What We Hold Hidden

Hello all. While this is not my first foray into the magic of fanfiction, this is the first work I have ever posted anywhere. I hope it satisfies your late-night fanfic cravings and even a kink or two. Read on my lovelies and enjoy.

John shivered against the cold sterility of the exam room as he slowly buttoned his shirt. It was an odd thing to feel discomfort in a room so central to his profession but being on the other side of the stethoscope was never a comfortable place for him. Coupled with the reason for his visit, the entire situation had him on edge, the tremor in his hand noticeable as the exam had progressed. John was a private man, as difficult as that was to maintain living with Sherlock Holmes but this was one area where he actually made an effort to conceal it from his inquisitive flat mate. A medic he'd served with during his first tour in Afghanistan, Teddy was the only one he trusted with the details of his condition. Condition… he'd often heard it referred to in such a way by medical professionals, even by his own parents. He hated it, it made him sound ill or damaged in some way, but there was nothing medically wrong with him. He'd come to terms with his body years ago, he just didn't trust others to be as accepting of it.

His thoughts were abruptly disrupted by a soft rap on the door.

"Come in," he intoned absently, thinking it was merely Teddy or the nurse. The soft, measured click of expensive dress shoes across the tiles made his stomach plummet. He only knew one man in his immediate acquaintance who wore shoes like that. Determined not to panic, he calmly finished buttoning his shirt and slipped his jumper on over it.

"Can I help you Mycroft?" The other man didn't reply, merely crossed into his line of sight and settled himself in the chair reserved for the absent doctor. He seated himself and smoothly crossed his legs staring at John silently all the while. Any other time he'd have found the eldest Holmes' sense of over-dramatization merely entertaining but he was tense with fear of what the man knew.

"Are you going to offer me money to leave him?"

Mycroft settled his ubiquitous umbrella against the wall and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward.

"Is that what usually happens, John?" His tone was infinitely gentle. "Someone finds out and then you're asked to leave? Is that what happened in the army?" John's fist clenched, nails gouging into his skin, though he gave no other sign of turmoil. Mycroft's eyes flickered down but he didn't comment on it.

"John I'm not here to threaten you or perpetuate any other indignity you have suffered at the hands of the ignorant. I am here to implore you to confide in my brother about your unique physicality." The former soldier went completely still, blue eyes intent as they locked on Mycroft's face.

"Why? Because he would find it interesting for a week or two? Some new oddity to research or experiment with? "

He knew it wasn't true even as he said it but his defenses were ingrained and automatic.

"No, John. Your very nature fascinates Sherlock. He has never allowed any person as close as he has allowed you. He has opened himself to you in a way I never dreamed would be possible for him, though I always hoped for it." Mycroft watched him intently, blue eyes scanning his face for the minutia that would reveal his innermost thoughts. Not for the first time John wished he were capable of it in return as he held himself silent and waited.

"Tell Sherlock. Open yourself to him as he has to you. He will not turn away; rather you will find it pulls him closer to you."

"We're close now." He argued. Close was rather a large understatement. They practically lived in each other's pockets, in a literal sense as Sherlock's hands found their way into John's pockets and into his person with ever increasing frequency. For all that the genius loathed the touch of others he seemed to find constant pleasure in touching John.

"That is true but if you hold back from him Sherlock will sense it, he will feel the inequality of it and it will leave him confused and wounded. Eventually he will retreat into himself as he always has." The elder man's blue gaze would not release him as he pleaded for his brother.

"Please, John. I need my brother. If he shuts himself away this time, I fear he will never come out. I know you care for him as I do and I know that in his way he cares for you, as do I." The intensity of his gaze finally withdrew and he sat back. John was watched him silently as he collected his umbrella from the wall and rose gracefully to his feet.

"Think on it John." It was more a command than a plea but it was softened by the elder man's lips pressing gently into his hairline as he passed. For all that he would deny it emphatically; the British Government was a soft touch when it came to family.