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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
- 7
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- 9
A/N: Sorry about the delay. Nanowrimo. Shellysbees was sick. Devokitsune works a lot. life happened. Buttt we're back. We're currently editing as fast as we can to get the rest of this out to you before series three airs in the UK. So.. Here ya go =D.
When John’s eyes opened again it was because he was being shaken softly, Sherlock’s voice pulling him from a dreamless sleep. John blinked rapidly as he sat up, shaking off the grogginess of his nap. His attention was immediately caught by the sprawling estate they were approaching. It was utterly gorgeous, and by far the largest home John had ever seen. He looked back at Sherlock with an incredulous look.
“You grew up here? I mean I knew you came from money, but.. here?” There was a mixture of awe and disbelief in his eyes as he turned back to admire the estate.
Sherlock smiled and opened the door holding out his hand to help John out of the back seat as a servant came around to get their bags. "Yes I grew up here, but it's not nearly as splendid as you think."
When the man stood, Sherlock put an arm around his waist, his long fingers splaying out in the small of his back. "Just stay by my side, it's easy to get lost." With that, he lead them both inside where a butler bowed to them.
"Winston, I'm surprised you're still around! This is my flatmate John Watson."
"Good to see you again Master Holmes, and please to make your acquaintance Master Watson." He gave another low bow.
Nodding to the older gentleman John managed to mutter, "Thanks." Completely unprepared for his posh surroundings. He barely had a chance to glance back at Sherlock before Mycroft was strolling down stairs and into the entry room, Lestrade on his heels, both wearing sharp tuxedos and carrying half masks in matching shades of blues and creams.
“Nice of you to show up brother. Should I ask why you kept my driver waiting for thirty-four minutes?” Mycroft smiled wickedly, obviously trying to goad the detective. John looked to Lestrade, as if to say, can you please keep him under control, before sidestepping so he was standing partially in between the two brothers.
Mycroft chuckled softly at John's protective stance. "Relax, I wasn't implying anything. I know full well your particular prowess was not what delayed your departure, although I do believe you skills are to be commended Doctor Watson."
Blood rushed to the doctors face as he stuttered almost incoherently. "I... You didn't..." John desperately hoped the driver had tipped him off and that the car had not truly been bugged, but he had a feeling it would remain a mystery. Either way he shot a glare back at Sherlock, avoiding the other men's eyes.
Sherlock put on an innocent face and shrugged, not really meeting John’s eyes. Lestrade had smacked his forehead before leaning in to whisper something to Mycroft. Whatever he said wiped the wicked smile off of the elder holmes face.
“As entertaining as Doctor Watson’s embarrassment is,” Mycroft interrupted gruffly, “Dinner is about to begin.”
He straightened his waist coat. “Please do hurry, I do not wish to make excuses for you to Mother’s guests, brother.” His eyes narrowed before turning on the spot.
Lestrade offered John a sympathetic look before following Mycroft down the hall. The low hum of the dinner party could be heard in the distance. John turned to Sherlock with a scowl.
“I can’t believe he honestly- I did say you’d be paying for that,” John bit, his cheeks a telling shade of pink.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and tugged John by the hand. “Come on, we need to go change before we head to the party. I can’t wait to see you in your formal wear.” He added just enough of a purr to his voice to watch the flush spread over John’s cheeks further. However, he pushed onwards, pulling the man after him, denying himself the thoughts of John bent over his mattress due to the need of their presence at the party. Finally he stopped in front of a black door with a brass handle.
“Here we are John. I know that you’ve been eager to see this ever since I told you we’d be staying here.” He smirked before turning the knob and pushing the door inside.
The room was even more of a reflection of Sherlock than his room back at 221B. It was decorated with dark rich wood furniture and deep colors. The bed was a canopy four poster with dark blue bedding and soft pale sheets. There was a small rounded alcove with two plush chairs nestled inside. They must have added another seat for John once they’d found out he was coming, as there had only been one there when he was growing up. The walls in the alcove were bookshelves, the young detective’s personal library. There was two doors, one led to a large walk in closet, and the other a private bathroom with a tub that could fit several people and a shower to match. Near the windows, there was a step up and a table where his old chemistry set was spread out. There were shelves with several bottles of indiscriminate substances. John stepped out into the center of the large bedroom, taking in all of the details.
It was a bit overwhelming for John to realize just where Sherlock had come from, and for a moment the fact that he was supposed to be angry with Sherlock completely slipped his mind. He walked over to the old chemistry setup, trying to take everything in at once. Most of the equipment looked as though had been left mid experiment, Sherlock really hadn’t changed at all.
“This was your room?” John asked, chuckling softly as he turned to face Sherlock.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, taking John’s bag and setting it in the closet, where their larger bags had already been placed by Winston when they’d stop to talk with Mycroft. He brought out their suit bags that had their tuxedos in them, and hung them on the end rung of the four poster bed. “If we don’t make it out there soon, We’ll be fetched by Winston.” He started unbuttoning his shirt so that he could dress.
John quickly followed suit, undressing as he talked. “Who all is here? It sounded like there were a lot of people down stairs.” His anxiety he’d felt while packing was returning again at the idea of being bombarded by more Holmes’s.
Sherlock was pulling on his trousers when he responded. “Oh, no more than a hundred or so. Mummy likes to throw big parties for her birthday. You should have seen the year half of London was invited. That was a ghastly mess.” he shuddered and pulled his shirt on, tucking it in once he’d buttoned it up. “That was the year she did the garden party on the grounds. This year she’s doing a masquerade in the ballroom. Which reminds me. Your mask is in my suitcase. I’ll retrieve it in a moment.”
“Right,” John muttered under his breath as he pulled the suit from the garment bag, “Just a hundred.”
He had just buttoned his trousers and started pulling on the crisp button up shirt when he paused. John’s shirt hanging off of his shoulders loosely as he turned to stare at Sherlock.
“Wait… She has a ballroom big enough for a hundred people?”
“I don’t know why you’re surprised, you saw the house.” he was tying his bowtie now, and finished with a flourish. When he turned and saw John’s shirt hanging loosely around his shoulders, he stepped in front of him and quickly did up the buttons himself before plucking his bowtie out of the bag and wrapping it around his neck. He began tying it with steady fingers as he spoke.
“You really shouldn’t be nervous John. I’m by far the hardest person in my family to impress, and you’ve already done that. Besides, shouldn’t it be my opinion that matters most?” He raised an eyebrow as he lifted his gaze from the crisp bow up to John’s blue eyes. For a moment he was caught there, his lips falling open slightly and the need to capture John’s mouth in a kiss was suddenly overwhelming.
John nodded his head shortly, trying to still his nerves. “Of course yours matters most,” John assured him while reaching up to straighten his collar. “I just want to make a good impression. That’s all.”

Content with Sherlock’s appearance John smiled, his hand’s running down the detective’s chest gently. “The tux suits you nicely.” John murmured, his hand coming to a stop at Sherlock’s hip to pull him closer.
Sherlock’s hands had slipped down to John’s shoulders, and now they cradled his neck on either side, fingers tilting the blonde’s head back to look deeper into his eyes. “As does yours. You clean up very well John.”
His words were practically a whisper, and he was leaning forward to take John’s mouth in a possessive kiss that would show just how much the sight of John in a bowtie pleased him. However, just before their lips touched a knock echoed through the room, startling both men.

“Master Holmes? Your mother is inquiring as to your whereabouts. Will you be along shortly?”

“Yes Winston. We’ll be along presently, just changing for dinner.” He smiled crisply at the blonde before pulling away to retrieve their masks. John’s was black and blue while his own his own black and green.
“Ready to face the firing squad?” he asked,holding out his arm and the other mask to his blogger.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” John murmured, slipping his mask into place before taking Sherlock’s arm.
The only thing like this he’d ever attended were Military Balls, but those had been filled with soldiers like himself, so he’d had no reason to feel out of place.
A few long tables filled the dining room, almost every seat taken filled. The room echoed with excited babbling. Taking a breath John allowed himself to be led toward the head of one of the tables near the center of the room. Mycroft and Greg were sitting across from them, leaving one empty seat for their mother.
“She’ll be along soon. Mummy always was one for grand entrances.” Sherlock informed him, and in a fit of politeness, he pulled John’s chair out for him. Across the table he saw Lestrade smack Mycroft on the shoulder in a ‘why don’t you ever do that’ gesture.
Mycroft’s face twisted slightly, obviously put out that he was being shown up by his little brother. His lips twitched to the side before he let his hand rest over Lestrade’s.
Having only met their mother once, and under less than desirable circumstances, John couldn’t honestly say he knew the woman. She had been wonderful at the funeral, understanding of how close he and Sherlock had been, but didn’t treat him as though he was something that might fall to pieces. But that was a funeral for a man that hadn’t really been dead, who was about to see his mother again for the first time.
John breathed out heavily, reading himself for another Holmes to enter his life.
Sherlock’s head snapped to the door as it opened to their left, and the entire room went silent. In swept the boys' mother in a long blue dress more reserved for a dinner with the queen, but as everyone stood for her, the detective squeezed John’s hand as if to reassure him.
She had long dark brown hair that was in ringlets swept to one side of her neck, and the blue dress was perfectly cut to her figure. Her eyes were silver and sharp as she regarded all of them in turn, starting with Mycroft. Her eyes lit on John, and she nodded slightly, but when they landed on Sherlock, only the boys saw the hint of emotion in them. Then with a smile, she regarded everyone else, motioning for them all to sit as she did so herself.
“Sherlock my love" she said, turning her gaze on her youngest son, as the room erupted with conversation once more. "So glad to see that you’re not dead.” She held out her hand and he took it, kissing the back of it gingerly.
“Good to see you as always mum.” he said with a smile.
“And this must be your John. I believe we met once before but not properly.” She offered him a kind smile before turning to Lestrade. John returned the smile, unsure how to respond, happy when the attention was turned to Lestrade and Mycroft instead.
“And Detective Inspector, so nice to finally meet you. Mycroft talks about you almost non-stop.”
Lestrade’s eyebrows rose into his hairline, “Is that so?” He seemed surprised. Sherlock was as well. Mycroft was not one to rave about anything, much less a relationship. Lestrade must have really tamed his brother. Mycroft simply sent his mother a pleading look, much like an embarrassed teenager, before lacing his fingers through the Lestrade’s affectionately.
John was taken aback by the stark differences between the mother and her sons. Where Sherlock and Mycroft were generally calculatingly cold, their temperaments warmed only by a select few, she seemed almost bubbly in comparison. On the other hand she hadn’t seemed at all bothered that Sherlock had been dead for three years, much less moved to be seeing him again for the first time, so John had to consider that she was simply better at socializing
It appeared Sherlock was right though, one way or another she seemed to be aware that they were together, considering she’d referred to him as your John when talking to Sherlock.
John was trying to remember why he had insisted upon the event, and for once, his hand sought out Sherlock’s beneath the table. It wasn’t that he was particularly nervous, just overwhelmed with all of the new information.
Sherlock's eyes flickered to John's giving him a small reassuring smile and squeeze before turning his attention back to his mother. His hand however, moved John's to his knee and held it there as they spoke waiting for their first course to be served.
Dinner was quiet and polite, and Madame Holmes was very good at directing her children in small talk, she made sure to keep their significant others a part of the conversation as well.
"So John, Mycroft tells me you're an ex-army doctor and that you volunteer at a local clinic, do tell us more about yourself." Her eyes were kind as she spoke, obviously trying to ease the nerves of the four men.
John’s manners were impeccable as he set down his fork to respond, “There’s not much else to tell. I help Sherlock with his cases of course. Have you seen the blog?” There was a hint of pride in his voice as he mentioned his writing, one of his favorite parts of working through the cases.
"I have." She said, setting her own fork down and steepling her fingers beneath her chin, in a way reminiscent of one sociopathic detective, "I understand you and my son get into all kinds of trouble together." Her eyes brightened and she began to question both John and Lestrade on some of their more serious cases.
Conversation began coming easier as they went on, Lestrade and John taking turns sharing stories about past cases. More than a few of which revealed just how rash Sherlock could act at times, but all of them showed how the detective had put his genius to work. Mycroft stayed resolutely silent, letting Lestrade chatter on about his work at the Yard as he enjoyed seconds.
Finally once the dessert plates had been cleared away, Madame Holmes wiped her mouth primly and waved a hand towards one of the servants.
"Is the ballroom ready?" She asked with a smile, her own dainty cream colored mask sitting beside her plate.
"Yes Madame." He said bowing slightly. With a smile the woman stood, tapping her glass with the back of a spoon.
"If everyone is ready, the ballroom is prepared for the masquerade! Let us all go and enjoy the rest of the evening with dance and drink!" A chorus of voices rose all around her, and she turned to Sherlock, holding her hand out to him.
"I'm sorry to steal your date away from you John, but I think this old woman deserves a dance with her prodigal son." Sherlock smiled at her and squeezed John's hand leaning close.
"Don't worry, you'll have your chance to dance with me later." His lips were close to John's ear, but soon enough, his mother was pulling him away, leaving the others to follow.
Sherlock and his mother led the entire party through a set of tall double doors and into an enormous ballroom. Everything was decorated to fit the masquerade theme, giving the room a vintage feel.
John stuck close to Greg and Mycroft as the crowd of people spilled into the room behind them. The lights dimmed slowly as the large double doors swung closed behind the last of the guests and Sherlock, who was in the center of the empty dance floor, graciously took his mothers hand. The music, as far John could tell, was something instrumental, but not quite classical. They moved fluidly across the floor with a grace that was completely Holmes’.
As the song came to a close the audience broke out into applause. The patient crowd slowly dissipated, taking over dance floor as the band picked up a new song.
Sherlock had disappeared into the crowd once his brother had come to take his place, and now, he spotted John in the crowd. The blonde's back was to him, which was perfect for his plan as he carefully slipped in behind him, both hands coming down on his hips possessively.
"May I have this dance?" His voice was low, the question spoken directly into the smaller man's ear. The song that the quartet on the stage was playing was swelling to the climax, signaling the song was almost over. They would catch the next one easily enough.
“I’m actually here with someone,” John teased playfully. A shiver running down John’s spine as he leaned back against Sherlock. “Since when do you dance anyways?”
"Look around you. I grew up in a home with a ballroom. You didn't think mummy would have taught us at some point?" Sherlock's fingers danced up Johns's ribs then moved up to his shoulders to turn him around.
"Besides, if your date has left you alone, surely the conquest of one dance with someone else is not too harsh a punishment for him." His tone was light and playful. It had been a long time since he'd had the occasion to dance, but being here with John made the guilty pleasure even more desirable.
"Please?" He added, taking John's hand and kissing his knuckles with a knowing smile.
“Maybe in a bit?” John offered, shrugging off the question. He could feel himself growing red from the intimacy of Sherlock’s touch, but he didn’t pull away. “Shouldn’t we socialize or something anyways?”
John looked about nervously, as if looking for a familiar face to insist they go talk to, but the masks, and the fact that he hardly knew anyone, made it difficult.. “You’ve got lots of family here right? I’m sure they’d love to talk to you.”
"I'm here for you and mummy. No one else." He said, dropping John's hand with a knowing look, "Besides, the only ones here are distant cousins I barely know. The more important question here is why you are so adverse to dancing with me. Do you not know how to dance Captain?"
He threw the rank in teasingly, but when John shifted his weight from foot to foot, Sherlock frowned. "John, you really don't know how to dance do you?"
“I know how to dance.” John retorted unconvincingly. “I mean… Okay, no not really. Not like this.”
He shrugged sheepishly, looking down at the ground. “But it’s fine, We can just mingle, or whatever it is people do at these things.”
He attempted to pull away from Sherlock, only to be stopped by a hand catching his wrist, pulling him back in.
"I want to dance, and seeing as you're the only one here I want to dance with..." He pulled the man up against his chest and settle his free hand onto the blonde's lower back, "I guess I will just have to teach you."
John attempted to protest, but was quickly cut off as the next song started. It was a slow waltz that was perfect, and Sherlock pulled John just to the small space at the center of the dance floor. Only the few couples around them would see them, and they had enough room in case John blundered.
"Now, just feel the beat of the music. It's in three four measure." He started swaying with the man to the music, showing him which way they would be going, “You're going to step on every beat, but you will only move on the first beat for now. Here we go, right two three left two three..."
He helped John going from side to side, and once John had learned that well enough, he started them in a slow spin as they waltzed.
"Don't look now John Watson, you're dancing."
“Don’t push it,” John teased, grinning at Sherlock.
He’d managed to relax, mostly following Sherlock’s lead as they swayed around the dance floor. By the end of the song his steps became more sure, and he kept a hold on Sherlock’s hand as the next song started.
“I suppose I could stand for another dance.” John murmured, ignoring the smug look of satisfaction on Sherlock’s face. “I had no idea you enjoyed dancing, figured it’d be something you’d consider dull.”
"It's a bit like playing chess, only having to make your partner look good instead of making your opponent look bad." He did feel a sense of smugness, John wasn't nearly as uncoordinated as he'd thought he would be. The next song was a little more upbeat, but thankfully still a waltz, and he spurred them into motion, pulling John through the crowd on the floor as well.
"It's Intriguing to dance with you though, I didn't think you would pick up on it quite so quickly." He smiled primly and tipped his head forward so that they could look into each others eyes, "it's slightly new for me as well. I've never danced with someone I actually enjoy spending my time with."
“I’ve danced before.” John explained a little slowly, his mind still preoccupied with the coordinated steps. “Just not like this. It generally consisted of swaying back and forth on the spot.”
“We seem to be attracting a bit of attention.” John murmured, trying not to look away from Sherlock despite the interested looks of those around them.
"I do take after my mother just a bit." He said, moving to take John in sweeping circles over the dance floor, in and around the other dancers, "You should know better than anyone that I'm a bit if a show off."
“Ah yes,” said John playfully. “That’s what we do isn’t it, show off?”
Slowly, people started backing off until there were just a few couples dancing, and as the song wound down Sherlock pulled them in tighter circles, until the music stopped and the room exploded with applause for the string quartet and the dancers.
"Perhaps we should take the opportunity to dance more often doctor." He smiled beneath his mask, his hand releasing John's to tilt his chin up with one finger, "Just one more thing you've surprised me with..." His eyelids drooped, fanning his lashes over the bit of skin visible of his cheeks through his mask, and he leaned forward as if to capture Johns lips in a kiss.
"May I cut in?" Came a petite voice from behind him. Sherlock turned to see his cousin Marie standing expectantly behind him.
"Ah. Marie." He said, barely masking his annoyance at her presence, "I suppose I could spare a dance." He said through grit teeth.
"Not with you silly, with your handsome friend." Sherlock's growl was cut short as the girl took John’s hand and whisked him away, leaving the detective to run through his file on torture that wouldn't leave marks.
John chuckled, seeing the look of absolute frustration on Sherlock’s face as he was pulled away. He attempted to take over leading as the next song began, not quite obtaining the same fluidity.
“Marie?” John asked politely, “Are you related to Sherlock?”
She had dark hair and bright blue eyes, but the contagious smile was so unHolmes like he wasn’t quite sure.
"Distant cousin." She said, tossing her hair as if it didn't matter, "but I'm more interested in talking about you." Marie helped him along by leading a little herself, covering up his mistakes by leading him in the proper direction.
"You're John Watson. I read your blog, or rather I read it before, you should really consider writing more often." Light sparkled in her eyes as she spoke, "Your adventures with my cousin are absolutely intriguing."
"We've been taking it easy as of late," John offered in explanation for his lapse in posts. It was true, after everything that had happened in December, they'd both agreed it was time to step out of the limelight.
"Besides, I just write it down, Sherlocks the one that drags me into all. I love it, it's brilliant, but Sherlock's definitely the instigator in all those adventures." John smiled fondly, glad not all the Holmes family was quite as abrasive as Sherlock and Mycroft.
"Oh you poor dear. I'm sure my cousin must drive you bonkers. It's no wonder you've stayed a bachelor for so long. Maybe you just need a woman who understands what he's like"
It was an obvious attempt at flirting, and she smiled wide, apparently convinced that John would flirt back. Her hand tightened in his and she tossed her curls with a girlish smile.
"Oh."
John's eyes widened slightly, a little surprised. Making a point to put a bit of space between them he shook his head.
"You're right, he does drive me absolutely mad, but I love it. Sherlock and I are together, have been for quite some time now."
It was the first time John had actually had to tell someone. With their friends it had been easy, if not obvious. He smiled, a little proud to be announcing to someone that they were in fact together, all labels aside.
"Well of course you-" it took a minute to sink in before she understood, "Oh! You two are together.oh my word and I've just stolen you away. How rude of me!"
Her blush was crimson as they stopped dead on the dance floor. She took John by the hand and a path seemed to clear for her. She found Sherlock leaning against a wall, having obtained two champagnes, one for him and one for John.
"Here, I've brought you your doctor back." She said, her flush seeming to deepen as she released John's hand.
"Oh? Not your type Marie?" The detective asked, his smile tight but condescending, "I thought you liked men who were already spoken for."
She paled, "That was only once and I had no idea... I..." She turned to John as if he would help her then scowled when she knew he would not, "Enjoy your madness doctor..." She spat before turning on her heel and stalking away.
"Hmmm did you tell her or did she figure it out on her own?" Sherlock asked, slipping the glass of champagne into John's hand.
“I told her,” John chuckled, slightly amused by the entire thing. “I was surprised really, I mean come on, how often do you see two blokes dancing together for the hell of it.”
“Perhaps she merely thought I was teaching you to dance. It’s not unheard of.” He smirked into his glass and bit off a jab at the doctor’s previously jaded sexuality concerns.
John looked to Sherlock, raising his glass slightly. “You can relax you know. No harm done, just a dance… Besides she seemed to feel bad enough about it as soon as she realized…” His voice trailed off as he sipped at his glass. “No need to get jealous.” John teased as he lowered his glass, revealing a playful smirk.
“Nonsense. Jealousy would imply that I have a fear that you will leave me for someone else. I know that you are attracted to my intellect, and as it were, things are going great between us. Therefore since we haven’t been fighting, and the only other people here that truly match my intellect are Mycroft, and my mother, who I doubt you’d want any part of either, there is no need for me to be jealous.” He sipped his champagne and sniffed haughtily.
“Besides, who else would shag you into next week like I do? Greg? Spare me the insult.”
John’s eyes widened slightly beneath his mask, surprised by Sherlock’s quick response.
“I was teasing,” John laughed shaking his head. “Good to know you’re so secure. Come on,” John quickly finished off his champagne and set it on a table behind them, grabbing Sherlock’s hand. “I could use some more practice.”
Guiding Sherlock back out onto the floor John began moving to the music much easier than before. “Perhaps we can make sure no one else makes the same mistake your cousin did.”
Sherlock wrapped an arm easily around John’s waist, taking his hand and spinning him into a quickstep, “Perhaps.”
The night wore on, and Sherlock did end up introducing John to quite a bit of the family that was present, only because they wanted to hear about their adventures and John’s blog. And they spent plenty of time dancing and drinking. The party was winding down, and finally, Sherlock’s mother announced that they were about to start the last dance. It was slow and romantic, and every couple got out onto the dance floor to sway to the rhythm together.
Sherlock drew John close against him, and they danced close together, the detective resting his cheek against the blonde’s temple as they swayed. About halfway through, the detective spun them both out onto a veranda, and slowed their spinning until they were next to the balcony. Placing both hands on the doctor’s hips, he sat him up on the railing, and slipped between his spread legs.
“Have you enjoyed yourself tonight?” He asked, his nose brushing along the hollow of the doctor’s tanned throat.
“Very much so.” John assured him, his hands coming to rest at Sherlock’s waist. “A lot more than I thought I would honestly.” He gripped Sherlock’s hips lightly, pulling him closer.
“What about you? Everyone seemed pretty pleased to see you.”
“That’s not why I enjoyed my evening.” he said, relishing in the feel of their shared moment alone when they had been surrounded by people all night, “And I know that it’s not over yet.”
His tone was suggestive, but his smile only magnified it. Both hands slipped underneath the doctor’s suit coat, smoothing over his back possessively as he pressed their bodies together, his arms keeping John from teetering on the edge dangerously. He looked up at John, their eyes meeting and his lids lowering over his eyes. He’d been wanting to kiss the man all night, but social convention kept him from doing so. Finally they were alone and he could claim this soldier as his own once again. One hand freed itself from the jacket, curling over the back of his neck, pulling him down and Sherlock could feel the ghost of John’s breath against his lips.
Suddenly a very loud throat clearing jolted him into awareness, and keeping a firm grip on John, turned to see his mother in the doorway. How had he not heard her approach? Damn it all the doctor muted his mind in the best and worst ways.
“Sorry to interrupt darling.” She said softly, coming now to stand beside them, her heels clicking regally as if she were royalty instead of just rich, “But I was wondering if I could speak to your John and Mycroft’s Gregory alone for a moment.” Sherlock noticed Greg trying to look nonchalant just inside the doors.
“You have the worst timing mother, but it is your birthday, I suppose I can’t refuse.” The brunette said, obviously disappointed.
“Why don’t you go find Mycroft and help Winston dismiss the guests. Most all of them will be returning home tonight.” Sherlock only nodded his head before letting one hand snake down John’s arm to squeeze his hand, then turned and headed inside.
“Come along now Gregory,” Madame Holmes said, her voice light as she held her hand out to him, “Come out and have a seat with us, I’d like to have a small chat with the two of you.”
John hopped down from the railing as Sherlock slipped back inside. John and Greg both shared a companionable look before following Madame Holmes over to a table and sitting down. Both men looked worried, John still flushed with embarrassment.
"Boys I am not going to give you the typical speech a parent might give when meeting their child's significant other for the first time. If you haven't noticed, we Holmes' do things a little differently." She leaned forward a little as if they were sharing a secret, "So relax."
A breath of relief seemed to come from both men as they settled into their seats.
Madame Holmes carefully removed her white dinner gloves and folded them in her lap, "I actually wanted to thank you two. I have never seen my boys so happy. A dinner without them bickering hasn't happened since Sherlock was old enough to understand what sarcasm was." She sighed lovingly and shook her head at the thought.
"They may not show it, but you both have had a big impact on their lives." Her smile faltered then, "They didn't have particularly happy childhoods, and to see them happy as they once were so long ago, well, it makes me very happy."
“Mycroft has told me that you are both aware of the true identity of James Moriarty.” Her voice caught in her throat as she spoke, and she took a moment to compose herself, “The man was very... good at mental manipulation. When he left... well the word distraught does not truly sum up what I was going through.”
She cleared her throat primly, and continued in a stronger voice, “I was weak, and it was in the most important stage in my boys’ lives. Sherlock was barely a year old, and Mycroft was five. Winston assisted as well as he could, but eventually a nanny was needed, because I could not function to do it on my own. However, our choice was poor, and the woman was a terrible nanny. I won’t go into too much detail on the matter, but she was abusive.” She looked at Greg pointedly, who nodded solemnly in understanding, and then at John, who looked utterly shocked.
“After that, Mycroft was about ten when he finally told someone in the house what was going on, and the woman was fired immediately. However, he had grown up very quickly in those five years, and convinced Winston somehow that he was capable of making some decisions in the house. God knows how, but seeing him the way he is now, I’m no longer surprised.”
“His first decision was that there was to be no more nanny’s and for a while, he raised Sherlock himself. I myself struggled with my own demons. An addiction to alcohol and prescribed pills, and after a trip to the A & E for an overdose straightened me out. By that time, Sherlock was almost through secondary, and Mycroft already finishing his first degree with his University. I had missed my children’s entire lives because I was too weak to admit I had a problem.”

She smiled softly and looked away for a moment, a wetness in her eyes threatening to spill over, “You can imagine the damage done when one boy who had seen so much hurt done to his family simply by trusting people tried to raise his younger brother in a way to avoid that weakness. I am no stranger to the unhealthy lifestyles of my children, but I am the only one to blame when it comes down to it. So I attempt to bring them together as often as I can, just hoping to see a bit of happiness, but I have failed where the two of you have so easily soared.”
“I’ve never seen my boys let anyone into their lives like they have the two of you,” She smiled warmly, “They care for you so much in their own ways, I’m afraid Mycroft is a little better at expressing it than Sherlock.” The regal woman reached forward, taking John’s hand in her very small, cold one.
“You have to understand. He was raised to believe that loving someone, caring for someone, even trusting them was not only weakness, but potentially dangerous.”
John nodded, squeezing her hand softly. He’d known that Sherlock’s childhood was less than ideal, but he’d had no idea that the brunette had gone through so much. There was silence between the three of them for a few moments before Madame Holmes pulled her hand back.
"So you see, my sons may seem strong and emotionless, but they can be very fragile." She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear as she sat back, her emotions once again tucked away in that very Holmesian manner,"I pray that you two can continue along with this path. You are the best thing that has ever happened to them." Her eyes were sharp then and there was no mistaking the unspoken or else. Both men nodded resolutely, a little taken aback by the sudden onslaught of information.
"Now, I think it's best for you to retire for the evening, I know that Winston has arranged a horseback outing for us tomorrow. We'll start all together I'm told, but there will be plenty of time for you to go off on your own after for a picnic lunch, afterwards, I've requested for an early dinner so you all might make it back to London before too late. I'll take up no more of your time then, I'm sure you'll find the boys not too far off." She gave them a small wink before standing and bidding the men goodnight.
John nodded and thanked her for the lovely evening, followed by Lestrade, and when she had gone back inside John was the one that broke the silence.
“Bloody hell.” Having stood to see Madame Holmes off he collapsed back into the chair, still overwhelmed with all the new information. “Did you have any idea?”
“I had my suspicions, but I never knew the details. There are times when I’ll touch him a certain way and he clams up, he doesn't like it if I sneak up on him, accidentally or otherwise, there’s all kinds of signs I’ve seen in others before. Once I found out about Moriarty actually being their dad... well... I thought it was all explained.”
John rubbed at his face absently. “Yeah, I mean it makes sense I guess… Have to say I didn’t see that coming. I was expecting the talk or something.” He looked to Greg, shrugging his shoulders.
“I am glad she told us, in a way. I mean, they suddenly make a hell of a lot more sense...” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin, “Sherlock especially...”
“Yeah it does,” John murmured softly, staring off unfocustedly. After a few moments he shook his head, not wanting to think on the subject too much. “How are you and Mycroft anyhow?”
The detective inspector shrugged as he sank back down into his own chair. It had been some time since he and John had gone out for a pint and a chat, and he wasn't too eager to get back to Mycroft just yet.
"Oh I'm sure you know how it is. It's no bed of roses, but we make each other happy most days, and that's what's important right?" He gave John a half smile that didn't reach his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair before looking back up at the doctor.
"I've been trying to decide how to broach the subject of my kids with him. I mean I wanted to make sure this was all fairly stable before I integrated the bloody nutter into their lives... But Sylvia's demanding more child support and I can't keep paying on a flat I hardly use... It's a conversation I'm not quite ready to have..." He took a deep breath and shook his head, "Guess you and Sherlock had it easy, you were already living together." He smiled.
"What about you two? How's that going?"
“Yeah... I supposed we did, have it easier I mean,” he offered the man an apologetic glance before letting out a deep breath and shifting on the sofa slightly. “But yeah, things are going good. Well since that day down at the Yard, we worked it out. Again sorry about that.”
Greg hadn’t called for a case since the incident and he wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t have one or he was avoiding calling them back in after that. “Everything’s back to normal, or as normal as it gets with them I suppose... Thank you, for helping with that.” His lips quirked to the side in thought, “You know I’m here for you too. We both know how overwhelming they can be. If you ever need to just get out, grab a pint or something... I’m here.”
John was a little worried for him after all. Sherlock and him had gone their rounds, but he could honestly say that they were doing well, fantastic in many respects, but Greg seemed utterly spent. He supposed being pulled from so many different directions didn’t help, what with his ex and his kids.
When Greg's eyes returned to John's he smiled warmly, his expression thankful. "Yeah, since Sherlock's come back, you and I haven't really had time to be proper mates have we?"
John shrugged half-heartedly, the weight of the conversation finally hanging on him. “I wasn’t much of one before he came back either... I’m still sorry for that, with the divorce and everything.. I should’ve been there.”
"Oh shove it with that! Don't pity me just yet, I have the tame brother, I don't think I could keep up with Sherlock if I tried..." He chuckled softly at the thought, "I can barely keep up with him on cases, I don't know how you do it." John laughed with him, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
“I have no idea, half the time I’m not sure I am keeping up.” They laughed heartily for a moment more, but soon Lestrade’s face fell, the confession earlier coming to mind once more.
"I suppose Mycroft will be fine with me moving in, his home is rather large. It's the kids I'm worried about. And after what we just heard..." He shook his head and looked away, as if what he had to say next was very hard for him to admit. "Sylvia says if I don't start spending more time with them she'll file for full custody... I don't... I don't know what to do John... I spend as much time with them as I can, and I know if things worked out I could spend more time with them but..." He sighed "I just keep thinking about whether he likes kids or not...."
The detective inspector buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled by the palms when he spoke again, "Listen to me... I sound like an insecure and overdramatic teenage girl..." He looked up at the doctor once more, "What would you do in my situation?"
John was quiet for a moment, he barely spoke to his own family, save for Harry, and Sherlock and Harry got on well enough anyways, he’d never really dealt with something like this. He couldn’t imagine himself with a child, much less asking Sherlock to ostensibly become a parent. Still he looked back to Lestrade resolutely.
“You have to just ask him. Lay it all out, you said yourself, you have the tame one.” He smiled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “He may not be Sherlock, but not much gets past him. I’m sure he knows the situation you’re in and is just waiting for you to broach the subject. I’d say be gentle about it, but I don’t think you really have to worry about that when it comes to Mycroft. He’s met your kids yeah?”
"Not yet, but it's not as if they're little punks. Thank god they're mostly like me and not their mother..." He sighed and let his head fall back.
"I suppose you're right though..." He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration before standing, "Well we'd better get back, who knows what kind of mischief they'll be getting into without us there." He smiled and clapped John on the shoulder, "and thanks again mate."
“Anytime,” John murmured as he stood to lead them out of small sitting room. It didn’t take long to find Sherlock and Mycroft. John could see them across the entryway in what looked like a study of sorts, sitting across from each other at a small table. As they got closer John’s brow pinched together in confusion. They were both glaring pointedly at each other across an untouched chessboard.
John coughed to pull the pair from their reverie. “What are you doing?” he gestured toward the untouched board and looked back and forth between the two men.
Mycroft’s brows raised and he shrugged one shoulder noncommittally as he rose from his chair. “It was his idea, playing chess in our mind. A test of skill and memory.” Abandoning the unfinished game Mycroft stood to move behind Lestrade, taking his hand quickly without a second glance back.
“Bed?” His tone was uncharacteristically soft, like he was actually asking if Greg would be willing to join him. John couldn’t help but smile at the exchange.
Greg's face softened into a knowing smile. He squeezed Mycroft's hand and nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice just as soft,"I wanted to talk to you about something anyway." He let the older man lead him away, and together the detective and his blogger watched them go.
"Disgustingly sweet isn't it?" He asked, one hand sliding across John's back, welcoming him back into the curve of his arm, "Thank god we aren't like that."
John allowed himself to be pulled in to the detectives grasp, but the words echoed through his mind tauntingly. Were they really not like that? There were times when they were sweet, yes. They normally centered around make up’s, holidays, and sex, but they could be loving like that. A pang ran through Johns gut, something he couldn’t quite place. It was an inkling of fear, something John hadn’t realized he’d wanted, something apparently Sherlock did not want.
"Come on then Captain, let’s go to bed."
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