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A Bit Better	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3330 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 15
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"For god sakes John calm down, we are going to see your mother it's not the end of the world." After watching the smaller man fuss for a few moments, he grabbed his belt loops and pulled him tight against his chest, a deep insistent kiss loosening the smaller man in his arms.
"Hey? What's got you all riled up?"
John let his head fall against Sherlock’s chest letting out a defeated sigh as he relaxed in the detectives grasp. "I know. I'm sorry."
His fingers idly tugged at Sherlock’s shirt as he pulled away a bit, straightening his collar. "I just don't want her to have any reason to start her shit... I want this to go well." He spoke softly, offering Sherlock a sheepish grin that only reached half his face. Meeting his gaze John gave Sherlock a serious look, imploring him to understand. "Just... Try not to be too... Just try and be nice, yeah?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and pressed his lips lightly to John’s forehead. "I'll make an attempt, but I can not promise anything." The detective hated seeing John worked up like this. He'd never seen him so agitated over something so trivial. Pressing the side of one knuckle beneath his chin, he led the doctor to look up into his eyes, drawing close one more.
"I do not care what your family thinks of me John, but that does not mean I won't try for you." His voice was low and soft, "I assure you, nothing your mother could possibly say will affect me do you understand?" He sighed and pulled away, "Now stop flitting about, we will miss our train."
Nodding quickly John finished packing their bags, stuffing the last few things they'd need for the weekend into the front pockets. Satisfied, John turned back, seemingly relaxed by Sherlocks promise.
"Alright let's go. Harry'll kill me if we're late." He shot a smile back at Sherlock as he hurried down the steps, pausing at the bottom to bid Mrs. Hudson goodbye.
...

When they finally reached Sussex, Harry was waiting at the platform for them. When she saw them clambering off the train she hurried over, a relieved smile on her face. Wrapping her arms around John's neck she let out a sigh. "I was beginning to think you were going to leave me here with mother all weekend."
John managed to return half a hug, his other arm burdened with one of their bags. "You know we wouldn't do that. Thanks for coming, how are they? Mum and dad?" John was chewing at the inside of his lip nervously as he pulled away, wordlessly asking what he was walking into.
"She's so wrapped up in her sodding flowers she's barely noticed I'm here." She laughed, indicating that this was a good thing. "Dad’s rather excited though, kept asking me about you two."
Her eyes softened, seeing the worry still behind Johns eyes. "It'll be fine." She squeezed his forearm before turning to Sherlock. "And my favorite consulting detective. I assume you've been treating my brother well?" There was a hint of a threat beneath the question, but a playful smile was pulling at her lips.
"Calling me your favorite consulting detective is repetitive as I am the only one." He said, attempting to come across as bored with the conversation, "And of course I'm treating your brother well. Would he stay if I were abusing him?" His chest puffed up slightly like a ruffled peacock, but it was obvious he was joking with the woman in his own, somewhat devastating, way.
Harry laughed looking back to John, "You weren't kidding. He is sorta Spock like isn't he?" She flashed them both a toothy grin before turning to lead them back out of the station. "Come on, I have mums car."
John hurried after her, avoiding Sherlock's gaze. He seriously needed to reconsider what details he gave his sister, obviously.
The ride to the Watson home from the station was short and uneventful, but Sherlock felt his stomach clenching as Harry pulled the car up in front of a small cottage looking home with plants growing up the side of the building. He took a deep breath and reached for John's bag before the doctor could and offered a smile that was calculatively reassuring.
"Here we go." He whispered softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of John’s head.
John let out a shaky breath, nodding minutely returning the chaste kiss against Sherlock's lips before stepping out of the car. It looked very much like John remembered, the small old cottage surrounded by different colored roses and white gardenias. The front door began to open before Sherlock even had a chance to follow John out of the car, his mother bustling out excitedly, his father close on her heels.
"Hi mum." John mumbled warmly, as she quickly pulled him into a tight embrace. "Dad." He said smiling at his father who was still a little outside of the group.
Pulling back from his mother John stood next to Sherlock, his face hardened a bit as he looked between them. "This is Sherlock." It seemed like a ridiculous introduction. Obviously they'd seen the news and the papers, they knew who he was, but then again they didn't, not really.
It was his father that broke the silence. He stepped forward, hand outstretched to the detective, a small smile on his lips. He stood just an inch or so taller than John, but still much shorter than Sherlock. The resemblance between the older Watson and John were striking.
"Nice to finally meet you." He offered strongly, shaking Sherlock’s hand. His words seemed sincere and it made Johns chest swell a bit, some of his anxiety quickly leaving his body.
Sherlock had set their bags down on either side of his feet when the older Watson had offered a hand to shake: he took it, gripping with a firm but friendly pressure. His smile looked genuine as he addressed them both.
"Nice to meet you as well Mr. Watson." When he released the older man's hand he turned to the portly woman standing beside Harry. "Mrs. Watson." He held his hand out as if to shake, but when she politely took it, he brought it to his lips for a kiss.
"John tells me you make the best banoffee pie." He released her hand and she sniffed condescendingly.
"That's because I do."she said curtly, and just like that the anxiety was back. A tight breathless feeling creeping over his chest. Sherlock at least seemed genuinely unbothered by her, which allowed John to keep it together shooting his father a look that begged the older man to talk to her so that John didn’t have to.
Stepping forward a bit, diffusing the tension lingering in the air Mr. Watson stepped in. “I think we were just about ready for dinner, John. If you want to show Sherlock to your room, get your things squared away.”
Giving his father a thankful look John nodded, guiding Sherlock between his parents and inside the house. They had barely made it through the door when they heard Harry not so slyly chastising their mother.
“You could have at least tried to be nice.”
Letting the front door swing closed behind them John urged Sherlock forward, into a small bedroom at the end of the hall. Unlike Sherlock, John had taken all of his personal effects with him when he left his parents home, so the room was a bare spare room. The only furniture was a queen bed, with a dark blue duvet, a night stand with a few odd books that John was sure his mother had never read, and a small dresser.
“Well that went.... better than it could have.” John finally decided, raking his hand through his short hair. It seemed to be his constant answer when he came to his mother. He had to admit, it wasn’t hard when his expectation was for her to be overtly rude about it all.
Sherlock set both bags at the foot of the bed and sat down on the edge, holding his arms out to John. “Sure it could have gone better, but think of it this way. Your father seems willing to get to know me, and Harry likes me enough already... She will have to come around eventually.” When the doctor paced close enough he caught the smaller man in his embrace and pulled him tight against his chest.
“A child that realizes that he is alone and everyone is having a time without them will eventually join in.” He pressed his face into John’s stomach, “I’m here for you, that’s all that matters.” He dropped a gentle kiss on the older man’s clothed navel.
John carded through the detectives hair softly, letting himself bask in the moment before they had to join the rest of his family for dinner.
“You’re right,” he agreed finally. “That is all that matters.”
When Sherlock looked back up at John he was considerably calmer, a genuine smile pulling at his lips. “Come on, god knows what she’ll say if we take too long to show up for dinner.” He chuckled imagining what his mother would think.
“Oh yes, wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.” Sherlock’s voice was thick with sarcasm when he spoke, “That would be awful.” He smiled and pressed the smaller man into a tight hug before standing and helping John out of his coat. He laid it over the foot of the bed, removing his own and laying it on top. Sherlock would never admit it but he was nervous. A pang of unease roared through his stomach and he reached softly, pressing his fingertips to the small of the doctor’s back. He wasn’t sure if it was more for John’s comfort or for his own.
“Shall we go then?”
John could hear movement coming from down the hall, everyone else was probably already in the kitchen waiting. Taking a deep breath John nodded and pulled the door open, leading Sherlock back through the house to the kitchen. They had obviously been waiting for John and Sherlock to arrive, the small wooden table was set and his mother was just moving the dishes of food to the center.
Striding in next to Harry, who looked as though she wanted to help with something, but had been ushered out of the cooking area, John watched his mom for a moment before speaking.
“Smells great mum. Need any help?” John hadn’t spent time at his parents home since before Afghanistan, and with the recent turn of events, he wasn’t even sure how to act with them.
“I could use an extra pair of hands for the roast.” she said from the kitchen. Harry started towards the kitchen to help but Sherlock raised a hand softly to stop her.
“Why don’t you two go have a seat with Mr. Watson. From what I understand you have a lot to catch up on.” he smiled brightly and tightened his fingers at John’s back minutely before pulling away and heading to the kitchen.
John hesitated for a moment, a little concerned at leaving Sherlock and his mother alone together, but Harry quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling him along with her to the dining room.
“Relax John,” she muttered, taking a seat and gesturing for John to do the same. His shoulders dropped a bit, trying to push the worry from his mind as he turned his attention to his father who was diligently working at a crossword puzzle. A pen nestled between his teeth in concentration.
“So dad, how’s retirement treating you?” He actually felt a bit bad about how their relationship had deteriorated during his depression. It had been because of his father that John had joined the army. Granted his father had been a grunt, far from the medical field that John went into. John been close to his father during his childhood, he’d emulated him really.
Mr. Watson’s head popped up, the pen falling from his mouth. “We’re showing flowers this weekend John.” There was a certain amount of humor behind the statement and John chuckled softly.
“That bad?”
The older man laughed openly, pushing the crossword away. “No, no. Just not as exciting as I’d like it to be. Well you know.” he raised his eyebrows, obviously referring to how John had avoided the crippling boredom of civilian life. “And don’t tell your mother I complained about the roses.”
John shook his head, falling back into a comfortable place with his father. “I won’t don’t worry.”
...
Sherlock entered the kitchen and stepped beside the portly woman, taking care to make his footsteps heard as he did. John had told him once that people didn’t take kindly to ‘being snuck up on.’ “Can I help?” he asked.
The older woman turned and her eyes hardened, her lips thinning as she pursed them and in that moment he was reminded so much of John it was staggering. “I thought John was coming to help.” she said.
“I offered to help so he and Harry could sit down with Mr. Watson. His shoulder has also been bothering him, but he’ll deny it.” He held up his hands offering to take the rather large roast plate she had been about to pick up. She released the sides of the platter, leaving it on the counter and turned, pointing at Sherlock, her stubby finger in his face.
“I don’t know what you’re getting at with my boy.” she said softly, her voice icy, “But I don’t want him hurt. You’ve done enough hurt to him already.” Sherlock reached up and took her hand.
“Mrs. Watson, no one knows more than I how much harm I have done to your son.” His eyes were sincere as he looked up into her eyes, “There are days I’m not even sure why he still speaks to me. But he told me once that I make him happy. That’s all I want for him, is for him to be happy, don’t you want the same?”
“Of course I do but-”
“No buts Mrs. Watson. You can’t put a stipulation on happiness. I have prepared a course of action for when I no longer make him happy, and trust me when I say this madame. The day he pulls away from me I will let him go because he deserves to be happy. Whether it is with me or not. Your son means a lot to me. When we first met, I thought I was saving him, but over the course of time he has proven on more than one occasion that he is saving me.” The detective’s green eyes were intense, and for once Virginia Watson found herself speechless.
“He asked me if I wanted to come here, I told him yes because by no means do I want to take your precious son away from you. He worries that this weekend will be unpleasant because he does not want to see you unhappy with his life choices, he doesn’t want to upset you. Your son is a very selfless man, and I want to give him the joy of a weekend without having to worry. I have nothing against you Mrs. Watson, in all honesty I should thank you for making him into such a wonderful man. But, I want to give him a wonderful weekend with his parents, and all the people he cares about. And for all your strength on the matter madame, I think you want him to have that too. I’m sorry I’m not female, I know that is what you are fixated upon the most. But I can guarantee you, if that’s what John wanted, that’s what he would have. He is not settling for me, he’s chosen me because he wants me. I am powerless to do anything but give him what he wants.” He released her hand, and she pulled it back to her chest slowly. It was clear from her expression that she had not expected that at all.
“Can I help you carry the roast?” he asked sweetly, as if nothing had happened. She handed him the platter and scooped up the the last bowl, mashed potatoes, and shook her head to rid herself of the surprised expression as they made their way back to the small dining room. Sherlock set the roast in the empty spot in front of Mr. Watson, and took his seat next to John, squeezing his knee under the table reassuringly to quell the worried look that was thrown his way by the doctor.
Slipping his hand over Sherlock’s John smiled softly, a wordless exchange between the two. The table was fell in a hush for a moment as dishes were passed around, John wasn’t too surprised this time to see Sherlock actually putting a fair amount of food on his plate. John knew that Sherlock ate regular meals to please him, but knowing that didn’t change the fact that it worked.
“Everything looks amazing mum.” John offered turning his attention to the woman finally taking her seat. “So the rose festival... that starts tomorrow?” It was nice to turn the discussion away from himself for a moment.
“Yes. The parade will go through town in the early afternoon, and then the carnival will be tomorrow night. Then the judging will be the morning after followed by the awards and the closing ceremonies.” She seemed more relaxed now, and as her and Sherlock’s eyes met over the green beans, she attempted a small smile. The detective returned it brightly and served himself before passing it to John.
"Well the garden looks lovely, I'd be surprised if you didn't win." John said as he took the dish from Sherlock. He didn't miss the silent exchange between the two, and the last bits of his anxiety quickly slid away as Harry shot him an encouraging grin.
It didn't take long for comfortable conversation to take over. Mrs. Watson gossiped with Harry over some of the competitors and neighbors, people she obviously assumed Harry still remembered despite the fact that she’d moved to London right after uni. John knew Harry couldn't care less about the women his mum was carrying on about, but his sister nodded along with the conversation. Obviously he wasn't the only one aiming to please.
Mr. Watson on the other hand was a lot more interested in Sherlocks work. He listened intently as Sherlock explained what it was they did. John's couldn't have asked for the meal to go better, as his parents were finally able to understand what they did. There was almost a hint of jealousy in the way his father hung on Sherlock's words. Civilian life hasn't suited his father any more than it suited him, but he'd come home to a family and had to adjust.
“What do you mean deduce? You say you can just look at a person and know all about them?” the older woman scoffed, “That’s preposterous...impossible.” She shook her head. It was obvious she didn’t believe them.
“Well go on then, show them.” Harry said with a smile, “Show them how brilliant you are detective.”
“I’m not sure...” He said uncertainly. He turned and looked at John as if asking if it were alright. When he received a hesitant nod he turned back and looked at Mrs. Watson for a few moments before steepling his fingers and letting his mouth fly.
“The style of your wedding ring is about fifteen years old, but it’s obvious that you and Mr. Watson have been married for much longer than that. Now I know John is thirty-seven, and Harry is thirty-nine. The anniversaries that usually warrant a new wedding ring are twenty-five, thirty, and forty. However I can rule out fifty five years of marriage due to your age and your children’s age, so you’ve been married somewhere between forty and forty-five years. I know you didn’t simply lose it. You have all sorts of things from your children’s life still around the house, a medal John won in secondary, A paper that Harry got recommendation from a magazine, you don’t seem like the type to lose anything.”
“You were a gymnast as a child, but after breaking your wrist more than once you gave it up. It still pains you when a cold front comes in. You worry about your weight because raising five children and taking care of a husband has taken it’s toll on you but...” his eyes turned to Mr. Watson, “he still cares for you as much as the first day he laid his eyes on you.” He saw Mr. Watson give his wife a sheepish smile.
“You Mr. Watson are retired military, the source from which John gets his patriotism, but you weren’t a doctor. You also made it to Captain before you left the Army. You left not because you were invalided like your son, but because Mrs. Watson told you she was pregnant with Harry. When you returned home, you got a job as a grocery store clerk and interned with a motor company where you got a job as a mechanic until you retired four years ago. Now you spend most of your time helping Mrs. Watson with her roses and building furniture in your shop. However, was it your father or grandfather that taught you how to be a carpenter?”
Mrs. Watsons face was blank surprise, and suddenly she squealed with delight, “My goodness! How on earth? Is it always like this?” she asked John.
"Yes." John laughed, relieved that Sherlock hasn't come up with anything offensive. "I wasn't kidding, he's a right genius." His smile was a bit smug. Unlike Sherlock, John cared when people called him a fake. "Bit of a shock if you aren't expecting him to do it though,"
Johns father had been quiet, seemingly shocked by how easily Sherlock had laid out his entire adult life and for a moment his silence worried John. That was until a large grin broke across his fathers features.
“That was amazing... absolutely amazing.” He shook his head in disbelief before continuing. “It was my grandfather, by the way, but wow... Brilliant.”
“That was my reaction exactly the first time I heard him do that.” John laid his hand over Sherlocks, more comfortable than he had been since they’d arrived.
“Actually.” Harry interjected between mouthfuls, “I’m fairly certain that’s still your reaction.” She raised her eyebrows knowingly at her brother.
John flushed slightly, shooting a mock glare back at Harry, “Yeah alright, enough out of you.”
“The praise is nice.” he said smiling at John before turning his attention back to his mother, “No one really sees it as brilliant except him. I can tend to be a bit... Oh what’s the word I’m looking for here John?”
“Word? More like words... Overbearing, intrusive, blunt...” he nudged Sherlock playfully before explaining further. “It’s difficult for him to see the good without the bad and most people don’t take well to their faults being lied out in front of them.”
“Understandable.” Mrs. Watson said suddenly, her feathers ruffled again. “I am not bothered by my weight young man.”
“Well... There is always something.” he said, sharing a knowing smile with John. The rest of dinner went by well, with small talk and some laughter, and finally with dinner done, Sherlock offered to help with the dishes. He roped Harry into doing them with him so that John could have some time alone with his parents. Afterwards they all gathered together in the living room where Harry suggested they play Cluedo. Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.
John was quick to interject. “Uh no. Anything but Cluedo.” When he received a room full of confused looks he explained. “You don’t want to play Cluedo with Sherlock. He tends to make up his own rules.” They had decided a long time ago that they would never bring that game out again. Well John had decided, Sherlock simply had no one else to play with. “Do we have any other games?”
“How’s you’re rummy?” asked Mrs. Watson. The cards were brought out and they played for a few hours, Sherlock winning all three rounds. By that time everyone had stifled a yawn or two, and Sherlock squeezed the doctor’s knee, his eyebrow raising in a silent question.
John nodded minutely in response, laying his cards down. “I don’t know about everyone else, but I think we’re ready to turn in for the night.” He stifled another yawn as he stood to peck a kiss on his mother’s cheek.
“Thank you.” He whispered softly as he pulled away.
Everyone was quickly saying their goodnights, cards left on the table forgotten. When John was finally able to close the door behind them he quickly strode forward, wrapping one hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck, fingers lacing through his hair, to pull Sherlock’s mouth to his own. He kissed the taller man deeply before pulling away, grinning up at him.
“They like you.” He said it simply, but the thought made it impossible for John to stop smiling.
Sherlock’s arms had gone around John’s waist instinctually, but now they pulled the doctor closer. The kiss had not been expected, but it was welcomed. Normally he could touch John as much as he wanted, but being around his family had caused him to greatly scale back the physical contact he was so used to.
“And that is important to you.” It wasn’t a question. He lowered his nose to John’s hair and simply inhaled deeply. “I have not been able to touch you much all day and it has grated on my nerves immensely.” One hand slid up the smaller man’s spine to card through his hair and cup the back of his neck.
“Well we’re alone now.” John said softly, pressing himself against the detectives body, “Let’s see what we can do about those nerves.”
John turned away for a moment, to check that the door was locked behind them, and then his attention was back on Sherlock. Leading him back until he was pressed against the wall John began kissing Sherlock again, his fingers quickly working open the detectives shirt, nipping at his bottom lip softly.
Sherlock almost gave in, the sensation of John’s fingers running across his skin almost too much to give up, but he’d already made his decision, and tonight had only given him more reason. Gently, he turned his face away from John’s, breaking the kiss.
“I think I’d rather just lay together.” Sherlock said softly, not meeting John’s confused gaze. He couldn’t turn John down while looking at that face, it was simply too much. “Tired, long day tomorrow,” he swallowed thickly, relaxing when John took a tentative step backwards.
He sighed, offering him a small smile. Without another word he began undressing, leaving John absolutely bewildered. Eventually he followed suit, stripping and slipping into bed beside.
The hands that had been so sure of themselves moments before were now almost uncertain as he tried to work out Sherlock’s reasoning. He had a nagging feeling that there was more going on in that head of his. He moved close to Sherlock, but didn’t reach out to him, almost afraid he’d be turned down again. His fears were calmed somewhat when a pair of lanky arms wrapped him around his waist and pulled him close, so that Sherlock was flush against him, back to chest, from head to toe.
“I’m just tired John,” Sherlock lied, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of John’s head. “Go to sleep.”
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A Bit Better