Fic: Past, Present & Future (7/?)
Past, Present & Future: Chapter Seven
Rating: Explicit
Pairings: John Watson/Marcus Morstan; Sherlock Holmes/John Watson (one-sided)
Beta: lady_t_220
Summary: Sherlock returns after three years to find that things have changed in ways he could never predict. There's a stranger living in 221b and no-one's life is quite the same for it.
*
July, 2014
It doesn't get any easier, Sherlock finds. Emotion, once unleashed, continues to distract and frustrate him, and some days it's all he can do not to spend the whole day wallowing in disgusting self-pity. Sentiment has become a new and vicious master, sidelining his mistress - The Work - and forcing him to dance to its tune.
It has been almost three weeks since Sherlock returned, and in that time he has experienced a lifetime's worth of jealousy, and all the other messy emotions it brings with it. Just when he thinks he has control of himself, he is proven wrong by the merest mention of John and Marcus. It is like a wound that never quite heals, ripping him apart with only the slightest provocation.
Yet, despite his treacherous heart, Sherlock cannot bring himself to hate Marcus. The more he sees of him, the more he sees just how irritatingly perfect he is for John. John has always thought of himself as the sensible one - it's easy to see where he gets that idea from after just one meeting with his highly-strung sister - but John is actually far from sensible. John is reckless, headstrong, sometimes overly emotional, and yet at other times far too stoic for his own good (a delightful enigma, even after all this time). Marcus is the perfect counterbalance: rational, but not coldly so; objective, but still prone to softer emotions.
Marcus is, in addition, very good at his job. Sherlock deduced that right from the start, but now he has had the opportunity to see Marcus at work first-hand and, as he considers himself somewhat an expert on incompetent police officers, Sherlock is a little disheartened to find that Marcus is very capable. It's no surprise that he has been promoted, and he fulfils his new responsibilities with the minimum of fuss and drama. He is exactly the kind of police officer Sherlock prefers to work with.
It's with that contradiction in mind, then, that Sherlock is called in to look at the scene of a double murder in Highgate. The scene itself is a tastefully decorated dining room, the large mahogany table adorned not only with expensive silverware and the host's best china, but also with the blood of the two victims who are propped up in chairs at either end. Lestrade is off talking to his useless forensics team in the next room, trying to keep them out of Sherlock's way for five minutes, and Marcus is standing by the door, completely still and blissfully silent.
Sherlock makes his way slowly around the corpses, and then the table, examining every inch. He can feel Marcus's eyes tracking him but, thankfully, he decides to hold his tongue on any inane observations or questions. Sherlock wonders idly if John has given him some pointers, but then forces his mind back to the problem at hand.
Sherlock finally moves away from the table, having seen enough to tell him that this was most likely a crime of passion committed by the dead man's mistress. Marcus straightens expectantly as Sherlock approaches. A childish part of Sherlock considers keeping quiet until Lestrade rejoins them, but then he'd have to wait around even longer, and, anyway, he likes to think he's beyond such pettiness.
"He had a lover. Probably younger - they usually are. She was among the guests that were here earlier in the evening, but she came back later. She killed the wife first - strangled with a some sort of belt or scarf, green fibres around the neck. The husband was stabbed not long after, one clean blow to the heart - probably a steak knife, judging by the wound. Husband was moved to the chair after he died."
Sherlock comes to a stop and Marcus lets out a huff of surprise, then his lips curl into a smile.
"Anything else?"
"The lover's left-handed, that should make it easier to single her out."
Marcus raises his eyebrows in faintly baffled disbelief. "Amazing."
It doesn't give him quite the same rush as John's awed praise, but it's a pleasant change to have his deductions met with something other than suspicion and scorn.
"If you need anything else, you know how to get hold of me," Sherlock says, preparing to leave. "Although I should think this is straightforward enough for the Met to handle."
"I think we'll manage the wrap-up, yeah," Marcus says, his tone warm with amusement. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Sherlock is at the door when Marcus turns to him. "Oh, wait a sec, there was something I wanted to mention to you."
Sherlock stops with one hand on the frame.
"It's John's birthday next Thursday. I'm planning a little get-together, just dinner and drinks. John will probably invite you himself, but I just wanted to grab you while I had the chance."
"I see." It sounds like an evening of hell, surrounded by people John just about calls his friends. It would also undoubtedly involve having to watch John and Marcus together, which is something he has tried to avoid as much as possible.
"John said you weren't really into that sort of thing, but I know he'd be really chuffed if you could come."
Sherlock, fool that he is, cannot bring himself to say no. "Get John to text me the details."
"Great," Marcus says. "And thanks again."
Lestrade appears in the doorway at that point, looking at Sherlock expectantly.
"Marcus has all the details," Sherlock explains. "Really, Lestrade, I think even Anderson might've stood a chance at working this one out. It was incredibly obvious."
Lestrade rolls his eyes and Sherlock gives them both a short goodbye before leaving them to finish up.
*
"I'm glad you came," John says, leaning against the bar next to Sherlock.
"It's your birthday," Sherlock remarks, because it really is as simple as that - he wouldn't have missed a chance to be with John on his special day.
"Who had to remind you?" John asks with a grin - teasing, obviously, but Sherlock can't help but be a little offended. Something of his feelings must show in his expression because John gives him a strange look. "Come on, you don't do birthdays. You threw a strop when I got you a birthday card!"
"I don't do my birthdays," Sherlock mumbles petulantly. "Or Mycroft's."
"Well I'm honoured that my birthday is an exception," John remarks, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile as he takes a sip of his drink.
"I suppose you won't want your present then," Sherlock says airily. "Given you seem to think I have no interest in your birthday."
John turns to him with a look of pleased surprise. "You got me a present?"
"It's tradition, so I'm told."
John watches him expectantly, and Sherlock makes him wait a few more seconds before finally fishing the white envelope from his inside pocket. He smoothes his fingers over it nervously, and then hands it to John. John smiles and opens it carefully, before sliding the tickets out. His eyes widen with shock as they flick back up to Sherlock.
"How on earth did you get these?"
"I was owed a favour," Sherlock says - it's mostly true anyway.
Marcus appears at that moment and takes in John's surprised look with a raised eyebrow. "Look," John says, thrusting envelope towards Marcus. "Tickets to the premiere of the new Bond in a few months' time."
"I didn't even realise there was a release date yet," Marcus comments, with an impressed look.
"Only if you know who to ask," Sherlock explains.
John grins as Marcus hands back the envelope. "Thank you, Sherlock. Really, this is... Well, I'm a bit lost for words. This is an amazing present."
John just shakes his head in disbelief as he looks at the tickets again and Sherlock smiles softly. Marcus looks up at Sherlock and Sherlock quickly schools his expression as Marcus studies him, unsure of the reason for the scrutiny.
"I really can't wait," John says, and Sherlock forces his gaze back to his friend. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
John's grin turns sly as he turns towards Marcus. "You never know, I could meet Daniel Craig and we could have a sordid affair."
"Have you seen Rachel Weisz?" Marcus asks, laughing.
"Are you saying she's prettier than me?"
"No comment."
"I'm just going to get a drink," Sherlock cuts in, uncomfortable in the face of their teasing banter. John looks up sharply, but Sherlock is already moving away.
Sherlock gets himself a large whiskey and downs most of it in one go.
"Rough day?"
He turns to find a tall, fair-haired man watching him with a smile. Sherlock makes a non-commital sound and finishes his drink in one large gulp, before signalling to the bartender for another.
"Let me get this one for you."
Sherlock's attention is drawn unwillingly back to the man beside him. "George Bateman," the man says, his friendly look tinged with the subtlest hint of desire. Sherlock's eyes flick over him quickly - single, just out of a serious relationship, probably looking for a one night stand - and George now makes no attempt to hide his obvious interest as he returns the look brazenly.
"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock replies, but pays for his own drink once it arrives.
Oh, it's tempting. He's been having to watch John and Marcus together all evening, and it's enough to make him consider - just for a second - the oblivion of a night of passion. George isn't unattractive, and Sherlock's libido is being annoyingly distracting of late, and yet...
"You here on your own?" George asks.
Sherlock's gaze skitters away over George's shoulder, to where John and Marcus are talking to Mike Stamford, pressed almost hip to hip.
"No," he eventually says, drawing his eyes back to George and giving him a (fake) apologetic smile. "Sorry."
"You have a good evening then, Sherlock Holmes," George says, before leaving Sherlock to nurse his drink in silence. He's an idiot - a hopeless fool and a masochist. Sometimes he even wonders if coming back was the right thing to do.
"Alright?"
Sherlock starts at Lestrade's voice and stands up a little straighter. "Fine."
"You know, I haven't seen you this out of it in ages."
Sherlock turns to level Lestrade with a frown. "I'm not on anything, if that's what you're trying to insinuate," he gets out defensively. Surprisingly, perhaps, he hasn't even considered the bliss of chemical relief.
"I wouldn't dream of suggesting it," Lestrade says sarcastically, but his expression softens with relief. "So, I hear you're finally moving."
Sherlock nods; he's finally given in and arranged to move into Marcus's old flat - anything is better than sharing a house with Mycroft (it was bad enough when they were children).
"I bet you'll be glad to have some space to yourself."
Sherlock just hums and, sensing his mood, Lestrade doesn't try to continue the conversation. Lestrade orders himself a drink and leans against the bar next to Sherlock, looking out over the crowd and leaving Sherlock to the mess of thoughts and feelings constantly plaguing him.
*
"Well, you've definitely made this place your own," John calls, taking in the familiar detritus of Sherlock's genius. The flat had seemed small when Marcus was here, but filled with Sherlock's various belongings it now seems to resemble some sort of rabbit warren filled to the brim with God only knows what.
John wanders back into the kitchen, where Sherlock is making coffee (a rarity in itself). The kitchen is filled with more scientific than culinary equipment, and it's already looking more cluttered than 221b ever did. John wonders if his presence had in fact had some sort of restraining influence that he hadn't noticed before.
"Maybe you should have kept some of your stuff in storage," John suggests with a smile, taking the mug Sherlock holds out to him.
"Nonsense. I need it."
"All of it?" John remarks, one eyebrow raised archly.
"Yes, all of it," Sherlock snaps with an impatient wave of his hand. "It just needs tidying."
John smiles into his cup and takes a mouthful of coffee. "Do you like it though?" John asks.
"It's infinitely better than staying with my brother."
"I bet you hardly ever saw him," John teases.
"That's not the point. The whole place has a horrible aura of... Mycroft."
John laughs. "Yes, I remember."
"When have you been in his house?"
John sobers, his fingers twitching against his mug and, before he even has a chance to say anything, he sees that perceptive gaze sharpen with realisation before Sherlock pales and looks away awkwardly. "Of course."
Eager to dispel the melancholy seeping over them, John speaks up again. "Well, you're right, it really is shockingly Mycroft. All that armour and tapestries, it's like walking into a medieval court."
Sherlock gives the barest hint of a smile, but it is enough, and John wanders back through to the living room, Sherlock behind him.
"So, come on, tell me all about the case with the ferret," John says, settling on the sofa.
"I'm sure Marcus has told you all about it."
"But I want to hear your side of the story," John insists, and Sherlock looks pleased. He's gone back to hiding his feelings for the most part, but there are still times - usually when he and John are alone - that those softer emotions slip through the cracks. John savours them, glimpses of that often-denied sentimentality, now precious in their rarity.
Sherlock launches into a story that is already broadly familiar to John, having indeed heard it from Marcus, but only Sherlock can explain his jumps of logic in a way that doesn't make them sound completely unreal. It's probably a measure of how quickly John has got used to being around Sherlock again that most of what the other man says makes perfect sense, even when it's completely extraordinary.
"Please tell me you got a tetanus shot afterwards," John says once Sherlock is finished.
"I'm not an idiot," Sherlock counters, idly picking at the bandage wrapped around his hand. The ferret in question had apparently given him a rather nasty bite.
"Good. It would be a real shame for you to come back from the dead, only to be killed off by a ferret."
Sherlock just rolls his eyes and it makes John smile. Rebuilding their friendship has been a slow process - and is still ongoing - but it has got to a stage now where he feels secure once more, and he can think about those three long years without the anger and doubt and hurt. There are still some hard edges to be smoothed over, some areas where they no longer fit together as they once did, but by and large John feels like he has regained his best friend; he feels whole once more.