Work Text:
Disclaimer: The characters from the show aren't mine, they belong to others. No copyright infringement intended. Any characters you don't recognize are mine. Feedback would be nice, positive feedback would be nicer. Enjoy!
Category: Sherlock (BBC 2010 version) angsty-ish PWP genfic snippet
Rating: G/PG for angsty themes
Characters: John/Mycroft with a sprinkling of Sherlock
Series: No
Spoilers: None intended but anything (including the unaired pilot) might get a mention.
Summary: This time, when John gets into Mycroft’s car, he does so willingly. Well, not exactly unwillingly. John learns a (very) little more about Holmes senior. And, almost coincidentally, junior.
Archive: Just tell me where it's going
Additional 'stuff': Set in the few days following the end of the case of the Blind Banker. This will make more sense if you’ve read my other fics I this fandom but works as a standalone I think. It was part of a longer fic but I can’t seem to finish that so I plucked this bit out. I haven’t been since they re-opened, but I assume the Savoy’s morning tea menu isn’t that much changed.
Title: Jacket and tie required.
Tuesday, 10.40am…Central London
The large black car glided to a slow crawl, matching John’s pace as he headed out of the flat, crossing the road, intent on putting some distance between himself and the flat where Sherlock was conducting a disgusting experiment involving several pig snouts and what he really hoped was not a human tongue. He hadn’t stayed long enough to ask.
The door opened and Mycroft leaned out. “Good afternoon Doctor Watson.”
“Mycroft.” John had just got away from the younger brother and now it seemed he was being car-stalked by the older one. As always, just because he knew it annoyed him, John refused to call Mycroft ‘Mr Holmes’. But, because he knew it would annoy Sherlock, he climbed into the car.
As John climbed in and settled himself, buckling his seatbelt, Mycroft said casually: “I thought we’d pop into the Savoy.”
John couldn’t help laughing at Mycroft’s suggestion.
“Something amusing Doctor Watson?”
Mycroft seemed miffed and John shook his head quickly. “Eighteen months ago I was lying in a field hospital, not sure if I was going to get out of there alive. Now I’m on my way to the Savoy in a chauffeur-driven car with my flatmate’s brother and…” John’s voice tailed off.
“I appreciate you weren’t expecting me so…here.” Mycroft pulled open a small drawer in the armrest. Wrapped around a grey suede roll were three ties.
“Oh…okay…thanks.” John reached for a plain grey silk tie. It was a pretty good match for the checks in his cream shirt.
“How is my brother?” Mycroft enquired after a few seconds of silence.
John smiled. “The same as always. Waiting for the call from Lestrade.”
Mycroft nodded understandingly and smoothed an invisible crease in his trousers. After a few more seconds silence, Mycroft began softly: “When Sherlock was accepted at Cambridge, I wanted to make sure he had somewhere…suitable…to live. A friend of mine had a younger brother starting the same term as Sherlock and he had an empty room in the house he was renting.”
“Sebastian.” John said sourly.
“Indeed.” Mycroft nodded. “I had no idea he was so very different from his older brother.”
“I don’t understand why Sherlock took the job at the bank.”
Mycroft stared out of the window for several seconds. “Yes you do John.”
John frowned. “Just for the money? Sherlock’s not that desperate, surely?”
Mycroft shook his head. “Until Baker Street, Sherlock’s rent always included the bills. And I always paid his rent. This is the first time he’s had to deal with earning money to pay bills.”
“Why the change?” John queried.
“He has you.” Mycroft said quietly.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” John ventured. He took Mycroft’s silence as agreement and thought for a moment, phrasing his enquiry carefully. “Why is Sherlock always so angry with you?”
Mycroft sat back as the car turned a corner. “Because he believes I killed Mummy.” It wasn’t strictly accurate – Sherlock knew Mycroft hadn’t *actually* killed their mother – but he still held him responsible.
John stared at Mycroft, mouth open. “Uh…um…what?!”
Mycroft sighed deeply. “It’s not true, of course, but in Sherlock’s mind there has to be someone to blame and that someone is…unfortunately me.”
“Christ Mycroft!” John absorbed the softly-uttered response and the tired tone. “I just always assumed it was…well, not that.”
Mycroft smiled sadly as the car pulled into the courtyard in front of the hotel. “My brother is quite incapable of accepting Mummy’s death was a tragic accident. I have long-since given up trying to convince him otherwise. “
“But to blame you, that’s…not fair.” John said, following Mycroft into the hotel, fingers tying his tie as he walked.
Mycroft smiled sadly as they were shown to their table. “My brother’s mind works in a…unique way John, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.”
John nodded, smiling a little. “But it bothers you.”
“Not really, not any longer.” Mycroft lied.
John stared at the older Holmes. “I can see why you work…where you work…you’re a good liar.”
Mycroft smiled tightly. “Now, some tea?”
John picked up a menu and stared at the list of teas. “Err…yeah. Tea. Right.” Change of subject then…from death to Darjeeling in two seconds flat. John settled on Earl Grey. It was one of the few blends on the list that he’d actually heard of.
*****************************
Nineteen minutes later…
As he ate a second scone, John’s phone beeped an incoming message. He ignored it until it beeped again, two minutes later.
“You had better reply to my brother’s messages John. You won’t get any peace until you do.”
Reluctantly but knowing Mycroft was right, John pulled his phone out and read the messages:
‘Tell Mycroft that tie is too dreadful to be seen in public.’
‘Ask Mycroft when he intends to re-start his lapsed diet.’
John deleted both, not replying to either. “Nothing important.”
Mycroft smiled, one hand smoothing the narrow length of dark purple silk with small white spots around his neck, the other replacing the scone in his fingers on the china plate.
The phone beeped again before John could return the phone to his pocket. Sighing crossly, John read the message:
‘When are you coming home? We are out of milk. And matches. And you need buy a new pillow. And a fire extinguisher.’
John turned the phone around so Mycroft could read the message.
Mycroft got to his feet. “Well, it would seem my brother really can’t be left alone for any length of time. So…pillows.”
John groaned and followed Mycroft out, reluctantly leaving behind the uneaten scones and sandwiches. “Don’t forget the fire extinguisher.”
End