Disclaimer: So, Sherlock isn't mine but this fic and their perspectives are.
Chapter 9- A New Connection
Contrary to popular opinion– Sherlock's, that twat– Lestrade was not stupid. He was a Detective Inspector and one didn't get to be in his position without being observant. So when Sherlock walked in wearing John's sweater, it didn't take a genius to figure out that the pair had gotten closer. And he wasn't the only one that noticed. The entire force had made bets on the two: if they were together, when they had gotten together, how long they'd stay together, who was on top, who the consulting detective would piss off next. For someone that had a disposition to making enemies with his obnoxious bluntness, Sherlock was pretty popular– hence the bets. Everyone couldn't wait to see what crazy things the consulting detective would do next.
So Sherlock and John were probably fucking. That wasn't particularly surprising. The two had so much unresolved sexual tension that you could cut it with a finger, no sharp objects necessary. What was surprising was the stare down that had taken place in his office at precisely one thirty on Sunday. He watched as John entered his office – no knock, Sherlock must have been rubbing off on him, not literally of course because imaging that was kind of not the image he wanted in mind – and stared at Sherlock before placing a paper bag on the table. He had never seen Sherlock flinch before. Not even when he was threatening to find and take away his drugs.
John had said four words, "It's time to eat."
Sherlock stiffened and leveled an impressive glare in the doctor's direction. "No."
"You will if I have to force feed you. You can do it with dignity and of your own violation, which will result in me leaving you alone about it, or the D.I can be privy to your humiliation."
Hurt flashed across Sherlock's face for an instant before it went blank. Lestrade found himself surprised again. Sherlock had always said that he was a sociopath, correction: a highly functional sociopath, so he hadn't expected to see him feel the emotions the genius thought were a waste of time.
John must have saw it too because he slouched and the look on his face softened from 'I am going to shoot you in a very painful place' to 'dammit'. The blonde sighed, "I'm sorry, Sherlock. Please just eat the sandwich," he turned toward Greg, "Can you give us a moment?"
Lestrade nodded and made his way out of the office. He closed the door in time to hear John say, "Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't finish half of the lunch yesterday. You are going to eat all of this. It's a vegetarian sandwich and it's low in…"
Greg leaned against his office while he waited for John to motion him back in. He had once thought that Sherlock would be the one on top– he was too high maintenance and demanding not to be – but he now revised that opinion.
It took a lot of patience and coercion to get Sherlock to do whatever you wanted him to but John seemed to do it with little trouble. Lestrade could barely get him to listen half the time and Sherlock wanted the cases he gave him.
It made him wonder who was the more dangerous of the two: the smiling one that no one noticed, or the one who could look at you and tell you all your secrets. And what did that make the pair of them together? Something niggled at the back of his mind, something Sherlock said about the dead cabbie in The Study in Pink. Yes, he read John's blog, the entire Yard did; it was really quite amusing and informative. This– he didn't get paid enough for this so he'd be leaving it alone. He watched the couple through the glass as they kissed. Quite a few bets would be confirmed today and half the office would be making a bit of money. That reminded him, he needed to put a bet on John being the one who topped.
He would also need to listen to the recordings in his office after. Really, the two should have known better than to talk in there. The entire building had surveillance. Sherlock wasn't the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve.
But overall, he silently congratulated them. Even if he didn't win the bets, they were good for each other. They balanced each other out a bit. And really, it was about bloody time. They should have gotten together years ago. Seemed like John had done something about that too.
Mycroft hung up the phone and smiled. It had been a good day and John was so much easier to convince than world leaders– if they just listened the first time he suggested something, they'd see he was right.
Mycroft was aware of Sherlock and John's new status as a couple and wasn't quite sure what to make of it. But he did like John. The doctor was loyal; the amount of money Mycroft had offered him to disappear when he had first met Sherlock was no small thing. The amount of money he had offered John to spy was even more. The doctor had nothing to his name except an army pension– peanuts really, he couldn't even get a bespoke suit with the amount he would have accumulated in months– and a few badges and honours that were completely useless, you could strike harder if people didn't see you coming. And yet the doctor still refused.
Yes, John was unfailingly loyal to Sherlock. The doctor always had been. John acquiesced to Sherlock with grace and competence. Mycroft could use a few more people like that. John was willing to kill for Sherlock and had killed for him– he was really quite wasted in his profession.
The only thing John wasn't able to do was proper research and make a good cup of tea. The research was forgivable, John had had gotten better and he really couldn't hold him to the standards of his and Sherlock's intelligence. The tea, not so much– John was British, he really should know how since it was the unofficial national drink. Mycroft would have to do something about that, perhaps introduce him to higher quality tea leaves, proper brewing techniques?
So, he liked John. Maybe he thought he was a bit too brave sometimes– just another word for stupidity, really– but he did respect that he didn't back down. He could also handle Sherlock; few people really knew how to handle Sherlock. Even the drug dealers that had humiliated Sherlock when he no longer had the money for the drugs couldn't handle him; the ones that had raped him and made him do things for their amusement. Mycroft had taken care of them personally. He hadn't killed them, a fact that he wasn't completely satisfied with, but intimidation and a constant reminder of his presence did go a long way. After grievously injuring them, of course.
Perhaps he should send John their way. The doctor would be encountering another one of Sherlock's issues soon and when he found out what/why it was he would be very angry. Mycroft also wanted to see what the blonde would do. He constantly wondered why he didn't offer John a job; he had so much potential that he'd be brilliant if trained right– that meant by Mycroft himself. Oh yes, Sherlock would be the reason why. His younger brother tended to throw tantrums whenever someone encroached on his time with John. Mycroft did not keep regular hours because the world did not keep normal hours and it was always better to be twelve steps ahead, so if he hired John, Sherlock would never see him. Mycroft did not believe in wasting the talents of his people since they were the best and John was, or could be if he trained him, very talented.
Sherlock was so possessive that it had been surprising that John had been the one to make the first move. When he had first had a talk with John, he hadn't been expecting his words to become so literal. John loved Sherlock and Sherlock needed John. That made things very serious between the two. John didn't know just how much Sherlock needed him, he thought he did but he didn't have a clue. Mycroft knew because he knew his brother very well, addictive personality and all. Sherlock was not willing to give up his bad habits, all of them, for just anyone. Thus far nobody but John had managed to get him off the drugs, not for long. If wedding bells were around the corner for the two then their family needed to be informed and wouldn't that meeting be interesting.
What concerned him was that John knew how to handle Sherlock. Sherlock did not know how to handle John. Most of the control in their relationship laid in John's hands and while that was sort of fair– for the entirety of their relationship before, John had been Sherlock's bitch– Sherlock was his brother. He was obliged to make sure that Sherlock didn't get hurt. And if this thing with John didn't work out, hurt was the least of his worries. Sherlock would self-destruct so hard that he would probably have to have him on twenty-four hour watch on the highest security clearance. He had no doubt that Sherlock would turn back to drugs and do something foolish like overdose. In the worst-case scenario he would have to have his younger brother committed.
The trade off of possible happiness was not worth that. He should probably stop this relationship now while they weren't too dependent on each other because most relationships did not work. Look at Mummy and Father, Father was dead and Mummy was mad. He could mitigate the worst of it if he ended things now. He just… couldn't do it. He did love his younger brother even if Sherlock was overly dramatic and thought he was The Enemy. Enemies did not clean up their younger brother's messes. He would observe and see what happened. If things started to turn sour, he would step in. John would get a job, whether he wanted one or not, and Sherlock would never see the medic again. After a while his brother would get over it. He had gotten over The Woman– thank God he hadn't fallen in love with her, Irene Adler was a complication that the Holmes family did not need– and even though it wasn't the same thing it was the closest example, so he would get over John Watson too.
Mycroft would leave the situation alone for now. He wanted his brother to be happy if he could. He expected him to mess up but this was one case where he hoped he wasn't right. That reminded him, he did need to upgrade the couple's security status.
Mrs. Hudson went up the stairs to 221B with a plate of biscuits in her hands. Sherlock loved them so she brought them up whenever she baked them. John had also told her about the Sherlock thinking he was fat situation after Sherlock had threw the dinner she had brought against the wall so she figured this would help. These biscuits were the only thing he always ate.
She braced herself for the mess she would face when she opened the door. They were always so messy that she found herself tidying things up a bit when she stepped into their apartment. She was constantly reminding them that she was their landlady not their housekeeper and they were always disregarding that.
She was just about to open the door when she heard it. A moan. Both her eyebrows rose.
"John," the sound was long and drawn out.
Mrs. Hudson stopped.
"You. Are. Sexy. Show me, where is it that your fat? Is it here? Here? Your arse? Because it's fucking gorgeous; you have a perfectly proportioned, tight, bubble butt. I could just bite it. Show me Sherlock." John was growling.
She nearly dropped the biscuits. Oh my. She didn't know John had it in him. She always had an idea that he wasn't nearly as placid as he seemed– the first time she met him with the leg had given her a clue, but this. She flushed as she heard a high-pitched moan end in nearly a scream and set the platter down outside the door before hurrying down the stairs. Ah, young love. She remembered when she and her husband were like that. Though really, she didn't think Sherlock's voice could go that high.
Thirty minutes later, ensconced in her apartment, Mrs. Hudson decided that she needed to get herself a pair of earplugs. The boys had gotten louder and she could now hear muffled moans and sharp cries even in her room. She would need to mention to John that they'd have to do something about the noise; she didn't think Sherlock would take it well if she brought up the subject to him.
She always knew that they were together; she did wonder how she hadn't noticed the noise before now though. Perhaps Sherlock banned sex during cases– it seemed like something he'd do, or kept it to when she was gone? When she had initially assumed they were together– you weren't that close and Sherlock didn't show consideration for anybody, much less offer to clean up, if there wasn't something going on– John had denied it and said that they'd need two rooms. She had let it go but she knew all sorts and made sure to let them know she wouldn't have minded. It was up to them if they didn't want to tell anyone else.
Sherlock deserved to be happy. People really didn't realize what a dear he was. He was constantly putting himself in danger to help other people and solve cases. Sure, his way of doing it was… unorthodox but he still got the job done. Her husband had been a very bad man; a bad man with connections, and Sherlock had still helped her when no one else would. Not only had Sherlock helped, at risk to himself, he had succeeded and now she no longer had to worry about criminals dropping by in the middle of the night– at least not because of her husband. She owed Sherlock a great deal and would help him out in anyway she could including, but not limited to, giving him a deal on his apartment and hiding things for him if it wasn't drugs.
So she was happy that he had found John. John was everything Sherlock wasn't but they were a good match, most likely because of that. John smoothed Sherlock's rough edges and Sherlock was more stable with John while seeming to give him something that he needed. Together the two were nearly unstoppable and she pitied the person or people that tried to get in their way. Not a lot of people had the bond that Sherlock and John had and she would do her utmost to make sure they stayed together. Sherlock wasn't the only one with connections.
It had been silent for a little while so she'd go see if they were finished. Perhaps they'd be hungry after that workout, and dinner was done.
Another moan sounded through the silence and Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow. Maybe not. She'd leave it in the oven and bring it up later. Though a part of her did wonder at their stamina. It wasn't good to be repressed, after all.
Molly looked up as Sherlock walked in and froze. He was wearing… a cashmere sweater? She'd never seen Sherlock in a sweater. It was always those tight, fitted shirts and trousers (that fitted his form so well they were practically like second skin). And she'd know. She always had time to watch Sherlock. Um, she meant that he was sexy. No! That she liked to observe him because he was brilliant. Yeah, that's what she meant. She sighed and found herself straightening up and playing with her hair when Sherlock looked at her. Who was she trying to kid? She liked him so much that if she liked him anymore she'd be in love with him.
"Um, hi, Sherlock. You're wearing a sweater. It's nice."
The dark head nodded, "Yes, it's John's."
Molly's eyebrows furrowed. John's? Could it be…? Did that mean…? Only lovers wore each other's clothing. No. She'd know if they were together. John had said it himself that they weren't and Sherlock had never denied it. Sherlock liked telling everyone they were wrong. She'd know, yeah she'd know. And she'd never seen John in a sweater like this; he tended to wear thick jumpers, this one was nice.
"Would you? Would you like a coffee, with me?"
"Black, two sugars. Any new bodies for me, Molly?"
"There are a couple. One's cause of death is unknown– we're waiting for the autopsy report. The other is a murder."
"I'll see the murder."
"Alright. But, why are you wearing John's sweater?"
"I like this one more."
"Oh." She went to prepare the coffee. Sherlock was puzzling at best sometimes. What did him liking that sweater more mean? Did that mean he constantly wore John's clothes? No, that couldn't be right. Molly made sure that she saw Sherlock often, she would have noticed the sudden appearance of jumpers. When it came to John, Sherlock seemed to have no concept of personal space. He took his cellphone, his laptop, and now apparently his sweaters.
Molly added two sugar cubes to the black coffee and started back towards Sherlock. She was concerning herself over nothing. It was fine. Sherlock was not gay. She'd label him asexual but that wasn't quite right either. He showed interest in people. There was that horrific woman that had hurt Sherlock and put that obnoxious moaning as his ringtone. And he had kissed her that Christmas. There was no way Sherlock was gay, and John wasn't either. John dated lots of females. Everything was fine. John wasn't snatching Sherlock from under her nose, at least not purposely.
The doctor was nice, but like her. He probably was convenient to Sherlock but not very interesting. But most importantly the doctor was heterosexual. She was overreacting. She really just needed to calm down, take a deep breath, and give Sherlock his coffee. It wasn't difficult – she'd be fine. And maybe one day she'd get the courage to ask Sherlock out properly.
It was only as Sherlock was leaving that she got the courage to ask again. "Sherlock, you didn't answer my question before. Why are you wearing John's sweater?"
The genius looked over his shoulder at her from the doorway, "I've been told that's what lovers do. Afternoon." The detective was gone with a whoosh of his trench coat. He really shouldn't be allowed to wear that trench, it was completely distracting, him swooshing about. What had he said?
Fuck. She knew it. God damn it all. She'd never had a hope, had she? Molly bit her lip. She should have known. No one spent that much time, or felt that much concern, or didn't care about personal space unless they wanted to shag the other person or were related. She should have known.
Molly put both their cups in the sink and straightened her back. It was time to move on, she always knew in the back of her mind that Sherlock was unattainable. It was time to start chasing something real, maybe someone who would like her back.
"Sherlock," she murmured, "why do you have to be so mean all the time? You knew."
A/N: I nearly didn't post this today. PLEASE REVIEW.