#fff298

We’ve been through hell a couple of times since the mentioned January day at Barts. I have hurt him. He has hurt me. I told myself I deserved every blow he gave me. Now, I’m not so sure.

“I can’t ever forgive myself for what I did to you, Sherlock,” John said when we finally reconciled, and he reluctantly agreed to move back home.

He cried, which was an alien sight. I had never seen John cry before. It broke my heart, and I slowly got up from my chair. My body was still bruised, and every movement hurt.

I slid one hand up his right arm, while the other rested on the nape of his neck. His left hand was still covering his eyes, which hindered me from pulling him tighter toward me. To my utter relief, he didn’t pull back when he had calmed.

“Why are you so good to me, Sherlock?” he whispered hoarsely.

The words resting on the tip of my tongue, were too dangerous to speak. Perhaps one day.

“You are my best friend, John,” I told him, reminded him.

“Some friend I am,” he huffed and moved.

I let him go with a heavy heart.

“You were grieving.”

“No excuse,” he said angrily.

I winced involuntarily at the vehemence in his voice. Thank God, he didn’t see it. Or so I thought.

When he lifted his head, new tears trickled down his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve your friendship,” he whispered and took my hand in his. “If you still want me and Rosie to move in, I promise I’ll do better. I’m working on my anger, and…”

I gripped his hand so hard I thought he would squirm, but he seemed unfazed. His face, though tear and grief stricken, was open, unveiled, and I realised that my feelings for him weren’t as unrequited as I’d feared. 

His phone buzzed before I managed to catalogue everything, but he didn’t let go of my hand, which I took as a good sign.

***

After John left, I thought about the previous conversation with my brother. I admit, I didn’t pay full attention. My mind was elsewhere. With John. As always. I was nervous about his answer to my request of moving back. So, when Mycroft mentioned the hidden chemistry between me and John, I honestly had no idea what he was on about.

“What are you talking about, brother mine?” I snapped.

“Is it not obvious?”

The question soared around the corridors of my Mind Palace until it led me to the door of John’s Room. Behind said door was the truth I had avoided for so long. When I looked at it from a distance, it was crystal-clear. Our chemistry was a tangible thing from that particular point of view. 

Sentences and statements from us both lit up the room:

“Where he goes, I follow.”

“I would be lost without my blogger.”

“Of course, you’re my best friend, Sherlock.”

“You are the bravest and kindest and wisest man I have ever known.”

***

Two days after John and Rosie moved in, John finally noticed what was missing from the flat.

“Sherlock, please tell me you haven’t given up on doing experiments for our sake. I don’t want you to – “

“John, it is one thing to have chemicals and body parts lying around when two adults live together. Bring a toddler into the equation, and things change considerably.”

“I get that, but – “

“221C. That’s where I’ll be doing the more…dangerous and malodorous experiments. Mycroft had it renovated. It even has proper ventilation now.”

“So, you’ve hidden your chemistry set and everything down there?”

“Yes. Well, almost. I’ve kept the microscope up here. Molly had a spare one I keep down there.”

“Wow, well, I guess that’s good. I never thought I’d say this, but 221B’s kitchen wouldn’t be the same without that microscope.”

His voice was teasing, and…happy?

“I am happy, Sherlock. This is the only home I’ve ever wanted. Sharing it with you and Rosie…well…”

“Since when did you become a mind reader, John?” I teased back.

“Learned from the best,” he replied mirthfully, before he turned serious. “I’ve missed you, Sherlock. I’ve missed us.”

His hand found mine so easily, as if it was a habit, normal.

“I’ve missed you too, John. And us.”

Carefully, I pulled him closer. He didn’t hesitate, but put his arms around me, and placed a hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes and said the words I had hidden for so long.

“I love you.”

He echoed my words reverently before he kissed me.

“No more hiding,” we agreed when we could think straight again.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely @jolieblack

@221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

@peanitbear @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982 @meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl

@missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12 @jawnscoffee @gay-ass-bitch

@acumberlockedgirl @willamholmeswatson @whatnext2020 @mydogwatson @redmondcollege

@thegildedbee @ilovegayangels @elizabethhood @xmengal03 @riversong912

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @couldbecannibal @2old2b-fangirl @dw91165 @jonkwatson

@binx72 @macgyvershe @raina-at @dragoonthegreatest @kholkate

@fookincarrotsandpotatoes28 @talkativeanxiousturtle @aloeverawrites @twoandahalfdimes @desi-yearning

Toto decided to come clean. After all the cat was out of the bag. It might look like Ron’s willfulness got them in trouble, but it was due to Toto’s concern that this case fell through. There were so many questions in his head. He knew that Ron only wanted to help him.

“Uh, my friend, Ron, a hobby detective smelled an opportunity to ask Mr. Soke concerning his daughter’s case and well, he didn’t like it. And so was his friend, the general.”

“You mean, General Kitayama?” His Senpai’s eyes turned huge upon hearing the military man’s involvement. She knew him, not personally, but his reputation surpassed him well. Amamiya knew that the police investigation would encounter difficulties along the way when the general was caught up in the case. Now that he heard from Toto that his relationship with the victim’s father didn’t change, perhaps he didn’t have anything to do with it, and the case being dropped was only a logical conclusion. But going back to her subordinate…

“I’ve known Ron, I’d say, a year, Senpai,” Toto replied. He couldn’t say if she entirely hated him and this, he recalled that he requested for a time off yesterday. “He wanted to celebrate our first anniversary as friends at the À la maison. But he sensed the chance to follow up an investigation, so we ended up bothering Mr. Soke, which was not our intention in the first place…”

“First anniversary? What? Are you two dating? Wait… Is this Kamoo-san?”

Toto nodded. One way or another, he was relieved that she didn’t know anything more about Ron and the Kamoo-san she knew was a sweets peddler who behaved like a detective.

“A year? Hmm… It doesn’t look that way. You follow each other as if you live in the same house,” his boss glared at him. “I saw him earlier today.” There was a dash of jealousy in the tone of her voice.

Amamiya was leaving the supermarket when she noticed the brunette shaggy-haired man browsing at the different brands of milk on the shelves. In her eyes, Ron stood out from the rest. His beautiful blue eyes were hidden behind the unruly fringes.

They exchanged niceties talking about their day until an idea came up to her. She asked Ron for a date.

Ron touched his lips and then turned to Amamiya, his blue eyes were shining.

“Can Toto come too? I think he’s on his way now to work…”

Horrified, she stared at Ron as if the young man grew horns on top of his head. Almost 30 and still single all these years, Amamiya thought Where had all the pretty men gone?

“He’s going to be busy. He will be back in Aichi Prefecture this weekend to assist Kawasemi.”

Not entirely Amamiya’s idea, it was a stroke of luck that Kawasemi called.

“If you don’t particularly care, I could use Isshiki to lend me a helping hand,” Kawasemi said.

Overjoyed, she immediately told Toto about it. Toto, in turn, was happy that the Aichi police detective still remembered him. He wouldn’t mind meeting him again. It felt good earning friends from this business.

“I know. I’ll accompany him there,” Ron said as if it were the normal thing that he and Isshiki do.

When Amamiya returned to the office, dejected and embarrassed, she received a call from Nazukihiko. It felt like being reprimanded by the Japanese Tenno. She turned red all over her face, it took an hour to calm her down. Waiting for Toto, she cornered him and lashed out.

“His son-in-law told us to keep our distance. But Senpai, I believe that there is more to the case that we aren’t seeing the real picture.”

She almost made a face palm. Sometimes. Toto’s eagerness was admirably stupid.

Forgetting the incident with Nazukihiko for a brief moment, Amamiya’s irises turned icy determined to know the real score between the two young men who oozed with some kind of hidden chemistry that she couldn’t easily shake off.

“Isshiki, are you and Kamoo-san living together?”

“Eh?” Toto couldn’t understand this invasion of privacy.

“Never mind. You know what? Don’t…tell me.” Amamiya held her forehead, sighed, “I think I know what your answer will be.”

She left the office without further ado making Toto uneasy. And yet the day was productive for the police officer. Grateful that nothing eventful anymore happened and although it was boring, all he did was filing and following up.

On his way to his flat in Asakusa, he decided to stop by at the park and called up his friend.

“Ron, it’s me… can we talk?”

Their parting in the morning was devoid of harmony. There was lump in his throat.

“You were angry when you left.”

“I was. I am stupid.”

“You aren’t. It was me who screwed up. Please forgive me, Toto?” Loud noises masked the silence between the two men. It was Toto who broke the ice with a voice of concern.

“What was that sound? Are you hurt? What are you doing?”

“I am baking a cake. One of my tenants harvested his zucchini and I am transforming it into a chocolate cake. Come here, Toto, we’ll talk in person. I want to see you again.”

“All right.”

“I am glad.”

Toto couldn’t give up this up now. Someone had to look out for Ron. Someone… like Toto.

She frowned, moving the sack of food a little further behind herself. With a tentative finger, she pushed the door open enough to peek into the alcove. Lin’s armor waited patiently, neatly stacked as ever. When she glanced down at Lin’s boots, she noticed they were open from the back rather than replaced in their normal fully-shaped state. Her frown deepened, and she looked more closely.

Lin’s uniform was there, true, but it faced the wall. Under normal circumstances, Lin always made sure it looked like a person was facing the door. “It should spook anyone trying to sneak in,” she claimed. Pema could see the point of that now. From here, even in the dark, it looked more like a coat than something meant to intimidate. Lin’s vambraces were on the floor, partly obscured by the boots. Her briefcase was on its side - something she almost never allowed to happen.

The unease in her chest was just not going away. If anything, it was growing.

She paused to listen, the way Lin had taught her. Identify the common noises (Old Man Chin next door, snoring away) and ignore them. Pinpoint the perfectly explainable noises (the rattle of the elevator), and ignore them, as well. “When you are left with silence, listen to it. Are there noises you should hear, but don’t? Are the hackles on the back of your neck making you worried or afraid, or not? Trust yourself,” Lin had told her. “You’ll know whether to come inside or run for the stairs.”

Pema took a deep breath through a wide open mouth, staying as close to silent as she could.

She had expected Lin to be cooking, or painting at the kitchen table. No sounds of chopping, or the soft noises of Lin humming to herself as she painted. Lin was clearly here, and she never was asleep at this hour.

And yet, she wasn’t afraid to go inside.

So she straightened her back, kicked off her shoes, and closed the door, locking it carefully. With Tenzin and Ikki on a trip to the Southern Temple and the boys at the Island with Bumi, the two of them would have the night to themselves.

Homebender, she had called herself. It was time to make good on it.

She carried her bag into the kitchen, making enough noise to ensure Lin would understand there was a presence, but not a threat. A quick snap turned the radio on. The knives Lin did such a beautiful job sharpening made quick work of the vegetables. Pema glanced over her shoulder, wriggled a hand in her bag and brought out a small bottle, making sure to stash it again before Lin could see.

Once the rolls were rolled and the oil was hot enough, Pema began to wonder what it would take to lure Lin out from her hiding place. With a shrug, she began the frying that would usually do the job.

It only took a few minutes to put the finishing touches on the hot and cold foods. Pema arranged the platter, picking it up and turning around to the table.

And then nearly jumped out of her skin to see Lin already seated.

“Lin! You scared me!”

Lin’s shoulders drooped.

Pema scooted over to deposit the platter before pressing herself to Lin’s side.

“Lin?” she asked hesitently.

Lin shook herself and lifted her right hand to cradle her face. Pema sat still, recognizing the gesture, and knowing it was not the time to intrude into Lin’s thoughts. Instead, she rubbed Lin’s back a few times, then leaned forward to make a plate for her. A pair of rolls, a few orange slices, and a glass of water were usuallly sufficient.

Lin remained quiet. But once it occurred to her that Pema was waiting for her ‘elder’ to begin eating, she harumphed gently, and bent to taste one of the rolls Pema had prepared.

Pema, for her part, took a drink to disguise her attention on Lin’s experience. Two bites in, Lin had wide eyes, and was clearly trying to eat the too-hot rolls too quickly. She paused long enough to eat some of the oranges, but ate the second roll like someone was going to steal it from her hand.

Once finished with that one, Lin finally spoke. “Are there any more? Those tasted amazingly good. Even for your cooking.”

Pema allowed herself a pleased smile before picking up Lin’s plate and returning to the stove for two more.

“I’ll make you guess. Tell me what you taste.”

Lin’s eyes lost their focus and her head dipped slightly.

“You’ll laugh at me.”

Pema patted Lin’s knee. “I promise to try really hard not to.”

Lin rolled her eyes, then said, “It tastes like home. Like Gaoling.”

“I wondered if you would be able to tell, with your earthbending,” Pema said with a smile.

But it was Lin’s turn to frown. “Is this where you call me a dirt eater?”

“Absolutely not,” Pema retorted, hurt. “I know the Beifongs haven’t eaten dirt in at least a thousand years.”

Struck, Lin froze.

Pema stared right back at her.

The silence stretched until Pema stood abruptly and pulled her bag over, rummaging in the bottom for the small bottle. She pulled it out, twisted it so she could see the label, then leaned against Lin’s shoulder to display it to her.

Lin looked down and read Gaoling Salt. She looked at Pema with a raised eyebrow.

“My brother sent it to me. Said that one of his colleagues at the university had been playing around with seaweed and wheat. He sent me this to see if I could hide it in something and get some honest reactions. I’d say your reaction to this little chemistry experiment was positive.”

Lin narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.

“What would you have said if I hadn’t liked it?”

“That you were being picky about the carrots again.”

One shove of a shoulder got another shove of a shoulder, back and forth until the laughter took over and they fell back against the floor of the kitchen.

Lin rolled into Pema’s side, and Pema brought her hand up to stroke Lin’s bare shoulder. She bent her neck to kiss the crown of Lin’s head.

“Hey darlin’.”

“Greg, is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s alright, love. Donovan’s handling the case. I’m still here.”

Mycroft let out a breath. “Good. Um… is he-?”

“He’s here. It’s good if you pick him up, Myc. He- he’d probably need someone with him tonight.”

It was just as he had feared then.

“I’ll have to take him home with me, Greg. At least just-.”

“I know, love,” Mycroft’s heart ached as he heard the smile in his lover’s voice. “I’ll drop by and see him when he’s back at his flat.”

“Would it be alright with you? Truly?”

“’Course, I’ll be alright, Myc.” Bless this man. Despite the loud music, Greg’s voice was soft in his ear. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I know. It’s-”

“Don’t worry about me, alright? Look after him. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve done this, but will you be able to handle him yourself?”

“Yes… yes, I’ll manage. But- I feel like I’m kicking you out.”

Greg laughed, warm, light and… generous. “I’ll be alright. Promise. Sherlock comes first. For the both of us. How long d’you think you’d be able to make him stay there?”

“I’d be shocked if he stays the entire night, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh, don’t be-” he cut off, abruptly, tone shifting to urgent. “Mycroft, he’s leaving.”

“It’s alright. I’m just outside.”

“Oh, okay. Alright. Call me when you get home, yeah?”

“I will, Greg. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, darlin’,” Greg said, the warmth in his voice still overwhelming even through the phone. ”Love you.”

“I love you too.”

As the call disconnected, Mycroft subconsciously pressed his phone to his lips, as  it would help him be just a little closer to Greg, draw what strength he can that he’d definitely need for the long night ahead.

When Sherlock unceremoniously plopped himself on the backseat beside him, Mycroft could just feel his brother’s exhaustion. Neither of them uttered a word for a while, not that they had to.

“Where are we going?” Sherlock muttered, his eyes still closed, head laid back against the headrest, having realized they were not heading to the Baker Street flat.

“My place,” Mycroft said. Looking over at his brother, he sighed. “Have you eaten?”

The question was unnecessary, he’d known even before Sherlock made a low noise of dissent. But it served as a statement.

“Not hungry,” Sherlock said, as a protest, as Mycroft fished out his phone from his jacket.

Yet, Mycroft dialed for takeaway. “You will be.”

Sherlock merely sighed.

In times like these, Mycroft wished they were still children, living out the last of their ‘normal’ life in Musgrave, when Sherlock would come running to him for everything, because Mycroft to Sherlock, was this all-knowing being who had the power to fix just about anything. He’d trusted his brother to dry his tears, take his hand make all his worries go away.

More than everything, Mycroft just wished he was that powerful now as he was thirty years ago.

The call made and food ordered, Mycroft expected the rest of the way home to be silent as well. But just as he turned to the tinted windows, he heard Sherlock shift beside him.

“Are you kicking him out for the night just so I’d feel less miserable?”

Well, there goes his plan to let him in on the revelation gently.

“No,” Mycroft said carefully, “he offered to let me pay my full attention to you until this mess is sorted out.”

“There is no mess to sort out, Mycroft.”

Well, he hated that, mostly because it was true. Mostly true.

Sherlock laid his head back again. “Everything’s as it should be.”

Mycroft didn’t like how resigned Sherlock sounded. A part of him—the twelve-year-old, overprotective brother—wanted to blame John Watson, call him cruel for asking Sherlock to be his best man, knowing Sherlock would go above and beyond to fulfill his duties, regardless of the toll it would take on him, while the rational part of him, which was not as blind, knew that was how John could let him know Sherlock was still just as important to him as he was before.

Simply, there was no mess.

“I’m only tired, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, with a sigh. “You can stop worrying.”

He’ll stop worrying when one or both of them are dead, thank you very much.  

“Don’t fall asleep now,” Mycroft said instead, as the car slowed to a stop and Jeremy got out to collect their dinner. “I won’t be carrying you to the house.”

Sherlock scoffed, but a tiny smile lingered.

Sherlock was not five anymore. Maybe that meant he could wipe his own tears now.

But that didn’t mean he was alone.

As he checked the soft buzz of his phone, Mycroft saw that it was a text from Greg telling him that he’d arrived at the hotel, asking him to call when he could.

Mycroft smiled.