(no subject)

[mustbethetruth]

After a series of vague telegrams, Holmes thinks he a dinner engagement with Mycroft tonight. With Mycroft and Watson. Neither Mycroft nor Holmes ever really expressed specific interest in dining together, and Holmes didn't expressly accept, but that's just how he and Mycroft tend to do things like this. Holmes especially is never quite sure how to handle this idea of being affectionate or friendly with his brother. Mycroft intimidates him, both with his superior powers of observation and with the simple fact that Holmes has come to Mycroft, needing help to clean up the mess he'd made of his life.

Holmes has been nervous all day, to say the least, and couldn't bother to get out of his dressing gown. He picked over his breakfast and luncheon, mindful of needing an appetite for dinner, at least a little one, to contrast with his brother's.

The hour's approaching, however, that he must start to get dressed in the kind of clothing more appropriate for dinner in Mycroft's club. He'd already told Mrs. Hudson, shortly after lunch, that he and Watson wouldn't be needing dinner that evening. She was a little perturbed at the late notice, but Holmes figures she won't be nearly as put out as Watson will be once Holmes gets around to telling him.

He gets up without a word and slips into his room to change and rearrange his appearance, running a comb through his hair and situating it appropriately. He comes out of his room adjusting his cufflinks, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly at Watson. Part of him is aware that this is absurdly last minute to tell Watson, but his nerves have so far prevented him from saying anything, to be honest. Belaying telling Watson almost allowed Holmes to believe he could somehow get out of this uncomfortably tense evening.

"Well?" he asks, stopping to finish adjusting his cuffs. "Aren't you going to get ready?"

Comments

[lightconductor]

Watson had been whiling away the afternoon with a few issues of his medical journals that he felt obliged to stay caught up on. He had vaguely looked up when Holmes had gone into his room, but had reined in his curiosity; he would, he felt sure, find out if something was going on sooner or late. When Holmes did come out again, he looked up, frowning in confusion and surprise.

"Get ready?" he repeated, frowning. "Get ready for what?" His first thought was that he had forgotten some sort of social engagement, but nothing came to mind. Watson set his reading material aside, half-standing. "Holmes, what is this about?"

[mustbethetruth]

"Dinner," he says matter-of-factly, with a faint note of impatience to color his tone. He tugs his jacket straight, smoothing his hands down the front. "Mycroft doesn't appreciate lateness overmuch, so you had better start changing. How long do you think you might need?"

He glances at the clock and then retrieves a cigarette, needing a moment to calm his nerves, not to mention needing to brace himself for Watson's annoyance at having this sprung on him. It is, however, a mild relief for Holmes to act in such a manner.

[lightconductor]

"Dinner?" Watson stood up straight, his expression and voice incredulous and annoyed. "You want me to get up and dressed for dinner with your brother now?" Irrationally, he was terrified. If he was about to meet his lover's brother, he would have liked to have slightly more warning than this. He hadn't any idea what to expect from this Mycroft Holmes, hadn't any idea how to behave. On the face of it, the idea sounded horrid; a whole evening spent with this man he'd never met? What sort of judgements could he expect to pass over the dinner table?

"Why on Earth didn't you tell me?" Flustered, annoyed, Watson marched off in the direction of his room.

[mustbethetruth]

"I did tell you, just now," he retorts, watching Watson's reflection in the window as he smokes for a moment or two. It quickly becomes evident, however, that he's far too restless or nervous to mediate on the scene in the street, and he turns and follows Watson up to his room. Watching Watson get dressed, whether or not Watson is irritated with him, will be a properly calming distraction.

"I think he's eager to meet you," he says mildly, stepping into Watson's room. He drifts over to where Watson keeps his cuff links and rifles through them. "As eager as Mycroft can be about anything. Wear these." He picks out a set and sets them on the dresser before taking an elegant drag off his cigarette. Sometimes nerves lead to overpronounced calm in his mannerisms.

[lightconductor]

Glancing over his shoulder, Watson huffed a little as he picked out a fresh collar. Having his cufflinks picked out was so ridiculously reminscent of, well, a wife. Not that he had ever had a wife, but he could imagine.

"Would you like to pick the rest of my clothing while you're at it?" he said, feeling nettled. It was at least somewhat reassuring to hear that Mycroft might be eager to meet him. He hoped that was a good thing. "Why did you not tell me before now? I don't imagine that I somehow missed the sudden arrival of a telegram summoning us to dinner."

[mustbethetruth]

He withdraws a little, stung at Watson's reaction to Holmes picking out his cuff links. Retreating, he leans against the wall by the door, smoking slowly as he watches Watson get dressed. Despite the irritation, he can't deny that this really is as soothing as he had hoped.

"It was decided last week." Closing his eyes, he leans his head back against the wall. "Do you object to meeting him? His club does make a fine meal, at least. At any rate, Mycroft is observant enough that you needn't make conversation if you don't wish to. Between the two of us, we ought to be able to read your opinions."

[lightconductor]

"Oh, thank you," Watson returned, rolling his eyes. "Just what I wanted. I needed to spend the evening with two arrogant men who talk over me. Why didn't you tell me last week?"

He hesitated before swiping the cuff links off the dresser, and he looked at them a moment before deciding to use them anyway. As annoyed as he was about being ordered about, he couldn't deny that they were probably the nicest pair he had. Perhaps Holmes was concerned about making a good impression? If so, Watson couldn't argue with his intentions, although he had one or two issues with his methods.

"If you decide to spend the evening not bothering to let me actually say anything, then I can promise you I will never deign to speak to you under normal circumstances ever again," Watson muttered."

[mustbethetruth]

"It was hardly relevant last week." He opens his eyes to knock his ashes out in the nearest ashtray, leaning away from the wall to reach. He notes with some degree of satisfaction that Watson is wearing the cuff links Holmes picked out; they do something to bring out Watson's eyes, in his opinion, and he does so want Mycroft to be impressed with Watson. He could never be sure of Mycroft's opinion of his previous two lovers -- though he suspects Mycroft was underwhelmed with Victor and with the intensity of his relationship with Gideon.

"Never speak to me again? That is quite the threat. I might have to get us lodgings with Lestrade, in that case. Are you nearly ready?" he drawls, his voice devoid of anything more than his default slightly bored, slightly arrogant tone.

[lightconductor]

When, some hours later, they found themselves returning to their comfortable rooms at Baker street, Watson hung up his hat as they stepped into the sitting room, and turned to look at Holmes rather cheekily. He was glad to be home, to be sure; as well as the evening had gone, he'd felt more than a little lost as the two brothers bantered. Now, he felt like he could relax, both with a return of privacy and a reassurance that, impossibly, Holmes's brother was not about to turn them in or malign them for their relationship. "That was a good dinner," he said, his expression wry. "But I would like you to tell me one thing, my dear."

With his expression fixed on Holmes, evaluative and scolding with a small smirk, Watson advanced on him. "Why, in the name of all that's unholy, could I not have had some warning about this? And," he added, laughing a little, "are you planning on apologising to me?"

[mustbethetruth]

That had been a good dinner. He'd missed his brother, enjoyed setting this relationship before him, enjoyed being accepted, being given a blessing. It's ridiculous to need that kind of thing from his brother, but Holmes doesn't have room to criticize himself for it, between all the smug relief.

He's warm and content and happy when they get home, and to have Watson laughing and cheeky only makes him even happier. He reaches for him as Watson advances on him, drawing him into his arms. He'd intended to say something first, but once he has Watson in his grip, he can't hold off; leaning in, he kisses him soundly.

"Yes," he answers as he draws away. "Would you believe I wished to spare you the days of anticipation, during which you would not feel less nervous than you did today with only 20 minutes to feel it?"

[lightconductor]

"No," Watson countered, smiling. "No, I do not accept that. You could have told me at breakfast, at the very least. Supposing I had plans?"

Being kissed did much to soothe his not-very-serious annoyance; he slid his arms about his waist playfully. "You are a very good liar but a liar nontheless. And you clearly don't think much of me if you expect me to believe you."

Reaching behind them to lock the door, out of habit, out of forethought, out of a definite hope, Watson added cheekily, "I hope that kiss wasn't my apology. It was a poor sort of apology."

[mustbethetruth]

"If I had intended you to believe that, I wouldn't have given you the option." He dips his head down for another kiss, and feeling bold, he backs Watson up against the freshly-locked door, enjoying the feel of having him trapped against him. Is there anything about life with Watson he doesn't enjoy? In a different mood, on a different day, he could think of something, but just now, he can only feel worshipful.

"And that was just a kiss. I haven't begun to apologize yet," he purrs, his voice coloring the word so that it's clear just what kind of apology he's talking about.

[lightconductor]

With a small exhalation of breath, Watson sank back against the door, moving his hands to Holmes's sides. If he was trapped, he was at least a willing prisoner. "How reassuring," he murmured. "I think you owe me a very large apology. Not to mention a proper explanation."

He lifted his head to steal a kiss, lingering and teasing and hungry. Any genuine anger he had been holding onto had long since evaporated; it was difficult for him to stay angry with Holmes for very long, whatever the reason. "I think I ought not to expect an explanation, though," Watson added, wryly teasing. "I'll take the apology."

[mustbethetruth]

He grins, a touch mysteriously, and he kisses Watson again because there isn't a good reason not to, and he just spent a long dinner not being able to touch Watson even though he possibly could have and it would've been fine. It was frustrating. He slides his hand over Watson's waist, holding him lightly.

"I'm delighted to hear it. My brother, after all, demands you receive one." He presses his mouth to Watson's throat, planting a row of soft kisses along the sensitive skin, down to Watson's collar.

[lightconductor]

"I'm not sure this is what he had in mind," Watson returned, throatily, "but you do know him rather better than I do, and I have no complaints in any case."

He did not want to think of Mycroft. He was perfectly happy thinking of his own Holmes, when it came right down to it. He slid his hand into Holmes's hair, his breathing harsh and ragged. He was already feeling more than a little distracted, and he was looking forward to how things might progress, but he was also comfortably caught, and willing to let Holmes set the pace -- for now, at least.

[mustbethetruth]

He scrapes his teeth against Watson's neck in something that isn't quite a bite, but is certainly a promise, as he slides his hand inside Watson's coat, seeking out the warmth of his skin through his shirt. He's always found that to be erotic -- warm skin just out of reach, separated by only a thin layer of fabric -- and he revels languidly in it now.

Breathily he makes his way up to Watson's ear, and he tugs the lobe between his lips, tongue tracing the shell. His movements are tender, but there's restraint, too, a promise of something being held back and waiting to burst free.

"Do you have any requests?" he murmurs into Watson's ear once he's done teasing at it. "How might I best make up for my error?"

[lightconductor]

"Perhaps so," Watson agreed. Sometimes it surprised him a little to hear Holmes speak like that, to acknowledge such vulnerability. He hadn't really grasped just how important Mycroft's approval might have been. In retrospect, that gave him a little bit of a guilty twinge; perhaps he should have considered that side of things a little closer.

"I would imagine," he said, speaking very carefully, "that he might have some concern for you if things were to go badly again." Drawing thoughtful circles over Holmes's skin, he added, "You're lucky, you know, to have a brother so concerned for your well-being."

Watson couldn't imagine why he had passed this strange test, or why he and Holmes were finding themselves to be so lucky, but he was peculiarly grateful. "I think I'd prefer if what we have doesn't fail spectacularly." He spoke softly, thoughtfully. "These... these two other men didn't realise how lucky they could have been, I suspect."

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes knows very well how lucky he is to have Mycroft. He wasn't exactly close to his parents, but disownment does have a way of making one feel like, frankly, utter shit. Mycroft has come to mean much more to him in the intervening years than he did while they were growing up, and Holmes is reluctant to risk losing his approval or affection now. Thankfully, Mycroft seems to freely give it.

"No, perhaps they didn't," Holmes murmurs, opening his eyes so that he might watch Watson's hands over his chest. "I'm glad they missed out on that luck, however, if it were to come all at once. I'd rather share it with you."

Apparently being sodded makes Holmes all kinds of ridiculously sentimental, and he almost rolls his eyes at himself. He shifts to lie on his back, and he closes his fingers around Watson's hand, stilling it against his chest.

[lightconductor]

Watson shifted to curl around Holmes as best he could, and he pressed a kiss against Holmes's temple. He still could not really properly understand why he had somehow fallen in love with a man, why he had somehow been destined for this, but he was beginning to accept it. He loved Holmes, and that was okay.

"If you want me to share it," he murmured, "then I won't be going anywhere." He gave a small puff of sleepy laughter as something that he had been meaning to mention occurred to him. "Despite the continued efforts by certain parties to turn my friendly acquaintance with Miss Morstan into something more. Have I mentioned that?"

Strangely worried about how Holmes might take that news, he buried his face into his hair, inhaling as he pulled himself closer.

[mustbethetruth]

His eyebrows shoot up before even his eyes manage to open, and though he'd like to give Watson a look, he can't because Watson's rather comfortably in his hair. Instead he strokes the inside of Watson's wrist and considers his reaction. There's jealousy, yes, but having just been sodded by Watson placates his nerves, just a little.

"Well. I imagine it would be difficult to let you go, once you drifted into their line of sight." He grips Watson's wrist lightly, and a little possessively. "What do you intend to do about those efforts?"

[lightconductor]

"Well." Watson had to smile a little, at the flattery, at the possessiveness, at being owned. "I haven't managed to avoid all the social invitations, alas. I am, however, trying not to encourage her. Polite, but nothing more."

He sighed a little. "I don't think I have it in me to cruelly cast her off. She's far too sweet a young woman." He kissed Holmes's hair. "I may have to tell her soon that I'm not the marrying sort, or something of the kind."

[mustbethetruth]

"Mm." Oh Mary. How irritating you are. He sniffs and brushes a kiss against Watson's forehead, his thumb tracing a circle around Watson's wrist bone. Yes, she is a problem, and Holmes isn't exactly sure he's comfortable with Watson playing Mary off either, because it seems a little... suspicious.

"Maybe what she needs is a distraction," he settles on, though who he could find to compare to Watson is beyond him. It isn't as if bachelors paraded themselves through his sitting room.

[lightconductor]

Watson liked that idea. He liked Mary enough that it bothered him to hurt her in any way. She deserved some handsome, kind man who could (and would) take care of her, love her. Still, the question was clearly who they could distract her with.

"I've been merely hoping she would give up on me soon enough," he said. He tucked his head into the curve of Holmes's neck, closing his eyes. "That might be better, if you know any likely candidates. I never saw you as the sort to play matchmaker," he added, smiling.

[lightconductor]

"Perhaps not," Watson chuckled. "But who says this is an ending? We are hardly beginning, you and I." He nuzzled close, sounding more and more sleepy. "Unless there's something you need to tell me."

He gave a sigh, contented and drowsy. Serious thought about what might have been was not worth the effort. "I love you," he murmured.

[mustbethetruth]

His smile grows and he hugs Watson closer to him, exhaling slowly, very much feeling at peace. "I love you."

Watson's words play over in his mind -- We're hardly beginning, you and I -- and his smile grows, and his ears maybe flush a little with feeling. He couldn't possibly think of anything else that needs to be said, so instead he brushes a kiss against Watson's hair.

"Good night, my dear."