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Half a loaf (4/4)

Sherlock BBC

Rating: 18 (swearing, explicit slash)

Betaed by Gayalondiel

Summary: Now John's realised he's fallen for Mycroft, he needs an extremely implausible and stupid plan...

Note: some of the backstory here is inspired by an earlier story: Bodies in the Library

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Sherlock loomed up over John three days later, when he was staring doggedly at his screen, trying to think of anything to write on his blog that was worth saying.

"You're pining," Sherlock announced, "for Mycroft." He sounded startled and vaguely annoyed.

"Yes." There was no point in trying to conceal things from Sherlock.

"How strange. You'd better do something about it, it's distracting."

"I don't know what to do."

"I believe, under the circumstances, the conventional thing to do is go and have a long, serious talk with him," said Sherlock, managing to make this sound somehow deranged.

"I went round there," said John, "and the security system wouldn't let me in, said my iris scans were unknown."

"Ah," said Sherlock. "I can probably bypass that. I've always wanted a good excuse to try."

"Breaking into the house when someone's changed the locks? Not good."

"If you sit in Mycroft's office long enough, he'll turn up eventually."

"I certainly can't do anything with bloody Anthea around."

Sherlock sat down opposite John, pushing down the lid of his laptop and scrutinising him. John looked back, letting himself be deduced.

"Easiest to revert to where you were," Sherlock said at last. "I'm sure Mycroft could be persuaded to do that. And it'd get you access to the bread maker again."

"I don't want that!"

"Mycroft 's used not to getting what he wants. He copes with it admirably."

"I don't want to hurt him. He's my friend, a good friend. I, I care about him."

"And you find it necessary to express that care in sexual gestures, on the grounds that that is Mycroft's preference? Very odd."

"You don't understand, do you?" Trust Sherlock to be able to make a shitty situation even shittier.

"No. Sexual desire is strange enough, but infatuation is really peculiar. I take it that what you're trying to say, in a completely inadequate vocabulary, is that you are in love with Mycroft?"

"I suppose I am, yes." He waited for Sherlock to laugh at him, but Sherlock was oddly quiet, his face suddenly stilled, as if thinking, remembering...

"It would fit with the observable data," Sherlock said at last. "Therefore, you need to trigger your capacity for same-sex desire, at least sufficiently to satisfy Mycroft."

"You make it sound like an on-off switch," said John bitterly.

"Very hard to turn off, easier than you might think to turn on, under the right conditions," Sherlock replied. "I suppose one answer might be for you to sleep with me. That would convince Mycroft that you were amenable to homosexual activity."

"That's awful!" John said, and he found he was shutting his eyes, as if he could block out the thought that way. "You...it wouldn't be right."

"Curious," said Sherlock, and John could hear the lazy smile in his voice. "You would have done so six months ago, but now, because it would upset Mycroft, you find it distasteful."

"Anyhow," John said, and he looked up at Sherlock again - because he was not going to run away from this, he did not run away from anything, "You're not... you don't like sex!"

"No," said Sherlock, smiling knowingly back, "but I've had it sometimes. It's possible for the mind to fool the body. Convince your mind it's doing something it enjoys, and then your body can pump away happily."

"I wouldn't...I couldn't sleep with Mycroft when I was fantasizing about someone else," John replied. "Besides, he'd realise."

"Possibly. He has his weaknesses, but he's not entirely stupid. In that case, you need to fool both your body and your mind. The obvious answer is alcohol....So why didn't you jump Mycroft the time he got you drunk?"

"It, it didn't occur to me," said John. "I thought of him as a friend, that's all."

"Didn't stop you trying it on with me, did it? Oh, don't blush, John, that was an observation, not a moral statement. You'd already thought of me as a sexual object before that. Because of my physical appearance, you'd been sensitised to me. You need therefore, to start considering Mycroft as sexually desirable. Harder, I admit, but there are more unlikely objects of lust."

John put his head in his hands, starting to wonder if it would be easier if Sherlock just laughed at him.

"To put it in terms of love, rather than simple physiology, beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Sherlock went on remorselessly. "In the Middle Ages, they believed that love entered the soul through the eyes, and that therefore a blind man could not fall in love. Completely wrong, of course, but there's a germ of an idea there about the visual cortex and arousal. What you're going to do, John, is look at pictures of Mycroft. And you're going to think about his body as you look at them, holding him, kissing him, whatever floats your boat, as you once so oddly put it. And then when you see him next, you're going to get your bodies close to one another, and smell his skin, and remember those thoughts, and hope that you can somehow trigger enough of a hormonal overload for both your brains to switch off."

Sherlock paused, and then added abruptly: "Do you know how ridiculous sexual activity is, voluntarily clouding your mind like that? And this isn't even reproductive sex, it's completely pointless."

"It's what I want," John replied. "At least, I hope it is. It's certainly what Mycroft wants."

"The ways of the sexual never cease to amaze me," Sherlock replied. "But you'll do what I say?"

"I'm taking advice on sex from you? God, I'm desperate," John said.

"You have any better ideas?"

"Nope."

"Then you're taking advice from me. It's bad enough you being heterosexually lovelorn, but this is frankly much more inconvenient. How do I function if I don't have someone handy to send round and pester Mycroft?" Sherlock jumped up, and raced upstairs, calling down: "I'll go and find some pictures."

***   

It didn't sound quite so bad if you thought of at as looking at old photos of a friend, rather than psychological priming, John thought, as Sherlock started digging through the neatly organised box of photos.

"I haven't kept many," he said, "and Mycroft increasingly preferred to be behind the camera rather than in front of it. That's the whole family in 1980. As you can see, I take after my mother, and Mycroft got landed with the Holmes bone structure."

"He's not that bad looking," said John. "It's...it's quite a nice face, once you get used to it. If not conventionally handsome."

"Indeed. It's a genetic lottery that I look like I do and he doesn't. I can't think why it bothers him. Beauty is a curse sometimes."

"Which is why, of course, you take such immense care to highlight your physical attractiveness. All the fancy coats, and look, this shirt brings out my eyes, and have you noticed my hands yet?"

"You think your sweaters make you look good," Sherlock retorted. "If I looked like Mycroft it would be much harder to get information out of people, or access to corpses. Though Mycroft does manage more of an air of quiet menace. It's the quietness I find tricky myself."

"You're incorrigible, Sherlock."

"I know," Sherlock replied, smiling. "Now, we are supposed to be persuading you of the dubious physical appeal of my older brother, so let's continue."

A tall, gawky boy, and then the chubby teenaged Mycroft, the beaky nose peering out of a rounded, softened face. A few from Oxford, where he'd obviously started to lose weight again, several showing a slightly camp languor that couldn't completely hide how much fun he was having. A snap of him punting, a stern look of concentration about the mobile brows. And then...

"That one isn't Mycroft, is he?" said John, looking at one from the aftermath of some ball, a tall man in white tie staring down his prominent nose at the camera, with his arm around a giggling blonde. "It looks like him, but it isn't. There's something different."

"That he's with a woman?" Sherlock said, smiling.

"No, it's not just that. I can't explain why, but I know it's not him."

"Interesting," said Sherlock. "You're really starting to observe him, aren't you? Officially, you're wrong. This is Mycroft Holmes, his name and details are on the back of the original print. Unofficially, Mycroft had some kind of doppelganger at Oxford, and this is him. I've never been able to find out who he was, and why he was necessary, but a surprising number of pictures of Mycroft at university aren't actually of him."

"Lestrade told me once that he'd met someone who had known Mycroft at college under the name of Martin Hughes," John said.

"I've heard that name as well, but I've never been able to track down the details. Any other aliases Lestrade had for Mycroft?"

"No, but he mentioned some bloke called Petros, who claimed to have know him."

"Not one I've come across. The one really interesting contact from Mycroft's university days is this man." Sherlock passed John a slightly unfocused snapshot of a tall, willowy, blond youth, with a rather sweet smile. "His name was Peter Harper."

"What's it now?"

"No, I mean he's dead. Died in rather embarrassing circumstances at Oxford in 1990. I think he was a boyfriend of Mycroft's, possibly an ex-boyfriend, and that Mycroft was somehow implicated in his death,  though it was supposedly an accident. Unlikely he killed Harper himself, but you never know. And Mycroft still keeps his photo in one of his more secure hiding places. Took me a long time to find it and get this copy."

"Harper's wearing lipstick in the photo," said John. "At least I'm fairly certain he is."

"Mycroft's tastes may have been more exotic at the time. I suspect he's less fussy now. Most of the boyfriends I've been aware of – there were a couple at school, and one or two others when he first came to London -  have been shorter and slighter than him -  not hard, of course - and the majority have been blond. And here...is the legendary Graham Henderson." He handed John another photo.

Short, fair hair, rather unremarkable, slightly worn face. "Is there a resemblance?" John asked.

"Very slight. I suspect it was more the location that unsettled Mycroft.  And he's not comfortable with surprises that he hasn't planned himself, always likes to have a few contingency plans up his sleeve."

"This is after Graham had gone," Sherlock went on, producing the next batch. "Mycroft was eating a lot at that point, and drinking quite heavily. And then he pulled himself together again, just in time to deal with my own crisis."  

The waistline advanced and retreated in the rest of the photos, but John could almost see Mycroft stiffening over the years, the costumes and the mannerisms becoming more elaborate. There was the umbrella, and there was the pose with it, the next one showed the frosty, ironic smile. The dandyism of the Oxford days reappearing, with a benevolent aloofness attached. Untouchable Mycroft, the British government. Who had apparently spent more than a decade in some emotional limbo because he'd been callously dumped. He found himself leafing through the photos again, backwards this time, as if he could somehow catch the moment when Mycroft had been happy, keep him there, with that gawky, genuine, adorable grin...

"Well?" said Sherlock. "You're prepared to go through with it, aren't you?  You're looking at him, trying to imagine doing things with him, and it's not bothering you anymore, is it?"

"No," John said slowly. "I'm not sure it does. I want him to be happy, and...we can work something out. There's some spark between us, I think. I hope. I just have no idea what to do next."

"Whatever you normally do on your dates," Sherlock replied. "Though ideally with a little more taste involved. Mycroft may be besotted with you, but he hasn't lost all refinement."

***

John couldn't remember the last time he'd been so nervous before a date, well, a meal out with a friend, which was absolutely not a date, unless it happened to end up being one. It had taken hours to work out the restaurant – good food, but not too pricey, owner didn't know Sherlock - and to nerve himself for the casual invitation to Mycroft, with some nonsense about no hard feelings, and owing him a meal.

And then, of course, it was easy. Mycroft accepted, and when he turned up, was urbanely complimentary about John's choice of restaurant. He promptly launched into a slightly indiscreet anecdote about what the staff of the Canadian High Commission had got up to over Christmas. What had he been worrying about, thought John. Mycroft and he were friends, nothing had changed, it was fine.

But then, when they were waiting for dessert, John put out his hand towards Mycroft's, which was tracing patterns on the tablecloth, as he talked about his trip last autumn to Carcassone. Mycroft had pulled away with a reflex speed that John hadn't realised he possessed. And suddenly there was an invisible upper class force field around Mycroft that said "Hands off, riff-raff". Mycroft the hermit crab, retreating into his shell, even as his flexible voice began to discuss the great cassoulet recipe debate.

He had to say something, thought John, but he had no idea what, especially given all Mycroft's hang-ups. It was hard enough to tell anyone: 'Look, I know I haven't been sexually interested in you, even though we've known each other for ages, but I am now starting to wonder whether I might perhaps fancy you.' Maybe he could start with some platitudes about sexual fluidity, and how Harry and Sherlock had got him thinking beyond simple gay/straight divides.

Oh shit. Sherlock. He could hardly say he hadn't realised he could be attracted to men, when Mycroft knew he'd come on to Sherlock. He couldn't even remember what he'd said to Mycroft about that. Maybe something about him being drunk at the time.

It had mainly been the drink, he thought. It was the only time he'd ever chased a suspect when drunk, because Sherlock had dragged him out of a supposed date that had already gone so badly wrong that he was sitting on his own, trying to drown his sorrows, by the time he got the text. And then they'd broken in somewhere, and chased some bloke, and caught him on the Embankment, and he'd had the diamond bracelet on him just like Sherlock had said.

And the police had come and taken the bloke away, and John had been staggering around because the fresh air had really been getting to him at that point. And Sherlock had caught him under the arms to support him, and he'd started snogging Sherlock, because Sherlock was just so bloody beautiful when he'd solved a case, and John hadn't had any action earlier, and he was almost completely out of it on alcohol and adrenaline.

It was amazing, he remembered, how quickly you could sober up when dropped so hard onto a chilly pavement it left bruises. And then he'd got a ten minute lecture from Sherlock on the vileness of sex. Not one of his better experiences, he'd really prefer not to discuss that with Mycroft.

"Are you all right?" Mycroft's voice broke into his thoughts. "You seem rather...preoccupied."

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking about Sherlock," John's mouth said, before his brain could catch up with it. Oh shit, he thought, not the right answer.

"Of course," said Mycroft, in his haughtiest voice. "So tell me, John, is it true that for his latest case, he's planning to go undercover in an advertising agency?"

***

It wasn't going to work, was it, thought John, as he went home. His views might have changed, but Mycroft's hadn't. He didn't want pity sex from John, and he'd somehow convinced himself that was all that was on offer. And John didn't know what he could say that would change his mind. He wasn't good with words, he was better with actions.

Which was why Sherlock's plan probably was a good idea. Mycroft's reluctance to touch John suggested that whatever his mind might think, his body, given a chance, might decide that thirteen years was far too long. And as for John himself...he was pretty certain now that with a bit of  adrenaline flowing, he could manage some enthusiastic kissing of Mycroft at the very least: the army had him doing far more unlikely things when fired up. But it was just how you got to Point B, snogging Mycroft senseless, without freaking him out. Number 187 had too many memories of bloody Graham Henderson. And if he tried something with Mycroft at 221B, it could easily turn into the sort of nightmare that would make Mycroft decide on lifelong celibacy. But if he started kissing Mycroft in public, he'd be far too embarrassed to respond.  He needed a clever plan...

No, he suddenly realised. If he tried to come up with a clever plan, Mycroft would foresee it, he could always think three moves ahead. What John needed was an extremely implausible and stupid plan. Stupid and utterly disruptive to Mycroft's defences, but without scaring him off.

Oh, he had it, the ideal place. If he could just get Mycroft to take him there.

***

 "The Diogenes Club, John?" Mycroft's voice on the phone was benevolently repressive. "Do you really think you'd enjoy going there?"

"I've wanted to see it for ages, after all I've been told about it," John replied. "And you did say it had the best roast beef in London." He tried to fill his voice with carnivorous gluttony, sound as if he hadn't had a decent meal for weeks. Which wasn't even too far from the truth.

"Very well," said Mycroft. "It is certainly a memorable experience, and the food is excellent. But you will need to read and adhere to the rules."

***

"I see Sherlock 's advice on clothing has at last paid dividends," Mycroft commented as John arrived outside the Diogenes a couple of evenings later. "That suit is far more flattering on you than the previous one."

"And I've got a tie on," said John coolly. He'd known that he couldn't pass this outfit off as dictated by either his own dress sense or budget. Just as Sherlock had immediately worked out exactly why John was going to the Diogenes, and promptly offered to help.  "And my shoes are polished. And didn't Diogenes go round in filthy clothes anyhow?"

"The Victorians who founded the club had rather different ideas about austerity from the ancient Greeks. You've read the club rules, I hope?"

"Very carefully," John replied, which was true. "Silence within the building, members must ignore each other at all times. But a member doesn't have to ignore his own guest, does he?"

"No, but a guest must not interact with anyone other than the member who brought him and the club's staff. And silence must still be maintained. Now, in the dining room-"

"When I need the waiter, I signal to one, and then point to the menu."

"Well remembered. There are additional signs one can make to the waiter, but they also have a pad of paper if you need to write a message. I brought some cough sweets, though I hope we won't need them. Anything else before we go in?"

"What have they got to drink? Non-alcoholic, I mean. It'll be easier for me to keep quiet if I don't drink." He needed a clear head for this one.

"A sensible decision. They have some excellent homemade lemonade, as I recall. Very well, if you're ready, John, we'll go in. And...I'll speak to you later."

***

At first glance it was just another posh restaurant, though with more space than normal between its small tables. And then the silence hit you. No, not silence, quiet. Without the noise of voices or muzak you could suddenly hear the clink of cutlery, someone shifting in their chair, the muffled 'whoof' as the waiter shook out their napkins for them. John could hear his own heartbeat as well and wondered if the whole room could. He was more nervous than he'd expected about the club. He kept on thinking that any moment the eerie hush of the dining room would be broken with klaxons, as they realised that John was an intruder and threw him out. And he was slightly slurping his very tasty leek and wild mushroom soup, wasn't he?

But Mycroft was giving him a benevolent look that suggested he was really quite promising in the silent eating department. John smiled back and began to relax. Because he had been right. The Diogenes Club was an ideal place for flirting.

Without the need for awkward conversation, there was lots of time left for eye contact. The main course had arrived now, and in between mouthfuls, John stared a little too long at Mycroft, whose face had softened into its natural mobility. Mycroft's expression was now moving between pleasure at his own meal, and a slightly thoughtful assessment of John, his head tilting in concentration. John responded with his cheekiest grin then, and for a moment held out his rock-steady left hand, as he'd done the first time he ever met Mycroft. Back to his food – the roast really was excellent, wasn't it? Then, after a while, looking up again, to meet Mycroft's gaze, still apparently fixed on John.  John licked his lips. Good, he thought as Mycroft shifted in his chair, this is working. He was tempted to start mirroring Mycroft's body language, but that might be a little too blatant. And no touching, not till Stage 2.

He had to time this right, he thought, as he went back to some sedate eating of his beef, feeling Mycroft still watching him. He'd worked out where to go, the main door to the club was clearly the one in the right-hand corner of the room in front of him. Now he needed to pick his moment, because he couldn't run. But he mustn't leave it too long - the next time Mycroft was distracted, he should go for it.

The waiter arrived with the dessert menu and Mycroft began a silent discussion with him. John got up and headed in a rapid walk towards the door. He looked round, as he went through. He had guessed correctly: to the right of the thickly-carpeted corridor he was in was a door marked 'Library'. He marched in and found an oak-panelled room full of silent men looking earnestly at newspapers. He swivelled round to face the door – well, he was supposed to ignore everyone else, wasn't he? And 1...2...3...4, here came Mycroft with his 'you're disrupting the workings of Her Majesty's government' face on. John reached up on tiptoe – if he had to fall for men, why couldn't he at least pick shorter ones? – grabbed Mycroft's shoulders, pulled his head down and started kissing him.

OK, now he'd got his mouth in action, time for a bit more cuddling. His arm snaked most of the way round Mycroft's waist and clung on. Mycroft the hermit crab versus John the limpet, and he knew who had the stronger grip. He wasn't having to stand on tiptoe now, which meant either Mycroft was bending down, or his legs were starting to buckle. Mycroft was wriggling rather a lot, though still keeping silent, so John's hand moved a little further down, pressing against Mycroft's backside, hauling him in. Mycroft was now clamped between John's arm and his body, so time for a bit of wriggling himself, trying to get them both...uncomfortable. This wasn't bad at all, was it? Remember not to say anything, gentle on Mycroft's mouth, ease off a bit...and Mycroft was responding, his hands against John's back, pressing hotly into the fine wool of John's new jacket. Which raised the question of who exactly it was whose hand was tapping John on the shoulder. He detached himself from Mycroft's hold – it was definitely Mycroft's hold by now -  and looked round.

One of the club servants was there, in his smart red waistcoat, looking slightly disdainfully at them. Not good. And holding out something to Mycroft. What was it? A key, with a number on it. Definitely good. Mycroft took John's hand, and somehow managing once again to look like he was taking John off to tea with the Queen, led him out of the library and through a few corridors. Then upstairs. John opened his mouth, as they started to walk up, and Mycroft's fingers reached out and touched his lips, gesturing for silence. Rather a pleasant touch...

Mycroft opened a door in the upper corridor and led John through into a bedroom. Single bed only, but he supposed you couldn't expect anything else. He couldn't help it at that point, he started to giggle. He collapsed on the bed with his face in the pillow, trying to stifle the sound.

"Fortunately," said Mycroft, "the bedrooms are sound-proofed and silence isn't compulsory in this area. Which is just as well given your...exhibition downstairs." He was trying to sound cross and haughty, and making a complete hash of it.

"I didn't say anything, and you didn't pay attention to any other member," said John. "Well, when I say that..." He hadn't been responsible for all of the bodily friction just now. Talking of which, skin contact was supposed to boost bonding, wasn't it? Medical fact. Still giggling, he turned round, and started to unloosen his tie. Mycroft had decided that John needed help with his shirt buttons, which allowed John to start on what would obviously be the long and complex process of getting Mycroft's clothes off him.

His hands were steady, even if Mycroft's weren't, and John took his time undressing Mycroft, stroking the pale skin that was gradually revealed. When he got Mycroft topless he stopped. Don't push things further just yet, he thought, so he took off the rest of his own clothes and lay down on the bed. Nice comfortable bed, too, he thought, forgetting for a moment he was supposed to be looking alluring. Never mind, he'd just have to settle for happy. Because he was here and Mycroft was too, and had started to take off his trousers, which was definitely a good sign, especially given the navy boxers he revealed.

"Those silk?" John asked, sitting up and stretching out a hand. "Bet they're comfortable."  He managed a few quick strokes of the fabric and its contents, and then backed off, sitting and watching as Mycroft rather tentatively took off his socks and then the boxers. He'd seen far worse, John decided, it was just that normally when he saw middle-aged men naked he was giving them a medical examination. Don't think of that, not helpful. Besides, the men who came to the surgery were very rarely so aroused. Which was definitely a cue to do something before Mycroft had second thoughts, and decided that his immediate priority ought to be subverting a Middle Eastern government or two.

"If I'm not supposed to talk in the club, I'd better find something else to do with my mouth, hadn't I?" he said, smiling, "so why don't you come and lie down here, and I'll work out what my options are?"

"An excellent show of initiative, John," said Mycroft, who managed for a moment to sound imperious even while stark naked. And then spoiled it by adding rather breathlessly: "I feel confident I'm safe in your...mouth."

Good job he doesn't know it's the first blow job I've been on this end of, thought John. But how complicated can it be?

***

More complicated than he'd realised, he decided after a couple of minutes, which involved rather less controlled sensuality on his part than he'd have liked, and rather more chasing a moving object with his tongue. On the other hand, Mycroft wasn't complaining – moaning, but not complaining – so he must be doing something right. John got his mouth down as far as he could over Mycroft's surprisingly bulky erection, tried not to gag, and decided that Mycroft's hips were now thrusting enough that he probably didn't have to do much more work himself. He did feel he had to come up for air after a while – which ended up involving quite a lot of kissing, so not much help for the oxygen intake, but very enjoyable otherwise – and then his mouth was back on Mycroft, and he could tell even without looking that Mycroft was getting close to the edge.

He mistimed removing his mouth slightly, and got more come in it than he'd have liked, which gave him new respect for some of his exes. And his mouth still felt extraordinarily weird.  But it was worth it just for the blissful smirk on Mycroft's face, as he shifted over on the bed, and let John squeeze himself in beside him.

"Thank you," Mycroft said softly. They lay still for a minute or two, both still panting slightly, and then Mycroft turned to John, and said, with almost his normal superior tone: "I was told by a friend that the best way to rinse out one's mouth if one did need to...swallow was with a good red wine. Burgundy, maybe."

"Really?" said John, rather incoherently. Maybe it was just nervous reaction, but he did feel he was losing the plot. "And you reckon that's good advice?"

"Sort of thing Graham knew about," Mycroft said, with abrupt determination. "Graham Henderson. I presume Sherlock told you about him."

"Yeah, erm, he did," said John, thinking: I am really not in a state to discuss this.

"A complete sod in almost every way, but I did learn a lot from him," said Mycroft. "So I think we'll get some Burgundy up here, and then I'll return your favour, John, because I believe that I can remember at least some of the things Graham taught me about fellatio. If you want to retreat to the bathroom while I order room service, that's probably best. The Diogenes is surprisingly tolerant, but it's as well not to break the rules on solitariness too blatantly."

***

John slumped on the toilet seat. Well, he'd got a lot further than he might have done, but he hoped he wasn't going to wreck it all. It was one thing giving head, that was more or less under his conscious control, but if his body didn't respond to Mycroft, it was going to be awkward. Maybe he should fill up on the Burgundy. No, on second thoughts, that was likely to have the opposite effect, especially since his irredeemably straight side had apparently come out the last time he'd got drunk with Mycroft.  But perhaps a few preliminaries, to start getting himself warmed up, now the first adrenaline rush was dying down?  He looked round the bathroom, and then he spotted the bottles...

***

He was half-hard by the time he heard room service arrive and go, and when he went back into the bedroom, Mycroft already had the bottle of wine open. Only one glass, of course. John had a few sips first, and it did make his mouth feel better. Sod you, Graham Henderson, he thought, we're going to have the last laugh here. Mycroft was downing quite a bit of the wine.

"Prophylactic," he muttered, and John realised he was still nervous as well. Need to distract him, calm him down, John thought. He began to run his hands over Mycroft's face, warm and slightly soft against his own rough fingers.

"You found the hand cream then," Mycroft muttered, his cheek shifting into John's hand.

"I thought, why the hell not?" John replied. The lemony scent of it had seemed just right: fresh, sharp, vaguely daring. And then he remembered the other bottle that he'd found in the bathroom.

"But why does the Diogenes have lubricant in their bathrooms? Practically industrial quantities."

"Surely that's obvious?"

"Nope."

"Given that this is an establishment with an exceptionally solitary clientele, their sexual tastes also tend to the ...self-centred."

"You're trying to tell me, aren't you," John said, starting to giggle again, "that the club's full of upper-class wankers."

"Did you ever doubt it?" Mycroft replied, smiling, no, grinning back, and God, John suddenly realised, didn't he have a sexy mouth? His body twitched almost automatically against Mycroft's, and Mycroft, suddenly alert, was moving surprisingly quickly down the bed to straddle John. As Mycroft's lips touched his foreskin, John realised this was going to be like when he first tried abseiling. Ready yourself, no going back now, and let's hope the ride down's fun.

***

He'd never imagined being given oral sex by Mycroft in a posh London club, but it was...amazing. Even more  of a rush than the first time abseiling . It had gone on for a lot longer, as well, and his legs was trembling almost as much by the end. And Graham sodding Henderson had chosen MI6's pension fund over this? Bloody accountants.

And then Mycroft was beside him again, and reaching for the Burgundy, and offering the glass to John, and saying, smiling. "Perhaps a little rest and then...given they've provided all that lubricant, it seems a shame not to use some of it."

"Fine," said John, because if the Diogenes Club didn't mind you having long-lasting sex sessions in their bedrooms, who the hell was he to argue? And his body was obviously far less discriminating than he'd ever realised, and positive reinforcement of desired behaviour was always a good thing, wasn't it?

*** 

Yet another thing John had never imagined doing was fucking Mycroft in the Diogenes, which managed to be almost as filthy an act as it sounded, and surprisingly satisfying. It seemed that Mycroft was anxious to eradicate the memory of Graham Henderson as thoroughly as possible, and the Holmeses never did anything by halves, did they? John wondered vaguely if he ought to let Mycroft fuck him next – it was probably going to hurt, but it could hardly be worse than basic training.

But Mycroft smiled wisely at that point, and said: "I think that's really enough excitement for this evening. Besides, we have one or two things to do when we get back home."

"We have?" said John.  It was news to him that they were going back to no. 187, but he bet Mycroft had a really comfortable bed, and he was almost beyond caring now.

"I need to get the iris recognition pattern for you online, though we may need to wait for a little pupil constriction to get a good reading. And, of course, if you're not too tired, we need to set the bread machine up. After all, there's nothing that's nicer to wake up to in the morning than fresh bread," said Mycroft. And then his smile seemed to engulf his face: "Well, almost nothing."

Comments

( 20 comments — Leave a comment )
lucybun
May. 27th, 2011 08:53 pm (UTC)
Absolutely excellent, as per usual. I've really started to be drawn to this pairing, and this story has reinforced that attraction. You always do such an excellent job of keeping everyone in character while giving them a very rich back story that's all your own creation. I also think you did a wonderful job with Sherlock and his reaction to his friend falling for his brother. Thank you for this!
marysutherland
May. 30th, 2011 07:23 am (UTC)
Glad you enjoyed it. Mycroft/John is a slightly odd pairing to write. On the other hand I think it's practically canon that Mycroft fancies John - at their first meeting in PINK, Mycroft is coming very close to inappropriate fondling of a war hero, and in TGG he wants John to come and see him 'very soon'. On the other hand, there's always the question of why John falls for Mycroft rather than Sherlock.

The last time I wrote this pairing, I had Sherlock as the younger brother from hell, trying to snatch John from Mycroft, so I wanted to do something different this time. And I thought it entirely plausible that Sherlock wouldn't care two hoots if Mycroft is pining for someone, but as soon as it matters to John, he wants to help.
lucybun
May. 31st, 2011 05:32 am (UTC)
And I thought it entirely plausible that Sherlock wouldn't care two hoots if Mycroft is pining for someone, but as soon as it matters to John, he wants to help.

I agree very much with that, and I really like the resulting dynamic that it produced. You always do such a brilliant job of making these characters seem so real. I wish I could find a better word to express myself, but that's the best I can manage. No matter the flights of fancy your storyline might take, your characterizations always seem so spot-on. Even when you play a bit with the characters, like making Sherlock react differently to John/Mycroft, you still manage to make me say, "Yep. That's probably exactly what he'd do." It's a gift. Looking forward to whatever you've got lined up next. :D
(Deleted comment)
marysutherland
May. 30th, 2011 07:38 am (UTC)
I always enjoy writing Sherlock giving people relationship advice, because he's at once so accurate and so tactlessly barking mad. But then John can cope with Sherlock's peculiarities. And he's a lovingly daft enough BAMF to decide that he'll try gay sex even though he doesn't expect to enjoy it.

I do seem to end up writing Mycroft as able to screw up completely almost any personal situation. I think I take it as the parallel to Sherlock's mix of professional competence and social incompetence, that Mycroft's diplomacy and manipulative skills hide an emotional disaster area.
fengirl88
May. 28th, 2011 04:11 pm (UTC)
I love John's ingenuity in coming up with his "extremely implausible and stupid plan", and am glad it worked so well. I hope Sherlock's in training for his forthcoming adventures undercover - does the agency still have an annual cricket match?
marysutherland
May. 30th, 2011 07:42 am (UTC)
I just couldn't resist getting the Diogenes Club into one Mycroft fic. As for the Murder Must Advertise cricket match, at some point my plan is for bits of that to get mashed together with the cricket match in 'Maurice'. But I may need KalypsoV as a cricket fic adviser for that.
fengirl88
May. 30th, 2011 09:38 am (UTC)
cricket mashup squee
I wondered if Maurice was in prospect when you mentioned Lestrade and cricket, but a cricket fic from you that combines that match and Sherlock and MMA, with kalypso_v as your cricket advisor?

*jumps up and down in anticipation*
2ndskin
Jun. 3rd, 2011 02:18 am (UTC)
This is such a wonderful tale and a complex, true portrait of both John and Mycroft. The tension that builds between them and John's sometimes comical and sometimes heartbreaking realizations about who Mycroft is and how he, John, feels about him--loved all of it. Each little bit of backstory, the wonderful Diogenes Club as a plot device, the bread (oh the carbs, for M!) and wine bringing them together (hmmm. . . . no religious overtones there, right?) and the endearing role of Sherlock. This is surely among my favorite ms stories now--but I probably say that about them all. Made me suspect that if you have a favorite pairing, this may be it? Just because of the sweetness of the connection between the two. Just a pleasure and a wonder to read.
rosalind_wang
Jun. 11th, 2011 02:27 pm (UTC)
this was absolutely wonderful. totally loved every moment of it.

I agree it's totally canon that Mycroft fancies John, but why John would go for Mycroft is much harder to justify. I love the way you wrote the development here, very believable.

I look forward to your next outing with this pairing.
marysutherland
Jun. 11th, 2011 04:33 pm (UTC)
I'm glad you enjoyed this. It's not the first time I've written Mycroft/John, but when I do it always seems to end up incredibly long and angsty, so while it's interesting to write, it's rather hard work. I don't have any inspiration for more J/M stuff at the moment, but it may sweep all over me again at some point (I tend to switch between pairings quite a lot).
selkie
Jun. 11th, 2011 09:06 pm (UTC)
I find this pairing so fascinating and believable! This was excellent :). It's so nice to read a happy Mycroft.
marysutherland
Jun. 12th, 2011 06:23 pm (UTC)
It's quite hard writing happy Mycroft, because I think the state of the world (and being Sherlock's brother) would naturally make him gloomy. But I like the idea that in between all the responsibility and angst he now gets some tasty homemade bread and a cute doctor to sleep with.
sookail
Jun. 11th, 2011 09:42 pm (UTC)
Amazing, surprising, excellent fic. It has so much variety - does not use any of the usual M/J fic dynamics. I love how your John is able to take/takes control of the situation. And there is quite a lot of happiness without cavity-inducing sweetness. Thank you!
marysutherland
Jun. 12th, 2011 06:28 pm (UTC)
Mycroft's a fascinating character to write, because there's so much left unsaid about him in the BBC Sherlock canon: he could be almost anyone behind the professional mask. It was fun to stick in some of the ACD details as well this time. And I love writing John as quietly determined and steadfast in his feelings (even if he never manages to work out a situation as quickly as a Holmes can).
innie_darling
Jun. 12th, 2011 06:29 pm (UTC)
I found this a fascinating read.
rusty_armour
Jun. 16th, 2011 07:22 pm (UTC)
I know I told you this already, but this is the first John/Mycroft story I've ever read. Before this, for some reason, I had a hard time picturing them together. However, I was really curious to see where you would go with this, so I decided to check it out. I definitely wasn't disappointed. I love the dynamic between these two and the way they were able to establish a common bond through their frustration with Sherlock. I also really like the way you reveal some of Mycroft's weaknesses and vulnerabilities and show that he isn't always so cool, calculated and in control. I almost wonder if catching glimpses of these vulnerabilities is one thing that drew John closer to Mycroft.

I found that I couldn't stop reading this last night because I had to know whether John and Mycroft would be able to enter into a relationship successfully. I love the way John managed to outmaneuver Mycroft for once by silently flirting with him at the Diogenes Club and then kissing him, knowing Mycroft couldn't make a vocal protest. *g* I really like your interpretation of the modern Diogenes Club btw. It retains many of the charms and traditions of the Victorian version while offering those essential modern conveniences, like private wanking rooms. ;-)
marysutherland
Jun. 19th, 2011 12:07 pm (UTC)
I had a hard time picturing it myself at first, even though Mycroft/John in the warehouse is a very slashable scene, at least from Mycroft's point of view. He is definitely veering very close to 'inappropriate fondling of a war hero', as I put it in one fic. But the question is why John would prefer Mycroft to Sherlock, so the couple of Mycroft/John fics I've written have been (different) answers to that.

When the idea came into my head of the seduction in the Diogenes Club, I couldn't resist it, even though I find it hard to write something without much dialogue, because I'm bad at descriptions. And I'm sure the Victorian Diogenes Club had (single) bedrooms as well, because most clubs had, and still do. It's just that the supplies they had beside the washstand would have been discretely labelled as 'macassar oil for the hair'.
crinklysolution
Jun. 21st, 2011 05:25 am (UTC)
This was really quite extraordinarily well written...I loved it. Impressive. Now I want to read other stuff you've done.
muic
Jul. 18th, 2011 05:50 am (UTC)
Thanks for directing me here! This is much fluffier than the other one you wrote; I love an angsty fic but was in a depressed mood after reading the middle chapters(which means it succeeded btw).

I love the gradual build and John's realization of his attraction to Mycroft and this version of Sherlock is fantastic. It is easier to imagine Mycroft being besotted by John first than the other way around but also because Mycroft has that giant brain of his and probably realizes his feelings first. I love John doing the chasing, very sweet.

And now I need to hunt for more John/Mycroft series fic because I have ran out.
marysutherland
Jul. 23rd, 2011 05:14 pm (UTC)
One of the first John/Mycroft fics I read (in a very different style from mine) was Sexual Needs by Calicokat, so you might try that, if you don't know that already. And Brother Mine also has some J/M fics.

J/M is an unusual pairing, because while it's practically canon that Mycroft fancies John (the way he looks at him in every scene of Pink and TGG they're in together), it's harder to explain why John prefers Mycroft, when Sherlock is the better-looking and more charismatic of the brothers. It's one of the reasons that the fics I've written on the pairing are quite long, because Mycroft needs to grow on John, to my way of thinking.
( 20 comments — Leave a comment )