[fic] sherlock - hurry home (1/3)
Title: hurry home
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 25,607
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: When John is recruited into the MI6 to track down a security leak, he didn’t expect it to get this out of hand. At least he has Sherlock Holmes. Skyfall fusion. Sequel to us against.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Author's Note: Normally I like writing fics in the same verse that can be read alone, but in this case, it would probably be a good idea to read us against first to understand this fic. The Sherlock and John in this fic are around 24-25 years old. This fic was partially inspired by and borrows shamelessly from Skyfall. I feel like I should apologize for the copious amounts of sex but I'm probably not going to. I'm forever grateful to Helen for her suggestions and Britpicking advice which made this fic a million times better. This fic would literally not exist if not for Julia who patiently endured my endless whining and singlehandedly cheerleaded my lazy muse on to the end. <333
PROLOGUE
Sherlock slams the doors of Mycroft's office open.
Mycroft barely looks up from his paperwork as he says, “Close the doors, Sherlock.”
“You can't,” Sherlock snarls as he strides forward. Mycroft's assistant shuts the door.
“I can,” Mycroft says, putting his pen down, “And I have. It's not time for him to come home yet.”
“I'll kill you,” Sherlock says putting his palms face down on Mycroft's desk and leaning over him, “I'll kill you and I'll hack into your email and steal your access and I'll order him home.”
Mycroft studies his face. “Careful dear brother,” he murmurs, “Those words could get you arrested around here.”
Sherlock hisses a breath between his teeth.
“Do stop with the dramatics,” Mycroft says as he looks back down at his paperwork, “Go back to your studies. I've heard from Professor Chen that you're working on your own advanced algorithm theory now?”
Sherlock kicks over one of the two chairs in front of his desk.
“We're going to have to do something about your temper,” Mycroft says.
“He's going to die out there,” Sherlock shouts, “And you don't even care!”
“He's not going to die,” Mycroft says as he gets to his feet, “You will pick that chair up, right now.”
Sherlock glares at him, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“He won't die,” Mycroft repeats, “He's far too valuable for that to happen. This I promise you.”
Sherlock slowly bends down to right the chair.
“Thank you,” Mycroft says.
Sherlock works hard to control his breathing. He stares at Mycroft.
“I know how much you miss him.”
Sherlock looks away, out the window. Then he turns to leave.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft says. Sherlock opens the door.
“Remember your promise to me,” Mycroft says.
Sherlock's gone.
_____
“Oi, Sergeant Watson!”
John turns the sound of his name. The postmaster leans over the counter, grinning. “Thought that was you. Got a package.”
John wants nothing more than a hot shower and to crawl into a real bed so he can pass the fuck out. But he manages a smile and steps up to the counter anyway.
“Here you are mate,” the man says, stacking a box and two envelopes on the counter. John hefts it into his arms.
“Books from your boyfriend again?”
“Looks like it,” John says and leaves before he can get dragged into a conversation.
_____
John lies down on his bunk without opening any of his mail. The exhaustion of the past two weeks catches up with him and he falls asleep without taking his shoes off.
_____
Someone shakes his shoulder. John mumbles something into his pillow and rolls toward the wall.
Someone shakes his shoulder more insistently.
“Fine,” John says and pushes himself up, “What is it?”
“Phone call for you.”
_____
John stares down at the letter. It’s typed--John figures he’s never going to be important enough to warrant a personally handwritten letter from Mycroft.
“Don’t do it.” Sherlock’s voice sounds different over the satellite phone, static interference pitching his voice even lower. John misses him desperately.
“I can’t do that,” John says.
“Come home,” Sherlock insists, “We can deal with Mycroft.”
John smiles sadly even though he knows Sherlock can’t see him. “You know I can’t do that.”
_____
Harry still writes him once in a while. Mycroft helped her apply to university. She’s going to have the life that John’s never had the chance to have. She writes about her classes and the people she’s met. She never writes about any of the boys she’s met and skirts around the descriptions of her close girlfriends until John writes, You know, Sherlock and I are together, right?. She writes back, I’m pretty sure I like girls, and John wishes he could have been there in person to pull her into a hug.
_____
“What the hell are you going to do with that?”
John cracks the textbook open with a good-humoured, “Shut up Marsh.”
“You know you’re just going to fall asleep on that book in about two minutes.”
“Nah,” Brooks pipes in as he disassembles his rifle, “I’ll give sergeant nerd there thirty seconds tops.”
“You going to read to us, sir?” Marsh grins as he plonks his arse down in front of John’s bunk, crossing his legs and dropping his chin into his hand.
“You wouldn’t understand a bloody word, Marsh.”
“Oh, high and mighty now, is he?” Marsh looks around at Brooks who just grins back.
“Well I sure as hell can’t fall asleep with your incessant whining.”
“You love my voice,” Marsh says, “Oooooh John, yeah, do me harder.”
“Does your boyfriend sound like that?” Brooks asks as he cleans his gun.
“Fuck off.” John kicks at Marsh’s leg. “You don’t even know how to suck dick properly.”
“I could learn,” Marsh says, leaning forward and putting a hand on John’s knee. John laughs.
“You could punish me,” Marsh continues and bats his eyelashes, “For insubordination.”
“Think your fiancée might have an issue or two with that,” John says as he tilts the textbook up.
Marsh flops onto the ground with his head on Brooks’s boots. “I’m going to sleep for a million years.”
“Can’t,” Brooks says, “We’re pulled for perimeter outpost again.”
“Who the fuck up at command thinks it’s okay to pull us three times in a row?” Marsh growls as he covers his eyes with his forearm. “Let one of the other companies have a go.”
The three of them lapse into silence. John tries to read the first page of the biology textbook Sherlock sent him but Marsh is right. He just wants to sleep.
“Hey sergeant,” Marsh says, lifting his arm and squinting up at the fluorescent light. “Is it true you’re deploying again after this tour?”
John shuts the book. Who’s he kidding? He’s not going to get any fucking reading done.
“Why?” Marsh asks.
“Figure I can do more out here than at home.”
Brooks snorts. Marsh declares, “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ve seen you holed up in this room when we’re off duty,” Marsh continues with his eyes closed, “Going through those fucking textbooks.”
John drops the text into the locker at the foot of his bed.
“You know what I think?”
“God forbid,” John says.
“I think you want to be a doctor,” Marsh continues. He sits up and looks at John.
“So why don’t you do it?”
_____
By mid-afternoon, the sheets that Sherlock dragged out of bed with him that morning have been long forgotten. Sherlock types furiously on his laptop as he crouches on the chair, fuelled only by the two nicotine patches on his forearm and the sharp focus of anger.
The sun is setting by the time the doorbell rings. Sherlock doesn’t budge from his chair and continues to type. Footsteps sound on the stairs but Sherlock doesn’t pay attention.
“For god’s sake Sherlock, put on some clothes,” Mycroft says.
Sherlock doesn’t look up.
Mycroft leans down next to the table and unplugs the router from the wall. He unplugs the cord from the router and tucks the router into his pocket. It takes Sherlock nearly two minutes to realize he’s no longer connected to the internet.
“What the hell?” he snarls.
“I received an interesting phone call from the Pentagon this afternoon,” Mycroft says.
“It took them that long?” Sherlock gets off the chair and tries to reach into Mycroft’s pocket but Mycroft sidesteps him. “Group of incompetent morons.”
“I know you have pants, Sherlock.”
“Give me back my router,” Sherlock demands, grabbing hold of Mycroft’s coat.
“I know you’re angry at me,” Mycroft says, “But taking it out on a third party is inexcusable.”
“Should I have hacked into the SIS mainframe instead? Rerouted trains on the Underground? Wipe the NHS records?”
“Sherlock,” Mycroft says quietly, “You realize the reason why John cannot come home.”
“Because you’re loathsome,” Sherlock hisses, digging his nails into the fabric of Mycroft’s coat.
“Because you’re not ready, Sherlock,” Mycroft says, “And until you really apply yourself, John will not be coming home.”
_____
“Sergeant Watson,” Captain Pace calls out while John’s in the middle of checking the oil pressure gauge of his vehicle. “A word in private, please?”
John wipes his hands on a rag and draws his head out from behind the bonnet. Captain Pace stands away from the grouped humvees.
“Sir?” John asks as he approaches.
“A congratulations is in order, I think,” Captain Pace says as he holds out an envelope, “New insignia.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Queen’s commission,” Captain Pace says, “Second Lieutenant Watson.” He claps John on the shoulder and turns to walk away.
“Sir,” John says, stepping forward, “Where am I being transferred to?”
Captain Pace stops and turns slightly. “Thought I’d give you a moment to celebrate before I gave you the other news.”
John takes another step forward. His oily fingers smudge across the manilla envelope.
“Pakistan,” the captain says.
_____
INTERIM
Sherlock drinks tea in the morning and writes a protocol to descramble signals from Japanese spy satellites orbiting over Israel before dinnertime. It’s not that anyone particularly needs the information--it’s more that Sherlock wants to see if he can do it.
_____
John calls for an airstrike for the first time. He watches the bombs hit closer and closer to the line of trucks silhouetted on the horizon--a miniature series of sunsets on the wrong side of these parched hills.
His platoon is cheering. “Take that you fuckers!” one of them yells.
John shields his eyes against the light of the explosions.
_____
“Have you slept?” Mycroft demands as lifts the blanket in Sherlock’s chair with his umbrella. He turns his head to look at Sherlock who’s still in the midst of flicking something from the bottom of a 96-well plate.
The blanket slides from the end of Mycroft’s umbrella and drops back onto the chair. “When you wanted access to lab facilities, this is not what I had in mind.”
“Computers are dull,” Sherlock announces, “I’m making a new computer. Why not use the system that has housed the most complex processes yet?”
“Have you eaten anything in the past 48 hours?” Mycroft asks.
“Cells!” Sherlock says, “And as soon as I design them properly, i won’t even need to prod them into self replicating correctly.”
“Food, Sherlock,” Mycroft says, “Have you had any?”
Sherlock puts his headphones back into his ears and turns up his music. Mycroft sighs.
_____
John looks across the tops of the ruined buildings with his gun slung across his shoulder. The moonlight illuminates the jagged rocks of the foothills around them and the fleet of military vehicles parked at the edge of the village. No tracer fire tonight. Sweet silence.
In five minutes he’ll be back downstairs going over protocol to establish a new outpost and picking the best routes for a supply line. They’re low on petrol and can’t rely on air support forever. But for now, John sits on the crumbled wall of the roof and imagines himself seven thousand miles away. He rubs at the corner of the last letter the supply lines had managed to deliver. He misses the feel of Sherlock’s hand in his.
“Captain Watson?”
John gets to his feet and turns.
“They’re waiting for you.”
“Right,” John says and manages a smile.
_____
PRESENT DAY
London Heathrow is packed. John should have known better than to schedule his flight home right before Christmas but the constant press and bustle of civilians is a small price to pay to see Sherlock standing in the arrivals hall with his hands in his pockets. John swears he feels his heart leap into his throat.
“Hi,” Sherlock says when John drops his bag, still staring. He’s smiling at John and he doesn’t looks away.
“God,” John says and drags Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock smells like winter wind and smoke, like the stupidly expensive shampoo that he’s used since he was a teenager. John wills himself not to cry. Sherlock laughs against his neck and won’t let go.
“I missed you,” John says against the fabric of Sherlock’s scarf. Sherlock finally lets him go--only to pull him in for a kiss. John tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s curls and opens his mouth, pressing closer. He’s only half aware of backing Sherlock up the few steps against the wall, other hand slipping down Sherlock’s back--
Sherlock growls low and rolls his hips up against John’s hardening cock and John remembers that they’re in a very public area. John pulls away but can’t stop staring at the slick red of Sherlock’s lips. “Come on,” he hears himself saying, “Let’s go home.”
_____
Sherlock has his hand half down the front of John’s boxers when the cabbie says, “We’re almost there.”
John half-heartedly pushes at Sherlock’s wrist but Sherlock bites down on his collarbone and closes his hand around John’s cock anyway. John stifles a gasp as Sherlock starts to move, licking softly at the place where he had bitten John.
Sherlock puts a hand over John’s mouth and bends his head down to mouth the tip of John’s cock. John manages not to whimper and retaliates by tracing the lines in Sherlock’s palm with his tongue. The cabbie turns up the music.
John comes, breathing heavily against Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock swallows and laps at the slit of his oversensitive cock before pulling away and tucking John back in.
“I don’t know if I can give you a blowjob in the cab,” John whispers at Sherlock.
“That’s fine,” Sherlock says, “We’re here.” He gets out of the car and leaves John to pay.
“Sorry mate,” John says as he hands over a generous tip.
_____
John throws his bag onto a chair the moment that he enters the new flat. Sherlock tosses his coat aside and unzips his trousers, sliding them off and pushing himself up onto the table in the living room. He’s sitting on papers but they must not be important because he spreads his legs as John moves towards him, pulling his shirt off his shoulders. John kisses him first, running a thumb across his jaw line before pressing his lips to the side of Sherlock’s neck and bending down with his palms on Sherlock’s thighs. He touches his mouth to the cotton of Sherlock’s briefs and just breathes him in.
Sherlock’s hands sink into John’s hair and he lets out a shuddering breath.
John wets the fabric with his tongue, solid strokes up the length of Sherlock’s cock, spreading saliva. Sherlock’s legs spread even farther and he pushes his hips up towards John’s mouth, a low keen in his throat. There’s a dark spot on the fabric where Sherlock’s leaked pre-come all over himself. John laughs and presses his tongue against it, tasting Sherlock before closing his mouth around the head of Sherlock’s cock through the fabric, trapping it against his hip. Sherlock tugs at his hair, and his voice is unsteady. “John.”
“I’m going to make you come in your pants,” John promises with his mouth still against Sherlock’s cock. He tilts his head as he moves in again, sliding his hands so that his thumbs slip under the fabric and rub at the skin beneath Sherlock’s balls before smoothing down the sides of his arse.
Sherlock makes a short high pitched noise, hand flying out to steady himself and knocking an empty mug onto the ground. John grins and presses the heel of his hand to the base of Sherlock’s cock, tonguing the head through the fabric. Sherlock rocks into his mouth, breathing in sharply through his nose with one hand at the back of John’s head. His body tenses when he comes.
John pulls down the ruined briefs and cleans Sherlock off with his tongue. Sherlock shivers and pulls John up for a kiss.
“How did you make this much of a mess already?” John asks against Sherlock’s lips, his toe nudging against the fallen mug. Sherlock growls and shoves his tongue into John’s mouth in effort to shut him up. John laughs and pulls away. “Seriously though, you’ve moved in for barely a week.”
“You’re ruining the mood,” Sherlock complains and tilts his head as John licks a broad stripe down his neck.
“Why don’t we move to an actual bed?” John murmurs.
_____
John can’t go to sleep despite his exhaustion. The sun has already risen in Pakistan but it’s barely 2AM in London.
Everything in the room is unfamiliar: the shape of the windows, the rush of late night cabs driving past, the shadow of furniture against the white walls. The bed is too soft and far too large, even shared with Sherlock.
Sherlock is curled up on his side under the sheets and asleep. He has one leg thrown over John’s knees and his open mouth is pressed against John’s ribs so John feels the warmth of his steady exhale against his skin. John gently strokes his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Sherlock’s neck and looks at him in the dim light pollution that reflects off the clouds and in through the window. He looks at the slant of Sherlock’s cheekbones and the slope of his nose, the dark of his eyelashes against pale skin.
Five years. Five years with the screen of a computer between them. Five years without so much as a holiday or leave. Five years with only the low-resolution of Sherlock’s grainy smile to tide him through. He’d nearly forgotten the smell of Sherlock’s shampoo and the way he continually missed a patch at the back of his jaw while shaving. He’d nearly forgotten the sound of Sherlock’s voice rising in pitch when John pressed into him at just the right angle or the way he squeezed his eyes shut right before he came. Five years to make up for.
John traces mindless patterns against the back of Sherlock’s neck and thinks of a hundred promises that he desperately hopes he can keep.
_____
John must have fallen asleep at some point because he’s dragged back into awareness by a wet heat on his cock.
His hips roll up instinctively and Sherlock’s head pulls back--he hasn’t had enough practice to accommodate all of John just yet. His lubricated fingers slip along the base of John’s cock before he pulls off and slides his fingers across the head, squeezing lightly.
“You’re awake,” Sherlock says as he climbs up towards him, straddling him. John manages a groan in response. It turns into a hiss of pleasure as Sherlock mouths his jaw and reaches back to guide John into him in one fluid movement.
“How much do you think is left in there from last night?” Sherlock’s breath is hot against John’s ear as he rocks against John.
“You’re going to kill me,” John manages just before Sherlock lifts his arse and slides back down.
Sherlock laughs breathlessly and kisses him.
_____
“Don’t touch that,” Sherlock says when John moves toward the multiple piles of papers on the kitchen table.
“Not that either,” Sherlock orders when John turns towards the stack of textbooks on the kitchen counter.
“Is there anything I can touch?”
“Tea,” Sherlock says without taking his eyes from his laptop. He taps at the space bar twice before he adds, “Please.”
John finds the kettle in the cupboard and only one mug without a thick layer of dust at the bottom. He fills the kettle and rinses the cup before turning to look at the papers on the kitchen table.
“The application of quantum theory to algorithm development,” John reads off the top of the pile, “You never mentioned that you were published.”
Sherlock waves a hand. “Don’t read that one. It’s hopelessly outdated.” He types for a few more moments before adding, “Manuscript writing is tedious. I only publish when Mycroft starts complaining about my lack of activity. Completely unjustified, I might mention.”
John thumbs through the article but can barely understand the introductory sentence, much less the equations and flowcharts that follow. The kettle clicks and John puts the article down. “How do you want your tea?”
When John sets Sherlock’s tea next to his arm, he says, “You never fail to astound me, Sherlock,” and kisses the side of his head.
_____
John runs in the morning before Sherlock wakes up. The wet winter air is colder than any of the climates he’d experienced while deployed but he doesn’t wear more than a light jacket. He watches his breath fog in the glow of pre-dawn sunlight.
He finds himself on the City University campus, jogging across the gazebo in Northampton Square with his eyes on the wide building in front of him. The place is deserted and none of the lights are on. He remembers that it’s Christmas holidays.
John comes to a stop as he crosses the street and looks up at the building. His breathing evens out the longer he stands and he slowly becomes aware of the cold. He turns and keeps running.
_____
John sets up the small television that Sherlock had left sitting in its cardboard box while Sherlock commandeers the entire living room table for his multiple monitors--including a 36 inch screen perched dangerously close to the edge of the table.
“Sherlock,” John says after spending a few minutes untangling the cords Sherlock had thrown haphazardly into a box, “I really want to become a doctor.”
Sherlock looks at him but doesn’t say anything as he peels plastic off a monitor.
“I’ve got plenty saved up to support both of us and my sister on top of paying for tuition,” John says, “I thought maybe I could go to school.”
Sherlock smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You should do whatever you’d like.”
_____
He hears about it from the television. John makes coffee and scrambles eggs with the morning news playing solely for background noise. He’s ladling eggs onto two plates with the spatula and waiting for the toaster to pop when he hears the name “Mycroft Holmes” from the news anchor.
The toaster pops. John stares at the television.
Sherlock has his face in a pillow and he’s sprawled across John’s side of the bed when John enters. John shakes Sherlock’s shoulder until Sherlock turns his head towards John and squints up at him.
“Sherlock,” John says, “Your brother just became head of the SIS.”
_____
“My apologies for not having visited earlier,” Mycroft says as he sets his umbrella tip down on the floor and leans against it. Rainwater slides down and pools in the carpet. “I hope you’ve found this flat accommodating. Unfortunately the landlady resides in Florida so reimbursements for maintenance might be delayed.”
John emerges from the kitchen where he’d quickly set some water to boil. “It’s fine,” he says. He crosses his arms but manages a smile at Mycroft. “Congratulations on your new appointment.”
“Actually,” Mycroft says, “That’s partially what I’ve come to discuss today.”
Sherlock snorts but doesn’t look up from his laptop.
“I have a new opportunity for the both of you that I sincerely hope you will take.”
“Don’t,” Sherlock cuts in, “Don’t pretend you haven’t been grooming us for these roles for the last five years.”
Mycroft looks at him.
“What’s this about, then?” John asks.
“Change of personnel,” Sherlock says, “I’m his new Quartermaster. And you’re a new agent.”
“Agent,” John repeats, “What, like the MI6?”
“How long have you been planning this?” Sherlock asks as he rises to his feet, “The war in Afghanistan was a convenient way to make sure John got the field training, was it?”
“Yes, the MI6,” Mycroft says, looking at John.
“You’re kidding,” John says, “I’m not--I haven’t even been to university.”
“You’re less of an idiot than most people,” Sherlock says to John without taking his eyes off Mycroft.
Silence.
“Thank you?” John asks.
“I bet you knew when Vaughan had his first heart attack,” Sherlock says, “I bet you’ve been waiting for his heart to give out ever since.”
“That’s enough, Sherlock.”
“It’s convenient, timing the moment of John’s discharge with your sudden ascension up the bureaucratic ladder.”
Mycroft’s voice takes a new edge. “I said that’s enough, Sherlock.”
Sherlock exhales in a hiss between his teeth. The kettle clicks. John keeps looking at Mycroft.
“You can’t be serious,” John says.
“I am very serious,” Mycroft replies.
_____
Sherlock shuts off the shower as John brushes his teeth.
“Hand me the towel.”
John shoves the toothbrush into his mouth and pulls the towel from the rack to hand to Sherlock. The mirror steams up even more as Sherlock opens the shower curtains. The water glistens across Sherlock’s chest as he towels his hair and John doesn’t bother to look away.
“Enjoying the view?” Sherlock asks. John grins and turns to spit. He cups water in the palm of his hand to rinse out the foam.
Sherlock wraps the towel around himself. John opens the mirrored cabinet to get the mouthwash.
“So,” John says as he sets the mouthwash on the sink. “You knew when I told you I wanted to go back to school. About Mycroft.”
Sherlock presses himself against John’s back, damp skin against John’s soft shirt. His chin tucks against John’s shoulder. John feels the vibration of Sherlock’s voice as he says, “You can say no.”
John smiles at Sherlock in the slowly clearing mirror. “Just like I’ve said no every other time, right?”
Sherlock slides his fingers up the length of John’s neck, tilts John’s jaw back, and nips at his earlobe before growling, “I can think of other things for you to say.”
_____
“Languages?” the woman across from him asks as she types into the computer.
“English,” John says, and then adds, “I took a bit of French in secondary school.”
“Fluent?”
“Oh god no,” John says. The woman continues to type. John taps his fingers against his knees.
“Anything else?” she asks, looking at him from over the top of her glasses, “Anything you might have picked up on your deployment?”
“Some Urdu,” John says.
“Is that it?”
“Er,” John says, “One more. I can’t remember which one it was, Pashto or Punjabi.”
“You can’t remember,” the woman repeats.
“A tiny bit. Basic conversation at best. I’m better at listening than I am at speaking.”
“Alright,” she drawls and punches it in.
_____
In Pakistan, John had once been ordered to retrieve and detain a known terrorist who had been hiding in his home village in the Karakoram mountain range. They were a day and a half from Islamabad and barely had enough petrol for the return trip when his team of eight finally found the village tucked between two peaks, by the banks of a lake.
John remembers hearing the crunch of their tires against dirt, remembers the empty houses and dark fire pits. John remembers bursting into the target house with his gun drawn and shouting in English--remembers the fetid stench and the dark shapes on the floor. Shadows in his periphery. He looked down and felt the urge to be sick.
Half eaten bodies with their entrails pulled out. Someone fired a shot and there was the sudden yelp of a wild dog. John covered his nose and walked deeper into the house, gun drawn and his shouted demands muffled behind his hand.
There was a little girl with a pale blue ribbon in her hair and a bullet hole in her forehead. John memorized the shape of the blood spilled into the dusty floor behind her head with a single glance.
It looks like the inkblot the psychiatrist is showing him now.
“Wild dog,” he says steadily.
_____
John stares at the array of guns and starts to feel comfortable for the first time since he’d arrived in Hampshire that morning. This is something he actually knows. He gravitates towards a Browning and picks it up when the examiner enters the room. He drops it back onto the table.
“Military, are you?” the examiner asks.
“Yes, sir,” John says, resisting the urge to throw a salute.
“Pick it up then,” the examiner says as he clips a paper target onto the line. He puts a pair of earmuffs on and gives John the thumbs up sign.
John picks up the gun again. It’s a touch heavier than the standard issue he had carried for years but the grip is familiar in his hands. He lifts it and looks down the sight.
The first shot hits the white over the target’s left shoulder. John readjusts his grip and looks down the sight again. He compensates for the list of the gun and shoots again.
The second shot hits the target’s forehead. The third shot hits the heart.
_____
John leans his head against the back of the bath and tries to relax. His closes his eyes and breathes in steam.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep but he jolts back into alertness when the bathroom door opens. Sherlock steps in and closes the door behind him.
“You could knock,” John points out.
“Dull,” Sherlock says and unbuttons his shirt. John keeps his eyes on Sherlock’s hand as Sherlock nears the bath.
“Are you joining me?”
“In a moment,” Sherlock says. He slips the shirt off his shoulders and lets it drop from his fingertips onto the plush mat. He pulls off his socks and drops them onto the floor too.
“Come here,” John says. Sherlock tilts his head but obliges. John unbuckles Sherlock’s belt and pulls it from the loops. It looks absurdly expensive so John tosses it a bit farther from the side of the bath. He unzips Sherlock’s trousers, smoothing the palm of his hand along Sherlock’s cock before tugging the trousers down. He’s leaving wet handprints on everything.
John looks up at Sherlock’s face. Sherlock’s lips are parted and he’s staring at John.
John hooks his fingers beneath the top of Sherlock’s briefs and slides them slowly down his thighs. He brushes the head of Sherlock’s cock with the inside of his pinkie, follows a vein with the pad of his thumb. Sherlock lets out a shivering breath.
John smiles and pulls his hand away. He leans back as Sherlock steps out of his underwear and into the bath. Sherlock settles in front of him, folding his long legs. He leans back against John, curls against the crook of John’s neck. The bath is hard against John’s back but it’ll be a while before the discomfort will force him to move.
“Tired?” John asks as Sherlock closes his eyes.
“Of idiots,” Sherlock mumbles. John smoothes his hands down Sherlock’s sides beneath the water before he starts to trace each individual rib. He traces his thumb in a circle around Sherlock’s belly button and drops a kiss into Sherlock’s hair, loosely linking his hands over Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock puts his hands on top of John’s and strokes the inside of John’s thumb with a finger.
When the water is cool instead of lukewarm, John pulls his hands out from under Sherlock’s and pushes at his hips. Sherlock obligingly sits up and John fits himself to Sherlock’s back. He puts his mouth on the damp skin at the corner of Sherlock’s neck and slides his hand down Sherlock’s stomach raking his nails lightly through the nest of pubic hair before fisting his hand around Sherlock’s cock. He presses teeth against the skin of Sherlock’s shoulder as he starts to move.
Sherlock breath hitches and his hips roll towards John’s hand when John tightens his fist. John presses his mouth to Sherlock’s neck, right below the ear. Sherlock turns toward John, his panting breaths hot against the top of John’s head as he squirms. John can feel him tensing with a choked whine and he sucks hard on Sherlock’s skin just as Sherlock comes.
He works Sherlock down with a soft slide of his tongue and a kiss against his ear. Sherlock’s breathing slowly returns to normal.
“No clean up,” John mumbles against Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock laughs and pulls away to haul himself out of the bath. John lets the water drain. His toes are wrinkly.
He steps up behind Sherlock who is towelling himself dry and looking in the mirror. He kisses Sherlock’s spine and wraps the other towel around himself.
“This is going to bruise,” Sherlock says, tapping the side of his neck. He meets John’s eyes in the mirror and smiles. “Good.”
_____
“I’m leaving for London tonight,” Sherlock says when they meet up for lunch in between dragging lectures on the proper procedure on diffusing hostile situations. Sherlock’s in a room on the other side of the training facility. He sets half of his saran wrapped sandwich on a massive binder of radio frequency protocols and crams the other half in his mouth.
“I thought Mycroft booked us at the hotel through next Thursday?”
“The imbeciles here could hardly teach me anything I don’t already know,” Sherlock says, “Mycroft wants me back early to set up my workstation.”
John feels a little pathetic for how disappointed he feels. “So I won’t see you until next week then?”
“One week, five years,” Sherlock says as he steals John’s bag of crisps, “I think we’ve had plenty of practice.” He smirks as he opens the bag. “Pity you didn’t bring your laptop. We could have Skyped.”
John rolls his eyes and shoves his hand into the bag to get at the crisps before Sherlock can. “Yeah, I’ll miss you too, you idiot.”
_____
The documentation for reporting field missions is exactly like every after-action report he'd ever submitted to his superiors. He spends most of the lecture staring blankly at the PowerPoint slides the presenter continuously refers to. He wonders how he’s going to explain to Harry that he’s switched from one dangerous job to another.
Mycroft promised to provide for her until she graduated university and found a suitable career, but financial stability and family are far from the same thing. If John died, Harry would have no one left.
_____
The night before John had shipped off to Afghanistan for his first tour of duty, he and Sherlock had spent the night with their foreheads pressed together. Sherlock’s fingertips left bruises on the back of John’s neck as he whispered the same words again and again: “You have to die after me, you have to die after me.”
Sherlock wouldn’t let go of his hand until they reached the end of the security line. The security guard asked three times if Sherlock had a boarding pass before Sherlock finally stepped back to let John go ahead.
_____
During the day, he thinks about his deployments while they run through textbook scenarios. He effortlessly outscores his fellow trainees at target practice and physical training. One instructor pulls him aside to tell him that he has real potential and that he could recommend him to a good team. When John tells him his name, the instructor’s smile slips away and he says, “One of M’s new men, are you?” John doesn’t know how to respond so he doesn’t answer.
At night, the hotel bed feels empty without Sherlock curled up against him. John lies on his back and stares up at the dark ceiling. Three weeks to break John’s five years of celibacy and John is already craving Sherlock’s hungry stare and soft skin. He already misses pressing so closely to Sherlock that he feels like he’s going to crawl into Sherlock’s heartbeat and settle there forever.
_____
He visits Vauxhall for the first time two hours after arriving back in London by cab. Mycroft greets him at the front doors and hands him an ID. They’ve used one of his military photographs--his cheeks are sunburned and he’s wearing camouflage that isn’t visible in the frame of the shot.
“Temporary until we get you properly situated,” Mycroft says as John takes it.
“Couldn’t have a minion hand this off?” John asks, clipping it to the pocket of his suit.
“I need your help actually,” Mycroft admits.
“Well then,” John says, “Lead the way to Sherlock.”
_____
“Should have known better than to give him unfettered access to SIS files,” John says as they walk down the hall, “Tell me he’s at least had something to eat since he’s arrived.”
“I wouldn’t say coffee counts,” Mycroft replies, pausing to sign a form that an agent thrusts in front of him. “We’ve tried to keep him away. My brother seems to have acquired the skill of picking conventional locks at the same time he learned how to write security software.”
“So much for your fingerprint scanning technology,” John says, grinning.
“Make him go home, John,” Mycroft says.
John looks at him. There are more lines on his face than John remembers from years ago. His hair is going prematurely grey at the temples.
Mycroft sighs. “Make him eat something. Make him sleep.”
_____
John knocks on the office door. Someone shouts, “Go away!” from behind the door but John opens it anyway.
“Mycroft says you’ve been in here for ages,” John says and wrinkles his nose at the smell, “Jesus Sherlock, when was the last time you had a shower?”
“Busy,” Sherlock says at a more reasonable volume this time, “Go away.”
“How many of these have you been drinking?” John asks as he starts pushing the various drained cans of energy drink and half empty foam coffee cups into one corner of the desk. “Do we have to have a talk about how caffeine is not a suitable substitute for real food?”
“Okay,” Sherlock says and doesn’t stop typing.
“And you’re not even listening,” John says as he pours all the cold coffee into one cup and tosses the extra cups into the bin.
“Okay,” Sherlock repeats, peering up at the screen to his left.
“I’m going to unplug everything,” John announces.
“I’m working on a laptop,” Sherlock replies.
“Can’t you work on it at home?”
“No reason,” Sherlock says, “John isn’t home.”
He stops typing. And actually looks up at John.
“Well then,” John says.
_____
Sherlock slams John into the wall the moment they get to the flat and kisses him. John runs his hands up Sherlock’s back and tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s hair when Sherlock suddenly pulls away and says, “I need a laptop.”
John lets the back of his head hit the door as Sherlock bounds up the stairs. “And a shower,” he calls after Sherlock.
_____
John finds the circuit breaker in the basement and refuses to turn the electricity back on until Sherlock has showered. Sherlock gets as far as to wrapping a towel around himself and drips on the wooden chair as he types at his laptop without putting any clothes on.
John sets a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich next to Sherlock’s hand. He looks down at Sherlock. “Aren’t you cold?”
Sherlock reaches for the tea. John moves the sandwich plate up so that it blocks Sherlock’s way. Sherlock scowls at him but picks up the sandwich. John watches him put it in his mouth and chew before setting the plate down and heading to the bedroom.
“Here,” he says as he returns and tosses Sherlock’s bathrobe at him. Sherlock makes no attempt at catching it so it falls to the floor. John throws the briefs at his head where it bounces off and drops onto Sherlock’s shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous,” John tells him as he turns to unpack in the bedroom. “I’m not going to take you to hospital if you die of pneumonia.”
_____
Sherlock scowls at the security guard who tells him to put his laptop through the x-ray machine but sets his bag on the conveyor belt anyway. John puts his keys and belt into a plastic container and steps through the metal detector.
“Q,” someone calls as Sherlock collects his laptop. Sherlock straightens. A dark haired man with a smile approaches them near the lift.
“Nine,” Sherlock acknowledges.
“And you must be Seven,” the man says to John. He holds out a hand for John to shake. Seven?
“Yes,” Sherlock says before John can answer. The man’s grip is harder than John expected from his soft voice.
“We might be seeing more of each other, Seven,” Nine says, “We might even be going on missions together.”
“I can’t wait,” John says, attempting a smile. Nine smiles slowly before he lets go of John’s hand.
“I’ll drop by in your office later, Q,” Nine says and gets into a lift going down, “Pleasure meeting you, Seven.”
The door slides shut.
“Senior field agent,” Sherlock says, “He’s interesting. Smarter than the rest of these imbeciles anyway.”
“Don’t let the rest of us imbeciles hear you.”
Sherlock just looks at him as a lift going up arrives. A few people exit, including a woman who looks at him and asks, “John?”
“Yeah,” John says.
The woman turns towards Sherlock, “I trust you know how to get to your office?”
Sherlock doesn’t dignify her question with a response, just steps into the lift. The woman looks back at John, “I’m supposed to take you to M for a brief orientation.”
“Great,” John says, following her onto the lift, “Lead the way.”
_____
Mycroft slides a folder towards John. “I thought I’d put you back in familiar territory.”
John picks the folder up but doesn’t open it. “Pakistan?”
“Not a city you’ve already visited. You and Nine are going in together. He’s done this many times before. He’ll mentor you through your first mission at least.”
“Okay,” John says, thinking back to the man’s unsettling smile.
“John,” Mycroft says. He looks at the closed office door and then at the window. He unplugs the phone on his desk and gestures for John to sit. John lowers himself into a chair.
“Sherlock was right,” Mycroft says, “I encouraged you to join the army because I knew I wanted both you and Sherlock to join me here one day.”
John sets his arms on the armrests and looks out the window, licking his lips. He looks back at Mycroft, shaking his head minutely.
“I don’t deny that I’m an ambitious man, John,” Mycroft continues, “But in this case it was an issue of national security rather than my own self interest.”
“Great,” John says, setting the folder back on Mycroft’s desk and leaning forward, “I can’t wait to hear your justification.”
“Seven years I discovered an interesting discrepancy between reports available in the SIS archives and reports sent overseas decades ago as part of CIA liaisons with the United States. Five months after that, I noticed a pattern in the level of terror activity in certain geographic areas correlating with files that had been wiped from the SIS servers.”
“And you didn’t bring this up with the previous head?”
“Oh, I did,” Mycroft says, folding his hands on the desk, “He did nothing about it.”
“He’s gone now,” John says, “But you think there’s still a security leak.”
“I know there’s still a security leak.”
John looks down at the folder. He doesn’t know if he’s completely unsurprised or just can’t muster up the energy to be surprised.
“I only have two agents I know I can trust.”
“Okay,” John says, looking up at Mycroft. “Well then. I’m sure you have suspects.”
“I’m not certain,” Mycroft says, “I certainly have a shortlist. But until we can narrow it down, consider everyone a suspect. In a few weeks we can reconvene with Sherlock and see if we all come up with the same names.”
“This is more than I signed up for,” John says, “Bloody hell, I didn’t even sign up for this.”
“I know I’m asking for a lot.”
“Just so we’re clear.” John keeps his eyes locked with Mycroft’s. “You’re asking me to spy on people ten or twenty years my senior. Not even people. MI6 agents. Who are also spies.”
“They won’t take you as seriously as I do. If anything goes wrong, I’ll pull you immediately.”
John laughs, once.
Mycroft leans forward. “But nothing will go wrong. I’ll make sure of it, John.”
_____
Nine meets him in the conference room to go over their upcoming mission in Karachi. There’s also a pair of intelligence officers fiddling with a laptop and projecting a map of the region onto the screen at the front of the room.
“Am I late?” John asks as he closes the door.
“Not at all,” Nine says, smiling at him. He kicks out a chair on the other side of the table from him. “Please.”
John takes a seat and looks at the map. One of the intelligence officers clears his throat. He nods at Nine. “Nine.”
Nine nods and they both look at John. “You must be the new guy,” the officer says, “Seven?”
“Yeah.” John scoots closer to the table, opening the folder that Mycroft had given him earlier.
“I worked with your predecessor,” the officer says, “Good man.”
John smiles. He wishes they would look somewhere else.
“Right so,” the officer looks up at the screen, “Karachi. Standard round of checking in with the local recruits. We’re headquartered in the US consulate general.” He circles flags on the map with a laser pointer as he speaks. “We’ve got a few recruits in North Karachi and several in DHA housing. Just dropping in to see if they have anything new to tell us, then we’re out again. Pretty easy and straightforward.” He looks from John to Nine before adding, “Nine’s done this a fair number of times so you two shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“But there’s always the danger of something unexpected happening,” Nine says.
“Which is why we have contingency plans,” the officer says and sets a tablet PC down in front of John.
_____
“Wild animal attack,” John says as he flips to the next page of the document with a swipe of his finger, “Are there a lot of bears in Karachi then?”
“Urban wild dogs run in packs,” Sherlock says as he crawls into bed and nudges his head under John’s arm. “Better read it.” He peers at the page that John’s reading. John’s put the text on its largest size but his eyes still feel dried out as he commits line after line to some form of hazy memory.
Sherlock presses his nose against John’s chest and John sets his chin in Sherlock’s hair. After a few moments, Sherlock says, “Next page.”
“I’m not done reading this page.”
“You read at an abysmal pace.”
“Shut up, Sherlock,” John says and spends another minute on the page solely to annoy him. Sherlock moves his arm across John’s stomach and shifts so that he’s half sprawled across John. John lifts the tablet so that Sherlock’s giant head isn’t blocking it.
“What if I can’t breathe?” John asks but he doesn’t have any real intention of telling Sherlock to move.
Sherlock tightens his hold on John and his voice is muffled against John’s shirt when he speaks. “You can breathe fine.” John drops one hand into his hair and turns the pages with a swipe of his thumb.
Eventually Sherlock’s breathing slows down and evens out. John keeps stroking Sherlock’s hair and reads on.
_____
“Gun,” Sherlock says, holding out John’s preferred Browning. “It’s programmed to recognize only your palm to shoot so it’s expensive. Don’t be idiotic enough to lose it or it’s coming out of your pay for the next five years.”
John grins and slips out the magazine to check the ammunition before clicking it back into place. He holsters it at the small of his back.
“Radio,” Sherlock says, holding up a tiny metal box. “Click it on and it’ll transmit your location. Battery lasts for three days.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t get into a situation where you have to use it.”
“He’ll be with me the entire time,” Nine says, stepping over as he holsters his own gun. “I wouldn’t worry at all.” He smiles at Sherlock. “I’m very good.”
A woman steps into the doorway. “Agents, your transport is ready.”
John looks at Sherlock. He wants to hug him, press his face into his neck, kiss him goodbye. Instead he takes the radio and lets his fingertips brush against the palm of Sherlock’s hand. It has to be enough.
“I’ll see you in a couple days,” John says.
_____
“So you and the quartermaster,” Nine says when they’re flying over continental Europe in the military jet. He has to shout a little over the whine of the engine. “I’m assuming you’re involved?”
“We’re close,” John says back and can’t bring himself to finish the sentence with the word friends. He’s glad that they’re the only two people in the compartment.
“How did you two meet?”
“School,” John answers, “Secondary school.”
“Not many people stay in touch for that long,” Nine says, “You must be very close.”
John nods.
Nine smiles at him.
_____
It’s warm and humid when they step off the plan at Jinnah International--a vast change from February in London. The drizzling rain never evolves into full drops as he and Nine make their way across the airfield and into the building.
“We’ll go out the front,” Nine says, “Catch a cab to the consulate.”
Most of the signs are in both Urdu and English and he recognizes some of the words. He’s always considered England as his home but the smell of cumin and turmeric sweeps him straight back into the last four years. He hasn’t had a decent chaat in ages.
Maybe he’ll bring Sherlock here one day. Show him that it wasn’t bad at all.
_____
They meet the first man in a busy marketplace. John sees him before Nine does and touches Nine’s arm to get his attention. They both watch the man look around the crowd before hurrying away in the opposite direction. Nine glances back at John before he starts threading his way through the crowd. John loses track of the man once or twice but Nine moves forward with confidence.
They wind up in an alleyway lit only by the glow of the overcast sky in the tiny space between the two buildings. Clotheslines hang from balcony to balcony, soft music playing from an open window. Nine scans down the side of each building before saying, “This way,” and ducking into one of the open doors. He swipes his palm against the wall and John realizes that they’re following chalk marks.
They go up the stairs and Nine swipes his hand against the wall every so often. On the third floor, there’s a chalk mark next to a door. Nine rubs it away and knocks.
The man opens it. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead but he smiles. “Come in,” he says in Urdu and peers around the edge of the door.
“No one followed us,” Nine assures him. The man smiles nervously and steps back. Both John and Nine take off their shoes before entering. Nine crosses the room and flicks back the curtain to look at the alleyway.
“Better than what I had last time, isn’t it?” the man says, “I’d offer you tea but I hope you won’t be here for very long. I hope you can forgive my rudeness.”
“Understandable,” Nine says and gestures to John. “This is my colleague, Seven. You might be reporting to him in the future.”
John inclines his head and smiles. The man smiles back, but only for a moment before he turns to Nine.
“There’s a shipment of explosives headed for Muscat in two days. I don’t know for sure but I think it came from Russia.”
“Uranium?” Nine asks.
“I think so.”
“Have you checked?”
The man laughs. “They won’t let me near the cargo any more.” He glances at John again as he says, “And there’s one more thing.”
They wait for the man to go on. But he looks between Nine and John before finally settling on John and saying, “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust him yet.”
“He’s with me,” Nine says.
“I know,” the man says, “I’m sorry but I’m not going to talk in front of him.”
Nine keeps his eyes on the man but he says, “If you could step outside for a moment, Seven.”
John collects his shoes and closes the door after him. He presses his ear to the door but they’re speaking too quietly for him to hear anything. John looks up the hallway and down the stairs. Someone is playing music loudly in one of the flats.
The door opens a few minutes later. Nine steps out and nods. They leave.
_____
“It’s going to be hard at first,” Nine says after they’ve reconnected with three local recruits and relayed the information back to Vauxhall. “They won’t trust you until they know you’re actually who you say you are.”
He’s peeling an apple with a knife on a couch in the US General Consulate. John sits at the table and types up the after action reports.
“So much of this job is about trust,” Nine says and finishes peeling the apple in one long strand of skin. He looks up at John as he flicks the knife shut and smiles.
_____
They’re sitting in the lobby waiting for a domestic plane back to London when Nine says, “Not as glamorous as you expected, was it?”
John looks at him. Nine brushes his hands down his suit jacket and puts the ankle of his right foot on his left knee. He smiles at John. “Not quite the same as the movies make it out to be.”
“Haven’t had time for movies in a while,” John says.
A woman speaks over the intercom. John can’t tell what she’s saying through the heavy dialect and static. He doesn’t look away from Nine.
“You’re interesting,” Nine says, “Surely you didn’t have to devote your life to becoming an MI6 agent to catch Q’s eye?”
John knows that it’s foolish but it doesn’t stop him from saying, “Who says I had to join the MI6 to do it?”
“So you are involved,” Nine says and puts a hand over his mouth. His eyes crinkle at the edges as he speaks from behind his fingers. “I have a bit of a reputation for being a bit nosy. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
John looks at the airfield through the window. A plane is landing.
“Was he your first?” Nine asks after a moment.
John shoots him a sharp look. “That’s rather personal.”
“Sorry,” Nine says and falls silent again.
_____
It isn’t until much later, when they’re about to land in London that Nine brings it up again.
“Look,” he says, apropos of nothing, “You might not want to hear it but I feel obligated to tell you. I was in a long-term relationship with someone like Q once. We’d known each other for years. He was a bit abrasive but certainly a proper genius. It didn’t end well.”
John turns his head from where he’d been staring at the blinking red lights on the wingtips of the plane.
“He got bored of me,” Nine says, “Found him cheating on me barely a week from our two year anniversary.”
John looks at the pocket of the seat in front of him.
“I’m not saying that it’s definitely going to happen,” Nine continues, “I don’t know how long you two have been together. It’s just that you have a lot of potential as an agent and I thought you deserved the warning at least.”
“Thanks,” John says, even though he doesn’t mean it at all.
_____
“Are you going to do this every time?” John demands as he throws away the empty cans of energy drink and tries to rearrange the warzone that has become Sherlock’s desk. Sherlock takes his time in exiting each program, pausing to scroll up through lines of unfathomable equations before they’re finally all gone.
“Home?” Sherlock asks and pulls on his coat. John ties his scarf for him.
_____
“Shower first,” John says when they get back to their flat, which is why he’s sucking Sherlock’s cock with the shower water beating down on him. Sherlock has his head tilted back against the tile, mouth open with the water sluicing down his chest. John breathes slowly through his nose in effort not to inhale too much water and starts to move with one hand fisted at the base of Sherlock’s cock.
He tries to take as much of it as he can but he chokes before he can get very far. He pulls back with his saliva mixing in with the shower water and breathes in through his mouth before trying again. He’ll have to work on his gag reflex.
Sherlock pushes his fingers through John’s hair and murmurs something encouraging that John can’t make out over the ring of the water. John presses his tongue against the head, his cheeks hollowing with the effort of sucking and Sherlock’s hips jerk.
Later, Sherlock gives John a handjob while he stands at the kitchen stove but they manage to salvage dinner.
_____
John goes through the mess on the kitchen table and starts binning old adverts and newspapers when he sees the post-it stuck on the back of an envelope. John pulls it off and reads it as he wanders into the living room.
“Did Harry call?”
Sherlock plucks at his violin, sprawled out on the couch. He plucks another few notes before John prompts, “Sherlock?”
“You were in Karachi. She wants to visit this weekend.”
“Is that okay?”
Sherlock plays another two notes. And then he says, “I don’t mind.”
“I’ll call her back then,” John says as he crumples up the post-it.
to part two
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 25,607
Characters/Pairing: John/Sherlock
Summary: When John is recruited into the MI6 to track down a security leak, he didn’t expect it to get this out of hand. At least he has Sherlock Holmes. Skyfall fusion. Sequel to us against.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
Author's Note: Normally I like writing fics in the same verse that can be read alone, but in this case, it would probably be a good idea to read us against first to understand this fic. The Sherlock and John in this fic are around 24-25 years old. This fic was partially inspired by and borrows shamelessly from Skyfall. I feel like I should apologize for the copious amounts of sex but I'm probably not going to. I'm forever grateful to Helen for her suggestions and Britpicking advice which made this fic a million times better. This fic would literally not exist if not for Julia who patiently endured my endless whining and singlehandedly cheerleaded my lazy muse on to the end. <333
PROLOGUE
Sherlock slams the doors of Mycroft's office open.
Mycroft barely looks up from his paperwork as he says, “Close the doors, Sherlock.”
“You can't,” Sherlock snarls as he strides forward. Mycroft's assistant shuts the door.
“I can,” Mycroft says, putting his pen down, “And I have. It's not time for him to come home yet.”
“I'll kill you,” Sherlock says putting his palms face down on Mycroft's desk and leaning over him, “I'll kill you and I'll hack into your email and steal your access and I'll order him home.”
Mycroft studies his face. “Careful dear brother,” he murmurs, “Those words could get you arrested around here.”
Sherlock hisses a breath between his teeth.
“Do stop with the dramatics,” Mycroft says as he looks back down at his paperwork, “Go back to your studies. I've heard from Professor Chen that you're working on your own advanced algorithm theory now?”
Sherlock kicks over one of the two chairs in front of his desk.
“We're going to have to do something about your temper,” Mycroft says.
“He's going to die out there,” Sherlock shouts, “And you don't even care!”
“He's not going to die,” Mycroft says as he gets to his feet, “You will pick that chair up, right now.”
Sherlock glares at him, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“He won't die,” Mycroft repeats, “He's far too valuable for that to happen. This I promise you.”
Sherlock slowly bends down to right the chair.
“Thank you,” Mycroft says.
Sherlock works hard to control his breathing. He stares at Mycroft.
“I know how much you miss him.”
Sherlock looks away, out the window. Then he turns to leave.
“Sherlock,” Mycroft says. Sherlock opens the door.
“Remember your promise to me,” Mycroft says.
Sherlock's gone.
_____
“Oi, Sergeant Watson!”
John turns the sound of his name. The postmaster leans over the counter, grinning. “Thought that was you. Got a package.”
John wants nothing more than a hot shower and to crawl into a real bed so he can pass the fuck out. But he manages a smile and steps up to the counter anyway.
“Here you are mate,” the man says, stacking a box and two envelopes on the counter. John hefts it into his arms.
“Books from your boyfriend again?”
“Looks like it,” John says and leaves before he can get dragged into a conversation.
_____
John lies down on his bunk without opening any of his mail. The exhaustion of the past two weeks catches up with him and he falls asleep without taking his shoes off.
_____
Someone shakes his shoulder. John mumbles something into his pillow and rolls toward the wall.
Someone shakes his shoulder more insistently.
“Fine,” John says and pushes himself up, “What is it?”
“Phone call for you.”
_____
John stares down at the letter. It’s typed--John figures he’s never going to be important enough to warrant a personally handwritten letter from Mycroft.
“Don’t do it.” Sherlock’s voice sounds different over the satellite phone, static interference pitching his voice even lower. John misses him desperately.
“I can’t do that,” John says.
“Come home,” Sherlock insists, “We can deal with Mycroft.”
John smiles sadly even though he knows Sherlock can’t see him. “You know I can’t do that.”
_____
Harry still writes him once in a while. Mycroft helped her apply to university. She’s going to have the life that John’s never had the chance to have. She writes about her classes and the people she’s met. She never writes about any of the boys she’s met and skirts around the descriptions of her close girlfriends until John writes, You know, Sherlock and I are together, right?. She writes back, I’m pretty sure I like girls, and John wishes he could have been there in person to pull her into a hug.
_____
“What the hell are you going to do with that?”
John cracks the textbook open with a good-humoured, “Shut up Marsh.”
“You know you’re just going to fall asleep on that book in about two minutes.”
“Nah,” Brooks pipes in as he disassembles his rifle, “I’ll give sergeant nerd there thirty seconds tops.”
“You going to read to us, sir?” Marsh grins as he plonks his arse down in front of John’s bunk, crossing his legs and dropping his chin into his hand.
“You wouldn’t understand a bloody word, Marsh.”
“Oh, high and mighty now, is he?” Marsh looks around at Brooks who just grins back.
“Well I sure as hell can’t fall asleep with your incessant whining.”
“You love my voice,” Marsh says, “Oooooh John, yeah, do me harder.”
“Does your boyfriend sound like that?” Brooks asks as he cleans his gun.
“Fuck off.” John kicks at Marsh’s leg. “You don’t even know how to suck dick properly.”
“I could learn,” Marsh says, leaning forward and putting a hand on John’s knee. John laughs.
“You could punish me,” Marsh continues and bats his eyelashes, “For insubordination.”
“Think your fiancée might have an issue or two with that,” John says as he tilts the textbook up.
Marsh flops onto the ground with his head on Brooks’s boots. “I’m going to sleep for a million years.”
“Can’t,” Brooks says, “We’re pulled for perimeter outpost again.”
“Who the fuck up at command thinks it’s okay to pull us three times in a row?” Marsh growls as he covers his eyes with his forearm. “Let one of the other companies have a go.”
The three of them lapse into silence. John tries to read the first page of the biology textbook Sherlock sent him but Marsh is right. He just wants to sleep.
“Hey sergeant,” Marsh says, lifting his arm and squinting up at the fluorescent light. “Is it true you’re deploying again after this tour?”
John shuts the book. Who’s he kidding? He’s not going to get any fucking reading done.
“Why?” Marsh asks.
“Figure I can do more out here than at home.”
Brooks snorts. Marsh declares, “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ve seen you holed up in this room when we’re off duty,” Marsh continues with his eyes closed, “Going through those fucking textbooks.”
John drops the text into the locker at the foot of his bed.
“You know what I think?”
“God forbid,” John says.
“I think you want to be a doctor,” Marsh continues. He sits up and looks at John.
“So why don’t you do it?”
_____
By mid-afternoon, the sheets that Sherlock dragged out of bed with him that morning have been long forgotten. Sherlock types furiously on his laptop as he crouches on the chair, fuelled only by the two nicotine patches on his forearm and the sharp focus of anger.
The sun is setting by the time the doorbell rings. Sherlock doesn’t budge from his chair and continues to type. Footsteps sound on the stairs but Sherlock doesn’t pay attention.
“For god’s sake Sherlock, put on some clothes,” Mycroft says.
Sherlock doesn’t look up.
Mycroft leans down next to the table and unplugs the router from the wall. He unplugs the cord from the router and tucks the router into his pocket. It takes Sherlock nearly two minutes to realize he’s no longer connected to the internet.
“What the hell?” he snarls.
“I received an interesting phone call from the Pentagon this afternoon,” Mycroft says.
“It took them that long?” Sherlock gets off the chair and tries to reach into Mycroft’s pocket but Mycroft sidesteps him. “Group of incompetent morons.”
“I know you have pants, Sherlock.”
“Give me back my router,” Sherlock demands, grabbing hold of Mycroft’s coat.
“I know you’re angry at me,” Mycroft says, “But taking it out on a third party is inexcusable.”
“Should I have hacked into the SIS mainframe instead? Rerouted trains on the Underground? Wipe the NHS records?”
“Sherlock,” Mycroft says quietly, “You realize the reason why John cannot come home.”
“Because you’re loathsome,” Sherlock hisses, digging his nails into the fabric of Mycroft’s coat.
“Because you’re not ready, Sherlock,” Mycroft says, “And until you really apply yourself, John will not be coming home.”
_____
“Sergeant Watson,” Captain Pace calls out while John’s in the middle of checking the oil pressure gauge of his vehicle. “A word in private, please?”
John wipes his hands on a rag and draws his head out from behind the bonnet. Captain Pace stands away from the grouped humvees.
“Sir?” John asks as he approaches.
“A congratulations is in order, I think,” Captain Pace says as he holds out an envelope, “New insignia.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Queen’s commission,” Captain Pace says, “Second Lieutenant Watson.” He claps John on the shoulder and turns to walk away.
“Sir,” John says, stepping forward, “Where am I being transferred to?”
Captain Pace stops and turns slightly. “Thought I’d give you a moment to celebrate before I gave you the other news.”
John takes another step forward. His oily fingers smudge across the manilla envelope.
“Pakistan,” the captain says.
_____
INTERIM
Sherlock drinks tea in the morning and writes a protocol to descramble signals from Japanese spy satellites orbiting over Israel before dinnertime. It’s not that anyone particularly needs the information--it’s more that Sherlock wants to see if he can do it.
_____
John calls for an airstrike for the first time. He watches the bombs hit closer and closer to the line of trucks silhouetted on the horizon--a miniature series of sunsets on the wrong side of these parched hills.
His platoon is cheering. “Take that you fuckers!” one of them yells.
John shields his eyes against the light of the explosions.
_____
“Have you slept?” Mycroft demands as lifts the blanket in Sherlock’s chair with his umbrella. He turns his head to look at Sherlock who’s still in the midst of flicking something from the bottom of a 96-well plate.
The blanket slides from the end of Mycroft’s umbrella and drops back onto the chair. “When you wanted access to lab facilities, this is not what I had in mind.”
“Computers are dull,” Sherlock announces, “I’m making a new computer. Why not use the system that has housed the most complex processes yet?”
“Have you eaten anything in the past 48 hours?” Mycroft asks.
“Cells!” Sherlock says, “And as soon as I design them properly, i won’t even need to prod them into self replicating correctly.”
“Food, Sherlock,” Mycroft says, “Have you had any?”
Sherlock puts his headphones back into his ears and turns up his music. Mycroft sighs.
_____
John looks across the tops of the ruined buildings with his gun slung across his shoulder. The moonlight illuminates the jagged rocks of the foothills around them and the fleet of military vehicles parked at the edge of the village. No tracer fire tonight. Sweet silence.
In five minutes he’ll be back downstairs going over protocol to establish a new outpost and picking the best routes for a supply line. They’re low on petrol and can’t rely on air support forever. But for now, John sits on the crumbled wall of the roof and imagines himself seven thousand miles away. He rubs at the corner of the last letter the supply lines had managed to deliver. He misses the feel of Sherlock’s hand in his.
“Captain Watson?”
John gets to his feet and turns.
“They’re waiting for you.”
“Right,” John says and manages a smile.
_____
PRESENT DAY
London Heathrow is packed. John should have known better than to schedule his flight home right before Christmas but the constant press and bustle of civilians is a small price to pay to see Sherlock standing in the arrivals hall with his hands in his pockets. John swears he feels his heart leap into his throat.
“Hi,” Sherlock says when John drops his bag, still staring. He’s smiling at John and he doesn’t looks away.
“God,” John says and drags Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock smells like winter wind and smoke, like the stupidly expensive shampoo that he’s used since he was a teenager. John wills himself not to cry. Sherlock laughs against his neck and won’t let go.
“I missed you,” John says against the fabric of Sherlock’s scarf. Sherlock finally lets him go--only to pull him in for a kiss. John tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s curls and opens his mouth, pressing closer. He’s only half aware of backing Sherlock up the few steps against the wall, other hand slipping down Sherlock’s back--
Sherlock growls low and rolls his hips up against John’s hardening cock and John remembers that they’re in a very public area. John pulls away but can’t stop staring at the slick red of Sherlock’s lips. “Come on,” he hears himself saying, “Let’s go home.”
_____
Sherlock has his hand half down the front of John’s boxers when the cabbie says, “We’re almost there.”
John half-heartedly pushes at Sherlock’s wrist but Sherlock bites down on his collarbone and closes his hand around John’s cock anyway. John stifles a gasp as Sherlock starts to move, licking softly at the place where he had bitten John.
Sherlock puts a hand over John’s mouth and bends his head down to mouth the tip of John’s cock. John manages not to whimper and retaliates by tracing the lines in Sherlock’s palm with his tongue. The cabbie turns up the music.
John comes, breathing heavily against Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock swallows and laps at the slit of his oversensitive cock before pulling away and tucking John back in.
“I don’t know if I can give you a blowjob in the cab,” John whispers at Sherlock.
“That’s fine,” Sherlock says, “We’re here.” He gets out of the car and leaves John to pay.
“Sorry mate,” John says as he hands over a generous tip.
_____
John throws his bag onto a chair the moment that he enters the new flat. Sherlock tosses his coat aside and unzips his trousers, sliding them off and pushing himself up onto the table in the living room. He’s sitting on papers but they must not be important because he spreads his legs as John moves towards him, pulling his shirt off his shoulders. John kisses him first, running a thumb across his jaw line before pressing his lips to the side of Sherlock’s neck and bending down with his palms on Sherlock’s thighs. He touches his mouth to the cotton of Sherlock’s briefs and just breathes him in.
Sherlock’s hands sink into John’s hair and he lets out a shuddering breath.
John wets the fabric with his tongue, solid strokes up the length of Sherlock’s cock, spreading saliva. Sherlock’s legs spread even farther and he pushes his hips up towards John’s mouth, a low keen in his throat. There’s a dark spot on the fabric where Sherlock’s leaked pre-come all over himself. John laughs and presses his tongue against it, tasting Sherlock before closing his mouth around the head of Sherlock’s cock through the fabric, trapping it against his hip. Sherlock tugs at his hair, and his voice is unsteady. “John.”
“I’m going to make you come in your pants,” John promises with his mouth still against Sherlock’s cock. He tilts his head as he moves in again, sliding his hands so that his thumbs slip under the fabric and rub at the skin beneath Sherlock’s balls before smoothing down the sides of his arse.
Sherlock makes a short high pitched noise, hand flying out to steady himself and knocking an empty mug onto the ground. John grins and presses the heel of his hand to the base of Sherlock’s cock, tonguing the head through the fabric. Sherlock rocks into his mouth, breathing in sharply through his nose with one hand at the back of John’s head. His body tenses when he comes.
John pulls down the ruined briefs and cleans Sherlock off with his tongue. Sherlock shivers and pulls John up for a kiss.
“How did you make this much of a mess already?” John asks against Sherlock’s lips, his toe nudging against the fallen mug. Sherlock growls and shoves his tongue into John’s mouth in effort to shut him up. John laughs and pulls away. “Seriously though, you’ve moved in for barely a week.”
“You’re ruining the mood,” Sherlock complains and tilts his head as John licks a broad stripe down his neck.
“Why don’t we move to an actual bed?” John murmurs.
_____
John can’t go to sleep despite his exhaustion. The sun has already risen in Pakistan but it’s barely 2AM in London.
Everything in the room is unfamiliar: the shape of the windows, the rush of late night cabs driving past, the shadow of furniture against the white walls. The bed is too soft and far too large, even shared with Sherlock.
Sherlock is curled up on his side under the sheets and asleep. He has one leg thrown over John’s knees and his open mouth is pressed against John’s ribs so John feels the warmth of his steady exhale against his skin. John gently strokes his fingers through the soft hair at the back of Sherlock’s neck and looks at him in the dim light pollution that reflects off the clouds and in through the window. He looks at the slant of Sherlock’s cheekbones and the slope of his nose, the dark of his eyelashes against pale skin.
Five years. Five years with the screen of a computer between them. Five years without so much as a holiday or leave. Five years with only the low-resolution of Sherlock’s grainy smile to tide him through. He’d nearly forgotten the smell of Sherlock’s shampoo and the way he continually missed a patch at the back of his jaw while shaving. He’d nearly forgotten the sound of Sherlock’s voice rising in pitch when John pressed into him at just the right angle or the way he squeezed his eyes shut right before he came. Five years to make up for.
John traces mindless patterns against the back of Sherlock’s neck and thinks of a hundred promises that he desperately hopes he can keep.
_____
John must have fallen asleep at some point because he’s dragged back into awareness by a wet heat on his cock.
His hips roll up instinctively and Sherlock’s head pulls back--he hasn’t had enough practice to accommodate all of John just yet. His lubricated fingers slip along the base of John’s cock before he pulls off and slides his fingers across the head, squeezing lightly.
“You’re awake,” Sherlock says as he climbs up towards him, straddling him. John manages a groan in response. It turns into a hiss of pleasure as Sherlock mouths his jaw and reaches back to guide John into him in one fluid movement.
“How much do you think is left in there from last night?” Sherlock’s breath is hot against John’s ear as he rocks against John.
“You’re going to kill me,” John manages just before Sherlock lifts his arse and slides back down.
Sherlock laughs breathlessly and kisses him.
_____
“Don’t touch that,” Sherlock says when John moves toward the multiple piles of papers on the kitchen table.
“Not that either,” Sherlock orders when John turns towards the stack of textbooks on the kitchen counter.
“Is there anything I can touch?”
“Tea,” Sherlock says without taking his eyes from his laptop. He taps at the space bar twice before he adds, “Please.”
John finds the kettle in the cupboard and only one mug without a thick layer of dust at the bottom. He fills the kettle and rinses the cup before turning to look at the papers on the kitchen table.
“The application of quantum theory to algorithm development,” John reads off the top of the pile, “You never mentioned that you were published.”
Sherlock waves a hand. “Don’t read that one. It’s hopelessly outdated.” He types for a few more moments before adding, “Manuscript writing is tedious. I only publish when Mycroft starts complaining about my lack of activity. Completely unjustified, I might mention.”
John thumbs through the article but can barely understand the introductory sentence, much less the equations and flowcharts that follow. The kettle clicks and John puts the article down. “How do you want your tea?”
When John sets Sherlock’s tea next to his arm, he says, “You never fail to astound me, Sherlock,” and kisses the side of his head.
_____
John runs in the morning before Sherlock wakes up. The wet winter air is colder than any of the climates he’d experienced while deployed but he doesn’t wear more than a light jacket. He watches his breath fog in the glow of pre-dawn sunlight.
He finds himself on the City University campus, jogging across the gazebo in Northampton Square with his eyes on the wide building in front of him. The place is deserted and none of the lights are on. He remembers that it’s Christmas holidays.
John comes to a stop as he crosses the street and looks up at the building. His breathing evens out the longer he stands and he slowly becomes aware of the cold. He turns and keeps running.
_____
John sets up the small television that Sherlock had left sitting in its cardboard box while Sherlock commandeers the entire living room table for his multiple monitors--including a 36 inch screen perched dangerously close to the edge of the table.
“Sherlock,” John says after spending a few minutes untangling the cords Sherlock had thrown haphazardly into a box, “I really want to become a doctor.”
Sherlock looks at him but doesn’t say anything as he peels plastic off a monitor.
“I’ve got plenty saved up to support both of us and my sister on top of paying for tuition,” John says, “I thought maybe I could go to school.”
Sherlock smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You should do whatever you’d like.”
_____
He hears about it from the television. John makes coffee and scrambles eggs with the morning news playing solely for background noise. He’s ladling eggs onto two plates with the spatula and waiting for the toaster to pop when he hears the name “Mycroft Holmes” from the news anchor.
The toaster pops. John stares at the television.
Sherlock has his face in a pillow and he’s sprawled across John’s side of the bed when John enters. John shakes Sherlock’s shoulder until Sherlock turns his head towards John and squints up at him.
“Sherlock,” John says, “Your brother just became head of the SIS.”
_____
“My apologies for not having visited earlier,” Mycroft says as he sets his umbrella tip down on the floor and leans against it. Rainwater slides down and pools in the carpet. “I hope you’ve found this flat accommodating. Unfortunately the landlady resides in Florida so reimbursements for maintenance might be delayed.”
John emerges from the kitchen where he’d quickly set some water to boil. “It’s fine,” he says. He crosses his arms but manages a smile at Mycroft. “Congratulations on your new appointment.”
“Actually,” Mycroft says, “That’s partially what I’ve come to discuss today.”
Sherlock snorts but doesn’t look up from his laptop.
“I have a new opportunity for the both of you that I sincerely hope you will take.”
“Don’t,” Sherlock cuts in, “Don’t pretend you haven’t been grooming us for these roles for the last five years.”
Mycroft looks at him.
“What’s this about, then?” John asks.
“Change of personnel,” Sherlock says, “I’m his new Quartermaster. And you’re a new agent.”
“Agent,” John repeats, “What, like the MI6?”
“How long have you been planning this?” Sherlock asks as he rises to his feet, “The war in Afghanistan was a convenient way to make sure John got the field training, was it?”
“Yes, the MI6,” Mycroft says, looking at John.
“You’re kidding,” John says, “I’m not--I haven’t even been to university.”
“You’re less of an idiot than most people,” Sherlock says to John without taking his eyes off Mycroft.
Silence.
“Thank you?” John asks.
“I bet you knew when Vaughan had his first heart attack,” Sherlock says, “I bet you’ve been waiting for his heart to give out ever since.”
“That’s enough, Sherlock.”
“It’s convenient, timing the moment of John’s discharge with your sudden ascension up the bureaucratic ladder.”
Mycroft’s voice takes a new edge. “I said that’s enough, Sherlock.”
Sherlock exhales in a hiss between his teeth. The kettle clicks. John keeps looking at Mycroft.
“You can’t be serious,” John says.
“I am very serious,” Mycroft replies.
_____
Sherlock shuts off the shower as John brushes his teeth.
“Hand me the towel.”
John shoves the toothbrush into his mouth and pulls the towel from the rack to hand to Sherlock. The mirror steams up even more as Sherlock opens the shower curtains. The water glistens across Sherlock’s chest as he towels his hair and John doesn’t bother to look away.
“Enjoying the view?” Sherlock asks. John grins and turns to spit. He cups water in the palm of his hand to rinse out the foam.
Sherlock wraps the towel around himself. John opens the mirrored cabinet to get the mouthwash.
“So,” John says as he sets the mouthwash on the sink. “You knew when I told you I wanted to go back to school. About Mycroft.”
Sherlock presses himself against John’s back, damp skin against John’s soft shirt. His chin tucks against John’s shoulder. John feels the vibration of Sherlock’s voice as he says, “You can say no.”
John smiles at Sherlock in the slowly clearing mirror. “Just like I’ve said no every other time, right?”
Sherlock slides his fingers up the length of John’s neck, tilts John’s jaw back, and nips at his earlobe before growling, “I can think of other things for you to say.”
_____
“Languages?” the woman across from him asks as she types into the computer.
“English,” John says, and then adds, “I took a bit of French in secondary school.”
“Fluent?”
“Oh god no,” John says. The woman continues to type. John taps his fingers against his knees.
“Anything else?” she asks, looking at him from over the top of her glasses, “Anything you might have picked up on your deployment?”
“Some Urdu,” John says.
“Is that it?”
“Er,” John says, “One more. I can’t remember which one it was, Pashto or Punjabi.”
“You can’t remember,” the woman repeats.
“A tiny bit. Basic conversation at best. I’m better at listening than I am at speaking.”
“Alright,” she drawls and punches it in.
_____
In Pakistan, John had once been ordered to retrieve and detain a known terrorist who had been hiding in his home village in the Karakoram mountain range. They were a day and a half from Islamabad and barely had enough petrol for the return trip when his team of eight finally found the village tucked between two peaks, by the banks of a lake.
John remembers hearing the crunch of their tires against dirt, remembers the empty houses and dark fire pits. John remembers bursting into the target house with his gun drawn and shouting in English--remembers the fetid stench and the dark shapes on the floor. Shadows in his periphery. He looked down and felt the urge to be sick.
Half eaten bodies with their entrails pulled out. Someone fired a shot and there was the sudden yelp of a wild dog. John covered his nose and walked deeper into the house, gun drawn and his shouted demands muffled behind his hand.
There was a little girl with a pale blue ribbon in her hair and a bullet hole in her forehead. John memorized the shape of the blood spilled into the dusty floor behind her head with a single glance.
It looks like the inkblot the psychiatrist is showing him now.
“Wild dog,” he says steadily.
_____
John stares at the array of guns and starts to feel comfortable for the first time since he’d arrived in Hampshire that morning. This is something he actually knows. He gravitates towards a Browning and picks it up when the examiner enters the room. He drops it back onto the table.
“Military, are you?” the examiner asks.
“Yes, sir,” John says, resisting the urge to throw a salute.
“Pick it up then,” the examiner says as he clips a paper target onto the line. He puts a pair of earmuffs on and gives John the thumbs up sign.
John picks up the gun again. It’s a touch heavier than the standard issue he had carried for years but the grip is familiar in his hands. He lifts it and looks down the sight.
The first shot hits the white over the target’s left shoulder. John readjusts his grip and looks down the sight again. He compensates for the list of the gun and shoots again.
The second shot hits the target’s forehead. The third shot hits the heart.
_____
John leans his head against the back of the bath and tries to relax. His closes his eyes and breathes in steam.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep but he jolts back into alertness when the bathroom door opens. Sherlock steps in and closes the door behind him.
“You could knock,” John points out.
“Dull,” Sherlock says and unbuttons his shirt. John keeps his eyes on Sherlock’s hand as Sherlock nears the bath.
“Are you joining me?”
“In a moment,” Sherlock says. He slips the shirt off his shoulders and lets it drop from his fingertips onto the plush mat. He pulls off his socks and drops them onto the floor too.
“Come here,” John says. Sherlock tilts his head but obliges. John unbuckles Sherlock’s belt and pulls it from the loops. It looks absurdly expensive so John tosses it a bit farther from the side of the bath. He unzips Sherlock’s trousers, smoothing the palm of his hand along Sherlock’s cock before tugging the trousers down. He’s leaving wet handprints on everything.
John looks up at Sherlock’s face. Sherlock’s lips are parted and he’s staring at John.
John hooks his fingers beneath the top of Sherlock’s briefs and slides them slowly down his thighs. He brushes the head of Sherlock’s cock with the inside of his pinkie, follows a vein with the pad of his thumb. Sherlock lets out a shivering breath.
John smiles and pulls his hand away. He leans back as Sherlock steps out of his underwear and into the bath. Sherlock settles in front of him, folding his long legs. He leans back against John, curls against the crook of John’s neck. The bath is hard against John’s back but it’ll be a while before the discomfort will force him to move.
“Tired?” John asks as Sherlock closes his eyes.
“Of idiots,” Sherlock mumbles. John smoothes his hands down Sherlock’s sides beneath the water before he starts to trace each individual rib. He traces his thumb in a circle around Sherlock’s belly button and drops a kiss into Sherlock’s hair, loosely linking his hands over Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock puts his hands on top of John’s and strokes the inside of John’s thumb with a finger.
When the water is cool instead of lukewarm, John pulls his hands out from under Sherlock’s and pushes at his hips. Sherlock obligingly sits up and John fits himself to Sherlock’s back. He puts his mouth on the damp skin at the corner of Sherlock’s neck and slides his hand down Sherlock’s stomach raking his nails lightly through the nest of pubic hair before fisting his hand around Sherlock’s cock. He presses teeth against the skin of Sherlock’s shoulder as he starts to move.
Sherlock breath hitches and his hips roll towards John’s hand when John tightens his fist. John presses his mouth to Sherlock’s neck, right below the ear. Sherlock turns toward John, his panting breaths hot against the top of John’s head as he squirms. John can feel him tensing with a choked whine and he sucks hard on Sherlock’s skin just as Sherlock comes.
He works Sherlock down with a soft slide of his tongue and a kiss against his ear. Sherlock’s breathing slowly returns to normal.
“No clean up,” John mumbles against Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock laughs and pulls away to haul himself out of the bath. John lets the water drain. His toes are wrinkly.
He steps up behind Sherlock who is towelling himself dry and looking in the mirror. He kisses Sherlock’s spine and wraps the other towel around himself.
“This is going to bruise,” Sherlock says, tapping the side of his neck. He meets John’s eyes in the mirror and smiles. “Good.”
_____
“I’m leaving for London tonight,” Sherlock says when they meet up for lunch in between dragging lectures on the proper procedure on diffusing hostile situations. Sherlock’s in a room on the other side of the training facility. He sets half of his saran wrapped sandwich on a massive binder of radio frequency protocols and crams the other half in his mouth.
“I thought Mycroft booked us at the hotel through next Thursday?”
“The imbeciles here could hardly teach me anything I don’t already know,” Sherlock says, “Mycroft wants me back early to set up my workstation.”
John feels a little pathetic for how disappointed he feels. “So I won’t see you until next week then?”
“One week, five years,” Sherlock says as he steals John’s bag of crisps, “I think we’ve had plenty of practice.” He smirks as he opens the bag. “Pity you didn’t bring your laptop. We could have Skyped.”
John rolls his eyes and shoves his hand into the bag to get at the crisps before Sherlock can. “Yeah, I’ll miss you too, you idiot.”
_____
The documentation for reporting field missions is exactly like every after-action report he'd ever submitted to his superiors. He spends most of the lecture staring blankly at the PowerPoint slides the presenter continuously refers to. He wonders how he’s going to explain to Harry that he’s switched from one dangerous job to another.
Mycroft promised to provide for her until she graduated university and found a suitable career, but financial stability and family are far from the same thing. If John died, Harry would have no one left.
_____
The night before John had shipped off to Afghanistan for his first tour of duty, he and Sherlock had spent the night with their foreheads pressed together. Sherlock’s fingertips left bruises on the back of John’s neck as he whispered the same words again and again: “You have to die after me, you have to die after me.”
Sherlock wouldn’t let go of his hand until they reached the end of the security line. The security guard asked three times if Sherlock had a boarding pass before Sherlock finally stepped back to let John go ahead.
_____
During the day, he thinks about his deployments while they run through textbook scenarios. He effortlessly outscores his fellow trainees at target practice and physical training. One instructor pulls him aside to tell him that he has real potential and that he could recommend him to a good team. When John tells him his name, the instructor’s smile slips away and he says, “One of M’s new men, are you?” John doesn’t know how to respond so he doesn’t answer.
At night, the hotel bed feels empty without Sherlock curled up against him. John lies on his back and stares up at the dark ceiling. Three weeks to break John’s five years of celibacy and John is already craving Sherlock’s hungry stare and soft skin. He already misses pressing so closely to Sherlock that he feels like he’s going to crawl into Sherlock’s heartbeat and settle there forever.
_____
He visits Vauxhall for the first time two hours after arriving back in London by cab. Mycroft greets him at the front doors and hands him an ID. They’ve used one of his military photographs--his cheeks are sunburned and he’s wearing camouflage that isn’t visible in the frame of the shot.
“Temporary until we get you properly situated,” Mycroft says as John takes it.
“Couldn’t have a minion hand this off?” John asks, clipping it to the pocket of his suit.
“I need your help actually,” Mycroft admits.
“Well then,” John says, “Lead the way to Sherlock.”
_____
“Should have known better than to give him unfettered access to SIS files,” John says as they walk down the hall, “Tell me he’s at least had something to eat since he’s arrived.”
“I wouldn’t say coffee counts,” Mycroft replies, pausing to sign a form that an agent thrusts in front of him. “We’ve tried to keep him away. My brother seems to have acquired the skill of picking conventional locks at the same time he learned how to write security software.”
“So much for your fingerprint scanning technology,” John says, grinning.
“Make him go home, John,” Mycroft says.
John looks at him. There are more lines on his face than John remembers from years ago. His hair is going prematurely grey at the temples.
Mycroft sighs. “Make him eat something. Make him sleep.”
_____
John knocks on the office door. Someone shouts, “Go away!” from behind the door but John opens it anyway.
“Mycroft says you’ve been in here for ages,” John says and wrinkles his nose at the smell, “Jesus Sherlock, when was the last time you had a shower?”
“Busy,” Sherlock says at a more reasonable volume this time, “Go away.”
“How many of these have you been drinking?” John asks as he starts pushing the various drained cans of energy drink and half empty foam coffee cups into one corner of the desk. “Do we have to have a talk about how caffeine is not a suitable substitute for real food?”
“Okay,” Sherlock says and doesn’t stop typing.
“And you’re not even listening,” John says as he pours all the cold coffee into one cup and tosses the extra cups into the bin.
“Okay,” Sherlock repeats, peering up at the screen to his left.
“I’m going to unplug everything,” John announces.
“I’m working on a laptop,” Sherlock replies.
“Can’t you work on it at home?”
“No reason,” Sherlock says, “John isn’t home.”
He stops typing. And actually looks up at John.
“Well then,” John says.
_____
Sherlock slams John into the wall the moment they get to the flat and kisses him. John runs his hands up Sherlock’s back and tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s hair when Sherlock suddenly pulls away and says, “I need a laptop.”
John lets the back of his head hit the door as Sherlock bounds up the stairs. “And a shower,” he calls after Sherlock.
_____
John finds the circuit breaker in the basement and refuses to turn the electricity back on until Sherlock has showered. Sherlock gets as far as to wrapping a towel around himself and drips on the wooden chair as he types at his laptop without putting any clothes on.
John sets a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich next to Sherlock’s hand. He looks down at Sherlock. “Aren’t you cold?”
Sherlock reaches for the tea. John moves the sandwich plate up so that it blocks Sherlock’s way. Sherlock scowls at him but picks up the sandwich. John watches him put it in his mouth and chew before setting the plate down and heading to the bedroom.
“Here,” he says as he returns and tosses Sherlock’s bathrobe at him. Sherlock makes no attempt at catching it so it falls to the floor. John throws the briefs at his head where it bounces off and drops onto Sherlock’s shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous,” John tells him as he turns to unpack in the bedroom. “I’m not going to take you to hospital if you die of pneumonia.”
_____
Sherlock scowls at the security guard who tells him to put his laptop through the x-ray machine but sets his bag on the conveyor belt anyway. John puts his keys and belt into a plastic container and steps through the metal detector.
“Q,” someone calls as Sherlock collects his laptop. Sherlock straightens. A dark haired man with a smile approaches them near the lift.
“Nine,” Sherlock acknowledges.
“And you must be Seven,” the man says to John. He holds out a hand for John to shake. Seven?
“Yes,” Sherlock says before John can answer. The man’s grip is harder than John expected from his soft voice.
“We might be seeing more of each other, Seven,” Nine says, “We might even be going on missions together.”
“I can’t wait,” John says, attempting a smile. Nine smiles slowly before he lets go of John’s hand.
“I’ll drop by in your office later, Q,” Nine says and gets into a lift going down, “Pleasure meeting you, Seven.”
The door slides shut.
“Senior field agent,” Sherlock says, “He’s interesting. Smarter than the rest of these imbeciles anyway.”
“Don’t let the rest of us imbeciles hear you.”
Sherlock just looks at him as a lift going up arrives. A few people exit, including a woman who looks at him and asks, “John?”
“Yeah,” John says.
The woman turns towards Sherlock, “I trust you know how to get to your office?”
Sherlock doesn’t dignify her question with a response, just steps into the lift. The woman looks back at John, “I’m supposed to take you to M for a brief orientation.”
“Great,” John says, following her onto the lift, “Lead the way.”
_____
Mycroft slides a folder towards John. “I thought I’d put you back in familiar territory.”
John picks the folder up but doesn’t open it. “Pakistan?”
“Not a city you’ve already visited. You and Nine are going in together. He’s done this many times before. He’ll mentor you through your first mission at least.”
“Okay,” John says, thinking back to the man’s unsettling smile.
“John,” Mycroft says. He looks at the closed office door and then at the window. He unplugs the phone on his desk and gestures for John to sit. John lowers himself into a chair.
“Sherlock was right,” Mycroft says, “I encouraged you to join the army because I knew I wanted both you and Sherlock to join me here one day.”
John sets his arms on the armrests and looks out the window, licking his lips. He looks back at Mycroft, shaking his head minutely.
“I don’t deny that I’m an ambitious man, John,” Mycroft continues, “But in this case it was an issue of national security rather than my own self interest.”
“Great,” John says, setting the folder back on Mycroft’s desk and leaning forward, “I can’t wait to hear your justification.”
“Seven years I discovered an interesting discrepancy between reports available in the SIS archives and reports sent overseas decades ago as part of CIA liaisons with the United States. Five months after that, I noticed a pattern in the level of terror activity in certain geographic areas correlating with files that had been wiped from the SIS servers.”
“And you didn’t bring this up with the previous head?”
“Oh, I did,” Mycroft says, folding his hands on the desk, “He did nothing about it.”
“He’s gone now,” John says, “But you think there’s still a security leak.”
“I know there’s still a security leak.”
John looks down at the folder. He doesn’t know if he’s completely unsurprised or just can’t muster up the energy to be surprised.
“I only have two agents I know I can trust.”
“Okay,” John says, looking up at Mycroft. “Well then. I’m sure you have suspects.”
“I’m not certain,” Mycroft says, “I certainly have a shortlist. But until we can narrow it down, consider everyone a suspect. In a few weeks we can reconvene with Sherlock and see if we all come up with the same names.”
“This is more than I signed up for,” John says, “Bloody hell, I didn’t even sign up for this.”
“I know I’m asking for a lot.”
“Just so we’re clear.” John keeps his eyes locked with Mycroft’s. “You’re asking me to spy on people ten or twenty years my senior. Not even people. MI6 agents. Who are also spies.”
“They won’t take you as seriously as I do. If anything goes wrong, I’ll pull you immediately.”
John laughs, once.
Mycroft leans forward. “But nothing will go wrong. I’ll make sure of it, John.”
_____
Nine meets him in the conference room to go over their upcoming mission in Karachi. There’s also a pair of intelligence officers fiddling with a laptop and projecting a map of the region onto the screen at the front of the room.
“Am I late?” John asks as he closes the door.
“Not at all,” Nine says, smiling at him. He kicks out a chair on the other side of the table from him. “Please.”
John takes a seat and looks at the map. One of the intelligence officers clears his throat. He nods at Nine. “Nine.”
Nine nods and they both look at John. “You must be the new guy,” the officer says, “Seven?”
“Yeah.” John scoots closer to the table, opening the folder that Mycroft had given him earlier.
“I worked with your predecessor,” the officer says, “Good man.”
John smiles. He wishes they would look somewhere else.
“Right so,” the officer looks up at the screen, “Karachi. Standard round of checking in with the local recruits. We’re headquartered in the US consulate general.” He circles flags on the map with a laser pointer as he speaks. “We’ve got a few recruits in North Karachi and several in DHA housing. Just dropping in to see if they have anything new to tell us, then we’re out again. Pretty easy and straightforward.” He looks from John to Nine before adding, “Nine’s done this a fair number of times so you two shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“But there’s always the danger of something unexpected happening,” Nine says.
“Which is why we have contingency plans,” the officer says and sets a tablet PC down in front of John.
_____
“Wild animal attack,” John says as he flips to the next page of the document with a swipe of his finger, “Are there a lot of bears in Karachi then?”
“Urban wild dogs run in packs,” Sherlock says as he crawls into bed and nudges his head under John’s arm. “Better read it.” He peers at the page that John’s reading. John’s put the text on its largest size but his eyes still feel dried out as he commits line after line to some form of hazy memory.
Sherlock presses his nose against John’s chest and John sets his chin in Sherlock’s hair. After a few moments, Sherlock says, “Next page.”
“I’m not done reading this page.”
“You read at an abysmal pace.”
“Shut up, Sherlock,” John says and spends another minute on the page solely to annoy him. Sherlock moves his arm across John’s stomach and shifts so that he’s half sprawled across John. John lifts the tablet so that Sherlock’s giant head isn’t blocking it.
“What if I can’t breathe?” John asks but he doesn’t have any real intention of telling Sherlock to move.
Sherlock tightens his hold on John and his voice is muffled against John’s shirt when he speaks. “You can breathe fine.” John drops one hand into his hair and turns the pages with a swipe of his thumb.
Eventually Sherlock’s breathing slows down and evens out. John keeps stroking Sherlock’s hair and reads on.
_____
“Gun,” Sherlock says, holding out John’s preferred Browning. “It’s programmed to recognize only your palm to shoot so it’s expensive. Don’t be idiotic enough to lose it or it’s coming out of your pay for the next five years.”
John grins and slips out the magazine to check the ammunition before clicking it back into place. He holsters it at the small of his back.
“Radio,” Sherlock says, holding up a tiny metal box. “Click it on and it’ll transmit your location. Battery lasts for three days.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t get into a situation where you have to use it.”
“He’ll be with me the entire time,” Nine says, stepping over as he holsters his own gun. “I wouldn’t worry at all.” He smiles at Sherlock. “I’m very good.”
A woman steps into the doorway. “Agents, your transport is ready.”
John looks at Sherlock. He wants to hug him, press his face into his neck, kiss him goodbye. Instead he takes the radio and lets his fingertips brush against the palm of Sherlock’s hand. It has to be enough.
“I’ll see you in a couple days,” John says.
_____
“So you and the quartermaster,” Nine says when they’re flying over continental Europe in the military jet. He has to shout a little over the whine of the engine. “I’m assuming you’re involved?”
“We’re close,” John says back and can’t bring himself to finish the sentence with the word friends. He’s glad that they’re the only two people in the compartment.
“How did you two meet?”
“School,” John answers, “Secondary school.”
“Not many people stay in touch for that long,” Nine says, “You must be very close.”
John nods.
Nine smiles at him.
_____
It’s warm and humid when they step off the plan at Jinnah International--a vast change from February in London. The drizzling rain never evolves into full drops as he and Nine make their way across the airfield and into the building.
“We’ll go out the front,” Nine says, “Catch a cab to the consulate.”
Most of the signs are in both Urdu and English and he recognizes some of the words. He’s always considered England as his home but the smell of cumin and turmeric sweeps him straight back into the last four years. He hasn’t had a decent chaat in ages.
Maybe he’ll bring Sherlock here one day. Show him that it wasn’t bad at all.
_____
They meet the first man in a busy marketplace. John sees him before Nine does and touches Nine’s arm to get his attention. They both watch the man look around the crowd before hurrying away in the opposite direction. Nine glances back at John before he starts threading his way through the crowd. John loses track of the man once or twice but Nine moves forward with confidence.
They wind up in an alleyway lit only by the glow of the overcast sky in the tiny space between the two buildings. Clotheslines hang from balcony to balcony, soft music playing from an open window. Nine scans down the side of each building before saying, “This way,” and ducking into one of the open doors. He swipes his palm against the wall and John realizes that they’re following chalk marks.
They go up the stairs and Nine swipes his hand against the wall every so often. On the third floor, there’s a chalk mark next to a door. Nine rubs it away and knocks.
The man opens it. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead but he smiles. “Come in,” he says in Urdu and peers around the edge of the door.
“No one followed us,” Nine assures him. The man smiles nervously and steps back. Both John and Nine take off their shoes before entering. Nine crosses the room and flicks back the curtain to look at the alleyway.
“Better than what I had last time, isn’t it?” the man says, “I’d offer you tea but I hope you won’t be here for very long. I hope you can forgive my rudeness.”
“Understandable,” Nine says and gestures to John. “This is my colleague, Seven. You might be reporting to him in the future.”
John inclines his head and smiles. The man smiles back, but only for a moment before he turns to Nine.
“There’s a shipment of explosives headed for Muscat in two days. I don’t know for sure but I think it came from Russia.”
“Uranium?” Nine asks.
“I think so.”
“Have you checked?”
The man laughs. “They won’t let me near the cargo any more.” He glances at John again as he says, “And there’s one more thing.”
They wait for the man to go on. But he looks between Nine and John before finally settling on John and saying, “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust him yet.”
“He’s with me,” Nine says.
“I know,” the man says, “I’m sorry but I’m not going to talk in front of him.”
Nine keeps his eyes on the man but he says, “If you could step outside for a moment, Seven.”
John collects his shoes and closes the door after him. He presses his ear to the door but they’re speaking too quietly for him to hear anything. John looks up the hallway and down the stairs. Someone is playing music loudly in one of the flats.
The door opens a few minutes later. Nine steps out and nods. They leave.
_____
“It’s going to be hard at first,” Nine says after they’ve reconnected with three local recruits and relayed the information back to Vauxhall. “They won’t trust you until they know you’re actually who you say you are.”
He’s peeling an apple with a knife on a couch in the US General Consulate. John sits at the table and types up the after action reports.
“So much of this job is about trust,” Nine says and finishes peeling the apple in one long strand of skin. He looks up at John as he flicks the knife shut and smiles.
_____
They’re sitting in the lobby waiting for a domestic plane back to London when Nine says, “Not as glamorous as you expected, was it?”
John looks at him. Nine brushes his hands down his suit jacket and puts the ankle of his right foot on his left knee. He smiles at John. “Not quite the same as the movies make it out to be.”
“Haven’t had time for movies in a while,” John says.
A woman speaks over the intercom. John can’t tell what she’s saying through the heavy dialect and static. He doesn’t look away from Nine.
“You’re interesting,” Nine says, “Surely you didn’t have to devote your life to becoming an MI6 agent to catch Q’s eye?”
John knows that it’s foolish but it doesn’t stop him from saying, “Who says I had to join the MI6 to do it?”
“So you are involved,” Nine says and puts a hand over his mouth. His eyes crinkle at the edges as he speaks from behind his fingers. “I have a bit of a reputation for being a bit nosy. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
John looks at the airfield through the window. A plane is landing.
“Was he your first?” Nine asks after a moment.
John shoots him a sharp look. “That’s rather personal.”
“Sorry,” Nine says and falls silent again.
_____
It isn’t until much later, when they’re about to land in London that Nine brings it up again.
“Look,” he says, apropos of nothing, “You might not want to hear it but I feel obligated to tell you. I was in a long-term relationship with someone like Q once. We’d known each other for years. He was a bit abrasive but certainly a proper genius. It didn’t end well.”
John turns his head from where he’d been staring at the blinking red lights on the wingtips of the plane.
“He got bored of me,” Nine says, “Found him cheating on me barely a week from our two year anniversary.”
John looks at the pocket of the seat in front of him.
“I’m not saying that it’s definitely going to happen,” Nine continues, “I don’t know how long you two have been together. It’s just that you have a lot of potential as an agent and I thought you deserved the warning at least.”
“Thanks,” John says, even though he doesn’t mean it at all.
_____
“Are you going to do this every time?” John demands as he throws away the empty cans of energy drink and tries to rearrange the warzone that has become Sherlock’s desk. Sherlock takes his time in exiting each program, pausing to scroll up through lines of unfathomable equations before they’re finally all gone.
“Home?” Sherlock asks and pulls on his coat. John ties his scarf for him.
_____
“Shower first,” John says when they get back to their flat, which is why he’s sucking Sherlock’s cock with the shower water beating down on him. Sherlock has his head tilted back against the tile, mouth open with the water sluicing down his chest. John breathes slowly through his nose in effort not to inhale too much water and starts to move with one hand fisted at the base of Sherlock’s cock.
He tries to take as much of it as he can but he chokes before he can get very far. He pulls back with his saliva mixing in with the shower water and breathes in through his mouth before trying again. He’ll have to work on his gag reflex.
Sherlock pushes his fingers through John’s hair and murmurs something encouraging that John can’t make out over the ring of the water. John presses his tongue against the head, his cheeks hollowing with the effort of sucking and Sherlock’s hips jerk.
Later, Sherlock gives John a handjob while he stands at the kitchen stove but they manage to salvage dinner.
_____
John goes through the mess on the kitchen table and starts binning old adverts and newspapers when he sees the post-it stuck on the back of an envelope. John pulls it off and reads it as he wanders into the living room.
“Did Harry call?”
Sherlock plucks at his violin, sprawled out on the couch. He plucks another few notes before John prompts, “Sherlock?”
“You were in Karachi. She wants to visit this weekend.”
“Is that okay?”
Sherlock plays another two notes. And then he says, “I don’t mind.”
“I’ll call her back then,” John says as he crumples up the post-it.
to part two