CHARITY BEGINS AT HOME

The same charity event the next year, only this time, so far as anybody knows, John is flat broke again. This could be interesting... except, moral support comes from an unexpected quarter.

John brushed at his suit nervously. There was no way he could skip tonight's fundraiser for Ian's "Money from a Stone" charity, but he dreaded going.

It was a completely different kind of dread from last year. Then, he was self-conscious because his relationship with Ian was still so unexpected and charity events weren't exactly his thing. Facing down his uncle in the middle of the room and goading him (entirely unintentionally) into a heart attack had pretty much capped off a perfectly uncomfortable evening.

This year, though, things were different. To the knowledge of everybody there, he, John Watson, was poor again. Or at least, no longer wealthy. So far as the world knew, he had given up his inheritance to save the life of his best friend. He was fine with that (it made life so much easier), but still … it was going to make conversation even more awkward than usual in a room filled with the fabulously wealthy.

He wondered if Mycroft would be there again this year, so that he'd at least have someone to talk to. Then he hid a chuckle at the thought that small talk with Mycroft was a comforting thing.

With one last glance in the mirror, he turned and left the room. He didn't want to go, but he was a soldier and used to marching into unpleasant situations—at least this would be bloodless. Or, well, he hoped so. After last year, he couldn't be sure.

He was surprised to find Sherlock waiting for him in the sitting room, elegantly clothed in a black suit with a green shirt that did interesting things to his changeable eyes. John just lifted an eyebrow, and Sherlock said, "You don't think I'd let you go alone, do you? After I missed all the excitement last year?"

"You mean right after you swore fundraisers were hell on earth and nothing short of total catastrophe could force you to attend?"

"Exactly." Sherlock handed John his coat and then swept his own over his suit. "One of the very rare occasions that I've actually been wrong. I can't wait to see what you manage this year."

John just stared at him for a moment before realizing that this was Sherlock being his backup—not letting him face this alone. Being a friend.

"All right. Let's go."

#

The fundraiser was in the same room as last year, and John could almost swear the crowd was the same, all but for the clothes, no doubt. He was pretty sure he was the only person wearing the same suit.

He and Sherlock were barely in the door when he was practically pounced on by Tobias Leonard and Bill Gregory—heads of LSE and the charity. "Dr. Watson, it's so good of you to come," Tobias said.

"Please, call me John, both of you," he said, shaking their hands. "Do you both know Sherlock Holmes?"

They all greeted each other and murmured polite nothings (even Sherlock), and then Bill said, "I'm so glad you made it this year, John. I had worried that, with …" His eyes slid briefly over to Sherlock "… things being what they are, you might not have been able to come."

"It's Ian's charity," said John calmly, ignoring the inference that he couldn't afford it, "That he was good enough to start in my name. I wouldn't miss it."

Sherlock gave him a sideways look, but said nothing as he looked around the room. John hid a smile in his champagne glass as he recognized Sherlock's "deducing" face as he examined the other guests. He just hoped he was going to behave himself.

Excusing themselves, he and Sherlock circled the room. John was surprised how many people stopped to speak to him. Apparently he'd made more of an impression last year than he'd realized—though he supposed his dramatic life-saving act had helped. He wondered if James was here this year.

"I saw him over by the entrance a few minutes ago," Sherlock said, and John just smiled at Sherlock's never-ending ability to read his mind.

"I hope he keeps his temper this time."

"But people seem to have enjoyed your performance last year—maybe they'd like an encore."

"I'm not goading my uncle into another heart attack for your entertainment, Sherlock," John told him. "Besides, people get bored if you repeat the same act."

"We'll need to find you some other medical emergency then." John eyed him sharply but relaxed when he saw Sherlock's lips twitching at the corner.

"Let's just get through the night as quietly as we can," he said, but then groaned as he saw Sherlock's face freeze as Mycroft approached.

"Sherlock, John, it's good to see you both," he said.

"Come for the cake, Mycroft?"

"Sherlock," John said, and was relieved when his flatmate subsided. "How are you doing tonight, Mycroft?"

A small smile. "Fine, thank you, John. I was just talking with Mr. Gregory, who was telling me they got an anonymous donation for £100,000 this morning, just in time for the fund-raiser. Wasn't that generous of someone?"

John's could feel his eyes twinkling as he responded. "It certainly is. Some people obviously just have more money than they know what to do with." Letting Mycroft 'play' with his (secret) money had worked out wonderfully for both of them.

Sherlock just looked between the two of them in disgust. "Sickening. Really. This is not why I came here tonight."

Mycroft just gazed at his brother. "Which begs the question—why are you here, brother? Usually you can't even be paid to come to these kinds of functions. I know; I've tried. You can't tell me it's John's influence, since you didn't bother to come with him last year."

"I think he's hoping for a repeat of last year's emergency," said John, teasing.

"No, it's just that you get into too much trouble when I let you out of my sight," Sherlock told him. "I'd hate for you to embarrass Ian's memory again this year."

"Not true," said John. "He would have enjoyed seeing me in action. It was quite the crowd pleaser, remember, and I get the feeling he would have enjoyed seeing his brother taken down a notch—though he would have drawn the line at wanting him taken to the hospital."

"Let's hope he feels the same way, because James is on his way over." John turned to see where Sherlock was looking, and sure enough, Uncle James was on his way across the floor. He gave him a cordial nod as he approached, wife in tow. "Good evening, Uncle James, Aunt Samantha. It's good to see you both again."

After making sure everyone had been introduced, they exchanged pleasantries about the room, the people, the charity, and John was fighting back yawns by the end of it. He was also watching for signs of boredom in Sherlock—because, even without firearms in the room, that was always dangerous.

Still, Sherlock had learned manners somewhere in his past (even if he usually preferred not to use them), and he did manage to refrain from being outright rude. John had to hide a smile at the disbelief on Mycroft's face. He had obviously never hoped to see such restraint in his little brother.

Everything, really, was going smoothly until a Mrs. Barrington intruded and gave John condolences (condolences!) on his financial loss. She went on to say, "Naturally, I'm delighted you were able to come up with the necessary donation for tonight's gala. It wouldn't have been the same without you. Oh, unless Bill gave you a free seat for the evening?"

John forced a smile. He'd been getting snarky comments all evening, but this was the first time someone had come right out and asked. "No, I assure you, I paid my full donation for the evening. I wouldn't have missed it."

She blinked, her mascara-laden lashes waving heavily in front of her eyes. He wondered if that much makeup made them difficult for her eyelids. That couldn't be healthy, he thought, as he saw them tilt in Sherlock's direction. "Oh, yes, of course. It's so good that you're here."

John would have let it go, there. She had only said what everyone was thinking, after all—that Sherlock had stepped up with the fee because it was his fault John was poor again. That supposition alone was enough to make John want to laugh long and hard. Sherlock could be generous (i.e., careless) with his belongings, if only because that meant he could borrow (i.e., take) John's without any reciprocating complaints. He had been more than generous over the years with his bank card—anything to avoid having to go shopping himself.

Sherlock had been grateful, yes, that John had willingly paid the ransom for him, but he knew that half the money had actually been counterfeit provided by Mycroft, and been recovered besides. Even if the scenario they showed the public had been real, Sherlock's appreciation would have been genuine. But the idea that a one-time act of John's would spawn months, years of selfless gratitude from Sherlock Holmes was ridiculous, and to spend thousands of pounds just to come and mingle with insufferably boring rich people the likes of whom he'd been avoiding since he was fourteen years old?

It was all John could do to keep from laughing.

The incipient chuckle, though, withered and died as soon as Sherlock started to open his mouth. Oh Christ, thought John, he's going to say something unforgiveable. Mycroft's going to finally disown him and Uncle James is going to gloat like there's no tomorrow.

He didn't know what showed on his face, but he could feel his jaw opening as Mycroft stepped forward. "You're entirely correct. It would be a loss to all of us if Captain Doctor Watson had been unable to attend, but as luck would have it, he has managed to find the funds for not only himself to attend tonight, but my brother as well. Not that this surprises me, of course, because Dr. Watson is nothing if not self-sacrificing when duty calls, as are all the men and women we're here for tonight." His eyes raked over her, taking in her hair, her clothes, her jewels. "Not that I would expect you to understand the concept of sacrifice. You've spent your life being idly wealthy and would not be here tonight at all were it not for your hopes in catching the eye of Sir Reginald—who, I might add, is truly interested in veteran's affairs and would see through your superficial attempt at caring in a moment. I suspect that, outside this room, you've never met a wounded veteran in your life, nor have you given them a moment's thought.

"Really, I'm quite sure that Bill is delighted to have your money this evening, since it's likely to be the last he sees of you—which will be no small loss, for it's quite clear your checkbook isn't as plump as you'd like. Either that or you've been robbed recently since your jewels are all fakes. If so, I can certainly recommend my brother's services in apprehending the thief. His manners are normally atrocious, but he is quite skilled at his profession."

John could only stare. He had never seen Mycroft … well … lose it before. There had been dozens of times when he couldn't stand being in the same room with him, but he had never seen his manners actually collapse before. He had never seen him act like … Sherlock.

He managed to tear his eyes away to look at his flatmate and was pleased to see Sherlock looking as stunned as he was … though with a dawning delight in his face that didn't bode well for Mrs. Barrington unless she beat a very hasty retreat.

But he gave Sherlock too little credit. At this moment, he could care less about the obnoxious woman who had started this. He looked wholly entranced at seeing his brother … Mycroft Holmes, the unofficial British Government … give in to his worst impulses and deliver a well-deserved dressing down on a woman who was frankly appalling. Mycroft, who never did anything that wasn't thought out and planned and politically correct … except when it came to his brother.

And, apparently, his brother's best friend.

John just stared as Sherlock walked over to his brother and, without saying a word, clapped him on the shoulder and walked him over to the buffet table with a huge, wondering smile on his face.

It was perhaps the first time John had seen that Sherlock truly did love his brother.

Well, he decided, even if nobody spoke to him for the rest of the night, it was worth it.

#

NOTE: Yes, this DOES take place after Mycroft has started looking after John's money.

And, barring further inspiration, I think this pretty much brings this series to a close now. I hope you've all enjoyed this series as much as I have!