Courted, Mycroft/John, NC-17
Originally posted by blue_eyed_1987 at Courted, Mycroft/John, NC-17
Title: Courted
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mycroft/John
Summary: Written for a kink meme prompt: In the warehouse, Mycroft asks to see John's hand to see whether or not it is trembling. After the inspection, he places an elegant, gentlemanly kiss on the back of John's hand as an apology for the inconvenience. The sweetest, politest, most romantic wooing in history ensues. Mycroft/John, obviously. I'm in need of some fluff. Lots of fluff.
A/N: Was looked over by niffler09 but the later parts were not beta'd, because I am impatient and stuff. Tenses and sex may be dodgy, characters may be OOC and this will definitely rot your teeth. I poured all my fluff into this! ETA (26/09/11: Now with bonus Sherlock POV: http://blue-eyed-1987.livejournal.com/20665.html)
John's hand was warm and calloused between his hands. Strong and utterly still. The tremor wasn't brought on by stress, but, it doesn't take a genius to see that. Adrenaline junkie, maybe. Mycroft met John's eyes once more, rattling off deductions and comments. John's eyes were shuttered, almost defensive, and Mycroft realised he'd hit a nerve. Necessary, given the goal of this meeting, but he still wished it wasn't so.
John was refusing to give an inch, refusing a bribe despite obviously needing the money. He didn't allow himself to seem openly intimidated. The loyalty to Sherlock was gratifying; if unusual this early on in the proceedings. Mycroft doubted he would've been able to find a better flatmate for his younger brother.
He stopped talking, but didn't relinquish the hand. He noticed that John didn't try to pull it back either. After a moments thought, Mycroft brought the hand to his lips, and brushed a kiss over the knuckles, eyes never leaving John's. John's eyes widened, shutters falling for a second as shock and confusion took over. Mycroft stroked his thumb over John's fingers before reluctantly letting the hand go. John pulled his hand away, glancing at it as he let it drop to his side.
“Thank you, doctor.” John blinked up at him, mouth slightly open. His phone beeped, signalling another message. John pulled back abruptly, fumbling in his pocket.
John read the message and looked back up at Mycroft. He opened his mouth to speak.
“What?”
“Please, consider my offer, Doctor. It was nice meeting you.” Mycroft walked away, swinging his umbrella, mind almost entirely focused on Dr. John Watson.
~~~
Not long after he had Sherlock had fit themselves around each other, Mycroft had turned up just as John was going on his lunch break at work. Since finding out that Mycroft was Sherlock's brother, and not his arch enemy, John had viewed Mycroft with slightly less suspicion. The events of the first meeting still rankled, but he recognised Mycroft's protective streak when it came to Sherlock- mainly because it was much like his own.
“I hope you don't mind, but I thought you'd appreciate something more appetising than that sandwich.”
Mycroft held up a bag, and John's stomach made an alarming sound at the smell coming from it. Mycroft laughed softly and sat down opposite John. He quickly unpacked a lunch of cold antipasti, pesto, a small bottle of extra virgin olive oil, as well as a selection of meats and cheeses, and bread that was still warm.
“Wow. I, thank you, but, why?”
“I was in the area,” Mycroft shrugged. “I very rarely get a chance to eat lunch away from my desk and wanted some company.”
“And you chose me?”
“As I said, I was in the area, and my work colleagues are all my subordinates and are uncomfortable socialising with their superior.”
John nodded, taking a bite of bread with some of the meat on it, groaning softly as the slightly spicy taste of the meat tingled on his tongue.
“This is amazing.”
“Yes, it's from one of my favourite restaurants. Almost everything is made handmade on the premises.”
The conversation stayed mostly inconsequential for the rest of the hour, and John was surprised at how comfortable it was.
When they had finished and Mycroft produced some biscotti half dipped in dark chocolate to finish the lunch off John thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
“Seriously, feel free to pop round any time you want company- especially if you bring food like this!”
Mycroft's answering smile was blinding. As he stood to leave, John held out his hand to shake, Mycroft swept it upward and kissed his knuckles again. Mycroft's hand was warm and soft around his fingers and his lips were soft again the rough skin of his hand. His thumb stroked John's fingers again, and could feel his skin tingling at the points of contact.
If John found himself whistling happily throughout the rest of the day, well, that was just coincidence.
~~~
Lunch together did become a regular occurrence - sometimes even when John wasn't in work.
During those times, if the weather was nice, they'd travel to Regent's park and spread food out on a bench overlooking the lake. If the weather was bad, they would travel to tiny bistros and coffee shops. They took it in turns suggesting the place, or type of food.
The conversations gradually turned from the everyday to themselves, what they had in common (they both played the clarinet when they were young, and both had hated it), and what they didn't (they once had a vigorous discussion on mayonnaise - John had no idea anyone could be that vehemently against a condiment).
At the end of every meeting, Mycroft would kiss the knuckles of his left hand. John found himself looking forward to that moment every time they finished their food, anticipation pooling warm and familiar in his stomach. It never went further than that, although John had spent a fair amount of time wondering (absolutely not fantasising) about taking the next step.
It was after one of these occasions that, whilst John was rifling through his pockets for his keys, his hand brushed against an envelope. He pulled it out, noting the heavy, expensive paper. His name was written on the front in small, neat script.
Inside were two tickets to a West End performance of War Horse, which was one of John's favourite books. John stopped mid-movement, blinking down at the pieces of paper in his hand. He'd known there was going to be a play, but actually going hadn't crossed his mind. It was obvious that they had come from Mycroft. It was incredibly thoughtful of him.
John smiled and sent a quick text accepting the invitation (and adding a suggestion of dinner beforehand), before heading up the stairs. Sherlock made a disgusted noise at the look on John's face, but refrained from grumbling, instead choosing to drag them out on a case. Before relenting, John ran to his room, and placed the envelope in his bedside table.
~~~
The viewing of War Horse had to be postponed due to a case - a poisoner who refused to just give up already, resulting in a chase across half a borough and over countless garden walls.
Sherlock and John had half dragged each other home, giggling and groaning and complaining all the way. Sherlock produced take away from someone else that owed him a favour, and they sat and watched anther Bond film (6 down, 16 to go), throwing pieces of prawn cracker at each other and pointing out the plot holes.
Halfway through the film, John's phone beeped at him.
From: Mycroft.
Glad to see the case come to a satisfactory conclusion. I'll pick you up Friday.
To: Mycroft.
Looking forward to it.
~~~
Friday evening found John critically eyeing himself in the mirror. He was wearing a suit, thanking his lucky stars that the thing still fit given his unusual lifestyle. He wandered down the stairs a couple of minutes early, feeling slightly ridiculous. Nervous excitement tingled through his limbs and stomach. He wasn't so lucky as to escape Mrs. Hudson's fussing and cooing, but she looks so happy as she clucks over his collar and lapel that he can't bring himself to stop her.
“Hold on, dear.” She said as she disappeared into her flat. She reappeared with a red carnation, and tucked in into the buttonhole. “There. Fit for a prince.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” John muttered, checking his watch again. He jumped when the door knocked, moving to open it and pointedly ignoring Mrs. Hudson's chuckle.
Mycroft was at the door, looking resplendent in a long wool coat over a black suit.
“Hi.”
“Hello John, Mrs. Hudson. Shall we?”
“Absolutely.”
~~~
They were driven to the restaurant - French - and after a fantastic meal they walked to the theatre. The night was warm enough, and the West End was all lit up, milling with tourists, people on dates, and party-goers. John had never really seen London like this, in all it's splendour. He soaked up the atmosphere as they walked towards the theatre.
Mycroft had offered John his arm as they had walked and John had tucked it into the crook of Mycroft's elbow, allowing Mycroft's body heat to sink into his hand. He baulked a little bit at the ridiculousness of being wooed in such an old-fashioned way, but then Mycroft re-arranged John's hand so it was more comfortable, pulling him slightly closer as he did so. John looked up at him and Mycroft looked so happy and content that John couldn't help but rub his thumb along the deceptively soft wool of Mycroft's coat and smile back, allowing himself to be guided along.
~~~
Just before the curtain rose, Mycroft admitted that he had actually found the time to read the book before coming to see the show and enjoyed it greatly, which delighted John, who had been slightly worried that Mycroft was only suffering through the show for John's sake.
The performance was enthralling, the puppetry amazing in way that it really shouldn't have been. The simple narration of suffering and the confusion of war resonated with John, who found himself lost in the story.
There was a standing ovation at the end, John slightly behind the rest of the audience as he blinked and shook his head to clear it and bring himself back to reality.
Mycroft and John wandered through the crowd of theatre-goers, Mycroft guiding John along with a hand pressed to the base of his spine. They collected their coats, discussing their thoughts on the show, mainly raving about the puppetry - “It shouldn't work, Mycroft.” - to which Mycroft just chuckled.
The night had turned cold, the clear, frosty air making John gasp as they stepped out of the theatre. Mycroft made a quick phone call and a car appeared alongside them ten minutes later. John gratefully got in and sank into the warm leather seats.
“Back to Baker Street?” Mycroft asked softly.
“Yes. Yeah, please.”
The ride home was comfortably quiet, John turned slightly in his seat and his arm was pressed against Mycroft's. He tangled their fingers together, smiling when Mycroft squeezed his hand. They pulled up and John reluctantly unbuckled his seat belt, not wanting to leave just yet.
“Thank you, again, for tonight. It was wonderful.”
“You're very welcome.” Mycroft picked up John’s hand, kissing the knuckles as normal. John took a deep breath and leant forward as Mycroft pulled back, and placed a chaste kiss at the corner of Mycroft's mouth.
There was a moment where everything paused, and the tension between them thickened noticeably. Mycroft swallowed as John pulled away, smiling brightly.
“I'll see you soon, yeah?”
“Of course.” Mycroft smiled back broadly.
“I'll look forward to it.” John's voice roughened, and he got out of the car before Mycroft could pull him back in the car and into another kiss.
~~~
“You can dance?” John paused, his wine glass halfway towards his mouth. “What -Why -what?”
“It's a fairly well-kept secret, but when I was young it was prudent for me to learn how to dance. Ballroom naturally.”
“Naturally.” John murmured, taking a sip of his wine. They were currently at Mycroft's flat, a large, but functional place in a nice part of London. It had been a long week for Mycroft, John wasn't sure exactly what had gone wrong (some elections and information control and an 'inconvenient time-zone' was the explanation) but he could see the strain around Mycroft's eyes. He had suggested putting off this date but Mycroft had insisted.
“You just don't seem the dancing type.. I assumed it would be...frivolous, or something.” John waved his glass around “Unnecessary.”
“It may be, but one has to learn a lot of frivolous and unnecessary things to ingratiate oneself with certain people. Especially people who are most useful to someone in my position.”
“A minor civil servant?” John asked, smirking. Mycroft inclined his head in deference to the continued façade.
John paused, trying to picture a younger Mycroft swirling a dignitary's wife around a dance floor. He shook his head slightly (and ignored the stab of jealously those images provoked), and chuckled at Mycroft's raised eyebrows.
“Just trying to picture you dancing and failing.”
Mycroft sighed and stood up, and walked to the other end of the sitting room, and opened a cupboard. Soft music filled the air.
“Come on.” Mycroft returned and stood in front of John, holding out his hand.
“What?”
“You can't picture me dancing, so I'm going to show you.”
“What? I can't dance.”
“Don't worry, I'll be gentle.” Mycroft smiled down at him, gently removing the glass from John's hand and placing on the coffee table. John felt himself flush at the gentle innuendo and stood up. Mycroft led him to the other end of the sitting room, where there was a larger open space.
Mycroft placed John's hand on his shoulder, taking the other in his own and then wrapped a warm arm around John's back.
“Right, follow me. One step back, left foot.” John nodded and followed Mycroft's commands. Until he didn't. He trod on Mycroft's foot, and then he pulled back and stumbled.
“Sorry, sorry.” John muttered, trying to get back into position.
“Quite alright. Again?”
“Yeah. If you want to?”
“Of course. Try to relax, it will make it easier.” Mycroft rearranged their limbs once more. “Left foot, back.”
They got halfway through the song and John started to relax, moving more naturally to the music. They danced through the next song, and John's hand moved up and around to cup the back on Mycroft's neck, fingers stroking through his hair.
“Very good for a beginner, John.” Mycroft smiled, slowing his movements as the song changed.
Mycroft placed a kiss on John's hand before placing it on his shoulder and wrapping his arm around John's back, pulling him closer. John followed happily, tightening his arms around Mycroft's neck. Mycroft dropped a gentle kiss on John's temple. John sighed happily, before turning his head and tucking it into Mycroft's neck, placing a kiss there. Mycroft yawned, then muttered an apology under his breath.
“It's probably getting late. I should go and let you get some sleep.” John said, quietly. Mycroft sighed and tightened his arms slightly.
“You could stay.” John stiffened slightly. “I have a guest room if you'd prefer.” Mycroft pulled back, looking down at John.
“I'd like to stay. And not in the guest room. It was just - I expected you to want to sleep.”
“Well, I wasn't planning on staying up all night.”
John huffed a laugh. “Fair enough. Come on then, take me to bed.”
Mycroft made a slightly strangled noise in the back of his throat and kissed John soundly. John responded, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. Mycroft groaned and pulled away, moving to switch off the music and then lead John to the master bedroom.
John tried to look around and get an impression of the décor, wondering what it would say about Mycroft, but then Mycroft kissed him again and slid his hands under John's jumper and John couldn't bring himself to care.
They pulled off each other's clothes, pausing to kiss and caress each newly revealed bit of skin. When they were completely naked, they stopped for a moment, regarding each other. Mycroft felt slightly self-conscious. John's body was all compact muscle, scars and hair. It was obviously a body that had been used in some of the most physical ways. Mycroft's body was more...sedentary, and it showed. However, John didn't seem to mind if the appraising looks being sent his way were anything to go by.
Mycroft pushed John back towards his bed, arousal thrumming down his spine. John flopped down as the back of his knees hit the bed. He smirked up at Mycroft, before taking advantage of this new position and running his tongue down the length of Mycroft's erection.
“John.” Mycroft gasped, bringing one hand up to cup the back of his head. John moaned softly and pulled away, moving back towards the headboard, stretching out and noticing how huge the bed was.
Mycroft followed, lying down next to John, kissing him again. Mycroft ran his hands down John's shoulders and chest, fingers brushing against the jagged scar marring the pale flesh there. He lingered over John's nipples, pinching and stroking until John whined and squirmed against him.
“Mycroft.” John pushed at Mycroft's shoulder, forcing him to lie flat. John swung his leg over Mycroft and settled in his lap, groaning at the slide of skin against skin.
John leant down and kissed Mycroft, groaning as the shift resulted in more glorious friction. Mycroft's hands slid down John's side then up, cupping John's arse and pulling him down as he thrust upwards.
They moved together, groaning softly as the sensations grew. John rested his weight on one elbow and wrapped one hand around their erections. Half a dozen strokes later he was spilling all over his hand, Mycroft right behind him, clutching his hips hard enough to bruise.
John managed not to collapse on top of Mycroft, curling up next to him. Mycroft stretched and rolled over, resting his hand on John's hip, thumb stroking over the hollow there.
“We should probably clean up.”
“Hmm...” John replied, feeling warm and lazy. Mycroft huffed and leant in for a kiss before hauling himself up. He padded over to the en suite. John was dozing when he returned with a damp cloth. Mycroft gently washed them both and placed the cloth on the bedside table.
Mycroft prodded John until he got under the covers, re-arranging him until his back was pressed up to Mycroft's chest. John grumbled at him. Mycroft huffed a laugh and kissed him behind the ear.
“Sleep, love.”
~~~
Then, Moriarty made his move, and things got serious
John still saw Mycroft, once after the explosion in the house opposite their building, and again when he'd been sent on a wild goose chase after the Bruce-Partington plans. They were still affectionate, fingers brushed and lingered when Mycroft handed him a file and gentle kisses were exchanged in his office, but the case, the excitement, burnt through John's blood.
John was bundled into a car, a sharp rap on the head dizzying him long enough for him to be cuffed up and subdued. Even as he looked for weaknesses, escape routes and anything else that will help him he was counting down the time for Mycroft's people, or Sherlock or the police to get there.
It's only when he wearing a jacket weighed down with Semtex and Moriarty - Jim from I.T for Christ's sake stood in front of him, waving an ear piece, that John started to think that maybe no-one was going to come.
He walked out into the pool proper, trying desperately to keep calm, to not give the game away too soon. He really didn't want to die like this. Sherlock was shocked to see him, which meant that he hadn't even known John had been kidnapped.
John parroted the lines Moriarty fed to him, as a cold feeling of dread settled heavy in his stomach. They were alone in this, John thought, and rapidly changed his plan of attack. He didn't even consider snipers. Especially not ones who would target Sherlock and not the person throwing himself at their boss.
The sirens started in the distance, and John held his breath. Moriarty's eyes widened, and an ugly snarl twisted his face.
Then the pool exploded.
~~~
John woke up and blinked blearily. When everything came into focus his eyes came to rest on Mycroft, who was sitting next to his bed. One of Mycroft's hands was curled around his, thumb stroking the back of his hand.
“Hi.” John croaked.
“John.” Mycroft said quietly, scooting a little closer to the bed. “Do you need anything?”
“Water would be good.”
Mycroft poured water into a small plastic cup and helped John sit up so he could sip at it. It was placed on the table when John was finished, and the memories of the events at the pool slowly filled his mind.
“Where's - what happened? Sherlock?”
Mycroft gestured to the bed next to him. Sherlock was lying there, pale and sleeping.
“He's fine. You both are, luckily. Concussion, cuts and bruises, a little smoke inhalation. The bombs weren't that dangerous - Moriarty meant to scare you, not kill you. You'll be here for observation a bit longer, but should be out before the end of the week.”
Mycroft smiled, but John could see the strain there. There were deep bags under Mycroft's eyes - and considering his sleeping patterns could be as bad as Sherlock's that was saying something.
John just squeezed the hand around his.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Mycroft paused and pulled his hand away from John's. John frowned and sat up some more, wanting to at least bit sitting up for what was shaping up to be a bad conversation.
“What?”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember the pool exploding. That's about it.”
“First I must apologise. I'm not sure how they managed to kidnap you, and keep it from me as long as they did. It was an unacceptable mistake and it will not happen again. There were some of Moriarty's operatives in my network, they have been taken care of. It will not happen again.”
“Hey, look. It's fine. I don't blame you. How close did they get to you? And how did they get into your...employment, anyway?”
That more than any other of Moriarty's feats made John realise just how dangerous Moriarty could be.
“That is what I have been trying to discover, in between keeping an eye on you and Sherlock.”
“I suppose we have you to thank for the private room?”
“It was the least I could do.”
John rolled his eyes and leaned over, taking Mycroft's hand back in his.
“Silly man. “ He muttered, gently tugging Mycroft forward. “Come here and give me a kiss.”
Mycroft blinked, looking slightly shocked, but leant forward and allowed John to kiss him.
“You're not allowed to feel guilty for this. I will not allow it.”
“But your safety is my responsibility.”
“It really isn't. I understand that you want to keep me and Sherlock safe, and that you have the resources to make it fairly easy, but that doesn't mean it's your responsibility, ok? I mean it, about the guilt thing.”
John kissed Mycroft again, and then yawned. He frowned slightly as the yawn triggered an ache behind his eyes.
“You should get some rest, you're not fully healed yet.”
“Hmm...” John shuffled back down.
“I'll be here when you wake up.” Mycroft muttered, stroking John's hand once more.
~~~
Three days later and Sherlock and John were planning their escape. John had forgotten just how horrible hospitals were. Even when you had a private room, it seemed. Sherlock had got bored as soon as he had woken up and realised that he couldn't play the system to get more painkillers. Instead he'd reduced two doctors and a nurse to tears and there wasn't a porter in the whole hospital who would work in their room.
They'd had a steady stream of visitors, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, even Harry. Mycroft had been there at least once a day, much to Sherlock's disgust.
On the day they had managed to convince the doctors to let them out, Mycroft had arranged for a car to take them back to Baker Street. John tried not to feel too disappointed that Mycroft wasn't there, but, going by Sherlock's annoyed grumbles he wasn't fooling anyone.
As soon as they were back Sherlock stretched out on the sofa, typing away at his laptop and terrorising Lestrade by text. He was more determined than ever to catch Moriarty.
The next day Mycroft dropped off a huge file containing all the information he had gathered on the worms in his operation. John must have nodded off halfway through the discussion, as he woke up to Mycroft shaking his shoulder.
“I must be going, John. Here, take this.” Mycroft pressed a key into his hand. “It's a key to my flat. I don't know when I'll get a free evening again, until I've finished this, but if you ever feel the urge to come over, I'm sure I could be persuaded to take some time off.”
John smiled groggily at him.
“I'll keep that in mind.” John angled his head up for a kiss. Mycroft smiled widely, kissed him and swept out of the flat.
~~~
John felt extremely uncomfortable as he let himself into Mycroft's flat. He'd never been there without Mycroft before and it felt intrusive, even though he knew Mycroft wanted him there. He had already dropped Mycroft a text saying he'd be there, and had had a brief reply; Mycroft wasn't sure when he'd be back, but he would be back.
John made himself a small dinner, and put some in the fridge in case Mycroft was hungry when he got back. He pulled the small TV out of the cabinet it was stored in a flicked through the channels half-heartedly, settling on the news.
He was tired; Sherlock was being insufferable with his insomnia and violin, and, although John could sleep through the various noises that a bored Sherlock could produce, the lure of helping him with his case - this case especially - was too much to resist. That was partly the reason he had come here.
A yawn cracked his jaw and he shook his head, trying to chase away the lethargy weighing down his limbs. He curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and settled down for an evening of waiting.
~~~
Mycroft wearily let himself into the flat. He'd tried to get away as soon as possible, wanting to see John more than anything, but there had been meetings and the inevitable paperwork to deal with.
He shut the door behind him and paused, listening. A rhythmic rumbling sound was coming from inside the flat. A small smile spread across his face as he realised what it was. He removed his shoes and padded through to the living room.
Sure enough, John had fallen asleep on the sofa, the odd angle making him snore. Mycroft stood and watched him for a while, unable to control the wide smile stretching his face.
“John. John.”
John startled awake, wincing and clapping a hand to his neck.
“Mycroft? I must have fell asleep, sorry.”
“Don't worry about it. I wouldn't have woken you normally, but you weren't in a comfortable position.” Mycroft sat down and wrapped an arm around John, who promptly laid against him, boneless and content.
“Oh, there's food in the fridge, if you're hungry.”
“Thank you, but I ate at the office. In fact, I was planning on showering then taking you to bed.” Mycroft dropped a kiss into John's hair.
“That sounds like an excellent plan.”
“I thought so.” Mycroft gently untangled himself and stood up, holding out a hand to John. John took it and allowed himself to be pulled up and into Mycroft's arms.
John tilted his head up for a kiss, moaning softly as Mycroft's mouth opened and their tongues stroked and tangled.
Mycroft pulled away.
“I really should go and have that shower.”
“I could join you. God knows your shower is big enough.”
“You are a wonderful man, and I love you.”
Everything paused as they both realised what Mycroft had said. They'd never exchanged the words, for all their actions towards each other. John met Mycroft's eyes and smiled, warmth filling his chest.
“I love you too. Come on and I'll show you how much.”
~~~
A few months later.
John had spent ages worrying about their upcoming anniversary. He didn't know if they were exchanging presents, and if they were, what do you get a man like Mycroft?
On the actual day, John received a phone call; Mycroft would be picking him up at 7pm for dinner. He tried to cajole Mycroft into giving him a hint as to what was going on, but Mycroft refused to tell him, only advising him that he'd be wearing a suit.
The car pulls up outside Baker Street at 7pm sharp. John climbs into the car, breath catching as he caught sight of his partner in a black tuxedo. They drove for a while, John could have tried to follow the roads they had taken but was happy to go along with it.
John took the glass of champagne Mycroft had offered him, enjoying the light bubbles fizzling on his tongue. They pulled up outside a building that John found vaguely familiar but John couldn't place.
They didn't get out immediately, instead Mycroft unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to him, looking...nervous.
“What? What is it?”
“It's just...I'm not sure if you'll actually like what I've planned this evening. If not, we can do something else.”
“I'm sure it'll be fine, Mycroft. And I won't know until I see it, will I?”
Mycroft nodded and they got out of the car. It wasn't until John got through the door that John realised where he was. He stopped and turned to Mycroft.
“This, this is the warehouse, isn't it? Where you brought me the first time you kidnapped me.”
“I didn't kidnap you. I merely impressed upon you the importance of meeting with me.”
“Semantics, love.” John nudged him. “And you didn't answer my question.”
“Yes, yes it is.” Mycroft said, grudgingly. “I though it was apt, the first place we met. I've had some changes made, though. Come on.” Mycroft pushed a door open and led the way in.
He led John into the far corner of the room. There was a table table with candles, laid out with plate warmers and covered dishes. Fairy lights had been strung along the walls, and space heaters were tucked into the corners, warming the area. Music was coming from somewhere, quiet enough that it didn't echo.
John huffed a laugh. A intimate meal in a disused warehouse! This was the weirdest thing anyone had ever done for him, and he thought it was brilliant.
“I honestly couldn't think of something we hadn't really done, save trying to organise a holiday, which would be..awkward at the moment.”
“This is brilliant, Mycroft. I mean it. I mean, it's really odd, but I love it.”
Mycroft beamed, and gestured to the table, taking a seat. He started uncovering the food, steaming trays of tapas; Rajo, chorizo steeped in red wine, calamares, and freshly baked bread.
John's mouth started watering as his senses were assaulted. He poured them a glass of wine before helping himself to a bit of everything.
The meal was like any other, they talked about inconsequential things, but John couldn't take the smile off his face if he tried. He was aware he probably looked foolish, giddy even, but he couldn't bring himself to care. This relationship with Mycroft was one of his most successful relationships and he still couldn't believe they'd survived everything they had: Moriarty, Sherlock, Mycroft's job, his PTSD.
“There is something I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?” John was feeling full and content. He swirled the wine in his glass, and sat back.
“Indeed.” Mycroft produced a box from his pocket and turned it over in his hands.
“Is that - is that what I think it is, Mycroft?”
Mycroft just nodded. John swallowed.
“It won't be as simple as a normal...ceremony.” John snorted. Mycroft smiled and nodded. “Yes, I suppose it was never going to be, was it? The main issue is that...this will be a fairly obvious sign of importance, and that could put you in danger.”
“More danger than I'm currently in?”
“Possibly. I try to keep in the background but that doesn't mean I'm not noticed, that my influence isn't noted.”
“I'd be a weakness.”
“That they'd try to exploit, yes. I...will understand if this is too much, if you don't want to do this.”
“Mycroft, of course I want to do this.” John reached out and took Mycroft's hand. “I love you. And I'm too involved just to walk away.” John took the box from Mycroft's other hand and opened it.
Inside were two simple silver rings, inlaid with gold. John took them both out, and laid them on his right palm. He held his hand out to Mycroft.
“Ask me.”
Mycroft picked one up and pulled John's left hand towards him.
“John. Would you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me?”
“Yes.” John said simply. Mycroft slid the ring onto John's finger. John pulled his hand back, smiling down at the ring adorning his hand. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” John picked up the other ring, and held out his hand. Mycroft put his hand in John's, smiling as John slid the ring onto his finger. They sat there for a while, holding hands, just enjoying the quiet between them.
When they decided to move, Mycroft stood first, and walked around to John. He held out his hand, pulling John up.
As he placed a kiss on John's knuckles, he smiled as he felt the skin-warmed ring against the top of his lip.
more fic
lost in a forest
“Of course it is. That flower language then?” John called over his shoulder as he went to find some form of vase in the kitchen. “Why would you even know that? Why would you think Mycroft does?”
Mycroft tries wooing John with flower language… which John isn’t as versed in.
A Friendly Government Official
Mycroft turns out not to be quite the evil, egotistical bastard John had been firmly convinced he was.
Title: Courted
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mycroft/John
Summary: Written for a kink meme prompt: In the warehouse, Mycroft asks to see John's hand to see whether or not it is trembling. After the inspection, he places an elegant, gentlemanly kiss on the back of John's hand as an apology for the inconvenience. The sweetest, politest, most romantic wooing in history ensues. Mycroft/John, obviously. I'm in need of some fluff. Lots of fluff.
A/N: Was looked over by niffler09 but the later parts were not beta'd, because I am impatient and stuff. Tenses and sex may be dodgy, characters may be OOC and this will definitely rot your teeth. I poured all my fluff into this! ETA (26/09/11: Now with bonus Sherlock POV: http://blue-eyed-1987.livejournal.com/20665.html)
John's hand was warm and calloused between his hands. Strong and utterly still. The tremor wasn't brought on by stress, but, it doesn't take a genius to see that. Adrenaline junkie, maybe. Mycroft met John's eyes once more, rattling off deductions and comments. John's eyes were shuttered, almost defensive, and Mycroft realised he'd hit a nerve. Necessary, given the goal of this meeting, but he still wished it wasn't so.
John was refusing to give an inch, refusing a bribe despite obviously needing the money. He didn't allow himself to seem openly intimidated. The loyalty to Sherlock was gratifying; if unusual this early on in the proceedings. Mycroft doubted he would've been able to find a better flatmate for his younger brother.
He stopped talking, but didn't relinquish the hand. He noticed that John didn't try to pull it back either. After a moments thought, Mycroft brought the hand to his lips, and brushed a kiss over the knuckles, eyes never leaving John's. John's eyes widened, shutters falling for a second as shock and confusion took over. Mycroft stroked his thumb over John's fingers before reluctantly letting the hand go. John pulled his hand away, glancing at it as he let it drop to his side.
“Thank you, doctor.” John blinked up at him, mouth slightly open. His phone beeped, signalling another message. John pulled back abruptly, fumbling in his pocket.
John read the message and looked back up at Mycroft. He opened his mouth to speak.
“What?”
“Please, consider my offer, Doctor. It was nice meeting you.” Mycroft walked away, swinging his umbrella, mind almost entirely focused on Dr. John Watson.
~~~
Not long after he had Sherlock had fit themselves around each other, Mycroft had turned up just as John was going on his lunch break at work. Since finding out that Mycroft was Sherlock's brother, and not his arch enemy, John had viewed Mycroft with slightly less suspicion. The events of the first meeting still rankled, but he recognised Mycroft's protective streak when it came to Sherlock- mainly because it was much like his own.
“I hope you don't mind, but I thought you'd appreciate something more appetising than that sandwich.”
Mycroft held up a bag, and John's stomach made an alarming sound at the smell coming from it. Mycroft laughed softly and sat down opposite John. He quickly unpacked a lunch of cold antipasti, pesto, a small bottle of extra virgin olive oil, as well as a selection of meats and cheeses, and bread that was still warm.
“Wow. I, thank you, but, why?”
“I was in the area,” Mycroft shrugged. “I very rarely get a chance to eat lunch away from my desk and wanted some company.”
“And you chose me?”
“As I said, I was in the area, and my work colleagues are all my subordinates and are uncomfortable socialising with their superior.”
John nodded, taking a bite of bread with some of the meat on it, groaning softly as the slightly spicy taste of the meat tingled on his tongue.
“This is amazing.”
“Yes, it's from one of my favourite restaurants. Almost everything is made handmade on the premises.”
The conversation stayed mostly inconsequential for the rest of the hour, and John was surprised at how comfortable it was.
When they had finished and Mycroft produced some biscotti half dipped in dark chocolate to finish the lunch off John thought he'd died and gone to heaven.
“Seriously, feel free to pop round any time you want company- especially if you bring food like this!”
Mycroft's answering smile was blinding. As he stood to leave, John held out his hand to shake, Mycroft swept it upward and kissed his knuckles again. Mycroft's hand was warm and soft around his fingers and his lips were soft again the rough skin of his hand. His thumb stroked John's fingers again, and could feel his skin tingling at the points of contact.
If John found himself whistling happily throughout the rest of the day, well, that was just coincidence.
~~~
Lunch together did become a regular occurrence - sometimes even when John wasn't in work.
During those times, if the weather was nice, they'd travel to Regent's park and spread food out on a bench overlooking the lake. If the weather was bad, they would travel to tiny bistros and coffee shops. They took it in turns suggesting the place, or type of food.
The conversations gradually turned from the everyday to themselves, what they had in common (they both played the clarinet when they were young, and both had hated it), and what they didn't (they once had a vigorous discussion on mayonnaise - John had no idea anyone could be that vehemently against a condiment).
At the end of every meeting, Mycroft would kiss the knuckles of his left hand. John found himself looking forward to that moment every time they finished their food, anticipation pooling warm and familiar in his stomach. It never went further than that, although John had spent a fair amount of time wondering (absolutely not fantasising) about taking the next step.
It was after one of these occasions that, whilst John was rifling through his pockets for his keys, his hand brushed against an envelope. He pulled it out, noting the heavy, expensive paper. His name was written on the front in small, neat script.
Inside were two tickets to a West End performance of War Horse, which was one of John's favourite books. John stopped mid-movement, blinking down at the pieces of paper in his hand. He'd known there was going to be a play, but actually going hadn't crossed his mind. It was obvious that they had come from Mycroft. It was incredibly thoughtful of him.
John smiled and sent a quick text accepting the invitation (and adding a suggestion of dinner beforehand), before heading up the stairs. Sherlock made a disgusted noise at the look on John's face, but refrained from grumbling, instead choosing to drag them out on a case. Before relenting, John ran to his room, and placed the envelope in his bedside table.
~~~
The viewing of War Horse had to be postponed due to a case - a poisoner who refused to just give up already, resulting in a chase across half a borough and over countless garden walls.
Sherlock and John had half dragged each other home, giggling and groaning and complaining all the way. Sherlock produced take away from someone else that owed him a favour, and they sat and watched anther Bond film (6 down, 16 to go), throwing pieces of prawn cracker at each other and pointing out the plot holes.
Halfway through the film, John's phone beeped at him.
From: Mycroft.
Glad to see the case come to a satisfactory conclusion. I'll pick you up Friday.
To: Mycroft.
Looking forward to it.
~~~
Friday evening found John critically eyeing himself in the mirror. He was wearing a suit, thanking his lucky stars that the thing still fit given his unusual lifestyle. He wandered down the stairs a couple of minutes early, feeling slightly ridiculous. Nervous excitement tingled through his limbs and stomach. He wasn't so lucky as to escape Mrs. Hudson's fussing and cooing, but she looks so happy as she clucks over his collar and lapel that he can't bring himself to stop her.
“Hold on, dear.” She said as she disappeared into her flat. She reappeared with a red carnation, and tucked in into the buttonhole. “There. Fit for a prince.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” John muttered, checking his watch again. He jumped when the door knocked, moving to open it and pointedly ignoring Mrs. Hudson's chuckle.
Mycroft was at the door, looking resplendent in a long wool coat over a black suit.
“Hi.”
“Hello John, Mrs. Hudson. Shall we?”
“Absolutely.”
~~~
They were driven to the restaurant - French - and after a fantastic meal they walked to the theatre. The night was warm enough, and the West End was all lit up, milling with tourists, people on dates, and party-goers. John had never really seen London like this, in all it's splendour. He soaked up the atmosphere as they walked towards the theatre.
Mycroft had offered John his arm as they had walked and John had tucked it into the crook of Mycroft's elbow, allowing Mycroft's body heat to sink into his hand. He baulked a little bit at the ridiculousness of being wooed in such an old-fashioned way, but then Mycroft re-arranged John's hand so it was more comfortable, pulling him slightly closer as he did so. John looked up at him and Mycroft looked so happy and content that John couldn't help but rub his thumb along the deceptively soft wool of Mycroft's coat and smile back, allowing himself to be guided along.
~~~
Just before the curtain rose, Mycroft admitted that he had actually found the time to read the book before coming to see the show and enjoyed it greatly, which delighted John, who had been slightly worried that Mycroft was only suffering through the show for John's sake.
The performance was enthralling, the puppetry amazing in way that it really shouldn't have been. The simple narration of suffering and the confusion of war resonated with John, who found himself lost in the story.
There was a standing ovation at the end, John slightly behind the rest of the audience as he blinked and shook his head to clear it and bring himself back to reality.
Mycroft and John wandered through the crowd of theatre-goers, Mycroft guiding John along with a hand pressed to the base of his spine. They collected their coats, discussing their thoughts on the show, mainly raving about the puppetry - “It shouldn't work, Mycroft.” - to which Mycroft just chuckled.
The night had turned cold, the clear, frosty air making John gasp as they stepped out of the theatre. Mycroft made a quick phone call and a car appeared alongside them ten minutes later. John gratefully got in and sank into the warm leather seats.
“Back to Baker Street?” Mycroft asked softly.
“Yes. Yeah, please.”
The ride home was comfortably quiet, John turned slightly in his seat and his arm was pressed against Mycroft's. He tangled their fingers together, smiling when Mycroft squeezed his hand. They pulled up and John reluctantly unbuckled his seat belt, not wanting to leave just yet.
“Thank you, again, for tonight. It was wonderful.”
“You're very welcome.” Mycroft picked up John’s hand, kissing the knuckles as normal. John took a deep breath and leant forward as Mycroft pulled back, and placed a chaste kiss at the corner of Mycroft's mouth.
There was a moment where everything paused, and the tension between them thickened noticeably. Mycroft swallowed as John pulled away, smiling brightly.
“I'll see you soon, yeah?”
“Of course.” Mycroft smiled back broadly.
“I'll look forward to it.” John's voice roughened, and he got out of the car before Mycroft could pull him back in the car and into another kiss.
~~~
“You can dance?” John paused, his wine glass halfway towards his mouth. “What -Why -what?”
“It's a fairly well-kept secret, but when I was young it was prudent for me to learn how to dance. Ballroom naturally.”
“Naturally.” John murmured, taking a sip of his wine. They were currently at Mycroft's flat, a large, but functional place in a nice part of London. It had been a long week for Mycroft, John wasn't sure exactly what had gone wrong (some elections and information control and an 'inconvenient time-zone' was the explanation) but he could see the strain around Mycroft's eyes. He had suggested putting off this date but Mycroft had insisted.
“You just don't seem the dancing type.. I assumed it would be...frivolous, or something.” John waved his glass around “Unnecessary.”
“It may be, but one has to learn a lot of frivolous and unnecessary things to ingratiate oneself with certain people. Especially people who are most useful to someone in my position.”
“A minor civil servant?” John asked, smirking. Mycroft inclined his head in deference to the continued façade.
John paused, trying to picture a younger Mycroft swirling a dignitary's wife around a dance floor. He shook his head slightly (and ignored the stab of jealously those images provoked), and chuckled at Mycroft's raised eyebrows.
“Just trying to picture you dancing and failing.”
Mycroft sighed and stood up, and walked to the other end of the sitting room, and opened a cupboard. Soft music filled the air.
“Come on.” Mycroft returned and stood in front of John, holding out his hand.
“What?”
“You can't picture me dancing, so I'm going to show you.”
“What? I can't dance.”
“Don't worry, I'll be gentle.” Mycroft smiled down at him, gently removing the glass from John's hand and placing on the coffee table. John felt himself flush at the gentle innuendo and stood up. Mycroft led him to the other end of the sitting room, where there was a larger open space.
Mycroft placed John's hand on his shoulder, taking the other in his own and then wrapped a warm arm around John's back.
“Right, follow me. One step back, left foot.” John nodded and followed Mycroft's commands. Until he didn't. He trod on Mycroft's foot, and then he pulled back and stumbled.
“Sorry, sorry.” John muttered, trying to get back into position.
“Quite alright. Again?”
“Yeah. If you want to?”
“Of course. Try to relax, it will make it easier.” Mycroft rearranged their limbs once more. “Left foot, back.”
They got halfway through the song and John started to relax, moving more naturally to the music. They danced through the next song, and John's hand moved up and around to cup the back on Mycroft's neck, fingers stroking through his hair.
“Very good for a beginner, John.” Mycroft smiled, slowing his movements as the song changed.
Mycroft placed a kiss on John's hand before placing it on his shoulder and wrapping his arm around John's back, pulling him closer. John followed happily, tightening his arms around Mycroft's neck. Mycroft dropped a gentle kiss on John's temple. John sighed happily, before turning his head and tucking it into Mycroft's neck, placing a kiss there. Mycroft yawned, then muttered an apology under his breath.
“It's probably getting late. I should go and let you get some sleep.” John said, quietly. Mycroft sighed and tightened his arms slightly.
“You could stay.” John stiffened slightly. “I have a guest room if you'd prefer.” Mycroft pulled back, looking down at John.
“I'd like to stay. And not in the guest room. It was just - I expected you to want to sleep.”
“Well, I wasn't planning on staying up all night.”
John huffed a laugh. “Fair enough. Come on then, take me to bed.”
Mycroft made a slightly strangled noise in the back of his throat and kissed John soundly. John responded, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. Mycroft groaned and pulled away, moving to switch off the music and then lead John to the master bedroom.
John tried to look around and get an impression of the décor, wondering what it would say about Mycroft, but then Mycroft kissed him again and slid his hands under John's jumper and John couldn't bring himself to care.
They pulled off each other's clothes, pausing to kiss and caress each newly revealed bit of skin. When they were completely naked, they stopped for a moment, regarding each other. Mycroft felt slightly self-conscious. John's body was all compact muscle, scars and hair. It was obviously a body that had been used in some of the most physical ways. Mycroft's body was more...sedentary, and it showed. However, John didn't seem to mind if the appraising looks being sent his way were anything to go by.
Mycroft pushed John back towards his bed, arousal thrumming down his spine. John flopped down as the back of his knees hit the bed. He smirked up at Mycroft, before taking advantage of this new position and running his tongue down the length of Mycroft's erection.
“John.” Mycroft gasped, bringing one hand up to cup the back of his head. John moaned softly and pulled away, moving back towards the headboard, stretching out and noticing how huge the bed was.
Mycroft followed, lying down next to John, kissing him again. Mycroft ran his hands down John's shoulders and chest, fingers brushing against the jagged scar marring the pale flesh there. He lingered over John's nipples, pinching and stroking until John whined and squirmed against him.
“Mycroft.” John pushed at Mycroft's shoulder, forcing him to lie flat. John swung his leg over Mycroft and settled in his lap, groaning at the slide of skin against skin.
John leant down and kissed Mycroft, groaning as the shift resulted in more glorious friction. Mycroft's hands slid down John's side then up, cupping John's arse and pulling him down as he thrust upwards.
They moved together, groaning softly as the sensations grew. John rested his weight on one elbow and wrapped one hand around their erections. Half a dozen strokes later he was spilling all over his hand, Mycroft right behind him, clutching his hips hard enough to bruise.
John managed not to collapse on top of Mycroft, curling up next to him. Mycroft stretched and rolled over, resting his hand on John's hip, thumb stroking over the hollow there.
“We should probably clean up.”
“Hmm...” John replied, feeling warm and lazy. Mycroft huffed and leant in for a kiss before hauling himself up. He padded over to the en suite. John was dozing when he returned with a damp cloth. Mycroft gently washed them both and placed the cloth on the bedside table.
Mycroft prodded John until he got under the covers, re-arranging him until his back was pressed up to Mycroft's chest. John grumbled at him. Mycroft huffed a laugh and kissed him behind the ear.
“Sleep, love.”
~~~
Then, Moriarty made his move, and things got serious
John still saw Mycroft, once after the explosion in the house opposite their building, and again when he'd been sent on a wild goose chase after the Bruce-Partington plans. They were still affectionate, fingers brushed and lingered when Mycroft handed him a file and gentle kisses were exchanged in his office, but the case, the excitement, burnt through John's blood.
John was bundled into a car, a sharp rap on the head dizzying him long enough for him to be cuffed up and subdued. Even as he looked for weaknesses, escape routes and anything else that will help him he was counting down the time for Mycroft's people, or Sherlock or the police to get there.
It's only when he wearing a jacket weighed down with Semtex and Moriarty - Jim from I.T for Christ's sake stood in front of him, waving an ear piece, that John started to think that maybe no-one was going to come.
He walked out into the pool proper, trying desperately to keep calm, to not give the game away too soon. He really didn't want to die like this. Sherlock was shocked to see him, which meant that he hadn't even known John had been kidnapped.
John parroted the lines Moriarty fed to him, as a cold feeling of dread settled heavy in his stomach. They were alone in this, John thought, and rapidly changed his plan of attack. He didn't even consider snipers. Especially not ones who would target Sherlock and not the person throwing himself at their boss.
The sirens started in the distance, and John held his breath. Moriarty's eyes widened, and an ugly snarl twisted his face.
Then the pool exploded.
~~~
John woke up and blinked blearily. When everything came into focus his eyes came to rest on Mycroft, who was sitting next to his bed. One of Mycroft's hands was curled around his, thumb stroking the back of his hand.
“Hi.” John croaked.
“John.” Mycroft said quietly, scooting a little closer to the bed. “Do you need anything?”
“Water would be good.”
Mycroft poured water into a small plastic cup and helped John sit up so he could sip at it. It was placed on the table when John was finished, and the memories of the events at the pool slowly filled his mind.
“Where's - what happened? Sherlock?”
Mycroft gestured to the bed next to him. Sherlock was lying there, pale and sleeping.
“He's fine. You both are, luckily. Concussion, cuts and bruises, a little smoke inhalation. The bombs weren't that dangerous - Moriarty meant to scare you, not kill you. You'll be here for observation a bit longer, but should be out before the end of the week.”
Mycroft smiled, but John could see the strain there. There were deep bags under Mycroft's eyes - and considering his sleeping patterns could be as bad as Sherlock's that was saying something.
John just squeezed the hand around his.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Mycroft paused and pulled his hand away from John's. John frowned and sat up some more, wanting to at least bit sitting up for what was shaping up to be a bad conversation.
“What?”
“What do you remember?”
“I remember the pool exploding. That's about it.”
“First I must apologise. I'm not sure how they managed to kidnap you, and keep it from me as long as they did. It was an unacceptable mistake and it will not happen again. There were some of Moriarty's operatives in my network, they have been taken care of. It will not happen again.”
“Hey, look. It's fine. I don't blame you. How close did they get to you? And how did they get into your...employment, anyway?”
That more than any other of Moriarty's feats made John realise just how dangerous Moriarty could be.
“That is what I have been trying to discover, in between keeping an eye on you and Sherlock.”
“I suppose we have you to thank for the private room?”
“It was the least I could do.”
John rolled his eyes and leaned over, taking Mycroft's hand back in his.
“Silly man. “ He muttered, gently tugging Mycroft forward. “Come here and give me a kiss.”
Mycroft blinked, looking slightly shocked, but leant forward and allowed John to kiss him.
“You're not allowed to feel guilty for this. I will not allow it.”
“But your safety is my responsibility.”
“It really isn't. I understand that you want to keep me and Sherlock safe, and that you have the resources to make it fairly easy, but that doesn't mean it's your responsibility, ok? I mean it, about the guilt thing.”
John kissed Mycroft again, and then yawned. He frowned slightly as the yawn triggered an ache behind his eyes.
“You should get some rest, you're not fully healed yet.”
“Hmm...” John shuffled back down.
“I'll be here when you wake up.” Mycroft muttered, stroking John's hand once more.
~~~
Three days later and Sherlock and John were planning their escape. John had forgotten just how horrible hospitals were. Even when you had a private room, it seemed. Sherlock had got bored as soon as he had woken up and realised that he couldn't play the system to get more painkillers. Instead he'd reduced two doctors and a nurse to tears and there wasn't a porter in the whole hospital who would work in their room.
They'd had a steady stream of visitors, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, even Harry. Mycroft had been there at least once a day, much to Sherlock's disgust.
On the day they had managed to convince the doctors to let them out, Mycroft had arranged for a car to take them back to Baker Street. John tried not to feel too disappointed that Mycroft wasn't there, but, going by Sherlock's annoyed grumbles he wasn't fooling anyone.
As soon as they were back Sherlock stretched out on the sofa, typing away at his laptop and terrorising Lestrade by text. He was more determined than ever to catch Moriarty.
The next day Mycroft dropped off a huge file containing all the information he had gathered on the worms in his operation. John must have nodded off halfway through the discussion, as he woke up to Mycroft shaking his shoulder.
“I must be going, John. Here, take this.” Mycroft pressed a key into his hand. “It's a key to my flat. I don't know when I'll get a free evening again, until I've finished this, but if you ever feel the urge to come over, I'm sure I could be persuaded to take some time off.”
John smiled groggily at him.
“I'll keep that in mind.” John angled his head up for a kiss. Mycroft smiled widely, kissed him and swept out of the flat.
~~~
John felt extremely uncomfortable as he let himself into Mycroft's flat. He'd never been there without Mycroft before and it felt intrusive, even though he knew Mycroft wanted him there. He had already dropped Mycroft a text saying he'd be there, and had had a brief reply; Mycroft wasn't sure when he'd be back, but he would be back.
John made himself a small dinner, and put some in the fridge in case Mycroft was hungry when he got back. He pulled the small TV out of the cabinet it was stored in a flicked through the channels half-heartedly, settling on the news.
He was tired; Sherlock was being insufferable with his insomnia and violin, and, although John could sleep through the various noises that a bored Sherlock could produce, the lure of helping him with his case - this case especially - was too much to resist. That was partly the reason he had come here.
A yawn cracked his jaw and he shook his head, trying to chase away the lethargy weighing down his limbs. He curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and settled down for an evening of waiting.
~~~
Mycroft wearily let himself into the flat. He'd tried to get away as soon as possible, wanting to see John more than anything, but there had been meetings and the inevitable paperwork to deal with.
He shut the door behind him and paused, listening. A rhythmic rumbling sound was coming from inside the flat. A small smile spread across his face as he realised what it was. He removed his shoes and padded through to the living room.
Sure enough, John had fallen asleep on the sofa, the odd angle making him snore. Mycroft stood and watched him for a while, unable to control the wide smile stretching his face.
“John. John.”
John startled awake, wincing and clapping a hand to his neck.
“Mycroft? I must have fell asleep, sorry.”
“Don't worry about it. I wouldn't have woken you normally, but you weren't in a comfortable position.” Mycroft sat down and wrapped an arm around John, who promptly laid against him, boneless and content.
“Oh, there's food in the fridge, if you're hungry.”
“Thank you, but I ate at the office. In fact, I was planning on showering then taking you to bed.” Mycroft dropped a kiss into John's hair.
“That sounds like an excellent plan.”
“I thought so.” Mycroft gently untangled himself and stood up, holding out a hand to John. John took it and allowed himself to be pulled up and into Mycroft's arms.
John tilted his head up for a kiss, moaning softly as Mycroft's mouth opened and their tongues stroked and tangled.
Mycroft pulled away.
“I really should go and have that shower.”
“I could join you. God knows your shower is big enough.”
“You are a wonderful man, and I love you.”
Everything paused as they both realised what Mycroft had said. They'd never exchanged the words, for all their actions towards each other. John met Mycroft's eyes and smiled, warmth filling his chest.
“I love you too. Come on and I'll show you how much.”
~~~
A few months later.
John had spent ages worrying about their upcoming anniversary. He didn't know if they were exchanging presents, and if they were, what do you get a man like Mycroft?
On the actual day, John received a phone call; Mycroft would be picking him up at 7pm for dinner. He tried to cajole Mycroft into giving him a hint as to what was going on, but Mycroft refused to tell him, only advising him that he'd be wearing a suit.
The car pulls up outside Baker Street at 7pm sharp. John climbs into the car, breath catching as he caught sight of his partner in a black tuxedo. They drove for a while, John could have tried to follow the roads they had taken but was happy to go along with it.
John took the glass of champagne Mycroft had offered him, enjoying the light bubbles fizzling on his tongue. They pulled up outside a building that John found vaguely familiar but John couldn't place.
They didn't get out immediately, instead Mycroft unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to him, looking...nervous.
“What? What is it?”
“It's just...I'm not sure if you'll actually like what I've planned this evening. If not, we can do something else.”
“I'm sure it'll be fine, Mycroft. And I won't know until I see it, will I?”
Mycroft nodded and they got out of the car. It wasn't until John got through the door that John realised where he was. He stopped and turned to Mycroft.
“This, this is the warehouse, isn't it? Where you brought me the first time you kidnapped me.”
“I didn't kidnap you. I merely impressed upon you the importance of meeting with me.”
“Semantics, love.” John nudged him. “And you didn't answer my question.”
“Yes, yes it is.” Mycroft said, grudgingly. “I though it was apt, the first place we met. I've had some changes made, though. Come on.” Mycroft pushed a door open and led the way in.
He led John into the far corner of the room. There was a table table with candles, laid out with plate warmers and covered dishes. Fairy lights had been strung along the walls, and space heaters were tucked into the corners, warming the area. Music was coming from somewhere, quiet enough that it didn't echo.
John huffed a laugh. A intimate meal in a disused warehouse! This was the weirdest thing anyone had ever done for him, and he thought it was brilliant.
“I honestly couldn't think of something we hadn't really done, save trying to organise a holiday, which would be..awkward at the moment.”
“This is brilliant, Mycroft. I mean it. I mean, it's really odd, but I love it.”
Mycroft beamed, and gestured to the table, taking a seat. He started uncovering the food, steaming trays of tapas; Rajo, chorizo steeped in red wine, calamares, and freshly baked bread.
John's mouth started watering as his senses were assaulted. He poured them a glass of wine before helping himself to a bit of everything.
The meal was like any other, they talked about inconsequential things, but John couldn't take the smile off his face if he tried. He was aware he probably looked foolish, giddy even, but he couldn't bring himself to care. This relationship with Mycroft was one of his most successful relationships and he still couldn't believe they'd survived everything they had: Moriarty, Sherlock, Mycroft's job, his PTSD.
“There is something I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?” John was feeling full and content. He swirled the wine in his glass, and sat back.
“Indeed.” Mycroft produced a box from his pocket and turned it over in his hands.
“Is that - is that what I think it is, Mycroft?”
Mycroft just nodded. John swallowed.
“It won't be as simple as a normal...ceremony.” John snorted. Mycroft smiled and nodded. “Yes, I suppose it was never going to be, was it? The main issue is that...this will be a fairly obvious sign of importance, and that could put you in danger.”
“More danger than I'm currently in?”
“Possibly. I try to keep in the background but that doesn't mean I'm not noticed, that my influence isn't noted.”
“I'd be a weakness.”
“That they'd try to exploit, yes. I...will understand if this is too much, if you don't want to do this.”
“Mycroft, of course I want to do this.” John reached out and took Mycroft's hand. “I love you. And I'm too involved just to walk away.” John took the box from Mycroft's other hand and opened it.
Inside were two simple silver rings, inlaid with gold. John took them both out, and laid them on his right palm. He held his hand out to Mycroft.
“Ask me.”
Mycroft picked one up and pulled John's left hand towards him.
“John. Would you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me?”
“Yes.” John said simply. Mycroft slid the ring onto John's finger. John pulled his hand back, smiling down at the ring adorning his hand. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” John picked up the other ring, and held out his hand. Mycroft put his hand in John's, smiling as John slid the ring onto his finger. They sat there for a while, holding hands, just enjoying the quiet between them.
When they decided to move, Mycroft stood first, and walked around to John. He held out his hand, pulling John up.
As he placed a kiss on John's knuckles, he smiled as he felt the skin-warmed ring against the top of his lip.
more fic
lost in a forest
“Of course it is. That flower language then?” John called over his shoulder as he went to find some form of vase in the kitchen. “Why would you even know that? Why would you think Mycroft does?”
Mycroft tries wooing John with flower language… which John isn’t as versed in.
A Friendly Government Official
Mycroft turns out not to be quite the evil, egotistical bastard John had been firmly convinced he was.