John descended the staircase slowly. The gentlemen in the foyer were striking, each more intimidating than the other. The elder was auburn-headed, with pale skin that would likely freckle if he let it, but something about his manner said that he'd never allow something as insignificant as the sun damage his skin that way. He had penetrating eyes, much like a hawk, bored but always on the watch for some sign of weakness. The younger was as fair of skin, but his hair was ebony and wild. As John watched, Sherlock whirled his greatcoat from his shoulders, and gracefully over the arm of their butler. Lack of coat revealed a long, narrow body; he was incredibly tall and his thinness only emphasized that fact. He seemed stretched, so thin and narrow, though tight breeches indicated he was quite fit. He had his brother's eyes; they clearly missed nothing. The pair were quite astounding.
Harry burst in to make introductions in the foyer. Before the ritual of rank and introduction could be completed, the raven-haired man burst into words.
"Waterloo or Quatre Bras?"
John's limp could have been anything, a childhood injury or deformity from birth. He could have been thrown from a horse or fallen down the stairs. The man in front of him simply wanted to know during precisely which battle he'd been injured.
"Quatre Bras," he answered, amazed.
"You were ill."
"Yes, enteric fever."
Harry finished his introductions, clearly unnerved. The elder was Lord Mycroft Holmes, Viscount of Sherrinford. The younger was named Sherlock Holmes. Unusual names for those that must be quite unusual men.
John made his bow to Lord Sherrinford. The man seemed to inspect him up and down rather than bowing or nodding in return. John offered the younger brother a hand to shake, switching his cane to his left hand in the process. He faltered for a second, wondering if he ought to have bowed, though neither brother indicated that the younger brother as well held a title.
Sherlock Holmes did not take his hand. Instead he further proclaimed a half dozen facts, knowing… well, knowing John quite exactly. Then he took John's hand in his and announced a few more.
Their odd conversation was interrupted by Lord Sherrinford's disapproval and Harry took the break to usher them all into the drawing room.
And somehow, just then, John realized that this tall, bluff man was intended to be his husband.
YOU ARE READING
The Lazarus Machine
FanficSir Harold Watson requires his younger brother John to marry for money. The wealthy husband-to-be? None other than Sherlock Holmes. Before the wedding can occur, Sherlock gets swept up in an investigation of random found body parts and strange lette...
