Pretending
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Richard/ John
Kink: Mistaken Identity
Warning: uh…. Not sure
Summary: The story of a poor actor who was forced to help his crazy brother and nearly lost everything.
Prompt: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/16422.html?thread=93847334#t93847334
Richard slipped the strap of his bag off his shoulder, letting it thump down into the seat. His phone buzzed insistently. A message. David again.
-Where are you?-
Where am I not? Richard asked himself quietly. He felt guilty. According to the people Jim left behind, he was supposed to be in five different places right now. Two of them in different countries.
No, that was Jim. That was his little brother Jim. Not him. Richard Brook was supposed to be at home with his husband David Brook. He was supposed to be making that delicious seafood risotto that David liked because David had just gotten signed.
He was supposed to be getting ready because after dinner, David said he wanted to go to the orphanage and see the kid, Sarah, that they had talked about adopting. He was supposed to be buying her a present because she was turning five in a week. He would have been doing all these things if he had been the man he was six months ago.
Instead, Richard was hiding in a café on the other side of the city, nursing a hot cup of coffee. He was hiding from his agent, from his husband and from reality.
Jim. Richard loved Jim with all his heart but he had never hated him more. He would do anything to keep Jim safe. But Jim was never safe. His greatest danger had been himself. Jim was too clever, too smart, too crazy. Richard loved him but Richard hated him too.
He hadn’t minded the little things. Saying strange things on the phone was fine, providing an alibi for him was alright. After all, Richard was an older brother and older brothers always looked after their little brothers. No matter what.
“You’ll help me right?”
“Yeah. Always.”
“Always?”
“Yes.”
Richard hated himself. His fingers curled around the cup, relishing the burn from the hot ceramic.
He should have known. It would start small and escalate. He had read enough books on psychopathic behavior to know this. Jim had hidden all the signs from everyone but Richard. Richard should have stopped helping but he couldn’t say no.
“Just be you. Just be you whom he hired to do bad things.”
“What?”
“Come on, Richard. What about David?”
His blood had run cold. He had seized up and said yes. Richard couldn’t take the chance that Jim’s affection for him didn’t run as deep. He couldn’t take the chance that Jim would kill David just because Richard refused to help him.
Jim knew about David. He would have known about Sarah. He would know about Mrs. White from across the street, Penelope ‘Penny’ Lamarck from the real-estate company, Mr. Li from the grocers and all the other friends Richard had made after he parted ways with Jim.
His fingers burned. His eyes prickled. He had condemned a great man to death in disgrace, all because he had been too much of a coward to say no to his little brother.
His phone buzzed again. He couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“Hello?” Richard said softly, picking up his bag and leaving a few coins on the table.
“Richard, where are you? Don’t do this to me, babe. Whatever it is I did I’m really sorry. If you want to see another guy it’s fine by me, just please come home.” David sounded broken. David had always been so understanding. David had written off his sudden paranoia, sudden clinginess as the urge to start a family. David had thought his strange behavior was because he had been trying to help his suicidal brother. David had thought that Richard’s continued strange habits were because he felt guilty for not preventing Jim’s death. No one could recover from the death of a loved one so quickly. It had only been half a year.
He had pretended that nothing was wrong when Richard stopped coming home after work. He had not said a thing when Richard nearly lost the deal he had with the company because he hadn’t shown up for an entire week.
“Sorry, David. I’m coming back now.” Richard said, keeping his eyes on the floor as he moved through the crowd. A tear dripped onto the floor. Would David think any less of him?
“You.”
Richard stopped short. He knew that voice. It had roared abuse at him once. He had been terrified. His fear had not been faked at all.
John Watson, best friend of the late Sherlock Holmes. Ex-army doctor, all round crack-shot and fiercely protective of his own.
Oh. God. David.
If John had seen him out of character, Jim would kill David. Jim would have his pet sniper Moran aim that little red dot on David’s forehead and put a bullet through it. David would be in their apartment, contently stirring his soup one moment, bleeding on the floor the next. He wouldn’t even know what happened.
“John.”
The name sounded foreign on Richard’s tongue. He had to pull up every last bit of courage to say it. He had to work hard to keep his fear from showing on his face. Jim had always been cocksure. Richard had to work to get anywhere near confident. It was only David who had taught him how to believe in himself.
David.
“Nice to see you out and about.” Richard said amicably, wincing inwardly at how un-Jim like he sounded.
John was breathing hard, Styrofoam cup in his hand crushed under the force of his grip. Richard didn’t think that he even realized that hot coffee was leaking onto the floor.
“Hello? Hello? Richard baby!” David’s voice shouted from the phone.
John’s hand lashed out. Richard flinched backwards.
But John wasn’t going to hit him. John was aiming for the phone.
In the time it took for Richard to realize that, John was already holding it to his ear.
“Who the fuck is this?” he demanded. “What is your relationship to Richard?” John sneered the name, glaring at Richard. Richard nervously looked out the window, half expecting to see a black clad man shake his head ominously and make some kind of signal.
“Oh Fuck, please don’t hurt Richard. Please don’t. Look I don’t know what you want but please just don’t hurt him. We’re adopting a little girl soon please. She’s attached to him already. Please, please. We have money.”
John’s expression was unreadable.
“You’re a sick bastard. This Richard is a sick bastard, do you know that?” He hissed in anger. Richard made a grab for the phone but was jostled by another customer. He grabbed John’s arm instead and led him outside. John pushed him away violently.
Richard stumbled against the side of the building.
“No! Don’t hurt him!” David was begging on the other end. A thousand and one words about how Richard wasn’t crazy, wasn’t a sick fuck, wasn’t in need of help. A thousand more about how all Richard needed was time. Richard felt a tear run down his cheek. Even after everything Richard had put David through, the man had been willing to back him up.
“David, get out of the house!” Richard shouted, lunging for the phone. David let out a cry of relief and then a yelp of pain.
“DAVID!” Richard nearly screamed in terror.
His mind supplied him with pictures of David, staring blankly up at the ceiling with a bloody red dot in the middle of his forehead.
“Richard babe! Is that you? I’m alright. I just tripped over your slippers. Are you alright? Please whomever you are. Please let him go.”
Richard grabbed the phone and ran. He heard John giving chase behind him.
“David. DAVID. I’m sorry. Please. Get out of the house, go somewhere safe. Please. Just in case. Just go and don’t go back to the house. Go to the police and ask for protection. Tell them I’ve gone crazy or something. They’ll protect you. I love y-”
The word never made it past his lips when John tackled him to the ground.
Richard felt the wind go out of him. Pain lanced up his side where his impacted the ground. His phone clattered across the pavement and hit the wall. He felt a hand on his shoulder, turning him around. Richard opened his eyes just in time to see knuckles.
Stars burst.
He hacked up something.
Richard nearly laughed because all he could think about even as John tried to beat the shit out of him was: I’m going to need a lot of concealer tomorrow.
John grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him between two buildings.
“I don’t know how the fuck you survived. But I’m going to make sure you stay dead!” John snarled.
M’ sorry, David. Richard thought with a strange sense of detachment. He could see his phone lying a little way from the wall, screen still bright. Blood was rushing through his ears, loud.
He was going to die. He was going to die at the hands of John Watson, ex-army doctor, best friend of Sherlock Holmes. Richard Brook was going to die. He was going to leave David behind. Sarah would never get adopted now. They would never let David take her if he was a single father.
Richard Brook, formerly Moriarty, was going to die in a dark alley for being mistaken for his brother.
He deserved it.
He deserved it for letting Jim carry on.
He deserved it so much.
Richard closed his eyes.
Pain. Everywhere. It hurt to breathe.
Where was he anyway? He had been in the café. Then with someone. Then in the street. Then pain.
Who?
John Watson. The name floated up from the depths of his mind. John Watson had seen him.
David. Where was David? What about David? Richard fought his way to wakefulness, forcing his arms to move. Someone held him down. He tried to yell. Someone shushed him.
“David. Please. Don’t hurt David.” Richard slurred. His mouth wasn’t working the way he wanted it to.
“I’m sorry. Please not David.” He pulled at the sleeve of the person holding him down. Something was injected into him.
He slumped back into unconsciousness.
“Richard?”
Richard tried to reply. He thought he might have managed.
“Richard!”
That was David’s voice! Richard forced his eyes open. He was greeted with a teary smile.
“Oh Richard. I don’t care how many lovers you want. Please don’t let me worry like this again.” David said. He looked even more unkempt than usual. His blonde hair was all over the place, tied in messy pigtails. His eyes were puffy from crying.
“Sorry.” Richard croaked. He forced a smile on his face.
Frankly, he didn’t know why he was still alive.
“The court wants to press charges against that John Watson.” David said with a look of relief. He smoothed Richard’s hair away from his face.
“He’ll never be able to touch you again.” David assured Richard.
“No.” Richard whispered. “No charges. He saved me.” He forced himself to sit up. John Watson was a good man. Richard was the one who should be sitting in prison, rotting for letting a psychopath run free. John Watson was just emotionally traumatized.
David didn’t look convinced.
“Please David. Please.” Richard said softly. His husband nodded unhappily. Richard let himself lie back on the soft white bed.
John was staring at the photo. Richard didn’t know who let him in. David had brought the photo. It was one of Jim at their wedding. Jim and Richard were both clinging to David, clearly laughing at something David said.
It had been one of the happiest moments of Richard’s life.
“I’m sorry.” John said quietly.
“Not your fault.” Richard replied.
His side hurt. Everything ached but some guy called Mycroft Holmes had mysteriously cleared up all the issues and then assigned someone to protect David. Richard was pretty happy with that. This Mycroft Holmes had also managed to waive a few procedures. Sarah was going to live with them in seventh months or so.
Everything was over.
No more looking over his shoulder.
Richard sighed. Letting contentment suffuse his entire body.
No more pretending.