Promise to the Living

Chapter Nineteen

For one fleeting moment John thought Sherlock was going to punch his brother. His eyes snapped silver fire and his fists tightened. Sleep-rumpled hair and creased pajamas added to the general wildness of his appearance.

"Why must you always interfere?" he snapped. "John and I will manage just fine without your so-called help."

Lestrade was indignant. "You're out of line, Sherlock."

"I'm not. And mind your own business. This is between me and my brother."

Mycroft crossed his arms. "You say you want to keep this between us, yet you barge at me like an irate mongrel with John and Gregory watching. Not one of your most logical moments."

Sherlock blinked. "John and who?"

"Me," Lestrade snapped. "My name is Gregory."

"Sherlock," John protested, "I think it's a brilliant idea. Once the public knows you're back, and that your name is cleared, we'll have our pick of cases. And don't give me that rubbish about public offerings being boring- the Baskerville case was anything but. As for accepting files from Mycroft- we've done it before."

"John, it's a horrible idea. Directly or indirectly, we'll be under his control. How could you-" He paused. Then his face darkened. "What the hell have you done to him, Mycroft? You have him supporting your schemes like one of your lackeys."

"Hey, now!" John stood. "That's not fair to your brother OR me."

Sherlock touched his arm. "I don't blame you. You were in a bad space mentally and emotionally. I asked him to help you through it, but he went too far and took advantage. He's rather good at manipulating weaker minds."

John had heard Sherlock speak this way countless times in the past, and reluctantly accepted it as the down side of friendship with a socially inept genius. He'd even gotten used to apologizing to others for his best friend's bad manners. But now he was angry. Had the long separation lowered his tolerance? Or raised his standards?

Mycroft stood gracefully, and kept his voice controlled, but his frustration was detectable. "Must you always think the worst of me, Sherlock?"

"Must you always act it?" his brother shot back. "Does everything exist to serve your purpose, including John now?"

"Sherlock," John hissed.

"It's all right," Mycroft reassured him, without swerving his gaze from his brother's. "Despite his blather, Sherlock is grateful for everything I did for you. And him. But he feels immensely threatened that the nature of our relationship has changed, John. You've been working for me for months, and he sees that you enjoy my company. Now he hears you eagerly accepting an offer that will keep you and I in close association, and he wonders what will happen next. Will you leave Baker Street and move into my Knightsbridge flat? Decide that as much as you care about him, you no longer want to be his blogger and babysitter?"

Lestrade's jaw dropped. Sherlock erupted.

"You always have to take what's mine, don't you?" he shouted. "Always."

"Sherlock, in case you've forgotten, we're not four and eleven any more, and John is not a toy to be fought over."

John had heard enough. He strode between them, hands waving, and exclaimed, "Shut the fuck up. Both of you."

Lestrade smirked and strolled off toward the kitchen for coffee. Sherlock's brow furrowed. Mycroft looked impressed.

"Enough's enough. You make me crazy when you both carry on like this. Any more and I'll say sod it with everything and leave." To Mycroft, John added, "And if you message anyone to grab me in the street and force me back, I swear I'll-"

The elder Holmes raised both hands. "No need. Last night you were in shock. You're perfectly capable of deciding now whether you want to leave or stay."

Slightly mollified, John continued. "Sherlock, it's true that Mycroft and I are close now. But that doesn't affect our friendship. I told you last night that I needed time to absorb everything, but that doesn't mean time away from you. On the contrary, I'll need you to stay close by, as part of me hardly believes you're really here. Alive."

The ghastly memory of Sherlock lying on the pavement outside the pathology building, bloodied and apparently broken, lunged into his consciousness. He winced and shoved it back, wondering if it would ever lose its power to devastate him.

Sherlock's lips tightened. "I told you before, John. I have only one friend. I'm… fond… of Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, but you're very important to me. Even when I was supposed to be in hiding, I couldn't stay away from you."

That was as close to saying 'I love you' as Sherlock was capable of expressing. John squeezed his shoulder.

"And you're important to me too. For awhile I didn't even want to live without you. But your brother stopped me from doing something foolish." He glanced at Mycroft in silent gratitude. "Now listen. I'm going to accept Mycroft's offer. So is Greg. I can't make you do the same, but I'd be really happy if you'd join us."

Lestrade returned, blowing on a steaming mug. "Yeah, I suppose I'd be chuffed too. No one insults me as cleverly as you do, Sherlock."

Sherlock hesitated, clearly trying to convince himself that he would be doing John and Lestrade a favour instead of capitulating to Mycroft. He rubbed his hands together and started pacing. For awhile he said nothing. Then he stopped abruptly and faced his brother.

"Are you going to rent an office?"

"I was planning on it."

"Where?"

"I've not decided."

"It must be near Bart's. And I want to see it before you sign any lease."

John tried not to smile. Sherlock hardly had standards when it came to his living environment, so why would he care about the office particulars? He probably didn't, but didn't want to appear to be caving in so easily.

Mycroft nodded. "Fine. You can review the listings with me."

"Boring. Just show me something you know I'll like." He resumed his pacing. "And I don't want anything dull handed to us just because you can't be arsed to look into it yourself. Interesting cases only."

"Sherlock, really. I'd never order you to take anything I bring you. I know what a waste of energy that would be."

"Good." Sherlock nodded sharply. "Then fine. I accept. It could be rather fun, actually."

"Unbelievable," Lestrade declared, rolling his eyes. "You don't hate the idea at all. You just wanted to because your brother thought of it."

"And why would I do that?" Sherlock scowled.

John spoke up. "Because you're an idiot."

Sherlock stared at him. Then his lips quirked in a smile.

"And you." John turned to Mycroft. "You're as presumptuous as he is, and a scheming power-tripper to boot."

"Really, John," the other man chuckled. "You're complimenting me."

"I suppose I am." He looked from one to the other, knowing that that the Holmes brothers would always interfere with or control his life. But they'd also supply excitement, friendship, and most of important of all for a former soldier, purpose.

Lestrade said it for him. "Can't live with them, can't live without them, eh?"

John sighed. Living without them would never be an option.

After excusing himself, he headed toward the kitchen for a coffee refill. Mycroft stopped him and held his own empty mug out. "Would you mind?"

"Sure." But when he accepted it, John felt warm fingers glide gently and deliberately over his hand before letting go.

He didn't dare look at the elder Holmes, not with Sherlock and Lestrade in the room, but his pulse jumped, his heart started pounding and warmth flooded him, sending a blush to his cheeks and a strange heat through his body. As he hurried into the privacy of the high-tech kitchen, he knew that at the earliest opportunity, he and Mycroft needed to talk.

Alone.