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Sherlock and John and Rosie (and Mrs. Hudson too)	By : GizmoTrinket Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4625 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock in any iteration, BBC or otherwise. I make no money from this work in any way, shape or form

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N: I wrote this after I calmed down a bit. This is where I officially decided I was writing a fix-it fic for the entire fourth season. :P ...Sherlock's POV
Chapter 4: Of Explanations and Friends
Sherlock balanced Rosie in one arm while he poked his brother with his cane-sword.
"Stop it." John admonished.
Sherlock sighed but desisted. He checked his phone with one hand; then wiped a few blonde curls from Rosie's forehead when he had no new texts.
John sighed. "Sit. Your pacing is making me anxious."
"Rosie likes it." The brunette replied. It was true, but in reality he was too keyed up to sit. He hadn't noticed he was pacing again. The pacing always bothered John and he tried not to do it unless necessary.
"I know you're worried about your brother-"
Sherlock made a rude noise.
"-but," John continued as if Sherlock hadn't interrupted, "being manic when he wakes up won't help. He'll think something's wrong and-"
"Of course something's wrong!"
"A couple of bruises are not-"
Sherlock couldn't stop even though John was starting to get angry. "He was supposed to keep her safe John! If she's not safe with Mycroft she's not safe anywhere!"
"Stop interrupting me!" John shouted back. "He protected her with his life, Sherlock! Mycroft protected my daughter. Just think about that."
The taller man could see that his brother was stirring but he didn't want to give in. "You see but do not observe. Mycroft was only acting on my orders. He was doing it in exchange for my assistance. If Rosie was harmed he wouldn't have lived anyway."
"Oh my god..." The doctor shook his head. "How can you be so bloody smart and stupid at the same time?!"
Sherlock felt his face move into the unflattering expression John was fond of teasing him about (before Mary died) when he'd called Sherlock a drama queen. He willed his features back to something more neutral.
"He's right, brother mine."
John went into doctor mode and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course Mycroft would wait until he lost the argument to fully awaken. Stupid git was getting better at acting drugged.
Sherlock made a mental note to drug him again to note differences.
"No." John said.
"What?" Mycroft and Sherlock asked at the same time. Mycroft's tone was the polite confusion one might use with a toddler who just learned to speak. Sherlock's was feigned innocence.
John gave the consulting detective a flat look and ignored Mycroft. "I know what happens when you make that face Sherlock. And no."
Sherlock gave John the huff that said he would acquiesce but wasn't happy about it. Hopefully by now John knew that Sherlock's huff also held the endearment that he was only doing this because he loved the blond so much.
Although, maybe it was better that he didn't. Sherlock knew that John must understand the consulting detective was gay... After Harry's outburst it would be hard not to. But John always insisted that he wasn't. That he would never be was strongly implied.
If that implication ever was stated outright Sherlock wasn't sure how he would handle it. For the past seven years he'd been living on (what he knew after John's wedding was fruitless) hope. But, as long as there was a chance, however slim...
"Hey." John gently pulled the brunette from his thoughts.
Sherlock hadn't realized he had gone into his mind palace, remembering every small detail that had given him hope. He was embarrassed but Mycroft didn't look smug, just tired. Sherlock pulled the cane-sword from where he left it against Mycroft's bed. "Here." Sherlock thrust it into Mycroft's face.
Mycroft flinched, expecting to be hit with it. But when he realized it was a gift, of sorts, (2.4 seconds longer than it should have taken) he smiled. It wasn't the sour lemon look he got when he was being a smarmy git. It was the smile Sherlock hadn't seen since before Mycroft went off to boarding school and went on a diet. It was genuine happiness. He took the end of the weapon, but didn't have the strength to hold it and Sherlock had to help him move it to the side of his bed. "Thank you." Mycroft said.
There was no subtle reminder of Mycroft's influence in Sherlock's life. The 'brother dear' comment was a reference to Bernice Friesen's short story of the same name. Mycroft had been instrumental in allowing Sherlock the freedom to make his own profession, to force the Yard to recognise his usefulness and John. Sherlock had heard the recordings of Anthea's/Moran's confession.
"You're welcome." Sherlock picked up John's old aluminium cane and turned before Mycroft could see the chin wobble. It was solely due to the stress of managing a baby and an injured leg on no painkillers but the elder brother would assume it was sentiment.
The blond patted Sherlock's hip with a smile and Sherlock fled, less graceful than usual, to get a nurse to help John back into his room so he could finally be discharged.
----
John insisted that Rosie always sleep in her cot. Sherlock hated John and Mary's place so he took the initiative to move everything into 221B. Rosie's cot was in Sherlock's room, it would be idiotic to place her up a flight of stairs with John while he was injured. Sherlock had long since fixed the fire-escape issue and it was the second safest room in the flat (after John's, of course). Sherlock would never separate John from his daughter so Sherlock had movers take everything that belonged to his flatmate (not ex-flatmate, never again) and bring it with Rosie's belongings.
A confidential file was delivered to 221B the day before John was to be released from the hospital. Sherlock had just finished tending to Rosamund's morning needs when Mrs. Hudson brought it up.
"I'm not a messenger, you know."
"Of course, just like you're not my housekeeper." Sherlock winced at how harsh that sounded but Hudders just tutted fondly and left. He smiled; she always understood what he actually meant.
Sherlock took advantage of the empty flat to zero in on the file.
----
"I was expecting you to be at- Oh, have you got a case?"
Sherlock's head snapped up. "John?" Was it that late already? Based on the soreness in his arm that was a definite yes.
"You know it's better for her if she sleeps somewhere other than your arms, right?"
He stood up and caught himself before the pins and needles in his legs forced him back down. The cane had its uses. Once Sherlock was sure he could walk he set Rosie in her cot and carried the baby monitor back.
John was looking though the file's contents, his face ashen.
Too late Sherlock realized John hadn't heard the tapes.
"She didn't change." John shook his head, his face never leaving the text. "She never gave it up. All those times she sent us off on cases... Oh god, even when she was pregnant..."
"She did change, John." He approached slowly, like one would a wounded animal. "She loved you. And Rosie."
"Then why...?"
Sherlock understood, he'd read the file. Mary took on local contracts, a mobster here, a corrupt politician there. Things that if Mycroft heard about he wouldn't interfere with. "She's like me."
"You're not a murderer!" John turned, his fists balled in anger.
Sherlock put his free hand up in a placating gesture. "I am. And so are you." John relaxed after a moment of thought (Magnussen and the cabbie) so the brunette continued, "I replaced my addiction to drugs with solving puzzles, you replaced the adrenaline you got from war with fighting crime. She replaced her addiction with something more..." The brunette searched for an accurate word but couldn't find one. "'good.'"
The misunderstanding was clear when John looked down and hid his eyes.
"That was you. You bring out the best in people, John. I fought for the side of the angels because of you." Sherlock internally winced at the reference but John didn't seem to notice. He didn't know. Mycroft must not have released that recording. "Mary did the same."
John buried his face in his hands, winced when he realized he couldn't move his left and rubbed his eyes with his right. The older of the two took a deep shaky breath and wiped his eyes with the other side of his right hand.
"Painkiller?" Sherlock offered as an out.
John took a moment before he glanced at Sherlock's phone. "Not yet, two more hours."
"Right." Sherlock wasn't sure what to do. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, he couldn't pace while John was already upset.
The doctor stood up. "I should take Rosie home. She'll need a proper kip in her cot if you've been keeping her in... What have you been keeping her in? Not your bed, right?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Her cot is in my room."
"What?"
"You can't properly care for her alone so I had some movers take everything here." Sherlock explained.
"You can't just kidnap my daughter!"
"I didn't."
"And you can't have homeless drug addicts moving a baby's things!"
The taller man sighed. "Obviously. I hired proper movers for both Rosie and your belongings."
John gave Sherlock his, 'I can't believe you are this stupid, what the bloody hell were you thinking you utter cock' face.
Sherlock hated that face.
He realized he'd done something 'A Bit Not Good' and he resigned himself to a domestic.
----
Sherlock's leg healed before John's arm did; not all that surprising when John kept using it instead of keeping it in the sling.
"John! Let me take care of Rosie, you need to rest or you'll end up with a tremor that won't go away this time." Sherlock scolded and took John's daughter from him. She squawked in protest but quieted when Sherlock took the bottle from John and started to feed her.
Mycroft interrupted this chapter in their ongoing argument by simply entering the room. He'd been there earlier to interview them on any details he didn't have from the cameras he had in 221B. Sherlock had thrown the cane sword down the stairs when John became visibly upset. Neither sibling said anything at the time but Sherlock noted that Mycroft was still using it; it had replaced his signature umbrella. Probably because it was the hidden weapon he'd desired since he won the regional fencing competition. The consulting detective wondered if it would continue to stay with Mycroft once the irritating man was fully healed. Sherlock noted that he found that notion emotionally fulfilling. A lot of the resentment the younger brother felt evaporated when the elder was willing to die for John's daughter.
Sherlock was both relieved and annoyed at his brother's timely entrance. "What do you want?" He snapped.
"I have all the information on The Incident." Mycroft said. Several agents carrying boxes entered the flat.
John frowned at the men.
Sherlock knew John hated anyone in Mycroft's employ coming near his daughter. The consulting detective trusted the agents now that Mycroft was using males rather than females as his underlings but didn't know how to explain that to his flatmate without referencing the Uncomfortable Hospital Incident.
"I'll leave you both to it." Sherlock heard Mycroft say and listened until everyone left before turning to the files.
----
Those files contained everything. John refused to read them, only requested that Sherlock share any information that confused him or might come back to haunt them. The brunette had started with Mycroft's personal files so he readily agreed, happy to keep the elder brother's personal notes away from John's eyes.
"Sherlock is incapable of making friends and Dr. Stamford is misguided in his belief that Sherlock cares about him beyond the access he provides to the hospital's lab. I suspect the relationship will end when my brother finds someone more useful. However Dr. Stamford does not have the temperament to hold anything my brother says or does against him and is therefore not a threat."
Mycroft's notes after interviewing John were far worse: "Obvious why my brother is infatuated with him. Clearly his daddy issues and military kink could be satisfied by Dr. Watson but I doubt my brother would act on his desires after "The Major" and Victor incidents. Since Dr. Watson is currently incapable of a romantic relationship with another man the only threat he poses would be if Sherlock fell in love with him."
----
"Why, if my things are in my room, is my daughter in yours?"
"Please, John, obviously you can't be trusted to navigate a staircase with Rosie when you don't have use of both arms. I also require less sleep then you, and you become violent when you're woken by someone entering your room."
"Because you were trying to experiment on me you cock!"
Technically the third, and last, time was to experiment on himself; he wanted to see if he was capable of sleeping next to John. But, John rarely understood the difference between 'experiment on' and 'experiment with' so Sherlock didn't argue that point. "Also, it would be cruel to make Mrs. Hudson climb another set of stairs when she needs to babysit."
John threw his hands up in surrender.
As Sherlock remembered what had been downgraded from a domestic to a tense conversation due to John being unnaturally reasonable he noted that John still claimed the upstairs room as his, that he didn't say 'the upstairs bedroom' or any variation.
Unfortunately Mycroft's personal files were no more forthcoming about the doctor's relationship history than the any other document Sherlock had managed to procure. The brunette knew that Sholto had been in love with the shorter blond and the two had become quite close but nothing sexual ever happened.
The consulting detective agreed with his brother that sentiment clouded judgement but John hadn't confessed his love again since he'd learned that Mary was dead.
Sherlock realized he'd never said it back.
Confused, he walked to the kitchen to get his laptop. John's was closer but if the genius forgot the clear the browser history again this might have worse consequences than John cancelling orders of various bacteria samples.
----
"So, what do I need to know?" John hadn't asked for longer than expected. The returned Army Captain's arm was mostly healed and he'd avoided getting a tremor. John had trouble lifting his arm when he was thinking about it and even more trouble sleeping on his left side. Sherlock had tried to start this conversation several times only to have John brush him off with excuses like, "There's not enough time right now." or "Is it dangerous to Rosie? No? Then I'm too tired to care."
Sherlock knew it'd be more than 'A Bit Not Good' to hide any important detail (Mycroft's opinions did not qualify), no matter how insulting or embarrassing to either of them. The consulting detective explained how he'd read John's blog entry on their first case and considered him a suspect. How he'd manipulated Mike into arranging a meeting. How Sherlock realized that John had nothing to do with the murders and was interesting. "I decided to trust you with everything after you shot the cabbie for me." Sherlock left out the fact that he referred to his heart more than his life. John probably wouldn't understand what he'd meant but it was as close to a confession as he felt comfortable with while John was working through his wife's death.
The taller man played the tapes Mycroft made for John. He answered all John's questions. Then Sherlock talked about how Mycroft wanted John both in Sherlock's life and the bureaucrat's bed. "I put a stop to that though." Sherlock made sure to say. "You aren't gay and I wasn't having him pressure you into anything." The younger read the irritation in John's face so he continued. "He'd done it before... Pressured people I was close with into his bed." Sherlock admitted with no small amount of shame. Victor had been loyal, his boxing teacher not so much. But Victor's father hadn't even put up a token resistance. Sherlock understood why outing him in front of his wife and kids the first time Victor had brought Sherlock home was 'A Bit Not Good' after John explained the 'Christmas Present Incident' with Molly to him. The brunette had thought the package was for Lestrade but he never got around to explaining that to the blond and later forgot with the mystery that The Woman's phone presented. Sherlock didn't say any of this aloud and just fell into silence.
John decided that was a good time to make some tea and Sherlock gathered his thoughts while the water boiled.
Once John put Sherlock's cup on the coffee table in front of him and settled into his red chair Sherlock continued, explaining how Moriarty's focus had shifted from the doctor after Sherlock proved to be more interesting. How Moriarty was born Mitchell Steward, he'd recreated himself as he climbed through the ranks of the organization known as Moriarty taking the top spot to rebel against his father and his name. That Janine Hawkins, born May Steward, took over what was left of the organization after Sherlock's housecleaning. When he'd shot Magnussen and Janine had gotten her media fuelled revenge they'd come to an understanding. John was twitchy at the name of Sherlock's fake girlfriend and assuming it was because John didn't approve of using Janine's body to solve the case the brunette added, "I never slept with her." John was clearly confused. "I never had sex with her." Sherlock rephrased. "She tried, far too often, but I wasn't going to touch her until we were married. A handy excuse, if archaic."
John snorted. "You were never seriously engaged even."
Sherlock smiled, "Exactly, John."
The doctor told Sherlock to drink his tea, as talking so long had made his mouth dry and voice scratchy.
"So, the organization, Moriarty, still exists?"
"Yes. But it doesn't have the problematic connections the previous Moriarty had. Janine decided to reorganize into a semi-legal force Mycroft didn't raise many objections to. She'll take secret government contracts: start a coup here, sell some extra weapons there, purposely weaken or strengthen some currency, create some civil unrest or scandal to negate a countries bargaining power in the UN, the sort of things Mycroft would do anyway but doesn't want officially linked back to the country." John looked appalled. "Mary was part of Moriarty. Janine had the same tattoo, a permanent mark of belonging and trust." Sherlock could see that John wanted to ask how the consulting detective knew about Mary's tattoo. Although the taller man knew both women had a secret tattoo when he first deduced them John might ask how Sherlock knew what Mary's mark was so he changed the subject away from the blond's adrenaline fuelled public sex kink. "Mary wanted the quiet life she built with you, you know. When I was sent on that suicide mission-"
"What?!"
"Do keep up, what did you think I'd meant when I'd said we probably wouldn't see each other again on the tarmac?" Sherlock snapped. John looked stricken and the brunette winced. He continued his explanation quickly to distract John from his mistake; Sherlock could see now how the doctor was seeing the slight drug overdose in a different light. "I trusted Mary to keep you safe. Janine said there was a sniper I'd missed hiding in London but I knew that if anyone tried to make a move on you Mary would protect you."
John frowned at the mention of his wife.
"I'm sorry, if it's any consolation. I should have seen that Anthea was a mole. I put too much trust in Mycroft's judgement." Sherlock finished his cold tea and muttered, "My brother forgets he's human."
They both understood that as much as Mycroft tried to live up to his reputation of an emotionless machine and attempted to sculpt the younger into what he dreamt of being the elder's overbearing, mothering, near smothering was how The Ice Man showed he cared.
Rosamund woke; her naps were getting longer much to the relief of both flatmates. Sherlock moved to tend to her more quickly than her father and she was quite content with the attention the brunette lavished on her as he tended to her needs while John watched. Her godfather carried her into the kitchen to make a bottle and he fiddled with the charm on her ankle as he waited for it to reach the proper temperature.
"Sherlock..." John paused, clearly unsure of how to phrase his thoughts.
"I know." The tallest of the three sighed. He was well aware that Rosamund was starting to like him better, that John would leave eventually and it might traumatize her. "She'll be ok though." John looked confused so he continued, "She's strong. How could she not be? You're her father. And I'll back off once you start dating again."
"What?" John was looking at Sherlock like he was the idiot.
Sherlock frowned at him, what part of this was confusing? Rosie was very young and children were surprisingly adaptive.
"Why do you think..." John didn't finish his thought, looking slightly horrified.
"Well, you feel incomplete when you're not in a romantic relationship." Sherlock elaborated.
John's expression twisted more.
Sherlock spelled it out for him. "You're not gay. I'm well aware you were speaking of pragma rather than eros. I doubt you were indicating philia, as I'm the last person anyone would consider good, rational and virtuous."
John was no longer turning green and was looking at Sherlock with the expression he had when Sherlock was missing something obvious. "You realize there are more than two options, right?"
The research he'd done on his laptop had explained everything about the various types of love. "I know; there are seven." Sherlock said as John clearly was being overly stupid. He'd outlined three types of love, even spelling out the last one for his blogger. Sherlock was suddenly struck by the realization that John no longer posted blog entries and John probably didn't consider him his best friend anymore.
"For someone so smart you always manage to shock me with the large gaps you have in common knowledge." John sighed. "And common sense." He murmured as an afterthought.
Sherlock felt the little wrinkle between his eyebrows appear in his irritation.
John opened his mouth but shut it quickly. Sherlock watched John think before deciding on how to approach the conversation. "Your brother, he's not straight."
"Obviously."
"Does he like women?"
Sherlock was uncomfortable talking about his brother's sexual history. "Not as such. He prefers men." The brunette swallowed around a lump in his throat. "Much like you prefer women."
"It's just a societal preference."
"Oh!" Sherlock's eyes widened with the realization. "Oh..." He backed several steps away from his flatmate. He unintentionally entered his mind palace to revaluate every interaction he'd had with his... partner.
He emerged from his thoughts and realized he'd put Rosie back in her cot while on autopilot and John had made tea in the meantime.
"Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." John murmured as he set Sherlock's tea on the far edge of the coffee table.
"It's ok." Sherlock realized the response was inadequate. "I've... No one..." He felt himself frown and chastised himself for his sudden inarticulately. "It's never worked out." He quickly added, "And not just because of Mycroft's meddling."
"Because she faked her death and then died for real?" John said quietly, not looking at Sherlock.
Sherlock had missed something John found obvious again. "What?" The younger growled, irritated that he couldn't follow the conversation once again.
"For christsakes, Sherlock. You know who I'm talking about!" John snapped, finally looking at him.
But, he didn't. John knew that Janine was alive and she'd never faked her death. And he'd stated clearly that relationship was fake. Sherlock had never taken any other woman out for so much as a date or two and those were for cases. Never something John would consider a relationship. And Sherlock knew John had understood when he'd said that women weren't his area. Mycroft noted the only two true relationships the brunette had ever been in; the two people that taught Sherlock how to tell the when people cared or were just using him for one reason or another.
"Aaahhh!" Sherlock's most annoying text alert sound nearly echoed in the quiet and John visibly flinched.
"God! She's alive. That's why you don't know who I'm talking about! You saved her." John ranted and started pacing. "I should have known when Mycroft brought you up when he told me she died!"
Sherlock waited for John to finish. He knew that John wouldn't be able to listen properly when he was so worked up. The younger man just hoped that John wouldn't need one of his walks after he finished his diatribe. Sherlock finally understood all of the conversation and needed to clear up John's misconception before his flatmate decided to shut down and stop any attempt to bring up the conversation again.
"I should have seen it. The posh boy and the dominatrix. Are you just one giant bloody cliché?!"
The taller man balked at the insinuation that he'd ever be so pedestrian as to be a cliché. He realized he had 'Drama Queen Face' again. "For godsakes, John!" He shouted. Not intending to be so loud he controlled his voice so Rosamund wouldn't start crying. "Are you really this blind?!" He hissed. John pursed his lips but Sherlock didn't give him time to respond. "It should be completely obvious, even to you!" John narrowed his eyes and still Sherlock didn't see the light in John's eyes that meant he understood. The doctor was perfectly capable of showing a million emotions at the same time and although he'd closed off after his return John opened up once more when he moved back in.
Sherlock had two options, he could point out each clue, not even subtle: when Mrs. Hudson asked if they'd need two rooms; when Angelo gave them a candle; every time Sherlock never said anything when people assumed they were a couple or on a date and John knew Sherlock always corrected people, even commented that he always had to get the last word; the time when John wanted to go out with that woman from the first surgery, Sari or something, Sherlock asked John out instead (although that one might not count because John seemed to think that Sherlock, the man who could spot every person he walked past that was having an affair, didn't know what a bloody date was!). Even Lestrade, who was nearly worthless as a detective winced at the obvious love confession in his best man's speech (he hadn't actually written that down and never intended to say it, no matter how many times he'd thought it while planning the wedding). And what, exactly, did John think Sherlock had intended to say on the tarmac before being sent to his death?! He'd even said that Sherlock Watson had a nice ring to it!
Sherlock could feel himself flap about as he got more and more worked up. He closed his eyes, having no desire to see John's expression to what he was about to say. Option one wasn't going to work. He stopped pacing, took a deep breath and admitted loudly, "I'm clearly GAY you daft, blind-"
Suddenly he felt arms roughly pull him forward a step. One was flung over his shoulder grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down; the other was wrapped around his side, fingers digging into his back. The brunette opened his eyes and watched as John stood on his toes and forcefully pressed their mouths together.
Sherlock froze. He knew John was suffering because he missed his wife. That both husband and wife loved each other deeply even though relationship was strained. That John had never shown any interest in the taller man before (other than a drunken confession John wouldn't have remembered in the morning or would have pretended he didn't when he woke up on the couch with a splitting headache and hitting on the consulting detective at Angelo's even though later the blond swore he didn't) and that Sherlock was just a rebound. That the shorter man would call it off sooner rather than later. Even if the brunette wasn't simply someone John trusted and subconsciously knew he always had a chance with John would grow tired of Sherlock's inability to be 'Normal.' The younger man knew he could never be what the doctor actually wanted. That John would become frustrated whenever Sherlock was in a slump during which being touched by anyone or anything irritated him. That the consulting detective wouldn't ever go to the store even when they desperately needed uncontaminated milk. That being friends, even best friends and flatmates wasn't the same as being in a romantic relationship.
Right then, in that impossible moment, he didn't care. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the man he'd loved for seven years.
The kiss turned tender, sweet and into everything Sherlock had dreamt of and more.
----
---
----
Mycroft needed to call his brother. He'd just learned that Mary was seen on CCTV outside 221B shortly after John texted her that he'd be late out with a friend. She set up a sniper rifle across the street but when she saw Sherlock was alone she waited. Eventually John arrived drunk and Mary, curious now since John wasn't lying about Mike, entered quietly after to see what would happen. Moran intercepted the message and buried it. (Mycroft had only just unearthed it.) In the end Mary's own weapon was used to kill her.
The younger brother requested all information regarding the incident and although Mycroft didn't see it necessary as the case was closed he realized Sherlock had reasons for doing things that the elder brother didn't understand. Sherlock might not be as socially adept but he was better at picking friends. Even if he did it unintentionally. He was even better at keeping those he cared about safe. How Sherlock managed it Mycroft might never know.
Before dialling Mycroft checked the cameras Sherlock allowed (no audio still) and winced. 'Well,' the minor government official thought 'at least that's finally happening.' He never should have approved that marriage certificate for Mary but Sherlock had called in a favour. Even if he hadn't Mycroft would have approved it anyway because the younger sibling did amazing but stupid things to spite the older brother. He hoped Sherlock presented the gift he had stashed for John properly. It had taken some effort on Mycroft's part and he didn't want the doctor angry at either of them. Mummy would have his head.
Mycroft called the rehab facility instead. They'd been wary of taking in John's sister after the last person they took in for Mycroft. And the one before that. But he assured them she was perfectly normal and wasn't a threat to national security or a Holmes. The updates they provided the official with looked promising but she'd always be a relapse risk. Luckily her liver would heal properly on its own. Mycroft had already changed John's records so it looked like they weren't a match. Harry would be (already was) family but the risk of losing John, no matter how small, was unacceptable. Mycroft was sure he'd be able to find a more suitable donor without putting John's sister in more danger.
He called the facility and left a message for her while she was in therapy so they wouldn't have to speak. "Mission accomplished. Your support is greatly appreciated." Harry wasn't pleased John was going to have "a successful gay relationship without going through all the shit I had to" but Mycroft was sure the pain on both sides was equal. She'd never pined for someone so desperately for seven years. But, if she stayed irrational and held onto the grudge she wouldn't have any real support system. John did wonders for Sherlock. The younger brother wasn't perfect but he'd done far less heroin and cocaine (and morphine and god knows what else) in the past seven years. John didn't deserve Sherlock but he was good for him and youngest Holmes wanted the doctor as much as the doctor wanted him. That was all that really mattered. Harry needed someone in her life. But, Mycroft didn't have many lesbian contacts (bisexual women were out until the elder Watson sibling grew up a little) willing to date someone of Harry's disposition. Only one came to mind. Mycroft smirked; if nothing else it would be an interesting experiment. They'd either kill each other or fall passionately in love. He sent a text.
The paperwork on Mycroft's desk was complete and he had free time but nothing on which to spend it. Seeing as how he couldn't bother his brother, had no desire to see his parents or call an escort just to have some company for dinner he wondered if he could call Lestrade and be professional. 'Probably not.' Mycroft decided. The DCI was lusting over Miss Molly Hooper who, in an interesting turn of events, was making the silver haired fox work hard for her attention. It was amusing and Mycroft wished he could tell someone about it. Normally he'd "update" Sherlock or share a laugh with Anthea. His current assistant both wasn't adept at casual conversation and had gone home.
"Oh, god." Mycroft muttered. He felt dirty when he realized, "I need friends." The minor official in the British government decided to skip dinner and instead have a shower.
A/N: Smut coming next Sunday. The chapter is already written, just needs edited. :)
Prompts: Imagine your OTP having their first kiss. + Imagine person A of your OTP coming out to person B as bisexual. Scenario one: Person A has previously been in relationships with only one gender (not B’s gender) and now they want to start a relationship with B
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Sherlock and John and Rosie (and Mrs. Hudson too)