Tricks of the Mind chapter 5 NEW VERSION
Before you start reading, I must apologize for putting up the draft version of the chapter, which I noticed just after publishing. I didn't want to delete it, but I gathered all my strenght in order to remake it the way I wanted and to make it stick with the storyline. Please enjoy and comment :)
Title: Tricks of the Mind, chapter 5
Summary of what has happened: John, after a series of disturbing events, is coming to terms with his sexuality; however, Sherlock seems to be eager to destroy his newly regained balance.
Pairing: John/Sherlock, more or less one-sided as for now
POV: John's as for now
Genre: Romance/Humor with occasional darker parts (come on we're all human)
Rating: M for all the fic, but this chapter's T or even K because there is like one swear word so yeah.
Word count: 1700-ish for this chapter, around 6,5k overall as for now
SPOILERS for episode 3 season 1, so if you haven't seen it yet, you might want to read this chapter when you have :)
Previous chapters:
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
---------------------------------------
In the morning John felt a lot better, despite being slightly ashamed at what he might have said last night and a little bit thirsty after the Merlot. Sarah behaved as if nothing happened and even said that maybe she could let John sleep at the end of her bed next time, which was an obvious signal that she didn't mind John's presence at all. And maybe she even liked him.
She retrieved the remote control from between the pillows on the couch and turned on the TV. She looked gorgeous in her light purple dressing gown and she even suggested that she made John some breakfast which made his face light up with the prospect of a good meal with Sarah as company.
“Well, you'd better make it yourself because I'm going to take a shower”, she said just then. What a tease she was!
John thought that actually he could use a shower too, but it would have to wait, as now Sarah was there and he had no spare cloth-
His thought was interrupted by the image shown on the TV screen. It was a piece of news about an explosion in central London, and on the screen was nothing else than Baker Street and his house.
Sherlock.
And Mrs. Hudson.
Sick with worry, he sprang up, announced that he had to run, caught a cab and was on Baker Street in what seemed to be no time at all. There were lots of people standing there and looking at the damaged building, but luckily it was the one on the other side of the road. John made his way through the small crowd.
A giant hole was gaping in the building opposite 221B. The police and fire department officers were all around and busy, and John was dashing between them in a haze, with only one objective on his mind - find Sherlock and make sure that he was safe and sound.
And Mrs. Hudson, of course.
He rushed into the house, barely noticing shards of glass even on the stairs, which said much about the impact of the explosion.
“Sherlock!”, he tried.
And there he was, fiddling with his violin.
The bastard. Whom he wanted to hug just for being alive.
There was also Mycroft.
“I saw it on the telly, are you okay?”, John asked, just to make sure, though he could see that Sherlock was alright. But what the hell was Mycroft doing there?
The windows were covered with paper. The explosion must have smashed them out.
“Me? What? Oh, yeah, fine”, Sherlock replied absent-mindedly. “Gas leak, apparently”.
And then the Holmes brothers returned to some conversation they were having previously, about something that Sherlock couldn't do and that Mycroft wanted him to do. John inspected what was left of the windows, hoping that they don't include his person in the discussion.
“Perhaps you could get through to him, John”.
He pretended not to have heard.
“I'm afraid my brother could be very intransigent”.
It seemed that Sherlock lost interest in what Mycroft was saying, as he too started asking John questions about Sarah and his night at her place.
He even knew that he was at first meant to sleep on the lilo, and Mycroft corrected him by saying that it was the sofa. It was the sofa, and John didn't want to know how they knew. It was just creepy that they didn't bother to ignore these facts even if they somehow discovered them, and that they didn't hesitate to tell him that they knew. It seemed as if they took pleasure in the act. Was it to humiliate him? No, it was probably just a show-off between the two.
Then Mycroft made an attempt at a small talk. “Sherlock's business has been booming since he and you became... pals”, John didn't like the small pause before the last word. “What's he like to live with?”, and all that with that awful smile of his. “Hellish, I imagine.”
John could see the change in Sherlock's eyes. Whatever he said or believed, it must be hard to hear one's own brother comment on him like that. Even for a sociopath.
“I'm never bored”, the doctor replied, which was of course the truth. Yes, he had been angry at Sherlock the day before, but now he was just happy that he was safe, and he couldn't bring himself to tell something bad about his partner in front of this man whose morals he doubted.
“Good! That's good, isn't it?”, Mycroft assumed the tone of a primary school teacher, fiddling with his umbrella all the time. John felt something like anger, he could feel the familiar heat creeping up his neck. But it was also fear. His therapist always told him that anger is born out of fear and the inability to do something about it. What did he fear?
Mycroft seemed like a person who could crush him with the umbrella like a bug. It was a disgusting thought. But he had seen things in his life; he held Mycroft's gaze until the latter lowered his eyes and decided that it was high time he went.
Just then John remembered what Sarah had said the day before. That he cared for Sherlock and that this care was why it hurt when someone said bad things about the detective. Mycroft must have sensed it too. But between them was only friendship, nothing more, and John was also angry at Mycroft for suggesting that they may be more to it while John was trying so hard to behave like a friend should, and at the same time feared that the older Holmes can use it against Sherlock or him.
Mycroft handed Sherlock a bunch of papers, but as he refused to take them, he gave them to John and went on to summarize the case of Andrew West who apparently jumped in front of the train after stealing a particularly precious memory stick that contained some information crucial to the UK government.
----------------------
After laying out the case to John (and Sherlock, who wasn't in fact listening), Mycroft shook John's hand and left, saying “See you very soon” to John as a goodbye. It sounded menacing and John felt even more uneasy as Sherlock started playing short, rapid notes on his violin that were probably part of some popular melody that rung a bell with John. If Sherlock was normal and a teenager, he would probably mutter abuse under his breath, but that was Sherlock and he was posh and at least physically adult.
When the door closed after Mycroft, John turned towards Sherlock, who was still fiddling with his violin. Sherlock didn't return the look. His face was unreadable.
John sat down and although he felt relieved that Mycroft left, the pressure didn't fade. Sherlock behaved like a spoiled five-year-old again - didn't take the case because it was his brother who brought it to him. John suddenly felt quite tired again, but he though he should say something.
“Why did you lie?”, he asked. Sherlock finally looked at him, puzzled. “You've got nothing on, not a single case. That's why the wall took the pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?”
John felt a bit like if he was speaking to an ill-behaved child, even more so when Sherlock replied, “Why shouldn't I?”, rubbing the bow against his neck in a very non-chalant way.
“Oh, nice”, John said. He felt the anger from yesterday's morning rise inside him once again, and now he felt betrayed because he was worried about Sherlock and he wanted to protect the bastard from his own brother, and the said bastard couldn't even be bothered to say thank you. “Sibling rivalry, now we're getting somewhere.”
He couldn't tell whether Sherlock felt even the tiniest bit of guilt (he probably didn't), because at that very moment Sherlock's phone rang, he answered and when John saw his eyes lit up, he knew he would do nothing more about it.
It was Lestrade. Sherlock accepted the case in few words and asked John if he was coming as if John hadn't wanted to kill him just a moment ago, and John agreed before he even thought about it. And when he stood up, he knew that there was no way back.
“If you want me to”, he said.
“Of course”, Sherlock replied, taking his coat from the rack. “I'd be lost without my blogger”, he added with a slight smile, and John took it as an apology.
When they were going down the stairs, John couldn't help grinnning. He felt a bit light-headed after this quick succession of different emotions, and he got up just two hours ago.
“What's so funny?”, Sherlock asked.
“Nothing, I'm just glad you're okay”, John replied.
“I'm glad you came back”, Sherlock said, turning to meet his eyes. John paused in mid-step. He backed off a bit, then took a step towards Sherlock.
“Did I hear 'sorry for shooting at the wall and behaving like a dickhead towards you, John'?”, John mocked, walking on and passing Sherlock.
Before John could mock him any more, the words came.
“I'm sorry. That was not good.”
John stood there with his mouth open. He had just made Sherlock Holmes apologize; that simply didn't happen. John could only see his elegant profile, as Sherlock's gaze was fixed on the stairs, but he didn't care anymore whether his expression was just one of his convincing acts or genuine remorse. He felt special and there was a warm feeling in his gut.
“I'm not angry anymore”, he croaked when his voice came back. “I forgave you the minute I left. That's what friends do, right?”
“M-m. Friends”, Sherlock repeated in a low voice, send John a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and turned to leave the house with John, who had just opened the door. “Come on, John, there is no time to lose!”, he said, taking a step outside, the Sherlock from just a moment ago long gone both in his tone and expression. If John hadn't known better, he would have said it was a hallucination.
Title: Tricks of the Mind, chapter 5
Summary of what has happened: John, after a series of disturbing events, is coming to terms with his sexuality; however, Sherlock seems to be eager to destroy his newly regained balance.
Pairing: John/Sherlock, more or less one-sided as for now
POV: John's as for now
Genre: Romance/Humor with occasional darker parts (come on we're all human)
Rating: M for all the fic, but this chapter's T or even K because there is like one swear word so yeah.
Word count: 1700-ish for this chapter, around 6,5k overall as for now
SPOILERS for episode 3 season 1, so if you haven't seen it yet, you might want to read this chapter when you have :)
Previous chapters:
Chapter 4
Chapter 3
Chapter 2
Chapter 1
---------------------------------------
In the morning John felt a lot better, despite being slightly ashamed at what he might have said last night and a little bit thirsty after the Merlot. Sarah behaved as if nothing happened and even said that maybe she could let John sleep at the end of her bed next time, which was an obvious signal that she didn't mind John's presence at all. And maybe she even liked him.
She retrieved the remote control from between the pillows on the couch and turned on the TV. She looked gorgeous in her light purple dressing gown and she even suggested that she made John some breakfast which made his face light up with the prospect of a good meal with Sarah as company.
“Well, you'd better make it yourself because I'm going to take a shower”, she said just then. What a tease she was!
John thought that actually he could use a shower too, but it would have to wait, as now Sarah was there and he had no spare cloth-
His thought was interrupted by the image shown on the TV screen. It was a piece of news about an explosion in central London, and on the screen was nothing else than Baker Street and his house.
Sherlock.
And Mrs. Hudson.
Sick with worry, he sprang up, announced that he had to run, caught a cab and was on Baker Street in what seemed to be no time at all. There were lots of people standing there and looking at the damaged building, but luckily it was the one on the other side of the road. John made his way through the small crowd.
A giant hole was gaping in the building opposite 221B. The police and fire department officers were all around and busy, and John was dashing between them in a haze, with only one objective on his mind - find Sherlock and make sure that he was safe and sound.
And Mrs. Hudson, of course.
He rushed into the house, barely noticing shards of glass even on the stairs, which said much about the impact of the explosion.
“Sherlock!”, he tried.
And there he was, fiddling with his violin.
The bastard. Whom he wanted to hug just for being alive.
There was also Mycroft.
“I saw it on the telly, are you okay?”, John asked, just to make sure, though he could see that Sherlock was alright. But what the hell was Mycroft doing there?
The windows were covered with paper. The explosion must have smashed them out.
“Me? What? Oh, yeah, fine”, Sherlock replied absent-mindedly. “Gas leak, apparently”.
And then the Holmes brothers returned to some conversation they were having previously, about something that Sherlock couldn't do and that Mycroft wanted him to do. John inspected what was left of the windows, hoping that they don't include his person in the discussion.
“Perhaps you could get through to him, John”.
He pretended not to have heard.
“I'm afraid my brother could be very intransigent”.
It seemed that Sherlock lost interest in what Mycroft was saying, as he too started asking John questions about Sarah and his night at her place.
He even knew that he was at first meant to sleep on the lilo, and Mycroft corrected him by saying that it was the sofa. It was the sofa, and John didn't want to know how they knew. It was just creepy that they didn't bother to ignore these facts even if they somehow discovered them, and that they didn't hesitate to tell him that they knew. It seemed as if they took pleasure in the act. Was it to humiliate him? No, it was probably just a show-off between the two.
Then Mycroft made an attempt at a small talk. “Sherlock's business has been booming since he and you became... pals”, John didn't like the small pause before the last word. “What's he like to live with?”, and all that with that awful smile of his. “Hellish, I imagine.”
John could see the change in Sherlock's eyes. Whatever he said or believed, it must be hard to hear one's own brother comment on him like that. Even for a sociopath.
“I'm never bored”, the doctor replied, which was of course the truth. Yes, he had been angry at Sherlock the day before, but now he was just happy that he was safe, and he couldn't bring himself to tell something bad about his partner in front of this man whose morals he doubted.
“Good! That's good, isn't it?”, Mycroft assumed the tone of a primary school teacher, fiddling with his umbrella all the time. John felt something like anger, he could feel the familiar heat creeping up his neck. But it was also fear. His therapist always told him that anger is born out of fear and the inability to do something about it. What did he fear?
Mycroft seemed like a person who could crush him with the umbrella like a bug. It was a disgusting thought. But he had seen things in his life; he held Mycroft's gaze until the latter lowered his eyes and decided that it was high time he went.
Just then John remembered what Sarah had said the day before. That he cared for Sherlock and that this care was why it hurt when someone said bad things about the detective. Mycroft must have sensed it too. But between them was only friendship, nothing more, and John was also angry at Mycroft for suggesting that they may be more to it while John was trying so hard to behave like a friend should, and at the same time feared that the older Holmes can use it against Sherlock or him.
Mycroft handed Sherlock a bunch of papers, but as he refused to take them, he gave them to John and went on to summarize the case of Andrew West who apparently jumped in front of the train after stealing a particularly precious memory stick that contained some information crucial to the UK government.
----------------------
After laying out the case to John (and Sherlock, who wasn't in fact listening), Mycroft shook John's hand and left, saying “See you very soon” to John as a goodbye. It sounded menacing and John felt even more uneasy as Sherlock started playing short, rapid notes on his violin that were probably part of some popular melody that rung a bell with John. If Sherlock was normal and a teenager, he would probably mutter abuse under his breath, but that was Sherlock and he was posh and at least physically adult.
When the door closed after Mycroft, John turned towards Sherlock, who was still fiddling with his violin. Sherlock didn't return the look. His face was unreadable.
John sat down and although he felt relieved that Mycroft left, the pressure didn't fade. Sherlock behaved like a spoiled five-year-old again - didn't take the case because it was his brother who brought it to him. John suddenly felt quite tired again, but he though he should say something.
“Why did you lie?”, he asked. Sherlock finally looked at him, puzzled. “You've got nothing on, not a single case. That's why the wall took the pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?”
John felt a bit like if he was speaking to an ill-behaved child, even more so when Sherlock replied, “Why shouldn't I?”, rubbing the bow against his neck in a very non-chalant way.
“Oh, nice”, John said. He felt the anger from yesterday's morning rise inside him once again, and now he felt betrayed because he was worried about Sherlock and he wanted to protect the bastard from his own brother, and the said bastard couldn't even be bothered to say thank you. “Sibling rivalry, now we're getting somewhere.”
He couldn't tell whether Sherlock felt even the tiniest bit of guilt (he probably didn't), because at that very moment Sherlock's phone rang, he answered and when John saw his eyes lit up, he knew he would do nothing more about it.
It was Lestrade. Sherlock accepted the case in few words and asked John if he was coming as if John hadn't wanted to kill him just a moment ago, and John agreed before he even thought about it. And when he stood up, he knew that there was no way back.
“If you want me to”, he said.
“Of course”, Sherlock replied, taking his coat from the rack. “I'd be lost without my blogger”, he added with a slight smile, and John took it as an apology.
When they were going down the stairs, John couldn't help grinnning. He felt a bit light-headed after this quick succession of different emotions, and he got up just two hours ago.
“What's so funny?”, Sherlock asked.
“Nothing, I'm just glad you're okay”, John replied.
“I'm glad you came back”, Sherlock said, turning to meet his eyes. John paused in mid-step. He backed off a bit, then took a step towards Sherlock.
“Did I hear 'sorry for shooting at the wall and behaving like a dickhead towards you, John'?”, John mocked, walking on and passing Sherlock.
Before John could mock him any more, the words came.
“I'm sorry. That was not good.”
John stood there with his mouth open. He had just made Sherlock Holmes apologize; that simply didn't happen. John could only see his elegant profile, as Sherlock's gaze was fixed on the stairs, but he didn't care anymore whether his expression was just one of his convincing acts or genuine remorse. He felt special and there was a warm feeling in his gut.
“I'm not angry anymore”, he croaked when his voice came back. “I forgave you the minute I left. That's what friends do, right?”
“M-m. Friends”, Sherlock repeated in a low voice, send John a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and turned to leave the house with John, who had just opened the door. “Come on, John, there is no time to lose!”, he said, taking a step outside, the Sherlock from just a moment ago long gone both in his tone and expression. If John hadn't known better, he would have said it was a hallucination.