ihadabadday | Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed

John paused and stared at Mycroft. He arched an eyebrow and shrugged off his coat. He let out a breath and crossed the room to the kitchen to start tea.

"How can I help you?"

"It came to my attention, several months ago, that you and my brother have..." He looked around in disgust "Decided to cohabitate." His eyes came back to John. "It has also come to my attention to that you currently have no job, and are living off the income that Sherlock makes from his consulting jobs. Do you deny it?"

John took out two cups and poured the hot water in before adding the tea bags. He looked over to Mycroft and then back to the cups. He didn't reply immediately. He brought the tea out and offered Mycroft a cup. He then settled down with his own.

"Yes, we are living together and had been for several months. And no, I do have a job." He answered with a smile before sipping his tea.

Mycroft took the cup, taking a sip. He grimaced slightly, then gave John a pleasant smile in place of a 'thank you'.

"And... do you plan to continue both seeing my brother and not having a job?" He asked after a second sip, after which he put the teacup down on the small table bseide imm

John frowned a bit at Mycroft. "I just told you. I have a job. I see private clients. It brings in just as much as Sherlock's consulting."

He hadn't been impressed when he saw the man in Afghanistan, and he wasn't impressed now.

Mycroft gave him a dark look, but was quiet for a moment.

"You do understand that Sherlock is an impossible man to live with, Doctor Watson." He started.

"He had driven away dozens of other potential flatmates. Congratulations for being one fo the few who has made it more than a month, though." His tone was anything but congratulatory.

"He will drive you away, and you will break his heart, and I am here to see that it does not happen. If you leave him, there will be no place on this Earth that you can go that I will not find you." His voice got lower and lower until it was almost a growl.

John stared at him, unimpressed. He merely sipped his tea and then set the cup down.

He pursed his lips together. "The only way I plan on leaving Sherlock is either by death or if I am drafted once more into the military." He said flatly.

"Are all the Holmes men idiots or are you just a special case?"

"Considering that you have already passed your 40th birthday, Doctor Watson, I don't foresee you getting drafted into the military, as the maximum age is 35." He shot John a look, one that silently asked who the idiot truly was here.

He stood up and grabbed his brolly. "Well, I see that this conversation is going to serve no further purpose. I hope that I made my point clear. Good day, Doctor Watson." And with that, he was gone from the flat.

John fished out his phone from his pocket and sent a text to Sherlock.

'Your brother is an idiot.'

He got up to clean up the tea mess. He had no intention of hurting Sherlock. He leaned over the sink, staring down at the drain. How the water trickled down it. He sighed and closed his eyes.

Sherlock looked at his phone for a moment, and then frowned. There was only one explanation for that.

He came to visit you, I suppose?

He was going to have to have a serious talk with Mycroft about this...

He did. I think that he's an idiot. Seems to think that I'm going to break your heart. I have no plans on that.

John sighed and ran a hand over his face. Christ. He really didn't plan on breaking Sherlock's heart. He cared for the man immensely.

Anger coursed through his veins.. not at John, but at Mycroft. He took a moment before composing his message so it wouldn't come out wrong.

This will be dealt with. Don't worry about it any more. He will not darken our door again. I will ensure it.

To be honest, he really had no way to keep Mycroft from his flat, but he would find a way to make it as inhospitable as possible if he ever did come by again.

Good to know. What do you want for dinner?

He finally pushed away from the counter and went to shower. His muscles ached.

As per the norm, Sherlock really wasn't the least bit hungry.

You get yourself something. I may not be back until late. This case that Graham has me on is an 8, at least.

There was no answer for some time. John was just standing in the shower, letting the heat ease the aches in his body. Mycroft was right. He was getting old. Would Sherlock get bored?

He pressed his forehead to the cool tile.

Okay, well he had been lying to John. The case was barely a 6, but he had been aching for a case for weeks, so when Lestrade texted him, he came.

He shuffled the conversation with Mycroft to the back of his mind, he had to compartmentalize his thoughts if he wanted to get anything done.

The sun had long past went down when the so called Avacado Killer was taken into custody, and Sherlock, once again insisting that it was too late for him to be taken to the station and questioned, grabbed a taxi back towards Baker Street.,

John was asleep in their shared bed, looking as if he hadn't been asleep long or well. The sheets were missed and he was sweaty.

Nightmare.

Sherlock frowned. He knew that a person who was having a nightmare should not be restrained or forcefully or quickly woken up.

Instead, he divested himself of his clothing and slipped into bed, but he didn't touch John, not yet. He gave the man room, for now.

"John." He whispered. "John, wake up. I'm home." He knew his voice was soft enough that it wouldn't really wake John, but he mostly just wanted to try to calm him first before he tried to make contact, so John wouldn't accidentally lash out.

It took a few minutes, but John opened his eyes. He made a soft noise as Sherlock came into focus. He swallowed and reached up to the man's cheek. Oh god. He was here. It was okay.

He stroked his fingers along the skin, studying him.

Sherlock continued to softly talk to John until he saw the man stirring. As soon as he knew that John was awake enough, he rolled over onto John's side of the bed, pressing his body close. He had no intention of anything sexual, he just wanted to remind John that he was here, solid and real and alive.

Sherlock leaned into the touch on his cheek, closing his eyes for a moment. "Sleep, John. I'm here. Go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." He really wasn't sleepy, but if this was what John needed, then he would do it without question, even if he had to lay here and just watch John sleep.

He touched Sherlock, smiling before settling down, his eyes closing once more. He slept soundly and without nightmares. It seemed that having Sherlock here helped curb his nightmares.

When John finally woke, he didn't move at first, taking notice of the warm body pressing against his. He reached up and rubbed his face. He wanted to get up and use the loo, but the body pressing against his was warm.

Sherlock had slipped in and out of sleep during the night. It wasn't nightmares that kept him up as much as it was just his really weird circadian rhythms.

When the first light started filtering in through the curtains over the windows in his bedroom, he heard and felt John start to stir. He could tell he needed to get up but he didn't want to at the moment. So he stayed still, keeping his breathing even, his eyes closed, his sense on alert.

"I don't wan to move..." John grumbled even as he snuggled further against Sherlock. For being so skinny, the man was certainly warm. And he did like laying in bed with him.

He knew soon enough his need for the loo would win out and up he would go.

John, despite being shorter, was the "big spoon" as they cuddled, the one behind, wrapping his arms around the one in front of him- in this case, Sherlock.

Because of this, Sherlock could feel John pressing against his hip, but he knew that it was more of the mans need to use the loo than anything else.

"While I agree that this is quite nice, John, I would prefer it if you didn't urinate in my bed because you didn't want to move." He tried to make his voice sound sleepy, but to him at least, it was obvious. To others, he knew, not so much.

John huffed and then got up. Sherlock was right. He made his way to the loo, relieved himself and then splashed some water on his face. He returned to the bed and climbed in, this time making himself the 'little spoon' so he could pull Sherlock's arm over his chest.

"There." He muttered.

Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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