Hero Down

Mycroft stood with his arms crossed over his chest at the foot of the bed, staring at the two curled up within it. His brother was naked, having lost a towel, perhaps after a shower. His flattened curls spoke of sleeping on them while wet. Casually his leg was thrown over John’s and he had the doctor clutched to his chest.



John wore underwear.



Mycroft smiled, amused at Sherlock’s lack of modesty. It amused the family so often, witnessing his complete disregard for social perimeters. Without a wardrobe the poor lad would never know how to dress himself. The elder Holmes had arrived late in the evening to a darkened villa. It was easy enough to find the two, simply by knowing Sherlock’s fondness for laziness when he was without a case. His umbrella whacked the bed sharply, bringing the two to consciousness.



Sherlock rolled over, rubbing his eyes and stretching. John sat up and blinked to get his eyes to work. “What are you doing here?”



“Please tell us we can go home…” Sherlock whimpered with his grogginess.



John looked to his companion and quickly looked away. “Sherlock… your towel…”



“Hand me some trousers.” Sherlock commanded.



“Where are yours?”



“They are next to the shower where I left them.”



John reached down beside the bed and picked up the trousers he had been using. “Here… take these.”



“What about underwear?” Sherlock complained.



“Sherlock… just put them on. Your brother is here.”



“Fine…” Sherlock put them on with as much dramatic flourish as he could muster. Sitting up he blinked at his brother. “What do you want, Mycroft?”



“Enjoying your holiday, are you?” Mycroft smiled.



“Yes.” John replied, yawning.



“No.” Sherlock answered at the same time.



“Looked like you were enjoying it to me… the way you were curled up together… it was so sweet and tender. I wish I had brought my camera.” The older man grinned wickedly. Casually he reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. “This will do!” It flashed and the screen held a picture of a rather grumpy looking Sherlock giving him stink eye. The good doctor looked like a deer caught in headlights.



John suddenly understood where Sherlock got the wicked smile.



“I can’t help what I do in my sleep!” Flopping back, the detective held a pillow over his chest. “I had a towel on when I fell asleep…”



“We were wondering… just how many people fit in this truly tremendous bed?” John cocked his head to the side and regarded the elder Holmes.



“More than you would think…” Mycroft responded, giving the bed a smug look. “But that’s not why I’ve come.”



“You found Moriarty?” Sherlock sat up, still holding the pillow.



“No.”



The pillow launched itself across the room and hit Mycroft square in the chest. “Then go away.”



“I have such an ungrateful little brother… even though I went through the trouble of bringing him a case to look at…” Crocodile tears followed.



Sherlock pouted and looked away. “Maybe I don’t want to look at your snooty old case file.”



“Oh but it’s a lot of fun.” Mycroft replied. “It has intrigue.”



“I deplore intrigue!”



“Oh hell, Sherlock! What else have you got to do aside from shag your boyfriend all day?”



“We’re NOT!” John responded quickly.



“Well why the hell not?” Mycroft asked, turning on John. “He was practically gift wrapped in a fine Egyptian cotton TOWEL, man. The Holmes family is considered a rather handsome family line.”



“Handsome and insane...’ Sherlock snickered.



Mycroft chose to ignore that. “Surely you cannot find his physique lacking! Perhaps his intellect could be a bit more…refined.”



John held out his hand. “Give me the file.”



Mycroft stared back at the doctor and raised an eyebrow.



“Please… give me the file.” John amended his demand.



Mycroft passed it to him. “I’ll be staying in the guest room upstairs. I’ll see you two for brunch to discuss the case. I know you’ll want to sleep in since you’re on holiday in the Mediterranean. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. If that bed could talk…”



“I could have died without knowing that!” Sherlock cried out.



“Well lucky for us… you are dead. Your funeral was lovely, by the way… as was John’s. We held them together, of course. Such family intrigue. Oh and John, your sister Harriet is delightful. She sends her best wishes to you both, by the way because she had been told privately about your elopement by the fair doctor. The doctor herself is doing well… she was given a handsome young man to be seen with so people will think that you weren’t actually dating her… just friends.”



“You like the sound of your own voice…” Sherlock interjected.



“As promised, Sherlock, there is a lovely collection of flowers planted over you.”



“Isn’t Anthea waiting for you upstairs?” Sherlock cried out, covering his face with his hands.



Mycroft smiled amiably. “Goodnight then, gentlemen.” His departing was quick and soon sounds of footsteps up the stairs could be heard.



“Lovely funeral.” John stated. His eyes caught an envelop that had been left on the bed. Picking it up, he found his name upon it in Sarah’s handwriting. He opened it eagerly and read:



“Dear John.” His stomach sank, knowing that it had to be a dear john letter.



Dear John,



If you are reading this then Sherlock’s brother Mycroft has found sufficient evidence that Sherlock has made his affections known to you. Knowing you, you are probably filled with guilt, thinking I do not know. Or your loyalty is torn between us. I do know. It was obvious to me that he is in love with you. I’ve already told him that I still plan to be there for you in any way you wish… even if it means sharing you. I know that seems silly. That last dinner together he seemed less resentful of me. I hope you two are well and I miss you.



Love, Sarah



John gaped at the letter. John’s mind flickered back to the events of the past few weeks: The kiss… the lack of modesty… the admission of desire… all that because Sherlock was in love.



“What does she say?” Sherlock asked casually, getting comfortable.



“She says she doesn’t mind sharing me with you.”



“Oh?” Sherlock paused, staring at the ceiling.



“She says that if I receive this letter that Mycroft found evidence that you’ve… made your affections known to me.”



There was a light tapping coming from the rooms above them.



Sherlock closed his eyes and looked away.



“That you’re in love.”



Sherlock took a deep breath and held it. After a long moment he let it out with force. “To be fair… I don’t know what love entails so there’s no way to know if I truly am or not. It might not be.”



“Well… what does it feel like?” John stared at his friend. Really he already knew the answer based on Sherlock’s actions.



“Warm…” Sherlock replied after some time. “Warm and… aching.”



“Aching? Where?”



“Everywhere.”



“When we’re together?”



“When I think about you…”



“Sherlock…”



“Give me the file. I better have a look at it before morning.” Casually Sherlock reached out for the case as if they hadn’t just been discussing his feelings. Really he wanted to banish away the discussion. His intellect was needed right now, not feelings. Never feelings… these past couple of weeks had been a distraction of his true purpose in life.



John handed it to him. “This topic isn’t over.” The statement came quietly.