Alone on Baker Street

Chapter Seven

6:00 finally rolled around, and John and Sherlock shared the same sense of uneasiness, although neither of the men would admit to it. Who was this stranger posing as Moriarty? Or...was it Moriarty himself? The possibility of the latter made Sherlock angry, confused, and...scared...at the same time. "The game is back on," he whispered to John. He smiled. Then, they both walked out of Baker Street and hailed a cab.

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"The bloody hell..." John's voice trailed off. They were standing outside an old abandoned mansion. The house was old, Victorian style. The problem was, it was extensively fire damaged, the pillars and sides charred and blackened. Not only that, it looked quite vandalized as well.

Sherlock walked up to the door-less entrance, and peered inside. "The inside looks as bad as the outside," he remarked. "The fire must've been started a long time ago, in the early 1900s..." his eyes glazed over for a little bit. He was looking in his mind palace, John thought.

Sherlock snapped back into reality. "1922. The Hawthorne Mansion. Two of the only gay men in the world buy a massive house together. One eventually cheats on the other with the gardener, causing the other one to burn the house down in a fury. The two men died in the fire, and were found nearly burned beyond recognition. But why?" Sherlock stepped inside the dismal mansion, John following close behind. "Why here?"

"Maybe it's because their story has a striking similarity to yours," a voice said from the darkness, a voice both of the men recognized.

Sherlock spun around, his senses on high alert. "Mycroft Holmes, I swear to God..."

"Oh, cool it, Sherlock. You knew it wasn't Moriarty." Mycroft stepped forward into the patch of sunlight protruding from the empty doorway, and rolled his eyes. John wanted to punch him.

Sherlock walked forward and stood inches away from Mycroft's face. "Tell me why you emailed me," he said, his voice dangerously low. John blushed at the sexy baritone noise emanating from his boyfriend.

"I tried calling, but you ignore my calls. I needed an excuse to meet you and John in person. I figured a Moriarty threat was higher than 7 on the scale of whether you put your pants on or not." Mycroft smiled smugly.

Sherlock took a deep breath, probably to calm himself down. "What did you mean about 'our story' being similar to that of the men who owned this place?"

"I meant because you two are gay, sharing a flat, and likely headed for destruction."

Sherlock's eyebrow twitched, but otherwise, his face still remained expressionless. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Sherlock, you know your relationship will never last. John is bisexual, not fully homosexual as you are. He has dated men and women, Sherlock. Plus, you are a sociopathic genius with unmatched intelligence. Can you really spend your life with someone so dull? What happened to Miss Adler?"

John, in the midst of being incredibly offended and angry, finally realized the source of Mycroft's hot anger--was he homophobic?

Sherlock was steaming now. "I've had enough of you, you lonely, homophobic prick. Just because you don't "approve" of my relationship doesn't mean you can make my life hell anymore than you already do. Good day, Mycroft."

Then, just to top it off, Sherlock turned around and enveloped John in a warm kiss, which he returned. He then smiled at the look of disgust on Mycroft's face. Sherlock turned his coat collar up and walked out the door, John right behind him (but not before flicking Mycroft off).

Back at the flat, Sherlock and John stormed in, slamming everything they could and making a hell of a ruckus.

Mrs. Hudson walked in. "Oh, you're back, boys. Good. How did the case go?"

"There is no case. My brother is a homophobic pig, and I want nothing to do with him."

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Are you two finally together?" she asked, deducing this faster than Sherlock himself would have been able to.

John piped up. "Um...yes, we are."

Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands gleefully. "I'm glad you two are happy." she smiled, and went to leave the flat, but stopped herself. "Oh! I almost forgot," she walked over to a large plate, and removed the plastic wrap. "Your mother sent the sweetest letter checking up on you. She said she joined a culinary class where they learned how to make macadamia nut cookies, and she remembered they were your favorite, so she made a whole batch for you and John to enjoy. Isn't she sweet?"

John smiled up at Sherlock. "That's nice." he said.

"I suppose so. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.", Sherlock said, any gratitude being rare with him.

"You're quite welcome. Now I'll leave you boys to do...whatever you want to do." she winked and left the flat, shutting the door behind her.

"John, I'm sorry for what Mycroft said. You're not dull, and I promise that I won't get bored dating you. You're so normal, and normal is so foreign to me. I love you."

John smiled. "I love you too." he embraced Sherlock tenderly. "And, for the record, I'm fully gay."

Sherlock's laugh vibrated into John's back.

"Want a cookie?" John asked.

"I suppose so. Macadamia nut cookies are my favorite, after all. I wonder why Mummy went to such trouble sending them."

They both bit into their cookies. "These are g--" John began, but then he fell to the ground, limp.

"JOHN!" Sherlock yelled. He reached down to help him, but then he collapsed as well, drowsy panic floating through his mind before he became unconscious.