Re: Stolen Moments pt 23/?velvet_maceJanuary 8 2011, 21:56:53 UTC
Before he could find out, Mycroft called in his marker.
He entered the flat, with barely a nod and sat down in John's chair as if he owned it. Sherlock wished John were there so that he'd have an excuse to kick Mycroft out, but John was at the clinic this morning.
And perhaps it was best Mycroft not meet him. John had returned from Harry's in no better mood than he'd left. Mycroft would pick up on the silent treatment immediately and be full of difficult probing questions. What's more, last night's sodomy experiment had left John with a slightly stiffer gait than Sherlock had intended. Might as well give Mycroft a diagram of their activities.
"Remember," Mycroft said mildly handing over a file. "You promised. No complaints."
"My memory is fine," Sherlock bit out. "I know what I agreed to." He flipped it open. Not too surprisingly it was spy stuff. A missing operative in Belgium. It promised a lot of legwork in a new location, two things that made Sherlock's mind hum happily despite his inclination to be grouchy.
He looked up to see Mycroft beaming out his patented little smirk. Got you. It seemed to say.
"All good," said Sherlock closing the file. "I'll see if John can get a few days off -"
"I'm afraid not," Mycroft interrupted. The smirk was gone. "John doesn't have the clearance for this. You may not discuss the case, nor may he join you on it."
Sherlock bristled. "What do you mean, he has no clearance? Clear him. I need him."
"You don't need him," said Mycroft. "No - don't argue, I know that he has made things very convenient for you lately. A second pair of arms and legs. But you coped perfectly fine before he came around. You don't need him. And frankly, I think it would be healthier for both of you if you stopped smothering him and gave him a bit more space."
"More space? He's hardly been home for weeks, what with all his socializing and dating. If I gave him any more space, I wouldn't see him at all."
"Yes, about that -" Mycroft's eyes sharpened. He leaned forward in John's chair, his fingers steepled together like a disapproving headmaster about to make a point. "Why do you think that is, Sherlock? That he's been avoiding you?"
"I don't know." Sherlock folded himself tighter into his chair and looked away. He hated when Mycroft got self-righteous like this. Who was he to talk about "smothering" anyway?
"I think you do." Mycroft sat back. "When I taught you how to hypnotize a person, I did worry that you might abuse the power, perhaps to bully a witness. But I thought that good sense and ego would prevent it from going too far. If I had thought for one moment you might use it to rape your flatmate, I would never have shown you how."
Sherlock's face flushed and suddenly he was out of his chair, resisting with all his might the urge to throw a book at his brother.
"I'm not raping him."
"Really, all those two a.m. visits to his room were to … consult? A very physical consultation, I should say, judging by the need for showers afterward. It has to stop. Consider this case a chance for you to break yourself out of the habit."
"I'm not harming him," insisted Sherlock. "I've hurt him much worse with the cases we've been on. And it's not your business-" I need him. How else am I to stop these impulses? And I'm learning so much --. Sherlock suddenly remembered the excuses from their last case, how adamant the pedophile was that what he was doing was right and good. The parallel burned. "He loves me. I didn't plant that idea."
"It's not consensual," said Mycroft, softly. "Not with hypnosis. I know it might look like it, but it's not. He can't say no to you. He is acutely vulnerable."
He entered the flat, with barely a nod and sat down in John's chair as if he owned it. Sherlock wished John were there so that he'd have an excuse to kick Mycroft out, but John was at the clinic this morning.
And perhaps it was best Mycroft not meet him. John had returned from Harry's in no better mood than he'd left. Mycroft would pick up on the silent treatment immediately and be full of difficult probing questions. What's more, last night's sodomy experiment had left John with a slightly stiffer gait than Sherlock had intended. Might as well give Mycroft a diagram of their activities.
"Remember," Mycroft said mildly handing over a file. "You promised. No complaints."
"My memory is fine," Sherlock bit out. "I know what I agreed to." He flipped it open. Not too surprisingly it was spy stuff. A missing operative in Belgium. It promised a lot of legwork in a new location, two things that made Sherlock's mind hum happily despite his inclination to be grouchy.
He looked up to see Mycroft beaming out his patented little smirk. Got you. It seemed to say.
"All good," said Sherlock closing the file. "I'll see if John can get a few days off -"
"I'm afraid not," Mycroft interrupted. The smirk was gone. "John doesn't have the clearance for this. You may not discuss the case, nor may he join you on it."
Sherlock bristled. "What do you mean, he has no clearance? Clear him. I need him."
"You don't need him," said Mycroft. "No - don't argue, I know that he has made things very convenient for you lately. A second pair of arms and legs. But you coped perfectly fine before he came around. You don't need him. And frankly, I think it would be healthier for both of you if you stopped smothering him and gave him a bit more space."
"More space? He's hardly been home for weeks, what with all his socializing and dating. If I gave him any more space, I wouldn't see him at all."
"Yes, about that -" Mycroft's eyes sharpened. He leaned forward in John's chair, his fingers steepled together like a disapproving headmaster about to make a point. "Why do you think that is, Sherlock? That he's been avoiding you?"
"I don't know." Sherlock folded himself tighter into his chair and looked away. He hated when Mycroft got self-righteous like this. Who was he to talk about "smothering" anyway?
"I think you do." Mycroft sat back. "When I taught you how to hypnotize a person, I did worry that you might abuse the power, perhaps to bully a witness. But I thought that good sense and ego would prevent it from going too far. If I had thought for one moment you might use it to rape your flatmate, I would never have shown you how."
Sherlock's face flushed and suddenly he was out of his chair, resisting with all his might the urge to throw a book at his brother.
"I'm not raping him."
"Really, all those two a.m. visits to his room were to … consult? A very physical consultation, I should say, judging by the need for showers afterward. It has to stop. Consider this case a chance for you to break yourself out of the habit."
"I'm not harming him," insisted Sherlock. "I've hurt him much worse with the cases we've been on. And it's not your business-" I need him. How else am I to stop these impulses? And I'm learning so much --. Sherlock suddenly remembered the excuses from their last case, how adamant the pedophile was that what he was doing was right and good. The parallel burned. "He loves me. I didn't plant that idea."
"It's not consensual," said Mycroft, softly. "Not with hypnosis. I know it might look like it, but it's not. He can't say no to you. He is acutely vulnerable."
Sherlock shook his head, denial of everything.
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