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“Well it looks like Mr Taylor was smarter than I thought after all,” Sherlock announces as he stares the evidence pined to the wall. “A trip to America appears to be in order.”
John sighs, already dreading the trip. Sherlock gets bored easily enough on a good day, let alone trapped on a plane for hours. Not being able to move much either, with those long legs of his... Yeah no, John grimaces just thinking about it.
“Really John, commercial airline?” He turns so John can see him wrinkling his nose. “Don't be ridiculous. As if I ever fly commercial.”
John raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, you have a private jet waiting on your beck and call?” he asks sarcastically.
“Yes actually,” he answers, “Well it's not mine technically, but it's my brother's. He never minds me using it if he's not.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing, presumably to check.
Posh git. Of course he does. “Mycroft actually lets you borrow it? Without a fuss? Or a favor because I seem to remember he is especially fond of his favors. And I still haven't forgiven you for the last one he called in. Giant rats , in case you have forgotten already. Not a fan.” He shudders just remembering it. Bloody things about took his arm off.
“Who said anything about Mycroft?” He wrinkles his nose again, never looking up from the screen.
“Considering he's your only brother? Thought it was a fair assumption. Unless there's more of you no one bothered to tell me about.”
“Something like that,” Sherlock admits absently.
John throws his hands up in the air. Another brother. Great, just what this world needs. Another one . “I don't know why I'm surprised. What is he then? Or do you keep him stuffed in the closet until you need him.”
“Really John, don't be ridiculous. Our Narnia phase ended decades ago. And America,” he adds.
John resists the urge to groan. It won't do him any good and he'll only give himself a headache. He loves Sherlock, he really does. But there are also days he wants to strangle him. “Am I going to meet this brother?” he asks, “Or is he going to remain a mysterious shadowy figure like I would like Mycroft to be instead of dropping in for tea every other week and annoying you?”
“He'll likely join us if his schedule allows.”
“Great. Do I can a name at least?”
“Really John,” he dismisses, “stop being so tedious.”
:::
When they arrive at the airport and he sees just who is there to pick them up, he turns and glares at Sherlock. Not that the git is paying him any attention. “Ant,” he greets happily.
“ Lock,” Tony Stark – Tony Stark – says in the same excited tone.
“Stop be so tedious John,” he mutters to himself, “Don't worry about it John. Why would you need a name? It's not as if my secret brother is famous or anything. No, not at all. Why would I need to tell you something as insignificant as his identity?”
“Really John, no need to be so dramatic. It's just Ant.”
John sighs and Tony laughs. “I take it Lock didn't bother telling you who I was.”
“What was your first clue?” he asks dryly.
“Yes, yes, my brother is famous. Now can we go? The longer we wait, the longer Mark Taylor has time to go into hiding.” He walks into the plane with a 'swoosh' of his coat, leaving John to get the bags. Stark helps him, picking a couple of them up.
“Ta,” John thanks.
“No problem.” They enter the plane and Stark smirks at Sherlock. “You just can't wait to use my pole,” he teases.
“Humph,” Sherlock turns his head, but not before John sees a glint appear in his eyes.
“Pole?” he asks, curious.
“I'm sure you know by now Sherlock loves to dance,” Stark's smirk grows.
John nods. He's taken Sherlock dancing before, for their dates. He is terrible at it, but it's obvious how much Sherlock loves it, so it's worth it. And then there was that one case at a ballet studio. John learned then that it wasn't just ballroom Sherlock knew.
“Well he also knows how to pole dance. We both learned when we were younger. And I had a couple of poles installed in my plane to pass the time. Would you like a show?” he offers slyly.
John's brain might have stopped for a minute. The image alone of Sherlock pole dancing is enough to make it stutter. But to see it for himself. What kind of stupid question is that? Add to that, well, no one said Tony Stark is not a handsome man. It would hardly be a hardship if he were to join in.
Stark laughs, obviously not needing a verbal answer. “We just need to wait until the plane reaches cruising altitude. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Come on Lock, lets get changed.”
Sherlock winks and follows Stark into the private room. Because of course there is a private room on Tony Stark's private plane. Not that John is complaining, mind you. This is far better than flying commercial. Even without the promised show, it would be better. With it, well... John is rather excited. And not just in the obvious way either. Sherlock is beautiful anytime, but especially when he dances. Then he is all lean muscle and grace.
John does as instructed and makes himself comfortable while he waits. The two brothers wait until they can perform before they come out of the room. The poles are already up and waiting for them. He turns and yes, no hardship at all to watch these two. Both are dressed in very short shorts. Stark's are red and Sherlock's are a dark blue, not unlike his dressing gown actually.
Both men wink at him before taking their positions, stretched out against their respective pole, bodies lean and on display. And then the music starts. They start to move and it is obvious that they have both practiced together and know what they are doing. They are dancing with each other as much as they are with the pole.
John watches, breathless, as they swing themselves around, able to twist and hang and pull themselves into all kinds of interesting positions. They move almost total opposition of each other. When Sherlock gripping the bar with his knee, Stark is upright, relying on his hands to hold him as he twists. Sherlock spins up and Stark spins down. It is truly a sight to behold. It's enough to disprove any that claims pole dancing isn't an art form.
They end with both of them upside down, knees bent of either side of them, backs arched. Both wink at him before twisting themselves down. John claps enthusiastically.
Stark smirks as he stretches his muscles out. Probably a little more than necessary, but that's alright. John is use to geniuses showing off.
Sherlock gives a final roll of his shoulders and comes over to drape himself across John's lap. “I would ask if you enjoyed the show, but obviously you did,” he says casually.
“You aren't a genius for nothing,” John tells him sarcastically.
Stark comes over and sprawls out on one of the couches. “That was fun. We need to do that more often.”
Sherlock hums in agreement. He slumps farther down, sighing in contentment. “There's always the return trip.”
“Return trip nothing, you should stay a while before you go back. See the sights, make a few things explode. It'll be great. Maybe even do a repeat performance,” he wiggles his eyebrows.
“Why do I have a feeling the two of you together are enough trouble to wreck a city.”
“Really John, don't be so dull. It will be fine,” Sherlock says.
That's a 'yes' then. Should be fun.