Life Makes Love Look Hard

John sighed internally. It was going to be a long day. He'd toyed with ignoring Sherlock's text that had been waiting for him on his phone when he woke up, but he wanted to avoid an argument more than he'd wanted to avoid Scotland Yard at eight thirty in the morning.

Normally it wouldn't bother him, but some days, he just didn't have the patience to deal with both Sherlock and the ignorance of Lestrade's team. Even people outside of Greg's department had begun staring and whispering just lately.

There he was, the ex-army man, how could anyone, let alone someone with the discipline of the army trained into them, put up with the erraticness of Sherlock Holmes?

As John stood, waiting for the lift, he swept his eyes over the office; most of them didn't have enough of their brains working to understand, even if he was willing to explain the unique symbiosis he shared with Sherlock... and those who would understand didn't care to listen. The lift arrived, blissfully empty, and he stepped inside, pressing the button for Lestrade's department, and relaxing against the far wall as the door slide closed, hiding him from prying eyes.

Halfway up Donovan joined him, and he had to stop another sigh escaping him. He could feel her eyes on him, and managed to keep his expression blank. The last thing he needed at this hour of the morning was another rant on how dangerous it was living with Sherlock or any other suggestions as to a "new hobby". As if you could consider a person a hobby, he grumbled internally.

A sudden longing for the tall lanky detective washed over him, and John could almost hear the deep rumble of his flatmate echo round the lift, "Was there something you wanted, Sally, or would you like to stare all day? I'm sure a picture would last longer, but I'm certain John isn't particularly inclined to give you one".

He laughed softly under his breath, forgetting for a moment that Donovan was even there. "You need to get out Dr Watson, out of that flat; I think you're loosing it".
Her sharp voice cut through his thoughts and drew his cold blue eyes to her face, "Since when do you have a degree in Psychology, Sergeant?" before she could stumble over a reply, the lift doors opened and he marched out, eyes already seeking a familiar tall figure, arguing with Greg.
"I don't care, Sherlock, I'm not sending this report to the MD, until I get a professional's opinion-"
"How many times do I have to repeat this, Lestrade, John wrote the damn thing!"
"You think I don't know you can forge his signature-".
"What's going on?" John asked softly as he reached them, his hands in his pockets, and his face carefully neutral as Lestrade turned to him like a starving man might turn on an all-you-can-eat buffet and Sherlock threw his hands in the air, his posture portraying pure irritation.
"Is this report accurate? It throws the whole case out of window if it is John, as a Doctor-".
John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "please tell me you didn't get me up and out of the house at eight in the morning on a Saturday, just to confirm that what I wrote is accurate?".
"Did you actually write it though?" Anderson cut in, his nasally voice grating on the last of John's nerves "Or did the freak fake it?".
The doctor growled softly, and glared pointedly at the DI "tell me I'm not here because you wanted confirmation of a report I spent hours writing last night, Greg, tell me that I'm not dead on my feet for something this ridiculous, because when it comes down to it, he wouldn't dare forge my signature-".
Anderson scoffed and John whirled on him, his patience expired, he didn't even hear Sherlock's soft "John-" before he snapped, the sharp barks of his voice draining the blood from Anderson's face.
"If you have a problem with the consultants your superior officer is bringing in, why don't you raise the issue with him instead of behaving like a child in a school playground, act the man you're supposed to be for Christ sakes Anderson! And you," he added, whirling back to Lestrade, "Couldn't this have been discussed over the phone? What in the seven hells possessed you to drag me out at this time in the morning when I'm certain you were aware I was on a night shift last night!".
"John" Sherlock tried again, his vice still soft, but the man in question wasn't done.
"And as for you, the next time you text me for something like this, I swear to god I'll throw every experiment you own in bin, and disinfect the kitchen!".
Sherlock snapped his mouth shut, and scowled at the DI as though the whole matter was his fault.
"If there's nothing else, we'll be going?" John only half questioned, raising an eyebrow at Greg, but anyone watching could see that John was already propelling Sherlock out of the building by the time Lestrade had nodded his agreement.

He hated being at the beck and call of ignorance, none of them understood, not a single one.
"How do you know that I won't forge your signature one day John, if I need to?" Sherlock questions gently, once they were safely ensconced inside the lift once again, "It wouldn't be the first time I've forged something".
John couldn't stop his smile, but still embarrassed over his unrestrained temper, he wouldn't look at the consulting detective, "Because I'd never be able to trust you again, and trusting you is what makes this work".
"This?".
John frowned, and finally looked back at Sherlock, "Us, of course" The lift doors opened and he strode out, his back straight, and meeting every eye in the foyer, not bothering to wait for Sherlock to gather his wits. Sherlock would follow, the same way he would always follow Sherlock.

It was warm and soft, and he didn't stop the gentle whimper Sherlocks lips drew from him as the detective tapered off the kiss, and drew away, hopping into the taxi and leaving John to complete his own questioning at the scene.
"What is wrong with you?" John turned at the hissed question, eyebrows raised. He knew what the problem was the moment his eyes focussed on the shocked expression of Sally Donovan
"Why would you...? Are you...? With that... that ... FREAK!".
John frowned at her "You don't know anything Sally, you just think you do" he shook his head, "grow up".
As he moved away from the speechless woman, his phone beeped and he drew it from his pocked as he weaved his way across the crime scene.

TO: JOHN
Did she turn purple? SH.

John grinned, and shook his head, flicking his fingers over the phone as he tapped out a reply.

TO: SHERLOCK
Ur a menace, what a way 2 out us, couldnt u hav been more subtle? JW.

It took moments for John to get a response, and it left a warm glow in his chest for the rest of the day.

TO: JOHN
She's a useless police officer, couldn't let her work it out, she'd never have managed it. Doesn't matter what they think anyway x. Chinese for dinner this evening? I'll pick it up on my way home. SH.

Sherlock had faced criticism, and jealousy, and taunting his entire life, but what he wasn't used to was hearing the Yarders turning that kind acidity on John and it wasn't taking long for it to wear through his patience, not that he had much of it to begin with.
It was the small sniggers they thought he couldn't hear every time, John's hand brushed against his, and the disbelieving mutters every time John made him smile. They were treating the new level of the relationship between the two men like the Doctor was keeping a mental patient happy, and pitying him in the process.
As he knelt over a young woman who'd had her entrails ripped from her body, Sherlock grit his teeth.
"I wonder how he bares it, being that close to the freak...".
"Don't know, but it's his own fault, stupid sod should never have moved in-".
Sherlock felt a firm hand at the back of his neck and almost jumped when John knelt beside him and pressed his face against Sherlock's, nuzzling the detective's cheekbone softly and without the shy blush that was beginning to stain Sherlock's cheeks.
"It doesn't matter, love" John breathed gently, the words ghosting over Sherlocks skin like kisses, "I'm yours, you're mine and they don't matter" against his will, Sherlock could feel his shoulders relaxing and he released the furious breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, letting his eyes close for a fraction of a second.
The voices had stopped, the murmur's had been silenced and Sherlock's brain was reawakened as the facts in the scene before him slotted into place now that the distractions were gone. He beamed at the eviscerated body and John stood his hand lingering for half a heartbeat before he retreated, letting his lover have his moment to shine.

Sherlock watched from the doorway, his blood boiling. John was talking with her, and laughing. He shouldn't be laughing, Sarah was his ex, and shouldn't they be fighting? Or at least not be this friendly. He'd been watching them for a good twenty minutes already, and although John kept checking his watch, the Doctor didn't leave, and that woman wasn't taking the hint.
It was only when she placed a neatly manicured hand on John's arm, far too perfect for a doctor's hand, that Sherlock snapped, he saw red. The consulting detective pushed open the door to the surgery and John spotted him, almost beginning to frown at the look in his pale grey eyes as Sherlock stalked across the room.
He noticed the exact moment realisation flooded John's face, and he took a step to the side out of Sarah's grasp, and another step towards Sherlock before the tall detective reached him
"Sherlock-".
His words were sharply cut off with a firm kiss. It wasn't tender, or gentle, it was firm and possessive and Sherlock nipped at John's lips until he let him in with a gasp and a sharp groan. Sherlock felt the soft brush of eyelashes as John surrendered to him, letting him have his way, and stake his claim. The Doctor understood, he knew, and Sherlock wasn't sure if that embarrassed him or made him want the man all the more.
When John's hands came up to tangle in long black curls, Sherlock smirked at the gasp he heard from somewhere to his right. Maybe she'd thought John would punch him, or at least back away horrified, but to watch her work colleague not only give in and surrender to Sherlock, but to actively partake, Sarah was shocked. It was all in that single gasp.
At the moment though, the consulting detective was more interested in the gasps coming from the mouth beneath his as their tongues tangled in a dance, short sharp nips and rough lapping kept the doctor compliant under Sherlocks' control and a softly growled "Mine" dragged an interesting shudder from the smaller man that Sherlock filed away to explore at a later date.
John pulled back with the help of a sharp tug to Sherlock's hair and breathed heavily for a moment, never taking his eyes from Sherlock's "Excuse me Sarah, but it seems I'm wanted at home, I'm sure our dinner's going cold... wasn't it Indian tonight, Sherlock?".
"But, John...".
The doctor cleared his throat, and finally turned back to Sarah, "You're my boss, that's fine, but I finished my shift 30 minutes ago, so if it's not a problem, it think it's beyond time I went home".
The woman's eyes flicked over their entwined hands, and it was so natural Sherlock couldn't have said when their fingers linked together, but when she raised her eyes to his face, he couldn't quite managed to cover the smirk.
The one that said, "Too late, you lost him... mine now" and she nodded slowly
"Ok... so, I'll see you Friday, you're still doing the night shift again yeah?"
John nodded, but Sherlock was already pulling him out of the building.

The outer door slammed downstairs and John frowned. Sherlock never slammed doors; He was the one who slammed doors. Sherlock angry became quiet and disparaging...
But when John saw his lovers face, he knew this wasn't Sherlock angry, this was Sherlock furious, and the only person able to get his partner in this state was Mycroft Holmes.
John swore.
"What-".
"How dare he!" Sherlock hissed, practically quivering as his fury filled the room and John folded his paper standing slowly as though approaching a wild animal.
"Sher-".
"That overweight, meddling, insignificant... Why can't he stay out of my life!"
John knew he was out of his depth when one of Sherlock's experiments got tossed off the kitchen table in the mans anger, and he didn't seem to care"
"What-".
"Do you know what he's done? Any idea what Mycroft's decided to throw at us... at you! I could kill him, in fact I think I will-".
"Sherlock!" John finally barked, stilling the man for a moment with his firm command and advancing on the consulting detective before he could recover, "What happened?" John dragged fingers through Sherlock's hair, and gently forced the mans ramrod stiff frame to bend towards him and curl round him, tense fingers clutching at Johns waist.
"It's not fair" Sherlock hissed, his voice growing softer as his forehead began to rest against John's shoulder, "What right does he have to decide my life for me? To say that... that..."
John tipped his head as Sherlock struggled to repeat whatever Mycroft had said, and suddenly, the possessive clenching of fingers at his body made sense and a cold lump settled in his stomach as the irony hit him like a piano off a ten story building.
"He doesn't think I'm good enough for you".
"He doesn't think we're good enough for each other" Sherlock growled, his fury reigniting but John soothed the flames swiftly, with a kiss to his lovers long throat, and tender brushing of his fingers along the back of Sherlock's neck.
"It's ok, it's fine, we belong together, and we both know that, so what does it matter...?"
Sherlock tensed in his arms, and John pulled back a fraction with a frown marring his face, but Sherlock wouldn't, or couldn't meet his eyes.
"He's told Mother" Sherlock finally muttered, his body trembling when he couldn't stand John's steady silence any longer, and with their bodies pressed close, he felt the panicked exhale John couldn't smother and fear flooded his system, drowning his anger.
What if John gave up? Fled? Moved out? Stayed but ended this, them?... Sherlock's arms wound round the Doctor and tugged him close, his mind supplying numerous occasions where John had reassure him that everyone else was unimportant, idiots, that it didn't matter what anyone thought of them... but the Doctor also knew how much Mummy-Holmes' opinion meant... to both her children, and Sherlock had seen the flash of panic pass through John's eyes.
"She'll love you, I know she will".
"Then why?" John's voice was muffled against Sherlocks shirt, but the man knew what John was asking.
"Because it was none of Mycroft's business" he muttered, his voice silky smooth once again, "It should have been my decision, our choice... not HIS".
John shivered, but nodded, light fingers tracing lines along the small of Sherlocks back where a small patch of skin had revealed itself under the detective's jacket and Sherlock shivered, feeling John grin and capturing those smirking lips in a kiss.
John was terrified Sherlock could tell, but he wouldn't let anyone, Mycroft or even Mother interfere. John was his, he'd always been his, and Sherlock didn't share.

He just needed to remind John of that fact.

John shivered but it wasn't the cold evening air, it wasn't even the long smooth fingers wrapped around his hand, or the thought that mere hours earlier they'd been wrapped around another part of him, dragging mewls and panted cries from his throat. No, what caused him to shiver was pure hard terror. He was certain Mummy-Holmes was lovely, but he was just as certain that if she didn't like him, Mycroft could have him vanishing within hours.
Some kind of Butler opened the door, and only Sherlock's hand on the small of his back kept John moving. The dark grey suit Sherlock had gotten made for him made the Doctor feel like something out of a cheesy movie, but he determinedly did not tug at the sleeves, keeping his nerves centred inwards.
They were led through the huge house in silence, and left outside what John could only assume was the dining room, but as the Butler left, Sherlock halted his movement towards the door, crowding his against the nearby wall.
"Sherlock, we-".
"I love you" he whispered, his voice a low purr, and John could feel his hands begin to tremble. Sherlocks mouth brushed his ear as he spoke, and John's eyes fluttered closed as he focussed on the voice in his ear, whispering precious words that would get him through the evening.
"I love your eyes, and your jumpers, and the way I can never understand you" Sherlock whisper, his voice wavering. These were things he'd never spoken, never planned on saying.

John knew, and he knew that John knew. It didn't need saying...
It hadn't needed saying until his brave little soldier encountered something that was truly frightening him. Loosing Sherlock. The detective had to make sure, in his own mind, that John knew he'd never loose him, not for anything.
So he kept whispering.
"If she doesn't like your humour, or spots those army tattoos, I don't care... you're not here for them, you've come for me, and I know that..." he bit John's ear softly, careful not to mark it, and felt his lovers breath catch, and strong hands twitch as John fought to keep them from twining into Sherlock's hair.
"No one can interfere, not unless we let them..." Sherlock pulled back and John caught his lips swiftly, gently, almost a brush of skin against skin rather than a kiss filled with emotion.
"Ready?" Sherlock whispered his lips pressed to a soft mouth, his body pulled against the strong man that made him happy, and John smiled.
"God, Yes" The Doctor's confidence returning in the straightening his back, and the light in his eyes. If Mother couldn't see that this amazing man made him happy, then let her disown him. Sherlock didn't care anymore. Let Mycroft meddle to his hearts content.
Sherlock opened the dining room door, and let John in first, both of them sharing a private smile.
No one could take this from them.