Chapter Text
John remembered the first time his therapist suggested that he was in love with Sherlock. He had simply been too affected for it to be just flatmate -- or even best friend -- grief. He'd been angry and stopped seeing her after that, but the second Sherlock was back in his life he knew it was true. The problem was that, while Sherlock was clearly glad to have John back, John doubted it was in the way he wanted it to be.
He had subtly tried to coax the feelings out of him -- asking for a candle at Angelo's, laughing along with the jokes about them being a couple, and even making his own jokes at home. But Sherlock was just the same as ever. At least that's what it looked like to John. He knew he could always simply tell Sherlock how he felt, but that was too risky. He'd only just got him back, he didn't need to lose him again.
And then help came in the most unexpected way. Mycroft had come to the flat to give Sherlock a case, and he had deduced what Sherlock seemed to keep missing. When Mycroft first texted him, John immediately thought to deny it, but that was stupid. To his surprise Mycroft offered to help. Sitting at his desk now John wondered if this really was the best plan, but Mycroft knew Sherlock very well so it was worth a try. But he also knew this was almost as risky as just telling Sherlock himself.
He played with his phone, stalling as he tried to think of how to say it. Then he just decided to go for it and hope for the best.
Your brother asked me out today. -JW
Better than kidnapping. Where and why? SH
John stared at the message and for a split second wondered how long they'd have to drag this out -- if Sherlock didn't fall for it would John have to date Mycroft? No . . .they'd surely think of something.
He hasn't told me yet, it's going to be a surprise. -JW
What on earth was John talking about? What did Mycroft want that he was calling John away for a secret meeting and why wasn't John more irritated about it? He sent Mycroft a message.
Why have you invited John to a meeting? SH
I haven't invited John to a meeting. MH
He said you had. SH
I invited John on a date. MH
Sherlock stared at the words. They made a little rage rise in his chest, but he wasn't entirely sure why. Was Mycroft playing some game and to what ends?
Go to hell. SH
He typed it but deleted it before he hit Send. Mycroft was surely trying to get a rise out of him -- and he had -- but Sherlock did not want to let him know. He went back to John's message and tried to think of a response.
Mycroft knew that if Sherlock hadn't texted back within thirty seconds that he wouldn't at all. Mycroft sent a text to John.
He knows and he's pouting. MH
John wondered what Sherlock had said and wished Mycroft would have told him. Pouting why? Because he hadn't deduced it? Because he hated Mycroft? A second later a message arrived from Sherlock and he had no idea what to say back. He texted Mycroft again.
Sherlock hadn't thought of anything brilliant to say to John, but he didn't want his silence to speak for him. So he quickly sent the only thing he could think to say.
Interesting. SH
Yes, I thought so too. -JW
Sherlock didn't pick up his phone immediately. In fact he thought about not picking it up at all, but that lasted all of about a minute. He read John's text.
When is this happening? SH
Then he quickly sent another.
I may be going away for a few days. SH
He hadn't thought enough about that before he'd sent it. It felt like the first step of a plan but he didn't know the other steps of the plan or even why he felt the need to have a plan in the first place. He didn't understand anything that was going on and he really, really hated that.
Away? Sherlock hadn't mentioned anything about going away before this. For a second he was excited because that could be a sign of the plan working -- Sherlock was so jealous he couldn't even stand to see it happening. But immediately John realised he wouldn't be here to see it happening.
Oh. Um, we're going out tonight. Where are you going? -JW
John opened the text to Mycroft again.
He's leaving town. I don't think this is working, Mycroft. -JW
He's not. It is. MH
Sherlock needed to stop texting and think, but he needed to know how much time he had to think.
When will you be back at the flat? SH
I'm on my lunch now. So about four hours. -JW
John stopped texting Mycroft now. Whatever those two were talking about -- well, he couldn't do anything about it. He'd just have to stay on his toes and deal with Sherlock.
See you then. SH
Four hours. Sherlock had four hours to figure this out.
Which one was behind it? It had to be Mycroft; Mycroft was always behind everything. John wasn't devious and, even if he were, what would he be trying to get from Sherlock? Could this be just to hurt him -- for going away? That seemed unlikely; Sherlock knew that his leaving had crushed John, but they had talked about it, they were all right now, John had assured him. In fact, they seemed closer now than they'd ever been and it was good. It was better than good. Better than Sherlock had thought it could be.
So it must be Mycroft's doing. What did he want from Sherlock?
But Sherlock's mind kept going back to John. Why was John going along with Mycroft? Why would John be going out with Mycroft? Before, John had been even more suspicious of Mycroft than Sherlock had been. But now, it appeared things were different. Why?
Suddenly two years seemed like a lifetime. A lifetime that Sherlock had missed. But one Mycroft had not. Sherlock picked up his phone.
Are you taking John to your usual place? SH
And to which place are you referring? MH
The place you used to take him while I was away. SH
Mycroft smiled.
Nice try, brother. MH
Sherlock threw his phone across his desk. Fine, he thought, fine. Maybe he should go away for a few days. Maybe longer. They were obviously happier without him here. Obviously, he wouldn't go away. When he was away before he hadn't known about Mycroft trying to seduce John; now that he did, he certainly wasn't going to be able to do anything else but think about it, regardless of where he was so he might as well stay here to try to . . . to what? Stop it? Yes, Sherlock wanted to stop it. Why? Because it was Mycroft? Or because it was John?
Because it was Mycroft and John. It wasn't supposed to be Mycroft and John. It was supposed to be Sherlock and John. John didn't go on dates with men. John went out on meaningless dates with women. And then came home to be with Sherlock. Where he belonged.
Because they were a team. They were friends. They were best friends.
He got up and retrieved his phone and sent John a text even though he knew he'd be with patients.
Since when do you go on dates with men? SH
And then another.
Did this start while I was away? SH
And then more.
Is this your first one? SH
Do you need advice? SH
Really, John, Mycroft? Questionable choice. SH
And then Sherlock realised what he was doing. And sent one more.
Please disregard previous texts. SH
He went into his bedroom, pulled the shades and got into his bed with his clothes still on.
Oh, John thought. So maybe the plan was working. He had received too many texts in a row. After the last one John typed back quickly.
Yes, this is my first date with a man. I've been thinking about it for a while -- your brother happened to ask. He knows I'm sort of trying it out and wants to take me out anyway. I could do a lot worse than him. -JW
Sherlock thought he heard his phone make a noise, but he wouldn't let himself go pick it up. If it were Mycroft, he didn't want to deal with him. And if it were John, well, Sherlock was going to disregard his previous texts even if John refused to. Sherlock squeezed shut his eyes and tried not to think.
He opened them a few hours later. He hadn't deleted the whole thing about Mycroft and John, but decided he would just pretend he had. He got up and made a cup of tea, setting out John's mug for when he got home. He opened his laptop and then noticed the light on his phone.
He read John's text. This was unacceptable. Since when was John 'trying it out'? And how would Mycroft know this when Sherlock didn't? He pushed his phone across the desk, closed his laptop, left his tea and went back and got into bed.
John waited for a text for a long time and eventually gave up on one. He continued to see patients until it was time to go home. He packed up his things, put away his papers and left the building. They could talk more about it at the flat. He used his time in the cab to get his head together a bit. This was going to be the hardest part -- making sure Sherlock didn't deduce that he was lying.
When he got upstairs he was shocked not to find Sherlock on the sofa where he usually was. He moved onto the kitchen and collected his tea. He took a deep breath. "Sherlock?" he called out.
Sherlock had heard the door, but couldn't make himself get up. When he heard John's voice, he had to quickly decide whether or not to acknowledge it and deal with him or pretend he was out and hope John didn't come in and find out he was lying.
"I'm in bed," he called back.
John walked towards Sherlock's bedroom but stopped halfway down the hall. "Are you sick? Do you need anything?" He felt stupid asking, but he didn't know what to do. He couldn't allow himself to feel guilty.
"Don't come in," Sherlock said. "I'm not alone."
John looked up now and felt his chest tighten, his stomach twisting violently "I wasn't. . . I'll leave you alone," he said, backing up into the sitting room. After a minute passed, he went up to his room -- he couldn't risk hearing anything.
Sherlock got up and walked up to John's room. He knocked on the door but didn't open it.
"Obviously, I'm alone, John," he said. "I don't have secrets." He turned and went back to his desk where he discovered his cold tea so he moved to the kitchen to turn the kettle back on.
What? Why was he lying? Well okay, John was lying too so he couldn't actually be upset about that, but it was still strange. He got up and walked down to the kitchen to find him. "Are you still going away?"
"I haven't decided," Sherlock said. "I'm feeling a bit . . . confused about things so perhaps it might be nice to go clear my head."
"Confused . . . can I help?" John asked, looking down at his mug. He didn't know if it was best to play dumb about what was bothering him, but it seemed the best option for not revealing the plan.
"Honestly, John, no," Sherlock said. "Normally, you are a help, but this time no." He took a sip of a tea. "Since you chose not to disregard the texts, despite my asking you to, I'm sure you've figured out that you're the one who is confusing me."
John flushed lightly and looked down again. "How could I disregard them? We can talk about it . . . if you want."
"No, it's too late for that," Sherlock said. "It's not necessary now."
"Well, I've obviously upset you so -- fine. That's fine, Sherlock." He turned and went into the sitting room, flopping down in his chair and opening the paper.
Sherlock watched John. Perhaps he had been wrong about the motivation behind it -- perhaps it had been John, perhaps he wasn't done being hurt by Sherlock's leaving.
Sherlock took his tea in and sat down in his own chair. "So this is how you are now?" he asked.
John looked up at him and shrugged. "It started a while ago. I've been back and forth about acting on it -- like, going to a pub or something. Mycroft asked so I figured, well, why not? I could start there. He knows it's a trial but he wants to try anyway." John stared at his tea the whole time, feeling so . . . awful about the words he was saying. They were half true and he prayed that if this should work, that Sherlock wouldn't be so angry that it would only mess things up anyway.
"I don't mean the gay thing," Sherlock said. "I mean, is this how you are now -- you upset your best friend and you just sit and read the newspaper?"
"No!" John looked up now. "You're the one that didn't want to talk to me! You said I'm no help."
"And when I upset you -- even when I can't fix it -- I say, 'that's fine, John' and go about my business? I didn't think that's how things worked here. But clearly my deduction skills aren't what they used to be, so I'm sorry. I obviously thought we were something we're not," Sherlock said, getting up from his chair and moving to the desk.
"Sherlock, hold on a second. You said you didn't want to talk to me. I didn't want to bother you -- I don't understand why you're upset." John got up and went into the kitchen, leaning on the door now. "What's wrong?"
"What I say is clearly irrelevant to you. I said to disregard the texts -- you didn't do that. You seem to pick and choose what to listen to -- I can only guess it's because you'd prefer not to talk about this. At least with me. That's fine, that's your right. After all," he said, not looking up from the papers he was fiddling with, "I am just your flatmate, your colleague. Before I went away you made stupid choices about your 'love life' and we rarely spoke about them. I don't suppose there's any reason to start speaking about your stupid choices now, is there?" He stood up as if he were going to leave the room but instead he just stared blankly out the window.
John felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. "Look. All I did was share some news with you that I thought was strange. Ever since then you've been terrible to me. I don't know what's wrong with you, I'm trying to find out and you are being even more terrible." John sighed and put his mug in the sink. "I am going to get ready now. I'll be in my room if you decide to tell me what is going on."
John moved past him and went up to his room, angry and hurt. This was blowing up and he knew that if it was going to hurt the friendship, he'd rather have that over nothing. He would tell Sherlock and hope for the best.
Sherlock hated everything about what was happening. He hated not knowing that John was 'trying it out,' he hated the fact that his brother had, and he hated that now John was 'trying it out' with his brother. But he also hated his own inability to talk properly, and it worried him that John had finally reached his limit with tolerating Sherlock's inabilities.
He sunk down into his chair and picked up his phone.
There is nothing strange about the 'news' that he asked you out. What is strange is your accepting. That wasn't 'news' to you so don't pretend that you were simply 'sharing some news you thought was strange.' I don't understand what is going on, and I shall just have to accept that. But don't pretend that any of this is normal. Even for us. SH
He said he'd been thinking about it for a long time. It's not like I realised I liked men and called your brother. I should have told you that I've been considering it, but it was a strange thing to bring up randomly. I felt strange anyway. The only reason I'm agreeing to see Mycroft is because he asked me. -JW
Sherlock knew the most sensible thing to do was to have a conversation like normal people did. But John and Sherlock have never been normal. And this was now even more not normal.
Some of that is not true and you know it. I don't believe you are going out with someone you have in the past claimed to hate simply because he asked you. There is something else going on, John. I don't know what it is but you do. SH
I know we haven't got along before, but he seemed sincere when he asked. Plus, he knows that I'm still figuring things out. A stranger will make it hard for me. -JW
John almost added that the date was the only thing going on, but he figured he'd lied enough already so he simply avoided it.
Yes, John, that makes excellent sense, doesn't it? After all, Mycroft has a long history of caring about your feelings and doing everything he can to make your life happy. Naturally, I can see why you would turn to him. SH
You're making it sound like I chose him out of a line of options. He asked, I accepted. It's just a date. -JW
Lie. If you're interested in me, you would have done the asking. Someone you like. You wouldn't wait for someone you hate to ask you. SH
Sorry, I meant *men*. SH
John's heart had stopped beating when he saw the first message, and it only started again when the second message came through.
I already told you that I've been considering going to a pub, but he asked first. I'm not going to keep arguing with you about my intentions if you're going to ignore half the things I'm telling you. -JW
He tossed his phone onto the bed and continued getting dressed. John had no idea what Sherlock was feeling right now, but he didn't know what else to tell him.
Sherlock stood up and walked to John's bedroom door. He tapped lightly and then, without opening the door, said, "I know about lying, John, and what happens when you lie is you get lost between what's true and what's not. That's what's happening to you right now. I told you that I'd never lie to you again and I haven't. I am telling you truthfully right now: I do not want you to do this." He walked downstairs and into his bedroom and shut the door.
John looked at the door and listened to him, almost chewing through his lip. He took a deep breath in an attempt to settle his stomach and he left his room, going down to Sherlock's room. He knocked on the door. "Can you tell me why?"
"Because something is wrong about this," Sherlock said through the door. "At first I thought it was his doing, being devious as usual. But now I worry that it's . . . us. If this is what you want then I think I've been wrong about us."
"Wrong about what?" John asked, leaning his head against the door. Mycroft is being devious, John wanted to shout, but he couldn't because he knew he was, too. And it was starting to seem that he could never tell Sherlock as things got worse and worse.
Sherlock swallowed. "I thought we . . . knew each other. Everything. Always. And now there's something so big about you that you've been hiding from me. It's bad enough that he knows, but what about . . . me . . . us?"
"I wasn't hiding it! I just . . . I told you I felt strange bringing it up. 'Oh, nice weather today, by the way I think I like men.' I just couldn't get it out. I didn't tell Mycroft. He-he said he could read it when he was over here," he said. That seemed better than making it seem like John was confiding in Mycroft.
"That can't be true, John," Sherlock said, "Mycroft can't read people. Mycroft can't know you better than I do. Can he? Unless . . ."
"He said . . . he said he noticed it when he was over here giving you that case. He texted later to say he knew my interests had changed." John knew he was digging himself in a hole.
"That cannot be true! How have your interests changed without my knowing it, John!" Sherlock wanted to open the door but couldn't.
"I don't know! You're the one not paying attention," John said.
"I always pay attention, John. I guess I was just unaware I had to be so vigilant with you," Sherlock said. He didn't know what to say -- he was so full of conflicting thoughts and yes, emotions. "Are you still going to go out on this date?" he asked.
"Yes. The only reason you've given me so far is that you feel left out!" John knew he was pushing it, but maybe this was the only way.
"You're right. I do feel left out. Because you are deliberately leaving me out," Sherlock said. He opened the door and stood before John. "Is that why you're doing this? Because Mycroft knew when I was gone and you didn't -- now you want me to know that hurt?"
"No! Sherlock, I would never want to hurt you like that. That's not what this is about." He gazed up at Sherlock and backed up a bit. "And I didn't leave you out, I told you he asked me."
"You say you're interested in men now, is that true, really?" Sherlock said. He watched John's face closely.
"Yes," he said out loud, keeping his eyes on Sherlock's.
"Men or a man?" Sherlock asked.
John swore inwardly. "A man."
"My brother?"
John couldn't help making a face. "No."
"Say his name, the man you're interested in, say his name," Sherlock stared into John's eyes.
John flushed but didn't dare look away. "You, Sherlock. It's you."