Three is a Crowd (Part 2)
Three is a Crowd (Part 2)
By, Sfumatosoup
Pairings: Primarily John/Mycroft. Also, JW/SH, JW/JM.
Genre: Action, Angst/Romance, Drama
Rating: 17+
Warnings: Explicit homosexual sex: Anal, Rimming, Oral, Guns, Violence, Cars, and liberal usage of terse language.
Disclaimer: All characters and situations other than my own belong to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, BBC and their affiliates as well as to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Summary: SLASH, M/M love. Three Genius Madmen all desire one thing: John. A love story in which John is kind of a slut, Mycroft is somehow like Oscar Wilde, Sherlock is constantly irate, and Jim is… well, Jim.
Read from the Beginning!!!:
http://sfumatosoup.livejournal.com/4170.html
...
Our banter continued into the long hours of the night, and many drinks later, we were as comfortable as if we had never even broached the subject.
…
My afternoon appointment called to cancel, and I left early for my lunch.
I dipped around the corner to Lena’s and sat comfortably tucking away my sandwich and crisps. About the time my second cuppa was due, a lithe and rather refined man approached me in my periphery. I knew at once the figure was too short, and hair too dark to be Mycroft, but my heart stopped beating as the figure came into view.
“Is this seat taken?” Requested a honey-laced voice.
I froze, sandwich mid-path to my mouth.
“Fabulous.” Jim Moriarty took a seat across from me, and steepled his fingers on the table before us.
“You can’t imagine how difficult it has been trying to get some alone time with you, my dear,” a malevolent glint sparkled in the man’s dark eyes, “between your stilted lover and your little boyfriend…which by the way, who knew you were such a catch?”
I continued to bite into my sandwich and chewed very, very slowly, not revealing a hint of response to the dangerous man across from me.
“Anyway, I have a short time here, before your hero comes to rescue you, in fact,” Moriarty glanced down at his cell, “less than one minute. So I’ll make this brief.”
A broad grin stretched across his face as he regarded me.
I wondered if any of the other oblivious patrons of this establishment had any idea what kind of danger we were all in.
“I’ve decided that since Holmesy-poo caught Sebastian in a bit of trouble, it’s only fair if I get to have you. We both know you’re qualified, and-“ Jim’s eyes flashed me up and down appraisingly, “you could be just my type.”
I swallowed thickly, and felt all color blanche from my face.
“You’re not really mine.”
“Then more is the pity for you, my dear.”
“So do you plan on bashing me over the head and holding me hostage again? Isn’t that a bit… I don’t know …repetitive?” I bit out.
"That's rather presumptious," Jim retaliated, "You and I have unfinished business."
"You mean you and Sherlock have unfinished business." I corrected.
"Of course, but thats entirely separate. I've been considering some things lately, and I decided it'd be beneficial to have you around."
"As a lure to bate Sherlock back into your ridiculous little game of cat and mouse." I accused.
"Well if it would lead to that, it'd just be icing on the cake! Don't diminish yourself, my dear! wish to obtain you for your rather unique set of talents."
"By another abduction attempt?" I furthered.
“Not specifically, you see, you’ll come to me because you want to, John, darling. Not because I make you."
I raised a brow, sardonically, "Really."
"You see, Johnny, I've been watching you. You really are a rather spledid speciman. And I don't think you're very appreciated. You've a spectacular knack for loyalty, though, and I don't think they deserve it. Or you."
"And you do." I confirmed.
"In spades! So I’ll leave you with this,” From across the short table between us, Jim brushed a hand gently along my jaw line attempting to drawi me to him.
I vehemently resisted, steeling myself in revulsion.
So, he quickly leaned forward, and softly pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
I withdrew forcefully, toppling over my tea cup. A couple from a nearby table looked over to see what the fuss was about, and Jim stood up, smoothed down his suit, winked at me, turned heel, and darted out through the kitchen. At the same moment, a man burst in, the glass front door bouncing off the wall, with the entry bells rattling from impact.
Now the entire café had stopped to watch, as the uniformed official darted past me, in hot pursuit, also running back through the kitchens. I glanced outside, as did several of the other diners, and we gasped as we saw a squad of black suited men run past- all carrying Colt m16a2’s.
It was then I saw the Bentley come careening toward the café, slamming on its breaks right in front of the entrance.
I tossed some change onto the table, and ran outside to the car.
Instead of Mycroft, Anthea sat just to my left.
The auto made a U-turn across traffic, and with horns blaring at us, we sped back in the opposite direction.
Adrenaline coursed through me, as we took a sharp turn through a narrow alleyway, and came out on the other side of a building, pulling right behind a silver Lotus Evora speeding down St. Michaels’. Anthea gave direction into her cell, and we were quickly bypassed by a black Aston Martin V12 Vantage.
Either the government was having way too much fun with taxpayer money, or a new brand of playboy vigilante had come about.
I could barely peal myself away from the window. My heart was in my throat, as the woman beside me calmly dictated orders through her phone at presumably, the hero in the V12.
I cleared my throat and marveled at my refined and absolutely gorgeous traveling companion as she busily typed away.
“So, afterward, do you have any plans?” I prodded, casting her with my most award-winning look of slickness.
She looked sideways at me and raised a finely manicured brow.
“Alright then,” I huffed, and fixed my gaze ahead at the back end of the V12 speeding before us.
Somehow, we were now racing down the M4, with patrol cars speeding close behind, the V12 just in front of the Bentley, and the Lotus just in front of the V12.
I had never been involved in a high speed chase before… it was quite exhilarating.
It was now that I realized there were two people in the V12 ahead. One driving, and the other, intending to shoot out the tires of the Lotus. The gunslinger hung out the window to the left, aiming his L129A1 Sharpshooter at the auto ahead.
The Lotus swerved to dodge the bullets, and a man in the back, leaned out his window with what looked to be a revamped Luger P08. Bullets whistled past, and Anthea barely took notice, typing rapidly away into her Blackberry.
A bullet must have passed through the window of the V12 and hit the driver, for it suddenly swerved violently, and the Bentley dodged out of the way in the knick of time, just barely avoiding ramming into the back end. A patrol vehicle behind careened past and clipped the corner of the V12 spinning out of control. The V12 then stomped the gas, squealed in reverse, burning rubber as it did a 180 and sped off again after the Lotus.
One more shot, and the Lotus spun out of control careening into the cement barrier with a deafening crash. Metal, plastic, oil, and brake fluid flew through the air, and smacked into my window. The V12 sped a bit past the crash before peeling to a stop, the Bentley following suit. Patrol cars, sirens blaring surrounded the smoking wreckage of the Lotus.
“Well?” Anthea looked at me, and gestured outside, “You’re a doctor right?”
“What?” I asked, still frozen in my seat, staring out wide eyed at the chaos.
“Well get out and help him, he’s shot.”
I had literally no idea what she meant until a man holding the L129A1 bolted out of the left side of the V12, and rushed to the aide of the man falling out of the right side of the vehicle.
And suddenly it was obvious who the ‘vigilante in the V12’ was- Mycroft stumbled out clasping his hand to his chest, as blood poured from the gunshot wound.
Immediately, I was out of my seat and right there beside the steaming hot V12, laying the injured man to the ground, and propping his head against my knee.
“Ah, just the…doctor…I needed,” Mycroft coughed, smirking at me through his pained expression. I quickly loosened the man’s tie, pushed it aside and tore open the Oxford. I could tell immediately the wound was not fatal. The bullet had not penetrated too deep past the surface due to the reduced velocity as it broke through the nearly bullet proof glass of the V12. It was lodged just above the man’s collar bone, a blessed inch away from the carotid artery. There was still, a lot of blood, I noted, as I pressed down to staunch the wound.
Mycroft clenched his eyes closed and groaned in agony, tipping his head back into my arms.
“He’s not here!”
“It was a false lead!”
Anthea seemed to be yelling over her cell at someone, and the sirens continued to wail in the background.
“John I…” Mycroft caught my gaze with his own, appearing as if he desperately had wanted to say something, and then had thought better of it.
“What? Mycroft-“ I whispered, my lips nearly brushing his hair.
“I.. I care for you.”
Practically a declaration of everlasting love in Holmes-Speak, I cringed with discomfort, unsure of how to answer despite my frantic concern for the man’s welfare.
Before I could say anything, I noticed Mycroft’s pupil’s suddenly dilate despite the bright sun blaring down on us, and quickly felt for his pulse.
His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out.
Still cradling his head in my arms to prevent possible asphyxiation, and to stopper the blood flow, I pressed down on the wound as it continued to gush deep and red over my hand, through my fingers.
Somehow, I drowned all of the chaos out, and as the paramedics sped away with Mycroft, I, covered in his blood, watched the ambulance fade into a dot down the distant highway.
…
It was several nights later before I had heard anything from Mycroft. Work went on as usual, and Sherlock seemed to tiptoe around me, as if I were a bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.
Ever since the chase, and watching Mycroft bleed into my hands, I’d been on edge. Sherlock and I were at
odds to know even what to say to each other these days, let alone be in the same room together.
I felt the vibration of my cell through my pocket and flipped it out, rife with anxiety.
Be outside in 10- the Bentley will bring you to me. -MH
Biting my cheek to repress the sigh of relief threatening to make itself audible, I turned and rushed upstairs, bypassing Sherlock.
As I was throwing on a jumper, I saw though the window the black vehicle pull down Baker Street, and I rushed downstairs. Before I could make it out the door, a strong hand grasped my hand pulling me back.
Sherlock leveled me with a troubled, nearly vulnerable expression.
“John…” he pleaded.
Anguished, I gazed out longingly at the auto as it pulled up in front of 221.
“What!” I bit out harshly, tearing my hand from his grasp.
“Don’t go, John. It’s a game changer if you do.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about, Sherlock, but I need to go. In case its sailed by your notice, your brother was shot a few days ago. I’m his friend, and I care if he’s alright. So I’m going, Sherlock. As you should’ve the other day to the hospital.”
“John you don’t-“
“No, Sherlock, I don’t. You’re right. I don’t get this petty feud between the two of you. But right now, I don’t care. Alright? I’m going.”
I didn’t dare spare a glance behind me as I fled into the Bentley.
…
We pulled up a while later in front of a decently sized red-bricked manor. Perfectly normal, and modestly upper class. I assumed since we’d traveled N A41 that we were somewhere just north of Barnet, at a government safe house of sorts within the residential suburb.
Anthea led me up a walkway lined elegantly by ornamental shrubs, and keyed in her code into an alarm system which also required a retinal scan. The tastefully decorative, yet impenetrable steel door opened allowing us access.
Anthea nodded and notified me that she had business to attend but another auto would be sent out when I required a ride back to London.
A tall man, in a flowing, navy satin robe came to greet me, bandages visible at the open neck. We stood in the entry hall with but a foot between us.
“Ah, John, a sight you are for sore eyes.”
“It’s er… I’m glad you called me here. I was worried when I hadn’t heard from you.”
Mycroft nodded and lowered his head.
“I was… unprepared to see you after…”
“You’re saying that you hopped into a souped up V12 with a L129A1 Sharpshooter-slinging sniper, drove like a stuntman in an action film, just barely missed getting fatally shot, and you were ‘unprepared’ to see me?”
“It does sound absurd when you phrase it like that.”
I tentatively moved toward the taller man before me, and encircled him within my arms, leaning my head against his chest just under his chin, my lips nearly brushing the hollow of his throat.
I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing, but I felt compelled to follow my instincts.
Mycroft, as I’d expected, was alarmed by my gesture. It took several moments before he responded in kind, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me tight to him with a level of desperation, as if our separation might prove fatal.
He trembled as I wrapped my arm around his neck, pulling his head down level with my own. His hot breath coursed across my lips, and with a second’s consideration, our mouths met, just a hairs breath from touching.
Again, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, and I wasn’t sure that this was what I wanted to do, but I went with it, and we leaned into each other.
His kissed me with passion. It wasn’t perfectly graceful, as our teeth knocked and lips and tongues tangled together, but it was heartfelt, none the less.
And in that moment, the V12 Vigilante wanted me desperately, and that was the greatest turn on I’d felt in a long time.
…
We didn’t really make it to the bedroom right away. Instead we fell in the landing at the top of the stairs as Mycroft attacked my neck with his mouth, barely taking mind of his stitches or my bad shoulder, we rolled over until I lay on top.
Mycroft pushed my Jumper over my head and made short work of my Oxford underneath. Pressing his lips to my chest, his hands dragged down my abdomen, snagging at the waste-band of my trousers.
“Belt.” I whispered hoarsely, as the flat tongue wetly swept down to my navel, pushing in just slightly.
At this point I had managed to discard of Mycroft’s Navy wrappings, and explored the newly exposed flesh with my hands. To my pleasant surprise he was completely naked. His arousal pressed into mine through the layers of fabric.
Pulled back into a kiss, my companion moaned into my mouth, while unbuckling my belt.
I assisted him, by arching as he pulled both my trousers and my boxers down with one swift tug. My erection popping free, slapped against my abdomen.
A languid tongue dragged down my cock, and I nearly shouted as he engulfed me completely.
“Huuuh!” I cried out, as he swirled the flat of his tongue up along my shaft, flicking right below the frenulum, before encircling his lips around the head, sucking with a pressure that made my buck upward into his mouth.
Swiftly, Mycroft was standing before me, and pulled me up, all but dragging me down the hall into a bedroom.
Placing me with my feet crossed behind his head, he leaned over me and kissed me deeply. He twisted the cap off from a bottle of lube, and massaged it onto his cock, before I suddenly felt his glorious, dexterous fingers rub along my perineum, encircling my entrance.
He moved them slowly in and out, as we kissed, our cocks rubbing deliciously together.
Then he was once again positioned himself above me, and I moaned loudly as the blunt head of his cock pressed into me.
Even though he penetrated me ever so carefully and slowly, it still hurt as I was stretched. It’d been a long time, and I was not accustomed to being on the receiving end.
Just as, the pain was beginning to abate, he pushed his cock deep into me and I think I wept as he hit my prostate, stars flashing behind my eyes.
“Oh god, John!” Mycroft cried out his pace quickening. The rocking of our bodies together suddenly became frantic. I felt him deep inside of me, and was nearly blinded with the feeling pulsing through my cock, and the tingling that coursed through me to my finger tips, every time he pushed in deeper.
Suddenly, it was all too much, I bucked wildly as I came, shooting my stream between us. In response, Mycroft groaned deeply in his throat, and gasped against my chest as he released himself into me, a look of sheer ecstasy crossing his features.
As we lay in bed beside each other, I idly wondered what this now meant, how this would change everything.
As if answering my thoughts, my companion stirred beside me, grasped my hand and pulled it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss into the palm of my hand. I looked up and met his eyes.
“No pressure, John. I’ll follow your lead. If it’s too much, we’ll back off, if you want more,” Mycroft whispered into my shoulder, kissing it gently, “I’m willing.”
Inwardly I was tense, but physically I felt boneless in the afterglow. It pained me that there was something keeping me from giving my all to this brilliant man that lay beside me. Worse yet, he read my every thought as if it were written on my face. Yet, patiently, he remained.
I decided to change the subject.
“You look as though something has just crossed your mind.” Mycroft chuckled softly.
“Well actually, now that you mention it, I was a bit curious as to why you were driving the V12. I thought you were this omnipotent force: The string puller, the mastermind directing from behind the scenes, too high-up to do the leg-work.”
“Hm. You can’t imagine why I might take it personally that you were in peril, my dear?” Mycroft stretched languidly, rubbing near his bandaged chest.
“Ah, did you know it was a false lead?”
“Of course, or I would never have allowed for you to follow us.”
“And you chased them down anyway.”
“Of course. One of the men- the driver of the Lotus was a higher up whom directly had worked under Col. Sebastian Moran. He makes a valuable informant. Better even so, I pinned the site of the false lead, tracked it back, and discovered an agent being paid off by Moriarty. It’s best to first shake the web, to knock out the spider.”
I cringed at the mental image.
“You saw then.”
“Yes,” Mycroft hissed, “And I swear to you he won’t lay another finger on you.”
As I lay beside the other man, there was a part of me that was resistant to the idea that I was now some god- damned damsel in distress that had to be protected from the big, bad wolf. It wasn’t as if I were ungrateful; it just made me feel impotent. Really, I felt like dealing with Jim was something personal, that couldn’t be passed off into another’s hands.
Not to mention the end game here was to get at Sherlock and Mycroft. Stupid and foolhardy though I knew it was, I desperately wished to intercede.
I was beginning to understand this side of the obsession.
…
“So its official now.”
I looked up from my book to see Sherlock enter through the sitting room door, looking at me with withering contempt.
“What.” I demanded.
“Oh, please, John.” Sherlock drawled, rolling up his sleeves and sitting down across from the window. His lithe frame draped across the chair was almost feline in its grace and simple elegance. He looked at me challengingly, “From the marks just above your collar line I would presume you had a pleasant reunion?”
“Does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. It’s all fine.” Sherlock parodied, tersely crossing his arms.
His keen, razor silver eyes darted to the figures strolling down the street outside.
Something about my friend seemed broken, and though he trampled over me daily with heedless inconsideration, I wanted to reach out and cross that distance between us. To comfort him… to run my hands through those gleaming ebony locks, twist those curls between my fingers…
I quickly stamped out the thought, and focused hard on the book before me.
I was still on the same page an hour later.
I'm quite sure he noticed.
…
I carried on, and maintained my daily routine. I saw Mycroft for lunch, and then I went back to the office for five more hours before heading home. As usual, some sort of officious Government car trailed me, and as usual, I ignored it. Once home, I either spent the evening being pointedly avoided by my flatmate, or being stolen away into the Bentley to be delivered to my lover.
Mycroft was simply, an amazing, attractive and impressive man. Not to mention a dedicated lover, and apparently… a devoted provider. Much to my chagrin, I noticed my bank account being influxed with money.
When I argued with him over it, he denied it, and distracted me to the point where I either forgot to be mad, or decided it didn’t matter.
…
Mycroft, impeccable as usual, dined across from me that day at the ultra swanky Raffles on Craven.
“You seem troubled.” Mycroft gazed at me with tight-lipped concern as he cut into his entrée.
“Not particularly,” I replied, maintaining an apathetic façade.
“You’re not particularly skilled at dissimulating. But I won’t push.”
“If you’re so highly perceptive, it astounds me that we even need to ever open our mouths at all.”
Mycroft regarded me coolly, “Your procacious assertment is irrelevant to me, John. If your irritation lies with Sherlock, then see to it that he receives your castigation.”
For some unaccountable reason, I grew intensely irritated at the man before me.
“I understand why he loathes you. You treat him like a child.”
“He acts like one.”
“Well I do not! So stop paying for everything, condescending down to me, and following me around!” I whispered fiercely across the table.
Mycroft laughed calmly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs, “I can see this is one of those days where nothing I say will pacify you.”
I bit back my retort and studied the man before me.
“You’ve heard nothing I’ve said.”
“On the contrary, my dear, but I hardly needed you to vocalize your redundantly tedious complaints,” Mycroft leaned forward and crossed his hands on the table in front of him, “You must think me oblivious.”
He leveled me with his magnanimous gaze, “As my partner, you may consider what’s mine as yours- to a relative degree of course, and as for my supposed condescension- inaccurate of me, and unworthy of you to accuse me of. Following you around? Dear, even if you meant nothing to me personally, officially you are my responsibility to protect.”
I exhaled, and looked up miserably at my companion.
“Fine. You’re right.”
Mycroft signed and folded the receipt tucking it into the folder at the end of the table.
“I’d like to see you tonight, if you care to.”
“I’ll text you later, I have some… research.” I explained wearily.
“Very well,” Mycroft spoke as we rose to leave, leaning over to brush a kiss just to the side of my mouth, “You must get back to your appointments, I shall not keep you any longer.”
Continue to part three...
http://sfumatosoup.livejournal.com/4839.html
By, Sfumatosoup
Pairings: Primarily John/Mycroft. Also, JW/SH, JW/JM.
Genre: Action, Angst/Romance, Drama
Rating: 17+
Warnings: Explicit homosexual sex: Anal, Rimming, Oral, Guns, Violence, Cars, and liberal usage of terse language.
Disclaimer: All characters and situations other than my own belong to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, BBC and their affiliates as well as to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Summary: SLASH, M/M love. Three Genius Madmen all desire one thing: John. A love story in which John is kind of a slut, Mycroft is somehow like Oscar Wilde, Sherlock is constantly irate, and Jim is… well, Jim.
Read from the Beginning!!!:
http://sfumatosoup.livejournal.com/4170.html
...
Our banter continued into the long hours of the night, and many drinks later, we were as comfortable as if we had never even broached the subject.
…
My afternoon appointment called to cancel, and I left early for my lunch.
I dipped around the corner to Lena’s and sat comfortably tucking away my sandwich and crisps. About the time my second cuppa was due, a lithe and rather refined man approached me in my periphery. I knew at once the figure was too short, and hair too dark to be Mycroft, but my heart stopped beating as the figure came into view.
“Is this seat taken?” Requested a honey-laced voice.
I froze, sandwich mid-path to my mouth.
“Fabulous.” Jim Moriarty took a seat across from me, and steepled his fingers on the table before us.
“You can’t imagine how difficult it has been trying to get some alone time with you, my dear,” a malevolent glint sparkled in the man’s dark eyes, “between your stilted lover and your little boyfriend…which by the way, who knew you were such a catch?”
I continued to bite into my sandwich and chewed very, very slowly, not revealing a hint of response to the dangerous man across from me.
“Anyway, I have a short time here, before your hero comes to rescue you, in fact,” Moriarty glanced down at his cell, “less than one minute. So I’ll make this brief.”
A broad grin stretched across his face as he regarded me.
I wondered if any of the other oblivious patrons of this establishment had any idea what kind of danger we were all in.
“I’ve decided that since Holmesy-poo caught Sebastian in a bit of trouble, it’s only fair if I get to have you. We both know you’re qualified, and-“ Jim’s eyes flashed me up and down appraisingly, “you could be just my type.”
I swallowed thickly, and felt all color blanche from my face.
“You’re not really mine.”
“Then more is the pity for you, my dear.”
“So do you plan on bashing me over the head and holding me hostage again? Isn’t that a bit… I don’t know …repetitive?” I bit out.
"That's rather presumptious," Jim retaliated, "You and I have unfinished business."
"You mean you and Sherlock have unfinished business." I corrected.
"Of course, but thats entirely separate. I've been considering some things lately, and I decided it'd be beneficial to have you around."
"As a lure to bate Sherlock back into your ridiculous little game of cat and mouse." I accused.
"Well if it would lead to that, it'd just be icing on the cake! Don't diminish yourself, my dear! wish to obtain you for your rather unique set of talents."
"By another abduction attempt?" I furthered.
“Not specifically, you see, you’ll come to me because you want to, John, darling. Not because I make you."
I raised a brow, sardonically, "Really."
"You see, Johnny, I've been watching you. You really are a rather spledid speciman. And I don't think you're very appreciated. You've a spectacular knack for loyalty, though, and I don't think they deserve it. Or you."
"And you do." I confirmed.
"In spades! So I’ll leave you with this,” From across the short table between us, Jim brushed a hand gently along my jaw line attempting to drawi me to him.
I vehemently resisted, steeling myself in revulsion.
So, he quickly leaned forward, and softly pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
I withdrew forcefully, toppling over my tea cup. A couple from a nearby table looked over to see what the fuss was about, and Jim stood up, smoothed down his suit, winked at me, turned heel, and darted out through the kitchen. At the same moment, a man burst in, the glass front door bouncing off the wall, with the entry bells rattling from impact.
Now the entire café had stopped to watch, as the uniformed official darted past me, in hot pursuit, also running back through the kitchens. I glanced outside, as did several of the other diners, and we gasped as we saw a squad of black suited men run past- all carrying Colt m16a2’s.
It was then I saw the Bentley come careening toward the café, slamming on its breaks right in front of the entrance.
I tossed some change onto the table, and ran outside to the car.
Instead of Mycroft, Anthea sat just to my left.
The auto made a U-turn across traffic, and with horns blaring at us, we sped back in the opposite direction.
Adrenaline coursed through me, as we took a sharp turn through a narrow alleyway, and came out on the other side of a building, pulling right behind a silver Lotus Evora speeding down St. Michaels’. Anthea gave direction into her cell, and we were quickly bypassed by a black Aston Martin V12 Vantage.
Either the government was having way too much fun with taxpayer money, or a new brand of playboy vigilante had come about.
I could barely peal myself away from the window. My heart was in my throat, as the woman beside me calmly dictated orders through her phone at presumably, the hero in the V12.
I cleared my throat and marveled at my refined and absolutely gorgeous traveling companion as she busily typed away.
“So, afterward, do you have any plans?” I prodded, casting her with my most award-winning look of slickness.
She looked sideways at me and raised a finely manicured brow.
“Alright then,” I huffed, and fixed my gaze ahead at the back end of the V12 speeding before us.
Somehow, we were now racing down the M4, with patrol cars speeding close behind, the V12 just in front of the Bentley, and the Lotus just in front of the V12.
I had never been involved in a high speed chase before… it was quite exhilarating.
It was now that I realized there were two people in the V12 ahead. One driving, and the other, intending to shoot out the tires of the Lotus. The gunslinger hung out the window to the left, aiming his L129A1 Sharpshooter at the auto ahead.
The Lotus swerved to dodge the bullets, and a man in the back, leaned out his window with what looked to be a revamped Luger P08. Bullets whistled past, and Anthea barely took notice, typing rapidly away into her Blackberry.
A bullet must have passed through the window of the V12 and hit the driver, for it suddenly swerved violently, and the Bentley dodged out of the way in the knick of time, just barely avoiding ramming into the back end. A patrol vehicle behind careened past and clipped the corner of the V12 spinning out of control. The V12 then stomped the gas, squealed in reverse, burning rubber as it did a 180 and sped off again after the Lotus.
One more shot, and the Lotus spun out of control careening into the cement barrier with a deafening crash. Metal, plastic, oil, and brake fluid flew through the air, and smacked into my window. The V12 sped a bit past the crash before peeling to a stop, the Bentley following suit. Patrol cars, sirens blaring surrounded the smoking wreckage of the Lotus.
“Well?” Anthea looked at me, and gestured outside, “You’re a doctor right?”
“What?” I asked, still frozen in my seat, staring out wide eyed at the chaos.
“Well get out and help him, he’s shot.”
I had literally no idea what she meant until a man holding the L129A1 bolted out of the left side of the V12, and rushed to the aide of the man falling out of the right side of the vehicle.
And suddenly it was obvious who the ‘vigilante in the V12’ was- Mycroft stumbled out clasping his hand to his chest, as blood poured from the gunshot wound.
Immediately, I was out of my seat and right there beside the steaming hot V12, laying the injured man to the ground, and propping his head against my knee.
“Ah, just the…doctor…I needed,” Mycroft coughed, smirking at me through his pained expression. I quickly loosened the man’s tie, pushed it aside and tore open the Oxford. I could tell immediately the wound was not fatal. The bullet had not penetrated too deep past the surface due to the reduced velocity as it broke through the nearly bullet proof glass of the V12. It was lodged just above the man’s collar bone, a blessed inch away from the carotid artery. There was still, a lot of blood, I noted, as I pressed down to staunch the wound.
Mycroft clenched his eyes closed and groaned in agony, tipping his head back into my arms.
“He’s not here!”
“It was a false lead!”
Anthea seemed to be yelling over her cell at someone, and the sirens continued to wail in the background.
“John I…” Mycroft caught my gaze with his own, appearing as if he desperately had wanted to say something, and then had thought better of it.
“What? Mycroft-“ I whispered, my lips nearly brushing his hair.
“I.. I care for you.”
Practically a declaration of everlasting love in Holmes-Speak, I cringed with discomfort, unsure of how to answer despite my frantic concern for the man’s welfare.
Before I could say anything, I noticed Mycroft’s pupil’s suddenly dilate despite the bright sun blaring down on us, and quickly felt for his pulse.
His eyes rolled back into his head, and he passed out.
Still cradling his head in my arms to prevent possible asphyxiation, and to stopper the blood flow, I pressed down on the wound as it continued to gush deep and red over my hand, through my fingers.
Somehow, I drowned all of the chaos out, and as the paramedics sped away with Mycroft, I, covered in his blood, watched the ambulance fade into a dot down the distant highway.
…
It was several nights later before I had heard anything from Mycroft. Work went on as usual, and Sherlock seemed to tiptoe around me, as if I were a bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.
Ever since the chase, and watching Mycroft bleed into my hands, I’d been on edge. Sherlock and I were at
odds to know even what to say to each other these days, let alone be in the same room together.
I felt the vibration of my cell through my pocket and flipped it out, rife with anxiety.
Be outside in 10- the Bentley will bring you to me. -MH
Biting my cheek to repress the sigh of relief threatening to make itself audible, I turned and rushed upstairs, bypassing Sherlock.
As I was throwing on a jumper, I saw though the window the black vehicle pull down Baker Street, and I rushed downstairs. Before I could make it out the door, a strong hand grasped my hand pulling me back.
Sherlock leveled me with a troubled, nearly vulnerable expression.
“John…” he pleaded.
Anguished, I gazed out longingly at the auto as it pulled up in front of 221.
“What!” I bit out harshly, tearing my hand from his grasp.
“Don’t go, John. It’s a game changer if you do.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about, Sherlock, but I need to go. In case its sailed by your notice, your brother was shot a few days ago. I’m his friend, and I care if he’s alright. So I’m going, Sherlock. As you should’ve the other day to the hospital.”
“John you don’t-“
“No, Sherlock, I don’t. You’re right. I don’t get this petty feud between the two of you. But right now, I don’t care. Alright? I’m going.”
I didn’t dare spare a glance behind me as I fled into the Bentley.
…
We pulled up a while later in front of a decently sized red-bricked manor. Perfectly normal, and modestly upper class. I assumed since we’d traveled N A41 that we were somewhere just north of Barnet, at a government safe house of sorts within the residential suburb.
Anthea led me up a walkway lined elegantly by ornamental shrubs, and keyed in her code into an alarm system which also required a retinal scan. The tastefully decorative, yet impenetrable steel door opened allowing us access.
Anthea nodded and notified me that she had business to attend but another auto would be sent out when I required a ride back to London.
A tall man, in a flowing, navy satin robe came to greet me, bandages visible at the open neck. We stood in the entry hall with but a foot between us.
“Ah, John, a sight you are for sore eyes.”
“It’s er… I’m glad you called me here. I was worried when I hadn’t heard from you.”
Mycroft nodded and lowered his head.
“I was… unprepared to see you after…”
“You’re saying that you hopped into a souped up V12 with a L129A1 Sharpshooter-slinging sniper, drove like a stuntman in an action film, just barely missed getting fatally shot, and you were ‘unprepared’ to see me?”
“It does sound absurd when you phrase it like that.”
I tentatively moved toward the taller man before me, and encircled him within my arms, leaning my head against his chest just under his chin, my lips nearly brushing the hollow of his throat.
I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing, but I felt compelled to follow my instincts.
Mycroft, as I’d expected, was alarmed by my gesture. It took several moments before he responded in kind, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me tight to him with a level of desperation, as if our separation might prove fatal.
He trembled as I wrapped my arm around his neck, pulling his head down level with my own. His hot breath coursed across my lips, and with a second’s consideration, our mouths met, just a hairs breath from touching.
Again, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, and I wasn’t sure that this was what I wanted to do, but I went with it, and we leaned into each other.
His kissed me with passion. It wasn’t perfectly graceful, as our teeth knocked and lips and tongues tangled together, but it was heartfelt, none the less.
And in that moment, the V12 Vigilante wanted me desperately, and that was the greatest turn on I’d felt in a long time.
…
We didn’t really make it to the bedroom right away. Instead we fell in the landing at the top of the stairs as Mycroft attacked my neck with his mouth, barely taking mind of his stitches or my bad shoulder, we rolled over until I lay on top.
Mycroft pushed my Jumper over my head and made short work of my Oxford underneath. Pressing his lips to my chest, his hands dragged down my abdomen, snagging at the waste-band of my trousers.
“Belt.” I whispered hoarsely, as the flat tongue wetly swept down to my navel, pushing in just slightly.
At this point I had managed to discard of Mycroft’s Navy wrappings, and explored the newly exposed flesh with my hands. To my pleasant surprise he was completely naked. His arousal pressed into mine through the layers of fabric.
Pulled back into a kiss, my companion moaned into my mouth, while unbuckling my belt.
I assisted him, by arching as he pulled both my trousers and my boxers down with one swift tug. My erection popping free, slapped against my abdomen.
A languid tongue dragged down my cock, and I nearly shouted as he engulfed me completely.
“Huuuh!” I cried out, as he swirled the flat of his tongue up along my shaft, flicking right below the frenulum, before encircling his lips around the head, sucking with a pressure that made my buck upward into his mouth.
Swiftly, Mycroft was standing before me, and pulled me up, all but dragging me down the hall into a bedroom.
Placing me with my feet crossed behind his head, he leaned over me and kissed me deeply. He twisted the cap off from a bottle of lube, and massaged it onto his cock, before I suddenly felt his glorious, dexterous fingers rub along my perineum, encircling my entrance.
He moved them slowly in and out, as we kissed, our cocks rubbing deliciously together.
Then he was once again positioned himself above me, and I moaned loudly as the blunt head of his cock pressed into me.
Even though he penetrated me ever so carefully and slowly, it still hurt as I was stretched. It’d been a long time, and I was not accustomed to being on the receiving end.
Just as, the pain was beginning to abate, he pushed his cock deep into me and I think I wept as he hit my prostate, stars flashing behind my eyes.
“Oh god, John!” Mycroft cried out his pace quickening. The rocking of our bodies together suddenly became frantic. I felt him deep inside of me, and was nearly blinded with the feeling pulsing through my cock, and the tingling that coursed through me to my finger tips, every time he pushed in deeper.
Suddenly, it was all too much, I bucked wildly as I came, shooting my stream between us. In response, Mycroft groaned deeply in his throat, and gasped against my chest as he released himself into me, a look of sheer ecstasy crossing his features.
As we lay in bed beside each other, I idly wondered what this now meant, how this would change everything.
As if answering my thoughts, my companion stirred beside me, grasped my hand and pulled it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss into the palm of my hand. I looked up and met his eyes.
“No pressure, John. I’ll follow your lead. If it’s too much, we’ll back off, if you want more,” Mycroft whispered into my shoulder, kissing it gently, “I’m willing.”
Inwardly I was tense, but physically I felt boneless in the afterglow. It pained me that there was something keeping me from giving my all to this brilliant man that lay beside me. Worse yet, he read my every thought as if it were written on my face. Yet, patiently, he remained.
I decided to change the subject.
“You look as though something has just crossed your mind.” Mycroft chuckled softly.
“Well actually, now that you mention it, I was a bit curious as to why you were driving the V12. I thought you were this omnipotent force: The string puller, the mastermind directing from behind the scenes, too high-up to do the leg-work.”
“Hm. You can’t imagine why I might take it personally that you were in peril, my dear?” Mycroft stretched languidly, rubbing near his bandaged chest.
“Ah, did you know it was a false lead?”
“Of course, or I would never have allowed for you to follow us.”
“And you chased them down anyway.”
“Of course. One of the men- the driver of the Lotus was a higher up whom directly had worked under Col. Sebastian Moran. He makes a valuable informant. Better even so, I pinned the site of the false lead, tracked it back, and discovered an agent being paid off by Moriarty. It’s best to first shake the web, to knock out the spider.”
I cringed at the mental image.
“You saw then.”
“Yes,” Mycroft hissed, “And I swear to you he won’t lay another finger on you.”
As I lay beside the other man, there was a part of me that was resistant to the idea that I was now some god- damned damsel in distress that had to be protected from the big, bad wolf. It wasn’t as if I were ungrateful; it just made me feel impotent. Really, I felt like dealing with Jim was something personal, that couldn’t be passed off into another’s hands.
Not to mention the end game here was to get at Sherlock and Mycroft. Stupid and foolhardy though I knew it was, I desperately wished to intercede.
I was beginning to understand this side of the obsession.
…
“So its official now.”
I looked up from my book to see Sherlock enter through the sitting room door, looking at me with withering contempt.
“What.” I demanded.
“Oh, please, John.” Sherlock drawled, rolling up his sleeves and sitting down across from the window. His lithe frame draped across the chair was almost feline in its grace and simple elegance. He looked at me challengingly, “From the marks just above your collar line I would presume you had a pleasant reunion?”
“Does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. It’s all fine.” Sherlock parodied, tersely crossing his arms.
His keen, razor silver eyes darted to the figures strolling down the street outside.
Something about my friend seemed broken, and though he trampled over me daily with heedless inconsideration, I wanted to reach out and cross that distance between us. To comfort him… to run my hands through those gleaming ebony locks, twist those curls between my fingers…
I quickly stamped out the thought, and focused hard on the book before me.
I was still on the same page an hour later.
I'm quite sure he noticed.
…
I carried on, and maintained my daily routine. I saw Mycroft for lunch, and then I went back to the office for five more hours before heading home. As usual, some sort of officious Government car trailed me, and as usual, I ignored it. Once home, I either spent the evening being pointedly avoided by my flatmate, or being stolen away into the Bentley to be delivered to my lover.
Mycroft was simply, an amazing, attractive and impressive man. Not to mention a dedicated lover, and apparently… a devoted provider. Much to my chagrin, I noticed my bank account being influxed with money.
When I argued with him over it, he denied it, and distracted me to the point where I either forgot to be mad, or decided it didn’t matter.
…
Mycroft, impeccable as usual, dined across from me that day at the ultra swanky Raffles on Craven.
“You seem troubled.” Mycroft gazed at me with tight-lipped concern as he cut into his entrée.
“Not particularly,” I replied, maintaining an apathetic façade.
“You’re not particularly skilled at dissimulating. But I won’t push.”
“If you’re so highly perceptive, it astounds me that we even need to ever open our mouths at all.”
Mycroft regarded me coolly, “Your procacious assertment is irrelevant to me, John. If your irritation lies with Sherlock, then see to it that he receives your castigation.”
For some unaccountable reason, I grew intensely irritated at the man before me.
“I understand why he loathes you. You treat him like a child.”
“He acts like one.”
“Well I do not! So stop paying for everything, condescending down to me, and following me around!” I whispered fiercely across the table.
Mycroft laughed calmly, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs, “I can see this is one of those days where nothing I say will pacify you.”
I bit back my retort and studied the man before me.
“You’ve heard nothing I’ve said.”
“On the contrary, my dear, but I hardly needed you to vocalize your redundantly tedious complaints,” Mycroft leaned forward and crossed his hands on the table in front of him, “You must think me oblivious.”
He leveled me with his magnanimous gaze, “As my partner, you may consider what’s mine as yours- to a relative degree of course, and as for my supposed condescension- inaccurate of me, and unworthy of you to accuse me of. Following you around? Dear, even if you meant nothing to me personally, officially you are my responsibility to protect.”
I exhaled, and looked up miserably at my companion.
“Fine. You’re right.”
Mycroft signed and folded the receipt tucking it into the folder at the end of the table.
“I’d like to see you tonight, if you care to.”
“I’ll text you later, I have some… research.” I explained wearily.
“Very well,” Mycroft spoke as we rose to leave, leaning over to brush a kiss just to the side of my mouth, “You must get back to your appointments, I shall not keep you any longer.”
Continue to part three...
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