Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"That is not a question,” Sherlock answered from the couch where he lay. His hands were in prayer pose. A pillow lay under his curly head, just so.
"It is a question, and I’m asking you." John said sitting in the chair closest to the sofa so that they could talk.
It wasn’t his chair. It wasn’t as comfortable, but it was passable.
"It's ridiculous. I don't want to answer,” Sherlock quickly snapped.
"You have to answer,” John responded patiently.
"I don't want too."
"Why? and if you say, ‘it's ridiculous,’ I'm pouring bleach over your spores."
"That's a delicate experiment, and it's a very unfair threat."
"It's a promise. Now answer the question."
"I don't know how." Sherlock thought it through for a moment. "You already know that I’m a selfish arsehole."
"The questions stands."
"Fine. I shall think on it."
John watched Sherlock place his hands into prayer pose and he continued to lay on the couch. The only difference now was that his attention had wandered off into another place as he pondered the matter.
John shook his head.
He got up and wandered away towards the kitchen, so he could start on dinner. He knew that Sherlock would get back to him when he’d thought about it enough.
John hadn’t brought the subject up again. He’d found over the years that it was best not to. Sherlock didn’t forget unless he purposefully overrode the issue. So, John let it lie.
A week or so later, Sherlock was sitting in his chair and John in his. Sherlock was thinking as John read the paper.
"I've decided," Sherlock said suddenly.
John lowered the paper and looked up just enough to look at the man.
"My preference,” Sherlock clarified.
John neatly folded his paper. He set it aside and then waited for him to elaborate on the matter.
When Sherlock didn’t immediately expand on his remark, John asked, “Your preference in what?”
“Our discussion.”
“Which?”
“Wishes. You asked me to think it through.”
“Ah,” John said remembering. “And did you think it through?”
“My first reaction in this would be to be selfish and wish for something that thrills and entertains me. Like a good serial killer with many twists and turns. But I know that would upset you. So, I opt to be generous and I will say, that I would wish for my siblings to have the companions that they desire."
"You have to be careful, Sherlock. When making wishes the wording to the wish is always the stuff of horror movies. One wrong word and the meaning of the wish could turn out entirely wrong." John tilted his head. "People always want. But they don't always know what they need. For instance, your brother might imagine that he needs someone just like him, when in reality he needs fun, adventure, sex, romance... a reason to go outside. While your sister...only God knows what's happening in her head. I know that she wants you at her side, always. But maybe what she needs is a different kind of friendship, one with friendship, love, and curiosity."
"Interesting. I see your point. Well then, I wish that my troublesome siblings had what they need most in life to make them happy… without endangering others."
"Simple. Surprisingly selfless. I like it. What might the world look like if this wish were granted?" John smiled a little and answered himself, "Eurus would have a friend to keep her company. Perhaps even to keep her sane. Mycroft, he needs someone to talk to. Someone to come home too. Normalcy, I believe it's called."
Sherlock didn’t immediately respond, but he did listen.
John felt encouraged and continued. "Now the who? I'll tell you who I’d chose for Mycroft if you tell me your choice."
"I choose to abstain, John."
"Greg,” John said without hesitation. “He hasn't dated since his divorce. All he does is work. They both could use someone special."
"Boring. And, ugh."
"Eurus is harder. She is so different. Can't exactly get her a puppy. I'd say a computer program that she can't mess with. One that can mirror her intellect, keep her so that she can't hurt people. I equate this in my mind much the same as our relationship. We're a team, but in a very real sense I have an almost nanny like responsibility towards you."
"Nanny-like?" Sherlock parroted in surprise and a bit a horror.
"When was the last time you cooked?” John countered. “Or, did your own laundry? How much does milk cost?"
"All things that I don't care about," Sherlock replied easily.
"You've made my point."
"Since I don't know what the point of this is, I’m not sure I care."
"The point is that, all humans need social interaction on some level. And, I need your input?"
"On what?"
"My suggestions for Mycroft and Eurus."
"Are we still discussing this?"
"We never stopped. Do you agree with my assessment?"
Sherlock shook his head a little and dropped his hands to the arms of his chair. "Why do you see Mycroft with Lestrade? Mycroft’s a snob. Lestrade’s has no luck with relationships. And, they're both workaholics."
" And they both love you more than you deserve. I would hope that Greg would pull Mycroft out into the world that he so efficiently runs."
Sherlock turned so he could look directly at John. He clearly said, "Mycroft loves humanity, it's people he can’t stand. Why are you doing this?"
John thought before answering, "Out of your generation, I’m the closest thing to a healthy relationship that the three of you have been able to achieve. And, I threaten you regularly."
"So, your answer is, because everyone deserves to have their own John Watson?"
They both laughed.
Smiling, John easily said, "Yes, I guess so."
"Then forget the computer program. I don't trust computers or Eurus,” Sherlock said with a sneer. “This planet has 8 billion people. I’m sure that there is one person on this heap of rocks that can entertain my sister."
"You think? Would they be insane?" John asked hoping to not sound insulting.
"I don't know what she sees in me. Or, why she fixated on me. Perhaps there's another somewhere that could do that for her. She's like a child wanting to play."
"You keep busy with solving crimes and you have a danger-junkie partner. Entertainment on her level. What would that look like? Your sister is a master manipulator with a keen understanding of human psychology, she needs a partner wo can surprise her, temper her tantrums, make her feel seen, while giving her direction."
"Music." Sherlock stated deftly. “You’re thinking of controlling her with a collar. She’d never allow it; none of us would. But a mystery? A puzzle that evolves as it progresses?”
“Rapt attention,” John said catching on. “A person is able to create their own mental prison so easily. In this case the mystery would hold her… at least until it’s completion.”
Sherlock smiled a bit amused. “An interesting thought exercise, but highly improbable.”
“Music,” John repeated as he nodded. “You said Eurus won’t talk anymore. Her music is her voice.”
John got up from his chair and walked away to his room.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John spent all his free time researching on the internet. He hated that Disney movies kept popping up. Popular culture movies and fictional works continued to bring up fantastical stories that he didn’t want. When he’d exhausted all internet key words and phrases, he redoubled his efforts by concentrating on the oldest cultures in the Middle East.
Ancient Sumerian cuneiform dated back to 3500 B.C., while the earliest Egyptian hieroglyphics didn’t come along until 3100 B.C. He concentrated on those cultures since they were all he had in the form of original sources. Differentiating between fantasy and documentation was a problem. As with any story, once it’s told and retold enough times something is often lost while more is often embellished.
It was interesting when he discovered the concept of a fair system of karmic justice was not something that Sumerians believed in. The deities in their pantheon were, at best, overseers to humanity. They did as they pleased to individuals no matter how good a life a person lived. When it came to granting wishes, any of the deities in the Sumerian pantheon could grant or punish as they wished, even if each was worshipped for particular reasons.
When he moved away from research into the Sumerians, John sped through the ancient Egyptians. There wasn’t much there for him to pick up on.
Then came the far more recent Islamic Middle Eastern writings which spoke of Djinns which were supernatural spirits that were invisible which could grant wishes. These entities, however, were considered to be shape-shifters which were capable of ugly temperaments and wrath. They often tricked humans into doing wrong.
As John continued to read, he came across all kinds of references implying that they were often tied to a talisman or object. In the literature the Jinn were sometimes punished, captured, or tricked into being bound to the object. Because of its enslavement, the Jinn was then forced to do as the owner of the talisman desired.
The Jinn themselves were often described as being made of fire. From that point, descriptions ranged from demon-like creatures to almost human. There were various types of Jinn described because there were different kinds. Bottom line, supernatural, not necessarily a human loving entity. Although they could possibly bring an individual their fondness wishes, they were associated with misfortune, trickery, and death.
John sat back in his chair.
His mind went back to his dabbling’s into Buddhist teachings while he’d been in college. The absence of desire is happiness. Desire is the root of all evil. Desire can be classified as four types of desire are physical (water, food, etc.), intellectual (curiosity), sexual desire, and economic (money) desire.
John inhaled deeply and exhaled in defeat.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John went down the steps with heavy feet. He clunked down the steps one at a time hating that he felt he had too. A part of him felt the way that Sherlock often behaved; a petulant child being made to eat his vegetables.
Once at the bottom of the stairs, John found Sherlock sitting in his chair plucking gently at the strings of his violin.
He wasn’t either playing it nor tuning it.
He plucked a string and then listened to it fully as the sound bounded around the room. When he got into this kind of mood; John thought it rather looked like meditation.
He sighed and did his best to accept his fate.
John walked directly to his chair. He sat and then waited.
Eventually, Sherlock stopped plucking. He opened his eyes and inquired, “Yes?”
“We need to talk.”
John hadn’t meant it to sound as if he was trying to break up, but that’s how it sounded to his ear.
John carefully sat in his chair as he mentally tried to prepare himself for what was about to happen.
“You look…anxious. Anxious? Did I get it right?”
“Yes,” John huffed out. “Very good. I keep thinking that I’m not going to enjoy this conversation. I know how you can get. Please listen to everything that I have to say before you start.”
Sherlock only watched John. Finally, he nodded and said, “Judging by your rambling it’s definitely anxiety.”
“Right,” John said thinking wildly. Finally, he decided not to beat around the bush. “I’m just going to say it. I think I have the equivalent of a genie’s lamp.”
John let the information settle into reality.
A full two minutes passed without either of them doing anything other than looking at one another.
“You’re not going to comment,” John asked.
“I wasn’t going to. You haven’t finished your joke.”
“Joke? It’s not a joke. I have a thing that grants wishes.”
Sherlock didn’t even blink.
John sagged back in his chair.
“There are times,” Sherlock began. “That your sense of humor escapes me.”
John looked down at the carpet. “We were on patrol that day. We walked through some old ruins. That might be to generous a word. They were a few standing stones, remains of stone walls. Normally I would have paid much more attention, but I saw something in the sand. Usually, it was all hot, sand: beige, brown, red, or black. That day it was a dreary beige sand. I saw something black in it, not an IED. I toed it with my boot and it was something metal. I bent over. I picked it up. Next thing, it felt like a sledgehammer knocking me over.”
“John-
“Let me finish.”
Sherlock looked away and then nodded.
“I was the medical personnel in my unit. Our medic got reassigned the day before. We were asked to go on the patrol. Easy. Nothing extraordinary. It should have been cake. Then I get shot. Our unit is pinned down by those few stone walls. Three shooters. Three different directions. We walked right into the trap they set.”
John swallowed hard. He breathed in and out a few times trying to calm the tension that was growing in my body.
“Everyone receives basic first aid in training. Problem is that basic first aid isn’t going to cut it when someone has a blown-out artery in the leg. When I got a real good look I realized, I was a dead man. I talked them through applying pressure bandages and a hemostatic agent. Direct pressure with their hands.”
John swallowed hard.
“The attacks were coordinated. We were just stupid enough to step into a trap. The F.O.B. was also being attacked. The evac was thirty minutes out.”
John felt itchy all of a sudden. He scratched at his head and then his neck.
“Listening to me carrying on about the unfairness of it all wouldn’t have exactly been a moral boost. I grit my teeth and tried to die quietly while the bullets kept flying.”
John raised his right hand and said, “It started to get hot in my hand. All my thoughts, every cell in my body, I kept praying, ‘please God don’t let me die.’ Over and over.”
Their eyes were locked.
Sherlock didn’t dare speak.
This was a story that he’d never shared these details.
“My entire body felt like it was on fire. Blood loss and trauma can cause all manner of side effects…Something happened. I died a few times, but I kept saying, ‘let me live.’” John chewed his lip. “I kept falling back and then getting…pushed back up. Until, it stopped. My unit even commented to me how weird it all was. Apparently, I caught on fire at one point. My clothes and equipment.”
Carefully, Sherlock said, “John-
“Don’t,” John quickly snapped. “I’m not crazy. I know what happened. When I got to the hospital in Germany, I found it in my gear. I haven’t touched it with bare skin since. I was tempted when you died, but I wasn’t sure what would happen to you if I wished for you to return. It felt wrong to cheat that way. And, I also wanted it so badly that I was afraid.”
John watched Sherlock’s sharp eyes. He saw the thoughts flooding behind his eyes. He saw the turmoil churn quickly and then suddenly it was gone.
Sherlock sat up a little straighter and asked, “Why now?”
“Because I don’t need anything. I have a job I like. My blog is actually providing me with a small income which I’m putting directly into Rosie’s college fund. You. I have you…I have friends. I don’t need anything.”
“And that makes a difference?”
“Asking for something when you don’t need it is a lot different than asking for it when you’re desperate.”
Sherlock was thoughtful again for a moment. “Logically, I know that you understand that what you experienced could all have stemmed from your injury, trauma, dehydration, blood loss, fear, adrenaline, etc.”
“I know all of that. I still stand by my statement.”
Sherlock actually sounded gentle when he said, “We both know that I don’t believe this.”
John nodded his head without hesitation.
Instantly, Sherlock looked relieved. “Good. Then I am going to challenge you a bit by asking you to prove it.”
“And now you understand my previous questions. Between the two wishes that you indicated, which is more unbelievable?”
“Mycroft dating…anyone. Anyone at all.” Sherlock crossed his legs. He considered the matter and then added, “Rather sounds like the beginning of one of those silly jokes.”
John didn’t have to think long to say, “Mycroft walks into a bar with his date?”
“Puh! Rum! Puh!” Sherlock quickly rattled.
They both laughed.
John felt the tension leave his body. As the mirth ebbed away, he smiled. He marveled yet again that this was his closest friend. The warmth and happiness that he could find with something so simple as a conversation.
John looked at his friend. “In all seriousness, would it convince you that I’m telling you the truth? I need to know because I’m going to be very truthful here. I don’t look forwards to setting myself on fire again just for a game. There will be no repeat performances on a whim, a dare, or a challenge.”
“Then I hope nothing happens. No one should really have that kind of ability, to rewrite reality.”
“Agreed,” John said quickly. “This brings up the one point of contention in this situation. What if it isn’t what they want. I need to know that there might be something there before I do this. Have you ever seen Aladdin?”
“A middle eastern folktale associated with One Thousand and One Nights?”
“And in pop culture, it’s a reference to several movies, cartoon, and animations. In the movies there are usually rules associated with wishes and the granting of wishes, such as Disney’s Aladdin. There are four rules stated. Generally, you can’t wish for someone’s death. You can’t make someone fall in love. You can’t bring anyone back from the dead. And, you can’t wish for more wishes.”
Sherlock considered it. “Though these rules sound plausible, the concept of supernatural entities able to grant wishes pre-dates the concepts of justice systems doling out fairness and equality.”
“I ran into that concept in my research. The oldest history and stories all make it sound like a game that powerful creatures are playing. They pretend to give you exactly what you want only to take it away somehow, like a big con game.” John shrugged. “For all I know whatever is trapped in that thing is just waiting for me to touch it again.”
“You’re frightened.”
John immediately sat forwards and said, “I’m not stupid, Sherlock. I know what I felt. With a little luck, I’m crazy and all of this will be a moot point.” He sat back a little. He took a deep breath and said, “We should invite them to dinner. At the same time. If you see anything, and I mean anything to indicate that they might be interested. Then, I’ll go through with it.”
Sherlock fell silent as he watched John.
“Just humor me,” John said simply.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They planned the dinner together.
Or rather, John badgered Sherlock until he gave his input. By this method, they put together a menu. John had Sherlock not only write but also deliver invitations for the evening.
John carefully instructed Sherlock that when the two other men asked questions about it, to say, “John and I are trying to be adults. We are having a dinner party. Please come.”
John even drilled him and had Sherlock repeat it until he didn’t sound snotty, angry, bored, or like he was planning to poison the food.
John stopped off at a thrift store that was on his way from work. He bought table linens with matching napkins, and a set of napkin rings. And, he even found a rather nice set of wine glasses to go with the one nice platter that they owned. They owned that platter because it had been in one of the cabinets when they had originally moved in.
The real find had been the Dutch oven pot; he couldn’t reach for it fast enough when he saw the price tag of ten pounds for the seven-quart cast iron pot.
The day before, John called one of Mycrofts' office's and was able to get ahold of Anthea. He confirmed Mycroft’s attendance.
Then he called, Greg.
“Sorry to bother,” John said in greeting. “I’m just making sure that you’re still coming because I’m about to start cooking.”
“Don’t go through too much trouble, John.”
“No, trouble. I love the idea of having all my friends at one table. I suspect that this will be great fun.”
“Unless I catch a big case.”
“Right. I’m putting lamb on the table and I hope that no one dies.”
“See ya, John,” Greg said with a little bit of a laugh.
They scheduled the dinner party for Friday. John figured it might be a nice selection for slow braising in the Dutch oven pot. He also hoped crime took a rest, the world governments didn’t want to start a war, and that both men could find their way to their table for an hour at least.
John spent all week cleaning. He even strong-armed Sherlock into helping. Between them the entire place was vacuumed, dusted, and wiped down with disinfectant. John cleaned the kitchens and bathrooms. All laundry was hidden in Sherlock’s room.
John even promised Sherlock a pint of his own blood in exchange. That’s when Sherlock relented and put away the lab equipment.
John bought a few air fresheners. He’d been unpacking his groceries when Sherlock commented, “Mycroft will hate that. He has the nose of a blood hound.”
John then finished putting away the groceries and then took the offending air fresheners back to the store. He returned them. Then, he bought another that was far more subtle and clean smelling. At first, he had a three-pack of air fresheners in his hand. Then, he reconsidered again. John opted for one air freshener and a bottle of odor neutralizing spray that he could spray on all the furniture, curtains, and rugs.
Come five o’clock, Friday evening, John was ready. There was a lamb in the Dutch oven pot stewed with carrots and parsnips in a wine sauce. One side dish of green beans and one of cabbage were each warming. There was a basket of fresh bread and a dessert from a nearby bakery. The table was set. And, Sherlock was dressed and willing to provide a good attitude for the evening.
The first knock on the door came at one minute after five.
John opened the door to find Mycroft standing with his ever-present three-piece suit, umbrella, and a bottle of wine in hand.
“Good evening, John,” he said with the same elegance that he used in every other aspect of his life. He offered the bottle of wine in his hands saying, “Le cadeau for the host of our little soirée.”
John looked down at the bottle. It felt heavy for its size and even the label looked far too expensive. “I’d expect nothing less from you. Oh, and Sherlock is on his best behavior tonight or I’m going to burn all of his good shirts. There will be no experimentation or testing on anyone. Please be assured that I’ve threatened him properly.”
Mycroft smiled a little. He nodded and said, “That is comforting. I was wondering what all this was about."
“Growing up,” John answered. “We’ve never had a dinner party. So, it’s about bloody time.”
“How…” Mycroft stalled as if his batteries had suddenly run out. He found enough energy and thought to finally add the word, “adult.”
“Come in. Let me take your coat. I hope that you’re hungry. We still expecting one more guest and then we can sit down to eat.”
John took the man’s coat. As usual, he caught a slight whiff of his cologne. It smelled subtle and expensive, just like Mycroft.
“Dinner smells quite good,” Mycroft said easily.
John wasn’t done putting the man’s coat on a hanger when there was another knock.
John opened the door to find Lestrade standing with a cardboard box and a bag in hand.
“Hey, I brought a gift,” he declared happily.
“I see,” John said already smiling as he reached for the offered box.
“I was going to do something traditional, but none of us really are. I got these at a car boot sale. Bloke was a professor or some such. Sadly, he passed, and his arsehole grandkids were selling off everything.”
“That’s awful. That’s heavy,” John said looking down into the box. “That’s a centrifuge.”
“Yeah. The bag has all kind of glass tubes and such. Don’t tell Sherlock but I’ve got plenty more stuff at my place for a Christmas present.”
John smiled. “Greg, that’s so perfect that I don’t even know where to begin. He’s going to be quite happy with it all. Thank you.”
John put Sherlock’s gifts to one side and put up Greg’s coat.
He and Greg walked into the living room together.
John didn’t hesitate to say, “Everyone’s here, gentlemen. Shall we eat? And again, I’m going to assure everyone that there is nothing wrong with the food. I give my personal assurance.”
“What’s on the menu, John. Something smells like lamb, wine, and cabbage.” Greg asked.
“Very good. I recently bought a Dutch oven pot and I wanted to use it. I made a lamb stewed in red wine with root vegetables. The sides for tonight will be cabbage, and green beans.”
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to say, “That sounds absolutely wonderful, John.”
His friends sat at the table and John went to the kitchen. He busied himself putting food onto the serving platter and a tureen that Mrs. Hudson had let him borrow. The conversation was light and easy as he put the food on the table.
He noted that Sherlock was keeping his word and being a good host. He even poured the wine.
John couldn’t help the smile on his face.
As John sat down, Mycroft asked an odd question, “How did everyone sleep last night?”
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “Good. I sleep like the dead. No dreams. Nothing, till my alarm goes off.”
“I dreamt,” Sherlock answered. “I felt that was odd because I don’t normally dream.”
“Anything interesting?” Mycroft asked.
“I was home. Mummy was cooking. I could smell milk and cinnamon boiling. It was almost as if she was expecting me.”
Mycroft didn’t comment on his brother. He did however look at John expectantly.
John nudged his head towards Greg and said, “I sleep like him. No dreams. Dead to the world. Why are you asking?”
“Dinner conversation.” Mycroft responded. “I prepared questions since my usual conversation topics won’t work in this situation. Incidentally, the stew is excellent. Is that rosemary?”
“And mint, and thyme.”
Mycroft inhaled deeply before saying, “To me rosemary is woodsy, but I always get notes of lemon and mint.”
“Huh, Hyperosmia,” Greg said. “I thought I was the only one. Cleaning products drive me nuts. I actually get migraines.”
Mycroft wistfully said, “Yes. I can’t stand most fake scents, cleaning detergents, the sweat of some people, bleach, vinegar, all alliums in their raw state, fermented foods, anchovies, and hardboiled eggs.”
Greg responded by saying, “Dry cleaning products, mothballs, mint gum, roofing tar, fresh asphalt, and for some reason that I don’t understand, wet dog.”
John smiled and said, “You’re both freaks.” Then he turned to Greg. “Really, gum?”
“Can’t stand the minty stuff in someone’s mouth. Drives me balmy.” Greg held up his wine glass saying, “This is nice. Chocolate, cherries, lavender.” He put his nose into the glass and inhaled deeply. “Currants, and something earthy.”
“Flint,” Mycroft provided.
“That’s it.”
“I often can detect a bit of peat in the background. I often imagine that it’s because of the barrels that were used.”
Greg merely smiled and said, “This is extremely drinkable.”
Mycroft tilted his head in a little bow. Then he asked all present, “Changing the topic. Out of curiosity, how do you fellows handle daily stress release? I myself-
“What’s going on?” John asked quickly. “You’re acting weird…er than usual.”
Mycroft opened his mouth, but John quickly cut him off insisting, “I live with a Holmes. I know when something is up.”
Mycroft’s smile was disingenuous. He opened his mouth and John quickly snapped, “No.”
Greg quickly said, “Stop trying, you’re busted.” Then he turned to John and said, “Sorry. But we’re worried.”
“Pissing me off is what you’re doing. Feels like an odd intervention of sorts.”
Greg shrugged saying, “Kinda.”
“Why?” John asked. No sooner were the words out of his mouth and it dawned on him. John turned to Sherlock. “You think I’ve lost the plot!”
“John,” Sherlock began to explain. “We simply-
“Shut it!” John snapped. He then turned to his guests and said, “I confided in Sherlock about something that happened in Afghanistan when I got shot.”
“A genie?” Greg asked.
“I don’t know. Look, something kept me alive.”
“Grit. Inner-strength. Perseverance,” Greg responded.
John smiled a little. “No. And I haven’t touched it in all of these years. I wanted to prove to Sherlock and maybe even to myself that I’m not crazy. We discussed it.
John turned to look at Sherlock. Sternly, he said, “Also in private.” He turned back to the two men at his table and added. “I asked you both to dinner with ulterior motives, and I apologize for that. I wanted to see if there was any kind of spark between the two of you before I did something that couldn’t be undone.”
Greg set his wine glass down. “I don’t get it, mate. Kinda sounds like you want to wish us together.”
John smiled. “Yes.”
“Why?”
John took a moment to think before he said, “Well we discussed the matter of wishes in theory for a while. Sherlock’s wish was for his siblings. I had him pick one; Mycroft needs a life partner and so do you.”
Mycroft quickly added, “Mycroft is fine and well on his own.”
“And,” Greg added. “I will remind you what my dating life has been like since the divorce. I’m a mess.”
John shrugged. “Two birds, one stone. Give me consent.”
“Consent,” Greg asked confused. “For what?”
“To wish it for both of you. I want each of your consent.”
Greg went still for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Okay. But before the magic happens.” Greg turned to Mycroft and said, “I already have a kid and I get her as often as possible. You’ll love her.”
“It’s in your file,” Mycroft answered. “Also, I like that you find wet dog to be awful since I don’t care for pets.”
“See, that works very well for me because I work so much that I can’t even keep a plant alive.”
John smiled at the obvious jokey banter. “Ha.” John said slowly. “Ha. Ha. I’m so glad that you’re both on the same page. Do you both consent?”
“Sure,” Greg said.
“Mycroft?” John asked turning to look at him.
“If it makes you feel better, then I shall agree to give consent,” Mycroft said carefully picking his way through his words. “Also John, I feel that a rest would do wonders for you.”
“If this doesn’t work, then something is wrong. It will be proven to me. At that point, I’ll take a break from work… and Sherlock. I’ll find a minder for Rosie and I’ll book a weekend somewhere.”
Mycroft picked up his wine glass saying, “I have a nice apartment that I often use in France when I’m there on business.” Then more gently he said, “I shall be glad to offer it for a weekend of rest.”
“That’s very generous. If I might make a suggestion.” John softened his tone just like Mycroft had and replied, “That apartment in France sounds like a great fuck-pad. I hope you both paint it crusty.”
John didn’t hesitate to smile when both men blushed bright red.
Sherlock simply laughed.
Despite it all, John laughed too.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John had written it out in different ways. He wanted to get it right.
I wish that Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade begin a romantic relationship based in friendship, physical attraction, and mutual interests.
He’d already memorized it, but he needed it to be right. How many movies had he seen over the course of his life that started with a wording mistake? The idea of sending two people that he cared about into a whirl pool of obsessive insanity wasn’t something that he wanted.
John sat on his bed.
The little box that he’d put in in eight years prior was sitting on his night stand.
John had already warned Sherlock away. His door was locked. His phone was off. He turned the lights down low. He even closed the window blinds to minimize distractions.
He was ready.
His hands were shaking when he reached for the little cardboard box. It was wrapped with tape. He peeled it off slowly.
When he was done, he opened the box and stared down at it. It wasn’t much to look at. It looked much like shrapnel. There was a smooth side to it that looped in a smooth circle, as if it had once been a decorative piece of some kind. It was too big to have been jewelry.
“Right. I’m either about to help two friends fall in love or I’m taking a vacation in France.” He shrugged. “Win-win.”
He had no way of duplicating the all-consuming need that he’d felt when he’d been shot. The powerful desire to live. He had felt it in his entire body.
He laid back in his bed and spent a considerable amount of time meditating. He did his best to clear his mind. He wasn’t sure how long he meditated. Time didn’t matter.
When he finally thought he was ready, John allowed his mantra to be the only thing in his mind. ‘I wish that Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade begin a romantic relationship based in friendship, physical attraction, and mutual interests.’
He let it fill his mind. He focused directly on the only thing that he wanted. He didn’t want his mind to wander. No other thoughts.
He wasn’t sure when, but when he thought that he was ready he opened his eyes. He rolled over and picked up the black, iron thing. At one end a metal loop was still intact. The other end of it looked disfigured, and half-melted. It had seen better days.
John lay back down and closed his eyes. Out loud he said, “I wish that Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade begin a romantic relationship based in friendship, physical attraction, and mutual interests.”
Then he simply focused as hard as he could on his intention. He said the words over and over as he concentrated as hard as he could.
He wasn’t too surprised when the thing in his hand started to feel hot. He grabbed it tighter and breathed deeper.
He continued to recite the words.
He felt as if he was sweating for no reason. It was distracting. He struggled to push his body’s reactions out of his mind, so he could concentrate on the words.
He put his intention at the forefront of his mind, even when the skin on his legs began to burn. The burning spread quickly until it was hard to think.
Out loud he said, “I wish that Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade begin a romantic relationship based in friendship, physical attraction, and mutual interests.”
He was on fire.
“I wish that Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade begin a romantic relationship based in friendship, physical attraction, and mutual interests!”
“I wish that Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade begin a romantic relationship based in friendship, physical attraction, and mutual interests!”
And with those words John fell.
He felt as if he’d fallen back into an abyss. Gravity pulled him down and his stomach sank. His body braced for pain.
He wanted to scream in fear. It was an intense internal effort to push the instinct for panic and fear aside.
Instead, John shouted, “I wish that Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade begin a romantic relationship based in friendship, physical attraction, and mutual interests!”
And in the next moment, it ended.
All of it ended as if it had never happened at all.
John opened his eyes. He was still on his bed. The room was full of smoke. A horrible acrid smell; It was reminiscent of burning hair, and plastic filled the space.
Sherlock broke the door into his room. He stopped and stared, taking in the sight before him.
John began coughing.
John dropped the thing in his hand aside. As he did his back hurt when something began digging into him. His bed was suddenly horribly uncomfortable.
John winced and rolled out of bed carefully.
He straightened out and turned. He fully expected that he’d find that he’d accidently laid down on something. Instead he found that his bed was burnt. The bed springs were exposed in several places at the center. His pillow was burnt. There were feathers everywhere.
Sherlock rushed to open the windows.
Then he rushed forwards to John and began pulling off what was left of his shirt. Then he pulled at John’s pants. His clothes practically fell off. His underwear was mostly ashes.
He felt the skin on his body rise in goosebumps. It was all so very cold. It felt as if an arctic wind had suddenly blown in and everything had turned to ice.
John also felt exhausted, and more than a little dehydrated. He couldn’t steady himself. His bare feet felt frozen and numb on the icy floor.
He felt a dizzy and bit sleepy. Sherlock had to hold him up.
“Cold,” John managed to croak out.
Sherlock found John’s bathrobe hanging on the back of his door and wrapped it around him.
“Come, John,” Sherlock said quickly as he pulled his arm around him and began moving him.
John moved obediently but unseeing. He wasn’t sure where he’d been taken till Sherlock pushed him down onto the leather sofa.
John easily fell over easily onto one of the pillows.
He felt Sherlock lift his legs onto the sofa.
The shivering that he felt was full body. Instinctively, John curled up against the cold.
He felt at least one plush blanket cover him.
John thought that he was tucked in just as his body gave up and he was whisked away towards a deep sleep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John wasn’t sure how long he slept.
When he finally was able to open his tired and swollen eye lids, the light in the living room was coming in from the wrong angle. He realized that it must be afternoon or early evening…probably the next day.
He dropped his head back onto the pillow under him and allowed himself more time to wake up before committing to getting up.
Looking up John saw a mostly empty IV bag hanging on a nail above the sofa. He followed the line down to his arm. It was proof that Sherlock had tried to hydrate him.
John tried to take inventory of his body. He felt like he’d run a marathon. His body hurt. Even though he knew that he’d rested, he still felt tired.
His mouth was painfully dry. His eyes hurt. They were gritty and heavy.
Despite the IV, his entire body simply felt dry.
From somewhere in the apartment, Sherlock said, “Are you finally getting up?”
“Water,” John gasped. His throat sounded horse and weak.
John’s head was floating. He wasn’t sure how much of his current physical symptoms to attribute to dehydration and how many to attribute to the weird trip he’d experienced last night.
Sherlock took just a bit longer than John had hoped, but he did bring back the biggest water bottle that they owned. He gave it to John along with an ice pack. John didn’t hesitate to put the ice pack over his eyes. He put the water bottle’s straw in his mouth and began sucking.
He drank steadily from the bottle until it was dry.
“Sherlock,” John called out without even looking up from the ice pack. He shook the water bottle in the air saying, “Another, please.”
Sherlock stomped over and took the water bottle. He marched loudly into the kitchen and did as he was asked.
He came back and gave John the water bottle saying, “If we are both drug addicts, I shall have to rethink our association.”
“Right,” John gasped. “Because that’s what you do when you are high; you drink water. I’m dehydrated you idiot.”
“Pyromania is a mental disorder,” Sherlock said upset.
“The world’s greatest detective caught me playing with matches. Did I get burnt?” This time John removed the ice pack long enough to look up at Sherlock. “I’m serious. Did I get burnt? Because it felt like my entire body caught on fire…again.”
Sherlock looked upset when he bitterly admitted, “No burns. Your bed must be thrown out. Pillow, blankets, sheets too.”
John reached for the straw with his lips and laid the ice pack down, so he could relax.
“You have feathers in your hair,” Sherlock accused.
John only released the straw long enough to say, “I’ll shower when I can get up under my own power. I feel dehydrated. Everything hurts. Exhausted.”
“And you’re covered in soot. I took the liberty of taking samples.”
John didn’t respond.
John sucked on his straw and tried his best to drink slowly. He wanted it to absorb. He did not want to get up to run to the bathroom…just yet.
“John, we need to talk about what happened.”
John released the straw. “Call Lestrade and see if it worked. If it didn’t, I’m going to France for a rest. If it did…
John removed the ice pack. He looked up at Sherlock. “Shit. What do we do?”
“There’s no such thing as magic.”
John considered it before he replied, “I don’t know if I’m comfortable having this kind of power. And, it doesn’t feel good to go through it.”
He laid the ice pack back on his face saying, “I hope that I’m crazy. France sounds nice. Croissants and coffee. A swanky apartment. Not having to deal with your tantrums.”
To John’s amazement, Sherlock simply replied, “Very well. I shall bring you proof. Afterwards, I think that we should have a talk.”
Without hesitation, John said, “Just put me in the loony bin and be done with it. I won’t fight you…if they’re not dating.”
John continued to drink until his bladder filled up and he had to move. Despite fighting the urge, there came a moment when he had to get up.
Sherlock rushed to his side. He removed the IV from John’s arm. And then, he helped John up.
John slowly walked to the bathroom. He felt very stiff. His legs were even a little numb.
He walked carefully. With Sherlock’s help he made it all the way to the bathroom. He went right to the toilet. He opened his robe and was all too happy to relieve himself.
John turned and found the bathroom door only half closed. He was sure that Sherlock was close by monitoring him. He wanted to be angry, but he was too tired. He relieved himself quickly. Then, he turned just enough to see himself in the large mirror hanging on the back of the door. He dropped the bathrobe. John needed to see how bad it was.
He was shocked when he saw his reflection. He was covered in soot and down feathers. He was swollen. His skin was sallow. But, he had no burns.
For a terrible moment, John wondered how many people had died trying to make wishes come true with that thing. The thought made him a little sad.
He turned and check the back of his body carefully for burns or blisters. He had sleep marks from where he’d lain, but there was no damage to his skin.
He held on to the wall as he wandered into the shower. He simply wanted to stand under the running water for a week.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John laid on the couch wearing pajamas, thick socks, and cozy blanket. He was clean. He was still hydrating. He wasn’t fully recovered by any means. But, compared to how he’d woken up, he felt better.
Sherlock had walked downstairs and gone to Speedy’s. He brought back hot tea, bottled water, juice, and a few beef and lamb pasties for John. He’d only gotten the pasties because that was what he’d often take when coming around from a bender.
John was offered a cup of tea and a pasty. He was relieved when John accepted both without question.
Sherlock released a breath that he hadn’t known that he’d been holding when John took that first bite.
Neither of them felt much like talking. Sherlock turned the television on and clicked through until he found an old black and white western. He knew that John liked those.
Sherlock sat nearby. The television droned on. John remained stretched out on the couch happily eating his pasties and drinking fluids.
During the movie, John got up three times to relieve himself. Sherlock extended every sense that he had, following his movement carefully.
There were no further ‘incidents’ involving fire, wishes, or errant behavior.
When the movie was over Sherlock asked, “What would you care to watch next?”
“Depends on what’s for dinner? I’m thinking we meet Mycroft and Greg, somewhere near Mycroft’s office for convenience. Whatever’s open.”
“You’re in no condition to leave-
“Stop,” John said gently but firmly. “We need to see them together. You’ll see it immediately if they’re…if they’ve changed how they feel.”
“John-
“Proof, or I won’t cooperate. I can be stubborn. Doctor’s are notorious for being horrible patients.”
Sherlock was quiet for a long minute. When he spoke it was to say, “Mrs. Hudson has had Rosie since yesterday. She should have a rest. I’ll call Molly.”
“Thank you,” John said sincerely. Then he got up, “I’m going to get dressed. Can’t go to dinner in jimjams and fluffy socks.”
John had hardly reached the top of the stairs to his room when Sherlock called his name.
“What?”
“Dress well! Mycroft is at his club! Suit and tie!”

Chapter Text

They were expected at the Diogenes Club and were ushered right in and taken to a private meeting room.
When the door opened, they found that Mycroft and Greg were already present. The two men were sitting at meeting table. Mycroft as usual sat at the head of the table. Lestrade sat right next to him, immediately to his right. Both men were leaning forwards speaking softly.
Sherlock took one step into the room and shouted, “Why? Why would you do such a thing! I told you what happened! I’m trying to get John to a doctor and the two of you are sitting in here flirting like school girls!”
John instantly smiled at those words. He looked the two men over but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
A butler dressed in a tuxedo was suddenly behind John. He cleared his throat loudly.
John turned, “We’ll keep it down. My word. If we could have a pitcher of water and a pitcher of lemonade, please. I fear that this is going to be a long meeting.”
The butler gave a single nod. He closed the door as he left.
John turned and found Sherlock pacing the length of the room, like an angry cat. He circumvented the man and went to the table.
John didn’t hesitate to say, “Gentlemen, many happy returns.”
Mycroft went stone still.
Greg looked away.
“So,” John said with a hint of smile. “Have we thought about who will be proposing yet?”
Mycroft smiled thinly.
Greg’s body language shifted, and he looked at the ground.
Mycroft faltered when he noticed the other man. But, he still said, “Hardly, John. We simply went out for a drink. Hardly, a relationship.”
“No,” Sherlock said from where he was watching. He ran his fingers through his hair and went back to pacing.
“I see,” John said good naturedly. “Odd. In my practice never met a man who was Hyperosmic. Usually its pregnant women who suffer from it. Must be a comfort to have so much in common.”
For a moment, Mycroft only watched him. Finally, he said, “John, this isn’t a wish fulfillment. Inspector Lestrade and I only went for a drink. As you have said, it’s an uncommon occurrence.”
John sat down at the table as he asked, “A business meeting of sorts?”
“Precisely.” Mycroft produced a cold, little smile.
John nodded. With intention he seriously asked, “Did you snog at your business meeting?”
A second later, Sherlock exclaimed, “Ugh! No. No. No. No. I don’t even want to think about that.”
John tried to suppress the smile as he asked, “Exactly how often do you snog your business associates? Colleagues? Subordinates?”
This time it was Greg that said, “We had a great time at your dinner, John. The food was great. I would have asked him out to dinner after, if it hadn’t. I asked him to a drink because I know a bar that had an absolutely beautiful air purifier system. Top of the line.”
Greg turned to Mycroft. Their eyes locked. “I’ve always been attracted to you Mycroft.”
“No! No! No! My ears will bleed!” Sherlock said stomping in the background.
“I didn’t think I’d ever have a chance with you,” Greg insisted. “Then we find out that we actually have something in common. Can’t believe you agreed to a drink.”
Greg paused. He swallowed hard. His voice sounded much thicker when he said, “Can’t believe you let me kiss you.”
Sherlock aggressively pulled a chair away from the table. He set it down on the floor with an audible thud. He angrily looked at everyone at the table, each in turn. Then, he sat.
“Alright, you drama queen,” Greg said with a little shake of his head. “Go ahead.”
Sherlock sighed deeply. Calmer than anyone might have expected, he said, “Both of you heathens are meant to be helping me! Help John! You’re not meant to be experiencing mid-life calamity of a repulsive nature. Control your baser instincts and focus.”
John quickly asked, “I thought you wanted your sibling, and I quote ‘that my troublesome siblings had what they need most in life to make them happy… without endangering others’? Well, wish granted. Your brother will find deep happiness as this develops.” John turned to the two men in question and said, “You both did consent. And, congratulations.”
A little confused, Greg asked, “What exactly did you wish for?”
“Is that a joke!” Sherlock demanded. “You are encouraging a dilution, Geoff!”
John ignored Sherlock. “Wishing that someone fall in love with you is the start of many horror movies.”
“Yeah,” Greg agreed. “Seen one just last week.”
“Me too. So I wished that Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade began a romantic relationship based in friendship, physical attraction, and mutual interests. Nothing more. It’s up to the both of you to do the rest.”
Mycroft had regained his more authoritative voice as when he said, “John, while I appreciate the nice thoughts, Gregory and I are not in a relationship.”
John didn’t hesitate to say, “Greg is my friend. He just publicly stated that he was interested in you. If you don’t feel the same. I need you to say something, because I don’t want you stringing him along.”
Mycroft looked caught. He quickly looked from Greg to John. For a long moment, it appeared that he didn’t know what to say or do. Then, he turned to Sherlock and said, “Brother mine, my deepest apologies.”
“No,” Sherlock hissed. “John needs help!”
“And I need Gregory.” Mycroft turned to Greg Lestrade and said, “I’m not…stringing. I don’t think I’ve ever had quite so wonderful and evening with anyone. Usually, people in my presence find a way to make me sorry they exist.”
Greg smiled. “I want to be clear. I’m very interested in dating you.”
Mycroft blushed slightly. “I would enjoy seeing you regularly as well. My schedule permitting.”
Greg nodded. “Same. People get murdered a lot in this city, and then it’s my problem.”
Mycroft smiled a little. A real smile that reached his eyes. “With your permission, I will register our interest with my employers. My assistant will be in contact. She will have a new phone issued to you; one that I secure. It will track your location and it will combine our schedules so that you’ll know if I’m busy as well.”
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to roll his eyes. “That’s sooo romantic, brother!”
John leaned a bit towards Greg. “I know that sounded like sarcasm, but I think it’s not.”
Greg was watching Mycroft when he said, “Sounded like commitment to me.”
Greg reached under the table for Mycroft’s cool hand. He gave it a little squeeze saying, “I will take anything that you’re willing to give me. Even if it’s only an hour a week for a drink. You call me whenever and I’ll be there.”
There was a long emotion filled pause.
The two men simply gazed at each other.
Sherlock Holmes heavily dropped his head onto the table top. It was a solid thud. Everyone felt it. No one commented or paid it any attention.
John watched his two friends enjoying the beginning of what he could already see would be a long and fruitful union.
“It was worth it,” John said simply to no one in particular.
There was a knock. Then a second knock. And, then the door opened. The butler returned with a tray holding two glass pitchers and drinking glasses.
“I hope everyone doesn’t mind,” John said to the room. “But I’m going to order dinner. I’m hungry and exhausted.”
When the butler was ready, John ordered a nice roast dinner. Because Sherlock was still sitting with his head on the table unmoving, John ordered a bit of fish for him. Mycroft and Greg were somehow able to concentrate on other matters long enough to each order a meal.
John waited for the butler to leave and securely close the door behind him.
John rapped his knuckles on the table top and said, “This meeting is now in order, Gentlemen. The first matter for discussion on the docket is how I was right.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to say, “You look like shite. Did the genie’s lamp do that to you?”
“Not a lamp,” John responded. “More like a twisted piece of metal from hell. Also, yes. It takes a lot out of me.”
John picked up his knife and fork and began cutting his meat. “It’s not just making a wish. You have to be very clear and focused regarding your intention. Then when you finally touch it, you have to fight it. It’s almost like it was trying to distract me. I felt like I was set on fire; maybe I was. Then, it felt like someone pushed me off a cliff into a bottomless pit. And then, I was done.”
“Sherlock said your room was burnt and filled with smoke.”
John nodded. “I was laying on my bed. Not going to do this ever again near anything flammable. Even my clothes burnt up. Immediately after, it felt as if I was standing in a blizzard. I also experienced disorientation, severe dehydration, and dizziness.”
Greg nudged his head towards Sherlock. “He clearly believes you set a fire.”
John nodded. “Still waiting on proof that I’m crazy.”
John forked a beautiful piece of beef and dragged it through the gravy before putting it in his mouth.
A full minute, no one spoke.
Finally, it was Mycroft that said, “You have to understand that a wish for two people who have common ground to come together isn’t remarkable. If we can replicate this in another form, perhaps…
“I’m still drained of all life.”
“Of course,” Mycroft said holding a hand up. “I have a proposition. If you will hear me out.”
John motioned with his knife and fork for Mycroft to continue.
Mycroft got up and walked to a painting at the end of the room. He pushed on it and it slid up soundlessly. Behind was a panel. He pushed a few buttons and flipped a few switches.
Mycroft came back saying, “That will ensure us privacy for what I’m about to say.”
Mycroft sat down at the table. He ignored the food in front of him. Carefully, he said, “There is something called Project Odeon. Wish for it to work and I will believe you.”
John forked mashed potatoes. “Would I be wasting my time asking what it is?”
“It’s only known to the highest levels.”
“No,” John answered. “I have to trust you. More importantly, I have to trust that whatever Odeon is won’t hurt people.”
“It won’t hurt people,” Mycroft said simply.
“Neither will an atomic bomb when it’s just sitting there. I still don’t know what Odeon is.”
Mycroft carefully said, “It’s an undetectable information acquisition system.”
John carefully said, “Information can be very dangerous.”
“I’m in charge of it. I will decide where the information goes and who gets it.” Mycroft thought carefully before he added, “Napoleon Bonaparte once said, ‘if you wish to be a success in the world, promise everything deliver nothing’. I was playing politics with this project.”
“Let me guess, those chickens have come home to roost.”
Mycroft smiled without humor. “The chickens will arrive next Wednesday with bureaucrats carrying clipboards, auditors, and ill intentions.”
“Angry chickens.”
“Indeed.”
“Today is Thursday. If you’ll let me rest till Tuesday. I’ll make the wish. But I have a favor to ask. I need a place to do this. I don’t want to set fire to Mrs. Hudson’s building.”
“Done,” Mycroft answered easily.
“I’m also going to need a doctor that I can trust. The dehydration has been debilitating. I want someone watching my vitals able to tap a vein and pump me full of fluids. At that point I want a full body scan, because I want to know what the hell actually happens during and after.”
“Done,” Mycroft said just as easily.
John nodded. He thought it through and then added, “I won’t give it to you or to anyone at this table. I’ve given this a lot of thought. This thing is dangerous. I’m playing Russian roulette when I do this. I’m willing to take the risk because I somehow figured out how to do it that first time. One wrong move and it will kill you.”
Greg easily said, “I give you my word that I won’t touch it.” He looked at Mycroft and added, “I already got all I want.”
Mycroft smiled warmly at Greg, a thing that John couldn’t remember ever seeing before.
“Mycroft,” John called.
The man turned to look at John. He looked as if he were thinking it through very carefully. Dissecting the situation and weighing the angles.
“John, if Odeon is functional, I promise to leave this be.”
“Really?” John asked. “A thing that could potentially give you power, wealth, titles? It could destroy all of our country’s enemies with a thought!”
Mycroft smiled in amusement. “I have power. I have wealth. I don’t want titles; I like my anonymity. As for destroying our enemies; I would never support that. Enemies have their uses. I maintain a balance which is far more useful to our interests. If Odeon worked, it would ensure that that balance was forever tilted in our favor.”
“And that would be how exactly?” John asked again. “Rough idea, generalities are fine.”
“Inspired by old technology,” Mycroft paused. “A new way of thinking for spying on governments and terror threats. There is no possible way to make it work.”
“Do you have people working on it?”
Mycroft looked sullen as he admitted, “For the last fifteen years. It would take a miracle.”
Sherlock finally sat up. His entire face was down turned. He looked tired.
Sherlock swallowed hard. “John, please.”
John studied his friend carefully. After a long few minutes, he said, “Mycroft another favor. Sherlock is really worried about me. Do you have any psychiatrists available who could see me on short notice? I also wouldn’t turn down a physical. I’m still knackered.”
“At your apartment or at a facility? There is a very nice one that I tried repeatedly to send Sherlock too. He set it on fire, broke a window, and escaped within the first ten minutes.” Almost proud, Mycroft added, “I heard, it was a record.”
John turned to Sherlock and said, “If you finish every bite on your plate. I’ll check myself in until Tuesday morning. I’ll start the process at that point.”
“Agreed,” Mycroft said.
Sherlock looked right at John. He nodded and wordlessly picked up his fork.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After their dinner, they all said their goodbyes. It was clear that Greg and Mycroft didn’t want to part.
John hustled Sherlock along to the curb where a car was waiting for them.
John pushed Sherlock inside saying, “We’ll ask the driver to drop you off.”
As they rode along to the ’spa’, John said, “If you could pack my laptop and get the book on my nightstand. I’m also going to need my phone charger and-
“I’m coming with you.”
John blinked.
John shook his head. “I’m sorry. I think I just had an auditory hallucination.”
“You heard me.”
“Really? That was you. Not him?” John said pointing to the empty space next to Sherlock.
“Not funny.”
John shrugged. “It was a little funny.”
They both fell silent for a few moments.
It was John that broke the silence. “You have made it a career to stay out of these kinds of places. Why?”
At first Sherlock didn’t answer. He looked out the window. He suddenly found the view incredibly fascinating.
John sat back in his seat and left it alone.
They were driven to the spa in question. Turning up a dark driveway it was hard to see what the place really even looked like. The dark tinted windows didn’t help.
When the car stopped, John stepped out.
It looked like an old mansion converted into a hotel. It looked expensive and tasteful for a psychiatric facility.
John walked up the building’s front steps. He was still a bit surprised that Sherlock kept pace with him.
They were greeted at the door by a nurse. They were expected…both of them.
As if it were a hotel they were escorted to their rooms. John was given a schedule for the week. He was also given a menu for food and one for body treatments. Apparently, Mycroft hadn’t been kidding about the spa aspect.
“There is clothing in the closet for you to wear. The kitchen is open 24 hour a day. If you need anything just pick up the phone and call the concierge. Do you have any questions?”
“Yes,” John said. “My friend is convinced that I’m having a few issues with my memory. Since crazy people don’t always know that they are, I should be watched for pyromania while I’m here.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Sherlock stated.
The nurse smiled. “All of the rooms are being monitored visually. And we’ve already been warned. At this time, I have to ask, do you have any lighters or matches?”
“No. Don’t smoke.”
“Would you consent to a pat down?”
The orderly accompanying the nurse stepped forwards.
“Haven’t had one of those in a while.” John took off his jacket and handed it to the man. John held his hands out and let the man do his job.
“Sir,” the nurse said to Sherlock. “Would you mind?”
“Very much so.”
“Sherlock,” John said quickly. “If you stay, you will cooperate. You will not make it your mission in life to drive these people into a bottle. Now, hold your arms out or go.”
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. He let it go and smiled. He turned and allowed himself to be pat searched.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Again, if you need anything, just call.”
And, they were gone.
John fell back into the bed and stretched out. “I could get used to this. Soft bed, spa treatments, someone else doing the cooking, no chores. This is going to be great.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John spent the week taking complete advantage. The spa had a yoga studio, a meditation temple, and a pool. He liked that he got to start the day off with his appointment with the psychiatrist. Afterward, he went straight to an hour of yoga. He followed his practice with two hours of meditation. He had lunch with Sherlock. Afterward, he went back for another two hours of meditation. Before dinner, he liked to hit the pool. Then, he and Sherlock ate poolside. After dinner, they both went back to their room. John took a shower and dressed so they could sit on the couch and watch whatever.
It was a beautiful four days of tranquility.
On the fifth day, they left the spa. A shiny, black car with tinted windows was idling at the entrance. No one spoke, they simply got in.
They were driven to a nondescript building which looked rather rundown on the outside. They drove into an underground garage. The car stopped at a certain elevator door.
They got out of the car. An elevator arrived. They stepped inside, and the doors closed.
As it moved, John closed his eyes and silently repeated his only mantra to himself, ’Project Odeon works’ like a prayer.
Short.
Simple.
Easy.
He walked by habit slightly next to but still behind Sherlock. He even ran into him twice when the other man stopped suddenly and without warning. Still, John didn’t stop repeating his mantra. He was trying hard to get into and stay in the mental place where he needed to be.
The only thing that mattered was that, ‘Project Odeon works.’ Aside from that, nothing mattered. Not when there was talking around. Not when someone began to strip him.
Project Odeon works.
Eventually, Sherlock said, “Lay down, John. It’s on the floor next to you.”
John laid down on a cold tile floor.
Someone somewhere said, “The floor is heat resistant up to-
Someone shushed the speaker.
The noise ended.
John lay on the ground reciting the words, repeating. He pushed everything that he could out of his mind. Nothing matter except that Project Odeon works.
Nothing.

Chapter Text

“When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.”
- Oscar Wilde
John was laying naked at on the cold floor inside of a three-foot, concrete-steel reinforced bunker sitting inside of a warehouse. Outside, computers had been set up which were recording data from various monitors, and sensors. All manner of wires and cables led to the bunker. Cameras inside and outside were all pointed into that room and the one small window that allowed a visual contact with John.
The staff was limited to three people.
The first was a technician who was busy recording everything happening in the room. Mycroft’s assistant was fully engaged. Her attention constantly shifted from the laptop, back to her phone. And the third was a doctor who was ready with gear, a gurney, and a lot of monitoring equipment.
Sherlock shook his head at the sheer amount of aggrandized effort that he saw before him and hated it all. It was simply too much to prove to John that he needed help. Real help, not half a week at a spa with a third-rate psychiatrist that was easily manipulated and lied to.
Sherlock stared through the small window. He needed to be able to see John. He needed to know that he wasn’t trying to hurt himself. He wouldn’t make the mistake of taking his eyes off the man again. As soon as this…whatever this was ended, Sherlock was going to gently ask John to voluntarily commit himself. Sherlock already knew what John would need. He was willing to commit to taking care of his daughter for the duration. He was willing to do whatever needed to be done.
He heard someone approach from behind.
“He’s in good hands, brother mine.”
“We’ll need the video. The rest is overkill,” Sherlock commented.
“Soon, we’ll know.”
Sherlock bothered to look away only long enough to say, “There is no such thing as magic!”
He turned back to watch John still fuming. The anger was simply there.
Mycroft kept his tone neutral as he said, “Yesterday, we went to dinner. Then we had a drink. This morning I opened the safe and pulled out grandfather’s ring.”
Sherlock’s face tightened harshly. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Idiot!” Sherlock hissed. “All because you both are weirdos with sensitive noses?”
“It started as a wonderful surprise; another individual that understood,” Mycroft responded. Then, he nodded, “I want him very badly. With a little luck, he wants me.”
Sherlock simply shook his head.
“If that isn’t magic, brother, what is?”
Sherlock didn’t speak.
“Do you remember grandfather?”
Still, Sherlock didn’t answer.
“He was aft to say, ’When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”
“He liked to hear himself talk.”
“As do we both,” Mycroft countered. “But he was right then and he’s right now.”
Mycroft didn’t wait for an answer. He just walked away.
Sherlock then made the decision. He put his hand behind his back and planted his feet firmly into place.
He stared at John’s naked, unmoving body. Nothing was given to him after Sherlock undressed him. He had simply been allowed to lay down on the concrete floor.
As the minutes slowly began to turn to hours, Sherlock realized that he’d be freezing when he finally got up.
Sherlock quickly checked his watch at around the three-hour mark. As much as he wanted to stop it, he knew that the situation had to be made plainly clear to John. Nothing else would do, or he might fight treatment.
By the time the four-hour mark came and went, Sherlock’s mind wandered constantly as he weighed potential outcomes. He battled with himself on exactly what he might say. Something gentle. Something John would say. Perhaps he’d call Molly to help with Rosie. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of John on heavy medications. That’s what they normally did with people suffering delusions. Those medications had horrible side-effects. John’s medical work would be interrupted. Sherlock hated the idea of having to care for John as if he were an invalid. He needed John at his side; strong, clear headed, and able to be the voice of reason. He’d have to go shopping; he decided to get a delivery of groceries. There wasn’t any milk. Where there any diapers? Those were John-tasks. He briefly wondered how many other John-tasks there were that he’d never bothered to even inquire about.
An alarm went off somewhere behind him.
Sherlock didn’t allow his eyes to move away from John.
He saw it, but his mind didn’t want to acknowledge what he was seeing. He knew that John didn’t have anything in his hands, because Sherlock checked him. There were no accelerants in the room; he’d checked for that too. John hadn’t moved, aside from his lips.
“Project Odeon works,” John said loud enough to hear over the speaker.
A glow began across the length of John’s body.
That glow quickly turned into a flames that danced across John’s flesh. It was as he had used an accelerant, except the color was all wrong. Blue flames burned at a temperature between 2,600º F and 3,000º F because they have more oxygen and get hotter than organic materials, such wood, paper, or John.
It was the technician that screamed out, “Fire! Open the door! He’s on fire!”
Sherlock began to run as he screamed. “Open it! Open it!”
Sherlock was the first man to reach the massive door. He pulled up on the barricade bar, a well-balanced bar of steel that moved up on a well-oiled hinge. Sherlock was already pulling on the heavy door when Lestrade arrived. Together they worked until enough of the door had opened and Sherlock was able to slip inside.
Sherlock was met with heat, again. There was no smoke this time. No smell of burnt flesh.
He only found John laying still and quiet on the bunker floor.
“John!” he called.
Sherlock touched him with both hands but only found goose flesh. All of him, from what he could see, was freezing cold…again.
“Medic!” Lestrade called.
The squeak of metal on metal sounded as the door was opened wider to allow the gurney entry.
Lestrade reached Sherlock and pulled him away.
All Sherlock could do was shake his head.
“Let the doctor work,” Lestrade said holding him tightly enough to keep him from moving, but gentle enough to not bruise.
John was quickly checked. And IV quickly went into his arm.
“I’m going to need help loading him,” the man called out to them.
Sherlock and Lestrade moved forward as a unit. They each worked together to get the shivering man onto the gurney. The doctor quickly covered John with a metallic thermal blanket. Together they pushed him to the other end of the warehouse, the end that Sherlock had been so sure would get no use.
Upon arrival, the doctor attached John to several machines. He pulled two thick blankets out and carefully tucked John in.
The moment he was connected to a Holter monitor it was clear that John’s heart beat was slow. Much slower than it should have been. The doctor was still watching it as he put several wireless medical patches on John’s body. The machines that the patches were connected too instantly came to life with information.
“Dehydration,” Sherlock insisted. “Treat for severe cold exposure and crippling dehydration.”
The doctor lingered another minute as he stole another look at his patient before leaving.
He came back with a specialized IV with attachments that would warm bags of fluid. The doctor produced a bag of blood and one of saline. He attached the bags, connected the lines. When he was ready, he connected the new line and disconnected the one already in place.
“He had no outwards symptoms of burns or cold injury,” the doctor said confused.
“The last time, he spent two solid days trying to rehydrate his body. Pretend that he has been through a fire in a snowstorm.”
The man looked right at Sherlock. He looked as if he wasn’t believing any of it.
The doctor walked away and came back with a small bottle. He put two drops in each of John’s eyes.
The doctor left again. The man came back with a humidifier. He filled it with water. The machine was set close to John so that a tall stream of moist air fell like a waterfall next to John’s face. Moist air to keep his lungs moving.
“Right now, he doesn’t need oxygen,” the doctor insisted. “But, better safe than sorry for cold injury and dehydration.”
The doctor pulled a chair close by and said, “We have to wait and see.”
Sherlock opened his mouth as he took an aggressive step forwards. Lestrade quickly pulled an arm across Sherlock’s chest saying, “Good. Wait and see is good.”
“It’s idiotic! That’s no diagnosis!”
“Uncharted waters!” Lestrade growled back. “Wait and see. John’s tough. He prepared.”
Sherlock looked from Lestrade to the prone man laying on the bed.
“He needs to rest, right?” Lestrade pulled away from Sherlock. Slowly, calmly he said, “Last time, he needed rest. Leave him to it.”
Sherlock felt defeated and unsure. He didn’t want any of this.
Still, Sherlock nodded. He turned and went off looking for a chair of his own. He needed to sit.
He would sit at his bed until John’s eyes opened again. And then, hopefully, John would explain what was going on.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Greg didn’t walk away from Sherlock until he was sitting at John’s bedside. He was quiet and lost in obsessive thought.
S’long as he was quiet.
Greg walked back towards the bunker.
Mycroft was standing near his assistant. He was watching her laptop from a short distance away.
At first, it felt normal. The thought of Mycroft standing by like a commanding general was not an extraordinary one. But this look on his face was a little different. His forehead was slightly wrinkled as he stared at the information coming in on that screen.
Greg didn’t hesitate to walk up behind him and press his body close. He rested his head against Mycroft’s shoulder.
“I can hear you thinking,” Greg said gently.
Mycroft reached out and touched Greg’s coat saying, “This is vital.”
“Project Odious working then?”
Mycroft smiled. “Yes. Odeon is working.”
Greg was glad for Mycroft. He seemed happy. It’s what he’d wanted after all.
Without looking at him, Mycroft asked, “The object. It’s secure?”
Greg hesitated. “Yes, I secured it exactly how you asked.”
“Good,” Mycroft said absently as he stared. There was a small smile on his face. He seemed enthralled when he whispered out, “Astounding.”
He reached for Mycroft manicured fingers and gently touched them just enough to get his attention.
“You promised,” Greg whispered back just for Mycroft. “You remember that you promised John?”
This time Mycroft turned slightly to Greg before saying, “I understand. But this is real Gregory. Before it was simple conjecture; a good way to get both of them into therapy for a few days. I’ve never been able to make that happen so easily.”
Greg sighed. “John was right. He is the right man. He doesn’t want anything. That’s what it takes.”
Mycroft mumbled a little under his breath as he continued to watch the data streaming across the laptop.
Greg didn’t know what do at first. He felt as if he didn’t have the right. He debated with himself for a long minute and then made the decision.
He took a step back behind Mycroft and pressed his body against the tall man’s. He reached for Mycroft’s hips and pulled him back to him slightly. Greg laid his cheek on his shoulder. The fabric of his expensive suit was nice. He smelled nice. Good hygiene, the natural pleasant scent of his skin, and that light cologne of his; it all mixed into something uniquely Mycroft.
Mycroft was frozen to the spot.
“Please,” Greg asked in a pained voice. “Be the man that I know you are.”
“Gregory,” Mycroft said turning slightly. “I don’t know if you understand what’s-
“Better than you know…love. That’s why John asked about power, riches, and taking out your enemies. This kind of thing isn’t controllable.”
Mycroft didn’t respond.
Gently, Greg repeated. “Be the man that I know you are.”
Anthea lowered the laptop screen. She turned in her chair. She looked directly at Mycroft and calmly said, “You should take a break, sir. I have it.”
“It’s changing by the moment!” Mycroft insisted.
“And you will get a report later. All you can do right now is stand there and obsess.”
“Anthea-
“I think the Detective Inspector wants your attention, sir. I approve of him. He’s handsome. I think that he genuinely likes you and is concerned for you. Don’t screw it up, sir.”
Without another word she turned around in her chair and went back to work.
Mycroft had to think; He usually did. Despite his dedication to his career and prevailing common sense, Mycroft reached for Greg’s hand. They easily threaded their fingers together.
Still it took Mycroft another moment or so. Finally, Mycroft pulled him away.
They didn’t need to go far. Mycroft simply wanted a little privacy.
“Is John alright?” Mycroft finally asked.
“Getting there. The doctor is handling it.”
“I apologize,” Mycroft said quickly. “I should have asked sooner. It was selfish.”
Mycroft shook his head. “This isn’t exactly an ordinary situation that we find ourselves in.”
“No. Will you honor your promise, darling…Mycroft,” he said quickly. “Sorry.”
“No. Don’t be. I rather enjoyed being called a pet name. I suppose I’ve been far too imposing for such trivialities.”
“No one?” Greg asked.
A little embarrassed, Mycroft simply shook his head.
“You won’t mind. Because every time I’m with you I want to call you something…familiar. But I also don’t want to embarrass you.”
“You won’t,” Mycroft said quickly. Perhaps too quickly.
Greg smiled a little but then it faded quickly. “I know your work is important. There’s just something that I need to say. It’s been burning through my gut all day.”
Mycroft willed himself to let go of the other man’s hand. He turned to face him so that they could talk.
Greg hesitated. At first, nothing came out. The speech that he’d prepared flew out of his head. He suddenly felt stupid. He decided to just say the bare bones of it.
“I think I’m falling for you. I don’t know what you want or what you need. I…just want you to know that I’m here. No matter what happens. Even if I don’t get to touch you ever. I’ll be…right here.”
Mycroft felt as if he’d stopped breathing. He looked into the eyes of the man in front of him and knew that he was speaking truthfully and from the heart.
“I believe you,” Mycroft responded. “You are an incredible person. I wouldn’t feel right, Gregory, if I didn’t tell you that you can do better.”
“So can you, love. You know my history, perhaps better than anyone. I’d love to tell you that I come from nothing, but I don’t even know enough to claim that much. Let me be the one you come to when you need sex, your dirty work, anything. I’ll give you anything you need.”
Mycroft smiled a little. It was a humorless smile that radiated pain.
“No,” Mycroft said easily. “I’ll tell you why.”
Mycroft put his hand into his pants pocket as he reached for Greg’s hand.
“Turns out,” Mycroft said. “That I already made a decision.”
Mycroft knelt on one knee as he brought out the ring.
“I have a question, Gregory.”
“I should say no,” Greg insisted. His eyes were full of tears. “Gregory isn’t even my name.”
“I know. I had everyone in your life interviewed. From the moment when you were left at the first orphanage to the day you met my brother. And, I don’t care.” Mycroft held the ring up a little closer to Greg saying, “Please be my husband? I seem to have fallen in love with you as well.”
The tears fell heavily from Greg’s eyes. “I have one condition. You’ll let me take your name. I want a name that actually means something to me.”
Mycroft smiled. It was genuine. His eyes lit up brilliantly as he looked up at Greg. He placed the ring on Greg’s ring finger, but it was a little small. Mycroft found that it fit better on the pinkie finger.
Mycroft rose to his feet saying, “We shall have it resized. It was my grandfather’s, a family heirloom.”
“Are you sure that you want to-
“Yes. I’ve never been surer of anything before in my life, Gregory. I can’t promise to make it easy for you. I’ve been told that I’m-
“If what you’re about to confess came from Sherlock, ignore it.”
“But I am obsessive-compulsive in nature. I drive people round the bend, dear.”
“Dear?”
“Do you like it?”
“I could get used to it. And as for the rest, we’ll figure a way through.” Greg reached up and stroked Mycroft’s hair a little, just the two hairs that were out of place. “I will try very hard to make you happy, darling. I want you to be able to stand next to me and be proud. Because God knows that I am whenever you walk in the room.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sherlock had removed his jacket and shoes, so he could get into bed with John. He wrapped around the man as he shivered.
The first time, Sherlock had put a heating pad on his chest, multiple blankets, and a hot water bottle at his feet. This time, there were no such amenities. Although Sherlock knew that shivering meant his body was warming up, he simply couldn’t sit by and do nothing.
He stayed where he was blowing warm air against John’s neck. He rubbed the man’s chest. He alternated the actions. And showed more patience then he'd even had before.
It didn’t take long for John to open his eyes. He quickly smiled when he saw Sherlock.
“You’ll be fine soon,” Sherlock murmured.
“One more,” John said.
John looked as if he was spending considerable effort when he produced one final coherent thought and word, “Eurus.”
A moment later, John’s eyes closed as he passed out.
“That’s normal, sir,” the doctor said as he wrote on his clip board.
Sherlock rested his head down on the pillow and rested his forehead against the side of John’s face.
Outwardly, he was calmly lying next to his friend. His only movements were to gently rub John’s chest. Inwardly, his mind raced. Sherlock’s heart rate even sped up. He even began to sweat a little.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed.
Mycroft was shaking him slightly.
Sherlock slowly looked at him. Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he lay there. Apparently, long enough to get Mycroft’s attention.
Sherlock sat up and looked at the monitor. John’s temperature was only one degree away from normal. Sherlock smiled a little in relief.
He got up from the bed and removed himself as carefully as he could. He took the time to make sure that John was tucked in before walking away with his brother.
“Odeon?”
“Rolling along and producing results. It’s actually rather exciting. My technicians are still wondering what’s happened. It’s as if somewhere, something, just clicked.”
“Clicked?” Sherlock repeated. He looked around at the wide space of the cavernous warehouse. “Click,” Sherlock said definitively pronouncing the K.
Sherlock nodded. He turned to his brother and said, “Never again. This is real. I can’t allow him to risk his life for your aspirations.”
“Hardly my aspirations, brother mine. Besides, you have no need to lecture me. Gregory expects far more of me and I am trying very hard to be that man. Apparently, he thinks of me in very high esteem.”
“Poor him when he finds out. In the meantime, where is the thing?”
“Gregory was the one that put it under lock and key. It’s a lock that he programed with his own alpha-numeric code. I have no way of opening it.”
“You expect me to believe that drivel?”
“Believe what you like. My fiancé is right over there if you wish to question him.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. She shook his head again. He thought it through before he said, “I want to retch, but I’m sure mummy will be thrilled.”
“Yes, the thought has gone through my head. When Gregory and I are married, they shall finally have a grandchild. They’ve always wanted one of those.”
“No other way to really get one,” Sherlock said in agreement.
“Agreed.” Mycroft turned to his brother and asked, “How is he?”
“Drained. Exhausted. Dehydrated. If nothing else he’s finally warm. The immediate cold is usually debilitating.” Sherlock then stared off as doubt again ran through his head. “The flame was blue. Complete and efficient combustion in burning gas. It can also signify burning Sulphur.”
“I would have smelt Sulphur a mile away,” Mycroft replied. “No gas. The room was clear. He was naked and never moved except to speak.” Mycroft took a moment to think it through before he carefully added, “I also had a brief exam done of the object.”
Sherlock didn’t object. He only perked up. Mycroft felt encouraged to continue. “They tell me that it is simply a very old piece of metal. High iron content with many impurities.”
Sherlock dropped his head as the deductions filled his face.
“Yes, I keep coming to the same horrible conclusions.”
“What a disaster,” Sherlock replied softly.
“A lifetime of logic, and skepticism,” Mycroft complained.
“Inductive and deductive reasoning,” Sherlock countered.
“Observation and facts,” Mycroft said.
“Critical thinking, and inference,” Sherlock replied shaking his head again. “Horrible.”
They stood there together for a long moment.
Finally, Mycroft said, “Well. I must go. Odeon is changing the entire political and strategic landscape by the minute. Also, I promised my darling Gregory that we would have dinner together. Don’t sulk too long, we are going to order food. Something John might like. Gregory will know what he’ll want to eat.”
Sherlock nodded but didn’t say any more to the matter.
He paced for a while needing to be alone for a time. He sighed a great deal. His mind was still racing as he sometimes shook his head or nodded depending on the thought barreling through his mind.
He walked away from pacing for only one reason. Sherlock turned and looked in John’s direction. He saw the prone body and realized that he needed to be there more than obsessing over variables that he couldn’t control.
Sherlock wandered back to the medical area where John was the only focal point.

Chapter Text

”Don’t wish it were easier, wish you were better.”
-Jim Rohn

John woke up several times.
The last time he woke, he turned to Sherlock who was sitting next to his bed.
John smiled and said, “So, this is what you feel like all the time. All knowing. Right about all things. Superior.”
Sherlock smiled just a bit. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
Then the smile on Sherlock’s face soured. His face fell.
“It’s not that bad,” John assured.
Sherlock picked up his head long enough to say, “You can’t do this again. I now agree with your prior assessment. That thing is dangerous, and it will wind up killing you.”
John opened his mouth, but Sherlock cut him off by saying, “I was watching, John. I was watching. You were on fire. Actual, flames. We have the data, video, sensor data. I’ve reviewed everything.”
“Bad?” John asked listlessly.
“I’ve come to three conclusions.”
“Only three?”
“Take this seriously.” Sherlock found himself shaking his head yet again. “You’re dehydrated because of the flames. For a full twenty-nine seconds you were literally lying in a temperature of 2,800 º F. It sucked the fluid out of your body. You needed two pints of blood, pre-warmed because you were hypothermic. It’s trauma, John. We don’t know what else it’s taking from you.”
When Sherlock was done, John simply said, “Eurus Holmes.”
“She’s fine.”
John smiled sadly. “Your brother has sacrificed himself to keep her in a cage. Hasn’t always worked, has it? Eurus needs…something.”
“That’s Mycroft’s job!”
“No, it isn’t. And it isn’t fair for him to shoulder that burden. Not when I can do something about it.”
Sherlock leaned forwards. There was fear in his eyes. A thing that John could clearly see but had never seen in him before.
Carefully, Sherlock pronounced each word saying, “You. Could. Die.”
“One more. There’s no hurry. I want to recover fully. Maybe we can figure out an easier way to do this.”
Sherlock looked sullen. Crestfallen. Despite the tension on his face, he nodded.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sherlock sat for the group dinner…family dinner. He didn’t eat. He was distracted for most of it.
He watched John eat. Counted every mouthful. It wasn’t much. Less than his usual. But enough to sate Sherlock because he knew that John was tired.
Mycroft and Greg found things to talk about. They spoke quietly as they ate. They seemed oblivious to anyone else’s presence.
“You haven’t eaten,” John said from his bed.
“Not hungry,” Sherlock said easily.
“If this is about earlier. I’m fine. I just need to rest and recharge.”
Sherlock’s jaw clenched. A muscle in that sharp jaw jumped. But, he didn’t say anything more.
“So,” Greg asked loudly. “Are you going to rest in France at the apartment or are you going to go back to yours?”
John and Sherlock looked at each other.
John was still looking at the man when he said, “I’m going home. I’m going to take the week off to rest.”
“How much is that?” Greg asked. “Two straight weeks, not counting week you took before this. You’re going to get fired.”
John nodded a bit. “Probably. Can’t be helped.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to turn to Mycroft and say, “Darling-
“Of course,” he quickly said in agreement. “Don’t worry, John. I’ll make sure that your job is waiting for you. Go home and rest. My suggestion is that we all take the opportunity to rest and digest this situation. Afterall we still have one more hurtle to jump.”
“Eurus,” John said in agreement.
“Two weeks sounds like a good timeframe. We shall meet then at the Diogenes and discuss the matter.”
“Which matter? Killing John?”
“Two weeks,” John said agreeing without acknowledging his bothersome roommate.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sherlock wouldn’t allow John to get up from the gurney until he’d had a good night’s sleep. That next morning, Sherlock helped John dress.
They were taken to 221B Baker Street by the same dark, tinted car which was waiting outside the elevator. They rode in silence.
Once home, John said, “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Sherlock went straight to his room. He began to quickly clean up and put away anything that was out of place. He took the opportunity to change the sheets on his bed.
When he was done Sherlock went upstairs and knocked on John’s door.
“Come,” John called from inside.
John was standing by his bureau. His pajama bottoms were already on, his pajama jacket was in his hands.
“I’ve changed the sheets on my bed for you.”
“I’m not taking your bed,” John said quickly.
“Yes, you are. You require sound sleep. The living room always has a great deal of activity and noise. You know how thought less I can be. I may want to play later. And, I was thinking of running an experiment that will produce an unpleasant smell.”
John finished buttoning his jacket saying, “Fine. You win.”
“I often do.”
Sherlock walked John back to his room and helped him into bed.
“Do you need anything?”
“Water, if you don’t mind.”
John settled in and pulled the comforter up. As John laid back, Sherlock saw him visibly relax. His eyes closed, and he was sure that the man was already asleep.
Sherlock went to the kitchen and brought back three bottles of water. He left them on the nightstand.
Before leaving John, he pulled down the blinds and closed them against the sunlight. And then, he retrieved a sheet, and the soft blanket that he knew John preferred.
He closed the door behind him and took the items to the sofa for later.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Two weeks later, John and Sherlock arrived at the Diogenes Club as planned.
Greg met them outside.
“Heya, mate!” he called out. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Takes a few days.” John turned to Sherlock and said, “Why don’t you go inside? I need to have a talk with Greg.”
Sherlock hesitated. He looked from John to Greg as if his mind was slowly processing the request. Slowly, he turned and walked up the short flight of steps to the front door. He went in but lingered at the door before fully closing it.
Greg had a slightly confused look on his face as he asked, “Is he alright?”
“He’s mother henning me to death. I can’t get away from him. He makes sure that I eat, sleep, rest.”
“Doesn’t sound that bad. He’s just concerned.”
“He’s charting my bowl movements. We had a thirty-minute discussion this morning on the subject. We also had a long and involved talk regarding my masturbation habits. He doesn’t approve of the activity until I’m better. And apparently, I’m not and won’t be for a while longer.”
“Oh,” Greg responded.
“At first he was just timing my sleep cycles. He wanted to be more accurate. If I sleep on in his bed, he lays down next to me. If I sleep on the sofa, he sits near by and watches me the entire time.”
Greg nodded. “He’s afraid.”
“He’s become a real pain in my arse. Please, make me jealous and tell me that things are going well with the two of you?”
Greg smiled. “I’m not going to lie. It’s pretty wonderful. We moved in together. The holidays are around the corner, so we decided that we’re going to tell Father and Mummy Holmes about the wedding then. For right now, we’ve told them that we’re dating.”
“Whirlwind romance. I love it.”
“Come on,” Greg said. “We already ordered. They should be serving any minute. I just wanted to make sure that you were alright.”
“I am,” John said turned towards the front door. “Getting medical attention that quickly, really made a difference.”
After dinner was eaten and cleared from the room. The men gathered and waited for Mycroft to secure the room.
“Alright,” Greg said eagerly. “Let’s game this out. The first statement for review: I wish Eurus Holmes had music that would interest her.”
“Too vauge,” Sherlock snapped. “It must be specific to her needs.”
John exhaled loudly. “Music is…the language of the soul. I heard that once.”
“Plato,” Mycroft offered as he returned to the table. “He is credited with saying that ‘Music is the movement of sound to reach the soul for the education of its virtue.’ And to that end, father insisted that we all learn music despite our inability to actually see its initial worth."
Sherlock quickly added, “Music is math. Its frequencies are based on Fibonacci ratios. There is geometry in the humming of the strings.”
Mycroft agreed as he said, “Counting, rhythm, scales, intervals, patterns, symbols, harmonies, time signatures, overtones, tone, and pitch.”
Sherlock tilted his head. “Mozart arranged his piano sonatas using 1.618, otherwise known as the Golden Ratio.”
“Don’t forget that music is also a universal language,” Greg added. “Doesn’t matter what you speak, or even if you can hear at all. Music can express joy, sorrow, longing, and love: basically, every emotion that every human can experience. It’s a common point for all.”
“Rhythm and patterns,” John said as he stared off. “That’s her language. Like talking in code.”
Greg smiled and responded, “It can only be understood by those who can see her code.”
John leaned forwards and said, “I wish those people capable of communicating musically with Eurus could.”
“No,” Mycroft quickly snapped. “She’s dangerous as she is. Can you imagine if we put her together with others like her? We don’t understand what they’d be saying? I can’t take the chance.”
“Mozart,” Sherlock responded. “If I recall, he was at a genius level IQ and yet far below yours…or mine.”
Mycroft gave his brother a brief nod.
Sherlock continued, “His genius lay in his music. He certainly wasn’t much outside of it.”
“And don’t forget that with genius comes instability. He did suffer from depression and mental health issues.” Mycroft’s mouth twisted. “Like Eurus, that genius takes its toll on your relationship to reality.”
Sherlock sat back in his chair. “It makes you wonder how we’ve made it through.”
“Single-focused obsession with our passions. Or, just dumb luck, brother.”
Sherlock thought for a moment and said, “I wish Eurus found ever increasing mathematical depths in music.”
“Oh,” Greg resonated slowly, deeply. “That’s interesting.”
Mycroft sat back and fell into thought. He hardly breathed for a while. “First, what depths? Two, what music? Three, to what end? Four, how obsessed? I don’t want her to forget to eat and sleep.”
“Any one else on that island?” Greg asked suddenly.
“Yes,” Mycroft answered. “It’s reserved for only the most dangerous people.”
“Okay, prisoners contribute to society all the time. It’s time these fellas did some community service. Have the prisoners start some kind of music therapy group.” Greg considered it and then quickly added, “Then we can say, I wish Eurus found mathematical complexity in the music made on Sherrinford.”
John quickly said, “I like where you’re going with this. We set up the circumstances and then wish for the specifics.” John leaned forwards. “How about something like, the music played on Sherrinford will have deep insights into unsolved mathematical problems.”
Sherlock made a sound in his throat, deep and guttural.
Mycroft exhaled loudly as he leaned back farther and crossed his ankles.
No one spoke for a time.
“I’ll say it,” Greg said breaking the eeriness of the moment. “I like that it’s not directed at her. If there’s a complexity in the music, she’ll pick up on it on her own.”
“Math always was her forte,” Mycroft responded. “I suppose that’s why she’s so gifted in music.”
“If that special music is only available there; she stays. If it sparks her interest; she’s busy.” Sherlock nodded. “I like it.”
Mycroft spoke slowly still thinking as he said, “We aren’t granting anything special to any one individual. If they leave, so be it. If others come and play, no one will notice the messages buried in the music. This version of the wish only effects the island.”
John wrote down the phrase. When he was done, he said, “Okay, that’s the front runner. I suggest that we all think on it. And by we, I mean you two. Any fault that you can think of needs to be discussed. I don’t mind telling all of you that I do need to prepare. Every time I do this, I feel as if something is trying to distract me with a surprise.”
“It changes?” Greg asked.
“Getting set on fire is only the first part; the fire happens every time. While I’m on fire, that’s when the surprise comes. I don’t remember the first time clearly; I think I fell back. The second time, I felt like I was thrown off a cliff. This last time, I felt like I was stabbed with a thousand small knives. They kept pulling out and stabbing, over and over. Each time, it seems to hurt more. Each time, it’s harder to keep my mind on the phrasing of the wish.”
Greg shook his head saying, “Guess that’s the point. Everything you want just beyond your fingertips.”
John nodded saying, “You remember that horror movie? It came out about fifteen years ago. The one where the guy can travel back in time but it’s slowly killing him on each trip. He gets all kinds of nose bleeds. Does it because he thinks he’s saving his wife from death.”
Greg looked blank and then perked up. “Does she kill herself at the end because he erased their marriage?”
“That one!”
Greg smiled. “Good moive! And, yeah, I see the parallel. Each wish is going to put your life in real danger that’s probably going to grow with your compounding greed.”
“Right,” John said. “At this point in the movie the fellow holding the lamp will do anything for the next wish because he knows that it works every time.”
Sherlock leaned forwards and said, “Then perhaps the fellow should stop.”
John turned to Sherlock. Yet again, he said, “This is the last one. We can put it away after.”
“Just a thought,” Mycroft said smoothly as he tapped his fingers lightly on the table top. “Why don’t we find someone else?”
“Really,” John asked. “Who do you trust with absolute power? Someone who isn’t Greg? And don’t say you or Sherlock. Thoughts bounce around inside your skulls at thousands of miles a second. I wouldn’t let either of you near that thing. I’m not entirely sure either of you could focus on just one thing for that long.”
Mycroft stopped tapping his fingers. His face grew very serious. After a moment he nodded without another word on the matter.

Chapter Text

The wish phrase was changed slightly from, “music played on Sherrinford will have deep insights into unsolved mathematical problems” to “music played on the island of Sherrinford will have insights into unsolved mathematical problems.” Details mattered and they all agreed that Sherrinford should be more clearly defined as a place and not a person.
John spent three weeks at a Buddhist Monastery. Mycroft found an instructor to guide him through practiced meditations. He spent all three weeks meditating, chanting, and listening to dharma talks. John took a vow of silence for the duration of his stay there. He adhered to a vegetarian diet. And, he spent all of his time sharpening his skills for the task at hand.
When he arrived again at that building, he stepped out of the car.
His headphones were in place and he was listening to what had become his favorite chant. John walked mechanically to the elevator and stepped inside. He was taken down as he silently recited the chant allowing it to focus his mind.
When the elevator doors opened, John’s eyes were closed. He felt hands reach for him. He knew just by the touch that it was Sherlock at his side.
He escorted John in the right direction. John didn’t have to even open his eyes. He trusted the man completely.
At some point, John felt someone undress him…Sherlock undressed him.
The head phones were removed. The music continued overhead.
John tried to sit without falling. Once on the ground, John sat properly and began his mantra.
“The music played on the island of Sherrinford will have insights into unsolved mathematical problems.” It was the only thing in the world that mattered.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John felt the pain of the flames on his body. He screamed out his mantra, refusing to allow himself to be distracted. He said the words out loud, clear, and strong.
A moment later, John was standing on a side walk. He recognized the exact spot where he was. He recognized the phone in his hands that he hadn’t hesitated to throw into a random bin years ago.
The voice on the phone was Sherlock’s. He said, “Good bye, John!”
John saw him fall. This time he fell head first.
“No!” John screamed in that moment. Unlike the first time around, his mind felt as if it fell apart and he froze to the spot.
He heard the fall. He heard it loudly. It echoed. A sick sound of flesh and bone hitting concrete.
Instead of running, John inhaled and then screamed out, “The music played on the island of Sherrinford will have insights into unsolved mathematical problems!”
The dull, wet sound of flesh hitting reverberated.
He shut his eyes quickly. He couldn’t see it again. He couldn’t see another broken and dead Sherlock Holmes bleeding and limp.
“The music played on the island of Sherrinford will have insights into unsolved mathematical problems!”
John began to sob as the overwhelming smell of blood filled his nose. Still, he had to breath in to yell again.
“The music played on the island of Sherrinford!”
He felt as if he were about to vomit. “Will have insights into unsolved mathematical problems!”
Then, just as before, John felt as if he were suddenly freezing.
“It’s over, John,” Sherlock said quickly from somewhere close by. “It’s over.”
Soon, the men gathered picked him up and deposited him on a gurney.
John was moved. He felt the journey on the medical bed.
Warmth finally arrived. First, in the form of blankets. Then, he felt his vein tapped. John felt the pre-warmed blood and saline slowly flow into his cold, shriveled veins. It spread slowly from his left arm to the rest of his body. Slowly, he felt his cold-stiffened muscles start to relax.
As the warmth spread and he was able to move, John began to cry. It welled up form somewhere deep and wounded.
John managed to open his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock would be there. It wasn’t a surprise when he turned his head and saw him standing by his bed.
John reached out with a weak hand.
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to rush forwards, “Don’t move, John! All is well! You’ll be fine!”
John was still shivering.
Sherlock’s hand was warm. It was real. Sherlock was alright.
John felt the grief bubble up out of his chest. He gripped Sherlock’s hand tightly.
Desperately.
Sherlock instantly pulled the blankets aside and got into bed next to John. He wrapped his around John and held him. Not to share his warmth.
John didn’t hesitate to roll onto his side. He cuddled onto Sherlock’s warm chest and let the misery flow out of him.
Sherlock mumbled comforting words to him. John hardly heard anything other than the deep rumble under his ear. He smelled Sherlock taking his scent deep into his nose.
John fell asleep at some point.
When he awoke, he felt heavy. He was tired. He felt exhaustion in his body. A part of him knew that the emotional and psychological, had worn him down.
Sherlock brought him an overnight bag and helped him dress. Then, Sherlock took him home without having even asked him to share what had caused him so much grief.
John simply didn’t want to talk about it. At least, not yet.
When they got home, John walked directly to Sherlock’s bed. He stripped down to his underpants.
Sherlock lifted the comforter up and John climbed into bed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John woke up at some point.
It was daytime, but the blinds were closed. The room was dark enough to sleep.
He found Sherlock laying on the bed next to him. He was fully clothed in his tight, purple colored shirt and a pair of dress slacks.
John smiled. It was one of his favorites of Sherlock’s outfits. The purple made his eyes and hair color stand out. It always looked great against his skin.
Sherlock opened his eyes and looked right at him. “There’s water on the night stand. Rosie is with Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg. Mrs. Hudson needed a break.”
Sherlock adjusted his pillow under his head. “It is currently, Saturday morning. I want to order us breakfast. You must eat.”
John smiled. “You aren’t even going to ask me, are you?”
“You were under emotional distress. This time, it wasn’t a physical trial.”
“No,” John agreed as he sagged into the mattress. “I got to relive the most horrible thing that ever happened to me. I got to watch you die again. I got to hear it up close and personal. I could smell your blood.”
Sherlock reached out and took John’s hand in his. “I’m alive. You are safe.”
John nodded a bit shakily.
“I’ve always felt this connection to you. Even when you died, I still felt it. But when I was in that…place I felt as if it was severed. It hurt.”
John sniffed up hard. He swallowed hard. He tried to wipe the memory of it out of his head.
“You were right,” John answer.
“What part?”
“That was the last time, Sherlock. Unless something insanely terrible happens, I’m done.”
Sherlock didn’t answer.
John turned. He met Sherlock’s stare. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Sherlock only watched him.
John instincts instantly began screaming in his head. It was the instincts that had kept him alive in Afghanistan. They were the instincts that had kept him off of IED’s and away from snipers. It was that voice that was demanding him to act.
Then suddenly, it hit him suddenly like bolt of lightning erupting in the center of his brain.
John sat up, never removing his eyes from the man in front of him.
Carefully, John said, “You called him Greg not some derision.”
Sherlock watched him amused.
“Sherlock Holmes has an eidetic memory. He only forgets what he wants to forget. He purposefully mislabels Greg.”
Sherlock reached his hands up and applauded playfully.
“I’m still touching the metal, aren’t I?”
“Yes, John. I wanted to talk. I hope you don’t mind. I don’t get a great deal of amusement.”
“Amusement? My pain is amusement?”
The man that looked like Sherlock shrugged saying, “I didn’t come to you; you came to me.”
The man that looked like Sherlock rolled onto his side and rested his head on his fist saying, “Over the centuries, I’ve found that people will come back to visit me if I give them what they ask for.”
“Who are you? What’s your name?”
“Name?” he said considering the matter. “I don’t have one. Different people have called me different things over the years.
“What are you?”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock smiled and said, “I’m fire.”
“You’re a genie then?”
“Genie,” the man that wasn’t Sherlock said as if he was tasting the word. “A derivation of the word Ginn, I’m guessing. No. I’m far older than that word.”
“Where are we?” John asked.
“In your mind. I wanted to meet you. You are an interesting human.”
“Am I dead? In a coma? Am I conscious?”
“No to all of your questions. You are still laying on the floor in that warehouse. Greg and Sherlock are on their way to get you out. My flames are still on your body. You are still touching the iron.”
“Am I to assume that time has stopped?”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock shook his head saying, “Time doesn’t exist, John. It’s all a matter of perception. It’s amazing that humans haven’t figured that out yet.”
Seriously, John asked, “Am I your prisoner?”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock smiled and said, “No, of course you aren’t my prisoner. I really did simply want a conversation. I haven’t had a conversation in a long time.”
“If none of this is real, then why am I so tired?”
“You are still laying in my flame. You refer to it as dehydrated.”
“Will I live?”
“You did before. My guess is that the art of healing has improved.”
John looked around the room. “Every detail. This is what his room looks like. I can even smell a little of his cologne.”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock shrugged a little saying, “This is your memory. Would you like to see one of mine?”
John didn’t have to think long. He nodded in the affirmative.
A moment later everything around them changed. 221B Baker Street melted away. In its place was the brightness of the dessert. Above their heads were white clothes that had been stretched out to create a lovely shade.
They sat above a low heavily built ziggurat pyramid that rose up from the sand for about fifty feet or so. It gave a view of the mud brown and thatch constructed village below and the people there. The people were dressed in simple white tunics. The people were all dark skinned, dark haired. Fields of crops surrounded the area. A lazy river cut through in the distance. Close to the river the greenest of the land rose up. Red sand lay beyond what humans had tamed.
“I remember the middle east being much hotter,” John said easily.
“I can remember it any way that I like,” the man that wasn’t Sherlock responded. “And I like remembering it cooler and a little greener.”
“Is this real?”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock laughed. “What is real? If you can feel it. If you can smell it. If you can eat it. If you experience it. Isn’t that real, John?”
John didn’t answer the question. Instead, he considered the situation. When he turned to looked at the man who wasn’t Sherlock, those eyes were focused on him in an odd way that he’d never seen before.
“You want me to stay, don’t you?”
“I find you interesting.”
“You said that. Why?”
“In my experience, I have always found humans to be very predictable.”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock held his hand out. A servant that John hadn’t noticed before arrived with a golden cup. The man that wasn’t Sherlock drank from the cup before saying, “You have been the first to ask me for things that I didn’t expect. No riches. Love, but for someone else. You don’t want to destroy your enemies. And, this last request was quite unexpected.”
“Sherrinford,” John said answering the unspoken question.
“Yes, why this land of Sherrinford? Why it’s music?”
“It’s not the island. The island is a prison for very dangerous people. One of them is Eurus, Sherlock’s sister. She has to remain there. The music will guarantee that; and with it, our safety.”
“You’re afraid of her?”
“She’s insane, exceptionally intelligent, and capable of anything.”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock tilted his head as he watched him. The wind was gentle, but enough to tousle his dark curls.
“You’re not protecting people. You’re not even protecting yourself. You’re afraid of her bringing harm to Sherlock.”
“What’s the difference?”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock smiled, “The difference is that he is your heart. It really would kill you to lose him again.”
“I never want to do that again,” John said quietly but firmly.
The man that wasn’t Sherlock dropped his cup down. He looked out across the mudbrick kingdom below.
“A part of me hoped that you’d stay with me.” The man that wasn’t Sherlock let out a sigh. “You won’t leave him. You’ll never leave. You’ll remain at his side till one of you is dead. And shortly thereafter, the other will pass on.”
John wanted to deny it, but it sounded about right. He couldn’t imagine his life without Sherlock in it. Sherlock who drove him crazy. Sherlock whose mind was so exceptional that it could so easily render John awestruck. At the other extreme, his dismissiveness and aloofness could be quite hurtful.
John laughed.
“I think you’re right,” John said easily.
“I’ve often thought of us as brothers, but we’re more than that. I don’t think I want to live without him in my life…ever.”
“Does he return your love?”
John turned to the man that wasn’t Sherlock and said, “Really? Even in my own head, someone is asking me that?”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock smiled. “You mean, you both haven’t realized?”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock threw back his head. He laughed fully, throaty. The Adam’s apple on his long, pale neck bobbed as he did.
John suddenly felt stupid. For no reason.
John took a deep breath and said, “We are just friends.”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock laughed harder and fell over.
John bit down hard until his jaw hurt.
The man that wasn’t Sherlock laughed until he was spent. He was breathing hard when he said, “You humans are so entertaining. Your capacity to lie to yourselves knows no bounds what so ever.”
The man that wasn’t Sherlock wiped his eyes and sat up. “I’m going to offer you an invitation to come back when ever you want. When you do, I’ll be him for you. We can go on our own adventures, John. What ever it is that is keeping you from finding the love of your life, I can remove that obstacle. Your family, society, anything.” The man that wasn’t Sherlock snapped his fingers. “Just that easy.”
“I like women,” John stated flatly.
The man that wasn’t Sherlock shrugged saying, “So what?”
John thought about it before he politely said, “Thank you. But, right now, I want to go home.”
“I have no control over your body when you leave. You will feel the pain. I hope that we will see each other again, my friend.” The man that wasn’t Sherlock shook his head saying, “I’m going to relieve this conversation a few times. That was a good laugh. I thank you for it. I haven’t laughed like that in centuries.”
And with those words the desert oasis and the mudbrick buildings faded away.
In the next moment, John felt as if he was thrown into an icy lake. His entire body went cold and stiff.
“John!” Sherlock voice called out through a murky haze. “We’re here!”

Chapter Text

”Be as you wish to seem.”
-Socrates
They were at the Diogenes in what could only be called John’s debrief. At first, he wasn’t sure if wanted to share every detail. But as he recounted the events and the conversations that he’d had with the…entity, he found himself oversharing.
“…I got annoyed because everyone assumes that we’re together. And then he laughed. When I said that, ‘We’re just friends-
“Wait!” Greg said with a smile. “He laughed harder, right?”
John found it annoying that he could see a little smile growing even on Mycroft’s face. He felt a bit of anger rise in him.
“When,” John said a bit forcefully. “He was done laughing, he said that humans lie to themselves. He gave me an open invitation to return, if I wanted. Then, he basically told me that he was going to replay our conversation because it was the best laugh that he’d had in a long time.”
Greg leaned forwards a little saying, “You really can’t get away from people assuming you’re a couple.”
John bit the inside of his cheek. “I think I should have kept my mouth shut.”
Greg shook his head saying, “Even the imaginary people in your head assume you two are a shagging.”
John exhaled a calming breathe. Then, he said, “Don’t think it was imaginary. I think it was real. No way to prove it. No way to prove that the music created on Sherrinford holds the mysteries of the universe either.”
“Anything else, John?” Mycroft asked.
“No. He kept his word and suddenly I was back, freezing my tattle off on the floor.” John paused. Then suddenly, he asked, “How is Eurus?”
“Busy,” Mycroft responded. “I’m limiting music therapy on an as needed basis. The music room is one floor below hers. When they play, the windows are opened slightly. She noticed the first day that something was happening.”
“It’s working,” John asked full of hope.
“As of far, it appears successful. It’s being done in short sessions, so that she doesn’t harm herself with neglect.”
John sat back. He smiled. He felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
“Is she happy?” John heard himself ask.
Mycroft smiled. “You are the only person that I know who would care.” Mycroft paused. He raised and eyebrow and said, “In an odd way, I think that she is. She’s challenged, making discoveries, and there is no end.”
“For a Holmes, that sounds like absolute joy.”
Mycroft reached for his wine. He lifted the glass saying, “I wholly agree.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They could hear Rosie crying the moment they approached the front door. Once inside, they split up.
“I’m getting Rosie,” John said as he walked to Mrs. Hudson’s door.
“Should I put a bottle on?” Sherlock asked already half way up.
“Yeah,” John called out a moment before Mrs. Hudson’s door opened. John turned to Mrs. Hudson and said, “Hope she wasn’t too much of a bother.”
Mrs. Hudson opened the door a white, cotton cloth on her shoulder. “Oh, I was just about to warm a bottle. I just changed her diaper.”
“Thanks for that, I’ll take her, dear.” John walked in. His daughter was standing in the small play pen that they kept in Mrs. Hudson’s. John walked over to Rosie and picked her up saying, “You do so much for us, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you.”
Rosie’s crying calmed down considerably. She was fussy and sucking on her fist.
“It’s nothing. She’s an angel really.”
John reached over and gave Mrs. Hudson a big kiss on the cheek.
As he headed for the door, he said, “I wouldn’t know what to do without you in my world.”
And then he headed upstairs with his daughter.
John found the apartment door open.
He walked in and stopped at the coat rack. He carefully balanced Rosie as he struggled out of his coat.
“Hey, Sherlock! What’s the ETA on that bottle!”
“One minute, forty-five seconds,” Sherlock called back.
“Double check the temperature!”
John walked his daughter through the apartment trying his best to be entertaining. He flew her through the apartment like a plane, made animal sounds, and then tried his hand at singing. Singing was an act of desperation. She hated it when he sang. He didn’t sing as well as Mary did. Rosie seemed to know the difference and often slapped his face when he dared to make those sounds.
“Uncle Sherlock is coming with your baba. There is no need to fuss. It’s coming. I know, but it’s coming.”
Finally, Sherlock arrived with the promised bottle and handed it off to John.
John smiled in gratitude and sat on his chair.
“See,” he said offering her the nipple. “I told you that Uncle Sherlock would bring it.”
Rosie settled into his arms happily holding her bottle.
“Is that good?” John asked her. She ignored him and closed her eyes. “What do you think, Rosie? Strained peas for dinner? Maybe a few grapes? Maybe I’ll make some spaghetti for dinner and give you some. You can eat a little. Play with the rest and then throw it across the kitchen.”
Sherlock sat down on his chair.
“John, I think we should talk.”
“What about,” John said keeping the same tone that he’d used when he was speaking with Rosie.
“I’ve come to a conclusion,” Sherlock stated easily.
“I’ve come to one too. I forgot about diapers. I need to step out later and pick some up. She’s up a size. We only have the smaller one’s left. Can you watch her?”
“Yes. You know I will. We shall review the language and syntax lesson again.”
“She’s one and a half. You must be patient. She’s only just mastered throwing noodles across the room.”
“I will be as patient as possible and I will explain it as many times as I must. I’ve noticed that a sign of a good parent is patience.”
“And perseverance,” John added easily. “Rosie is wonderful; I’d do anything for her. I’ve also noticed why parents complain about stress and exhaustion. I guess that’s the sacrifice you willingly make when you love someone.”
Sherlock huffed something like a laugh. It was quick and soon gone, but John heard it.
“What?” John asked.
“I find myself in agreement with the…genie.”
“Really? Regarding what exactly?”
Sherlock crossed his legs and sat back farther into his chair. He seemed to really think before he finally said, “Humans do like to fool themselves with all manner of nonsense. We have a profound tendency to get in our own way.”
John only had to think about it for a moment before he nodded. He then shrugged a little knowing that he had nothing to add.
“I also agree with him that you are interesting. You’ve literally allowed yourself to be set on fire without gaining anything personally.”
John looked at Sherlock and seriously asked, “Do you not agree that those things needed doing?”
Sherlock thought for a moment. “I suppose they needed doing. But you weren’t the one that had to do them.”
“Agree to disagree,” John countered. “We can’t trust it to anyone else. I had it. I was available.”
“You have Rosie,” Sherlock stated simply.
John signed. A moment later, he said, “Yes. But she also has you, Mycroft, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. I trust you all. I love you all. And, I know in my heart that if anything happened to me, you’d all be there.”
“That brings me to my next point.” Sherlock paused to gather his thoughts. He sifted as if his thoughts were bothering him physically. When he was ready, he said, “Mary and I, did we make it plainly clear to you that your choices in partners will probably always be….
“Messed up? Bizarre? Wrong? That anyone I’m truly interested in would probably be either be anything from a serial killer to a criminal mastermind.”
“Yes, that. You fully understand it, then.”
John sniffed hard. He looked away.
Sherlock saw the man’s Jaw flex, a clenching reflex.
Sherlock carefully asked, “You’re…angry?”
John slowly said, “A little. Why are you bringing this up?”
“My intention isn’t to make you angry or sad. I simply want to remind you that your choices are set on a path of your own choosing. You are a certain type of person; I understand that.”
“What are you getting at, Sherlock?”
Sherlock looked right at John and said, “I think that when Mycroft and Geoff get married, we should as well.”
For a moment nothing happened. Finally, John laughed a little. When Sherlock didn’t laugh, John fell silent and sober.
John cleared his throat. “Why?” John asked confused.
“Several reasons, I can think of five. No, six. And, a weak seventh.”
“Really.” John wasn’t sure what to think.
He looked down and found that Rosie was sound asleep. He pulled the bottle’s nipple out of her mouth and set it on the table next to him.
He didn’t want to move and risk waking her. “I have nothing better to do now. Why do you think we should get married at a double wedding?”
“First, it would be easy. They’ll do the planning. Mycroft will pay for it. We must simply show up. Second, Rosie needs the stability of a two-parent home. Third, if we marry and I adopt her, one of us will always be there. Given our lifestyle that probably should have been my number one reason.”
Sherlock tilted his head saying, “John, we do get shot at a proportionately significant amount of the time. Four, spouses can make medical decisions. We wind up undergoing medical care often enough that this has already come up several times during our acquaintance. It’s easier if the other makes medical decisions then and there. Quick and efficient. Five, if you choose someone else, it will be the wrong person. Six, we care for each other very deeply. And, the weak seventh, Mummy would adore another grandchild.”
“Well, that was well presented,” John said. “There’s only one problem.”
“What?”
“I prefer women, Sherlock.”
“What has that to do with anything?” Sherlock asked in defense of his own logic. “This is marriage, not some tawdry sex affair. I’m sure you’ll find a string of useless, brainless women willing to lay with you long enough for carnal acts.” Sherlock shook his head saying, “My suggestion. Go to their place so you can walk away. Then, come home to your family.”
John opened his mouth but managed to stop his initial response. He tried to think it through before he said, “I’ve noticed a few changes in you since we returned from Sherrinford. You’ve been a little more in touch with your emotions, more willing to empathize.”
John wasn’t sure how Sherlock might take those words, so he added, “All good things. But, I don’t think that I’ve ever asked, so I’m going to ask now. Which sex are you most attracted to?”
“How would I know,” Sherlock bit back. “People annoy me equally.”
“Right. Are you interested in dating?”
“You?”
“No. Other people.”
“Aren’t you paying attention, John. People annoy me. They are painfully stupid. Present company excluded…sometimes.”
“I’m honored…sometimes.” John smiled. “The reasons that you have given me are all well and good, but they aren’t a basis for a marriage.”
“Yes, they are. Many a marriage has started on less. We already have a very deep bond. We live well together. We definitely work well together. Marriage makes perfect sense.”
“Except for one small thing,” John said picking his way carefully. “You and I are a platonic kind of love. Marriage involves-
“I’d die four you,” Sherlock stated simply. “Can you say the same for me?”
“Yes,” John replied easily. “But, I would have done that for any of my men when I was in the army.”
“Would you have cleaned up after them? Cooked? Cared for them? Dealt with their depression?” Sherlock didn’t have to struggle to find other examples. “You cook for us. You clean for us. You do all the stupid things that I don’t want to do. You even put up with me. Have you ever gone so far for anyone else?”
John exhaled. “No.”
“John,” Sherlock said sitting up. He leaned forwards and met John’s eyes. “We’re already married in every way that matters. We simply need to formalize. I don’t know if I’m ready for sex with you. I need to think about that. We can discuss it later. For now, continue to date your idiots until we decide later.”
Sherlock got up from his chair saying, “Until then, we’ll continue to share my bed and live together as we have.” With those words, Sherlock began walking towards his room. “Call me when dinner is ready.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John and Greg met at the pub on Thursday. It was one of their usual standing appointments for a beer. As usual, the pub wasn’t overly crowded because it was Thursday.
They found a table without any trouble.
The waitress found them quickly. She set down napkins. “Hiya, do you need menus?”
Greg quickly said, “Nah, we’re easy darling. Already know. We’ll have two Carling’s.”
“Chicken tikka masala,” John said.
“Bangers and mash, extra peas, love.”
“Ta,” the waitress said before walking away.
Greg turned to John and said, “You look off, what happened?”
“Nothing in particular. It’s just that Sherlock and I are now engaged.”
Greg threw his head back and laughed.
“Yes,” John said calmly. “Laugh. Get it out of your system.”
And Greg did laugh until it wasn’t funny anymore. By then, there beers were on the table.
With a big smile on his face, Greg asked, “So what brought this on?”
“First, fuck you, mate. Second, I think Sherlock is a little upset with everything that’s happened. He sat down and gave me his reasons for why we should marry. He basically told me that I had permission to step out whenever I needed and not to bring it home. And he won’t listen to reason.”
Greg carefully repeated, “Gave you permission to step out? As in, go out there and have sex, then come home all the better for it?”
“Yes,” John said a little annoyed. “That’s what I just said.”
“I’m trying to get the facts straight. You’re sure that it’s not a good idea. I mean, John, you don’t exactly have the best taste in women.”
The look of annoyance, confusion, and anger deepened on John’s face.
“I’m not speaking out against Mary. Aside from being a contract killer, she was a nice lady. All I’m saying, is that you two have a deep connection. You need help raising Rosie. What happens if you die on her? And, he’s letting you have some tail on the side.”
John picked up his beer and sat back in his chair. “Why did I bother to come to you with this?”
Greg gave a little laugh. “Because you secretly want someone to tell you it’s okay.”
John leaned a little closer to Greg and said, “I can throw a rock in this place and find a better friend.”
“Let’s look at the practicalities.”
“Let’s not.” John drank from his beer and tried to ignore Greg.
“Neither of you is good at dating.”
“I date! I date plenty!”
“I said good. You’re good at find a leg over. You found love once and it wasn’t traditional. The psychopath is at least committed and upfront. You put a lot of energy and money into dating women, even when you know it won’t go anywhere.”
“It’s just having fun.”
“It’s useless. Then, there’s Rosie. She needs actual parents, not girlfriends. Sherlock is good with her. You guys have a routine.”
“I’m not marrying someone for a routine.”
“No, you’ll marry him because of all the other reasons. All the reasons you’re trying not to tell yourself about. Don’t worry about the sex. It’s nice but it isn’t all that important.”
“Greg-
“Tell me what I missed? What else is vital in your life?” Greg held up a finger for every point, “Rosie. Tick. Sherlock. Tick.”
John looked at the two fingers that Greg held up.
“Anyone else?” Greg asked.
John blinked. He opened his mouth but failed to produce a sound.
John dropped his eyes down to the table top.
When he found his voice, John said, “You’re a shit friend to point that out.”
“Sometimes when you’re dealing with a stubborn ass you have to hit ‘em over the head with the biggest thing you can find. In your case, that would be a little thing I like to call common sense.”
John wiped his face slowly his hand. He rubbed his temple. “Sherlock wants to crash your wedding and join in.”
“Fine. Does he plan on telling his parents or will he simply surprise them on the day?”
John shrugged.
Greg smiled a little and said, “Do you want me to call you when we go the cake tasting? We have an appointment in a week. Mycroft probably won’t come. The tuxedo fitting is a week later; that’s mandatory for all. I’m going to do reconnaissance on a venue in a few days. You should join me. Give an independent opinion.”
John found his beer incredibly interesting. He gulped down most of his glass without adding to the conversation.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Hey,” John said the moment he walked through the expensive pastry shop. The place smelled like a warm hug fueled by sweets and warm bread.
Greg was sitting at a table with a well-dressed woman who was holding a clipboard. On the table were a dozen slices of cake.
“John!” Greg said holding his hand up. “I’ve already tried them all. Pick up a fork and we’ll see if we agree.”
“Sorry, I’m late,” John said pulling a chair out for himself. “There’s a stomach bug going around, and the office got backed up.”
“Oh, you’re a doctor! How nice! Two professionals! Abby Jamison I’m your coordinator,” she said reaching for his hand.
“No, Abby,” Greg cut in quickly. “This is John Watson. He’s going to be my brother-in-law.”
“Oh,” she said fully understanding, still holding his hand. “I thought you were Mycroft. My apologies.”
“I’m mostly here for moral support.”
Greg offered him a fork and insisted, “Start tasting.”
Greg pushed three cakes in front of John saying, “These are my favorites.”
John looked the table over before he tasted. “Weird. Thought you’d have strawberry on the table.”
“I know,” Greg said in agreement. “But, Mycroft has a slight allergy. I’d rather not honeymoon at the Emergency.”
John tired the first cake; it was okay. He tried the second cake and was instantly in love. He tired the third to be thorough. He pointed at the second cake saying, “That’s it.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Greg said with a big smile.
John smiled back at Greg as he took a second forkful from the cake. “Mycroft busy?”
Greg shrugged. “You know how it is. Where’s Sherlock?”
“He could give a crap, mate. Oh, and he said to inform Geoffrey that he needs a case. He’s bored. The criminal classes in London are failing him. And, if someone doesn’t kill someone in an interesting manner soon, he may have to do it himself.”
“I choose to pretend that I didn’t just hear a potential threat to life.”
John smiled. “You have to admit, it’s never boring.”
Greg reached for the cake with his fork. “Abby, we’re going to do this one. And, I want a little slice to take home, so my fiancé can taste it later. He loves cake. I’m sure that he’ll approve.”
“Of course. Are we going to go forwards with the cake dimensions that we discussed?”
“Yeah, I trust you. It all sounds good.”
She smiled happily and walked away.
Greg brought up the fork to lips. Quietly, he said, “Vultures. All of them. The cost of this wedding shite, it’s incredible.”
“I know,” he said in total agreement. “I’ve been there.”
Once he swallowed, Greg said, “Mycroft’s isn’t batting an eye about the cost. I really just wanted something small, but his ma got involved.”
“Mummy Holmes.” John nodded. “Formidable.”
“She wants her precious, Mycie to have such a nice wedding. She wants pictures and video. You’d think it was the old bird’s wedding.”
“Always please the mother-in-law. If she’s happy and you don’t mind, who cares?” John said reaching for another forkful.
“Don’t worry, she’s going to comment on yours too when she finds out about her baby boy’s engagement,” Greg said before putting more cake in his gob.
“I haven’t agreed,” John said reaching for the corner piece. “What is that crunchy stuff in-between the layers? It’s amazing!”
“No idea, but it is good. This is really the best cake I’ve ever had. I know you, John. You’re stubborn as a mule until you’re not.”
“I love him,” John explained.
“I know.”
“Not. Like. That.”
Greg smiled and set his fork down. He picked up the cup of coffee in front of him saying, “You should really listen to your Genie friend. That bloke really seemed to know your mind.”
“I never should have said a word. It’s entirely my own fault for trusting you.”
“There’s a lesson to be learnt there,” Greg said in agreement. “So, how are you two getting on…after the engagement.”
“Nothing has changed,” John insisted.
Greg didn’t answer he only watched John and sipped his coffee.
John shrugged a little. “We…he may have moved Rosie’s crib into our room.”
Greg smiled. “You’re still sleeping together?”
“I never got around to buying a replacement bed. I’ve been busy. I came home one night, and he’d gotten rid of that big cabinet where he kept extra lab equipment. He put Rosie’s crib and her dresser there.”
“No closet space for you?”
John sucked his teeth. He took his time sucking out the cake that had gotten caught. He cleared his throat.
“My room is still upstairs,” John assured him. “The system that we have is fine.”
Greg looked quite amused. He set his cup down saying, “In a week, we have the fittings for our suits scheduled. All four of us will attend.”
“Is this the gospel according to Greg?”
“More like the gospel according to Mummy, she will be attending via internet. You will tell your fiancé that he will answer to her should he decide not to show his face.”
“Threat acknowledged, and I promise to deliver it.” John hesitated. He took a deep breath and asked, “Did you tell her about him and…
“No. I figured the both of you should grow the hell up and do it yourselves.”
“They were so nice to Mary and me. I don’t want to…hurt them.”
“Aside from the fact that Mummy has turned a bit scary over this wedding thing, I love his parents. If I didn’t love him, I’d marry him just, so I could have his parents in my life.”
John waved his fork around saying, “That’s the whole orphan thing you have.”
John didn’t have to think long to add, “I hope you get everything you want. And, more.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Greg was the first to arrive for the suit fittings. Abby arrived just after him. As she chatted in his ear as, Greg set up the lap top.
Once the computer was up, he dialed up Mummy’s number. She must have been waiting by the computer because she answered immediately.
“Oh, there you are? Where, pray tell, are my sons?”
“Late,” Greg assured her. “You know how busy Mycroft is, but he assured me that he’d be here. I trust him. As far as Sherlock is concerned, I have John brining him in. I trust John.”
Mummy Holmes only shook her head and sat back in her chair. She put a dainty cup up to her lips without further comment on the subject.
Greg turned to Abby and said, “Okay, girl. Go.”
He was then able to sit and listen as the two women prattled on about patterns, styles, colors, themes, sleeve cuts, linings, cufflinks, and vests.
John walked in first with Sherlock right behind. Sherlock looked put out and as if he’d been dragged behind a vehicle. Apparently, the entire world was against him at that moment.
Greg only smiled.
The boys went ahead because this was the same tailor that had made their suits for John’s wedding. John had already told them that he’d called ahead and put in an order. Similar suits, different colors. They were there to try the suits on.
It seemed so simple to Greg.
Lucky sods.
Greg waited another twenty minutes before he saw Mycroft outside the window. Greg got up and moved away without interrupting the conversation. He met Mycroft at the door with a kiss.
“How’s your day going?” Greg asked.
“Eventful, as usual. And yours?”
“I took the day off. Reminded the boys about today. And now, Mummy and Abby are talking my ear off.”
“Yes,” Mycroft said elongating the word dramatically. “Mummy has that ability. Is she driving you horribly insane?”
“No,” Greg chirped quickly. Then a little more easily he admitted, “Maybe a little. I know she means well, but it’s amazing how many opinions she has on every topic.”
“I’m familiar. I also apologize, my love. It’s Mummy, being Mummy.”
Greg smoothed down Mycroft’s shirt and vest making sure that he was just so. He smiled as he did it, enjoying that he was able to perform the small act. “Don’t worry. I can handle it. And, you need to be fitted so we can get back out to running the world.”
“Mister Holmes. Mister Lestrade,” a gentleman dressed in a nice suit and a measuring tape slung around his neck called.
They were both measured. It was relatively quick and painless. The hard part would be to get Mummy to agree with the design, color, and fabric.
They returned to the couch with Abby and Mummy.
They were arguing about ties. Mummy Holmes wanted a traditional tie as evidence by the fact that she went off on a tirade to end all tirades when Abby showed her what an ascot could look like on a tuxedo when properly styled.
“Mummy,” Greg said trying his best to interrupt her.
She continued to speak about family and tradition.
“Violet,” he said trying again.
She didn’t even try to slow down, men’s proper attire were fads and shouldn’t be treated as such.
“Violet,” he said a little louder.
Still, Mummy continued to drone on, because this current generation simply didn’t understand traditions, but the Holmes family did. The Holmes family had always been traditionalists and would continue to be so.
Sherlock walked over wearing his new suit. He didn’t hesitate to lean over getting closer to the lap top’s camera. In his calm, baritone voice, he said, “John and I are getting married!”
For one moment, Mummy stopped talking. As a matter of fact, she stopped everything. She may have even stopped breathing.
A moment later, Mummy got and ran from the computer screaming, “Siger! Siger! It’s finally happened! Siger!”
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to say, “And, that will be your wedding gift.”
Sherlock walked back picked up a hat off of one of one of the dummies and put it on his head saying, “Done.”
John walked over and took the hat off of Sherlock’s head. He put it back and found another that he liked better.
John set the hat on Sherlock’s head saying, “That was poorly done, Sherlock.”
“Why? You wanted to tell them.”
“No.” John began to pull off Sherlock’s tie off. “When we last spoke, I didn’t tell you to make announcements. I said, that your parents might want a warning of some kind.”
“That was a warning.”
John looked over the ties available on the display next to them as he said, “Sherlock, they’re going to expect us to get married.”
“As do I,” Sherlock said simply.
“I haven’t said that I’d marry you,” John said picking up a tie he liked. It had a lot of purple color in it. The same shade that he liked on Sherlock.
“We’re back to this nonsense.”
John pulled up Sherlock’s tie and began the process of putting a better tie on as he said, “You want me to marry you, but you don’t want to consider my feelings on the matter. How do you suppose that will work out?”
“It works because we are perfect for one another. You are simply dragging your cold feet. Look, you’re still here!”
John patiently said, “Whether you like it or not, we’re going to their wedding.”
“It’s ours too…now.”
John laughed a little as he adjusted Sherlock’s tie. “You are absolutely a total prat.”
Sherlock looked at him and resolutely insisted, “I’m your total prat, John Watson.”
John was amazed that he didn’t have a response.
“Oh! You look so handsome!” Sherlock heard his mother call out. “Look! Siger! Look!”
“Son! Is it true? My old heart can’t take lies and misdirection! Tell us it’s true!” Siger said leaning in closer on the screen so that his elderly face seemed out of proportion.
Sherlock took a step closer to the laptop and asked, “Which part? Us getting married, or my being a total prat?”
“Sherlock!” John chastised.
“Sherlock!” Mummy Holmes chastised.
John leaned in, “I’ll have a talk with him, Mrs. Holmes. Don’t worry.”
“John?” Mummy Holmes called. “Is it true? Or, is my son being horrible?”
John felt caught. The spot like was shining down hard and bright. Glaring right into his eyes.
She looked so hopeful. They both looked hopeful.
John slowly said, “He did ask me to marry-
“Finally!” Mummy yelled out in triumph. “Thank you, God! Thank you, God!”
As the elders held each other they bother started to cry.
“Oh,” John said turning away. “God help me.”
John’s mood didn’t improve when he saw Sherlock all dressed up in his new suit with a big smile on his face.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mycroft called them to the Diogenes Club again via his assistant. Not surprising, she sent a text.
John read it out loud. “Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade invite you to dinner at the Diogenes Club at 6 pm.”
Sherlock began complaining immediately because he didn’t come when he was called. He then proclaimed that he was bored and dramatically dropped on the couch.
Greg called John shortly after to make sure. John reassured him.
John got Sherlock through the from door of the Diogenes by reminding him, “It’s free drinks and food. We have nothing better going on.”
Sherlock relented long enough to walk in and drop himself in a chair. Then he petulantly said to the room, “If I’m to stay, I shall have a hot tea.”
“Please,” John said. “You forgot to say please and then later you shall need a thank you.”
Sherlock deflated slightly but didn’t speak.
“I’d do as he says, Sherlock,” Greg said happily. “Or, you might find salt in your tea tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Sherlock said put out. “I shall have a hot tea, please.”
John turned to the butler who was waiting nearby. The man looked amused but was hiding it well.
“Tea, thank you. We’ll both have the roast dinner for our meal. Extra butter on his peas, please.”
The butler nodded and left.
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to secure the room. Once he was able to do so, Mycroft said ,“I wish to hire the pair of you.”
John quickly asked, “Murder? Intrigue? Or, something else?”
Mycroft sat back in his seat and picked up the glass of wine in front of him. He began by saying, “Rosie will remain with our parents at their request. I have an experienced housekeeper in mind who will watch Rosie. This way Mummy and Father can enjoy being doting grandparents without the expected exhaustion and sleep loss. I give you both my word that she will be fine.”
“What’s the job?” John asked now a bit concerned over the attention.
“Odeon had uncovered what can easily be referred to as a spy ring in a luxury hotel on a Greek Island.”
“Boring,” Sherlock said already uninterested but still clearly listening.
Mycroft continued speaking without hesitation. “Supposedly, these people are responsible for several deaths. The people that were marked for termination died without apparent connections. Different deaths. Different places. All the deaths appear natural; with no police involvement, or investigation.”
“As usual,” Sherlock said superiorly. “The police are out of their depths.”
“I need you to not cause an international incident. I do need these culprits caught and removed. Quietly, if at all possible.”
John raised and eyebrow and said, “Just out of curiosity, which is more important quiet or removal.”
“Removal, but quiet would be helpful.”
“Second question,” John asked. “Why us?”
“Because you have to perfect cover. You and my brother will be on your honeymoon.”
John felt his face get hot. He swallowed hard and decided he’d asked enough questions.
“You’ll arrive, investigate, and put and quick end to it. In return, I shall pay for the trip and there will be a paycheck waiting for you when you return…dependent on success. Less if it’s not quietly done.”
“Performance based pay,” Sherlock said shaking his head. “How unimaginative?”
“Brother,” Mycroft said superiorly. “You have no tact. I will not pay you to cause issues.”
“No,” Sherlock shot back quickly. “You’ll hire me, because you know your people are out of their depth. John and I can do this. Since, I don’t know who, what, or how, I can’t promise anything.”
“And, you have no tact. You simply don’t care which is not a good place to start.”
“Then use your own people.” Sherlock snapped with a little smile. “But you won’t because you can’t let anyone know about Odeon. However, a famous consulting detective stumbling over a spy ring, is much more believable. Isn’t it?”
“Consider it your good fortune,“ Mycroft stiffly said to his brother. Then, he turned to John and added, “The moment you have properly identified, my people will step in. Do keep in touch with Anthea on the matter once you’ve achieved your objective.”

Chapter Text

Purple was the color that John chose. They wore the same ties. He chose to match their socks in the color since Mummy overlooked socks. She picked out all the other aspects of their outfits. They’d had to have their new suits altered, again. The hats, and shoes were changed out at least five times.
Bottom line, John was able to keep the purple.
Greg had a place picked out for pictures. It was a private venue with a very colorful garden.
Mummy and Father Holmes had arrived in town the night before.
At seven thirty they met at the venue for an early breakfast. They were ‘on set’ with the photographer so when the light was just so, they went right to it. Mummy stood in the middle making suggestions to the photographer who had been given order to make sure that she was happy. And, she was.
They all took the traditional pictures that Mummy insisted on. Dignified was the word of the day.
John asked for only one thing. He’d seen a great picture on the internet and he wanted to recreate it. And, thus the dignity ended when John pulled out a bunch of superhero t-shirts. Greg laughed his arse off. John had everyone take off their jacket and shirts. They put their t-shirts on and then redressed.
For the picture, they each stood in dramatic poses as they opened their slightly unbuttoned shirts so that their different superhero emblems peeked through. Mycroft had Superman and even wore the glasses. Gregory had Captain America with a Union Jack at the center. Sherlock had Batman. And, John had the Green Lantern.
They all laughed so hard taking the picture that John pulled out the little masks that he’d bought on a lark. They each got a domino mask in the appropriate colors.
It was fun.
It was funny.
And, even Mummy Holmes was seen cracking a smile.
“I want one of those pictures for my desk,” Greg called out.
“Me too,” John said with a smile.
“I hesitate,” Mycroft said with a little smile. “But I think I shall as well. That was most enjoyable.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to lean into his fiancé and said, “You wear the superman very well.”
“Yes,” Sherlock insisted. “I can taste the vomit. It’s right there! John, quick, help me!”
It was one of the best mornings that John could remember in years.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Greg held his stag party. Instead of having it separate from his finance, they all enjoyed it together. It was a great time at a small restaurant that had closed for renovations. The owners opened it just for their party. They had a liquor license and it was an open bar.
Mummy didn’t approve. But decided to attend with Siger to make sure that nothing got out of hand. She threatened to cut a switch if need be.
Mycroft declined to invite people to the stag party since he didn’t have friends that weren’t already coming.
The friends that Greg invited from the department. As a joke, the other detectives got him a couple of strippers. Everyone had a good laugh as the girls sat Greg down in front of everyone and did a little routine. When it was over, Greg offered them both cash to go flirt with the other Detectives.
John watched as Greg went directly to Mycroft and asked him to dance. They began dancing right there to the wrong music. It was quite romantic.
He watched them a bit envious. He knew that he’d loved Mary. He’d loved her spirit, her fight. She was at heart a good person.
But watching Greg and Mycroft in that moment, he wondered if what he’d felt had gong quite as far as what he was seeing in those men. The starting place of a wish had created something so much bigger. He could see it in the way they held each other with their eyes.
Envy was the appropriate emotion at that moment.
“Dance with me,” John heard Sherlock say. “Platonic love dances, does it not?”
John thought about it before he finally said, “I’m not very good.”
“I didn’t ask if you were a good dancer. I asked you to dance with me.” Sherlock walked up to John. He was closer than he needed to be. For John only, he said, “Here. Now.”
At first Sherlock didn’t make eye contact. He was looking down. It took John a few seconds to realize that he was watching John’s hand. He reached for John’s hand carefully touching his fingers.
Sherlock had always had much longer fingers. When playing the violin, they would often look delicate. But really, his hands were far larger than Johns’. Stronger too.
“We can’t be married without at least dancing together once,” Sherlock reasoned.
“You know how to dance?”
“Mummy insisted.”
John felt Sherlock’s arm around him. He was pulled towards the man gently. John took the step into Sherlock’s personal space.
Damn the man! He smelled good. He’d always like his cologne. It was light and never too much, as if he wore it only for himself. A very ‘Sherlock’ thing to do.
Sherlock held him close as they moved. All John could see was the bit of neck and chest at the opening of Sherlock’s shirt. Soon, he closed his eyes. His mind drifted.
It was when an applause went up that John opened his eyes. The music had stopped. The guests were cheering them on.
John felt his face get very hot. He swallowed hard and suddenly wasn’t sure what to do.
John felt Sherlock pull him close. Sherlock’s arm around him was reassuring.
Greg quickly barked out, “Quit staring! You perverts!”
“Settle down all!” Detective Donovan said taking the floor. She held up a thick envelope in her hands. “We’re going to announce the winner of the pool! We have a total! Nine hundred and fifty-two pounds!”
The crowd roared.
“What pool?” John asked loudly.
Donovan smiled and loudly answered, “This is the ’When Will Sherlock and John Get Together Pool!
“There was a pool!” John shouted out.
There was a lot of laughter.
Without shame, Donovan called out, “And the winner is!” She opened a piece of paper. “W. S. S. H.!” She looked around, “Hopkins?”
She looked around the room. “Harrell?”
There was a great shaking of the heads.
Sherlock moved away from John’s side.
John closed his eyes and quietly said, “Oh, good God. I know this isn’t happening.”
Sherlock walked to stand next to Donovan and smugly said, “The name is Holmes! William Sherlock Scott Holmes!”
Under his breath John said, “Just when they couldn’t hate us enough.”
Donovan’s face twisted up, “Are you serious? You wanker!”
Sherlock held out his hand.
She threw the envelope at him and stomped away.
John ran up quickly. He took the envelope from Sherlock and held it up. As loud as he could, John shouted, “We’re putting this money towards the Yard’s Foundation! This is for all the families of the fallen!”
There was an applause. Still a few grumbles, but not horrible.
“John, I won,” Sherlock said confused.
“Sherlock, we work with these people. Don’t make things harder just because you want to be a dick and show off.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but otherwise allowed it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The wedding was held on a perfect Saturday afternoon.
The photographer was there too. They gathered as a family in different arrangements. This time, John brought dark glasses as props because he thought they juxtaposed nicely with their traditional suits.
Mummy allowed it…but only for two pictures.
It was after the pictures that Mummy became militant. She insisted that Greg and John go into the church. Mycroft and Sherlock were to remain outside. Just as at the rehearsal; both would be walked in by their parents. Molly was given the responsibility of watching Rosie, till Mummy could take over watching her grandbaby once again.
John and Greg stood at the altar with the parson. The church was mostly full, but there were still a few people wandering in.
“Calm down,” Greg said gently.
“I am calm.”
Greg smiled.
“John you look like a bag of nerves. Simmer down. Tickety-boo.”
John nodded. He tried to sound reassured and calm as he repeated, “Tickety-boo.”
John wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was surprised by the amount of perspiration that came off.
He reached for his tie when he realized just how hot it was in that church. There wasn’t much air. The whole place seemed a bit closed in.
Greg bumped his shoulder again saying, “Tickety-boo, mate.”
“Greg,” John whispered. “I think I need to go outside. It’s a bit claustrophobic in here.”
“Deep, slow breaths,” Greg answered. “It’s all in your head.”
Then that music began. There was a string quartet playing the bridal march.
The sound crawled its way up John’s back like something out of a horror movie.
The church doors opened. There was Mycroft in his wonderful new suit escorted by his father. Ten paces later, Sherlock and Mummy stepped into the view of the church door. She escorted her son down the aisle.
John’s chest felt tight. He wasn’t sure if he was breathing.
He’d seen Sherlock not more than ten minutes ago. He’d picked out the suit. The purple was his idea. And yet, when he saw him walking towards him with his mother on his arm, John went still. They were actually getting married and the idea was profound.
Sherlock was so focused that when the man took his hands in his, John didn’t object. He wasn’t sure why, but at that moment he realized that it would be alright. Somehow, it would work out.
“John,” Sherlock said.
“What?” John answered.
Sherlock nodded his head towards the parson. “The man asked you a question?”
John turned and found the Parson standing there with his book open and in his hand. The Parson smiled and patiently repeated, “Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”
John sucked in a deep breath because he needed the oxygen. When he was sure that he wouldn’t pass out, he said, “I do.”
Sherlock easily said, “I William Sherlock Scott Holmes take you, John Hamish Watson, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law.”
John felt the tears in his eyes. He wasn’t sure why.
John replied, “I John Hamish Watson take you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes take you, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law.”
They both smiled.
John didn’t hear anything else that was really said, he only watched Sherlock’s face. He was so happy. The smile was real. The look in his eyes was calm and at peace. He’d only ever seen that kind of look immediately after a particularly difficult case. It always seemed such a short lived thing which was followed by boredom and dissent.
Sherlock leaned close. For half a moment, John wasn’t sure why. Then, he remembered. The kiss of peace.
He’s always wondered.
And, here they now were.
John didn’t hesitate to reach up for him as Sherlock reached for him. The kiss was brief and warm. A kiss of peace. A starting place for them both.
They were still looking at each other when the applause began. They both descended into giggles together.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Parson announced. “May I present to you, Mr. and Mr. Holmes! And, Mr. and Mr. Holmes!”
They turned to meet their family and friends. They were all standing. There was an applause.
As John looked out at the sea of faces that filled the small church, he couldn’t help the joy that filled him completely. He kept thinking that he now would get to spend the rest of his life with his best friend. Together they had nothing but adventures ahead. He knew in his heart that they’d conquer them together.
The smile on John’s face was real.
But, when the people around him began to fade the smile did too.
John’s breath hitched.
The people, who had been so happy a moment ago, were disappearing. One after another, they were leaving reality.
He turned to Sherlock who only smiled contently.
John held his husband’s hand tighter as his breathing became shallower and much faster.
“No,” John was able to say a moment before Sherlock too disappeared.
John looked around and it was only him.
He began to cry as the reality of it settled deep into his mind. He sat down on the marble dais of the altar.
A flame began to grow next to him. It had form but no heat. It consumed nothing. It simply was.

Chapter Text

“Face reality as it is, not as it was or as you wish it to be.”
– Jack Welch

When John finally had no more tears to cry, he finally took a breath in and asked, “Why?”
The fire continued to exist, contained. The fire said, “To help. To help you.”
“This is helping?” John turned to the flame. “I’m your prisoner. You’re torturing me for entertainment. Using my family against me.”
“No.” It paused. “You hide so many things from yourself. You stand in your own way and then wonder…why?”
John didn’t have to think long. “You’ll eventually drive me insane in here.”
“I will release you on one condition.”
John didn’t hope to ask.
“In five years’ time, you will return.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve asked you to do so. I will send you a sign so that you will know when it’s time to return.”
“And, if I decide not to do it?”
“I shall undo what I have done.”
“Have,” John said the word and then had to stop for a moment. He took a breath and then finished the sentence saying, “You effected change on Sherrinford?”
“Yes. Five minutes have passed in your reality. For the past five minutes the island of Sherrinford has been effecting any music made.”
“And my family?” John asked in a small voice.
“Waiting by your bed.”
John sniffed. He nodded. “Five years. You have my word.”
“I’ve enjoyed seeing the changes in the modern world. I will take this time to explore what you have left me, John.”
“Is that entertainment for you? My memories.”
“I suppose that is a trait that I share with your Sherlock. We are curious and-
“Self-righteous? All knowing arses? I call him a twat a lot? What about dick? That one is a personal favorite.”
For a moment the flame didn’t answer. It simply said, “Goodbye, John.”
And then everything went black. John felt as if he was thrown back and he fell briefly. It was only long enough to for him to instinctively brace himself before he felt as if he landed. He landed right in his body.
John felt something pried out of his hands.
“Got it!” Greg cried out in triumph.
John opened his eyes the smallest amount. Through gritty, dry eyes he saw Greg. The man was wearing thick, rubber gloves and a metal set of tongs. The black iron thing was held up in the tongs.
In the next moment, Greg ran away with it.
John could only stare. He felt confused.
Sherlock came into his view. His face filled his eyes. “John, please. Can you hear me?”
John immediately began to sob uncontrollably.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was the next morning, the doctor had watched him all night.
Once John was able to produce tears, he felt them fall from his eyes. One after another, they slipped free of his eyes.
His family was there. They sat with him. None of them left for more than a few minutes.
By morning, there was coffee, tea, and takeaway breakfasts that had been delivered.
When John finally spoke it was to say, “Send the doctor away. I’ll debrief now.”
Sherlock brought him a cup of tea. John accepted it, but still hadn’t been able to look at the man.
John drank his tea without tasting it.
When he set the cup down, he said, “The first and most important thing that you all need to know is that the genie able to access my memories. Everything I see and hear, he can see and hear. From this point forwards, consider me a liability.”
They looked unsure, but didn’t comment.
“The genie also wants me to return in five years. He said he’d send a sign when the time was up.”
“No,” Sherlock said quickly. “You will never touch that thing again.”
John looked down at the sheets covering his legs. “Somehow I don’t think he’s going to be subtle. He also said, if I didn’t go back, he’d undo the wishes that I made so far.”
John looked right at Greg and Mycroft. “I won’t let that happen.”
“You were all out here and experienced approximately five or six minutes from the time the flame started till I opened my eyes. I was in there for months. We’ve already done this.” John felt a sob rise out of him. He pushed it down and did his best to dismiss it. He then pushed out the word, “Twice.”
John proceeded to describe the first time he woke up, again. Then, he told them the story of everything that followed. John didn’t hold back.
He found that the more he spoke the less emotion he felt. It was almost robotic which made it all easier.
When he was done, Greg quickly asked, “Was the wedding nice?”
“Mummy got really involved during the fitting. You both looked great. You matched your vests; I think that the vest pattern was the only thing you really choose. Perfect day.” He turned to Mycroft and said, “Your father walked you down the aisle. I remember looking at you both dance at the stag and thinking, ‘how romantic. Have I ever been that deep in love?’”
John watched Mycroft’s face. He knew that placid, calm look. It was his version of distrust and contemplation.
“The Greek island. If it was anywhere close to being real. You offered us a honeymoon at a hotel where there was a suspected group of spies. You said there had been three deaths. Unrelated in method of death. All seemingly natural deaths. You wanted them identified quietly.”
The look on Mycroft face intensified. He shook his head as he said, “There have been three deaths, but no confirmation on any spies. I will redouble my efforts, John.”
“Mycroft, I think I really need you to do that. Because I need to know just how crazy I am. Because I don’t know if I’m still in there or not. For all I know, I’m still there entertaining him.”
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to say, “John, you’re here with us.”
“That felt real too, Sherlock. I know the three of you. I know how you would react. What you might say. He used it to create a reality that I believed.”
John’s head fell by inches. He felt tears roll out of his eyes. “Mycroft if you don’t horribly mind, I think I need a little break. If he wants entertainment, he can very well watch me sit by a pool with a cocktail in my hand. I don’t want to deal with anything or anyone for a while.”
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to say, “I shall make the arrangements, John.”
John laid back in the bed. He stared up at the darkness above.
“White cake,” John said.
“What?” Greg said coming closer.
“You’re not going to have strawberries. Mycroft has an allergy.” John was amazed how weak his voice sounded. “White cake, cream filling, with little crunchy bits. We all love it. Wonderful cake.”
John was sure to add, “Get the superhero t-shirts for the pictures. It was the best day ever, Greg.”
Then John rolled over. He pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
For the first few days, John didn’t come out of his room. He didn’t eat much either. But after three days of that nonsense, the doctor in him forced the issue.
John got up and washed. He dressed. He even went down for breakfast.
The psychiatrist was glad to see it and said so.
John responded with tears.
He didn’t have much to say during the first few sessions.
It was on the fourth session in as many days that John finally said, “I lost my life, my husband, my future. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”
He blocked most of what she had to say out of his mind. He didn’t even realize when she’d stopped talking.
John walked out of her office and wandered down to the lobby. He stood in the lobby for a good five minutes before he made the decision. He moved towards the pool.
He hated stepping outside. It was bright. The water was beautiful. The gardens outside were always perfect.
He hated that it was all there.
Still, he knew that he couldn’t go back to his life without getting through the depression. He had to at least be functional to care for Rosie.
It was for her and only for her that he walked out farther into the sunshine. He wanted to find a chair so he could sit and think. He needed to think.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
John had a guest a week into his ’vacation’. The staff asked if he was interested. John easily agreed.
Greg walked out of the main building and out to the pool side.
John was actually surprised at how happy he was to see the man.
“You look better,” Greg said in greeting.
They hugged easily.
“I am. It takes time. I’m getting there. Slowly.”
They sat down. Although John was poolside, he was facing the gardens. He liked the flowers. There were birds and insects that were all busy about their business. It was very calming to watch nature at work.
“Rosie is fine. We’re all pitching in,” Greg said quickly.
John nodded.
“Guess you want a progress. I’m not as depressed as I initially was. I’m trying to share with the psychiatrist. But, to be honest, I just don’t want too. I’m trying to eat more because I’ve lost weight. I’m not sleeping well, even though I’ve started meditating again. Everything is just…hard.”
Greg looked at him. His head tilted to one side a bit. Plainly, he asked, “How are you?”
John thought before he said, “Trying. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“Rejoin your life in progress,” Greg said easily.
John turned to him and smiled sadly. “I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon, Greg. We were going to Greece.” Then just as easily, John asked, “Has Abby asked you to the cake tasting appointment yet?”
Greg nodded. “You were right about the white cake. I took a slice home for Mycroft. I fed it to him with my fingers.”
John smiled knowingly. “Bet he loved every moment of that.”
“I don’t know if I like working with Abby,” Greg replied.
“I know you don’t. You also don’t have to. Let Mummy do her thing. She’ll handle her. All you have to do is ride it out and try to get a word in edgewise.”
“I want you out of here by the fitting next week.”
John smiled a little. “I already asked. I’m allowed to leave for the day, if I choose. Just tell me when.”
Greg went quiet.
John could tell by the quality of the silence that the man had a lot to say. “Just say it.”
“I can only imagine what you went through, John. Emotionally and psychologically, you’ve been thought he wringer, mate. But I think I know you well enough to say that hiding out isn’t you. You’re not healing in here, you’re hiding.” Greg reached out and put his hand on John’s shoulder. “If I woke up tomorrow and found out that my entire relationship with Mycroft had been a joke, I’d crack up too. You need to figure out what you want.”
“Fine,” John replied. “How’s he doing?”
“Sherlock’s worried about you. We all are.”
“He pursued me. He was sure about it. We were getting married for every possible reason except sex. We sort of left that under the ‘to be dealt with later’ category.”
Greg wasn’t sure how to respond.
John licked his lips. They felt dry. “You’re right. Of course, I’m hiding. Probably hiding from me too.” John turned to Greg and said, “I’ll leave tomorrow, and I’ll deal with the home situation. Right now, you should know that I have a real hard time now seeing you as anything other than my brother-in-law.”
Greg smiled. “I’m okay with that, John. We’ve always been good friend. Besides, few people outside of this circle really understand. If you need me for anything.”
John nodded.
A moment later, Greg added, “Tomorrow, when you’re done talking to Sherlock leave and meet me for lunch. It’ll give you an opportunity to breath. I’ll be your buffer.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The usual black car drove John home to 221B.
He got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. He watched the building’s stone edifice for a time.
He doubted if he was ready to deal with Sherlock.
He sighed heavily and went to the front door. He realized that he didn’t have his keys. But the door had been left open for him. He went up the stairs. The front door to their apartment was open too.
John went in.
He walked in and found Sherlock sitting in his chair.
Rosie was playing on the carpet with her toys. When she saw him, Rosie got up and ran to him babbling in baby talk.
“Are you chastising me?” he asked her. “I’m sorry. Daddy had to stay away for a little while, baby.”
John hugged her close. She settled on his shoulder.
Sherlock was watching him.
A part of John wanted to leave. But he felt duty bound to move forwards and to sit in his chair.
He set Rosie in his lap.
John’s first words were, “Thank you for watching her. I knew I could count on you.”
Sherlock suddenly looked guilty. “Mycroft sent over a housekeeper to help. She did most of the work.”
Sherlock thought about it and then added, “I deduced all manner of things about her, but I said nothing. I knew that you’d want me to keep my gob shut.”
John smiled. He easily said, “Good. I’m glad you showed some self-restraint.”
John took the final two steps to his chair and he sat. As soon as he sat, Rosie wiggled her way out of his lap and went back to her toys.
John was still watching his daughter as he said, “We should discuss what happened.”
Sherlock didn’t speak which was fine with John.
“I’m not sure if the genie was simply messing with me. Wish fulfillment. Maybe it was all just manipulation.” John swallowed hard. “All I know is that I lived for three months as your finance. And now I find myself back to this place. I have lost my family. I have lost my husband. I have lost the future that we planned. Like some…horrible prank.”
John had to stop. He sat back and rubbed his forehead.
Gently, Sherlock asked, “Do you still think you’re still there?”
“Sometimes.” John shrugged. “What can I do about it? Live and hope that, he let me go. Hope that it’s all real so that I’m not slowly going insane as entertainment value.”
John met Sherlock’s sharp eyes. He tried to smile a little but failed. Then he asked, “How do you feel about all this? I haven’t bothered to even ask you.”
Sherlock didn’t speak at first.
Now, John smiled successfully. “You won’t hurt me. You won’t offend me. I really truly and honestly want to discuss it.”
Sherlock easily said, “I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to be well again. I miss you, John.”
John nodded. “I think that everything going back to normal is best.”
John looked around the apartment. He made up his mind quickly. “I’m going to take some time off work. I’m going to work on my room a little.”
“You have a mattress,” Sherlock replied. “It was Mycroft.”
“Awful nice of him to think of me.”
“Did we have sex?” Sherlock asked suddenly.
“No. You made it very clear that sex isn’t important to marriage. That I shouldn’t have trouble finding brainless, idiot women for carnal purposes and then I should return to my family.”
“Oddly, that sounds like something I would say.”
“It’s not odd. It’s exactly what you’d say. You also stated that you wanted to think the matter through because you weren’t ready for sex with me.”
“And then what?”
John shrugged. “It was fine. Nothing really changed…till we danced. Greg’s stag. It felt intimate.” John thought very hard before he admitted, “I think that’s why I was so nervous at the wedding. I felt vulnerable.”
“The weird thing is that when we were done saying our vows, the nerves left me. Suddenly, we were both so happy.” John sighed. “Do you think I might be jealous of Greg and Mycroft?”
“No. Who’d be jealous of a relationship featuring my brother?”
“They have everything that I really want. Have always wanted.” John shook his head saying, “I think I need to be careful around them. I don’t want to say or do anything that might damage their relationship.”
Sherlock quickly insisted, “If anyone is going to damage that relationship, it will be Mycroft.”
John had to force himself to focus on Sherlock. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d said, but he smiled a little and then said, “I’m going to rest for a while. I’m sorry. Can you watch her?”
John didn’t wait for an answer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The wedding day was lovely…again.
John stood by for photos. Rosie was beautifully dressed in white satin and tulle. There were little flowers in her hair. The flower girl wasn’t sure what to do with the little basket of petals that she was given, but she made a lovely photo opportunity.
When the photos were done, John walked his little daughter to a small garden. He wanted to sit quietly, and she could wander around. The last time Mummy had held and watched over her precious, precious grandbaby.
John reached up for his throat and carefully swallowed. It felt almost as if something were stuck in it. He knew there wasn’t anything there. That knowledge didn’t make swallowing easier.
“Fifteen minutes. Then it’s over.”
“Where was it?”
John jumped a little at Sherlock’s words.
John had to steel and control his bodies fight or flight reactions before asking, “Where was what?”
“The genie.” Sherlock watched Rosie picking flowers as he said, “I’ve seen this pain on you twice before now. At the fitting, I saw something on your face. And, then the stag party you couldn’t wait to leave. You said that it ended here.”
“Inside,” John answered. “Everyone disappeared and then there was a fire next to me.”
Rosie walked over and offered her father a flower.
“Thank you,” John said to Rosie. John turned his head up to Sherlock and asked, “Have I been entertaining?”
“You have been depressed. And, I’m starting to become concerned.”
“I will admit that I haven’t felt like this since you died. I hope that as soon as their wedding is done, things will change. I’ve just felt as if I’ve been walking around on egg shells waiting for something to happen.”
“What?”
John shook his head. He closed his eyes still shaking his head.
John wiped his face roughly. He steadied himself and cleared his throat.
“We’re going to go inside and watch them get married. I really want to watch it this time.” John stood up and looked right at Sherlock. “They deserve to be happy. And, Mummy wasn’t kidding about starting on the dot. She was very insistent.”
John picked up Rosie and began making his way to the church.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“John!” Sherlock called as he walked through the apartment with purpose.
He wasn’t surprised to find John still sitting in his chair. He’d been there all day. He’d only gotten up a few times: to drop Rosie off at daycare, go to the bathroom, to pick Rosie up from daycare, and to fetch snacks and juice in various forms for Rosie. Her various options of food and drink were laid out on the coffee table near her toys.
She played and snacked as he stared out the window as he’d been doing all day.
“John,” Sherlock called again.
He shook out of his musings long enough to notice him.
“John, I’m going out. I shall be back in an hour. An hour and half at most.”
John nodded. “Tell them that I love them.”
And then John turned his head and continued to stare out of the window.
Sherlock didn’t comment.
He quickly donned his coat and scarf.
Within thirty seconds he was at Mrs. Hudson’s door. He quietly told her where he was going and asked her to watch over things. Then, Sherlock locked the front door…just in case Rosie got out while John was not paying attention.
As he pocketed his keys, he went through all of the possible safety hazards that a toddler could get into. He’d taken care of everything that he could think of. There was paper, crayons, toys, and John’s cell phone was paying some incessant videos that she found appealing.
One hour and half was more than he needed.
He hailed cab and directed it to the Diogenes.
Sherlock got there quickly. He walked past the host at the door and went directly to where he knew that his brother might be.
Ever one for habit, he found Mycroft and his new husband sitting in the same place as always. They were even in the same chairs.
Sherlock walked in and dropped himself heavily into a chair.
“I take it nothings changed,” Greg said reaching for his glass of wine.
“All he does is sit and stare out. Yesterday, he burnt a pot of pasta. The water boiled off. I ran out of my room into a billow of smoke.” Sherlock exhaled loudly. “I threw the entire pot out; wasn’t worth saving.”
“Greece was lovely,” Mycroft responded. “We found the culprits responsible for the murderous spy ring. And, we brought back some wonderful wine.”
“Honey,” Greg said gently. “I know he’s thoughtless, but this is about John. You can make it obvious that your brother’s a prat later.”
“The psychiatrist is useless,” Sherlock insisted. “This morning John was talking about asking for a prescription for antidepressants.”
Greg didn’t hesitate to respond, “Might not be a bad idea. This is going on four straight months. He’s not snapping out of it. He won’t; not on his own.”
“Fine,” Sherlock said sitting back in his chair. “What do we do to help this along?”
Greg and Mycroft looked at each other. It was one long, meaningful looks that Sherlock hated.
Sherlock exhaled loudly in response.
Greg began by saying, “We were thinking that John might need a fresh start. I have a few ideas.”
“What kind of fresh start?” Sherlock asked already hating the sound of it.
“Sherlock, he’s never going to get better while he’s living with his husband. A husband that never happened. A life that was taken from him. All he sees is what was and what should have been.” Greg more gently said, “We still have that apartment in France.”
“No. What else?”
Greg’s face dropped a bit. “Alright, what about this, 221C? It’s vacant. We’re willing to pay for the renovation.”
Sherlock shifted uncomfortably.
“The alternative is that we help him move to another building and-
“No,” Sherlock snapped. “He’s fine living with me. We shall figure something out.”
It was Mycroft’s turn to lean forwards and say, “Sherlock you’re unintentionally causing pain.”
“I know,” Greg said suddenly. “Pretend for a moment that you had touched the thing and the genie had taken your ability to play the violin. Everyone around you could do so, but not you. How long would you spend staring at the thing before wanting to get away?”
Sherlock looked away from Greg.
“You want him close. I understand that. He’s your best friend. 221C is a good choice. We’ll hire a housekeeper to keep an eye and help out.”
Sherlock fell silent.
Slowly, he stood from the table. He took a few small steps towards the door until they got longer and longer.
Sherlock walked out of the Diogenes and stood on the sidewalk.
He felt an ugly feeling in his chest and stomach. It felt as if there was an impending end; he hated change.
He wiped away the tears in his eyes.
He hailed a cab and went straight home.
Sherlock found John exactly where he’d left him.
Rosie was coloring on a wall. Sherlock went and retrieved her. He took the crayon away saying, “Not on the walls, Rosie. Use the paper.”
Sherlock stood up to his full height and said, “John, I’m home. Are you hungry?”
John turned a little surprised to see him and asked, “What?”
“Food. Are you hungry?”
John simply shook his head and turned away again.
“I think we should talk, John.”
Sherlock pulled his chair forwards, closer to John’s chair. He even moved the coffee table away, and then sat down.
“John?”
When he was sure that John was focusing, Sherlock said, “I’ve spoken with Greg and Mycroft.”
“Good. Did they have a good time on the honeymoon?”
“No one cares, John. This is about us.”
John looked sad when he said, “What about us?”
“They have it in their heads that you need to get away from me. That you should be living down in 221C. They plan to renovate it and get you a housekeeper.”
John was quiet for a time. His mind was slow, and his emotions varied as evidence by the expressions on his face. Finally, John said, “It might not be the worst idea. Not sure how comfortable I am with them spending their money on me.”
Sherlock fought with his body, between his mouth and his mind, to say, “I need you to talk to me.”
“About what?”
Sherlock looked around. His frustration bubbled up as he looked at the man and pointed at him with both hands saying, “You. What do you…need? What is happening? I want to help you.”
John smiled a little. “Not sure I’ve ever heard you say anything like that. That’s a real sign of growth. I’m proud of you.”
Sherlock quickly said, “Please, they’re going to take you away. They think that my presence is contributing to your depression. Tell me what you need?”
John sat for a time.
Sherlock grew uncomfortable in silence. He allowed it to continue, because he’d noticed that John’s mind was sometimes slow…er.
“Thank you,” John finally said. “I appreciate your worry. But, I am still a security risk. The less I know the better. Maybe isolating me is a good idea.”
“You are not in prison! And, you are not in there anymore!”
“I hope,” John added. “I couldn’t do anything about it if I was. I’m trying Sherlock, but I think that I’m in love with you in some odd way. I must be. All I can think about is our engagement, our wedding, and all the family that I’ve lost.”
John shrugged. “Spilled milk. Never really had it, not getting it back.” He nodded. “I know that I need to move forward, but it’s an effort. It’s an effort just to get dressed.”
“You’re losing weight. You can’t work. You can’t focus on anything. You ignore your daughter. And, I’m afraid for you.”
John scrubbed his face with his hand. He exhaled exhaustion. “Sorry. Don’t mean to worry you. I just feel a little lost.”
“You need to get back to work. Eating well and not drinking are important. Also, you need to set priorities on what you wish to accomplish.”
John blinked. “Did you Google ‘depression?’”
“And how to cure it. It’s important to not settle into a habit of lying about.”
“Pot!” John shouted at Sherlock. “Please to meet you, I’m kettle!”
Sherlock looked momentarily put out, then he continued to say, “There were other suggestions. I hate most. A pet sounds like torture. Rosie is like a pet. You can do all the pet things with her.”
“My daughter is not a pet.”
Undeterred Sherlock added, “Spending time in nature sound awful. Boring.”
“Agreed.”
“Reading a good book. You like to do that, John. You read a great deal.”
“Can’t focus.”
“Watching a funny movie.”
“Nothing new is out.”
“Taking a long, hot bath.”
“Not interested.”
“Talking to friends or family face-to-face.”
“Harry hates me. I usually talk to Greg, but I’m a security risk.”
“Avoiding negative talk and negative thinking.”
“I agree.”
Sherlock shifted a little and said, “Let’s go out to dinner.”
John shook his head a little before he said, “No.”
“Going out weekly to enjoy dinner with a friend was on one of the lists that I read. We should go out. Angelo’s has spaghetti which Roise and you both enjoy.”
“Why?” John asked curiously.
“We have no food in the cupboards,” Sherlock answered simply. “You also need to get out. And, you need social stimulation.”
“Where? I’m tired. I don’t want to go far.”
“Before we decide, I must ask. I know how much you enjoy flirting and dating, do you want to go to a bar to do so again?”
“With Rosie in tow?”
“We can find a minder.”
“I appreciate the offer, Sherlock. But it’s too soon for something like that. What about some Chinese? It’s closer than Angelo’s. I wouldn’t mind some soup and fried rice.”
Sherlock got up from his chair saying, “Go take a shower and get dressed. You haven’t changed your clothes in two days. An underpants change is in order.”
Sherlock went to sit near Roise so he could play with her.
John slowly got up and did as he was asked.
It was exhausting work, but he did shower. His underwear did need changing. He was even a bit chaffed from wearing dirty underpants. He washed himself with the nice smelling body wash that he rarely used. It made the shower smell nice. He hated to admit it, but it did make him feel better, as if he was washing the sadness away.
John dressed and walked out to find that Sherlock had changed…his shirt.
John froze. His face fell and got tight all at the same time.
He was wearing the tight, purple colored shirt.
Sherlock looked at him and immediately asked, “What is it?”
“Nothing,” John spit out.
John looked down at the ground.
For a long moment he couldn’t think. When his brain restarted, he realized that he couldn’t sit across from him with any measure while ’that’ was on him. “Please, could you change your shirt. Anything else. Anything.”
Sherlock only said, “Yes, John.”
John waited with Rosie when Sherlock went to do as he was asked.
John noticed that Sherlock had packed Rosie’s bag. He found it sitting on dining table. John double checked it to make sure that there were enough diapers, snacks, and all the other little items that they needed when taking her out.
John found her jacket and picked it up saying, “Come on, darling. We’re going out and it’s cool out.”
John was still putting the jacket on her when Sherlock walked out. John took his eyes off what he was doing only long enough to see what Sherlock had on. A white shirt.
John finished with Roise.
When he stood Sherlock offered him his coat and asked, “Do you care to explain what that was about?”
John lied, simply saying, “Bad memories.”
Sherlock nodded. “I won’t wear it again.”
Sherlock picked up the baby bag and led the way. John picked Rosie up and followed.
John drove. It wasn’t far, but it was cool enough that he didn’t want Rosie out any longer than was necessary.
John parked.
They didn’t immediately leave the car. They both simply waited.
“Thank you,” John said. “For everything. I know that you’re really straining to communicate with me. That you’re trying to take care of us. I appreciate it.”
“At the risk of making this situation worse…
“You were wearing it when you proposed. I like that shirt on you. I picked out that color as our accent color for our wedding clothes.”
“Ah,” Sherlock said finally understanding.
Slowly, Sherlock’s brows creased. “I have to ask. Why are you so sad? Most people are glad to be rid of me. I don’t know if I’ve ever really understood why you even like being my friend.”
John shrugged saying, “You made complete sense when you proposed. I didn’t agree that we should marry, but it made sense. Then your parents reacted with such hope when you told them. And, suddenly I had all this family. This sense that I was home. When the time came, I happily said, ‘I do.’ Entertainment over.”
Sherlock simply replied, “I don’t like change.”
“I know, but we’ll only be a few steps down from you.”
“How suspicious would you be if I ask you to marry me…again?”
John dropped his forehead to the steering wheel.
“I don’t want anything to change. If getting married snaps you out of it, doesn’t it make sense to do it?”
“Sherlock, please,” John moaned.
“They are going to take you away, John! I don’t want anything to change!”
John sat up and he thought it through. When he was ready, he said, “Your mind works faster than any other person that I’ve ever met. So, I’m sure that you will have no problem following this.”
John turned to him and explained. “As I see it, I have two…no, I have three options. One, turn you down and continue to be depressed. Two, accept and continue to sing and dance for the entertainment of something I don’t understand. And, then there is option three.”
John unlocked the car and stepped out.
John picked started walking down the middle of the street, away from 221B Baker Street.
“John!” Sherlock called out after him. “You can’t just leave Rosie!”
“If she doesn’t exist, it doesn’t matter.” John kept walking. “If she’s real, she has you. Either way, I’m not doing this anymore.”
Sherlock’s long strides caught up with him easily. “This is irresponsible! You don’t do things like this, John!”
“Time I started,” John said with a smile. “I’m smiling. Thank God! I’m cured!”
“John, please!” Sherlock screamed.
Sherlock stopped walking. One last time, he screamed, “Please, John! I need you!”
John redoubled his efforts and walked with even more determination.
As he did, London melted around him. John was momentarily disoriented, and he had to stop walking to keep on his feet. The night turned to day. Buildings were absorbed down into the earth. The black asphalt crumbled away into that same brown-red sand that he had walked all those years ago. His feet even sunk into it in the same way that he remembered.
John turned to find Sherlock standing in the sun.
“Cock,” John called out accusingly. “Least I figurd how to bring you out!”
Sherlock walked right up to him and yelled back, “Why must you be so infuriatingly persistent? Everything was fine, John! Then you had to start changing things around! It’s like trying to keep up with an overstimulated Jack Russell!”
“What are you?” John asked. His fists were balled up at his sides. He didn’t know if he could even lay a punch on whatever he was looking at, but he was ready to try.
The saw two emotions cross Sherlock’s face: challenge and resignation.
Sherlock stepped back and saluted. When his hand came down his clothing changed to a khaki colored uniform. It took John a moment to recognize it. The Kahki jacket and pants. Short boots with bandages wrapped up to the just below the knee protecting the legs from insects, biting animals, and sand. The pith helmet.
“That’s a British army uniform from the 1800’s.”
“Leftenant William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I hated every moment of duty and forgot it the moment I could. I didn’t want to go in the first place. And, then I died which made me even more upset.”
Sherlock looked down at his clothes. He pointed at himself and asked, “Do you mind if I change?”
John shrugged.
Sherlock’s clothing quickly changed back. He adjusted a little stretching as he said, “I always hated wearing that thing.”
“Are you Sherlock? Or, is this a trick?”
“No trick,” Sherlock answered. “I’m tired of trying to keep track of your insane changes.”
“I don’t understand,” John answered a bit confused.
Sherlock looked around. He squinted against the sun.
He looked at John and said, “Shade, I think.”
Then a canopy materialized over their heads. When John looked around, he noticed that their chairs had arrived as well.
“Hated the sun then, don’t have to deal with it now,” Sherlock said satisfied.
The area around them cooled considerably.
John didn’t hesitate to go to his chair. As he sat, he said, “I always wondered why our apartment was such a constant temperature.”
Sherlock sat in his chair and easily said, “I shall start at the beginning. You know me well enough by know to know that I butted heads with my superiors. They banished me to this boring, sand-filled hell in 1861. It almost drove me insane. Someone found a tomb around here. Grave robbers, no doubt. I was so bored I decided to go artifact hunting.”
“And you touched the iron thing.”
Sherlock nodded. “I’ve been stuck here ever since. And then one day,” Sherlock pointed to his right.
John bolted upright when he saw his unit. They marched in formation towards the ruin. John saw himself walking along in full battle rattle carrying his weapon. He saw himself stop and look down. He toed something in the sand with his boot. John saw himself reach down for something a moment before a bullet shaped splatter of blood shot out the back of his leg. A half second later the shot was heard.
John heard himself scream out and fall to the ground. His unit took up defensive positions.
What John hadn’t been aware that he did catch fire. But unlike what he imagined, it wasn’t merely at the surface. The fire that shot out of his body consumed his flesh, melted his uniform, and warped the metal parts of his weapon and equipment. Nothing of even his bones were left.
John opened his mouth and breathed in. When he was able to speak, he asked, “Did they survive?”
“I am only aware of what happens very close to the iron piece. I know they didn’t die near us that day. You got sucked in. And, we have been together since.”
“How long?”
“Nine years, I think.”
John shook his head. “Why not simply tell me?”
“You didn’t want to know. Your mind kept twisting everything around. I brought you back to London and you weren’t happy. You hated it. I introduced myself to you. I gave you the danger that you craved. I thought we were both happy, but then you brought Moriarty in.”
“Me?”
“You made sure that I had to leave you, John. Then you decided to get married.”
“Why are you blaming me?”
“Because,” Sherlock said leaning forwards. “We both have the same ability in here. We create our own reality.”
“You wanted to get married to Mary. When it got boring, you made it more exciting. And, when it got really boring you got rid of her!”
John stood up ready for a fight.
Sherlock carefully explained, “I didn’t do it, John. The longer you are in here the more control you get. The last three years, I’ve been following your lead to see where you take us. The genie was a nice touch.”
Sherlock sat back in his chair. “There have been so many plot twists that there have been times where I have been extremely impressed. You would have made one hell of story teller.”
“You are lying,” John said angry and low.
“Am I. Try to do something then. Think of something that you want.”
“Fine. I want Mary Watson to-
“Hello, John,” a familiar voice said.
John knew who it was immediately. The voice was unmistakable. Still, it took him seconds to turn. It took longer for his slow mind to fully understand that it was Mary standing in front of him. She was wearing the same white sweater and dark slacks that he’d last seen her in.
“You can’t be here. You’re dead.”
Mary looked at him confused.
John turned to Sherlock and said, “Don’t do this.”
“You did it. Not me. Just make her disappear.”
John closed his eyes. “Love you. Good bye.”
When he opened his eyes. Mary was gone. And, John felt horrible inside because he felt relief.
John wiped a few tears out of his eyes and said, “I think I liked it better when it was just you and me.”
“Thank you!” Sherlock said triumphantly. “I’ve been thinking the same for at least two years, John. We are a great team. And, I love modern London.”
John stood a bit unsure.
Sherlock didn’t hesitate to add, “Much cleaner and far more hygienic than in my day.”
John, had to find his courage to say, “Show me.”
Sherlock looked up at him quizzically.
Once the words were out, John felt surer of himself. John said, “Show me your London, Sherlock. I certainly don’t know it.”
Sherlock stood up and put his hands behind his back. His voice was low and deep as he said, “Uncharted waters, Watson.”
“Fine,” John said feeling that prickle of excitement work it’s way up his spine.
With absolute clarity, Sherlock explained, “Could be dangerous.”
“Good.”
Sherlock turned to walk the dunes and John was at his side.

“No tech. No comforts,” Sherlock said as his clothes changed into period dress. Sherlock now had a pipe in his hand. He reached up and pointed as he said, “It’s practically an alien culture. Wild and with many risks. Lawless.”
The brightness of the desert gave way the gloomy English sky.
As they walked the sands changed to cobbled stones quickly. The cobble stones were wet, and their shoes splashed along the cold wetness. The buildings rose up around them. Limestone buildings, a few sturdy brick buildings dotted the landscape here and there.
“Can’t wait,” John said as he began walking behind his mad friend. His long strides moved them forwards through old London. “Wasn’t Jack the Ripper alive. My God, the Ripper killings began in 1888. We have a chance to catch him, Sherlock.”
The smell of the air changed. From dry to wet. The smell of burning coal permeated everything. There was a rotting decay smell under the underlying scent of unwashed bodies. Everything looked dirty from soot, dirt, and who knew what else.
“You have no idea the degenerate nature of this place, Watson. How little has changed.”
They were walking through a neighborhood. People were appearing. All of them dressed to the period.
“There are entire neighborhoods that are denizens of immorality and criminality. You’d be amazed, Watson. Amazed. How little I had to change to make my skills work in your London. The criminal class is the criminal class. They don’t change, Watson.”
John followed along happily.
Their future was laid out before them.
They were together in partnership.
The very best adventures lay ahead of them.

Fin.