"John"

Same. This is the same. Feels the same. And John swore he heard the sound of his heart being torn, as he watched Sherlock pull away from the church. This is like before. Standing, looking and watching... His ears started to ring.

"John?"

Not again...not again. There has to be something that can be done this time. This can't be happening. He felt his arm clutched firmly, and John looked around. Lestrade. Why is he here...in a tuxedo? What is he saying?

"John, are you alright? Look at me John! For Christ's sake Mycroft, come over here and help me!" as Greg suddenly found himself with his arms full of Dr. John Watson, as John lost the ability to stand.

He pleaded over his shoulder towards Mycroft for help, and the man slowly approached with a manic joyful smug smile, that was a little frightening. He reached out to help pull the doctor to his feet.

Mary turned away from the last of the guests to talk to John, but found that he had moved to the pavement near the street and stood between Mycroft and Greg. Something didn't seem quite right.

Mary called out with concern in her voice, stared a bit wide eyed at the three of them "John, everything alright?"

Greg was going to answer in the negative, but Mycroft responded first, "Oh yes, he's fine, just a bit light headed. We'll get him some water and bring him right in"

Greg gave a slight curious look, narrowed his eyes at the other man.

"Well, okay...you sure?" she asked as she took a step towards them. Mycroft gave her a reassuring nod and a wave that turned her back towards the church.

"Alright, well, come along as soon as you can. We need to sign the papers and head out to the reception" Mary said as she was swept away by the clergy, back into the church.

John's face was ashen, and he knew...just knew. Not just the grief talking then or the pain of the loss of his best friend. He was a coward, never should have left Sherlock. Should have... John glanced at the church and his two groomsmen who still supported his weight. The three of them stood in tuxedos, for a wedding. What should he do now? There must be something that can be done...

"Yes John, there is," Mycroft said. John looked at the man, the certainty on his face. Okay, apparently Mycroft knew what to do.

"Are you certain, John? You must be absolutely sure." Mycroft held the doctor firm and looked him in the eyes.

John pulled himself up to stand tall, and straightened his jacket.

"Please, Mycroft. I know... I can't" as John glanced back to the street where Sherlock had just been, and then back to Mycroft. "I am certain."

Mycroft grabbed John by the arm and started to walk him into the church. Greg trailed behind.

"Someone want to explain to me what the hell is going on?"

"Gregory, language..." Mycroft chided playfully "Just trust me."

Greg followed them into the church, with an expression on his face that said, this should be interesting.

As they approached the church office, the sound of Mary's happy laughter filled the hall. John had a stunned expression on his face as they filed into the office.

Mary looked up at him and smiled widely. Happiest day of her life, that's what she had said to John earlier.

Oh God, how are we going to tell her?

"John, need you and your witnesses to give your signatures, and this will all be official" the clergy said happily, gave a wave of the pen towards Greg and Mycroft then gestured to the paperwork on the desk.

Mycroft slid from beside John and stood between him and Mary.

"I shall not sign." Mycroft declared.

The smile on Mary's face slid off and confusion replaced it, with a hint of hopeful levity "Sorry, what? What does that mean, you shall not sign?"

"I shall not sign, as I do not believe this marriage is what John wants."

A rush of red spread across Mary's checks, and the clergy pulled in all of the air in the room.

"What? John, what's he on about?" She snapped he attention from the offending man to her groom.

"Mary. He means that I..I can't marry you," John stammered.

"You just did marry me John! What on earth are you talking about? Have you gone mad?" She rushed a few steps forward and reached out to grab John, but Mycroft slid a half step to block her.

Mary snapped a furious confused gaze at Mycroft.

Mycroft leveled his stance, softened his eyes, and looked at Mary.

"My brother Sherlock is alive."

And no words came out of Mary's mouth even though it hung open at the ready to speak. It was like she was a video recording that they had put on pause, her stare continued to bore into to Mycroft. The intense quiet confused moment was shattered when Greg shouted out from behind.

"What? He's alive! Sherlock's alive? Bloody hell Mycroft, what on earth, I can't believe it, are you telling me all this time that bastard has been..." Greg stammered to silence as both Mary and Mycroft turned to give the stunned detective a pleading look that conveyed that perhaps this was not the time for his questions.

"The dead detective friend of yours, he's not dead?" Mary asked as she slowly blinked her way back to life.

John nodded his head.

"Not dead?" She asked again.

John nodded his head again.

"How long have you known...known that he's not dead?"

"Today, this morning, Mycroft told me. I saw him. Saw Sherlock"

Mary nodded a bit frantically as the words spewed out and increased in volume to a shout at the end. "Ok, ok, so...he's alive. Alive. Not dead. That's great, that your friend who was dead is not dead, and you saw him and he's alive. Good, good then. Answer this for me John - what exactly does that have to do with marrying me?"

John started to speak, his body tensed up, and then suddenly relaxed as he thought of how to answer. He tilted his head to the side and gave a small smile, couldn't help himself. Even thinking the words...I love him...I'm in love with him... made him smile, however inappropriately in front of a woman in a wedding dress.

John opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. She cast her gaze acroos his face. Mary knew him well.

She slowly nodded her head. "Today...this morning you saw him" she huffed a bit of a laugh. "You've been so happy today, like a brand new man. And I thought it was because...because of us, getting married." Her bottom lipped trembled, and she bit into it to make it stop.

John looked down, feeling sorry that it unfolded like this but perhaps not sorry enough.

"Was it ever real, for you John? Did you ever love me at all? Or was I just a place holder for a dead man?" John looked up and started to speak. Mary raised her hand up. "Don't answer that. I know... I've always known. Just...I..." She looked about the office at a loss for words.

She looked at all the faces in the room, the expression of shock on the clergy's face, pity on Greg's, and smug satisfaction on Mycroft's that she so very much wanted to smack right off of him.

And John's face... apologetic and a sadness for her on his face. But unmistakable to Mary, she could see there was happiness and clarity, that even though he was hurting her, he knew that this was the right thing.

She took both her hands and wiped away the tears that she just realized were running down her face.

"Right...well," She turned a poisonous gaze at Mycroft. "I imagine you could arrange for all trace of John to be removed from my flat, by the time I return."

John narrowed his eyes at her.

"The honeymoon... I won't let a good holiday be ruined John."

She looked at him, took a deep breath, and collected herself. She calmly took a step closer to him and gave a sad thin smile. She softly said in her playful, teasing way.

"John...I don't think I can sign those papers and marry you. I know you are feeling disappointed, confused and hurt. Just not going to work out for us John, I'm afraid. Terribly sorry. And... I'm going to really hate you for a while. Just so you know." She gave another quick smile, but she was right on the edge.

She skittered out of the office, followed by the clergy. Once she reached the hallway, in a semblance of privacy, John could hear her start to cry as she walked away.

Greg let out the breath he had been clearly holding in the whole time. "My god, that was..."

John glanced back at Greg, "Yeah, I know."

"Come on John," Mycroft immediately walked out of the office and towards the street as he quickly texted. John and Greg stutter stepped to follow.

Mycroft's mobile pinged with a response as John and Greg caught up with him.

"He's driving around the city now John. We should let him come back at his own speed. I expect you want to be at Baker St. when he returns?" Mycroft said, turned towards John and Greg as a black sedan pulled up next to them.

John nodded dumbly...sure, sounds right.

"Good luck John." Mycroft said with a smile, as he reached out and opened the sedan door.

"Right" John glanced at Greg and then Mycroft. "Umm, thanks, Mycroft."

Mycroft gave a nod and watched John as he slid into the sedan.

Greg watched John drive away and then turned to the man standing next to him.

"So, where are we going?" Greg asked, as he bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets.

Mycroft gave the detective a very confused questioning look.

"Well, I was expecting a good meal, followed by cake. And dancing. I got all dressed up." Greg gave a game show wave from his shoulders down to his shoes. "The way I see it, you at least owe me good time tonight. A nice dinner and a very, very, long detailed explanation."

Greg gave his sideways smile, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and enjoyed the look of confusion on Mycroft's face.

Mycroft was smart. A genius. But he could not understand what was going on here.

Anthea stepped out of the black sedan just down the block, and gave them a wave.

Greg looped his arm through Mycroft's, and pressed close, whispered in his ear "Come on Mycroft, let's go" and led him away.

John lingered his gaze across Sherlock's sealed eyes and kiss swollen lips, as he slowly pulled away. He felt a slide in his vision, like a lens being put in place that would forever change how he saw this man before him. This was the person John loved, forever if allowed.

And then the day caught up with John, all the emotions started to overwhelm him, he could feel sparks of questions and fear and hope and happiness... when the towel wrapped about Sherlock's waist relented to the movement of their first kiss, slid down and landed on the floor with a thump. The sound effectively snapped John out of his head.

John held his laughter back as Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, tried not to make eye contact with John as he raised his gaze to the heavens and sighed.

"And now I'm naked in the sitting room."

"Yes..yes..you are indeed" John giggled a bit while he tried really hard not to take advantage of the situation to sneak a peek at the naked man in front of him.

An embarrassed flush spread across Sherlock's face, across his chest, and John took pity on the detective.

He pulled the towel from Sherlock's neck, unfurled it and wrapped it around Sherlock's waist, careful not to linger or brush the skin that John realized he suddenly wanted, more than anything, to touch.

Sherlock gave a silent nod in thanks.

He took a half step away as he said, "I'll just go get dressed"

John gave a look that asked why.

"Well, I'm not going to have this discussion in a towel."

"Are we having a discussion?" John asked, feigning a look of innocence that was completely at odds with the lusty thoughts that were rapidly filling his mind.

Sherlock paused his movement "I had assumed so, yes. Given your tendency to over analyze, your need to talk everything out, your staunch heterosexuality being thrown into the wind, and habit of being overly dramatic"

"I am overly dramatic?" John responded incredulously.

"Really John". Obviously

John just shook away his disbelief. Not important, to discuss that now, certainly not compared to the need to...

"If you feel like you want to be dressed, by all means. Best to decide, because, right now...I don't think I can...not touch you. Having you stand before me in nothing but a towel is suddenly making it very hard to resist exploring every inch of you."

Sherlock gave a long appraising look at John, before he said

"Is that a traditional response to declaration of love?"

"I don't know if it's traditional. It's how I feel right now, looking at you" John closed the gap and settled his right palm on the slice of hip in front of him, causing Sherlock to shiver. "Feels like a normal response, to all this."

John pressed in a bit more to share the space.

"Hmm, a normal response? Yes, well, that explains why I'm suddenly..." And they both looked down to the front of the towel, which was now misshapen by Sherlock's... response. And as his response started to grow, the towel once again became dislodged, and dropped to the floor.

Well, John couldn't not look now..."Yes, that does explain...that"

Sherlock quickly grasped John's hand "Come along John."

"Right behind you," as they both stumbled towards Sherlock's bedroom.

Sherlock inelegantly launched himself onto the bed, flopped on his back, and arranged himself. John approached quickly, hovered over the naked form below him, when he felt Sherlock's hand press against his chest, pushing him slightly back.

"Oh no, John. I shall not be the only naked person in this room. Strip. This minute"

John stood back and pulled the untied bow tie out with a stripper's flair. He started to work the buttons on his tuxedo shirt, and then began to fumble. Why were the buttons so bloody tiny? Cuff links, caught on the holes... cummerbund, damn it, where is the clasp...

"Come on John!"

"I'm trying Sherlock!" He laughed at Sherlock's impatience, as John grappled with his complicated clothing.

Then he saw Sherlock slide his left hand down to his hardening erection to give a press of his palm, pushing out a moan from the man that was ...oh my God.

Ok, not so funny now... must move faster. Jacket, suspenders, vest, trousers, pants, socks, shoes and now... John practically leapt towards the bed. Sherlock again raised his hand up to stop him.

"Sherlock, my God, what!" John shouted impatiently, as he settled back onto his heels.

Sherlock smiled... a seductive smile at that. A smile that slowed John's mind down and sped his heart rate up all at the same time. And that searching look, that started at John's eyes, and scanned horizontally, section by section, part by part.

"You want to take a look?" John said as he raised his arms up and glanced down to his bare body.

Sherlock hummed in affirmation. "I need to observe the scene first, before disturbing it... plan my approach."

"Want me to turn round for you" John said somewhat sarcastically, but Sherlock responded quickly,

"Yes, please, that would be most helpful John"

John huffed a bit as he shifted his feet. "Am I your latest case then Sherlock? Investigating Dr. John Watson?" He said laughingly as he made a complete circle.

"Indeed John, you certainly are a great mystery to me. Worth a very thorough investigation." Sherlock said as plainly as possible coupled with a ravenous gaze.

John could do nothing but gulp under the weight of such a hungry look.

Apparently Sherlock had seen enough, and a gave flick of his eyes, to beckon John over. John moved somewhat hesitantly now that he knew Sherlock may have more of a plan than John did, about how to, well...

"Stop thinking John. I can hear it echoing about the room" Sherlock demanded. "Just come here" his voice had a slight breathless quality.

John nodded his head and pressed his right knee into the bed, between Sherlocks knobby legs. The bed sank under his weight as he stretched out to place both hands down, on either side of Sherlock's head. He slid his left knee to be just on the edge of the bed and started to lower himself down. His dangly bits, that dangled down, made the first contact with Sherlock's skin, and the spark it created caused them both to gasp a bit, but John did not slow his descent.

He slotted in and fitted where he could, skin on skin contact that started in their hips, rolled through their abdomens, and thighs, until as much as possible was touching.

And if that wasn't overwhelming enough, John shifted and gave a firm press down. Both their faces had stretched out towards a kiss, but that movement was halted and sound was generated from the sensation of their bodies pressed together.

John moaned a non-word while Sherlock groaned John's name like a sexy deduction he had just made, excitedly announced "John!", as the cause of the short circuit that had just happened in Sherlock's brain and the increase of the tensile hardness level of his penis.

John figured out that not every possible inch was in contact and quickly remedied this as he covered Sherlock's lips with his own.

The flick of John's tongue against the inside of Sherlock's upper lip, caused a reflexive response in Sherlock, whose arms instantly flew down to grasp John... right there... just there where Sherlock had so... many... times imagined being able to grab and feel the muscled backside, knead it firmly. Oh so much better than he had imagined.

It became an experiment of action and reaction

The opening of Sherlock's mouth led to a slide in of John's seeking tongue.

Sherlock's thrust upward of his hips, caused all the blood flow needed for thought to be bypassed to John's cock.

The friction of their thighs sliding past each other created a wave of goosebumps across... everywhere.

Kissing led to licking which led to panting

Panting led to moaning

Moaning led to grinding, and then grinding harder, sliding and touching of all possible skin, faster, faster. And it is not enough, oh... my... God.

And then...

John suddenly found himself on his back, with the air he needed to breath catching up to him slightly slower than helpful.

Sherlock hovered over him, but not pressed against him.

Well, that made no sense at all. Have to fix that, John thought to himself as he stretched his neck up to kiss the creature whom had become the entire embodiment of John's desire.

Even John's penis was smart enough to know that this was an intolerable situation, and jutted straight up towards the warm skin that was right up there.

"Slow down John."

Sherlock said Slow down John, which John interpreted as Go faster.

He whined in response and reached up to wrap his arms around those shoulders sculpted by artisans, and attempted to pull down.

Sherlock pulled back and panted "No, no, John, we have to slow down."

"What...what... I don't understand" as John comically craned his lips out to try to catch...

"I will ejaculate all over you, right now if you do not stop touching me" Sherlock said loudly and matter of factly.

Oh. Yes, well, John heard that loud and clear. And certainly could sympathize.

"Right, yes, of course. Sorry." John slowed his breathing to try to get under control. Sherlock gave John a quick nod, glad that John understood.

Sherlock pulled in and pushed out air, shifted his hands to either side of John's shoulders, straightened his long arms while he slid both legs to fit between John's.

He was careful not to rub their cocks together at all, because that would be not good. Well... it would be fantastic, but not conducive to be able to last longer than one more minute.

John watched as Sherlock fitted himself in slowly, carefully, and John tried to keep still as Sherlock arched his back, raised his hips up, tilted his head down, and seemed to watch their bodies line up before he pressed their bodies back together... John hoped anyways.

Much to John's surprise, the detective kept on the move and suddenly John found that the tip of his dick was engulfed by a hot, wet mouth.

A more than ready mouth, as demonstrated by Sherlock's unfazed response to John's unconcious attempt to drive his entire length of his cock down Sherlock's throat.

"Oh - Sherlock! God..." John growled out and then panted. "Sorry, That's... ugh.. mmm... not... uh... not slowing things down. That's sp-sp-speeding things up" he bit into his bottom lip and fisted the sheets by his hips, to stop his hands from pulling Sherlock off or pushing him further down, John hadn't decided on which he was trying to stop himself from.

Sherlock slid his mouth off just enough to talk, he moved his lips against the head of the cock Sherlock so dearly wanted to continue doing things to,

"It's helping me slow down. John, I am certain this is not the first time you've been fellated. Surely you have a demonstrated method of preventing ejaculating too quickly."

"A method? You mean like think of the queen or something?"

Sherlock slid his mouth down once again and hummed in affirmation.

"Th-that's not helping... ohh Sherlock... mmmm. I am willing to try" John said with a surrendering sigh. John had started to go boneless and mindless anyways. Didn't matter any more - his performance, endurance, prowess as a lover. Didn't matter if he came down Sherlock's throat in the next two minutes. That concern melted away as he felt the pressure of Sherlock's delicious tongue as it swirled around and then slid up and down. As his mouth and cheeks created a gentle suction, oh god... He pressed himself back into the bed to think of the queen but then realized he had to see for himself.

Raven curls moved where he would normally see his penis, and knowing that it was tucked into Sherlock's mouth right now, ok, that thought was not helpful.

Sherlock's long fingers splayed against his abdomen and at the base of his cock. John could see scarring on his left hand

Ok, that may be work to take the edge off, to think about the injury Sherlock had sustained in Turkey.

His eyes traveled across the broad shoulders, down the expanse of Sherlock's back. Textured skin there on the right side, burned... that must have been Morocco.

Stab wound on the left side, nearly punctured his lung, if John recalled the reports from Nigeria.

Down, at the base of his spine, drag marks, from... What were those from?

Sherlock straightened up and sat back on his heels, John looked up at his face and asked, "What?"

"Mmm, worked a bit too well."

And they both looked down at John's nearly flaccid penis, seemingly ashamed of itself.

Sherlock spoke without looking at John, he couldn't look at him.

"Find me physically repulsive then, it seems. I had thought you of all people may be a bit more open minded about scars" Sherlock said as he gestured to the large angry scar on John's shoulder. He could not effectively mask the hurt on his face, considering the fairly venerable state he was in. He glanced at the door.

John instantly moved to stop Sherlock from bolting out of the room. "No, no Sherlock! That's not it."

They stood naked, toe to toe in Sherlock's bedroom.

"No?"

"No, God no, of course not Sherlock!"

Sherlock flicked his eyes down to John's offensively soft organ, and then back up to John. The look on his face challenged John to explain, if he could.

"Yes, I got distracted. By the scars. For a moment, that's all. Thinking about what you went through. That I should have been there"

Sherlock looked down shaking his head.

"I find you devastatingly attractive. Ridiculous, really, how much so. You're so perfect, for me. Please don't ever think otherwise. Please, Sherlock, look at me," John said as he reached out to lift the man's face by his chin that was pressed to his chest. He stepped forward and embraced him.

John stared at Sherlock, who looked so dismayed and stricken with doubt. Not the way John wanted him to feel their first time together.

Their naked bodies pressed together intimately, as John ran his fingers across each of the scars on Sherlock's back.

"You will chide me for sentiment. I was thinking about how my scar brought me to you, and yours showed me just how much you wanted to be brought back to me."

Sherlock shifted to get closer, and rested his head on John's shoulder. He took in a deep cleansing breath.

"I could agree with that sentiment." Sherlock sighed in John's arms.

John hummed in agreement. He let go and walked Sherlock back to the bed. They sat down next to each other and knocked knees together.

"Are we going to, you know.." Sherlock asked, gestured to the bed.

"How do you feel about it?" John asked, at which Sherlock simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I see." John looked at Sherlock. "I have an idea, can we try again?"

Sherlock nodded hesitantly.

"Good. Lay down on your right side." John stood to allow room for Sherlock to do so. He pulled his legs up, folded his right arm under a pillow, and rested his head down.

John circled and crawled onto the bed behind Sherlock. And then he stopped and really looked at Sherlock's back.

Sherlock fidgeted. He couldn't help but think, that this was exactly the opposite of what he wanted. He wanted to forget the scars were even there, maybe turn the lights out or something, so John wouldn't have to be exposed to the hideousness.

John arranged himself to lay just behind, but still able to look at Sherlock's back. John propped his right elbow against his head and draped his left arm around to Sherlock's chest and started to rub circles, grabbing bits of pectoral muscle, pinching a soft nipple to hardness, pressing his palm into Sherlock's strong stomach. He let his hand glance over Sherlock's penis, which started to show some interest again. John kept touching until he felt Sherlock's body relax.

He sat up to bring his right hand over to the first scar he saw, the burns, as his left hand encircled Sherlock's penis firmly.

Sherlock gasped at the feel, of John's hand wrapped around him, of a thumb as it traced the scar. And then John's lips ghosting over it as he spoke.

"We all have parts of our bodies we don't want others to see." He nipped at the tough skin.

"Not all of us are Adonis's with zero body fat, like you."

A long stroke and a wet kiss with a swirling tongue, then Sherlock moaned obscenely.

"And I hate you seeing how old, wrinkled and broken down my body is, compared to your perfect, lithe form."

Sherlock was about to protest verbally, when John pressed his renewed erection against Sherlock's wondrous backside.

Sherlock made such an amazing sound in response, that John had to catch his breath before he moved down to the puncture wound.

"Part of me wants to turn out the lights before you see how soft my tummy is getting."

He flicked his tongue into the valley of the scar just as he gave Sherlock's cock a few more swift strokes. A low rumbling groan traveled through Sherlock's chest.

"But I am not ashamed. And I know my body will not be improving with age, unlike you who seems to defy the passage of time. You will have to love me the way I am."

"Yes, John, I do, you're perfect. Simply perfect. You can't think..."

Sherlock tried to turn around, but John stopped him and interrupted with a lustful growl "And then neither can you, think that you are anything but everything I want. You are never to hide any part of you. I want it all."

John pulled the whole of his body tight against Sherlock, frantically grinded his hips against Sherlock, he pressed back. John vigorously stroked Sherlock's firm cock in his hand. Sherlock arched his back while John kissed, licked and nibbled at any piece of flesh he could reach.

"Do you understand Sherlock? I want every part of you"

"Yes, oh God yes, John, please, please."

"What do you want Sherlock? Tell me."

"I...I don't know, just, I want... more." Sherlock writhed as he was pressed again from behind, and then was pulled to lay on his back.

"John! Oh John! Mmm, yes!" was the response John got as he quickly swallowed the head of Sherlock's cock, sucked hard, and then slid his mouth up and down, over and over.

Sherlock couldn't stop it, the sound of John grunting and moaning as he took Sherlock in, the feel of that clever tongue finding all the right spots, the back and forth of John's hand as he stroked himself. The pressure built so fast that he barely had a chance to warn John.

"John, I..." And then he cried out, as he released into John's mouth. John unsuccessfully tried to suck, swallow, and have his own orgasm all the the same time. A muffled, sloppy moan ripped out of his throat. He chuckled as he rested his forehead against the inside of Sherlock's thigh, and caught his breath.

As Sherlock came down from his own high, he brought his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his hair, made him look even more debauched.

John slowly crawled up and dropped down beside Sherlock. They panted together,

"Mmm, that was..."

"Yes... Yes... It was."

"Mycroft, I don't think we should do this". Greg whispered softly, as they hovered close together in the doorway, with dawn's light behind them as it broke across the sky.

"I have to know Gregory" Mycroft whispered back, pleaded.

"Okay, okay, I'll go in with you" Greg reached for the keys and opened the door.

They both tip toed in, and quietly as possible, crept up the stairs. Mycroft followed behind the detective, perhaps closer than required, but given their evening together...

As they reached the landing, they turned towards the sitting room and found two towels, laying on the floor a few feet apart, but nothing else out of the ordinary.

"I would have thought you'd have had the placed wired," Greg asked, as he looked over the rest of the room.

"I did. I do believe that the good doctor made use of his idle time while he waited for my brother," Mycroft said as he lifted a glass of brandy, which had in it, settled at the bottom, a handful of micro cameras. Several thousand pounds worth of surveillance equipment.

Greg gave a laugh.

"I'm sure all is well then" Greg said, as he gestured to the hallway.

Mycroft raised a single eyebrow, turned on his heel, and slid towards Sherlock's bedroom door.

Greg quickly followed behind, and grabbed Mycroft by the arm.

"That's not on Mycroft. You can't look in there. What if they are, you know. In there... together"

"That's precisely what I need to know, Gregory." He stared hard into the man.

Overnight, Greg had gotten a swift education on just how far Mycroft Holmes would go to protect his brother, as the man told the tale of the last few years. There was nothing he wouldn't do and many things Sherlock would never know he had done.

This manic need was manifesting itself here, in perhaps an inappropriate way. But Greg understood it, now, that Mycroft would find a way, so Greg relented.

Mycroft hovered his hand over the door knob, gave it a slow turn and crept in. The low light level made it difficult to see, and Mycroft felt a bit crestfallen when it appeared that only one person was sleeping in the bed. Greg took a step in and looked over as well, as a sleepy moan and rustle of sheets happened. The single form split into two.

Mycroft... He had always hoped for this, for Sherlock.

Their mother had forced Mycroft to have a singular life of politics and power. Admittedly, he learned to love it, but there was no room for him to have this.

As his mother became harsher and harder on the young man, she withheld love and affection from Sherlock, much more so than she had with Mycroft.

And even though he, at times, colluded with his mother to force Sherlock to take the same path, part of him was elated when Sherlock finally found a path of his own. And that he could have this.

Mycroft released a weight that he felt he had been carrying for decades. Sherlock was in love and was loved.

Greg watched the man melt before him and took a step into his space to catch his eye. Mycroft looked at Greg and smiled. He nodded towards the bed and whispered. "Young love."

Greg nodded and smiled in response.

"I'm sure there's a fitting poem about it" Mycroft said uncertainly.

"Countless. Don't like poetry?" Greg asked.

Mycroft shook his head, "Not really my area."

There was a tiny chuckle, and Sherlock's voice boomed, "It's not funny John". And then Sherlock sat straight up, whipped around, and flung the sheet off of him to stare at his elder brother.

"Get the hell out of my bedroom Mycroft, you interfering git!"

Mycroft took a step towards the bed to speak, but Greg pulled him back.

"Apologies. We'll be leaving." Mycroft tried to press on, but Greg held firm and stared the man down "Now, Mycroft. Leaving now. Sorry lads."

The detective physically herded Mycroft out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him. As it latched, there was the sound of Sherlock's deep laughter overlaid with John's twittering giggle.

They listened for the front door to close before they pulled their bodies back together.

"Mycroft and Greg were just... um, what was that about?"

"Really John?"

"What?"

"Go back to sleep, I'll explain it to you later."

John sighed contentedly as he nestled into the crook of Sherlock's shoulder. And he thought for a moment before he bolted up and smiled down at Sherlock.

"Really?".

Sherlock nodded his head, feigning disgust. "Never mention it again John."

He gave a laugh and laid back down. He'd have to take the detective inspector out for a pint some time soon.

Note From ValkeryVale

I know how to make notes on AO3, but still haven't figured this site out yet.

If you read this far, thanks. This is my hobby that keeps me sane through my hectic work schedule. I've written this story on a plane, a train, being driven about, all on my IPad or Iphone. That tiny screen and autocorrect makes me want to scream somedays. And I make huge grammar, spelling, all kinds of mistakes, because I am in a rush. So, thanks for motivating me by reading and making comments, they have all been helpful.

In 2001 my best friend was murdered during a robbery, he was 27. For weeks after, I called his voicemail to talk to him, to hear his voice and finally to say goodbye. His mother knew and kept the phone active, so everyone could have a chance to say goodbye. There were hundreds of messages left by friends and family. And I am so thankful that our last conversation was about just how much our friendship meant.