unless he had a lot of time. And now he had almost no time left.

When John showed up, Sherlock left his experiment and went over to the kettle to make tea.

John found the mugs...he still remembered where they were. After all he had been sort of ‘living’ here in the flat for several hours every day, when he was taking care of Sherlock just 2 months ago.

They sat down in ‘their’ chairs and sipped at the tea in silence. Sherlock could almost see ‘the other Watson’ in front of him...Oh he would so much wish that he could find a way to stay in that other time. This time, this place and this century were a mess. He was a mess. But John couldn’t see it. At least Sherlock hoped that John couldn’t. After all Sherlock had years of training in hiding emotions and putting on a mask.

“Well..” , said John finally, “How far are your investigations?”

“About Moriarty?”

John frowned, “Are you investigating other things as well?”

“I am...several. But I can’t reveal so much for now....not until I’m certain. I hope you’ll understand.”

“Is it something about Mary?”

“No...not directly. No.....and say thanks to her for the material, by the way.”

“Well...can it get you off the hook?”

“With Magnussen?....No....not that the material isn’t enough. But if I should use it, Mary might risk time in jail. I can’t do that to you or to her. So the answer must be: no...it can’t get me off the hook. And I wouldn’t use it. I can’t use it right now. The scheme behind it all is so much bigger that her material doesn’t make so much difference.”

John heard what Sherlock said, but didn’t quite understand it. He had thought that Mary’s findings would have been enough to have Sherlock declared ‘not guilty’, but he realised he had been naive believing that. After all, you cannot shoot a man, even if he deserved it a hundred times, in front of half the MI5 and then expect to get free. And he knew what staying in prison would do to Sherlock. Even his new diagnose ‘suffering from severe PTSS” wouldn’t keep him away from prison.

“Have you found out about Moriarty then?” John asked.

“Yeah...I solved that the first week. He...”

“You did what!?!!” shouted John and jumped up from his chair and moved fast over to Sherlock where he loomed over the detective and spoke in a very low and dangerous voice, “Are you telling me, you utter twat, you arrogant sod...that I’ve been living in that goddamned shitty safe-house for more than bloody 4 weeks, because you couldn’t arse yourself to tell?!?”

Sherlock didn’t budge, didn’t flinch but locked his eyes sternly into John’s and said in a very low, but steady voice, “Yes, I kept my mouth shot about the solution, because I....despite the apparent wish from everybody else, would like to stay alive a little bit longer!!”

John suddenly realised what he had done and said and stumbled back in ‘his’ chair again, “Jesus...of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t think....well yes of course you would!”

He rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath and looked at Sherlock, “Hey...I’m really sorry. I didn’t think. Of course staying in that safe-house is nothing compared to what would happen to you. Forgive me, Sherlock. I didn’t think...Please...”

Sherlock smiled at him and said, “Forgiven!”

And that was the moment where Mrs. Hudson chose to turn up with some sandwiches.

___________________

After they had eaten Sherlock revealed as much as he could. It was not much, but enough to give John the idea of that something really big was going on...and he understood that he had to be patient.

“I do hope....” said Sherlock, “...that within less than a month you will be safe and be able to move back to your own house. Right in time to ‘Baby Watson’s’ christening.”

“Oh..yes.. Fine....well what do you think of her?” John asked with a special light in his eyes and that made Sherlock understand that he had made the right decision, giving John the possibility of a wife and a child. But if it was the right decision, then why did it hurt so much? Why did he feel it like a knife was turned in his stomach?

Sherlock smiled, “She is...ugly...like every little newborn baby is.....but adorable!”

John laughed...well nothing but the unmasked truth was to be expected from Sherlock.

John smiled fondly, “You are right...she is ugly. Red and swollen, but she is mine...and adorable and I already love that little being. You are of course invited to the christening but we haven’t planned anything specific yet. Not knowing where we would be...”

Sherlock smiled genuinely, “I don’t suppose that you are going to call her ‘Sherlock’?”

John laughed back, but not quite sure still why Sherlock had said that terrible bad joke on the tarmac, “No...not quite. But we are not going to tell her name to anyone before the christening. And don’t you dare deducing it!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” , said Sherlock, but thought to himself (”Now I’ll never know. I’ll be gone before that.”)

John looked at him, having the feeling that he was missing something, “You will be safe after all this have been settled, right? You don’t have to go to jail, when this entire debacle has been mended, right?”

“I will be as safe as I have never been before”, said Sherlock...and actually it would not be a lie. No one and nothing would be able to hurt him where he ended. Being dead was the safest place on Earth.

They talked a bit more and then one of Mycroft’s minions turned up to tell that it was time for John to go back to the new safe-house.

“I’ll write...” said John as he left.

_______________

Shortly after John had left Mycroft turned up again and the two brothers soon found themselves busy trying to find a way through all the mess. They found out that they actually enjoyed working together and Mycroft had to admit that his younger brother despite all his flaws and failures was a rather competent companion, who sometimes could match his own intellectual capacity and even surpass it occasionally. And then it hit Mycroft and he had to ask, “Sherlock...I have to ask and maybe you are going to hate me for asking....”

“Go on..” , said Sherlock and wondered why Mycroft even bothered thinking about Sherlock’s feelings.

“I just wondered. And I know now that it is not because you don’t want to, but more because you are not able to do it, that you do not interact well with people. But you have practically been ‘condemned’ to ‘solitary confinement’ here in your flat. Without much human company....and normally you would be climbing the walls by now....”

“So you wondered if I was ‘on’ something?”

Mycroft at least had the decency of blushing a bit, “Hmm.....yes.”

Sherlock smiled, “No...I’m not. Nothing illegal anyway. I do smoke too much, though. But I’m still working on something...a drug. The ingredients are not illegal though..”

And he gestured at the arrangement on the kitchen table and explained, “I’m experimenting. I was on the track of something, before Christmas...and right now the substances needed are prescribed to me by your psychiatrist.”

He smiled a bit sadly at Mycroft, “I’m willing to pee in a jar, if you insists..”

Mycroft looked relieved and answered, “No...I do believe you. This time I do. But you are different. Not acting like a blue-arsed fly in a bottle. Not being acerbic against me.”

“I’m on a case....that is the difference, brother dear. And I’ve stopped dreaming and I’m making an effort to be realistic...about everything.”

Mycroft looked at his baby-brother, and didn’t see the troubled 10 year old boy, he used to see, when Sherlock was in trouble. Like at Magnussen’s house....and before. He saw the real Sherlock and suddenly realised that ...yes...Sherlock was indeed not a child anymore. And it then hit Mycroft: Sherlock was close to being forty and Mycroft himself very close to fifty. They were more equals that they had ever been. Seven years difference doesn’t mean a lot when you are a grown up. And Sherlock was right...he was a grown up. And had in fact acted like a such for many years.....And Mycroft had so much pissed him off by treating him as a child.

“I’m sorry..” Mycroft said.

Sherlock frowned, “Whatever for? Nothing of this..this misery is your fault. It all points back at me. If I hadn’t been so intrigued by Moriarty’s games. If I had not been willing to ‘dance’ with him, nothing of this would have happened!”

“No...I disagree. I do, Sherlock. If you hadn’t been there he would have challenged me. And I would have failed. You managed to save almost everybody. I could not have done so. And remember...he didn’t work on his own. Oh yes...he did as a child ...killing Carl Powers. But who trained him until he appeared as a grown up super-villain? Who helped him to create his alter ego ‘Richard Brooks’? Even if Moriarty appeared to work on his own, he didn’t. Remember the old lady who died? She described the voice....’so soft’ she said. Well Jim Moriarty’s Irish drawl would never be described as ‘soft’, could it? No our ideas...I’m afraid that we are totally right. This goes way back...way back. Even further as I originally thought..”

And Mycroft handed Sherlock a folder from his briefcase, “I just received it before I left for your flat. If it contains what I think it does, we do have to speed things up a bit.”

They both hurried to read the contents and looked at each other....well not that it altered a lot. But enough to make them see the necessity to be acting soon.

“And the other case?” asked Sherlock.

“The results are not here yet. It is not easy to perform such tests without people knowing. I cannot drug people a whole day...and make them loose an entire Wednesday, like you did to John, Sherlock.”

Sherlock just smiled in return.

__________________

Finally after 4 hours of hard work their plan was almost ready. Mycroft tried to persuade Sherlock to consider another outcome, but as Sherlock pointed out....it was the only solution that would buy Mycroft enough time. And he needed that if he wanted to maintain his position...and Sherlock wouldn’t hear of anything else than Mycroft should stay exactly where he was and doing what he did. Unfortunately Mycroft couldn’t see another way out either.

Now they would wait for a suitable case to turn up. Something that would bring Sherlock to the Regent’s Park......and that as a goal for a sniper. Or if nothing would turn up, Sherlock would just be there for his usual stroll.

____________________________

A few days later Lestrade came up the stairs at Baker Street.

“Sorry mate...but I wasn’t allowed to visit you before today.”, he said as he entered.

“It is all right, Greg. I know it is not your fault. Did you bring the mentioned case?”, answered Sherlock, and pointed at the couch and the coffee table with tea cups and a plate of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits, “Tea?”

“Thanks....Actually I thought you were much too busy solving the Moriarty enigma?”, said Greg as he sat down on the couch and Sherlock sat down in his chair.

“It is practically solved, Greg. Right now MI6 is on its way to 3 different destinations in Eastern Europe to apprehend the culprits....so yes it is close to being solved.”

“So...it wasn’t Moriarty on that screen?”

Sherlock smiled again and answered, “No way....but he had several loyal followers left in Eastern Europe, as I had to leave with some loose ends unfinished, and something bigger was on its way. So as they discovered, that I was on my way to Serbia, they panicked. They contacted a young German hacker-group who had nothing what so ever to do with the criminal world...besides being able to hack into practically everything. Oh God...the youngest was just 14 and the oldest 21....They saw it as a challenge and a bit of fun. They got terrified when they learned about the consequences. And by the way...they are working for Mycroft now. And the picture on every screen forced me to stay in England...and away from Moriarty’s loyal men.”

(Sherlock didn’t want to tell Greg that he had OD’ed on the plane and had planned to be dead when the plane landed in Zagreb. There was no reason to do that now)

Greg looked at Sherlock, “I never asked you how bad it was, when you returned?”

“Bad?”

“Yeah...I heard that you had been beaten up just before you returned...and I even gave you a hug.”

“That wasn’t the worst that happened”, explained Sherlock and told about how angry John had been. He told it with a smile...as if it didn’t mean a thing that John had reopened Sherlock’s wounds and almost broke his nose.

Greg looked at him and couldn’t understand it, “Aren’t you mad as hell because John treated you like shit?!”

And Greg wondered how he could punch John...hard...the next time they would meet, because John had been such a dickhead.

“Oh...God no, Greg. I deserved every punch he gave me! Remember, I made him watch me committing suicide. By mistake...he came back to Bart’s far, far too soon. But it was as if he didn’t mean a damned thing to me when I made him watch. No...it was all right, Greg. It really was.”

Greg gave him a look, “You have mentioned my name 3 times...correctly. What happened to your tease with giving me a wrong name every time?”

“Well, maybe I grew tired at teasing you. Do you know why I did it?”

“Haven’t got a clue.”

Sherlock smiled, “The first time we meet, you called me ‘Billy’. I hated that name. The bullies in the school used to call me that. Then you called me ‘William’. At that time I hated that name...it was the boy my mother wanted to see, not me. And the third time you called me “Sherl”. I just decided that I’d never call you by your right name...I’m sorry Greg. It was childish of me.”

Greg smiled back...genuinely amused, “It’s fine. I just wondered how many variations you could turn up with.”

They smiled at each other. Their friendship was old...and even if Sherlock sometimes drove Greg mad, Greg knew that he could trust Sherlock with his life....as Sherlock had shown as he jumped to save John, Mrs. Hudson and Greg.

“I know it is very inappropriate of me to ask, Sherlock, but would you allow me to see your back?”

Sherlock frowned, “Why?”

“Because I want to know how bad it is, so I can punch John hard next time I see him!”

“Believe me....he didn’t do so much damage. Honestly Greg...if I wanted John to be punched, I’d do it myself....”

“Yeah, I know...and I was sort of joking...but I would still like to see, what it did cost you to save my life.”

Sherlock looked at him with that nose wrinkle. Then he made a decision and rose, turned his back and took of his dressing gown and shirt.

“Jesus...”, breathed Greg. He could see that Sherlock’s back was well healed, but it didn’t conceal the fact that it must have been really bad, when the wounds were fresh. There were quite a lot of scars.

“May I touch? Does the scar-tissue hurt?” he asked, remembering all too well how much his own scar on his leg after a stray bullet more than 5 years ago, had ached for many years.

“Feel free”, said Sherlock and continued, “I’ve been to a clinic in Germany in 2014. They re-operated me. More to restore flexibility than making it look nice. I had physiotherapy to restore full flexibility in my shoulders as well. They were damaged after I had been shackled to the walls and had been hanging too long supporting my own weight. But they are fine now...totally restored. The damage after the electric rod on my genitals is eliminated too. I function perfectly well all over again.”

He turned around, “Do you want to know more?”

Greg blushed, “I didn’t mean to pry....or offend you Sherlock. I’m sorry....it was very inappropriate of me.”

He sighed, “But I do care about you....and...and I do feel just a little bit guilty that you had to endure...torture...because of me...sort of.”

Sherlock dressed again. Then he sat down and looked at Greg.

“It’s true...you are my friend. Have been that for a long time. And you have seen me at my lowest. It is I who should say ‘I’m sorry’. You were just concerned...it is OK. Would you accept my apology?”

Greg smiled back, “I don’t know who you are...but do you know what happened to the mad, acerbic genius ‘Sherlock Holmes’? Because he would never apologise! And you don’t have to.....I was asking too much of you. I’m sorry!”

Sherlock smiled back, “It’s fine...Do you really want to know what happened to me?”

“I do.”

And Sherlock told about his time away. Not too much though. There were no reason to tell about how many men he had killed or tortured as he brought down Moriarty’s network, only leaving a few unfinished businesses, as he got caught in Serbia by Baron Maupertuis’ men.

And he told about what his captures had done to him...not in too much detail, though. And Sherlock shared his astonishment about what they did...or rather hadn’t done to him.

“I know it sounds crazy....but they actually somehow just did give me a ‘beating’. They came close to kill me. But they didn’t break me...and they could have done that easily.”

“What do you mean?”, asked Greg.

“Well remember what you and I have seen at crime scenes? What people have done to each other? It was as if they just wanted to punish me...not mutilate me. They could have done so much worse. The place looked like something out of a bad horror-movie about The Spanish Inquisition. Stone walls, iron doors....shackles. It only lacked burning torches on the wall instead of electric light-bulbs. And it was just old-fashioned methods. Hunger...thirst...sleep deprivation.....whipping...cutting....bludgeoning. But they only broke a few ribs. They could have broken every bone in my body...have made me disabled...crippled beyond repair...and still have kept me alive. I was hanging in my arms which caused my breast musculature to cramp, making it very hard to breathe. But when I fainted from lack of oxygen, they always lowered me down on my knees, so I could breathe again. They humiliated me...pissed on me. Let me soil myself, because I was shackled to the walls, but they gave me water and food. Not much...but enough to stay alive. ”

Sherlock smirked, “The worst part, though was that they forced me to listen to Serbian pop music..”

Greg laughed and the tense atmosphere lessened a bit...but only till Sherlock continued, “There are chemicals they could have given me, that could have turned me into a babbling wreck.....and there were rumours about what Maupertuis’ men had done to prisoners.....something similar to what the Koreans did to more than 50 captured American soldiers during the Korean war.”

“And that was?”, asked Greg deeply worried.

“Amputations. Turning men into torsos.....blinded torsos. Putting perfectly healthy young men on an operating table and then amputate their arms and legs. Removing their eyes. Take care that they heal well...fight infections. And then...when they are perfectly healed, deliver them back...in Serbia to their families. In Korea back to the American army. In Korea they were delivered in big baskets...hanging in the trees to be found by the American patrols... That is why they were called ‘Basket-babies’.”

“Oh my God...” was Greg’s reply. He took a deep breath and continued, “What happened to them...Dear Lord...it must have been a living nightmare!”

Sherlock’s mouth was a thin line as he continued, “They were brought to a secret base in Greenland, near Narsarsuaq, to the ‘Blue West One’-base. And there they were hidden for the outside world. And killed. They could not be allowed back in the United States. Imagine what would happen to the moral of their fellow soldiers, if they knew they could be mutilated like this? One thing is being shot...or step on a landmine. And the end-result could be being just as handicapped. A blinded living torso. But there is something gut-wrenching, spine-chilling, horrifying monstrosity about the thought of being put on an operating table and having your perfectly sound and healthy limbs removed out of...revenge. A thought so totally insane that it would have been worthy of a Moriarty.....and Maupertuis was one of Moriarty’s men. So you see, Greg, even if I was close to being killed, they were rather...lenient...towards me.”

“Oh my God...” was Greg’s answer and he continued, “You do not happen to have something stronger than tea, do you?”

“It has really shaken you?”

“Dear Lord, Sherlock, even you must admit that it is terrifying!”

“It is...and that is why I still sometimes have nightmares!”

They looked at each other and Sherlock rose to fetch the whisky.

After they had taken a rather large gulp of their drink, Greg couldn’t help asking, “It was just rumours, right?”

Sherlock shook his head, “In Serbia?...maybe. But it was Moriarty’s men. In Korea?...No.. it was the truth. I know because I met the sole survivor. In Denmark...when I was...away.”

And Sherlock told the story about Howard Nilsson, who had been captured in 1951 and delivered back to the American Army two months after his capture, without arms and legs, but still having his eyes. “Why they allowed me to keep my eyes, I do not know. Maybe they forgot? And I think it made a difference. I didn’t turn insane, like most of the others”, Howard had told. He had told how he had escaped the Military Base in Greenland together with one of the female Danish doctors, Michelle. They did hide amongst the Inuits and had lived by them for more than 6 months. It was a very traditional culture, still living the ‘ancient way’, with hunting, dog-sledges..... and a very refreshing view of Howard’s disabilities.

“They said that even if I had no arms and legs, I still had a mouth and I was ordered to stir the cooking pot using a long stick. I was supposed to tell stories as entertainment in the long dark nights, and they teased me...good-naturedly....about how much easier it was to make their native clothes for me...’as nothing was sticking out’ as one of the old women said. Their clothes made of reindeer, ice-bear or other furred animals had proved themselves so much more efficient under the harsh climate, than all the modern stuff. So Michelle and I were dressed in native clothing that could keep you alive during a snow-blitz even if you were outside. And my outfit was apparently easier to make than Michelles’.”

Howard had been sitting in his house in Denmark, surrounded by children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and had told more about his escape and later life.

“We were found by a patrol from the base 6 months after our escape, but Captain Martins pretended not to recognize me. Just talked to his fellow officers how dangerous a life it was to be living the ancient way, as I apparently had been disabled during a hunt. And then he had looked me directly in my eyes and had said, “It is refreshing to see that such an apparently primitive culture is more merciful than our highly civilized society, where such a man would be dumped and declared ’useless’” and then he just turned around and left. I knew he wouldn’t report the finding of me. And then we decided to travel to Denmark and I’ve been here since, living a happy life. And no...I’m not going to tell the cruel story about the missing ‘Basket-babies’ who, even if they were healthy enough, just died at that secret base. Being blinded as well, it was maybe the best for them to be killed. Those 10 I had shared quarters with, they were all totally insane. Why I was able to keep my sanity was maybe because I still was able to see. Living disabled in darkness, knowing what the Koreans had done to them...Maybe the army did the right thing....”

_____________________

Sherlock shook his head and took another gulp of his whisky, “I could only admire that old man. He was 82 at that time. And after having talked to him just for two minutes you forgot that he had no arms and legs. He was an author....wrote historical fiction-books on his computer. Well-known and well-paid. He could drive anywhere in his electrical wheelchair, go to the loo...do anything. Howard had smiled and said, “No...I can’t scratch my nose. But that is about all the limitations I have.”

Sherlock smiled, “He was such an inspiration. And gave me valuable clues for my next challenge about finding the men in Moriarty’s net.“

Greg had to ask, “No one found out about what happened to the other ‘Basket-babies’?”

“Nope...and I think we should respect that old man’s wish in that matter, don’t you think? Well...your case?”

And soon they were absorbed in that new case about the abducted girls from Regent’s Park.

Chapter Text

The case had begun more than a year ago. With only a few weeks apart, three girls had been abducted by apparently the same man. All three girls had mentioned the same green car, which had been following them before they were captured... and all three girls had mentioned the special scent that the man had had. Nothing they could describe better though as they couldn’t recognize the scent.

The pattern had been the same. They had noticed the car a few minutes before he had abducted them. And then they had been grappled from behind...in broad daylight. And it had all happened on the streets around Regent’s Park. He had not done them any harm, besides scaring the hell out of them. All three girls had long hair...and were, well girls. But apart from that, there had been no connections. They had not attended the same school, didn’t know each other and looked, apart from their long hair, not similar at all. Had not the exactly same age or the same height. One was of Indian origin, one was of African origin and one was very fair, like a Scandinavian.

The man had blindfolded them and had brought them to a house. Had told them that he would let them go if they would allow him to dress them. He had then covered their faces with something they thought was a mask and he had partly undressed them, leaving their underwear. Then they could feel that he dressed them in something and arranged them in different positions. Nothing sexual. They all thought to hear a camera and felt the warmth from photo-lamps. And then he did as promised....he gave them their clothes back, told them to dress and drove them to Regent’s Park, and told them to get out of the car and count to 10 before they would remove the blindfold. They had not dared not to obey.
Then there had been a pause in the abductions and only 2 weeks ago there had been a repetition. This time the girl had been beaten and had nearly died and just a week ago the Police had found two dead girls. Now it was suddenly Greg’s division and the homicide department of Scotland Yard had to investigate the murders that apparently was connected as witnesses had seen a green car similar to the one that the girls had seen more than a year ago.

Sherlock wanted to interview the three girls and the meeting was to be held at Scotland Yard. The three girls had been there before, two years ago and they had become friends afterwards, and they were now 2 years older, so as Sherlock entered the room where the meeting was to be held, he didn’t meet three scared girls, but three young teenagers, the youngest 14, the oldest nearly 17 and they knew exactly who ‘Sherlock Holmes’ was, even if the whole media hysteria before ‘the jump’ had been more than 5 years ago.
They talked for about 1 hour before Sherlock finally got a clue. It had to do with the girls hobbies. One had photographed her toy-horses on ‘landscapes’ (made out of green blankets on her bed) and posted them on Pinterest, the other girl had designed and made clothes for her Barbie dolls and had taken pictures of them and posted them on Snapchat and the last girl had made dioramas about the ancient Egypt for a school-project. It was not the internet media that had been the connection but the very place, where the girls had some of their pictures printed out on quality paper.....a small printer shop in Camden Street. Finally something that connected the girls!

By further inquiries the girls told Sherlock that the owner would sometimes print out their pictures for a very small amount of money, if he was allowed to use their pictures as advertising material in his shop......and there would be a small picture of ‘the artist’ in the corner of said enlarged photo.

Sherlock thanked the girls warmly....and the oldest was not unaffected by Sherlock’s charm and blushed as he praised their cooperation.

Off he went to the printer-shop. Maybe the owner was the culprit? But as soon as Sherlock saw him, he realised that that owner was only interested in men...and Sherlock turned so much up for his charm, that the man told him almost everything.

The next lead was another set of photos, which the owner wanted to use to impress Sherlock. Sherlock first thought them to be of living persons, but was told that they were in fact Asian Phicen dolls. Very lifelike and poseable and in scale 1/6....almost like Barbie-dolls. And that finally brought Sherlock to a small shop in Foley Street....and a very dubious man.

They had quite a chat that ended with Sherlock buying a female and a male doll, as he claimed he would use them for reconstructions of crime scenes. It was easier to do it with dolls and then photo-shop them afterwards, had Sherlock lied skilfully. And that finally gave a breakthrough. The man from the shop showed Sherlock pictures of those Phicen female dolls, dressed in costumes and posed in different positions....and the man confessed that he sometimes would prefer living models, as he had tried that at some evening classes in ‘Historical Photography’. And he told that those dolls were rather delicate and could turn sticky and needed to be powdered with talcum or baby-powder. That was the scent that the girls had noticed and not been able to identify!

Sherlock did hide his excitement....but that man was ‘their’ man. He wanted living models...and had succeeded two years ago. But now....something must have gone wrong with the three recent girls. Terrible wrong...and the tension in the man would grow. There was a new abduction on its way!

Sherlock went home and contacted Mycroft and asked him to turn up at Baker Street as soon as possible.

He was standing at the window playing his violin as Mycroft came up the stairs.

“Mendelssohn.....a bit melancholy.” said Mycroft.

Sherlock turned around and put his violin carefully down, loosened the screw on the bow and looked at Mycroft.

“I think I’m allowed to be a bit melancholy by now...Not that I’m afraid, but a bit sad that this had to be done. I never expected to make it past 25..and then past 30. And yet ..here I am, almost 38 years old. I’ve faced death so many times, brother dear....and this is going to be fast and sort of clean...almost painless. I could not hope for more.”

Then he smirked and pointed at the tea and biscuits on the coffee-table and said, “And I save your arse at the same time...it is always something! Tea?”

And then they discussed the further plans....Sherlock once more emphasising the necessity of Mycroft solidifying his position even if it would cost Sherlock his life!

The stage was set....the curtains about to rise...
___________________________
They had talked with Lestrade about using one of the police forces undercover young female agents to play a schoolgirl and had arranged for her having delivered a beautiful picture that would catch the print-shop-owners attention and thereby the doll-boutique owners too.....but as the events turned out, it wasn’t necessary:

Four days after Sherlock’s visit in the doll-shop another girl was attempted abducted. But she had spotted the green car and had got scared and had disappeared into Regent’s Park and the culprit had parked his car illegally and had followed her, unaware of the more than 10 posted civilian police officers rehearsing for the ‘trap’ that now never would come in use.

Mycroft had been notified and the sniper, hired by Mycroft, was in place within 30 minutes. All the careful and meticulous preparations that should catch all the secret followers of the conspiracy against Mycroft and Lady Smallwood were in place. Now they just waited for the ‘mousetrap’ to be released. Unfortunately the bait had to be a dead Sherlock.....
Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock had been able to see another way out.

And Sherlock was ready. As he had said...he wasn’t afraid.....and he hadn’t cleaned the flat or said anything to John or Mrs. Hudson. He had just walked out the door dressed in one of his suits, white shirt and his beloved coat and the blue scarf, just as if he was going to come back again soon. The only thing Sherlock regretted was that he had not been able to recreate the drug that could have brought him back to the Victorian times. And now he would never have time to do so....
____________________________

The police officers had apprehended the man from the doll-shop, a Thomas Dean, before he had done any harm to the girl, but Sherlock was summoned by Lestrade anyway because there had been found another dead person and that under suspicious circumstances, close to the spot where the girl had hidden, as she was chased by the man.

It turned out that it was an old acquaintance of the police...an old tramp who often had been sleeping in the park. At first he hadn’t been recognized, as he apparently had been away for a while and had been washed, dressed in new clothes and had a haircut. Sherlock recognized him right away though....and the tramp had died of a ‘natural death’ for an alcoholic....varicose veins on the gullet caused by cirrhoses of the liver and he had died by severe loss of blood as one of the varices had ruptured. And that was the explanation of that rather large amount of blood surrounding the man.

The case had turned out very differently from the original plan.....but it was very useful to get Sherlock to stand at the pre-arranged spot at the appointed time of the day anyway.

It was one of the first warm days in February. One of those rare days that carried a promise of spring. And the daffodils were blooming. Sherlock had decided to find some excuse to remove his coat, because he would be easier to shoot in the right place on his body, if he wasn’t wearing his concealing coat.

And the early spring day gave the perfect excuse.

Donovan was there and she and Sherlock had a much better relationship now. She had felt rather guilty as Sherlock had ‘committed suicide’ and it later turned out that he had been so wrongly accused...and thank God she didn’t know a thing about what he had had to do when he was away...and nothing about his shooting of Magnussen.

He gave her his coat and pointed at the girl, “Give it to her...it is a bit chilly. I’m dying for a cigarette, so I’ll just step over there and have one. Do you stay with the girl?”

“I do” smiled Donovan and took Sherlock’s coat.

Sherlock took a deep breath...it was now.

Was he afraid? No...not afraid. Maybe more a bit sad that it would be necessary.....and it was. He was prepared to pay the price for keeping Mycroft on his rightful place. And to be honest...nothing kept him here. He wasn’t important to anyone...not even John.

He moved over to the appointed spot. And he would be standing still for a while...giving the snipe an easy target. He would be smoking a cigarette as an excuse for standing there for a while.

Sherlock lit the cigarette wondering how much of it he would be able to smoke, before he would be shot. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun and turned around as it had been arranged.
_______________________

The sniper looked through his scope. The dark-haired man was standing at the appointed place and now he turned around. His white shirt made it easier to see where the shot should be made.

The sniper took a steadying breath.....and his finger tensed on the trigger.....and pulled...twice.
_________________________

In the park Sally Donovan and all the other Police-officers, including Lestrade who had just sat down to talk with the girl, heard the two shots, but it was Donovan who saw Sherlock fall.

“IC1 male down”, she said very professionally in her radio, but then her façade cracked as she looked at Lestrade, “Oh my God...someone just shot Sherlock!”

“Stay here, take cover!” ordered Lestrade and ran towards Sherlock’s lying body. Oh God... Sherlock was lying perfectly still...and there was so much blood...and Sherlock was so pale......

To be continued.....

Chapter Text

In the lofts-room in the house opposite the spot where Sherlock’s body was lying now, the sniper carefully lowered his weapon. He had hit the dark haired man in the exact right place.

The sniper was wearing a protection suit and leather gloves and under them a pair of thin rubber gloves...carefully prepared with another man’s DNA and fingerprints.
He carefully disassembled the rifle and meticulously removed every carefully placed false fingerprint...almost. Leaving enough for the experts to find..if they were careful enough.
Then he removed the false piece of cheek-skin...again prepared with the other man’s DNA, that had been pressed against the rifle.

He put the rifle back in its casing and placed in the hiding place between two walls. Not easy to find, but not impossible either. Then he walked down the stairs and removed his leather gloves. They were now ‘infected’ with the other man’s DNA and fingerprints inside. And he dumped them in a container just outside the backyard door. Taking care that his second pair of thin silken gloves didn’t leave any traces.

Then he removed his protection suit and the last pair of gloves and rolled it so tightly that they did fit into a milk carton and placed it under four real ones in a plastic bag from ‘Tesco’.

He opened the front door and walked out on the pavement. He could hear the siren from the Ambulance which was heading for Regent’s Park.

And now he just looked like an ordinary bloke, heading home with some groceries.

He groaned a bit as the long sleek black car did pull over and stopped besides the pavement and the door just opened.

“Get in!”

John Watson sighed and got into the car.
___________________________

“Give me the bag.”, ordered Mycroft.

John groaned and asked, “Have you never learned to ask nicely?”

Mycroft smiled a dangerous smile and answered, “No.....not the man who shot my brother...”

John laughed, “As if I did not do it on your order!”

He turned his head away and said, “This is the most difficult thing that I ever have been asked to do!”

“I know, “said Mycroft, “But you do understand the necessity?”

“I do.“, said John and turned towards Mycroft again.

“and..”, continued Mycroft, “you were the only one skilled enough....and whom I could trust 100%.”

“It didn’t make it easier!”

“I know!”

And John was driven home to the safe-house, where he would have to play his part as the very surprised John Watson who in a very short time would learn about his best friend’s death.

Chapter Text

As Sherlock woke up the first time, he was rather disoriented...What had happened? He was like a swimmer breaking the surface of the water and then sinking down under the surface again. Not able to hold on to his consciousness....He had been in the park....The case with the abducted girls......and he had been shot!

That was the thought that he held on to....but he was overwhelmed with an enormous tiredness and his consciousness drifted away into the blackness again....

The next time he woke, he was a bit more to his senses and he could feel the pain: in his chest and in his thigh. His throat was sore...had he been intubated? And how had he survived a shot in his chest...again? His consciousness faltered.....and he sank below the surface of being awake. He could hear a voice though. John? But he was with Mary...as he should be...and with his baby daughter......he should not be with Sherlock.

The third time Sherlock was almost fully awake and realised that John was sitting on a chair, head down on his arms on the mattress beside Sherlock and asleep .....where? Not a hospital even if he was in a hospital bed and was being monitored. But the smell was different and the sounds too. Private clinic then...and why wasn’t he dead? There was a pain in his chest, but it was nothing compared to what he had felt the last time when Mary shot him...and a pain in his thigh. He looked around in the room. There were sensors attached to him and monitors. But not hospital-like. He huffed...he should know such monitors by now! But there were not IV’s in his veins.....not with nutrition and not with pain-relievers. So that was not the explanation for the only slight pain. Why wasn’t he dead?

He had been standing in the park and at the appointed position. He had been smoking and had turned around to make an easier target. He had felt the pain in his thigh....twice?....and had time to think for about 2 seconds that the sniper had missed....He had suddenly felt weak and had fallen to the ground and he had heard the two(?)shots. And then....blackness. Nothing! No memory of anything.......Not like the other time he had been shot and wounded severely. This time he had not ended up in his Mind Palace.....

Sherlock had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that John was awake and looking at him.

“Hi....welcome back”, Johns voice caught his attention and he looked at John with that nose-wrinkle.

“You are not mad at me, John?”

John smiled and said, “No.”

“Oh”....and Sherlock turned his head a bit away, feeling a pang of sadness.....No of course. Sherlock didn’t mean so much to John anymore. If anything at all.....If John didn’t even bother being mad at him.

John must have read something in Sherlock’s expression, because he took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it.

“I’m hardly in a position of being mad at you for being shot, when I was the one pulling the trigger”, he said.

Sherlock turned his head and frowned again.....and then he understood.

“Oh...I see.....You missed.”

“What?”

“Obviously....I’m not dead.”

“Jesus, Sherlock. Did you expect to bloody die standing there in the park? And that I, your best friend, would shoot you and kill you?!”

“I did...that is... expect to die. And I didn’t know you would be the sniper. I being killed...It was the only way to make a ‘flood’ and flush all those little evil ‘rabbits’ out of their ‘evil’ little rabbit-holes. To make all Mycroft’s enemies show themselves.”

“Yeah...Mycroft told me about what you’ve planned. But not the part where you expected to be shot for real though.”

“I’m sorry John. But that was the only way out I could see for him...and to keep you all safe. His enemies want him down on his knees and I’ve caused them so much damage, that they wanted revenge. With me being dead, I would be out of their reach and they would have no pressure point against Mycroft anymore.”

“And you say that you are not a hero?”

“No...I’m not John, just an utter catastrophe. Look at all the mess I’ve made since Moriarty.”

And that was the time where Mycroft entered the room so John didn’t have a chance to contradict Sherlock’s remark.

Sherlock turned his attention towards Mycroft, “You changed the plans without telling me.”

“I did...because I found a way out.”, explained Mycroft, and pointed at John, “and found an excellent sharpshooter that I could trust 100%.”

Sherlock shook his head, “You are taking an enormous risk, brother dear, with me not being dead for real.”

Mycroft shook his head too and carried a chair over to Sherlock’s bed, “I do think, Sherlock, that your continued existing amongst the living is worth that risk. We are only seven...including you....who know that you didn’t die in the Regent’s Park two days ago.”

“Two days?”

Now John interrupted, “I shot you in your thigh with a gelatine bullet containing a rather heavy sedation. The second bullet, only 0.5 centimetres away from the first, (John was a bit proud of that) was a two-component bullet made to create a big amount of false blood using the humidity and the oxygen in the air. Making people believe that a major artery had been hit. The false blood totally soaked the leg of your trousers. I’m afraid that the sedation knocked you out a bit longer than anticipated.....and the false ambulance was a bit delayed. Therefore you didn’t get the antidote in time. We even had to intubate you the first day because of the sedation. And it knocked you out for two days. You had a few periods of nearly waking up, but slipped again. Your vitals were all right though, so I decided just to let you sleep it away.”

“Oh...I see. “, said Sherlock, “So you didn’t miss. And the pain in my chest?”

“Was made by Lestrade”, explained Mycroft, “He is the 7th member of our little conspiracy. When he ran to you, he had a small pyrotechnic devise concealed in his hand. As he had ordered everybody else to take cover, he had time to put it on your chest just above your heart and activate it, creating a bullet hole in the shirt and crushing a second gelatine capsule with false blood-compounds. He didn’t have time to put a protecting plate under it, so it made a small burn-wound and gave that impact that you feel now. You must know, that when we will be able to tell that you are alive, we’ll have to pretend for a while, that you are more wounded, than you are in reality. For two reasons: Some people outside my sphere of influence would still think that you should be sent to Eastern Europe and even if we manage to ‘flush out’ every enemy, there might still be someone left, who would be easier to deal with if they believe that you are disabled.”

“I see...and I agree......but who are the others in ‘your’ conspiracy?”, Sherlock wanted to know.

“You and I. Lestrade, as I mentioned, and obviously John. Mrs. Hudson...and she is at her sisters and away from Baker Street. More about that later. And Andrea...”

Here John interrupted, “You really got me there Mycroft. Pulled my leg for years. I even flirted with her. I would never had guessed that you two were married..”

Sherlock smiled, “And my brother is even wearing a ring.”

“Yeah...but on the wrong hand...and ‘Anthea’...Andrea...is not wearing any.”, said John.

Mycroft looked at John, “And who are you to talk about ‘pulling legs’? You were indirectly my employee for two years...and I never guessed. Even if I had your files.”

Sherlock was a bit confused....and then he understood, remembering what he had read in the files about “Army Doctor Captain John Hamish Watson, ‘Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers’“. The files that he had nicked...erm...’borrowed’ from Mycroft.

“We should have guessed, Mycroft, after John shot the cabbie.”, said Sherlock, “But who would have guessed that ‘The Scotsman’...one of the best snipers in MI6, did return to normal service and got shot and sent home about a year after. Actually there were nearly two years missing in John’s CV, if you looked closer. What made you find out, Mycroft?”

“Nothing...not until I asked John directly about the two missing years. I’ve been very much around both safe-houses and John had gone bored and had practised target-shooting together with the guards.”

John smiled, “And it gave me away. I tried not to be so good, but the competition caught me....and ‘the rest is history’. Of course they blabbed to Mycroft.”

“And I asked him directly.....and his answer gave me another possibility than you being dead, Sherlock.”

“It is still an enormous risk. You haven’t found the moles in your organisation and without knowing the one behind it all...without knowing his or her identity...”

“That is why there are only 7 people who know about this....and every single one of them can be trusted 100%, Sherlock, as they in no way are connected with neither the government, MI5 or MI6.”

“Who is number seven?” Sherlock wanted to know.

“Billy Wiggins.”

That answer made Sherlock sit up in his bed.

“Wiggins?! But I thought you hated him....for drugging father and mummy at Christmas and for having provided me with the...erm...stuff...before I boarded that plane?”

Mycroft looked down at his trousers and removed an invisible piece of lint before he answered: “It is not often that I have to admit that I have underestimated someone..” He looked up and continued, “I can count my mistakes regarding that on one hand. John has been one of them. Deluding me with his woolly sweaters. Mary was another. And now I have to add yet another. That young Billy Wiggins stood up for himself as I criticized him for the drugging. I had not expected it to be done to me as I was in on the plan regarding Magnussen. You two had failed to tell me about the Christmas-punch too.”

Sherlock interrupted, “But you never drink that stuff. You hate it!”

“Never the less. I drank a small cup as father offered it. But Wiggins had reacted quickly and had given me an antidote.....and about the stuff he provided you with before the plane to Serbia. I still remember how he defended himself:

Billy had looked real angry and had not been afraid of Shezza’s pompous big brother as he had said: “Mr. ‘olmes. My childhood was so bloody different that you’d fucking not understand. I’m not stupid, you know. Just under-educated. I was not born in a privileged ‘ome like you...or to use my words: ‘with a banana up my arse’. When I went to school my teachers were stupid and couldn’t teach us a shit. What I know and what I can I’ve done on my own and no thanks to the public schools for that. I left ‘ome and have lived on the streets since I was 14. I know that it is not all butterflies and fucking unicorns to be you or Shezza.....but I know how Shezza’s back look like. I know what nightmares sound like. I’ve ‘eld ‘im in my arms in the crack den and other places, when ‘e woke up from that shit.....and if I could get Shezza something to dream his last time ‘ere away, I would do that ‘appily again”.

"So if I needed someone I could trust 100% and who was most certainly not a part of any organisation that had anything to do with the official government..." continued Mycroft, "...well Wiggins could be the man. I’ve found out that he is very intelligent and as he rightly pointed out...just undereducated. He was the other one in the ambulance. Andrea was the chauffeur. It is funny how people look at the uniform and never notice people’s faces. Billy was the one making the bullets too. Here in this house. I was even worried about the components for the gelatine bullets and the pyrotechnics. If just a tiny bit of it could be traced to me, our plan would be blown to pieces.....But he provided everything. And no one knows that he in any way is connected to me. That is why I dared to keep you alive, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked at his brother for a few seconds, thinking about the information he’d got. Then he shook his head.

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful for you finding a way out...but I still think the risk is too big. I’m not worth that risk.” Then he paused and frowned and asked, “And father and mummy doesn’t know?”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with concern, “Don’t hold any high hopes. You know how they are.”

And Sherlock nodded.

John wanted to know, “What on Earth do you mean by that?”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and asked, “Would you give a guess about what had been said?”

Sherlock shrugged: “Something from father like ‘it was to be expected with the line of work, Sherlock had chosen’ and Mummy...hm something like ‘oh my poor boy’ and then something about how inconvenient a time I had chosen to die, as they were about to attend to...I don’t know: bridge in Sidney? Line dance in Texas?”

John interrupted, “You don’t think that your parents......”

But Mycroft interrupted, “Spot on, brother dear. Except it was ‘bridge in Monaco’ and ‘line dance in Alabama’” Mycroft turned towards John and explained, “It is not because my parents are cruel and do not care. It’s just...they are not very good at showing their feelings.”

(“Jesus...” thought John, “with parents like that it is a miracle that those two brothers are so relative normal after all”. But he didn’t say a thing.)

“What was that about Baker Street?” wanted Sherlock to know.

Mycroft smiled, “An idea elaborated to keep Baker Street relatively intact until it can be revealed that you are indeed not dead, Sherlock.”

Mycroft smirked and said in a sarcastic voice, “It turns out that you have been slowly poisoned by our enemies and that Baker Street 221B...and unfortunately 221A, as well as 219 and 223...have been severely contaminated..”

Sherlock smiled back, “With what?” he wanted to know.

“Oh....anthrax and other various bacteria....a veritable biological bomb as to say. That is why Mrs. Hudson had gone to live at her sister’s for a while and why the whole building has been wrapped in protection-plastic and a lot of guards in bio-hazard-suits are standing outside the building. The buildings 219 and 223 have been evacuated and I believe that you’ll have to consider to sacrifice some...erm....’iconic’ items from your flat as the media are watching the emptying of your flat this evening.”

“Oh....well I suppose the two chairs from the living-room would be rather ‘iconic’....and maybe the skull. As long as you don’t expect me to sacrifice my violin, you can take what you want.”, said Sherlock.

John was about to protest against the chairs, but realised that he was in no position to protest against anything.

“The violin is here...safe. And a substitute has been placed in Baker Street. Do you still have belongings in Baker Street, John?” Mycroft’s question brought him out of his thoughts.

And then he remembered.

“Erm....I do think I have an old suitcase in the attic. One that I’ve totally forgotten about. It was at Harry’s when I returned from Afghanistan and when she moved out at some point, she dragged it to Baker Street and told me to keep an eye on my own belongings.”

“We’ll just leave it in the attic then. It would only be a ‘pretended’ disinfection with a lot of spectacular steam and a foul stench of ‘cleaning’ chemicals. Nothing that will do real harm. The company doing the cleaning will believe it to be real though. No reason to initiate more people into the secrets. Their chemicals have been swapped.”

____________________
Lestrade turned up a bit later and they all, Mycroft, John, Sherlock, Billy, Lestrade and Andrea sat down in the living room to see the news.

The lie, that should explain John not being in the safe-house together with Mary since he ‘was told about his best friend’s death’ and had left two days ago, was that Lestrade and John had apparently been pub-crawling together and John had been crashing on Lestrade’s couch and had been vomiting in a bucket several times, before they went out to drink again.. Pictures of the events had been taken and sent to Mary.

John had been relieved when Mary had been visible distressed about the message about Sherlock’s death. She hadn’t lied about that Sherlock didn’t have to fear anything from her. She had cried and told John to take care as he left in one of Mycroft’s cars. The very same car that had brought him home from his ‘shopping’ only one hour earlier after he had shot Sherlock. John felt a bit guilty about keeping this secret from Mary...but she could be a potential risk and he couldn’t tell her anything before everything was all right and taken care of.

The BBC News had shown pictures of 221B Baker Street being apparently emptied for contaminated items and there had been a very fine picture of the two chairs being carried out by people in bio-hazard-suits. The chairs had been placed in containers and had been disinfected with chemicals before they were driven away. Sherlock’s coat, the skull and the deerstalker had been sacrificed too.

Then there had been videos from Regent’s Park two days ago as people had learned about Sherlock Holmes death and to Sherlock’s astonishment the site, where he had been shot, had been covered with flowers and candles.

Sherlock had looked confused and asked, “Why have they done that? And whom?”

And John, Mycroft and Lestrade had had a hard time convincing him that people had done it because they had felt sorry for him being killed. Sherlock still found it difficult to understand. “But I’ve ruined everything. “, Sherlock said, “And I didn’t even catch the murderer myself.”

“No but you found the clues....and prevented another crime...again.”, explained Lestrade.
______________________

Sherlock wanted to go early to bed. He was still tired...and there would be much to do the following days, where John would return to Mary and his daughter.

Lestrade would be at Scotland Yard trying ‘to find out who murdered Sherlock Holmes’. That is....finding all the planted evidence and begin to tighten the net around Mycroft’s enemies in England. As soon as that was in place, the last remaining criminals in Eastern Europe could be found and apprehended.

Lestrade left for his own flat and Billy, Sherlock and Andrea went to bed in their bedrooms. There was no need for the hospital-room anymore. Sherlock was all right apart from the flesh wound on his thigh and the burn wound on his chest. No need to monitor him anymore, and he could sleep in a normal bed.

Billy had lived in this secret house of Mycroft since Sherlock returned in the plane on the 1st of January.

John checked Sherlock’s bandages one last time and left the tired man to his sleep.

When they left the room with the sleeping Sherlock, John turned towards Mycroft and said, “A word, please?”

And they went to the living room where they sat down in two chairs....and as they were English....not before Mycroft had made them a cup of tea first.

John clung on to the cup as if it could save his life and traced the upper rim with his thumb, Mycroft just waited patiently.

Then John finally spoke, “I know that you have told me as much as possible as you could regarding this whole....debacle. And this time I’m on the knowing side about your and Sherlock’s plans. About your discoveries and about your suspicions. About how far back it all goes. And I’m flattered that you have found me trustworthy enough to tell me as much as you were able to......but I still think that I’m missing something that is shouting me in the face....”

And he looked at Mycroft and then down at his teacup, “I do care about Sherlock even if it seems that I haven’t done that much lately. But I do. I’m just.....a father too. Worrying about my little daughter. And to be honest.......if Sherlock hadn’t told me to...I’m not sure I would have gone back to Mary.”

He looked at Mycroft again, “I.....and Mary...are still amazed that he could find it in his heart to forgive her. And she has told me that Sherlock does know a few more secrets about her, but she’ll have to tell me herself. She has told me a lot, but I’m not sure she has told me everything yet. She struggles with trust-issues too. I was...I was in love with the ‘Mary Morstan’ that saved me from using either my gun or some pills....and believe me Mycroft...they are easy to get my hand on as a doctor, because I genuinely believed to have failed Sherlock so badly that he had committed suicide. But I do not love her, not anymore, because I do not know who she is. I’m fond of her and I admire her, but please tell me that Sherlock is no longer in danger because of her.....because if he is, I’m going to leave her and take my daughter with me.”

“To the best of my knowledge, Mary doesn’t represent a direct threat against you or Sherlock. Her wish of being...’retired’...is genuine, I can assure you. However there are still threats against her from her past....and I can in no way guarantee that no one could be caught in a cross-fire.”, said Mycroft...and sort of meant it. There were things that he hadn’t yet found out about, and Mary, or whatever her real name was...because A.G.R.A wasn’t her real initials either...wasn’t easy to read.

John nodded.

Mycroft continued, “I didn’t know that Sherlock’s ‘death’ more than four years ago, had affected you so much....so no matter how much harm Mary caused Sherlock by ‘not killing him’ but most certainly came very close, I have respected Sherlock’s wish to leave her alone. Not something I’m used to, when people try to kill him, I can assure you. But you are important to Sherlock and Mary is important to you, and that’s why I’ve respected Sherlock’s wish. But it is just a word from you, John and I’ll react. After all....Sherlock came too close to death for my liking.”

John just nodded again and then he asked, “Was Sherlock really prepared to die to save you?”

Mycroft nodded, “He was...just as he was prepared to take a chance jumping of that roof more than 4 years ago, very well knowing that that plan was very risky. We had made elaborate plans....but not thought of the possibility that Jim would shoot himself. And Sherlock is convinced by now that Jim couldn’t have faked it. Sherlock was standing too close. However...the net, carried by the lorry, did not totally absorb the impact from the fall and he had several bended ribs. The sedation, he was given, carried a risk of brain damage because it actually stopped his heart and the antidote had to kick in very fast to save him in time. What you saw on the pavement, John, was an asphyxiated Sherlock. So close to death as you can come...and still be able to return. And as you know by now...he did it to avoid you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson being assassinated by Moriarty’s snipers. I had managed to eliminate those on Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade but couldn’t locate the one on you. And Sherlock didn’t know. I couldn’t tell him and he couldn’t in any way...more than he tried......tell you that ‘it was a magic trick’.”

John smiled a sad smile, “If I had paid more attention, I would have noticed his words. But I didn’t. I just felt like an utter failure...not being doctor enough...or soldier enough to save him. That was maybe why his ‘death’ hit me so hard.”

Mycroft smiled back, “Yes...maybe..”
_______________________

It took less than a month to unravel this whole affair. There had been a ‘spider’ in the middle of a net, a person who had had moles in MI5 and MI6, who had tried to trick Magnussen’s man into blowing up the whole Parliament Building, including almost all the politicians and the Queen. A man who had used Moriarty to try to make England shiver...and thank God Sherlock had stopped both events in time. It had been a man who, together with politicians in Germany, Serbia, Bulgaria, France and Denmark, had tried to destabilize Europe so they could gain almost infinite power....and Mycroft and Sherlock had almost single-handedly, only with the aid of a very few German young people and a few trustworthy friends, managed to make that huge empire fall.

When the involved persons, especially the English politicians, had learned about the consequences and the risk of being blown to pieces almost 5 years ago and as the Lord Chamberlain of the Royal Household and the Queen had learned about how close they had been to death, if it had not been for Sherlock Holmes, everybody had tried to give their piece of evidence to make that ‘empire’ fall.

It had been a shock to everybody, including Mycroft, to learn who that ‘spider’ had been. The one person who hadn’t been satisfied with being one out of three to actually rule England. The man with megalomania had been Lord Edwin. The very man who had worked together with Mycroft and Lady Smallwood.

Some of the evidence that had started it all, had been planted, like the DNA and the fingerprints on the rifle that had shot Sherlock, but just like one single little sound, or just one snowflake landing the wrong place, could start an avalanche it had been enough and the whole avalanche had swept away ‘the unworthy’ leaving the others relatively unharmed to lick their wounds and rebuild what had been destroyed.
______________________

Of course they had been angry, the ones closest to Mycroft and Sherlock, who had been left out. Molly, Mary, a lot of the officers in Scotland Yard. But as they were told that it hadn’t been because they could not be trusted but some people close to them had been too suspicious, they all finally calmed down and forgave the deceit.

And life goes on. The whole event would give problems and other revelations the next couple of years. But now...here in England...it was spring. And there was a christening to be planned.

Chapter Text

One of the first things John wanted to get in order regarding the christening of baby Watson was to find out who should be the godparents.

Mary, John and the baby had moved back to their suburban house and it had been a bit strange to return to the house after having lived in safe-houses for such a long time. Mary and John had not had time to decorate the baby’s room. But of course Mycroft and Sherlock had found out about Mary’s favourite colour and had arranged for an already decorated and fully furnished yellow room for baby Watson.

John didn’t have much family left, apart from Harriet and even if she had made reconciliation with Clara, John thought her to be somewhat unstable yet. Mary didn’t have any family in England, she said. And she had no intention of contacting her family or her daughter’s family in Washington.

So Lestrade was asked and said that he was honoured and that he of course would accept and then John wanted to ask Sherlock. Who was not living in Baker Street, but in Mycroft’s official house. Not the one, where Sherlock had been after he had been shot and where Mycroft lived with Andrea, but the other...the pompous one. Sherlock would still have to pretend to have been severely wounded and therefore he would have to live in a big house with elevators and broad doors as he was sitting in a wheel-chair.

Sherlock was asked to be a god-father too. And this time he didn’t disappear into his Mind Palace, but was never the less silent for quite a while, before he answered.
“Are you sure it would be wise, John? And what does Mary say? A former addict?”

“I think it is very wise, Sherlock...and Mary does agree. It is not that I have so many ‘best friends’...actually I have only you. I have friends....but only one ‘best friend’. And I would be honoured if you would be the godfather of my little girl.”

Sherlock smiled and thought, (“That is all I can have...don’t be ungrateful, Sherlock. John....this John...isn’t like the other John and do live with that, Sherlock.)...and he said out loud, “I’m honoured too...and of course I’ll accept.”
________________________

Mycroft had been right. Even if Mycroft and Sherlock together had unravelled the whole conspiracy, there were still people of power that could and would insist on Sherlock being sent to Eastern Europe. But not while he was sitting in a wheel-chair. Maybe it wouldn’t be so dangerous anymore, as a lot of the criminals and the criminal politicians had been taken care of, but Mycroft needed Sherlock in England. And that is why they kept up the deceit.

Officially Sherlock had barely survived, being shot very close to his heart, being poisoned and having been shot so severely in his thigh, that his femur had been shattered. Unofficially he was totally OK again...even if Mycroft found him a bit too quiet and almost sad....melancholic.

Mycroft would often find Sherlock out of the wheel-chair. But most of the time Sherlock would be in it ...it was important to keep up the deceit in front of most of the minions in the house. Sherlock would often be standing by one of the windows, violin in his hands and be totally lost in his music. Mycroft would sit down and enjoy Sherlock’s virtuosity. Often thinking that Sherlock could have made an excellent career as a solo-violinist. After a while Sherlock would notice his presence and stop playing and they would sit down and discuss the next steps. Even if a lot had been revealed there was still much to be done.

And the two brothers kept digging up secrets and ‘removing’ failures and threats. Not always in a totally legal way. But lady Smallwood was informed and approved.

Lord Moran, who had been imprisoned since the attempted bombing of the Parliament more than two years ago, was found dead in his cell. And the investigations showed a heart attack....very tragic...and his medical journal showed that he had complained about breast pains even before he had attempted the bombing. The German hacker group had proved itself very useful, hacking into medical journals.

Lord Moran had been Lord Edwin’s crown prince and had been prepared to spend some time in jail in return for a very high and powerful position, when the ‘new order’ would have emerged. Mycroft and Lady Smallwood or for that matter other politicians could not risk that a person so close to the top of the conspiracy could stay alive. And actually....the plan to destabilise England had included an assassination on Mycroft and Lady Smallwood....so they thought of it as a sort of ‘pay back’.

Other persons close to that conspiracy and who had not come forward and confessed as the whole unravelling began, found themselves accused of tax-frauds (not that they hadn’t done it, but their accountants had made sure that there had been nothing to be found...before) and other crimes and instead of gaining or maintaining high positions within the Government, they found themselves in prison and the ‘high and mighty’ friends, who should have been able to either help them out again or lessen their time behind bars, ...well they were sitting in the neighbour cells.

Lady Smallwood and Mycroft had a very serious conversation about having too much power, and they agreed on letting more people in to their ‘inner circle’ to avoid that.
______________________

Mycroft found that Sherlock had changed a lot. His moody oscillations who had been from the highest high with almost manic activities to the deepest deep, with sometimes almost depressed inertness were not so distinct anymore . His sulks on a couch dressed in a ratty T-shirt did not appear at all. Often it had been that bad that the normally so meticulous clean and groomed Sherlock would not even bother to shower or wash for days. But since Sherlock had returned in that plane on the 1st of January, there had been no such periods.

Sherlock seemed more ‘even’, but a bit to the ‘lower’ side and Mycroft appreciated that...but it worried him too.

“Are you all right, Sherlock?” Mycroft wanted to know.

Sherlock frowned, “What do you mean?”

“You seem more ‘even’ and not so oscillating. And don’t misunderstand me, Sherlock, but you are not so ......’difficult’ anymore. And I know for sure that you are not medicated in anyway. So why that change? Not that I do not appreciate it....but I’m worried too. You seem so...sad.”

Sherlock smiled a little sad smile, “That was what Molly said to me too. “You look so sad when you think he is not looking.”...she talked about John though...not you. And it was before the jump.”

Sherlock turned around and looked out of the window, “I do not know why I’ve changed. Maybe it is because I’m finally allowed to be ‘me’. Or maybe it is because I’m occupied with a case. I’m not so easily ‘bored’ anymore. The boredom that made my brain rot, that made my brain run wild. I’ve not felt that...desperation... since I was on that plane. Maybe it burned itself out...in the prison, where I couldn’t do anything but disappear into my Mind Palace.”

He turned towards Mycroft again, “I know that it was at such occasions that I sought relief in the drugs, but I do not have that urge now. I don’t know why. You have mellowed too, Mycroft. You are finally beginning to treat me as an adult....have stopped being a busy-body towards me. I do now understand that it was mostly out of concern.....but oh God did you press the wrong buttons!”

Mycroft smiled back, “I admit that giving up the banter between us has been a relief.....even if you still can be a brat!”

“Only when you feel that I outsmart you.....and oh God do you revel in the fact that you are the oldest...and in many aspects the sanest and the cleverest and the tallest of us....and you enjoy rubbing my nose into that. Still do....but it somehow doesn’t piss me off anymore.”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock and realised how much he must have hurt Sherlock, “I’m sorry”, he said, “And how very immature of me. But believe me, Sherlock, it was often out of envy!”

“Envy?! Why on Earth have you envied me? There is and was most certainly nothing to envy” said Sherlock.

“But I have ...I have always envied your beauty. You were adorable as a child.....and grew up to look somewhat like an angel and later into a stunningly handsome young man. I have envied your virtuosity on the violin. That no matter what you sat your mind to do...you would achieve amazing results in almost no time. Painting oil-paintings, getting to know all about acids, playing the violin.....”

Mycroft continued, “I envied that you could stay in a childhood for such a long time...not having to grow up. I resented that I had to grow up so fast, taking care of you. Being your wharf against a not understanding world. I envied your ability to charm your way through life.....and that you could maintain such an athletic build with almost no effort at all. Yes.. I rubbed your nose into the few things I had as an advantage: my intelligence, that by the way only outsmarted yours in a very few aspects and failed in comparison to the mental leaps you were and are capable of. My height...that in no way could make me as handsome as you....and my age. Oh yes.....and that I was able to fit in easier than you. And that might have been my only feature...that single one...where I was better than you.”

While Mycroft had been speaking, Sherlock had just been standing there. Mycroft had never spoken so openly about his own feelings.....and Sherlock had to think about what Mycroft had said.

“I think we need to talk.”, Sherlock finally said and pointed at two armchairs standing close to the windows.

As they sat down Sherlock began to talk, “You were my everything, Mycroft. There were the Nannies and the girls to take care of food, clean clothes, and regular baths and so on. But you were the one who told me about things, who educated me. Father and Mummy were...distant and scarring. They would reprimand me and tell me how difficult I was and that I was big enough to behave.....and I didn’t understand what they wanted me to do...”

Mycroft shook his head, “They were not that bad when I and...Sherrinford......were children. But....Mummy and father were actually too old to have another...a third child, when you came, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, “I knew...I heard them. I heard their words and later I looked in the dictionary what those words meant. I was four when I learned, that I was a mistake. That I shouldn’t have been born at all....and that I furthermore apparently allowed myself to be so peculiar and difficult that it didn’t make it easier to accept that I was there.”

Sherlock sighed deeply before he continued, “I didn’t need my eldest brother to tell me stories about the ‘East Wind’ that would come and take the unworthy away...or the Nannies to tell me stories about ‘Nikolas’ from ‘Stockheaded Peter’ who would punish naughty children. I knew that one night somebody would come and take me away, because I had never been meant to be. And I wished so much that I could find a way to behave so I could be allowed to live a little bit longer. It took me two years....with nightmares almost every single night, to realise that nobody was coming after me in the night..” And now Sherlock smirked, “Maybe I should have kept that belief in the ‘bogeyman’ a bit longer. Because they came after me later, didn’t they?”

“Who? And I’m deeply sorry...I didn’t know that you had those terrible nightmares. But again...who?”

“The bad guys. The drugs......the criminals. All those people that wanted me to vanish. And at some time, I thought that you would prefer that I didn’t exist too. That I was a burden to you.....And I was, wasn’t I?”

“Oh Sherlock...I’m so sorry if I in any way made you believe that you weren’t loved...”

Sherlock looked out of the window, “Mummy and father never loved me.....And they don’t do it now either. You know that Mycroft. They are annoyed.......irritated.......angry. I ‘betrayed’ Mummy by deducing that father had cheated on her......and I ‘betrayed’ Sherrinford by deducing that he had stolen governmental documents and files and sold them.”

Sherlock looked back at Mycroft, “But the very skilled psychiatrist that you send me...the second one....did tell me that I’m not the only child, who had been treated like that. ‘Abuse’ is sometimes shown not with bruises and broken bones, but with scars on the soul....a shattered mind. She was actually amazed that I wasn’t harmed more than I was. She said that I had every indication of being an ‘early harmed child’ with ‘reactive attachment disorder’. That my childhood should have left me more damaged than it did. But do you know whom she mentioned to be the cause of me not being too damaged?”

“No...whom?”

“Now you are being obtuse, Mycroft. Deliberately so. You...of course. Even if I loved to ‘hate’ you when you left me to go to boarding school, you were my ‘base’....my secure ‘harbour’. And I’m ever so grateful for that.”

Mycroft just looked at him and smiled...and that smile said everything. It was not his sarcastic smile...or the intimidating one. It was a genuine warm smile....seldom seen on Mycroft’s face.

“You are welcome....I could do little else. I loved you from the first moment I looked into your rather unfocused eyes and you smiled back and grappled for my finger. You were only three weeks old and I’ve been infatuated ever since.....even if you sometimes were being so obtuse and bratty that I could have killed you!”
______________________

While working on the case they would sometimes talk about the case and sometimes they would go back in time and talk about their childhood.

Mycroft respected Sherlock’s wish of never seeing their parents again, “They doesn’t mean a thing to me, Mycroft. They are just like a set of annoying old relatives....a remote aunt and uncle, and I only find myself irritated in their presence. I waited for such a long time for some sign of affection....I bent myself in half to please them.....but it has always been about you...and Sherrinford. And maintaining contact with them does more harm than it does anything good. The last straw was that they didn’t even bother to come to England when they heard about my ‘death’ now. Or when they learned that I wasn’t dead at all. I do only mean something to them if it fits in to their plans. You can see them...it is not my business. But I will not.”

Sherlock huffed and continued, “Do you know that John called them ‘ordinary’ the first time he saw them and wanted to know if they had known about me being ‘not dead’ after I had to jump? And I was so embarrassed about them not being at my funeral, that I lied and said that they knew?”

He shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands and sighed, “I don’t even know why it still bothers me...that they are incapable of loving me. But it does hurt. And I’m even a grown man.”

Mycroft went over to him and gave him a hug, “It is not your fault, Sherlock. I love you...a lot of other people, who are not even related to you, love you. You are someone worth loving.”

“I know...and they even love the ‘difficult’ me. I first thought it to be because of what I could do for them...just like with Victor at the University. But they like me, even if I sometimes don’t. It’s just......”

“Just what?”

“Oh....never mind...just a thought..”

(But what Sherlock meant was, “it is just that the person I love the most, beside you, brother dear, doesn’t love me at all.”)
But he didn’t say that out loud.
__________________________

Sherlock and Mycroft were trying to find head and tail in the whole business and had to dig deep in to the archives of MI5....the real ones. Not the ones in somebody’s Mind Palace and Mycroft had brought some old boxes to his town house for Sherlock to rummage through. Mycroft was still amazed at how Sherlock could manage to stick together a whole picture from only minuscule scraps and bites of information.

They were searching for a connection way back in the 70ties between the government and some more obscure parts of MI5.

Sherlock was looking through a bunch of old papers and files and looking at the computer and drawing red lines on a rather big piece of paper, as he gasped and looked at Mycroft, “Did you ever wonder if there was something wrong with us?”, he asked.

“Why?”

“Because of what I’m reading this very moment. Did you know that the probability of father and Mummy meeting each other was rather low, taking their specific line of studies in regard?”

“No...what?”

But Sherlock just continued, “Please...listen without interrupting. Mycroft...”

“I’m listening..”

“Mummy being one of the best mathematicians in England...and father being an excellent biologist. Give me a guess where such people, all being one of the best in their areas, could come to work together? In the beginning of the 60ties? A place where governmental authorities unofficially gathered a lot of young promising scientists together. All of them one of the best in their respective fields? Biologist...chemists... the first people in genetics and mathematicians who were the first computer-experts.....”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, “What made you deduce that?...It says nothing about that anywhere in those files!”

“I’m looking at the health-insurances, the invoices from the canteens, the taxi-bills and the tickets from the British railway amongst other things. And now then please answer my question.”

“There can only be one place...here in England. But several all over Europe.”

“Do we agree on ‘Baskerville’?”

“I agree....but what on Earth has that to do with father and mum....oh....I see.”

And the two brothers dug even deeper. Finding out that they were a part of a now abandoned genius-project. The science of genetics was at its beginning, but it had not stopped the German scientists in making experiments before and during WW2. The Russians in the 50ties and other European countries in the 60ties had all been experimenting in putting the best genes together. Amateur-like.....like breeding cattle or dogs...but this time with humans.

Mycroft and Sherlock learned that their parents had been brought together. Like some of the other young people from the project. A sort of an ‘arranged marriages’ even if they often had liked one another. And their parents had first had 3 sons. Mycroft as the eldest, then Sherrinford, then a baby which died only a few weeks old. He had been in a hospital the whole time and had not been at home and therefore Mycroft hadn’t noticed.

And then their parents had agreed on one last try, even if they had been a bit too old.

The project had been a sort of success, since those two people with an IQ above 130 had managed to conceive children with an IQ above their own. But then the project was abandoned...apparently after too many miscarriages in some of the European countries and the different sets of parents were given a pension for the rest of their lives and the opportunity to live a normal life outside the project. They just had to accept to raise their children....and no wonder. Even if the children had been made in a petri-dish, so many years before the official first test tube baby, the babies had been made of the parents own eggs and sperm, only with a few...improvements.

Sherlock had always wondered how he could heal so fast...even John had noticed. And that would apply to Mycroft too. The improvements could explain Sherlock’s body build too...and his looks and the way he could maintain his weight and muscle tissue amount without actually eating enough. How he could survive malnutrition and starvation, and didn’t succumb to sleep-deprivation. The ideal agent...the ideal soldier. Mycroft had actually lots of the same features too.

Sherlock had asked Mycroft to go and see the doctors, because he was worried about Mycroft’s health. And Mycroft had obeyed. But Mycroft had been as healthy as a 25 year old young man. No clogged arteries....nothing to be detected wrong on the scans. Nothing wrong to be shown in the blood-tests. And even if Mycroft had gone just a little bit soft around his waist, all his ‘numbers’...cholesterol, vitamins and hormones had been totally normal.

The two brothers looked at each other after having hacked into ‘Baskerville’s’ secret documents, with a little help from Mycroft’s German free-lance hacker-group, and after having read about themselves. It explained quite a lot. How Mycroft in his younger days, as he, even before Sherlock had been recruited to MI5, had managed to survive ‘legwork’ with only minor injuries...and how Sherlock had managed to survive the 4 times Mycroft had found him too late to prevent him being ‘interrogated’ in a very harsh manner or even tortured as the last time in Serbia.

The program their parents had attended had given Mycroft and Sherlock extended abilities...but flaws too. They agreed on keeping it all as a secret.

“I still do not want to see them anymore.“, said Sherlock.

“Understandable.” was Mycroft’s answer.
_______________________

And then came the day where Baby Watson was to be christened. John and Mary had managed to keep the baby’s name a secret and there was loud gasps in the church when Sherlock in his wheelchair and with Greg Lestrade standing by, held little ‘Wilhelmina Georgina Watson” over the baptismal font.

Later, when Sherlock found John and they had a few minutes to talk, Sherlock had looked at John with a smirk and had asked, “Wilhelmina?”

“Well...” had John smiled back, “we could hardly call her ‘Sherlock’, could we? And it would be ‘Minna’ for every-day use.”

John laughed and explained, “My grandfather used to say, that before considering a name for a child, you should position yourself at the front door and yell it as it was what you would be doing the next 12 years. My parents had thought about ‘Harietta Abigail’ for my sister and ‘Johnathan Alexander’ for me....but gave it a second thought.”

Sherlock smirked, “I think my parents didn’t try that test with the front door.”

“No...I suppose not.” , was John’s answer. And the two men smiled at each other.

Sherlock didn’t reveal though how touched he had been to have that little girl named after him.....well as close as you can make a female version of ‘William’ anyway.

Of course the media had caught up on that the ‘famous heroic detective Sherlock Holmes’ would attend the christening of his best friend’s child and a lot of pictures and films were taken. Not so much of the baptised child or her parents, but quite a lot of Sherlock in a wheelchair and Lestrade pushing him. Mycroft took care that he himself stayed in the background. There was no reason for his face to be too well known. But every reason to let the public now that Sherlock was alive, but wounded and weak.

Sherlock and Mycroft left rather early. Their excuse was that Sherlock was exhausted....and he looked like that thanks to a very subtle, but none the less very skilful applied make-up that Andrea hat made. Their tailor had made a miracle again and had managed to make Sherlock look thin and fragile while his very fit figure were concealed in the cleverly cut clothes.

There was absolutely no reason to show their enemies that Sherlock was indeed fit again.

______________________

That was the same reason that made the two brothers sort of deceive the Queen, as Sherlock turned up in a wheelchair at Buckingham Palace and made Sherlock walk up to the Queen on crutches.

The Queen had joked a bit with Sherlock...after he had reassured her that he would be all right again....that it would be her.....being over 80... who would have to hoist him up if he knelt before being touched with the sword. So Sherlock had just been standing there on his crutches whilst she had touched him with the sword and rewarded him with highest honourable order in the British empire...the Knight Grand Cross..the GBE. Mycroft on the other hand did everything by the book and knelt down as he was rewarded. And so did Dr. John Watson.

It had begun the day after Minna’s christening. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had received a thick cream-coloured envelope from Buckingham Palace and a message about them being rewarded. John had received one too.

The Queen had even added a personal letter in which she apologized for not having reacted before. But she had just recently learned that Sherlock Holmes had risked his own life defusing a bomb under the very Parliament Building where the Queen herself had been on the 4th of November 2013 and he had done that assisted by his colleague Dr. John Watson, former captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. It had come to her knowledge that they had chosen to stay and defuse the bomb, all too well knowing that they risked their own lives by staying.

Neither Sherlock nor John found it necessary to inform the Queen about the ‘off switch’.....as Sherlock had found it within the last minute of the bomb igniting....and at that time they had not been able to escape anyway.

The reason for Mycroft’s reward was more veiled, but ‘several important services for the national security’ was mentioned.....as it was for Sherlock too.

So on the very day all 3 men turned up at Buckingham Palace. They were the only ones to receive a GBE, but several others were to receive other orders. All in all there were 10 persons to be rewarded in the Ballroom. Mycroft, Sherlock and John had chosen to invite Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and Mary. Andrea was present...not as Mycroft’s wife but as his life guard.

Mycroft was in his finest ‘morning dress’-ensemble including the white tie. Sherlock wore a similar dress.....and John was in his parade uniform...and was rather proud that it still was fitting around his waistline.

After the ceremony those three men, but not their guests, were asked to into the room nearby and there was the Queen...inviting them to a more informal cup of tea. Mycroft and Sherlock...being brought up at boarding schools for the upper class.. knew exactly what to do with the tea-cups and biscuits and hands, but John felt a bit lost. The Queen immediately saw his discomfort and padded him on his arm, “Captain Watson, I do not expect that you, being a soldier, are familiar with the formal etiquette applying to ‘drinking tea with the Queen of England’....so please try to relax. You will find that I have a wish to be rather informal towards a man who had saved my life.”

John smiled and said, “Yes, your Majesty. I’ll do my best.”

They talked with the Queen for about one hour and Mycroft had whispered to both John and Sherlock that they didn’t have to worry about their invited guests, as Andrea took care of them.

And then the Queen managed to make Sherlock blush just before she left. He had fought to stand on his feet as the Queen left the room, and the Queen had stopped and turned around looking at Sherlock and had said, “I quite like the way you are dressed today, Sir Holmes. But I have to admit that I have looked more than one time on the security footage pictures from the last time, you visited my house, dressed as an ancient Roman senator.” And then just before she turned around to leave she said, “Quite a shame actually that you managed to catch the sheet in time. From what I saw, you are quite a nice specimen!” And then she left, leaving a blushing Sherlock and a giggling Mycroft and John.

Chapter Text

That they now were allowed to call themselves ‘sir’s and that they together with their nice medals and the honour had earned some duties too, didn’t change much.

But being given a royal pardon, so Sherlock was totally cleared of every accusation, even the shooting of Magnussen....and crystal beaker for cigarettes (the latter was handed Sherlock in a nice little parcel as they left Buckingham Palace with a handwritten note “Now you have a matching set”) did change a lot.

Sherlock moved back in 221B Baker Street, glad that he didn’t have to pretend to need the wheelchair anymore. The two armchairs, that had been sacrificed three months ago amongst other items, had been replaced with something similar.

Mycroft had written a note on ‘John’s chair: “I’m sorry that I couldn’t find an armchair just as ratty as its predecessor. This one has unfortunately still every spring in functional order and there are no holes in the upholstery. I think though, that Andrea has made an effort to find a fabric with the same repulsive ugliness as the old one had. As for your chair, Sherlock, it is actually your old chair, just with new cushions. The old chair did partly survive the treatment.”

The whole flat had been tidied and repainted; even the rather spectacular wallpaper in the living room had just been restored thus causing the bullet-made smiley face to still be there, but without the bullet holes.

And Sherlock had now two coats, very similar to his old one. As Mycroft had said, “As long as you are still going to be a public figure, you’ll need to wear that signature coat...and avoid a too close haircut...even if your name does suggest that.”

(‘Sherlock’ did come from an English surname meaning "shear lock", originally referring to a person with closely cut hair)

“Thank God you haven’t provided me with that dreadful hat again.”, had Sherlock said.

_______________________

And now Sherlock was just sitting in his chair....it still needed to be ‘moulded’ into its old shape....and was reading a book. He didn’t have a case right now, except from the ongoing tidying up after the whole Moriarty/Magnussen/Lord Edwin affair and right now he gave his experiments a pause. Those experiments about re-creating the drug that could get him back to the Holmes & Watson times. And yet...he wasn’t bored out of his mind. His mind wasn’t gnawing on itself and his thoughts were not running wild with a lot of ‘what if’s. That tornado in his mind that had made him search for oblivion in the drugs.

Sherlock put the book down and wondered how that could be. He wasn’t medicated....’Asperger’ was a certain way the mind worked and perceived the world and not something that could be ‘medicated’ and he was close enough to be an Asperger to have some of the traits...and being that highly sensitive person he was, it didn’t make it easier to shut out the unwanted stimuli from the outside world. All in all it would overwhelm his brain with too much information.....especially when he was not on a case and could use those features as an advantage.

But right now it didn’t bother him. Yes there was a lot of information ‘pressing’ upon his brain to be noticed, but he found them easier to shut out than ever. And he wondered why.

Maybe that ‘time-travelling’ drug had altered something or maybe the mental exercises that the psychiatrist had suggested did work for him? He knew meditation from before. He had used it as a way to cope, as he was away those two years...and before. He was rather good at that Ashtanga yoga after all, both the physical exercises and the mental ones, but the exercises that the psychiatrist had suggested were different and suited him better. Or maybe it was the ability to go back into his mind and almost remember everything what had happened to him, being in the other Holmes’ body, that helped him cope with this time’s trivia?

Going back or sideways or whatever and being in Holmes body, had by the way had the side affect that his rather dormant sexuality had been re-awakened and he frequently woke up with a persistent erection. He hadn’t actually been seriously sexually active since Cambridge...and that with Victor Trevor. Sherlock realised now that that relationship had been a mistake...for more than one reason.

First: because Victor had introduced Sherlock to drugs.

Second: because Sherlock had been very young, as he attended Cambridge University. Too young..barely 17. His parents had been rather persistent in their hurry of getting him there. Maybe because of all that with Sherrinford...and maybe because Mycroft had managed it so fine. But Sherlock had felt it as if they could not get him away from home quickly enough.

The third reason for Victor being a bad thing for Sherlock, had been that Sherlock had let himself be too dependent of Victor, not really finding other friends and as it turned out that Victor didn’t love Sherlock but just used Sherlock’s knowledge and intelligence to make Victor pass his exams easier, mostly because Sherlock would write his rapports and works and find the results for him.

When Sherlock had finally had enough and had put his foot down, Victor had thrown him out of their shared rooms after having beaten him. Sherlock had been found by Mycroft a week later in a crack den in London, still clutching to the red scarf that he had managed to get his hands on when Victor had thrown him out. Sherlock ended in a rehab-clinic, his belongings ended in Mycroft’s flat. And Mycroft used all the influence he had, and that was not so much yet...Mycroft was only 25 at that time and a part time agent for MI5....to get Victor Trevor expelled from the university because of his cheating and later Victor left for a university in the USA.

Sherlock allowed himself to enjoy his sexuality now...not just focussing on handling with it in the fastest and most efficient way as he had done before, but taking his time to enjoy the feelings and disappear into his memories of the rather remarkable sex that Watson and Holmes had enjoyed.....and not always within the sub/dom dynamic, but just normal gay sex.

Sherlock had even purchased different sex-toys in an internet-shop (‘We deliver our parcels in discreet and anonymous wrapping’...and Sherlock wondered if he should give the company some advice regarding that. Maybe real ‘anonymous’ would be stupid if the parcel should reach its destination, and what was ‘anonymous’ worth when ‘the discreet wrapping’ shouted ‘sex-shop’ all the way up and down the street?).

Never the less...Sherlock enjoyed the sensations that the different ‘toys’ were able to give him and was a bit surprised that he actually did enjoy, if not pain, then at least some pressure sensations. He would have sworn that ‘nipple-clamps’ would have been out of the question, but he enjoyed the sensation they gave his nipples....and he could almost imagine that it was Watson gently biting them.

Sherlock sighed....he would so much like to be able to travel back...or sideways...or whatever had happened... again. The ideal scenario would be to be able to stay in Holmes’ time forever. But that was a stupid dream. Even if Holmes tolerated Sherlock’s presence, it would be a living nightmare for both of them if Sherlock stayed forever.

The doorbell rang and he could hear that it was Mycroft coming up the stairs. Sherlock rose and went to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. Mycroft would probably like a cup of tea before they would discuss the next step in their plans.

Sherlock had discovered that he did enjoy working together with his brother...as long as Mycroft had stopped being so...so ‘posh’. Mycroft could still press some buttons on Sherlock if he chose to look down at him along his long nose and with half closed eyes. Sherlock did really have to make an effort not to kick his brother’s arse when he looked like that. It was so tempting.

“Tea?” asked Sherlock and pointed at the kettle as Mycroft entered.

“Something stronger could be needed.”, was Mycroft’s answer and he showed a bottle of very fine whisky.

Sherlock just looked at him and reached for the glasses instead.

The two brothers sat down in the armchairs with the glasses in their hands, savouring the exquisite taste and allowing themselves a few minutes of silence.

Then Sherlock pointed at his glass and just lifted an eyebrow less than a millimetre ...and Mycroft just knew what Sherlock was asking. They had been able to make whole conversations with each other for such a long time, without uttering a single word.

Mycroft took a deep breath, “I know it would be much to ask...But could you consider to just showing up, for maybe 10 minutes when Father and Mummy come to London next month?”

Sherlock just looked a Mycroft and shook his head, “I seem to recall that the last time we spoke about Father and Mummy I said that I never wanted to see them again?”

“Yes...I do remember...but...they were actually just as much victims for that experiment as we were...so...”

Sherlock was now standing on his feet, pacing up and down, almost shouting, “They do me no god, Mycroft. They keep on hurting me...so the answer is NO! What is so difficult to understand about a NO?”

Then he stopped, looked at Mycroft and had calmed down, “My apology offered...”

Mycroft looked up, “No...I apologise. It’s just...”

Sherlock sat down again, “No...I know it would be so much easier for you if I just showed my face. But I can’t. But how should you know about their last...’blow’..”

“Blow?”

Sherlock got on his feet again and fetched a letter lying on the dining table and gave it to Mycroft, , “Here.”

Mycroft took it, “Yes...I received a similar letter from them. But what is wrong with that?”

“Read it! Please.”

And Mycroft read, mumbling some of the words loud, “Dear Sherlock....bla...bla.....happy holiday.....new friends....exciting....thrilled to hear about knighthood.....so proud......bla..bla....Mycroft....John Watson......bla...bla....so sad we couldn’t be there......returning to London next month....lunch.....”

He looked at Sherlock with a frown, “As I said...similar to mine. I can see nothing wrong with it.”

Sherlock looked at him and then he said, apparently off topic, “Do you remember the seminar we had, working for MI5, about semantics....how to look behind the words in written and spoken messages?”

“I do..”

“I had an uneasy feeling after having read that letter. And I shouldn’t, should I? This being a letter where my parents congratulated me...or did they? I made some copies of this letter...and please Mycroft...would you sit down and make an analysis of this letter. Please?” And Sherlock sat down in his chair, prepared to wait.

Mycroft sat down and began. It had been quite a while...they had computer programmes that could do that now. But as he worked through the letter, his skills came back. He had to use the computer a few time to find the exact right synonyms, but finally after about 20 minutes of work, he looked up and said, “Finished!”

“And?”

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes and looked at Sherlock, “As usual you see things with only the aid of very few clues. And you are right.....cutting of all the nice diplomatic words, cutting into the core of the message in the letter, it says in plain English: “Congratulations, but we have no intention of altering our plans to visit you before it fits into our plans, and how did you manage to be rewarded like that? You do not deserve such honour.”

Sherlock smiled a sad smile, “You see? And it is only a few words here and there that alter it all. If I confronted Mummy with that she would say, “oh, but William, you are being much too touchy. I didn’t mean that, you have misunderstood something.” And thus...wham...the ball is on my side of the net again. I’m not even sure it is deliberately...it is just that to Mummy I am always the touchy, unstable, difficult...child...who is playing detective. She has created that little bubble around her, created a nice little miniature-world where everything she does is 100% right and I’m the eternal difficult child. And I hate that I can’t pop that self-satisfied bubble around her and make her see ME. She doesn’t want to...because then she would have to admit that she doesn’t like me, even resent me.....hate me. For what I am....for what I am not and for the attempts I’ve made to burst that...that...smug bubble around her. I am to blame for Father cheating on her....I am to blame for what happened to Sherrinford......”

Sherlock stopped, took a deep breath and covered his eyes with his hands, “And it shouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore. But it does....not being loved by my parents.”

He looked up, “I know I’m not the only child...and I know it still happens all over the world. 12-year old girls being married to men twice their age. Children working in factories, taking care of themselves because the grown-ups aren’t able to and that through history the up-bringing methods have sometimes been pure abuse (He was thinking of his knowledge about Holmes’ childhood) even close to torture....And what I experienced is nothing compared to that, but it doesn’t change the impact my parents have on my life! I’ve finally reached the point where I...if not love myself....at least tolerate myself. And I don’t want 10 minutes together with my parents to ruin that!”

Mycroft sighed, “My apologies offered, Sherlock. I’ll entertain our parents.” He smiled, “It’ll be my duty as I wasn’t abused.”

Sherlock looked up, “Weren’t you? Being in charge of a baby brother? You said it yourself...that you envied me for having been able to stay a child so much longer than yourself. Which parents put a 7 year old boy in charge of his baby brother’s well being? Not the physical one...we had people to take care of food, baths, clothes....but his mental well being?”

Sherlock continued, “It is actually strange...I’ve never been seriously ill as a grown up. Seriously wounded....sedated...poisoned by drugs, yes. But not ill as in ‘caused by virus, bacteria or micro-organisms’. While I was away I had infected wounds, had been cold to the bones, had starved and drunken dirty water....and I wasn’t ill one single time! Tired, exhausted... but not ill. But as a child...I can remember several times where I had been in bed running a fever. Maybe it was one of the things that the alterations made to us...kicking our immune-system up several notches? And you were the one with a cold cloth to my forehead and the one who would read me a story when I was ill.
For God’s sake, Mycroft, you were a child yourself!

They do even have a name for such children, taking upon themselves the tasks of a grown-up.....because the grown-ups around them don’t take the responsibility. They call them “early-grown-children”. Often they have a responsibility for their parents......or very often for smaller siblings too. That was you, Mycroft. I know that food and housing and clean clothes were provided, but not the mental care...or care if we were ill.

Our parents sort of landed in all the wrong boxes when your psychiatrist made that interview with me: they were the “too demanding parents”, the “too absent parents”, the “tyrannical parents”, the “immature parents” and the “constant parents” that never allow their children to grow up. You can read about the consequences for their children....the children will doubt themselves, doubt their own feelings, be emotionally constricted, find it difficult to label their own feelings, will always find that others well being are their responsibility, will be very independent and will carry an anxiety of losing and will therefore not dare to string themselves to other people. Often will children of tyrannical parents end with depression, misuse and anxiety. Does any of this ring a bell, Mycroft? Sound like someone you know?”

Mycroft sat in silence for a while. Then he looked at Sherlock.

“Do you want to say in to their faces that you don’t want to see them ever again.....or will you just sort of vanish when they are around?” he asked.

Sherlock just looked at him, “I really don’t know. I know it is not fair towards you letting you dealing with them on your own. You are harmed too, you know.”

Sherlock sighed, “I’ll make arrangement with Greg so he can phone me. I think I can manage to put up an ‘act’ around them for half an hour.”

He smiled, “Hey, maybe we can even hire some look-a-likes actors to pretend to be us?”

Mycroft smiled back, “Thank you for trying at least....and do you really think that there out there is some actors who would look like us?”

“Maybe....in another universe....like Hawking’s multi-verses.”

Mycroft smiled back at his joking little brother. He was right about a lot of things...and about their parents as well. They had been victims of the project too, but that was hardly their excuse for treating Sherlock so much worse than him. And Mycroft felt a bit guilty too. The way he had treated Sherlock had not been OK.....and yet....despite all the failures Mycroft had made, Sherlock had been ready to die to protect him.....what a hero his baby-brother was. What a dragon-slayer! Despite his parents acerbic words it was most of all Sherlock who had deserved that GBE...and John. They were the true heroes.

Mycroft and Sherlock finished their whisky and ate some sandwiched accompanied by several cups of tea before they had finished their tasks for today. Next part of the plan was nearly ready.

Chapter Text

Two days after Mycroft’s visit, Sherlock got a text from John and immediately after the text John called on the phone, “Can I come over? I’m sorry I know it has been a while, but I didn’t want to disturb and I knew that you were on a case so......”

“Stop rambling, John. Come over. I’m not on a case right now. And you are most welcome, even if I can guess that something is troubling you.”

John walked up the 17 steps less than half an hour later. Sound of car leaving. Taxi then, not the sub or their car.

Sherlock pointed at the small table beside ‘John’s chair and at the empty glass standing there, “Whisky?”

“Yeah...thanks..”, said John as he slumped down in the chair that wasn’t his anymore...or even the same chair. It felt sort of the same though...a nice familiar feeling. He looked around, “You have tidied up a bit..” and then he pointed at the smiley face, “No bullet holes?”

“Again, John, you are stating the obvious...and yet not.” , said Sherlock and poured a nice size drink for John...and himself. Sherlock had a sinking feeling that he might need the (false) comfort from a drink soon. Sherlock continued, “The bullet holes are still there...just hidden. The wallpaper has just been repaired. I wanted to keep the smiley face...a reminder of happier times. So what brings you here? Something with Minna?”

“How would you know? No...forget that I asked. It’s just..” And John took a sip of the whisky, “Hm, it is good..”

And then he continued, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all that. It is not your problem, but mine and...”

Sherlock interrupted him, “Isn’t it what best friends are for....to listen...?”

“Yeah...right. But I haven’t been a ‘best friend’ for you for quite a while, have I?”

“Hm....you avoided to kill me. Helped Mycroft elaborate a plan that could save my life and at the same time flush out all our enemies and you watched over me, while I was sedated. Asked me to be your daughters godfather.....and were together with me as we visited Buckingham Palace to receive our GBE’s..”

Sherlock shook his head and smiled warmly at John, “No....that is not something a friend would do...is it?”

John smiled back, “You are right..as always.” And then he turned serious again, scooped forward in the chair and placed his arms on his knees holding the glass between his hands and kept turning the now half empty glass around in his hands.

John took a deep breath and continued, “I’m just deeply worried and something I have been very good at avoiding is popping up again.”

He looked at Sherlock, “Would you listen to my....ramblings.....and then tell me what you think?”

“Of course I can do that..”

“Well...OK.....”

And John started to talk. Sherlock could see that John was prepared for something ‘not good’ as his doctor persona was almost gone and ‘captain Watson’ was to be seen in the way he was sitting and the way he talked.

John told about the regular check-up and vaccination only a week ago, that Minna had been at with Mary and not John, as Mary had said, “I’m on maternity leave. Why should you take the day off when it is something I can easily do?”

But John had been suspicious as Mary had looked a bit troubled, when she returned and John had asked what was wrong, and seeing that she couldn’t avoid it, Mary finally admitted that the doctor ‘had heard something on Minna’s heart’.

John had checked and he could hear something too. Apparently Minna was all right She was eating fine, sleeping all right and developed according to every schedule. Mary had made an appointment today though....with a specialist. And why that, if everything was all right? Mary had said that the paediatrician just wanted to be sure...but something wasn’t right and every alarm bell in John was chiming. How could they get an appointment with a specialist so fast if nothing was wrong?

And one thing more. At Bart’s, when John was being educated to be a doctor, he had for a short while worked with an elderly very skilled doctor, Doctor Sorensen, who had found a syndrome, a genetic heart disorder, that would develop over time. John had helped with a lot of investigations and with the producing of a medicine that could prevent the deterioration of the children’s hearts. And the disease had a very distinct sound...and it was the sound John had thought he had heard. But ...and here was the but...this special heart disease was geneticly inherited. The child would have to have to ‘sick’ alleles, one from each parent, in order to develop the disease. Each parent would be a ‘carrier’ and even being a ‘carrier’ would cause some, albeit minor...very minor....mal-developments of the heart. Not something that could be life threatening or even diminish the function of the heart. But it could be seen or heard.....and John knew that his heart was 100% OK by now.

“They tested it so many times after I got shot....mostly because of the sepsis, that could have affected the heart valves, but there was nothing wrong...nothing at all!”

Sherlock looked at John. Then he went over to his computer and at the same time used his phone to call Mycroft, “I need access to the children’s heart diseases specialist Dr. Thornbridge’s clinic. Yes....the journals.....and the appointment calendar..... and Mycroft....maybe raise the level to ‘yellow’? And please send the result from the investigation too....yes I think so. Thank you.”

John looked at Sherlock with a frown, “Do you know something you haven’t told me?”

Sherlock looked back and answered, “I know ...something, but not for sure....and it is just something you have just said that made me think. I do not have enough data, just a very uneasy feeling. I’m sorry. I can’t say more. Not because I won’t, but because I can’t....is is all right? I’ll tell you as soon as I know. Is it acceptable?”

“I can hardly say no, can I? But it has something to do with Mary, hasn’t it? Mycroft said something to me a while ago. Something about me just saying a ’word’ about Mary and then he would react. He said though that she didn’t represent a danger to me or to you....but did he know enough?”

“He did know a lot, but you can never know everything, can you? Just like he only recently learned about your MI6 past.”, said Sherlock and continued the work on his computer.

“Well...here it is...come and have a look, John.” And John went over to Sherlock after he had taken a large gulp of his whisky. He was afraid that he might need it. He was standing beside Sherlock and looked at the screen too.

Sherlock was on the page of the heart specialist’s and it showed the schedule with Mary Watson’s and Minna’s appointment. They were still in the consultation. Mycroft had even managed to find the security -camera, which normally would be switched on during the night, and it showed the waiting room with Mary in her red coat...Oh God...Sherlock hated that colour....and Minna playing on the floor. The doctor was a bit delayed. But when were doctors not that?

John reached out and touched the screen with his fingers and then he turned towards Sherlock, “It is strange, isn't it?....She is probably not even mine...and yet I love her!”

Sherlock smiled, “Of course you do..” And then his smile faltered a bit and he actually blushed as he continued, “I...I...took the liberty to check if she was yours...after the birth...”

His voice faltered as he looked at John. John had that little dangerous smile on.

“You can yell all you want, John. You can even give me the punch, I deserve for hiding it for you...”

John interrupted him, “God..no...Sherlock...I’m not angry at you. I suppose the results showed nothing suspicious or you would have said something.”

Sherlock pointed at the screen that now showed the DNA-analyses made right after Minna’s birth, “We had blood samples...from all three of you and the blood-type matched: You being a blood-type O+, Mary being an AB+ and Minna being an A+. Nothing wrong there. And by running a simple DNA-test all 5 markers matched you or Mary. But....I took the liberty to take material enough for the big test...after the christening: I abducted Minna’s pacifier.....”

“Oh...that’s where it went..”

“And your and Mary’s table napkins...”

“And?”

“The results are here now. Mycroft told me that they were ready yesterday. It is a very advanced analysis and it takes about 4 weeks.....and I’m sorry John. But you were right...Minna isn’t yours.”

“Yeah...I sort of knew, didn’t I...when I heard that distinct sound from Minna’s heart. So what now?”

“It depends.”

“On what?” John wanted to know.

“I’ll try to tell you. When I was hospitalised after Mary shot me, I had two un-pleasant visitors. Magnussen was there. Threatened me. Why he didn’t kill me there, I don’t know. It would have been so easy: just a small syringe containing bacteria and injected into an IV-tube. There were enough connected to me! But he just touched me...Oh God...that man...He was so repulsive. Maybe he didn’t want to kill me because he thought he had defeated me, made me helpless. Sometimes big, almost seemingly almighty villains make mistakes.The second visitor was Mary, as you know. She told me that she had told you that she had visited...”

“She did.”

“I was more conscious at her visit and she told me...no ordered me not to tell you that she was the one, who had shot me. She told me that she couldn’t manage to lose you. At that time I thought you to be in danger, if I told anything...so I obeyed.”

“Oh..Sherlock..”

“Then Mycroft came by and gave me some more information, which made me believe that you would be safe, that I would be safe as long as you stayed with her. As long as she believed that your relationship could be repaired. At that time I realised that I.....no matter the cost for me...had to make you two stay together. Then you would be safe....and I would be too. I’m sorry John, but I couldn’t tell you, could I?”

“No...I suppose you couldn’t.”

“Then Leinster Garden happened. I could not let her secret come between you. I was afraid that you would have left her for good, even if she was pregnant. I had to make her believe that I underestimated her....that Mycroft underestimated her.”

Sherlock took a deep breath, “I nearly made a fatal mistake. It was actually her real love for you that protected the ‘Sherlock’ in the wheelchair...you....from being shot. You must know, John that the last things, Mycroft and I only recently have learned about ‘Mary,’ show that she indeed loves you...but also that she is prepared to keep that love at any cost. If she loses your love, it is not to say what she’ll do.”

Sherlock looked at John, “You are going to hate me for keeping this away from you...but you are such a bad actor. You are too much an honest man to keep this knowledge hidden...so please forgive me. Promise not to run away.....you can punch me if you want. I suppose I would sort of deserve it for keeping it away...”

“Stop rambling, Sherlock and for fuck’s sake, just bloody tell me!”

Sherlock composed himself and sort of made himself ready to be at the receiving end of John’s anger, “Mary had been working for CIA..”

“I know, at least she told me that....”

“And she had told you about her marriage, her daughter and her husband...and that he got shot and that she revenged him. But I do not suppose that she told you that she after that, broke with the CIA, and went freelance.”

“She told me that too..”

“But not that it wasn’t always on the ‘side of the angles’. When the place was getting too hot for her in the United States, she moved to South America, and later she went to Europe. At that time she even worked indirectly for Mycroft as she worked for MI6 and again for CIA...in the more...hm....’gray’ areas.”

Sherlock looked questioningly at John, who just shook his head. No Mary hadn’t told that.

And that was the time when Mary phoned John.

He looked at Sherlock who nodded.

John answered it and while he and Mary talked about Minna and the examination and Mary almost lied the whole time, Sherlock had written something on a piece of paper, that he pushed at John, so he could see it.

“Tell her the truth about where you are. You are probably tracked! Case. Medical opinion. Victim soldier from Afghanistan. Just a 4.”

John nodded and gave thumb up and continued to talk to Mary, “Yeah. Well, when will you be home again? ......Don’t worry, Mary, I’ve had many small children with Ventricular Septal Defects. It can be treated.....oh so they are giving her the medicine now? How long...Oh fine. No I’m in Baker Street...”

Sherlock could see Mary checking something on her phone and he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He hadn’t anticipated it to happen so soon.....but they were thank God nearly ready. And why would Mary check on her phone if not if John was telling the truth or not?

John continued to talk to Mary and Sherlock studied the picture of Mary in the clinic carefully. Then he nodded....she had believed John.

John ended his conversation with Mary and said to Sherlock, “They are treating Minna with the medicine that Sorensen invented, but it is late....almost too late..”, and asked just with a lifted eyebrow if he could look at the computer screen. Sherlock just moved away.

John read what it said in the journal and then John banged his hand down into the table and almost wheezed, “If that petty excuse for a mother had had guts enough to admit that she carried a heart-disease.....and that she had fucked around and had let another man make her pregnant...I might have been able to forgive her. IF she had not shot you.....But now......”

John took a deep breath and his fists were clenched, “Minna could have been spared for this. Sorensen had invented a medicine...enzymes...that injected into the mother as late as only a month before birth would have diminished the slow disintegration of the heart-muscle and the valves. But when the child is born.....”

And John looked again at the journal from Thornbridge’s clinic that was to be seen on the screen, “The strain on the baby’s heart by being on her own, independent away from the mother makes the deterioration begin. And then it just accelerates. It is as if the disintegration reaches a point of no return. Before that the child is fine....and only a week later it is going to need a new heart. Normally the symptoms will just show up when the child begins to walk or run around, about one year or one and a half year old. But in Minna’s case it is the severe version.....”

John looked at Sherlock, “Mary has actually killed Mina by her silence...and I can’t forgive her that.....added to all the other things she had said and done. I even doubt that she had ever loved me...”

“No...she did love you, John. Now comes the part that I and Mycroft had found out recently as we investigated this Moriarty/Magnussen/Lord Edwin conspiracy. If Mary had not loved you, both you and I would have been dead at the pool. She was one of the snipers...and David, Minna’s father was one of the others. She was the sniper put on you as I had to jump from the roof...Ironical isn’t it? Because Mycroft had managed to get rid of Lestrade’s and Mrs. Hudson’s...but not yours. And Mary told me....if she in any way could be believed...that she would not have shot you, but Jim instead, because she realised how insane he was. And she could have killed me in Magnussen’s office if she hadn’t realised how much I meant to you and.......”

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence, “Oh God....stupid...stupid...We have been so stupid! Hurry...is Mary still in the clinic?”

John looked while Sherlock took his own telephone, “I’ll explain later!”

And then he had Mycroft on his phone, “Mycroft. Things are altered. Her cover is blown. Redbeard!!”

John heard it and said to himself, “Redbeard?! Sherlock’s dog?!?”

Then Sherlock turned towards John, “Is she still there?”

John frowned a bit and looked at the screen, “Yes, she is talking to the receptionist right now...”

“Call her when Mary leaves, if Mary doesn’t call you...because she will be leaving soon!”

“Leave her daughter at the clinic?”

“Believe me, she will...and she will call you very soon, I think. Use my phone to call the receptionist...and lie to Mary up hill and down dale. Make her believe that Mycroft is in his office and we are here in Baker Street. Invent an excuse...any excuse for being here.....”

And with those words Sherlock hurried down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson, barged in and said with seriousness in his voice, “I’m sorry, Martha....but ‘Redbeard’! Call Lestrade and Molly on the secret phone and warn them too!” and then he ran upstairs again to John.

“Oh dearest....and I had biscuits in the oven” said Mrs. Hudson as she called first Lestrade and then Molly and said ‘Redbeard’ to them too. Turned off her oven and took an already packed bag, did put some important things into it and was ready in the hall as Sherlock, with a bag in one hand and the violin-case in the other came down the stairs together with a rather confused John.

Mary had called to tell John that she had to stay longer in the clinic because of the treatment and John had lied rather skilfully and had made her believe that he was staying at Sherlock’s and would have supper there. Rather cunningly he made her understand that Mycroft was in his office as John complained about Mycroft calling Sherlock in for work, when they actually were on a case. They would go down to The Scotland Yard later to make reports and would probably be at the morgue too. So he would be home late.

Then he had called the receptionist and had asked for his wife. He was told that Mary had asked the receptionist if it was all right that she left for some errands and had something to eat and the receptionist had said it was all right as Minna was sound asleep during the treatment. And Mary had left, promising to be back in an hour.

Sherlock had been in his bedroom to retrieve some 3D cardboard figures and had placed them carefully in the armchairs and had turned them on. Now various parts of the figures moved and it must look rather convincing seen from the other side of the street and through the curtains.

They didn’t walk out the front door though, but went down into the other flat, the 221C and over to a wall, where Sherlock took a hammer and with a few blows made the plaster fall down and revealed a door.

“She’ll know when she sees the door, but then it is too late” said Sherlock as if it explained everything.

John was just confused...but followed Sherlock swiftly...as did Mrs. Hudson. No trace of ‘her hip’. John couldn’t help smiling. ‘Her hip’ had been a decoy too.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of water I had to use to make that flat so damp and mouldy. Sherlock always had to grow extra mould.” , she explained as they ran down the hidden corridor.

Again John smiled....that explained a lot.

Finally they were in another house and outside that was one of Mycroft’s bigger cars. A van. Inside were Molly, Lestrade, Mycroft, Andrea and now Sherlock, John and Mrs. Hudson sat down to and the van accelerated out in the busy London traffic.

“I suppose you’ll like an explanation” said Sherlock but the others just looked at him and then Sherlock started:

“First something to you John. We have had a suspicion for a while...since Mary shot me. But nothing for certain...and only as a possibility. Codename for “Get away immediately” would be ‘Redbeard’, if our vague suspicion would come true.”

Then he looked at the others, “I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you before...and things did happen a bit too fast today. Today Mary’s cover was blown. Today John had the final proof that Minna wasn’t his...and that Mary by her silence not only probably has killed Minna...John can explain that later.....but killed the last sympathy John had for Mary too.”

Sherlock looked at John who just nodded. Right now he was fighting back tears...because despite Minna not being his, he still loved that little girl. Sherlock padded John’s hand, “Mycroft’s men are at the clinic right now. Taking care of Minna. She will be brought to a safe hospital and....”

John looked up at Sherlock and gave his hand a squeeze, “I’m not blaming anyone but Mary. She had the necessary information that could have saved Minna. But Minna's chances are small....”

“I’ll see what I can do....” began Mycroft.

John turned towards Mycroft, “There is not much to be done, if Minna doesn’t react positively to the medication. It is far, far too late. And normally this severe crisis would not emerge before the child is about 3 years old. Then being big enough to have artificial valves and strong enough to survive the surgery. Minna is barely 5 months old and she is just too small...”

He sighed and ‘Captain Watson’ was there again, “If your men don’t get to Mary, Mycroft, I swear that I’ll will!”

Sherlock just looked at John for a while and then he continued, “Mary must have realised that her cover was blown, even if she still tried to maintain an illusion of being a good wife and mother. And then I realised. Why didn’t she shoot me dead...why hasn’t she tried to kill me since her first attempt? And the answer is: if she revealed enough secrets to make us believe that she genuinely wanted to retire and wanted a life with John...wanted a child, the end-result would be that the most vulnerable man in London, if not trusted her, at least did let her come close while he was not surrounded by bodyguards.

She was genuinely upset as I was sent away to Eastern Europe and as I was shot and apparently was killed in Regents Park. Not because of me, but because if I was away then she had no excuse for being close to Mycroft and as I was shot, then security around Mycroft would be raised to at least level ‘yellow’, or maybe ‘red’, making it impossible to fulfil her job even if her employer was in prison.

She was the assassin put on Mycroft as a part of the big plan that I and Mycroft had blown...and now when her cover was blown and she would lose John, there was no reason anymore to maintain the illusion of a marriage.”

Sherlock looked around, “What is left for her is petty revenge....and maybe she had thought everything to be perfectly safe, if David, Minna’s real father, hadn’t had the same genetic disease and her cover had been blown. Mary’s first daughter in Washington was just a carrier...and that just the mild version. So what were the odds that Minna could be ill? And Mary wouldn’t have had to pretend for much longer time....actually the original plan was to be launched even before Minna would have been born.”

John shook his head, “I just wonder how she could believe that I wouldn’t find out at one point. DNA- analysis are not that uncommon.”

Sherlock smiled, “If you just knew, John, how often the ‘father’ is not the biological father. And as I said...the original plan was to be launched even before Minna would have been born....So now we just go under-cover until she is either killed or apprehended.”

Sherlock looked at John, “I hope you are OK with this?”

John had that little dangerous smile on, “Oh I’m perfectly OK.....Couldn’t be more OK if I tried!”

Chapter Text

As it began to grow dark they were still on their way to their hiding-place and it was most definitely not one belonging to MI5. If Mary had access to the secret files, as she had claimed, it would have been utterly stupid to travel to one of these. It was one of Mycroft and Andrea’s own secret places and in the northern part of London. Right beside the rather trashy line of suburban houses, who had seen better days, was an abandoned factory, covered in graffiti in several layers.

But only seemingly abandoned. The local skater-club provided the cover. They knew the tall man and his wife, but didn’t recognize Mycroft as ‘The British Government’ , just thought him to be a businessman with some dubious secrets. He paid them well enough and they could use the building, so it suited them well...and Mycroft had the perfect ‘hideout’. He had soon realised that he would need several hideouts, some of them even hidden from his closest colleagues. It was always lonely and cold on the top...and at certain times, Mycroft knew that he could only trust a very few people...like now, where the whole mess with Magnussen/Moriarty/Lord Edwin was not quite managed yet.

On the way Greg had made a remark and asked if they were not ‘cracking nuts with a sledgehammer’ when the just ran away without confronting Mary? She was actually only one single female. How dangerous could she be, even if she was an assassin with Mycroft’s men keeping an eye on her?

But both Mycroft and John had looked at him and said, “Dangerous! Extremely dangerous.” And Mycroft had revealed a few of the jobs, she had made for MI6....and Sherlock had just looked at Greg and said one word ‘Bombs’! And then Greg had stayed silent for the rest of the ride.

Molly hadn’t said a thing either. Was just sitting there in the car with the transport box containing Toby, her cat, on her knees.

When they came to the factory, they drove to the backside, a gate opened and the car drove inside, and was hidden immediately. Then they got out of the car and secret doors were opened to a rather large and very nice flat and Mycroft told everybody, of course except Andrea and Sherlock, who obviously had been there before, about the security of the house. There was even a shelter under the factory, so they could even survive a direct attack with heavy arms.

“I’m not totally sure about an atom-bomb”, had Mycroft said with a smirk.

They were all shown their bedrooms, but they would have to squeeze a bit together. There were beds enough, but not separate rooms for everybody.

Mrs. Hudson and Molly would share a room. Sherlock had his own small one, and Greg and John would have to share as well. Sherlock wished that he and John could have shared....and so did John secretly.

Greg knew of course a lot about Sherlock’s feelings for John. How could he not, when he had helped with the ‘first man’s speech’, but he couldn’t figure out about John’s feelings. John wasn’t gay, remember!

Andrea made tea and some sandwiches and Molly was told that her cat could stay in one of the bathrooms. If he had to ‘do’ something before they could buy some cat-litter, it wouldn’t be so bad. And then they all sat down in the living room to make plans.

Molly and Greg told that they had put up their 3D cardboard-dummies as well. ‘Greg’ was watching telly and ‘Molly’ was too. Mycroft’s dummy in his office was even more advanced, and could be mistaken for being Mycroft..if only for a few vital seconds.

Both Greg and Molly had left their phones in their flats as ordered, only bringing their SIM-cards, and John had left his phone at Baker Street....Sherlock had done it too, as John has told him that Mary had had Sherlock’s phone in hand on the plane. Sherlock had been too drugged to notice.

They were all provided with new phones. John’s and Sherlock’s versions were ‘ghost’-versions...exact copies of their old ones, with the same number but without the GPS-tracking devise that Mary had put into them. And then they sat down awaiting Mary’s next move.

Mycroft was to first to get a message. It was from people he could trust and it said that Minna had been removed from the clinic and was in a secret governmental hospital...and that she was responding positively to the treatment.

Sherlock looked swiftly at John, who again had put on his ‘Captain Watson’ personality.

“There is still nothing you want me to do?”, asked Mycroft and continued, “I have contacted the international donor database. But...”

John shook his head, “She is too small.....and the next 48 hours is going to show if she pulls through or not. I don’t care if she is mine or not...I love her.”

Then John looked down at his hands before he looked at Mycroft again, “It is actually not fair, is it? Only if you do have powerful friends, there might be a chance for a transplantation. But who am I to jump forward in a queue? Parents might have been watching their child slowly...deteriorate... over several years and that without having the slightest chance of getting a heart-transplant. And somehow it is so unfair that rich countries can use millions of pounds on saving a very few children, when the same amount of money could save millions of children...from hunger, malnutrition, illness and war.”

John shook his head again, “If Minna pulls through it will be wonderful. But I’m not going to take the place in a queue away from another desperate set of parents. No way! And besides...Minna is too small to have a transplantation...and the risks when she is that small are huge. I do not want her to be saved and kept alive at any cost. I know she can be hooked on an artificial heart and hopefully wait for another child to be killed so she can get a new heart. You can all hear how wrong that sounds, right? But that is not a life....I’ve seen too much of that. So no, Mycroft. Please to not abuse your powers in that way.”

They all looked at John with the hope that Minna would be able to survive and they perfectly well understood his point of view...and could only admire his moral and ethics.

Mycroft looked at his tea-cup, turned it around in his hands and said in a very low voice, “It is sometimes difficult to know when it is time to interfere and when it is time to just accept...I’m afraid that I sometimes overstep the line of abusing my power. But I’m trying to at least somehow to be a decent person. Not to do things for me, but for the country as a whole. For the world.” He looked up, “At least I do not seek the power for the power itself, but for what I can do with the power. I do not pretend to be altruistic, but I do try to diminish the damages other less decent people do to the world.”

And then Mycroft got support from a person he, despite their improved relationship, would not have expected to defend him, as Sherlock said, “I do believe, Mycroft, that the world would be in a far worse state if it hadn’t been for you and, with only a minor contribution from me....well I’ve sort of helped too. That could be said about all the people in this room have contributed to a safer world. I was finally convinced that what I did during my time away and before and after, did make a small difference...... And that Moriarty and Magnussen...and even Lord Edwin would have made this world less acceptable, if we, mostly you and I, Mycroft, hadn’t managed to stop them.”

Mycroft looked at the people in the room, “It is a constant battle...and I suppose it has been for decades, centuries, millenniums, since we got brain enough to deceive each other...to keep the ‘bad guys’ under some sort of control....and I am just human, so I make mistakes. Let’s just hope that I this time is right about what ‘Mary’ intends to do..”
___________________

John got the second message, that actually consisted of more than one, but he read it for himself, as he told the others that it was rather private... some of it. He told about the rest of the message though. The others accepted that he wanted to keep something for himself, as he told them it was rather private embarrassing stuff.

John was clenching his fist on his right hand while he read, and he huffed in anger too. The others could see his dangerous smile as well, as he read through the message, which indeed showed how much a psychopath ‘Mary’ was. Everything was always about her needs and even when she said something remotely nice, she still managed to make it sound acerbic:

*Hi ‘husband’...or not. I’m sorry about Minna. I think it could have worked. I chose you already in the poolroom, where you were so brave so many years ago and I wanted you to be the father of my child. David was more handsome than you, and actually better in bed, but he would have made such a poor father. That is why I tried to make you giving me a child.*

*I even put a needle through the condoms and ‘forgot’ my pill. Nothing worked, so I made David shag me. Oh God how we laughed afterwards as Minna was born and you were so proud. Stupid, but so adorable John. David insisted on seeing Minna and threatened to tell that he was the father. I had to kill him, but it was his own fault. He could just have stayed away.*

*Who would have known that he carried the disease too? It is such a shame that Minna can’t survive and such a shame that ‘the plan’ didn’t work out. You would have had such a high position in the new society beside me. You have always put yourself in the shadow of Sherlock, but you are just as mart as he is, even if none of you are as smart as me. I’m not sure that Lord Edwin would have kept his position. After all I’m the smartest one.*

*But nobody sees through the blonde hair, my sweet face and my short stature. Many people have underestimated me because of that. So did the Holmes brothers. And they were supposed to be so clever. They have been so stupid. I can see that you are in Baker Street. So you can tell Sherlock that all his sacrifices and hard work were almost in vain, those two years he was away. *

*There will always be others to ‘pick up the torch’ and carry on. Sweet John, but stupid John too. I suppose your lack of performance in bed is because you haven’t realised about your feelings for Sherlock. Well, now you have the chance. I’m leaving the country for good. Good bye John.*

John told a part of what she had written, but left out the last part that had made him think quite a lot.

That was when the third message came for Mycroft telling that ‘Mary Watson’ had been spotted in Heathrow on her way to USA.

John frowned and so did Sherlock, “No one in here believes that that’s the truth, do they?”

Mycroft smiled a very cold smile, “No...but now I know which three agents I can’t trust anymore!”

Mycroft received confirmation about activity around Lestrades’ flat, Molly’s flat and 221B Baker Street. But he told his men to keep a low profile and not react.
_______________________

Mary was hidden behind the curtains in the house just opposite 221B Baker Street. The family in the flat was out of town, and if they hadn’t been, they would all have been dead by now. She couldn’t have cared less.

It was dark by now, and had been already, as she had moved in position. She could see the silhouettes of Sherlock and John sitting in their chairs. How could they dare to be that careless....sitting just like that, with the light from the room showing them so easily to the outside world? They were apparently talking as she could see Sherlock gesticulating and John nodding. John hadn’t even discovered that she had put a tracking devise in his phone...and neither had ‘clever’ Sherlock.

She could not understand why John was so...infatuated....by this man. She was so more than him...and yet John still looked like a happy puppy when he looked at that curly head.....and those cheekbones.

Her plan would have worked perfectly if it hadn’t been for Minna’s illness. Well at least she wouldn’t have to worry about her. She was a sweet little girl...and easy. But Mary wasn’t quite sure that she would have been prepared for being a full time mother as Minna would grow more ‘difficult’.

Well time to give message to the two others of her little conspiracy. And then they could leave and start all over again in Eastern Europe, when all the stupid men in the top of the remaining organisation had been removed. Oh God....men were so easy to delude!
_______________________

John and Sherlock were the ones to receive the fourth and fifth message: A set of pictures showing someone in front of Lestade’s flat, a view through the window, where they could se Lestrade’s silhouette in front of the telly and then a picture showing ‘Lestrade’’s slumped form before the last picture of Lestrade’s flat on fire was sent. Then came two different texts to Sherlock and John:

One for John:

*Oh I forgot to mention that I had a few unfinished businesses to attend to before I would leave. Lestrade has always been a pain in the arse. And sometimes I think that he was cop enough to look through some of my disguises.*

One for Sherlock:

*This time you couldn’t save him!*

Only a few seconds later there was one for Sherlock as well showing Molly’s window and a slumped form lying on the couch:

*And not her either!*

And then less than 5 seconds after the last message, the agents in Baker Street confirmed that there had been two shots fired towards the living room from the house opposite Sherlock’s flat. They had hit the ‘Sherlock’ and the ‘John’ sitting in the chairs in front of the fireplace.

At exactly the same time, it was reported that there had been a minor explosion in the government building. Located to Mycroft’s office.

Mycroft shook his head and showed his phone, “She didn’t even give me a warning!” His screen was black. No messages at all.

And then he gave the order to apprehend Mary and her two accomplices.
_________________________

Just as Mary had sent the text-messages to John and Sherlock, she had a nagging feeling that something was off, but she aimed carefully at the figure seen in silhouette in the window, looking through the scope on her rifle. She had given the order in which she wanted them to die quite a thought.

And thought that John maybe would have time to react and take shelter, if Sherlock was shot first. John was a trained soldier after all...and Sherlock had recently been seriously wounded and would probably react a bit slower. So...John first. She aimed and pulled the trigger.....

It was first as Mary discovered the red dots on her own chest, that she realised, what had been wrong. Sherlock and John had moved....and had then stopped moving, as she shot them.

But the pattern had not changed as it would have been if they had not been....”Oh...dummies! Clever!” , Mary said that out loud, ignoring the order to surrender...and she had just time to think that maybe the Holmes brothers hadn’t been that stupid after all....and that was the last thing she thought, before the bullets from Mycroft’s men killed her.
________________

No one was actually surprised as the two other accomplishes showed themselves to be Janine and Tessa, one of the bridesmaids. They were trained assassins just like Mary.

They surrendered and were taken into custody by Mycroft’s men.

Janine had just pretended to be unconscious in Magnussen’s office, as Mary came to threaten him. Magnussen had overstepped his limits and Mary had been sent to punish him.

A lot of the people in ‘the conspiracy’ didn’t know the other participants, and they were told to follow strict orders. Magnussen had ‘squeezed’ Mycroft Holmes a bit too hard thus making Mycroft Holmes more suspicious, making him think that there could be more in this ‘blackmailing’ that the first approach might show. And that had endangered the whole plan.

Thank god Mycroft had made them believe that he was defeated....and Mycroft didn’t have to pretend that later as every plan he and Sherlock had made, had gone down the sewer and Sherlock found it necessary to shoot Magnussen to protect his brother and John. Magnussen hadn’t quite followed the orders from his ‘boss’.

That evening where Sherlock had been shot in Magnussens' office, Mary had been sent to put Magnussen in place. Unfortunately it had been the same evening that Sherlock had decided to visit Magnussen too. Mary had to think fast and decided to shoot, but not kill Sherlock, because without Sherlock she would not be able to come close to Mycroft, when it was time to kill him.

She had carefully given secrets away drop by drop and found that Sherlock’s love for John Watson could give her the possibility for Sherlock’s forgiveness and remove the threat from Mycroft that her wounding and almost killing Sherlock would have earned her otherwise.

Both Mycroft and Sherlock had to admit that Mary had ‘played’ them virtuously, even better than Moriarty had done. But at the end they had looked through her and had made precautions, that she hadn’t expected. She had genuinely believed that she had them totally deluded. And Minna’s illness had revealed the last part of Mary’s deceit.

As everybody in Mycroft’s and Andrea’s flat were told about the whole affair, Sherlock had a brief moment of confusion as Mycroft mentioned the discovery of the organisation, that Mary had been the European head of.

Mycroft had said, “They were a group of assassins, determined of removing men in powerful positions, if they overstepped a line, defined by those women. If Moriarty hadn’t killed himself, he would have been killed by one of the TAB’s...”

Sherlock looked up, “What did you call them?!”

“TAB’s...and it was what they called themselves...”

Sherlock asked with a voice that only trembled a bit, “The Abominable Brides?”

Mycroft laughed, “Oh God no.....there wasn’t much ‘blushing brides’ about them. No they called themselves ‘The Avenging Bitches’....very melodramatic and almost cartoonish. But there was nothing amusing about their actions. We have found more evidence and will be able to apprehend the rest of the group. They are mostly operating in Asia and Africa.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft...and remembered a conversation he had had with Victorian Holmes. Not with the obese Mycroft from his own Mind Palace, who had used the same words, but Holmes who had mentioned the words from the real Mycroft from Victorian times, “Maybe such sort of group of avenging women could be necessary in that part of the world, where women’s rights are....if you pardon my choice of words.....a ‘city in China’.”

And then Sherlock almost quoted ‘his’ obese Mycroft and Victorian Holmes as well, “Maybe defeating those women.....It is a battle we ought to lose? I do not know why they thought it to be a better idea to remove you, Mycroft , and Lady Smallwood and replace you two with Lord Edwin. Maybe the fraction here in Europe got sidetracked and lost sight of their purpose. But such actions, keeping a bit too self-confident men on a tight rein, could maybe be rather necessary in those parts of the world?”

Mycroft looked a Sherlock...and at the others, “Maybe you are right...and we should just keep an eye on them.”
______________________

Later, after an improvised very late supper, it was just John and Lestrade staying in the flat in the factory, as the others were out doing some errands, since it would be relatively safe by now. Doing it in the dark and just staying in this part of London. Thank God there were always shops with opening hours almost round the clock. There were quite a few things they needed, as they were going to keep a low profile a few days still. Molly and Mrs. Hudson went shopping for supplies for Molly’s cat and food for humans. Sherlock went to buy some clothes and a few other items.

The media hadn’t got that much about the whole affair....only that there had been that explosion in the governmental building, and that only in one of the side wings and only in the office belonging to a ‘minor employee’. Something to do with ‘a leak in some old plumbing’s back from Victorian times and apparently still containing gas’. Mycroft considered sacking the person, who had come up with such a poor explanation...but the media apparently bought it.

Mycroft was in his office in the flat. Andrea was on her way to the government building.....to show her deep shock over her employer’s death. Mycroft had decided not to show that he was alive ‘until this stirring of muddy waters could make some more nasty beasts show themselves’. He was expecting that his death could show the last half-hearted followers of the Lord Edwin conspiracy.

Lestrade would not be able to return to his flat for a long time. The fire had been put out, but the damage was rather big. Since he was already moving out, a lot of his stuff hadn’t been in the flat.

“To many bad memories” had he explained, “Marilyn had actually almost decided the whole look of the flat. I just needed new surroundings.” And he had found a flat closer to the Yard....or to be more precise: Mycroft had found one.

Mycroft’s men had taken care of the dummies in Baker Street and in Molly’s flat and had made discreet arrangements with glass shops to have the windows repaired. Like that the last traces of Mary’s and the other TAB’s actions were neatly removed.

Jeannie and Tessa were now in some secret governmental facilities and would be thoroughly interrogated...preferably within the limits of the UN human rights. But if necessary...outside those limits too.

John was told that he the next day would be taken to the hospital that treated Minna. Right now she was asleep and wouldn’t notice that he was there anyway. Mycroft had even talked about contacting a surgeon in USA, who had performed valve-transplants on such small babies. Her answer would be available around 10 AM the next day too.
_______________________________

Lestrade and John, who had known each other for more than five years know, was just sitting in the living room, drinking one of Mycroft’s fine whiskies.

Just like John had been able to do with Sherlock, they too could sit in comfortable silence, not needing to say anything. Lestrade was the first to open his mouth and talk though, “You have to forgive him.”

John frowned, “Who?”

“Sherlock of course.”

“For what? Nothing of this...this menagerie... is his fault. There is no need to forgive him..”

Lestrade shook his head, ”It is not how Sherlock thinks....He thinks, he is to blame for a lot of it all actually. That is just how he works and thinks. If you just knew how many times he had blamed himself for not being smarter, faster, and more cunning and blames himself for not being able to save people before the killer strikes again. But he would never dare to ask you. Not again. So you’ll have to say the words.”

Then Lestrade emptied his glass and said as the rose, “I’m heading for bed now...but John...think about how much more you can ask of Sherlock. He would give and give...until there is nothing more to give.”

And then he turned around just before he left the room, “Ask yourself how much more you can demand of that man, John. Just ask yourself.....and remember ‘the first man speech’....” and then Lestrade left.

John finished his drink and sat a while thinking. Then he yawned and went to the bathroom and then to bed. The others had still not returned and Mycroft was busy working in his office.

Chapter Text

In the middle of the night John heard that Sherlock had returned. John could hear Sherlock’s gaits and he could hear that Sherlock sat down in the living room too. John had only been able to sleep for about one hour as he had been thinking for quite a while and he decided that there was no reason for trying to sleep anymore and he stepped out of bed and slipped on one of Mycroft’s guest dressing gowns and managed to get out of the room without disturbing Greg.

Sherlock was sitting in the living room, only dressed in a pair of pyjama bottoms, a T-shirt in one of Mycroft ‘s dressing gowns too . He was looking at his computer. John stopped for a moment and looked at Sherlock’s profile...and he thought about the result of his thoughts.....but Sherlock didn’t function like that...did he?

Sherlock looked up, “Oh...you are awake. Worrying about Minna I suppose..”

“Not only her. I’ve been thinking.”, said John.

“Oh..”

“Come...sit down on the couch with me. We need to talk”, said John and continued, “I still do not understand, why you thought it to be such a good idea to make me forgive Mary. How had you not discovered that she was that dangerous for you...and me?”

“I’m sorry John” Sherlock explained, “I genuinely thought Mary to be the best thing for you. But she has been like an onion...layer upon layer of deceit and lies and I had only been able to look through the first few layers. We have....if you would excuse my words...been sort of lucky....again I’m sorry...because Minna most certainly doesn’t deserve her illness. But without that I think that we’ll all be dead by now. Mary couldn’t have kept up her deceit much longer.....and then she would have started killing us all. I do realise now, John, that she wouldn’t have allowed you to leave her. So even if it is an unbearable fate for little Minna, I think that she has saved your life...and mine as well. Not to mention the rest of us here in this flat. After all...Mycroft and I are just humans (and Sherlock thought 'even if we are a genetic experiment’) and we made a terrible mistake regarding Mary.”

Sherlock looked at John, “I’ll have to ask you a personal question and you can tell me to bugger off if you do not want to answer...but would you have forgiven Mary if she had not been pregnant?”

John hesitated for a moment, giving himself time to think, “Even with what I thought to be my child inside her, I would never have forgiven her for shooting you, if you not had told me to. I’m not even sure I ever forgave her. You are right...she was like an onion...layer upon layer. The first layer was the ‘Mary Morstan’ I learned to know at the clinic...”

John sighed, “It sounds weird, but she saved my life, you know. Without her I suppose that I at some point would have killed myself. My world was just dull...gray.....no colours, no joy. I felt like an utter failure not being able to protect you. If I had known the reason for you to jump...that it was necessary to save me, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, I could have lived with it, I think. But I believed that you jumped because I had failed you...and that almost killed me.”

“I’m sorry..”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing for saving my life, Sherlock. And I could have listened a bit more carefully to your words. You tried to tell me.....’it is all a magic trick’ and Mycroft has told me how risky that plan was. You had bended ribs....and risked a brain damage from the drugs....”

John took a deep breath, “Not to mention all the times you must have been in mortal danger while away.....and I’m amazed that you actually managed to come back....and single-handedly managed to almost destroy that lunatic madman’s network..”

“Not single-handedly...” murmured Sherlock.

John stopped and looked at Sherlock, who blushed a bit because of John’s praise and then John just continued, “And then I thanked you by beating you up, almost breaking your nose and make the injuries on your back even worse....Jesus Sherlock. All the things you have done for me. The first man’s speech...the waltz.”

John smiled fondly, “Learning me to dance.”

Sherlock looked at him with a frown, not quite understanding why John was talking about that now. But he didn’t say anything.

John still kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock and lifted his hand, “Please...you know this is difficult for me. So please listen without interrupting....and without running away. Promise?”

“I’ll try.”

“You forgave Mary for shooting you. And you shot Magnussen to protect your brother...and Mary too. And I’ve been thinking. Lestrade said something to me...and so did Mycroft....recently. And that is why I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been thinking over and over again about how we met, what happened and what you have done for me all those years...”

Sherlock was about to say something, but John frowned and Sherlock just closed his mouth with a click and did let John continue.

“As I said...I’ve been thinking. I’m worried about Minna. And I’ll cry and be devastated, if...no let me be more realistic...when she dies.”

John had wet eyes and took a deep breath, before he continued, “Mary Morstan” was the first layer that that woman showed me.....and I fell in love with that...that... glossy picture, she showed me. Or more correctly: I thought I fell in love. Tonight I’ve tried to imagine, what I would have felt if ‘Mary’ had died....let’s say on our honeymoon. And I realised that I would have been sad...and have mourned. But I would not have been as devastated as I was, when you jumped. First I thought it was because I had failed you.....but then I imagined how I felt, as I learned that you might have died on that plane recently. I tried to imagine how I would feel if I never should see you again...never. And...and..”

John’s eyes were filled with tears now...and Sherlock longed for being able to reach out and take them away. But he had promised...

John took a deep breath again and looked Sherlock directly in his eyes, “I’ve finally realised that I have been the most thick-skulled being since the Neanderthals. What I feel for you, Sherlock, it is not friendship...it is so much more than that, and I’m sorry...because I know that I might scare you like hell...and I’ll just accept that it can’t be more than platonic.....but....”

Sherlock couldn’t stop himself anymore. He hoped so much that he had read John’s half sentences all right..so he grappled John’s face between his strong hands, tilted his head...and kissed John. Not a sloppy one, not with tongue...just lips pressed against lips. And as soon he had done that, he let go again and just looked at John.

John just sat there....his fingers touched his lips....and then Sherlock was sort of attacked by John, who grappled Sherlock’s face so hard that it would probably bruise and kissed him back with much ferocity.

Then he let go of Sherlock’s mouth but remained close and they pressed their foreheads together, while still holding and caressing each other’s heads. John had his hands deeply buried in Sherlock’s curls.....finally! And they felt like silk. He had longed so much just to be able to touch Sherlock like this and now when he was finally allowed to do that, it made him almost giddy.

Sherlock caressed John’s shorter strands of hair, enjoying the feeling of the man’s scalp underneath. Finally he could allow himself to show his true feelings. Finally.

And then John began to giggle, “Oh my God. You and I are the biggest idiots to walk on this bloody planet..”

And Sherlock answered in that deep voice that sent shivers down John’s spine, “Talk for yourself, John. I’m the genius here...” But it was said with so much warmth, that John understood the meaning behind the words...’I’m an idiot too.’

They didn’t have to say more. Just like they often had in other situations, they did understand each other. Maybe even sometimes better if they didn’t try to put it into words. In this case they might have found out earlier though, if they had touched and used words.

They sat for a while like that and then they sat up straighter holding each other’s hands and then they simultaneously said:

“We definitely need to talk now” said by John

and

“I’m sorry but....” said by Sherlock.

John smiled and said, “You first, Sherlock.”

Sherlock moved on the couch so he was sitting more comfortable. He had bent one of his long legs and had that almost tucked under his body as the other one was on the floor. And all the time he had not let go of John’s hands.

He smirked, “We’ll have to promise to talk. There have been too many misunderstandings between us.”

“I agree”, said John and smiled back...with the smile that rivalled the sun in intensity in Sherlock’s opinion.

Then Sherlock said, “I...I still need to apologize for not seeing who ‘Mary’ really was....and for all the rest of the mess, I’ve made. Yes.....I know that I’ve done so much good too. If I doubt it, I can always look at my order from the Queen and on my business cards that says ‘Sir Sherlock Holmes’. But...but I’ve done you so much harm, John...and for that I’m truly sorry...”

John was about to say something but Sherlock just looked at him, and now it was John’s turn to keep his mouth shut as Sherlock continued, “Please, John. This is difficult for me too. I know that we have saved each other’s lives a lot of times too. But I didn’t realise before it was far, far too late to do something about it, what my ‘dance’ with Moriarty did cost you. I never intended you to watch me jump....and believe me. I never thought that that last possibility would come into play. I had never imagined that Jim would shoot himself. He was insane.......but so would I have been, if I had not met you. You saw how close I was to swallow that pill. I know now that it was my mental instability...my untreated mental instability that caused my....my spleen.....my path towards self-destruction.”

Sherlock looked at their intertwined hands, before he looked up again, “I didn’t realise how much pain I caused, before I saw you in that restaurant. I had played that re-union-scene in my head over and over again. But in these imaginary scenes you were just happy to see me. Never angry. That‘s why I suddenly saw it from your side....that I had kept you in the dark. Lied to you. Failed you...”

Now John tried to say something again, but Sherlock shook his head, “Don’t..please. Let me continue. That is the reason why I allowed you to hit me. Believe me......John...I’m not a good person. I’m not even sure I’m on the side of the angels anymore. I’ve tortured people...killed people. Black-mailed people, threatened people... if the legal way wasn’t enough to dismantle Moriarty’s organisation. Even as wounded as I was, I could easily have defended myself, if I had wanted to do so.”

Sherlock looked up above John’s head as if he saw something there in the air, before he continued, “My nightmares are not so much about what happened to me, but more about what I did to people....And then in the middle of that restaurant I realised that I didn’t deserve you...that you deserved to be happy. And I genuinely thought that ‘Mary’ would be the ideal partner for you. That she could give you everything you craved....and I stepped away from you. I really tried to step away...and give you....everything.”

Sherlock stopped talking for a while. John just waited...and then Sherlock continued with a sigh, “And I screwed that thing up too. I’m sorry..”

Before John wanted to say something he did let go of their hands, but before Sherlock could panic, John took Sherlock’s face in his hands. Gently this time...and kissed Sherlock’s mouth again...and then as Sherlock closed his eyes, because there were tears in them, John kissed Sherlock’s eyelids...and kissed the tears away. Then he sat down and held Sherlock’s long and elegant hands in his own sturdier ones.

“Now you listen very carefully to me, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I’m the one who should say, repeatedly, ‘I’m sorry’. Again and again. For not listening to you. For believing you to just have had a holiday and lived on hotels for those two years. I should have known better...having met Moriarty already. I should be saying ‘I’m sorry’ for letting that woman come between us. To be totally honest. I kept seeing her out of anger towards you. And then... I believed that I was in love. She was clever, ‘Mary’.....good a manipulating people. Knew exactly what to say to undermine my faith in you. Said one thing and implied another. Small acerbic remarks that made me doubt your motives....and I was caught. Like a fly in a spiders net. And it was nothing I could put my finger on and if I had asked, she would have looked at me with her big blue eyes and have said, “You are dreaming, John. Sherlock is brilliant, but he doesn’t feel like that...and he is dangerous.”

John paused and Sherlock smiled a sad smile and said, “My mother is rather good at that game, too. Suddenly you are the one to be blamed for her failures...I know it all too well.”

John smiled back, “Yeah....my father was good at it too. Making you feel guilty...because you dared to point at his failures.”

Sherlock smiled back and then he sighed, “I’m afraid that I cannot be what you need, John. I thought Mary to be perfect, but....”

“Yeah...she was ‘perfect’. A deceiving, lying, psychopathic assassin, who almost directly killed her own daughter by keeping that secret away, and tried to kill us all too....”

“But...but I’m not a woman.....and I can’t be pregnant..and..”

John smiled back and said, “We do have a lot to explain and talk about, but you must know, Sherlock, that I’m deeply in love with you. I admire you and not just your brain and the adrenaline fuelled life you have provided so far. It is not essential to me, chasing criminals. What is essential to me is, to put it short ,YOU. I love all of you...your moods, your sulks...all of you, Sherlock. And you don’t have to be a woman.....and have a child.....”

“But you are not gay..”

“I never said, I was straight either, did I?”

And finally Sherlock understood, “Oh.....I hadn’t deduced that.”

And then he frowned, “Oh...Sholto. Mary was ‘nice’ enough to let me know that “neither of us was the first”...to love you. She saw that I loved you...and used it against me. Mycroft is sometimes right you know. ‘Sentiment’ can be dangerous...”

“Hmm...about Sholto. He was my superior officer and any inappropriate....connection, would have kicked us both out of the army. Not because of....being gay......but because he, as I said, was my superior. I liked him, I admired him and there was a mutual... fondness and under different circumstances I wouldn’t have ruled out that...”

John took a deep breath, “Maybe it is time to ‘see the elephant in the room’....I have been with men, Sherlock. Adrenaline fuelled kisses and mutual wanks after we had barely survived after battles and too close encounters ...in Afghanistan. And I was very fond of a boy just before I left for the army. But my parents were Catholic and Harry and I was brought up in that faith. It did hit my parents hard when Harry told them about her homosexuality....so how could I tell? And I liked girls too.”

John smiled and huffed a bit, “You might say that I maybe overcompensated a bit in that area...”

Sherlock smiled back, “Well, maybe a bit...”

And then he turned serious, “You said something before... You said ‘I’ll just accept that it can’t be more than platonic.’....John, did you believe what Irene said...and Mycroft? That I’m asexual?”

“Yeah..”

Sherlock smiled back ,”I’m most certainly not asexual. It has just not been so important in my life...for a lot of years. Didn’t mean though that I didn’t masturbate or had sexual encounters..”

“I know that I’m not allowed to ask”, said John, “Not with my track record...but....”

“One man, John, at Cambridge.”, Sherlock smirked, “We were room-mates..”

“Hmm.”

“But he was an arsehole..” and Sherlock told about the whole unhappy and abusive relationship he had had with Victor Trevor.

“I’m going to punch him hard...maybe even kill him for being such an arse..” said John with an dangerous glint in his eyes.

“He is dead now, John. Moved to the States......and got involved in a car crash. I was in Florida at that time...helping Mrs. Hudson...”

“Oh. Good..” And John remembered that Sherlock had told that he had made sure that Frank Hudson ended in the electric chair.

And then John couldn’t help asking, “I know I’m not allowed to ask, and you can tell me to bugger off, but the woman...... was that Irene?”

Sherlock looked serious and apparently didn’t answer the question directly as he said, “While almost unconscious, I have been threatened by three people. They could have killed me, because I was in no position to defend myself. Two was at the hospital after Mary shot me. Magnussen came..and Mary. But you know that. The third person was Irene...after she had drugged me and you had managed to get me to bed...”

John frowned, “She was there?! In your bedroom, whilst I was in the living room?!”

“Yeah.....but she just returned my coat. What scared me was not what she did...but what she could have done. And she had hit me hard with that riding crop to make me let go of her phone. I had welts on my body and arms, John.”

“Jesus.”

“And talking about ‘living room’ and elephants. I have to admit that I was fascinated by her....and to put it short I didn’t want her to die, John. I helped her in Karachi. Prevented her from being beheaded. And just like you mentioned ‘mutual adrenaline fuelled wanks in Afghanistan’, so ended Irene and I at a hotel in New Delhi. It is so much easier to hide in a metropolis....and we ended in a bed together. I told her that she owed me...and she agreed. I was curious and frankly...so was she. I was her first man...and she was my first woman. And it was all right and...eh...’vanilla’. We just needed to feel another living being’s body and it sort of happened.”

Sherlock paused, “Erhm....women are not so much my area....”

John smiled, “You don’t have to excuse anything, and I know. You said that at Angelo’s.....Sherlock damn it. I did hit on you that first dinner at Angelo’s and you turned me down. Told me you were married to your work!”

“I had a divorce, didn’t I?”

“What?”

“I gave up everything...my reputation, my credibility and my work before I jumped.”

John gaped....he hadn’t really realised. But Sherlock had given up everything...even his beloved work.

“You did!”

Sherlock smiled a bit, “It wasn’t so important anymore.....and when I returned. Well, I had to occupy myself with something so I went back to the work.”

John understood what Sherlock didn’t say. Oh God...he had hurt his best friend.....his, whatever they were going to be, so much.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I don’t know how I can make it up to you ever again. You have done everything for me and I...I married a woman that killed you. She did. You flat-lined twice! And I...I shot you in your thigh!”

“I’m forever pleased that you didn’t miss by 2.5 inches.”, smirked Sherlock and pointed at his groin area.

“Yeah...that would have been a shame...” John smirked. He knew exactly what Sherlock meant.

They talked a bit more...but then John yawned and Sherlock sent him one of those piercing looks.

“We could talk and talk...there is so much to be explained. And I’ll like so much to kiss you..a lot more. But it is going to be a though day tomorrow...so bed? Just to sleep? My bed is big enough for both of us....so, please?”

“Yes..of course. And I would so much like to have you with me tomorrow...err...that is later today. It is past midnight!”

“Of course, John.”

And just like that it happened. Almost as effortless as the first time they had seen each other so many years ago and there had been an immediately connection between them. And without big declarations of love, those two men sort of slotted together with a little ‘click’. The jarred edges that life had given them were fitting perfectly together as they hand in hand walked towards Sherlock’s bedroom. Knowing that they truly and deeply loved each other and finally were allowed to show it.

Chapter Text

Sherlock and John walked down the corridor towards Sherlock’s guest room hand in hand. In Sherlock’s room Sherlock lit the light and pointed at the ¾ bed, “I know that you normally slept on the left side, when you were with Mary. So what do you prefer now?”

“How would you know? Oh never mind....I do not prefer one from the other. Where do you usually sleep?” wanted John to know and then he answered the question himself, “Oh..I know. You sleep in the middle....you egoistic bastard!”

But it was said with a smile and he didn’t let go of Sherlock’s hand and smiled fondly at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled back and squeezed John’s hand and said, “I’ll try not to be all over the bed then.”

And that’s how they slept together in a mutual bed for the first time. In the beginning lying nicely side by side, but Sherlock curled up and put his head on John’s shoulder, “OK?” and John put his arm on Sherlock’s arm that was around his waist and intertwined their hands and it felt so right, like they were made to fit together like that.

During the night they moved around in their sleep, Sherlock being the little spoon and then John being the little spoon too. Always touching each other, but it never felt awkward or strained. Just felt right. Sherlock had never been able to sleep for more than 4 hours, before he would wake up, but this first night with John, they didn’t wake before it was past 8.....after more than 7 hours of undisturbed sleep. John would normally get up early too. An old habit from the army that he had never dropped.

____________________

That was the reason why Greg and Molly were the first in the kitchen for the breakfast that Andrea had prepared. Andrea had left early but had made breakfast preparations for her guests. She was supposed to be at work trying to find out what had happened to her employer (as if she hadn’t been lying beside him the whole night!) and keep an eye on those, who seemed to be a bit too happy about that Mycroft had vanished after the explosion. He had taken care of that it was mentioned that ‘there had been found remnants of a body’ in the destroyed office. It wasn’t quite a lie, but it had never been a living body, just Mycroft’s dummy.

The coffee was in the thermos-flasks, the buns were ready to be toasted and the tomatoes and the sausages just needed a re-heating. People would just have to make their own fried eggs.

Greg and Molly worked efficiently around in the kitchen, before they sat down to eat.

“Is John still sleeping?”, wanted Molly to know.

Greg smiled back, “I wouldn’t know, since he is not in my room anymore.”

“Has he left?”

“My room..yes. But not the flat.” And Greg rose and reached his hand out and pointed down the corridor, “Come...”

And they walked through the corridor towards Sherlock’s bedroom, where Greg silently pushed the door open and Molly in the dim light from the corridor could see Sherlock and John tangled together under the duvets.

She smiled, a bit sadly, but she smiled and said, “I never thought John would finally admit his feelings for Sherlock. He was so much in denial.....as was I. Still hoping that Sherlock wasn’t gay..”

They walked back to the kitchen, agreeing on letting the two men get some more sleep.

Greg and Molly sat down and continued their breakfast.....and their conversation.

Molly was the first to say something again, “I did hope for such a long time that Sherlock somehow felt something for me. And he did...friendship. Much more than anyone can ask...”

She looked at Greg, “How many people can say that they have a friend that would kill to protect them ...or let himself be killed to assure their safety?”

Greg took a sip of his coffee, “Yeah..you are right. He is so much a hero...and John has been so blind. Not seeing everything that Sherlock did for him.... and neither did we. What Sherlock actually did do for us all.”

Molly smiled, “Sherlock has always been such an actor. Playing that unfeeling almost machine-like creature.....And we bought it, didn’t we? ‘The man who didn’t feel anything’....”

Greg pointed towards Sherlock’s bedroom and said, “It is strange with Sherlock and John. So opposite and yet so alike. Like yin and yang.”

“What do you mean?”

“At first sight Sherlock is the cold calculating machine, just like you said, Molly. He is dangerous and I have no doubt that he had proven himself to be an efficient killer, while he was away. He is tough and merciless.....on the outside. And has the biggest heart towards his friends on the inside. John on the other hand...he looks so nice and warm and cuddly in his woollen sweaters. But in reality he can be just as cold and calculating as Sherlock. So John is soft on the outside and cold and calculating on the inside. Doctor and soldier. To be honest....I wouldn’t quite know who to fear the most, if I was on the wrong side of their friendship. Sherlock or John.”

Molly just looked at Greg, “They are both excellent at deceiving people. John looking harmless in his sweaters..... and Sherlock sometimes pretending to be frail and delicate as a porcelain figure...and yet he is extraordinarily strong. But not always mentally. John had let him down ...more than once.

Molly sighed and continued, “And I did let him down, when he needed me the most..”

Greg frowned, “But you did help him, when he had to jump?”

Molly took a sip of her coffee, “Yeah. And he needed me then and I was happy to help him. No, what I’m talking about is after John’s wedding...”, Molly stopped and looked out in the air recalling in her mind what had happened, as she told Greg:

“It was after the waltz. You had left. Had to go to the Yard with the murderer. I was busy with Tom. Everybody was busy with somebody else. Nobody noticed that Sherlock had left, after he had played that beautiful waltz. No one. Except Mrs Hudson. And she didn’t notice, before more than an hour had passed. She asked me to come with her to Sherlock’s room. I’m not quite sure what she might have feared to see. When we had used the key...Sherlock had left it at the reception...we opened the door and there on the bed was his violin case and his suitcase, with his nice first man suit in it. He had changed back into his usual suit and left the rest. There was a note with only a few words:

“Would you mind? I left the wedding early as you predicted, Martha. Do you want to take over my job?” SH

The only thing Mrs. Hudson said was a “Oh..Sherlock” but I didn’t understand then, why she said it like that. Not until later. Mrs. Hudson took the luggage back to Baker Street when she left the next day after breakfast...”

Greg and Molly had been so deeply absorbed in their conversation that they hadn’t heard Mycroft enter the kitchen. First as he uttered a ‘good morning’ they became aware of his presence.

“Oh....good morning” , they said simultaneously.

And then Greg continued, “Thank you again....for hospitality...and for saving our lives.” He laughed a bit, “I thought you to have grown a full paranoia, when you turned up with that cardboard-dummy and asked me to have a bag ready at any time and figure out a way to sneak out of the flat unseen.”

Mycroft was standing at the stove, with an apron over his white shirt and pinstriped trousers. Thank God a manly black apron and not a female version with flowers. He was frying two eggs and he turned politely towards the kitchen table where Greg and Molly were sitting, “Well...unfortunately my ‘paranoia’ turned out to be just ‘sane precautions’. I’m sorry....but it is dangerous to know the ‘Holmes brothers’.”

Mary just looked at the apron clad Mycroft and then she said, “Who at any time would resort to extreme measures to protect us! I know what Sherlock expected to happen to him in the park.....and don’t you dare to deny that you risked your own life getting Sherlock out of Serbia!”

Mycroft was just standing there with the spatula in his hand and arched his eyebrow, “How on Earth could you know?” And he actually looked a bit worried.....was his earlier suspicion towards Molly unfounded or not? Had she been a part of the TAB’s after all? He had researched about her, based on a single remark from Sherlock, but had come to the conclusion that she was, what she claimed to be. Now Mycroft just worried that he had been wrong about her too....as he had been about Mary in the beginning.

“Don’t give me that look Mycroft” Molly continued, “I’m not one of the TAB’s...even if Mary tried....very subtly, to ‘hire’ me. I just played stupid and pretended not to understand, what she wanted from me....and just like the rest of you, she underestimated me. I knew about you in Serbia, because of a few remarks that Sherlock said. I can put two and two together, you know, Mycroft Holmes! And I knew about the park, because Mrs. Hudson called me to tell me that Sherlock didn’t intend to return to the flat...ever again. Just as he had never thought to return as he was taken away to get on that plane. She knows Sherlock...and his habits. And don’t you dare to underestimate her, Mycroft Holmes!”

“I’ve made that mistake once. And I can assure you that I’m not going to do that again.”, said Mycroft and that was the moment where Mrs. Hudson came into the kitchen.

“Morning dears”, she said and padded Mycroft on the shoulder as she passed by. No trace of ‘her hip’. It had all been a decoy.....and she seemed a lot younger now when she wasn’t dressed in her ‘old lady’ clothing.

“Please tell me, Mycroft, that I’ll never have to wear that shade of purple again. It made me look as if I was past 90.”, she said.

“It was the purpose.”, was Mycroft’s short answer.

Greg just looked at her and then he shook his head, “Is anyone in this flat at all what they pretend to be?” he asked.

Mycroft smiled, “The short answer is ‘no’. I almost had two men wounded, because of Mrs. Hudson’s booby-trap in her flat.” And then he pointed at Molly as he continued, “And I have to admit that I doubted you for a while. Especially because you treated Sherlock so badly....so much out of your usual way around him, as you slapped him in the laboratory at Bart’s after John had found him in that crack den.”

Molly sighed, “That was what I was going to confess to Greg as you entered. Right there in that moment I was just so mad at Sherlock. That he threw his brilliant brain away for the short rush from the drugs. And yes...I slapped him, when he needed me the most as a friend. I tried to apologise later, but he pushed me away. I know now that he did it to be able to seduce Janine, but it did hurt ...and I was so worried about him.” She smiled at Mrs. Hudson, “And that is why I started to talk to you...and discovered that you were not that ‘old hen’ that you pretended to be.”

“Well dear”, said Mrs. Hudson and padded Molly’s arm, “I do have a past you know...and that not as a pre-school teacher. I know how to fire a pistol and make booby traps as well as baking scones and making tea. It all comes in handy from time to time. All of it.”

And the four persons in the kitchen laughed friendly at each other.

That was the sound that awakened Sherlock and John. Sherlock had draped himself over John like a human version of an octopus and John could have sworn that Sherlock had more than two arms and two legs at that time.

To wake up like that, surrounded by a sleepy Sherlock, was the best way to wake up....even if it was going to be a shitty day. John would have loved to stay in bed like that, but his bladder made itself known in a very persistent way and they had to get up. John gave Sherlock a gentle push, “You have to move, Love, or I’ll pee in the bed.”

Sherlock still half asleep, “Mmmm....You called me ‘Love’”

“Because you are...my big and only ‘Love’...I do love you Sherlock, but it might turn in to hatred if I have to pee in the bed.”

Finally Sherlock woke, smiled and said, “Good morning to you too...John.”

And the way he said ‘John’ sounded like ‘I love you’ in John’s ears.

_______________________

When John and Sherlock entered the kitchen after having been to the bathroom...just shower and no sex, being dressed in some clean clothes that Sherlock had bought for both of them yesterday, it was a laughter that was greeting them again.

Mycroft looked up and saw them standing close together.

Sherlock cleared his throat, but Mycroft just said, “You don’t have to explain anything...it is written all over your faces...”

And the rest of them just looked up and said, “Finally!”

And both John and Sherlock didn’t say a word, just smiled stupidly and lovingly at each other.

Now it was Mycroft’s turn to clear his throat, “The helicopter will be here at 9.30 AM...just outside..in the factory yard to take you, John and...”Mycroft arched his eyebrow at Sherlock and the others in the room could almost hear the silent communication between the two brothers:

*Are you going with him?*

*Of course I am*

*It is going to be tough*

*So much more a reason to go with him*

“...Sherlock to the hospital. I’ll ask the rest of you to stay put a few days more. Things are not totally cleared. And the painters in your new flat would have to speed things up a bit, Greg.”

“No need for that..” said Sherlock, already eating one of the buns and pointing between Greg and Molly, “They are going to share Molly’s flat until his new flat is ready for them both to move into.”

Now it was Greg’s and Molly’s turn to blush a bit.

“Sherlock!” said John in a stern voice, “You don’t just blabber out with people’s secrets like that!”

“But...” gesticulated Sherlock with his half eaten bun, “...To whom in this room is it a secret? It is hardly a secret for Greg and Molly. Mycroft has deduced it and Mrs. Hudson has an internal radar for such things.”

They all smiled...and Greg answered, “I just think that you said it out loud before I and Molly had realised how things are between us..”

“But it is so obvious! You have ‘zoomed out’...not hearing a thing the rest of us had said two times since John and I entered. Totally absorbed in each other. The looks you sent to each other in the car on our way here. Well...I wish somebody could have told John and me how it was between him and me........when we couldn’t see it ourselves..”, was Sherlock’s answer.

Now it was John’s turn to say something, “They have done nothing but.....we just didn’t listen. Or at least I didn’t. Thanks for pushing me Greg and Mycroft.”

The two men just nodded. It was good to see how both John and Sherlock were almost luminescent with their love for each other.

_______________________________

On the way to the hospital in the helicopter Sherlock watched John intensely as John was sitting in deep thoughts. There was too much noise for them to talk though.

But as they had landed and was on their way into the hospital John turned towards Sherlock and asked, “What if she pulls through?”

Sherlock frowned and hesitated a bit before he answered, “That would be wonderful...but I do not understand...?”

“I do not know where to live in that case....”

Sherlock frowned again, “At Baker Street 221B....where else?!”

John looked at him, “Would you accept a child....made by two people who had tried to kill you several times? And...”

Sherlock interrupted, “It is hardly her fault....and I’m her godfather after all. So of course she is more than welcome. I worried just for a moment that you had regretted...us...” And Sherlock made a vague gesture between him and John.

John took Sherlock’s hand...lifted himself on tip toe and kissed Sherlock and after a rather long kiss, but not a very heated one, he said, “Never...never...never would I regret you. I might get frustrated...or even yell at you. But. I. Will. Never. Leave.”

“I would never allow you to...only if you wanted it yourself, John. Genuinely wanted it. I had to let you go more than once, because I wanted to give to you what I thought you wanted..”

“You shouldn’t have.....I wanted you. But I was just too stupid to know.”

__________________________

In the hospital they were greeted by two of the doctors, Dr. Nigel and Dr. Wettby and they showed John the newest scans of Minna’s heart.

The scans showed that the progresses, that had been there, had stopped. The tissue was deteriorating. The disease...the wrong proteins...had begun to destroy the muscle-tissue of little Minna’s heart. It was not lethal.....yet. And if the destruction could be stopped, she would still have a chance. They would just have to wait a few hours more and monitor the progression carefully.

The doctors, knowing that John was a doctor himself and even had worked with Sorensen, the expert in this particular disease, didn’t conceal anything with nice pleasantries.

Neither did the doctor from USA as she and John ‘skyped’ around 10 o’clock.

“I’m sorry” had the doctor...Dr. Sommers...said, “I’ve seen the scans and if it doesn’t get worse I would be able to replace her pulmonary and aortic valves by those prepared ones from pigs. Thank god pigs are available in very small sizes. And the tricuspid and the mitral valve can be replaced with artificial ones. And I have done it on even smaller babies. But.....”

“Yeah I know..” had John said, “IF the deterioration of the heart tissue could be stopped....”

“Why wasn’t she treated in time? You must have known...?”

Now Sherlock interfered. He didn’t like that the doctor sort of accused John. He had been standing behind John but now he bent forward so the doctor could see his face.

“Dr. Sommers. Sherlock Holmes here....Minna isn’t John’s child. His wife had cheated on him and had the child with another man, who had the same disease, but hadn’t told. That is why Minna wasn’t treated in time. It doesn’t mean that John doesn’t love her. Just that there was no way, he could have known about her condition in time.”

Sherlock had the pleasure of seeing Dr. Sommers being embarrassed and she hurried to apologize.

_____________________________

Over the next couple of hours, Minna’s condition got worse. John and Sherlock were sitting beside her bed and could see that her heart worked less and less efficiently. There was already a slight blue tinge at Minna’s lips and fingertips.

“It is strange..” had John said to Sherlock, “It is as if a human body has a threshold. Up till that is reached, the body sort of works perfectly. But then...bam....over just a few hours, a few days or a few weeks the body just shuts down. Every organ shuts down...one by one. From a person who attended his or her work to be in a hospice in only a month or so........like a threshold.”

Sherlock could see that John had put his soldier personality on. John was ‘Captain Watson’...or ‘army- doctor Watson’. Ready to ‘soldier on’ if necessary. The worst part was that that personality aroused Sherlock. He had sported quite an erection at Baskerville as John had pulled rank. But this was not the time or the place, so Sherlock willed his erection down as he had done so often.

The two men just sat in silence beside Minna’s bed. John had said that he didn’t want her out of the sedation.

“What would be the point? The last time she saw me was the day before yesterday. She was happy and eating her porridge. Kicking and laughing. And the last memory she had, before she was sedated, was playing on the floor in the specialist’s waiting room. Playing with her bunny ‘Bubbles’. Why should she experience nausea and fear being taken out of the sedation? There is no reason for that.”

And then...late in the afternoon the last scan showed that the wall of the right ventricle had thinned rapidly and dramatically.

John looked at the other doctors, “The danger of a rupture is eminent. Do you agree?”

Dr. Nigel and Dr. Wettby agreed and they agreed on preventing that little girl from the terrible pain that such a rupture would cause, by giving her a lethal dose of morphine.

Both John and Sherlock held her little hands as the dose was administered.....

__________________________________

After that John cried in Sherlock’s arms and Sherlock tried to comfort John by saying, “I would have given her my heart, if that could have saved her.”

And apparently that was the right thing to say, as John lifted his head and said through tears, “Don’t be an idiot, Sherlock. Your heart is far too big. In more than one sense. I...sentimental stupid old fool.. didn’t cry because I knew her well and then lost her. I cried for the lost opportunities.......but IF I had had to choose, you big idiot...between her and you. I would always....always choose you, Sherlock. I love you with all my heart! I want to marry you!”

Sherlock gave John a tight hug, “I love you too. And it is the most unusual place to make a proposal....And of course I say yes....yes I will.”

John laughed, “We have never attempted to be normal and aiming at being ‘suitable’...or appropriate, have we?”

Sherlock smiled and then he continued, “Erm.....we......that is the Holmes family...we do have an initiated burial place at the Estate and there could be room for Minna there too....”

John frowned, “At your parent’s house?”

“No...our Estate. The big house on the left as we drove up to my parent’s house.”

“The castle?”

“Yeah...the hotel. It is the Holmes estate, but the hotel has rented for a millennium or something like that. Mummy has never lived there. Just her grandparents. No one can afford such a big house now. But we do still have some privileges. And one of them is the burial place. There are quite a lot of Holmes relatives lying there...and there is room for...Sherrinford...if he is ever to be found. And little Siger is there too.”

“Siger?”

Sherlock sighed, “There are a lot of secrets from my childhood. But....we could have been four brothers. Mycroft as the eldest. Then Sherrinford and then little Siger, before me. He never made it home from the hospital. But I was a mistake. I learned that, as I overheard my parents shout at each other when I was 5. I didn’t know the word ‘abortion’, but I learned quickly by looking in the books on the bookshelves.”

“Oh..Sherlock. And I thought your parents were ordinary...and nice.”

“You can never tell from a look on the outside. I’ve got something you should read, when we return to Baker Street. I don’t want any secrets between us.”

“Well, there is something I would like to know. If you are...were...that loaded, why did you need a flatmate and why did I need to find a job?”

Sherlock smiled back, “The ‘flatmate’ was a condition from Mrs. Hudson. The woman, who had been as a mother to me. So much more than my own. And the money. They were ‘frozen’ as I didn’t finish Cambridge. Mycroft did withhold some of it to keep me from using it all on substances...as if I would have done that. But he feared it. And Mummy and Father did have something to say over my money too. When I jumped and ‘died’ and had to be ‘dead’ for two years, Mycroft inherited everything I had. Like that my money was free again and could be transferred to me, as I returned. Mummy and Father couldn’t say anything to that. So...in the beginning of our friendship I dearly needed the money from the cases.”

“And you are aristocracy?”

“Country squires....but even without the CBE from the queen, I would be allowed to call myself ‘Sir’. I am a lord after all.”

“But now you are ‘loaded’?"

“Well...sort of. ‘Wealthy’...but not ‘rich’. I don’t need cases anymore just for the money though and you don’t have to work on that tedious clinic.”

And then Sherlock smirked, “Are you telling me that you now want to marry me because of my money?”

John smiled back, “Yes..of course. It has nothing to do with your brilliant mind that is an endless source of entertainment...or your fabulous and gorgeous body......nothing at all!”

____________________

Mycroft had sent his helicopter to fetch Sherlock and John as soon as he had learned what had happened to Minna. And he promised to arrange something regarding little Minna’s burial.

John was asked if he had any wishes for ‘Mary’ and he answered that they could do whatever they wanted. Chop her up and serve her for stray dogs....he couldn’t care less.

Mycroft made arrangements for ‘Mary’ to be returned to her family in USA. There was no need to tell them why ‘Mary’ had been shot...and maybe one day her daughter in Washington would like to put some flowers on her grave. Mycroft allowed them to keep the illusion that ‘Mary’ had been on ‘the side of the angels’ the whole time.

_________________________

It took more than a week before everybody could return to their right places. Mycroft to a new and bigger office. The explosion had ‘turned a few stones’ and showed ‘some nasty beasts’...that is Mycroft’s last enemies. They had shown themselves and had been taken care of.

Minna’s burial had been arranged and they had all been there to see that small coffin being lowered into the ground on the Holmes’ Estate. Mummy and father had been abroad and Mycroft had just informed them, after the event had taken place. They hadn’t protested.

The tombstone said ‘Wilhelmina Georgina Watson’.

“She was somehow still mine, even if I was not the biological father.”, said John, “And that was the name she was given at the christening.”

___________________

Greg and Molly (and Toby) moved to her flat, and a month later they moved into Greg’s new flat.

“Now you don’t have to put up with your cranky neighbours any more. “, had Sherlock said to Molly and then he had kissed her on her cheek and whispered, “Greg is so much a better man than me.”

And John and Sherlock...and Mrs. Hudson... wanted to move back into Baker Street. The wall in the cellar had been rebuild and Mrs’ Hudson still claimed the flat to be to humid for renting. Some day they might need to be able to escape unseen from the house again. Again Martha Hudson claimed to all her old friends, that her hip had caused her to take a visit to her sister and the better climate in Cornwall. But she refused to wear that particular shade of purple ever again.

____________________________________

The two men were walking up the 17 stairs to their flat. They had been out fetching groceries for supper. John would never have imagined Sherlock to go shopping with him. But Sherlock had suggested that Molly and Greg should come over for dinner, since they had been busy moving in to the new flat and could need a break.

_______________________

On the very day of their departure from Mycroft’s secret flat, John had fetched the things he wanted from his suburban house and had asked Mycroft if he would arrange for the sale of the house. He could give the money to charity if he wanted to. John didn’t need them.

All John’s possessions could now be contained in 3 suitcases and 4 moving boxes. Not much more than he had brought to Baker Street the first time more than 6 years ago. The first time John had put his suitcases and the boxes in the living room he had felt it like ‘coming home’...even if the red chair wasn’t the exact same. One thing that helped to this homely feeling was a certain consulting detective who had his arms tightly wrapped around John and murmured, “I’ve made space in my dresser and my wardrobe. We’ll just have to find out what we are going to do with ‘your’ room upstairs.”

Sherlock had showed John the report from Baskerville, that he and Mycroft had put together. About Mycroft and Sherlock and the two other brothers being a genetic experiment.

“It explains a lot. I always wondered how you could heal that fast. But I have to admit that I thought it to be because of my excellent doctor-skills.”, had John said.

And then Sherlock had shown John the psychiatrists report too. The full one where Sherlock’s parents had been evaluated.

“I can fully understand, if you never want to see them again, Sherlock. And if they do have difficulties understanding that, I’ll be happy to tell them why.”

___________________________

Now John and Sherlock moved effortless around in their kitchen making some Italian food. John had discovered that Sherlock was an excellent cook and he said that he would refuse to eat so much take-away in the future when Sherlock could cook meals like that.

“I wasn’t that good at cooking before.....before I was away. But I was under-cover for a while, pretending to be an Italian cook, so I had to learn fast. Basically it is just like chemistry after all.”

So John laid the table while Sherlock made tomato salad, pasta carbonara and tiramisu. Nothing fancy....just plain and delicious.

Molly and Greg had phoned that they were on their way and John saw the opportunity to walk up behind Sherlock and kiss him on the neck, just below that little curl, that John had wanted to kiss so many times before.

“I hope that they are not going to stay too long. I have plans for you and me later.” John almost growled.

Sherlock kept standing and mixing the salad, as he almost purred in that deep voice that always made John week in his knees, “It is not nice to say something like that just before our guests arrive. But let me return the favour....I’m prepared in every sense of the word!” and he wriggled his arse......and now John had to adjust himself in his trousers, as he understood that Sherlock was wearing a butt plug.

John grappled Sherlock and turned him around....and kissed him fiercely...not worrying one bit about the arriving guests.

And that was why Greg and Molly found Sherlock and John giggling in the kitchen as they arrived.

Chapter Text

During the evening John had noticed that there was a bit of blood on Sherlock’s white shirt on his back.

Sherlock had been wounded recently whilst working on a case. John had been so worried, but Sherlock could feel that the wound was just a ‘scratch’. The knife had cut through his coat, his jacket and his shirt, but all that fabric had taken the worst and Sherlock had only needed a few stitches administered by John in their kitchen.

Sitting there, waiting for the anaesthesia to work, Sherlock had turned around and looked at John and had said, “Should we stop chasing criminals?”

And John had breathed hard through his nose and said, “Jesus, Sherlock. I don’t know. It’s just.....If I should lose you...I....”

And Sherlock had reached for John’s hand and they had kissed and Sherlock had said, “I know.....I wouldn’t survive if.....”

And that was the moment where Sherlock decided that it soon ought to be the time where they should retire.

_________________________

After Greg and Molly had left, much later in the evening, John just looked at Sherlock and said, “Bedroom, now!”

And they both hurried to the room. In there John stopped Sherlock, who was about to undress himself.

“Please, don’t, Sherlock. I want to undress you...just like the first time in Mycroft’s flat. And I have to look at your wound before we do anything else.”

And both John and Sherlock remembered how it had been...their first time together:

It had been in the evening after they had returned from the hospital. The very day Minna had died. When they had returned they found out that everybody else was out. There were several notes on the kitchen table telling that each one of them would be gone at least a few hours. Their excuses were various and some of them rather transparent.

Sherlock had smiled and said, “It is Martha’s doing. They just wanted to give us some privacy.”

They had taken of their coats and jackets and jumpers and then they had gone into Sherlock’s bedroom.

They had just looked at each other and had then given each other a hug. Just standing there...embracing. John’s shorter frame leaning against Sherlock. His head resting against Sherlock’s shoulder and Sherlock had buried his face in John’s short hair, making soothing circles on John’s back. And John had tightened his grip around Sherlock’s waist. They had been standing there a few minutes......just feeling the other person’s body and heartbeat and both thinking “Thank God we made it here. We are still alive.”

Then Sherlock had started to say something, “I’m sorry, John. About Minna....” And he couldn’t continue, because he had a lump in his throat. And it could be heard.

And John had hugged him even tighter and said, “It is in no way your fault, Sherlock. I’ve been an idiot......”

And then he couldn’t say anything more. Because the enormity of what Sherlock had done for him....all those years. And how devastated and miserable Sherlock must have been because John had failed him so enormously.

John actually began to cry and Sherlock could feel the dampness through his shirt.

“I should have done better, John, I’m so sorry for all the grief I have put you through.....”

John had lifted his head and had smiled through tears and had reached his hand up to touch Sherlock’s cheek.

“I’m not crying for myself, Sherlock. I’m crying for you!”

“Why?” and Sherlock had made that nose curl that John always had found so irresistible.

“Come..” , had John said and dragged Sherlock towards the bed, where they sat down beside each other, so close that their thighs touched. John took one of Sherlock’s hands into his.

“Look, Sherlock. I’m the one who feels extremely guilty towards you. I don’t know how I can ever be worthy of your love or your friendship.”

John turned on the bed so he now was almost facing Sherlock and took his head gently in his hands and kissed Sherlock on his forehead whilst tracing a pattern on those cheekbones with his thumbs. Sherlock was soft and pliant and just let John move him around.

“I don’t know where to start, Sherlock. The sheer enormity of what you have done for me, the colossal hugeness of my stupidity.........I’ll never be able to pay you back....”

Sherlock had reached out for John’s face and caressed him too with his long elegant fingers.

“You don’t have to, John. I owe you everything. Without you I would have been dead, so many times. You saved my life within the first 24 hours of our...friendship. I had never had a friend before....let alone a ‘best friend’. I was too strange....and I had built this...fortress. This ...this armour against the world.”

Sherlock had smirked, “I admit I tested your limits in the beginning. Not my moods or my sulks or when my brain ran wild and was self-destructing. I can’t help that. But I could have kept the fingers out of the jam.....and avoided the head in the fridge...”

Now Sherlock had been really smiling as he had continued, “But I’ve always heard that one’s boyfriend would love to be given ‘a head’...”

John had begun to giggle and pushed Sherlock backwards so he landed on his back. Had kissed him fiercely and Sherlock had actually whimpered.

Then John had looked at Sherlock and asked, “OK?” as he began to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt.

“OK...and John. I’m clean. I know that I’m a recovering addict, but I have always used new and sterilised needles. Never shared with others. Not even at my lowest low, just after Victor.....and I know for sure that you are clean too.”

“How?”

Sherlock had smiled, “I’ve nicked Mycroft’s files on you. And I know that you were tested regularly because of your work at the clinic.”

John smiled, “No problem then.” And he continued, “I want to undress you, Sherlock and then I want to take you to the bathroom and wash you. Show you how much I care for and love you. You would need to be shown that...that I’ll do anything for you. Would you allow me to do that? Hmm?”

Sherlock understood that John needed to do that....to show Sherlock how much he loved him. And Sherlock would do anything for John too. So he nodded.

John reached out and continued to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt. Pushed the fabric aside and kissed Sherlock’s sternum....and continued to Sherlock’s nipples. Licked and sucked at one...gently...while rubbing the other.

Sherlock’s back arched and he almost shouted, “Oh.....Christ.....John...please....” But he didn’t know what he was pleading for. Than John should continue or stop?

Sherlock could feel that John smiled and then John lifted his head and smirked, “Oh...so responsive. Shh...stay still.” and then he continued.

Sherlock had closed his eyes and grappled the sheets, trying to stay still. He had experienced something like this being in Holmes body...and the chemicals had affected Sherlock’s mind too. But nothing had prepared him for this. He was certain that John could make him come like that.

John hesitated for a few seconds as he stopped licking Sherlock’s nipples and removed Sherlock’s shirt. He had stopped...and Sherlock moved around to help getting his shirt off and of course Sherlock noticed John’s hesitation.

Sherlock had come a bit more back to his senses and took John’s hand and pressed it gently towards the little round scar from the bullet and the bigger scar from the very much needed surgery as the doctors had sutured his slightly ruptured ‘inferior vena cava’. The very one that Mary’s bullet had grazed.

“It’s all right, John. I’m alive. I’m still here and she is dead...” had Sherlock said.

And John had understood and had kissed the scars and had continued to undress Sherlock.

Finally Sherlock was totally naked...just obediently lying on the bed. Just waiting for John to tell him what to do. Because this was about John even if it seemed to be about Sherlock.

Strangely enough Sherlock felt it extremely arousing to be on display like that whilst John was still dressed...and it could be seen. Sherlock was sporting an impressive erection. He was sure that he had never been that hard.....and he had never oozed so much pre-come ever before. Not even in the beginning of his relationship with Victor, before Victor became abusive.

“I’m certain that I’ll not be able to last long..unless you plan on a very cold shower!” managed Sherlock to almost moan.

“Me neither....” panted John. He had never imagined that a pliant and totally naked Sherlock could arouse him so much. He too had an erection that hadn’t been that hard for ages.

He left Sherlock for less than 15 seconds and undressed in such a hurry that he had never done it that fast even as a soldier.

John laid down besides Sherlock. On his stomach. Not touching anything but Sherlock’s stomach and Sherlock touched John’s arm gently. Both suddenly a bit uncertain about what to do.

“Time for shower before we continue?” Sherlock asked finally.

____________________

In the bathroom in the shower John washed Sherlock gently all over. First his hair and his scarred back. Most of the scars were now faint white lines, or just white scar tissue. The plastic surgeons in Germany had done an excellent job.

“It’s not a pretty sight” had Sherlock murmured and John had answered, “On the contrary...every single one is a...a medal of honour. They show how strong you have been. That you are a survivor! And my God...you are so stunning. A body like a model!”

And John had continued with Sherlock’s delicious arse.....but the touch was not sexual...just caring. Sherlock’s long legs and his feet. Then Sherlock was ordered to turn around and even if he was still aroused, John just washed Sherlock gently all over, avoiding his cock. First after John had finished washing Sherlock’s chest, John looked Sherlock into his eyes as if he asked if it was OK? Sherlock nodded and John washed Sherlock’s balls and cock, being careful with the soap.

Then he just stood there, holding Sherlock close, their erections, which had faltered a bit, rubbing together. But it was fine.....it was all right.

And then Sherlock pushed John around and washed John just like John had washed Sherlock.

After the shower they dried each other and went into the bedroom again. They began to kiss and the kisses got very heated. They began to pant and moan and rut against each other. Their hands were all over the other ones body. Sherlock hands disappeared as Sherlock reached for the lubricant, he had bought and hidden under the pillow. John reached down between them and touched their erections and met Sherlock’s hand that was almost big enough to hold both erections at the same time and was slick with the lube...and together the two men rutted and rubbed their cocks.

Not for long, because their erections did glide so wonderfully together and the pressure was just right and the other person was just ....there. And the pants and the moans from the other person just caused that hot pool of desire inside both men to grow bigger and bigger.

John was the first to go over the edge and his right hand, which was gripping Sherlock shoulder even harder, gave Sherlock a warning and Sherlock did increase the tempo a bit as John’s movements lost their rhythm. And with a shout John came in an orgasm that turned white at the edges. To see John like that...to hear him...to feel his hot semen... were the last things that brought Sherlock to his orgasm.

After that the two men lay in the bed...enjoying their closeness. Not caring one bit about the cooling stickiness between them and just touching each other’s bodies.

John was the first to speak, “I had never imagined it would be like that...”

Sherlock frowned, “Disappointed?”

John had given Sherlock a tight hug, “On the contrary, Love. It was amazing........I just realised the difference between ‘fucking’ and ‘making love’....I think.”

“Well...technically we didn’t ‘fuck’. Just had a.....”

“Shut up Sherlock!”

“Not that I would mind penetrative sex...But of course we’ll have to....”

And John realised that the only way he could make Sherlock shut up was to kiss him.

__________________________

It had been their first time. And they had just showered again and were looking less sexually sated sitting in the living room, as Mrs. Hudson returned to Mycroft’s flat as the first person.

Sherlock had just looked at her and had smirked as they did catch each other’s eyes and had said, “Thank you, Martha..”

“It is all right, Sherlock. You needed some time alone you two...”

_________________________________

And now in Baker Street 221B and standing in the bedroom, John wanted to undress Sherlock slowly again. Again Sherlock experienced this calmness washing over him as he did let go and allowed John to decide everything.

Sherlock had experienced ‘subbing’ being in Holmes body, but this was different...better...... and he contemplated for a moment, if he was a masochist too. Like Holmes. The nipple-clamps, which he had not dared to show to John yet, had been arousing. But it had not been pain. Just pressure. And he was different from Holmes....at least in that aspect that he, modern Sherlock, had been tortured for real in Serbia.

Even if his tormentors could have done so much worse to him, they had still inflicted a lot of pain on him and only the fact that he was incredible strong and durable, had made his injuries so small that he, apart from visible scars, had come out of that ordeal almost unharmed. The doctors in Germany had been impressed and surprised about the way he had healed after their operations. And now the only reminders of his time away were small almost white lines and round scars from the cigarette burns. Even the scars after the whiplashes and the knife wounds were no longer aggressively red anymore but just faint white lines. The scars from Mary’s bullet and the following surgery weren’t even red anymore. The only red marks on Sherlock’s body were the scar on his thigh from when John had shot him and the recent knife-wound.

________________________________________

Sherlock had mentioned that he would like to try penetrative sex again after they had moved back to Baker Street. John had said that being gay not necessarily meant that they had to do that, and that remark did cost him an eye-roll from Sherlock and the words:

“Of course I know! I just expressed my wish of trying....and to be honest, John, you want to try it too, judging by your browser-history. And we complement each other perfectly as I want to be the bottom and you the top.”

John had blushed a bit but saw no reason to deny it anymore, just being happy about that his secret phone, with a totally different browser- history, still was a secret to Sherlock. Because that browser-history was one that he hoped Sherlock would never figure out.

Sherlock had produced and enema-device from the back of the cupboard in the bathroom, after they had agreed on that they would try anal sex at some time.

John recognized it immediately. He had used...no that would be the wrong word. People had used on him as he was hospitalised for a long time, after he was shot. The result could be obtained by other means, but this was rather efficient, gentle and cheap. It just required lukewarm water and soap....and some courage.

John just wondered why Sherlock had such a contraption...a rather old fashioned mean to get those inside areas cleaned.

“Why an enema-devise?”, wanted John to know.

“Penetrative sex as I said...And I would like to know that I’m totally clean before we...”

“I’m in on that. But why that old-fashioned? There are other means.....”

Sherlock couldn’t tell about his experiences from Victorian England, but he could explain it another way.

“It is easy. And gentle and efficient and fast. And I have it because my eating habits...or lack thereof...sometimes require some help.” And then he smirked, “And I’ve read that it is rather useful in a relationship between two men, if they want to perform...certain.... sexual acts.”

“Have you....before? Been penetrated?”

“Yeah...with Victor. I bottomed. But it was no success. It was messy and he did hurt me. He didn’t bother to prepare me well enough and I was bleeding afterwards. There were moments where the pleasure overruled the pain...that is why I want to try it with you, John. I want to give you this....and I want to try it.”

____________________

Back in the bedroom John wanted to look at Sherlock’s wound before they would do anything else. He had noticed that Sherlock had bled through the dressing.

So Sherlock was lying on his stomach on their bed as John looked at his back.

“I’m afraid that you are going to get another scar to your collection”, John said.

“I know that it is not a pretty sight” said Sherlock a bit muffled with his head buried in the pillow.

“You still think that I find your scars somewhat repulsive, Sherlock, but I’ don’t. As I’ve said before: they are medals of honour. Signs of courage and bravery and.....self-sacrifice. They show that you are a survivor and a hero..”

Sherlock turned his head around and faced John, “I’m not a hero!”

“But you are.”, said John and touched Sherlock’s back gently, “At several occasions...do I have to mention them again? You risked your life...jumping of a roof to save your friends. You dismantled Moriarty’s network to keep us...London....England safe. You forgave Mary for shooting you to protect me. You shot Magnussen to protect me, Mary and your brother. If that is not what heroes do, I don’t know what else they are supposed to do.”

“But...But I’m not a hero. I wasn’t fighting for justice or for my country...like you John. My motives weren’t that noble. But you, John...you are a war-hero. And your scar shows that you tried to take so much care of others, that you forgot to take care of yourself. Getting shot by a sniper's bullet whilst trying to save a fellow soldier. Your scar is a medal of honour. My scars on the other hand show my mistakes: underestimating baron Maupertuis’ men, underestimating Mary. The only remotely honourable scar is the one on my thigh. But believe me, in Serbia it could have been much worse, I know that....and that they didn’t do that much harm, well for that I’m thankful. Even if I would prefer that the scars weren’t there as reminders in flesh of my mistakes!”

“No! All your scars are just as honourable as mine. They really are, Sherlock. Caring and protecting others....that is what caused your scars.....and getting hit by an assassin and .....” here John smirked before he continued, “getting hit by a sniper...me. Your scars are just as honourable as mine...if not more. I just wish you could see it that way too. And they don’t make you less beautiful in my eyes.”

Sherlock frowned, “”Less beautiful”..hmmm....I’m not vain. And my body is just transport...even if it gives me more pleasure that I would ever had expected.....being with you.”

John huffed, “Not vain?! Said by the man who uses all the hair-products from a hairdresser’s whole boutique and shave with an old-fashioned razor because it gives the smoothest shave.”

Sherlock frowned again, “Unless I wear my hair extremely short it would become a tangled mess if I didn’t use products.” And he turned his head away and almost murmured, “And...and I can’t use an electric shaver anymore...because it was what my tormentors in Serbia used on me...” and he went silent.

John realised what he had done and he reached out for Sherlock and touched his back gently, “Do you want to talk about it? I’m sorry for stirring up bad memories. I truly am.”

Sherlock turned his head and looked at John, “I’m sorry for ruining the mood. Do you really want to hear about it?”

John snuggled closer to Sherlock, “If that is what you need right now...to tell me about it. Then that is what we’ll do. And afterwards I’m going to take you to the bathroom and ‘pamper’ you a bit before we’ll come back here and find out if your....our....mood has improved. If not, we’ll just lie here and talk some more. Is that OK?”

“I...yes I would like to do that. That is.... if you don’t mind. I’ll just go to the bathroom before we...”

And John remembered with a giggle that Sherlock had a butt-plug up his arse.

On the way to the bathroom, Sherlock turned around and looked John right into his eyes, “You can always put it back in...if the mood returns.”

_________________

As Sherlock returned John dragged the duvets up over them and positioned himself beside Sherlock. “Well...Talk to me Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned to lie on his back, placed his head on John’s shoulder and John buried his nose in Sherlock’s hair. He sniffled.....that scent. It was incredible nice: sandal wood, with a hint of lemon and cinnamon and so much...’Sherlock’.

Sherlock smiled, “You do like the products I put in my hair...”

“I better do...at that price!”

Sherlock moved even closer and put his arm on John’s chest. They were just touching.....nothing sexual. Just contact with another living being. Nice...when they both had stirred up bad memories.

Sherlock took a deep breath and began to tell about his time away:

“I used many disguises...and many names while I was away. Mostly the name ‘William Sigerson’ and ‘Bruno Serafin’. The latter was the one I used when I was the Italian cook working for the Russian Mafia....and other criminal organisations. I had changed my appearance by letting my hair grow and having a beard...that would be ‘Sigerson’ and just a moustache...that would be ‘Serafin’. As both persons I was known as a long-haired and ruthless eccentric.....working on the borderline of the law...and not having trouble crossing it.”

(John thought about something Irene Adler had said: “Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait.”.....because the description of those two characters could fit nicely on Sherlock too. John didn’t say anything though.)

Sherlock continued to tell about his time in USA, South America, Russia and Asia.....most of all in India. In Europe: Italy, France, Germany, Denmark, Sweden and in Eastern Europe: Romania, Bulgaria and finally Serbia.

“What about the languages....wouldn’t they have given you away?”

“I speak 12 languages fluently, John...and can cope on 20 more. To Mycroft’s undivided glee it is a few less than he can muster.”

“Oh, I see.”

Sherlock told about the old American soldier Howard Nilsson, who now lived in Denmark. Sherlock told about what had happened to Howard. That he had been captured by the Koreans and returned again to the Americans without arms and legs. The whole terrible story that Sherlock had told Lestrade....about the ‘basket-babies’.

“I know about those stories. For a while we thought them to be rumours.“, said John and shuddered before he continued, “Facing death or even being handicapped because of a bomb or a bullet that is to be expected. But the sheer horror of knowing that someone...doctors...would do this as revenge. It is just as horrifying as the stories from the KZ- camps from the WW2, where doctors forgot their Hippocratic Oath.”

“A horror worthy a Moriarty, John?”

“Yeah I suppose....” And then John understood and he gave Sherlock a bear-hug.

“Oh Jesus. I understand now why you said it could have been much worse. Oh Sherlock...I...”

“Mycroft got me out in time.....and they were just punishing me. Beating me up. And then there was this ...this tug. They didn’t cut my hair, but he shaved my face.....every second day or so. He said that he wanted to see my facial expressions. And sometimes he would kiss me...”

John suddenly realised something, “Did he..they..?”

“Rape me? No. I had made sure that I was rather ...unappetizing...And their treatment of me didn’t make it better. Hanging me in my arms tethered to the walls, so I had to soil myself. They were finding amusement in pissing on me and sometimes even forcing me to drink it. Thank God urine is almost sterile. They just wanted to humiliate me. When I was caught in the woods I hadn’t washed for more than a month except from a splash in a brook from time to time. So...I wasn’t exactly smelling of roses. Sometimes when the stench was too bad, they took me down and did throw me a bucket of water and ordered me to wash. They gave me ‘new’ clothes...but I made sure that I didn’t clean myself enough.”

“And thus probably prevented yourself from being raped.....”

“Probably. But living under such circumstances was a proof of me being a genetic experiment, John. I’ve never had a single hole in my teeth, but it wasn’t due to dental hygiene. Here I was....living on the street or in trashy hotels or even just out in the nature in the woods sometimes and I didn’t always have time or means for personal hygiene. Let alone brushing my teeth. And nothing happened to my teeth. I don’t know why my tormentors didn’t smash up mouth or simply pulled out my teeth, broke my fingers or raped me. They just beat me up, whipped me, cut me with knives and burned me with cigarettes. But nothing that would kill me immediately or wouldn’t be able to heal...almost. Of course it they had continued like this, I would have died...from a broken rib entering my lung or from the infected wounds. But you, John, as a secret service man...”

And John didn’t deny it. Of course both Sherlock...and Mycroft...knew about his two years of service. The two missing years on his CV.

“....would know exactly how a man can be ‘persuaded’ to tell information. And that was not what they did to me.”

Sherlock turned towards John again and said, “If I hadn’t been me, I might have died from their ‘treatment’ and they could easily have killed me, if they had wanted to do so...and there are far, far more efficient means to make a man talk. The only thing close to that, was an electric rod to my genitals....”

John looked at Sherlock. Being a doctor...and being that in Afghanistan too, he had seen the neural damage that such a rod could cause.

Sherlock must have read something in John’s face, “I’m fine. Really. They didn’t cause any lasting damage..”

And Sherlock smirked, “Surely you must have discovered that?”

And that last remark did lighten the mood and the two men agreed on that it was time for some ‘pampering’ in the bathroom.

Sherlock insisted on returning the favour on John as well.

“Just like in Mycroft’s flat.” , he said.

____________________________

And Sherlock insisted on that tonight was the night where he wanted to be penetrated if John still was in on it? After all Sherlock had been wearing that butt-plug...albeit a small one...the whole evening.

Of course John was in on it!

After Sherlock had had that enema and they had bathed each other, they were now in the bed. Sherlock on all four and John behind him, ready to insert the butt-plug in Sherlock again. Sherlock would wish John to be less gentle. And he wanted to buy bigger plugs.....and other stuff. He thought to have seen the darkness in John’s eyes that Victorian Watson had had too. The sadist that wanted control.....and Sherlock would very much like to be controlled more by John... be claimed.....be forced. But he didn’t know how to say it without scaring John away.

“Just do it John....I’m not made of porcelain. Plop it in and kiss me!” he moaned.

John felt the desire build up inside of him. He had a lot of images of a kneeling Sherlock, a bound Sherlock. A Sherlock where John was totally in charge.....even something with a riding-crop and red marks on that alabaster skin.

But just as he had done before, he did close the lid of the mental box with such thoughts and desires. Sherlock had been tortured, dammit! And John had never allowed himself to walk down that ‘road’, not with women, not with men and most certainly he would not walk it with Sherlock. He would scare the hell out of Sherlock with such desires.....Better be satisfied with what they had. It was amazing enough as it was.

“Lie on your back”, John said and enjoyed that Sherlock just obeyed...Oh did he enjoy that.

They kissed first...long slow kisses with tongue....and then John moved his mouth to Sherlock’s neck and found that precise spot that always made Sherlock moan and squirm.

“Lay still!” John ordered...and again Sherlock obeyed and grappled at the sheet with his left hand and touched John’s head gently with the other.

John decided to test his luck and said, “Hand’s above your head. Grip the pillow and hold on to that.”

Sherlock smiled and was glad John couldn’t see his face....oh yes. John had it in him. He enjoyed it too immensely when Sherlock just obeyed. So Sherlock held on to the pillow and somehow....because of his memories being in Holmes body....wished that there were restraints...maybe of soft leather? The thought alone made him moan again. Especially because John had reached his nipples. Thank God John didn’t need to be told ‘harder’ because Sherlock’s nipples were so sensitive that John’s tongue and fingers made just the right pressure tonight.

There was no need to tell John that Sherlock had made sure that his nipples were extra sensitive because he had been wearing the smallest nipple-clamps most of the afternoon and had just removed them in the bathroom under the excuse of ‘need to use the bathroom for a moment’ about half an hour before Greg and Molly had left.

“Oh, John...... more, please.”, Sherlock whimpered as John made his way down over Sherlock’s chest...and John returned happily to Sherlock’s nipples.

They both wondered if Sherlock was able to come alone from the sensations from his nipples. But neither of them said anything.

________________________

Sherlock was on his back and John looked into his eyes, “You are sure about this?”, John asked.

Sherlock lifted his head, “You are a doctor. Surely you must have done it without harming people before.”

“Yeah”, John laughed, “But they wouldn’t be stark naked and wanting to have my cock up their arse afterwards!”

“Stop talking...and move on. I didn’t wear that plug the whole evening for nothing.”

John smiled a bit devilish and pushed his middle finger in Sherlock’s hole in one long gliding movement. He knew it might burn a bit, but Sherlock had been prepared and there was a lot of lubricant on John’s finger.

Sherlock moaned and grappled the pillow even more. He had still obeyed John and had not moved his hands.

“Ohh....more, please John. I’m not made of glass!”

John obeyed and moved in and out of a panting Sherlock with two fingers, taking care that he now and then pressed against the ‘wall’ thus stimulating the prostate gland. Each time Sherlock would gasp and almost arch of the bed. Sherlock still managed to keep his hands on the pillow.

“Three...please John”, he panted and John saw fascinated how Sherlock’s hole had loosened and did fit to his three fingers moving in and out, slowly and scissoring on the way out to stretch Sherlock even more.

“Oh God.... Please John...please”, apparently Sherlock had lost his ability to speak in sentences but John saw no reason not to understand what Sherlock wanted and he removed his fingers from Sherlock’s hole . An action that made Sherlock whimper. John bent down just before he slid his cock in and whispered, “You can touch me now” and then he pushed in in one long gliding motion. Oh God...it felt so good. John had tried it once with a woman...and it had been good. But nothing compared to this....because this was Sherlock and he was falling apart under him. Moaning, panting and moving his hips in the same rhythm as John’s movements.

“Not...long...I’m....” Sherlock panted and John felt the heat pool in his body too. He made some harder trusts...and pushed Sherlock’s legs up in the air. Then he increased the speed and the force and when he reached out and just touched Sherlock’s leaking cock, Sherlock shouted and came, grappling John’s arse so hard that John was sure it would bruise....but he couldn’t care less, because the feeling of the contraction around his cock inside Sherlock, brought John over the edge as well and he did spent himself inside Sherlock in several bursts.

When they came more to their senses they crawled under the duvets, not caring about the stickiness on Sherlock’s stomach or John’s semen leaking out of Sherlock.

John knew that he wanted to check for blood or swelling. But not yet.

“Hmm”, said Sherlock and kissed John’s neck, “It was so much better with you. I knew it...”

“Are you sore?”

“Only a little bit tender...and it was worth it.”

They were silent for a moment and then Sherlock continued, “You have tried this before..”

“I have...as a doctor. I know the anatomy. I know where to find the prostate gland....and of course I know that a stimulation of that can be immensely pleasurable for most men.”

Then he turned towards Sherlock, “Do you know that the gland can be stimulated to empty itself, giving a sort of orgasm and yet not?"

“Yeah...I’ll like to try that one day. I’ll like to try a lot!” And Sherlock looked at John with that intense gaze that for a few seconds made John believe that Sherlock knew his darkest desires and secrets. But how could he, when John hardly knew them himself?

“I would like to try a lot of things with you too, Sherlock. I said that I’ve tried it before, but I have never had my cock up a man’s arse....”

“But a woman’s?”

“Yeah.....one girl. When I was at Bart’s. For some reason or another she wanted my cock up her arse instead. It felt different...but good.”

John snuggled closer to Sherlock, “But it was nothing compared to doing it to you. With you. It was...amazing. I know it is rather cliché, but I hope it was good for you too.”

Sherlock gave John a hug with his strong arms, “It was worth every pain....”

John woke up from his daze and looked worried at Sherlock, “Pain?!”

Sherlock chuckled, “Not pain now...from the act. I’m fine, just a bit tender. No I mean......All the other pain I’ve experienced...to get here....to get to be with you. If that was the price to be paid. It was worth it!”

John kissed him back, “Yes...it was..”

Chapter Text

Two weeks later:

Mycroft was sitting in his new office working, as Sherlock was announced.

Mycroft put the papers aside and stood up and went to the set of comfortable armchairs. He gestured towards them as Sherlock entered.
“Tea?”

“Thank you.”

The two brothers sat down and one of Mycroft’s minions brought in a tray with tea and biscuits.

“No cake?”, smirked Sherlock, but his eyes were sad.

Mycroft saw no reason to answer that.

“What brings you here?” He asked instead.

Sherlock looked down at the teacup in his hands before he looked up at Mycroft again.

“I know that you have been talking to John, secretly.”

Mycroft paused for a few seconds before he said, “I have.”

“May I ask about what?”

“You may ask, but don’t take for granted that I’ll answer.”

Sherlock looked down again, “It is about me, I know it......Does he plan on leaving me and can’t find a way to say it?”

“I can assure you that it in no way was something like that we discussed. Is there something wrong between you?”

“A tension. Unspoken secrets...even if we did promise to talk openly. But I can’t....I...” Sherlock took a deep breath, before he continued, “I’ve lied to you...and to John. About drugs...”

And then Sherlock looked at his brother, who hadn’t put his mask back on. Mycroft looked deeply worried, “How much and when...” he asked.

“Oh...not like that Mycroft. No heroin, nor morphine....no crack, no cocaine. Nothing like that. But something I’ve invented..”

“Explain, please..”

And Sherlock told about the drug, he had invented. How it had affected him together with the morphine, the heroin, the cocaine and all the other stuff he had taken on the plane...and before he got on to the plane. To numb himself...and to kill himself, before he would be back in Zagreb.

“I travelled somehow in time and ‘sideways’ into another universe. And please Mycroft...listen before you say something.” begged Sherlock.

And Mycroft just listened. In the beginning deeply worried that his brother had snapped and hallucinated whilst being on that plane and had been in a haze of drug-induced mind-bugling visions.

But as Sherlock told about that other time, that other place, with their similarities and differences, Mycroft realised that it had not been hallucinations, but something real.

Sherlock told about how Holmes’ real, but different world, had sometimes been interrupted with Sherlock’s Mind Palace World. Sherlock told how his brother and friends appeared in his Mind Palace, and had done that before, as aspects of his mind and that it did help him to understand a lot of things. He even told how being confronted with ‘Moriarty’, had made him realise how much in danger John was and that had given him the will and strength to come back to life again on that operating table, after Mary had shot him.

Sherlock made it very clear that he had been able to distinguish between his Mind Palace’s twisted ideas and Victorian Holmes’ reality and Mycroft began to ask questions. Not condemning anything but with true interest.

Sherlock had told about the obscene fat Mycroft from his Mind Palace and how that ‘Mycroft’ had taunted him, humiliated him even if he was an imagination that Sherlock had made himself.

“Let me see”, said Mycroft, “Moriarty represents your fear. Your fear of failure and fear of your sexuality too. Because, despite my taunting about sex and wrong assumption that you were a virgin, you are not a virgin and have had sexual encounters, but sex does alarm you sometimes.“

And Mycroft continued, “John’ is just John or John as you would have liked him to be, or sometimes as you might fear him to be. Imaginary John did let you down on the cemetery. Lestrade and Slim Mycroft did help you digging up secrets, so they must represent us as helpers and friends, even if Fat Mycroft does worry me a bit. Why have you made him? I understand that I.....and Molly...in your Mind Palace represent rationality and help you focus, even if I disagree about me being that mean to you. But why Fat Mycroft and that even in liaison with Mary of all people?”

“Deduce it yourself, Mycroft. I’m even sometimes confused by what my mind tells me. First much later I would be able to understand, what some part of my mind already know. And that is why I from time to time did the drugs. Sometimes it was to ease my mind. Prevent it from ruining itself, but sometimes it was to make those mental leaps...and it worked.”

Sherlock sat still, turning the now empty teacup in his hands, “I haven’t done cocaine, heroin or morphine since I was on that plane. Just that drug I had invented ...to be able to travel back in time. I was at ease there. I did fit in and Holmes allowed me to stay.”

He looked up, “But I haven’t been there for a while. I ran out of the drug and could not re-create it. I’ve used it before, since I invented it almost one year ago, just after John’s wedding. The time-travel thing was new to me and was maybe caused by the high amounts of cocaine and heroin and the other stuff in my blood. I’m afraid that that drug altered something in me. When I was confined to Baker Street trying to find out what had happened with Moriarty, I just needed small amounts of that drug to visit Holmes Victorian times.”

Sherlock sighed and looked out of the window, before he continued, “I was so scared that I had lost the ability to make those mental leaps....and what would I be then? A useless little brother, a burden, a pressure point and one who’s mere existence would jeopardize not only your life but the lives of my friends...again.”

“That was the reason why you were so quiet then?”

“Yes.”

“Well. But you didn’t lose the ability. To me you seem just as good as ever...at doing those mental leaps. If not even better.”, said Mycroft in a reassuring voice.

“Better?! How can you say that? If it hadn’t been for Minna’s genetic illness, none of us would have been alive by now!”

Sherlock rose to his feet and began pacing up and down on the floor, “I’m losing it, My. You said that sentiment is a disadvantage....and you were right. The mere thought of something happening to John it paralyses me. Render me useless. I can’t think. I can’t deduce....”

“Stop! And sit down. Take another cup of tea or whatever and listen to me!”, said Mycroft in a very stern voice and Sherlock obeyed.

“I’ll deduce that Fat Mycroft later, but for now you listen to me, Sherlock. You have in no way lost your ability to make mental leaps....and to me it seems that you now can make them easily without the help of drugs. It might be true that that cocktail of potential deadly drugs did alter something in your head. I have a suspicion that the psychiatrist and the diagnose somehow helped too. Maybe even your visits back in time. I’m truly sorry for having been such a bad role-model for you...and for causing so much damage by leaving you with our.....unsuitable... parents, when you were a child. But you have in no way lost your mental ability. Let me make it very clear: William Sherlock Scott Holmes...if it hadn’t been for you and your mental abilities, we would all have been dead now! And even if you should lose those abilities, it doesn’t mean that you are not allowed to exist!”

Mycroft rose and went to the drinks-cabinet, hidden in the panelling on the walls, and found two glasses and an excellent cognac.

“Drink! And stop diminishing your abilities and yourself!”

Sherlock just obeyed again....and it did worry Mycroft a bit. He had a feeling that this was going to be a long talk.

Mycroft told his secretary to reschedule the rest of the day. And while Sherlock was just sitting there, apparently in his Mind Palace or just in deep thoughts, Mycroft called Andrea and asked her to arrange for a private meal in their own secret apartment. And then Mycroft contacted John too.

When Sherlock ‘returned’ he just sat there, looking at his glass and did not know how long he had been sitting there.

“How long?” did Sherlock ask.

“Not long. Just about 20 minutes.”, was Mycroft’s answer.

“I’ve been thinking...the way I’ve worked with the recent cases. And maybe you are right, that I’m still functioning....even functioning good.” Sherlock sighed, “I just cannot see it. I feel that I’m failing all the time.”

“You are not, I can assure you. So...do you still want me to ‘deduce’ Fat Mycroft? And by the way...you and John will be eating dinner at my flat. You two have something to talk about. The thing that John and I have discussed. I told him that he would have to talk it over with you...but he was afraid to bring up the topic.....and it has nothing to do with him leaving you. Oh dear...he is so besotted with you, Sherlock, that you’ll have to kick him out...and in that case he would return again. In that area you two couldn’t fit more nicely together!”

Sherlock smiled: “Well...Fat Mycroft then. Let me see if you get it right.”

Mycroft closed his eyes for a few seconds, before he said, “Three levels: Level one: he represents ‘rationality’. And you have allowed yourself to be much too rational and not emotional at all, thus harming yourself. You had been listening too well to the stupid advice from your big brother. It had gone out of hand. “Fat Mycroft” would have to ‘die’ as you predicted. Not years.....but weeks maybe, or months. I think that ‘months’ would fit in better, as you hoped to either have found a solution...or be dead yourself.”

“Correct.” , was Sherlock’s answer.

“Level two: at that time you were deeply worried about my position and my health. It was before we found out about us being genetic experiments. So at level two you had predicted my death...this time not counting the months. Counting the years would probably fit.”

“Correct again.”

“Level three. I’m not quite sure here. But by saying that I had Mary to work for me, you were afraid that I was not alone under Magnussen’s...and Moriarty’s thumb, but was too involved with Mary’s invisible employer and thus not able to save you. Am I right?”

“Spot on.”

____________________________

And until they would go home to Mycroft’s and Andrea’s flat Sherlock told a lot more about the other universe. How it could not be this universe.

“We would have heard if there had been another Sherlock Holmes and John Watson almost 100 years ago.”, agreed Mycroft.

They discussed similarities and differences and Sherlock told how he had got those old cases from Scotland Yard in a box, that Greg had brought over, after Sherlock had been home again from hospital after the events at Leinster garden and later Baker Street, that forced Sherlock back in the hospital again.

“The Ricoletti case was never solved here, but Holmes solved it in his version of Victorian England.”, said Sherlock.

He told how that case had made him realise, that there had been no way that Moriarty could have faked his own death.

“I was standing too close to him..”
______________________

John came in one of Mycroft’s cars as Sherlock and Mycroft got out of their car. They all went into a café and disappeared out into the gent’s toilet, where a hidden wall revealed an elevator up to Mycroft’s flat. There were several ways to get to that flat and there were no reason to reveal to remaining enemies, where Mycroft actually lived.

During dinner Mycroft looked at both John and Sherlock and said, “You two are idiots right now. John...your secretiveness has worried Sherlock deeply, so it was a very bad idea to keep him out. I know you did it with his well-being in mind....and it was my fault too, not to give you an advice against keeping Sherlock out of it. And Sherlock...you do have to tell John, when something is bothering you. I’m ....I was...just as much an idiot for not saying anything to Andrea from time to time. So learn from it.”

Then he turned to John and said, “Sherlock is struggling with something more. It has to do with something in his past.” And then he nodded at Sherlock.

Sherlock took a deep breath, “John, would you accept that I wait to tell you what it is, until I have it sorted out in about 14 days the most?“

And John nodded. How could he do anything else, when he had kept secrets from Sherlock?

And John apologized for worrying Sherlock, “It’s just...I proposed and you said yes....and it is not that I’ve forgotten. Not at all. But I didn’t know how to do it. How to make it a good wedding. No...an excellent wedding. How to plan it together with you.”

Sherlock just looked at John and said, “I thought that....”

“That I didn’t want to? Oh God, I do....I just wanted to do it right...this time. Please..let me explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“I went to Mycroft because he knows you....and I wanted to be able to say the right things. Sometimes you just agree to what I say. Just to please me, Sherlock. And I wanted it to be right for you too. So....Just going to the mayor? And dinner afterwards at Angelo’s? It would be fine; because it is not the wedding that is important...it is the life together afterwards. But then I thought that you would think, that it would be ‘second class’. Just like the second wedding, when someone has been married before...and I didn’t want it to be 'second class'. I want it to be in a church, because we can. I want to make the vows in front of a vicar...because I somehow still believe in God. And yes...just mock me for that. But the three times I’ve prayed from the bottom of my heart, the prayer was heard. And I want to have a nice dinner afterwards. With friends. And to dance with you. So...be honest. What would you prefer?”

“I don’t know John...I can see both as a possibility: Something big.....or very small, but I would look ridiculous in a white gown.”, said Sherlock and smiled.

And John began to giggle, “So would I.”

“May I suggest something?”, said Andrea.

And all three men turned towards her, and she continued, “There are several small churches in the London area....and churches where they are not against same-sex marriage. But it can never be in a Roman-Catholic church, John.”

“I know..”

“So...we’ll have to find one from the Church of England, if it has to be in a church. And then Angelo’s afterwards?”

Now Mycroft interrupted: “If I may? There is a church-room at the Estate? And we still have some privileges there. There would be room for all the guests...and even more important..” he said with a glare in Sherlock’s direction, “If we carefully choose a date within the next couple of months, Mummy and Father would have every excuse for not coming, as they are on a Caribbean Cruise, followed by a trip to Australia. Or would you prefer that they showed up?”

Both John and Sherlock looked at each other and said at the same time, “It’ll be such a good idea with the Estate!”

And Sherlock smiled, no... he actually smirked, “I would like to hear their excuse for not showing up to my wedding. They’ve missed two funerals.....do you think they would be able to look at themselves in the mirror if they do not show up? And we can make sure that it would somehow be known to their friends if they don’t. It could be fun.”

All the other three persons in the room could forgive Sherlock that strike of evilness in his personality, when it came to his parents. His parents had been abusive and terrible towards him.

The hotel at the estate was contacted and a suitable date was found. It would be in September and Sherlock imagined that it would be very difficult for his parents to find an excuse to stay away this time.
____________________

Sherlock puffed a frustrated breath. He was sitting in his chair in their living room in Baker Street and John would be out for a few days: some medical conference in Scotland. Sherlock couldn’t quite understand why John still wanted to do work at the clinic, but John had insisted. Not regularly though. Just from time to time.

Sherlock respected that, but worried a bit that John just might need to be away from him after all? Was John getting second thoughts? This time Sherlock would not let John go without trying to gain him back, though.

Sherlock had decided to take another look at John’s secret phone and the browser history and had made sure that John had been so busy and almost too late, before he left the flat, grumbling that he would miss the train, so it would be very likely that John wouldn’t have time to fetch his secret phone from its hiding place upstairs.

And the browser history was so frustrating. Because John was still....even if the frequency had lowered....looking at those pages. With gay BDSM sex. Not the hardcore ones, but there were restrains....and harnesses and a lot of the other stuff that Sherlock knew about being ‘back’ in Holmes’ and Watson’s time. Why on Earth would John not admit his darker desires?

And why didn’t Sherlock dare to admit his own either?

Sherlock wasn’t so sure about his own feelings. Mentally...oh yes. But he wasn’t quite sure how his body would react when it came to reality.

But on the other hand, he was very amenable to try to find out how his body would react together with John though.

So he had made his decision when John had told about this conference. Sherlock’s new morning gown had been finished by his tailor for at least two days now. One similar to the one Holmes had worn. It was in this rich blue colour, almost purple and it was long and with trimmings.

Sherlock had remembered how Holmes, in the secrecy of his and Watson’s bedrooms, would be stark naked and prepared for Watson and lying on the small couch only dressed in that morning gown, carefully opening in as Watson would enter the room and just show how prepared he was. The rings inserted in his ‘Prince Albert’ and in his nipples and spreading his legs so Watson could see that Holmes had inserted one of the ‘rectal dilators’. And it never failed. Watson would be standing still for a few seconds before he would almost growl and remove his clothes in an impressive hurry and then almost attack Holmes.

And now Sherlock had decided to do something similar....without the piercings though.

Sherlock had looked carefully at the pages in John’s browser history and had found John’s likings: Something with harnesses and totally naked men with almost no hair to be seen anywhere on their bodies. Not that Sherlock that much growth anywhere, but he had hairs on his chest and of course in his groin area, even if he did trim it a bit. But John had apparently a liking for hairless testicles, even if he too just had the hair’s there trimmed.

And with his usual thoroughness Sherlock had search and found the two exact right places for his errands today.

First things first...and Sherlock went to a small and very discreet clinic for hair-removal in inner London not so long away from Regent’s Park. From the outside it didn’t look like much, but Sherlock knew it was a disguise.

As he entered he was met by a receptionist who, without looking up from her computer, asked if he had an appointment.

“No. I’m new here”, said Sherlock in his deep voice and that voice made her look up and then she blushed a bit, “Oh”, she said, “I was going to ask for credentials, since you were new, but you don’t need that Sir Holmes.”

“’Sherlock’ would do fine....and by the way. That boyfriend of yours...he is no good for you. He is cheating on you.”

“How..oh never mind. Would you like to make an appointment for today?”

“Yes please. If it is possible.”

Sherlock was told that there would be an interview first, since he was new and he was told to sit down and wait for a few moments.

Sherlock sighed...a few moments usually meant a lot more moments than ‘a few’.

But his expectations were proved to be wrong as a man came by and asked Sherlock to follow him after only 2 minutes.

And Sherlock was asked a few questions and was told that it was because they had rather famous people attending the clinic....even royalties.... and had been bothered by people, who pretended to be coming customers, but in reality were either paparazzi or journalists.

Sherlock wanted to hear a bit more about that and the explanation left him with an uneasy feeling, but he couldn’t put a finger on it yet.

Sherlock told that he had been tortured and had quite a lot of scars and that he didn’t know how he would react...and that he might have masochistic tendencies and probably could get an erection during the treatment. And that he was mostly gay, but could be attracted to women too.

That was why, when he had undressed and was only wearing a bathrobe, an elderly lady entered his cabin.

“My name is Hedda Gamin and ....Oh...sir Holmes. I want to say ‘thank you’ before we continue.”

“Just ’Sherlock’ would do....and why 'thank you'?”

She smiled at him. “I’m not totally stupid, you know. First all those bombings and all those lies about you in the media. Then you disappeared for two years and returned. Then Dr. Watson’s wedding and suddenly Moriarty pops up on every screen and scares the hell out of us. Then silence....and all that about Baker Street being poisoned. Then the explosion in White Hall.......so don’t tell me, young man, that nothing big has happened. I suppose you had something to do with Moriarty not being able to fulfil his plans. That’s the reason for the ‘Thank you’!”

Sherlock still frowned, “How would you know so much? Almost nothing has been in the media?”

“Oh don’t worry dear. My aunt is friend with Mrs. Hudson, and so am I...and no, she hasn’t been indiscreet, but she had to move out of 221B....and live by her sister’s and of course my aunt would know.”

“And then you all have put two and two together?”

“Not everyone...just us from Mrs. Hudson’s coffee-club, where I’m the youngest. We talk and discuss. We find clues everywhere and make theories. And sometimes we are terrible wrong...and sometimes we aren’t.”

“Hmm...At what do you think about the intruders in this place?”

“Oh...we haven’t discussed them. I’m not a full member of that club....and this is my work. We don’t discuss that.”

And then she prepared to remove Sherlock's hair. They had agreed on ‘hot-wax’ since he was a ‘beginner’ and the hair-follicles would be ‘ripe’ and the hairs would stick more firmly in the follicles, thus causing more pain in the removal. And the treatment would begin at Sherlock’s chest, which would be less sensitive than his groin.

Sherlock had said that it would be all right if she talked during the treatment, as he would like it very much to know in advance, what she would be doing.

Sherlock would have expected it to hurt more, but she only applied the warm wax in small portions and while she waited for the wax to cool down, before she would tear it of the skin together with his hair, they talked about a lot of things. She told a bit more about the ‘intruders’ and Sherlock’s feeling that something was wrong, grew stronger. But he hadn’t enough data yet.

The chest had been no problem and she carefully told Sherlock what he could expect next. First he would be lying on his back with his legs spread.....and it was as he had feared. It did hurt a bit. Not unbearable, but her touch, even if she was a woman and even if she was not his type at all, made his body react. He had tried to breathe through the pain and it was literally nothing. Nothing compared to what he had endured before.

At a time she looked at him and said, “You have been tortured, I was told...and I can see several scars of course. But.....you can tell me to shut up if you don’t want to say anything...but you have been tortured with an electric rod, right? Genitally?”

It was when there was a pause in the treatment, while they were waiting for the wax to cool down and Sherlock had realized that since she didn’t seem to notice that he had the beginning of an erection, he would choose to ignore it as well.

“How can you tell?” ,he asked her.

She smiled and gestured towards his semi-erection, “That is sometimes the reaction to pain, if a man had been exposed to that kind of torture. Sir Holmes......Sherlock...you are not the first customer her, who have experienced torture. Even if your collection of scars are quite impressive. But they have healed nicely. That reaction..” and she pointed at his cock...”is not unusual.”

And then she just continued to remove Sherlock’s hair in a rather business-like manner. And Sherlock just placed his arms behind his head, looked up at the ceiling and tried to ignore it all. He didn’t dare to disappear into his Mind Palace though. It would be too awkward. And he did breathe through the pain. She was good at her job. Efficient and business-like and yet caring and gentle.

Sherlock had been a bit lost in his thoughts about those intruders as she touched him on his thigh and told him to turn around and lie down on knees and elbows...and it was lying in that position, as she was applying wax around his anus, as he suddenly saw all the connections.

“Hedda!”, Sherlock almost shouted, “Stop and run like hell to room 14. There is a murder on its way..and I can’t....”

It was a proof of Hedda’s faith in Sherlock that she didn’t even ask, just tossed him a bathrobe and ran out the door. Sherlock hurried to remove the wax himself....and it did hurt more than when Hedda had done it, but then he was able to follow her, barefoot but somewhat decent as he had closed the bathrobe around his body.

When Sherlock finally arrived at room 14 both Hedda and one of the men from the staff and one of the life-guards had apprehended a young man. He had been hired recently and with apparently genuine credentials. And behind the not totally closed door, Sherlock saw a glimpse of a young male member of the royal family.

Sherlock tightened the belt of the bathrobe and prepared to interrogate the young man and just before the police arrived, Sherlock slipped through the door to number 14 and closed it behind him, nodding to the life-guard and the young man sitting on the couch in the same state of ‘deshabillé’ as Sherlock himself....wearing only a bathrobe.

“Are you all right, your Highness?”

“I’m fine, but a bit baffled, I must confess. What happened?”

Sherlock smirked, “I think I saved your life, your Highness.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“That man....he tried to kill you, your Highness.”

“Just forget the ‘Highness’....My name ****** would do...especially since you have saved my life.....Sir Holmes. And how would that man have killed me?”

“Slowly......with poisoned wax, I think. Sometimes this....treatment...would leave very small and very superficial wounds, but with enough time and an efficient poison, the result would have been that you would have died. He was not in danger himself, as he would have been wearing gloves all the time.”

And it turned out to be exactly what would have happened. The wax used on the young royalty did contain a very small, but very efficient nerve-toxin that would have killed the young man after about 5 treatments. And the motive? The culprit had been insane and had believed that HE was the true royalty and that they had been switched right after their birth...and now he wanted to kill the other one, so he could get his ‘rightful’ place back.

Sherlock was told that he would never have to pay for any treatments in the clinic anymore and as the young member of the royal family tried to find something, which he could use as a reward, Sherlock just smiled and said, “It is not the first time and would probably not be the last time where the Holmes- brothers serve Queen and country. Talk with your Grandmother, young man, and she would tell you what you need to know.”

And then Sherlock returned to his room and Hedda finished her job.

Sherlock was standing in front of the mirror in the room and beside a redness in the treated areas, he felt fine. He was a bit tender, but it was OK.

“You have a remarkably high pain-threshold”, said Hedda.

“Hmm ....And you are rather skilled” said Sherlock, but saw no reason to tell Hedda that he was a genetic experiment and the high threshold probably was because of that.

As Sherlock prepared to dress himself again, she looked at him and said, “Those scars...do they bother you sometimes?”

“Yes they do...Why?”

“Because my mother’s eldest sister was a part of the French Resistance...and got caught by the Germans. They didn’t kill her, but flogged her...severely. And I remember that she had scars a bit like yours. My mother invented an ointment that helped her...and we still make it at our kitchen table. Would you like to try it? It helps against the tenderness after the hair-removal too.” And then she smiled, “I only offer it to special costumers.”

And she held a glass-jar in her hand and offered it to Sherlock.

He opened it and sniffed at it and then he applied it at his groin area, waited a few seconds and said, “It really helps. Why only to special costumers?”

“Because it is a pain-in-the-arse-process to make it and it takes an eternity to make it right. But yes...it works. We have tried to make medical companies interested...but we are afraid that they might steal it.”

Sherlock smiled, “Would you allow me to investigate further?”

“I hoped you would ask, Sir H......Sherlock.”

And Sherlock did as promised...and even simplified the process and it all turned out to be a bit like the story about Max Huber and his ‘Miracle cream’. But right now Sherlock just enjoyed that he couldn’t feel that tenderness anymore...which suited him fine for his next errand.

_________________________

It was only less than one km away, so Sherlock walked. The weather was surprisingly warm for London, even if it was only early spring. On his way he got a SMS from John:

* Sorry for the yelling this morning. It wasn’t your fault. The first speech at the conference has ended. It is a rather interesting conference and even something I can use for solving cases. More about that later, but I miss you. What are you up to now? I love you. JW*

*Doing some errands. Prevented a murder. I love you too. Looking forward to hear about the conference. SH*

*Prevented a murder? Well so much you . Call you later if it is OK? Need to hear your voice and I would like to hear more about the prevented murder. JW*

*I’ll be home around 5 PM. Would you call me then? Could you be in your hotel room, when you call? I’ve got plans then. ;-).SH*

*Sounds good. Got to go. Love you! JW*

*Love you too. SH*

Sherlock pocketed his phone, thinking that they sounded like love-sick teenagers...but he liked it. Such SMS’es left a nice warmth in him...and he supposed that John felt the same way. He smiled as he opened the door to the small shop and entered. If only Sherlock was right about John in this other area too.

Chapter Text

Just like in the other hair removing clinic there wasn’t much too see as Sherlock entered the shop. But he knew that it deceived the eye.

He went up to the counter.

“I have an appointment. The name is ‘William Scott’.”

The young woman looked up and frowned, “But...but you are not...I mean...”

Sherlock smiled and explained, “Well...actually I am. But normally people know me by my other names.”

She blushed even more and said, “Well...of course, Sir Holmes. If you...please...this way.” And she rose and showed him towards the apparently end of the shop. Behind a curtain there was another door and she opened it for him. On the other side he was greeted by another young woman, “Welcome, Mr. Scott....Oh I see that you had preferred a ‘nome de plume’. Right this way.”

Sherlock smiled again. He hadn’t realised that his display in the media more than four years ago as a consequence of the whole Moriarty-case, still had people remember his face...and name.

“It is actually my own name...just one I do not use so often. If you had cared to look at the papers, I had to fill in, you would have noticed.”

“Oh..I did notice. We just respect if people doesn’t want to use their real name, Sir Holmes!” she said and smiled.

“Well....point taken.” And he smiled back.

Sherlock was asked whom he wanted to make the final adjustments of the harnesses, he had ordered. He asked why there would be a need for adjustments. Didn’t they know how to make the things according to the measurements?

She had smiled and said that people had a tendency to be a bit too optimistic about their upper body measurements and a bit too pessimistic about the circumference of the middle part of their body.

And Sherlock had smiled back and said, “Oh...I see. But I can assure you that my measurements are totally correct!”

She had thought...”well let’s see, Mr. Holmes. I doubt that you’ll have those measurements hidden under that coat and suit, because in that case you should be used as a model!”

Sherlock was shown into a room and asked to undress so he could try the fit of the harnesses. They were laid out on a table...all four. Just before the young woman left, Sherlock reached for her hand and said that he would like it to be the seamstress of the harnesses, who should make the final adjustments.

“It is me”, had the young woman said.

“In that case...undressing in front of you...Well I do have quite a collection of scars.”

“Oh. I see”

Sherlock looked at her and saw what she thought to be the truth. He hurried to explain, “Oh...no. Not from ‘scenes’ gone wrong....or because I wanted them. My scars are the real stuff. I was tortured while I was away...”

The young woman smiled, “It can’t be seen when you walk, and you didn’t mention anything about being considerate about scar-tissue when you ordered the harnesses made, so I suppose they are healed properly by now?”

And then Sherlock was again told to undress and the ‘fitting’ started. Not that any adjustments were needed. Sherlock had indeed given the correct measurements and she was a very talented seamstress.

When Sherlock had dressed again and she was putting his harnesses into the bags, she stopped and hesitated for a moment, “I...I do not know if it would be too much...but....”

Sherlock looked at her and said, “Even if I do appreciate your skills as a seamstress, your ability to express yourself does lack a bit practice!”

“Well...it is because I really do not know how to ask, but.....”

“Please....get to the point. That wavering around is much more offending and troublesome, than any question you might have, believe me!”

She took a deep breath and continued, “Three of those harnesses are totally new designs and we still need to have photos taken. So I wonder if you would be the model.”

Sherlock frowned, “You have seen how I look. And you still want me as a model?”

Sherlock knew of course that John opinion about Sherlock was that Sherlock was handsome’, even ’gorgeous’. But Sherlock himself found John’s body so much more attractive than his own pale appearance. The ‘wounds’....the acerbic remarks...left by Victor so many years ago were still there...and Sherlock didn’t find his own appearance stunning in any way. Neither his face, nor his body. And now his body had even ugly scars...’ugly’ despite what John said and thought. John had only a few...the big one on his shoulder and then a few more, from their hazardous life together, before Sherlock had to jump. But despite Sherlock’s healing abilities and the skills of the plastic surgeons in Germany there were so many...on his back, on his chest and on his thigh. Marring his skin with...imperfections.

“Of course! Even if I’m engaged to a wonderful man, it doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate another good looking male body. And your body could be.....be a marble statue from the ancient Greece.”, said the young woman....Sofia.

________________________

Sherlock agreed to the photo-session after Sofia had persuaded him a bit more and that was the reason why Sofia and Sherlock were walking down the street to yet another small unimpressive shop not so far away from the second shop.

On their way Sofia told about the studio that the shop often hired to do photographic work for their homepage.....and their catalogues. And the pictures were so aesthetic pleasant and so erotic, that they were well-known outside England. And it was the quality of those pictures that had caught Sherlock’s eyes too.

In the photo-studio Sherlock was introduced to Sergei and it took Sherlock less than 2 seconds to impress the not so young photographer by telling him that he was from Moscow, had been a policeman with a hobby of photographing, that he had fled Russia because he had been contacted by the Russian Mafia and didn’t want to get involved.......and Sherlock had delivered every deduction in perfect Russian.

“Who are you?”, asked Sergei with a frown, suddenly worried that this tall...and he had to admit that, very handsome man, had something to do with his past.

“How would you know so much about me...and why did Sofia say that you are English, when you are not?”

And Sofia had laughed and said, “Don’t you recognize him, Sergei?”

Sergei frowned, “No...should I?”

“He is the famous detective Sherlock Holmes! Of course he can see your whole life history in one glance.”

Sergei shook his head, “No....Sherlock Holmes is...is old.”

Sherlock smiled and said in English, “Well, I’m not 20 anymore. And I haven’t turned 40 either. But I am Sherlock Holmes.”

And Sergei was finally convinced.

Now they began to discuss how and in what setting Sherlock should be photographed. There were three different settings in the Sergei’s surprisingly large photo-studio: a very modern one in glass, steel and black leather. Then there was a semi-historical setting....a bit like Hollywood semi-ancient-Egyptian-Roman-empire-style with columns and divans....and then there was a setting that made Sherlock smile. It was something like a Victorian brothel. And it looked very much like the sex-club that the other Holmes and Watson had attended in that other universe.

So of course Sherlock did choose that one. Sergei brought a disguise. A thing that would be hiding Sherlock’s head. Sherlock smiled again as he saw that item. It was a tulle-hood, just like the ones that had been used by Holmes in the club.

They had agreed on ‘erotic’ pictures, but not pornographic.  And Sergei brought some pair of thongs that would hide Sherlock’s cock and balls too.  Made of some leather-looking material and matching the harnesses in colour. And it was agreed that Sherlock should give his approval to each of the photos, before they could be used on the website.

Sherlock began to undress behind a screen...and then, standing behind it, he hesitated and said, “I do have quite a lot of scars.....”

“Oh” was Sergei’s answer and again Sherlock had to explain where from he had got his scars. And then Sherlock walked away from the screen. As he was standing there...almost naked and only wearing one of the thongs that Sergei had given him, Sergei could only stand there without saying anything.

“Something wrong?” worried Sherlock.

“Oh God ....no. But Sofia was right. You have a body like...like Michelangelo’s David. Perfect proportions...”

And then Sergei had laughed and his eyes had been glittering, “Your tailor does that on purpose. Makes you look thin and fragile.....and underneath all that fine wool and silken shirts is hidden an athlete’s body. The body of a dancer or an acrobat.”

He shook his head and began to adjust the lightning, turning his head to smile at Sherlock, “You know...I’m not gay and I’m happily in love with Sofia. And we are going to get married. But I could make an exception with you. You are gorgeous!”

_______________________

Two hours later and a lot of positions and changing of harnesses and other clothes later, Sherlock was sitting beside Sergei, dressed in a morning gown. Sherlock didn’t want to redress before he was sure that the photos were ready and all right.

And now they were looking at all the photos taken. Sergei was a genius with the light on the set and had managed, just by the right choice of the colour of the light, to almost eliminate Sherlock’s scars. And the pictures were beautiful...stunning. On most of them Sherlock’s private parts were just not to be seen, because Sherlock was on his stomach or had bend a leg to hide his crouch or something similar to that. And if he was in a position that could reveal anything, he would be wearing those thongs.

One of the best photos, in Sergei’s opinion, was one of Sherlock in the black thong and in the black harness with all the buckles, kneeling with his behind on his heels, spread out legs and his head thrown back so his face was away and hidden from the camera. Not wearing the tulle hood but just looking away from the camera and his arms behind his back as if they had been bound. That specific picture took Sergei’s breath away.

And he did as promised and altered the colour of Sherlock’s hair and a bit on his face too.

Sherlock had looked at the pictures...had hesitated a bit and then asked if they could take some more? It took only a quarter of an hour more and then Sherlock had redressed.

Sergei put all the approved pictures on the net...and gave Sherlock the rest in a folder and on an USB-pen...and promised that all the rest had been deleted.

So...when Sherlock left, he still had a lot of time to reach Baker Street 221B before he should contact John at 7 PM. Via Skype. But seeing the pictures and knowing that they were already on the internet, made Sherlock alter his plans.

He knew that John would be in his hotel room....and expecting some Skype-sex. But Sherlock would want John to look at those new pictures...and from looking at the browser-history on John’s secret phone, Sherlock knew that that specific page would be one that John would look at, before he would look at some ’heavier’ stuff.

_______________________

Of course John was disappointed as Sherlock texted just before 7 PM:

*Sorry John. Lestrade called. A case. I’ll make it up to you when you come home tomorrow. Case should be solved by then. It is practically solved by now. It was the sister. I promise: Home-made dinner at Baker Street tomorrow *

____________________________

The case was not a lie. Lestrade had called Sherlock as Sherlock was on his way back to Baker Street and Lestrade had been a bit surprised as Sherlock agreed, since the case only could be called a ‘four’...and that on a good day. But Sherlock had promised John to be careful....and the case seemed safe enough and gave Sherlock an idea how to make John look at the new pictures on the homepage.

John was disappointed but found ways to entertain himself and Sherlock had promised to make it up to him when John returned to London the next day.

_____________________________________

John was on his way home from the conference, sitting in a train. He was tired. It had been busy days with full schedules and now he just longed for Baker Street 221B and Sherlock. Such a shame about that case yesterday.  But now he could actually count the minutes before he would be ...home. The place he wanted to be the most. With the man he loved.

Sherlock had been busy. The blue morning gown was ready. His body was thoroughly cleaned and prepared in every way. The dinner was ready, simmering on the stove and the table was laid with the finest porcelain and cutlery they had. And Sherlock had borrowed one of Mrs. Hudson’s nicest tablecloth.

Sherlock had sent a very important message to John:

*I’m sorry. I know that you are tired, but I thought we still had two bottles of wine. Since I’ve made ‘coq au vin’ I’ve used the single bottle we had. Would you mind getting another? You can ask the cab to stop and wait at the little wine-shop in Balcombe Street. Or else we’ll just have to share the 210 ml red-wine left from the cooking.*

John had smiled...of course Sherlock would measure the remains so accurately and he had answered back:

*No problem. I’ll tell when I’m sitting in the cab. And I’ll fetch a bottle of red wine. Barolo?*

__________________________

And now Sherlock was just lying on his back, dressed in the dark burgundy harness and the blue morning gown and had made sure that he sported a nice and firm erection. On the table Sherlock had laid out various implements....suede floggers and two riding crops....and nipple-clamps. He knew from his time back in Victorian England with Holmes and Watson, how high-quality stuff would look like...and feel like... and he had bought the best. He heard the cab stop outside and John’s steps on the staircase.

Chapter Text

When John entered the flat, he went to the kitchen first to put the bottle of red wine on the table there. He frowned a bit, as he noticed the table wasn’t laid, but he did cast an eye into the living room and saw that the dining table had been cleared and was laid with a white tablecloth and their nicest cutlery and plates.

“Oh...so you have.....”, did he manage to say, as he entered the living room though the panel-doors and saw Sherlock on display on the couch.

“Jesus.....” was what John managed to say before he slumped down in his chair, almost missing it as he didn’t take his eyes away from Sherlock’s nude form on display.

The two men just looked at each other while a lot of thoughts passed through their minds.

Sherlock of course deduced fast that his appearance had not had the expected effect on John and he gathered the gown around him and went to the almost stunned John.

John on the other hand managed to run through a lot of emotions and thoughts in the short time it took Sherlock to get from the couch to John’s chair:

“Jesus..I’m so embarrassed. Sherlock must know about my darkest fantasies.”

“I love him.”

“I don’t want him to know that dark side of me.”

“I could scare him away.”

“Oh God. He was tortured. Flogged for real. How could I even...”

Sherlock was just sitting on the floor. A bit awkwardly because he had a plug up is arse as a preparation for John. And Sherlock had pulled the long morning gown close around himself. He just waited patiently for John to sort out his thoughts. Sherlock could read some of them on John’s face....but as always not all of it. He had never been able to do that with John.

John had so many layers. Just like Irene had had....and ‘Mary’. Those 3 people he had never been able to read totally....and he was glad that John could continue to surprise him. Sherlock had just hoped that this....his gown and the harness and his hairless balls... could have been a pleasant surprise for John. But apparently it hadn’t been.

Now it was Sherlock who was lost in thoughts as John became more aware of his surroundings. John looked down and felt even more arousal by the sight of a kneeling Sherlock. Oh God...to ‘walk that road’ with an obedient Sherlock! All the things John would do to him. Force him. Decide over him...even mark his delicious pale and soft skin....bite, mark and claim!

John took a deep breath to get a hold of himself. This was a path he never had allowed himself to follow. Never!

John looked at Sherlock and touched his face, “Sherlock, Love....please. Go and sit in your chair. We need to talk.”

Sherlock rose and went to sit in his chair and John noticed that Sherlock squirmed a bit. John just asked with his facial expression and Sherlock smiled a bit.

“Butt-plug.”,  said Sherlock and that made them both giggle and made John’s erection even harder. Oh God...something.....everything.... about Sherlock had turned John into a horny sixteen year old teenager again.

John took a deep breath...but was interrupted by Sherlock.

“I’m sorry John. But I have invaded your most hidden thoughts. Yes...I’ve found that hidden phone...and yes...I’ve unlocked it and looked through your browser-history. I’ve invaded your privacy. Please forgive me!”

He had actually tears in his eyes, “But believe me. I did it in the best of intentions. Not to embarrass you and in no way to indicate that I’m not satisfied with our sex-life. Because I am. But this is not totally about sex. It is something else too.....”

Sherlock was now interrupted by John, “We did promise each other that we would not keep anything hidden anymore. But this, Sherlock...Oh God...”

And John closed his eyes and pinched his nose before he continued, “This is very private. Something I actually never.....Oh this is difficult. This is a fantasy......a stupid fantasy. A fantasy that is just that. Fantasy. Never meant to be outlived in the real life. It is like reading a book or seeing a film. I have no wish to outlive that fantasy. If you had looked closer at my browser-history, you would have seen that I have not been on those pages since we found out about our feelings for each other at Mycroft’s flat. I do not need it...”

And now John rose and went to kneel at Sherlock’s feet and looked up at his beautiful face, which now had a frown of confusion.

“Sherlock...Love. You have turned me into a horny teenager again. Everything about you arouses me. Just your voice and the promise of Skype-sex yesterday turned me so much on that I...I admit that...went to one of the pages yesterday in my hotel-room and had a wank..”

John was interrupted by Sherlock who smirked and said, “Did you like the new pictures?”

“What?!”

And Sherlock rose and went to fetch the folder on the coffee table.

“Come here and sit down, please”, Sherlock said and John obeyed.

And Sherlock showed John the pictures from the photo-session....and the more private ones.

John looked at Sherlock, “You did this....for me?”

Sherlock flushed a bit, “No not totally for you...for me too. It is just...” Sherlock took a deep breath and continued, “Would you please listen to me? Just like you have done before? Without interrupting me?”

And John promised.

Sherlock told about the side-effect of the drugs on the plane so many months ago. How he had time-travelled....or travelled sideways. How he had found ‘Holmes’ and ‘Watson’. How their relationship had made him a bit more curious about John’s real feelings and how it had given him the last courage to tell John about his own.

Then he allowed John to ask questions and as John went out in the kitchen to make tee, he had turned around and said, “Leave that butt-plug in. It would be such a shame to waist that preparation. As for the other topic...we’ll have to find out what you need and want from me.”

They had their tee and Sherlock continued: “It is a way to calm my mind. You know...”The blue-arsed fly in the bottle”?...And submitting to you would still it. At least it was what it did to ‘Holmes’...and we are rather similar. I know it is much to ask of you, but....”

“Sherlock, Love. This is a fantasy thing as I said. And if you need it.....But what if I trigger something? Can’t stop in time?”

“You will. You are much too honest a man...too decent not to. If you are anything like that Watson the other place, I’ll be totally safe. And you are very much like him, apart from the bowler hat and the moustache. And you will get a release...” Sherlock smirked...”In more than one way!”

John giggled. He couldn't help it.

And Sherlock continued, “It will only be in the bedroom...or in the rest of the apartment if we agree on that. You can tell me if you’ll need it too and I would be happy to obey. BUT not when we are on a case. Most likely afterwards, because I can’t switch of my mind again.”

John couldn’t agree more, but decided that he would rather suppress his own urges in that department than ask Sherlock. Normal ‘vanilla’-sex was actually fine with Sherlock. More than fine. It was.....extraordinary... as everything else about his mad lover/ boyfriend/soon-to-be-husband.

It turned out that John was more than all right with the harnesses.

“It is just like women’s lingerie. Something you almost ‘are not wearing” had John giggled.

As for the flogger and the riding crop and all the other things Sherlock had shopped for, John found out that they looked worse than they were and after he had tried them on his own arm, he agreed that they wouldn’t do any lasting harm.

And Sherlock admitted that he had used nipple-clamps before. A thought that made John’s erection even harder.

So of course it ended up the way Sherlock wanted it...even if it was ‘Captain Watson’ who was in charge. John was actually a bit flattered, as Sherlock admitted that John’s pulling rank then back at Baskerville and then later at the barracks in the case of the murderous photographer at John and Mary’s wedding, had given him an erection.

John had laughed as Sherlock had suggested the safe-words “Anderson” and “Mycroft”...but they had agreed that the words ‘green, yellow and red’ would do just as good.

And then they went into the bedroom.

_______________________________

Later that night as Sherlock slept a very sated sleep besides John, John was lying awake thinking about how wonderful his life with Sherlock was.

He bowed his head a bit and kissed Sherlock’s hair, “I do not know what I’ve done to deserve you, Sherlock. You are my everything. I have the rest of my life to show you how much I love you. In every way. Fulfil every need you may have. Be your best husband/lover/blogger/companion and..” John took a deep breath before he continued, “Dom...if that is what you need too.”

And then John snuggled closer to Sherlock and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Many years had passed. John and Sherlock had been married more than 11 years now and this chapter of their life, living in London, in Baker Street 221B, came to an end. Mrs. Hudson had died 5 years ago, and even if her niece, Mrs. Hudders, newly widowed, had moved in and had been ‘not-their-housekeeper’ almost as fulfilling as Mrs. Hudson had been, it had not been the same....even if the shortbread, the scones and the famous ‘casserole’ had remained the same. The scent from Mrs. Hudson’s ‘herbal soothers’ was gone forever though.

John’s and Sherlock’s lifestyle had taken its toll too, with a lot of scars and injuries and a lack of speed when they tried to outrun the criminals and after Lestrade had retired and Mycroft had too, Sherlock and John had decided to move to Sussex and let the criminals do their jobs in peace.

After Moriarty and Magnussen...and Mary from TAB, it was as if the criminal had just been a pale version compared to the previous super-villains. No longer megalomaniacs thirsting for world-domination. Just plain ordinary criminals. Sometimes Sherlock wondered if he would have found the world too dull, if he hadn’t met John and would have chosen Moriarty’s method to avoid boredom.

Mycroft  had never really recovered after the assassination that had left him bleeding in his house and had Sherlock turned into a very scaring cold and calculating killer-machine, that had deduced, hunted and killed the culprits in only 7 days. Lady Smallwood had intervened this time and Sherlock had learned his lesson and not killed the two guilty men in front of others, and no one had been charged.

So.....moving out. They had decided to keep Baker Street, and let Mrs Hudders stay for free (Sherlock and John had inherited the house when Mrs. Hudson died) so they would have central accommodations to live in, when they sometimes returned to London. And of course the ‘spare bedroom’ would be at Mrs Hudders' disposal, since Sherlock no longer would need a laboratory.

____________________________

John was already in Sussex taking care of furniture and painting and Sherlock would finish the last packing in Baker Street and take the next train early the next morning.

Sherlock was in his...no their...bedroom and he was staring at something in his hand.

He had really thought that his secret hiding place had been empty. But just to be sure he had checked one extra time. When he had been allowed into his flat to pack a few necessities before he had been sent to Eastern Europe after he had shot Magnussen, he had found the secret room under the floorboards filled.

Courtesy of Billy Wiggins, who could read newspapers and sometimes more secret government folders too and who had a key to at that time Sherlock’s flat. Not ‘John and Sherlock’...just ‘Sherlock’. And Wiggins had known what would happen to Sherlock and had filled the hidden room with everything Sherlock could need for...well, let’s just speak the truth..for Sherlock’s suicide.

Sherlock shook his head. Billy had been such a good friend and it had been so unfair that he, after he finally had been clean for years, would die from cancer.

Sherlock looked again at his hand. He had thought that he had gotten rid of everything from that room, but there were still two of the old vials left. The original stuff that had sent him on a time travel. He wondered if it would still work? He was so tempted.....more so because he would like to tell Holmes that he was so happy now.

The bed should remain and Sherlock sat down on it. The movement with the tourniquet was so familiar, even if it had been so many years ago. He filled the old-fashioned syringe and pressed the piston down.

First he thought that the drug had been too old, but then he felt that woosh again.

In his cottage in Sussex Sherlock Holmes, now 98 years old felt a feeling he hadn’t felt for many, many years.

“Is that you, Sherlock!?” he asked.

“It is me, yes.”, was Sherlock’s answer.

“You took your time.”, remarked Holmes dryly, “and you came too late.”

“Too late?”

“Too late to prove me wrong and prove Watson right. He kept saying that you just couldn’t return, but was still alive. I disagreed. What has happened?”

And Sherlock told about the drugs that he couldn’t recreate. About Mary, and the baby Minna and Moriarty’s organisation, his version of TAB and Sherlock’s marriage to John.

“Well I’m glad on your behalf....and very envious too.” ,was Holmes remark.

They talked a bit more, about WW1 and WW2 and everything had been as Sherlock had predicted. Holmes and Watson and Mycroft had avoided great losses in 1929, but had had to lose some of their fortune, if they didn’t want to come under suspicion.

Holmes was now 98 and John had died three years prior at the age of 98 too.

“Mycroft died rather early. He died at the age of 90.”, told Holmes and Sherlock had thought that an age of 90 was rather impressive actually.

“How do you manage without John?”, wanted Sherlock to know. To be left alone without John was Sherlock’s worst nightmare.

“I thought I couldn’t live without him, Sherlock. But he asked me to continue. To write our stories down. This time correctly and with the real names. They are in a bank box and are to be released after my death. All the clients.....everybody..... in those stories are dead now. I’m the last remaining ‘ rough elephant bull’, Sherlock. And I’m soon so finished and tired...”

Holmes paused and then he continued,"I still have the little case with the blue lining. And I plan to use it before I become more of a nuisance. My nieces and nephews are old people now too and their children are old. I manage on my own a while yet, but not for long. And I plan to go before I can’t make such a decision any more.  I’m glad that you came by. It has been a pleasure and a privilege to know you, young Sherlock. Use your life wisely. Goodbye.”

And with that Holmes actually pushed Sherlock out. Sherlock didn’t care though. The drug was old and weak and he had already felt the drag from his own time.

“Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock was lying in his own bed his last night in Baker Street 221 B.

But this was not the end. It was a new beginning. Together with John. Sherlock smiled and texted:

“Finished at Baker Street. I’ll catch the first train tomorrow. Put on the kettle. Love you. SWH”

And two minutes later he got an answer back.

“Miss you. Bedroom is ready and the bed is made. I’ve bought wine. Love you too.JWH”

Sherlock smirked and texted back:

“Remember to buy lube and put some oil on the riding crop. SWH”

And now it only took 10 seconds before the answer came back:

“You brat. Now I’ve got a boner that will have to be left alone until you come home. Don’t walk. Order a taxi. Hurry home. Good night. I love you.JWH”

And then 2 seconds after:

“And you keep your hands above the duvet as well! JWH"

Sherlock  hurried to answer:

“Yes, Captain. Sir! SWH”

And he smiled as he undressed and slipped under the duvet. Setting his phone to wake him early. During the night the smile was still on his lips.

And in Sussex John was smiling during his sleep to. Life was good...and a lot safer in Sussex. Retirement wasn’t that bad. When you do it young enough!