Chapter Text
John was just finishing up at work when a phone call was put through to his office. He stared at it for a minute and debated letting it go to voice mail. He was tired and really wanted to get home. He sighed and lifted the receiver. "Dr. Watson speaking," he said, sinking back down into his chair.
"John, how are you?"
"Mycroft? Why are you calling me? What's happened to Sherlock?"
"Nothing, John. Nothing. I just wanted to let you know that there is a man coming to your office with an acceptable suit and a list of things you shouldn't talk about at dinner."
John's brows furrowed. "Mycroft, what on earth are you talking about?"
Mycroft chuckled softly. "Have you not spoken to Sherlock yet? I just got off the phone with him an hour ago. You should talk to Sherlock."
"Mycroft, what are you--" The line when dead and John was staring at the phone, wondering if a number was saved to call back. Before he could look, there was a knock at his door. He sighed and got up, pulling it open. "Look, tell me what -- " The man shoved the box at John and was gone before he could get any more words out. He locked up, hailed a cab, and started looking though the box. There was a very nice suit inside with a small list of words like politics, cases, and smoking.
When he finally got to the flat, Sherlock was lying on the sofa. John dropped the box on the coffee table and shoved his leg. "Care to explain this?"
"Ah, yes," Sherlock said, without looking at John. "I meant to tell you . . . rather I thought very hard about the best way to tell you and I think I thought about the conversation so many times in my head that I just assumed we'd actually had it." He sat up a bit, but still did not look at John. "I'd like to invite you to my parents' house and I hope you say yes, because I have already told them we'd come."
John stared at him, then at the box and then back at Sherlock. "I can't, Sherlock I have a date this weekend and frankly, Mycroft sounded a bit too . . . giddy for my liking. I don't know what is going on, but I would like to be kept out of it." He went into the kitchen to find something to eat and considered making tea. He decided not to and started heating up the leftovers.
"John, I do realise this is very inconvenient, I really do," Sherlock said, looking over towards him. "However, I am afraid this is a very special circumstance and, while I know I'm not in the position to insist, if I were in the position to insist, I would insist. That's how important this is."
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, you'll just have to go without me," he said. "What's the special circumstance anyways? I don't want to come and just be a referee for you and Mycroft," he said. He was torn between being angry at the suspicious, last minute plans and being flattered that Sherlock wanting him to meet his family.
"Mycroft won't be there this time," he said, standing and moving into the kitchen. "John, please, this is serious . . . it's my parents . . . they're not . . . well . . ."
"What?" John asked, looking up at him. "What happened? What's wrong?"
"Um, perhaps that's not quite the right word . . . " Sherlock said. "John, look at my face, please. You know I do not beg, but . . . I am, I'm begging. Mycroft has asked me to go, just for the weekend, and I am listening to Mycroft, John, can you not see that this must be quite serious? Could you not just reschedule the date . . . tell her it's family reasons. She'll understand."
John sighed with relief when he realised that no one was actually sick. He looked at Sherlock and felt his resolve breaking already. He knew he was going to go. He would do anything for Sherlock -- trying to put up a fight was useless. "Okay, fine. I will text her later and reschedule. When are we leaving?"
"Mycroft is sending a car in two hours. I've picked out some clothes for you and set them on your bed. I only went through the wardrobe -- not the drawers, I felt that might be too forward of me," Sherlock said. "I'm going to have a shower now."
"You're welcome!" John called after him. He left his food since they would be eating in a couple hours anyways, and he grabbed the box with the suit before heading upstairs. He dug out a small duffle bag and piled in the clothes Sherlock had put out, tossing in a few pairs of pants and socks and undershirts. He took his work clothes off, refreshed his deodorant, sprayed on some cologne and opened the box. He didn't even bother wondering how Mycroft knew his size, but the suit fit him very nicely. He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to make his hair a bit more presentable. Then he brought his packed back down and sat in his chair waiting.
Sherlock came out of the bathroom and saw John. "You look . . . very handsome," he smiled when he said it. John did indeed look very handsome. "But . . . that's for dinner, not for arrival . . . Why don't you change into something more comfortable for the drive? Maybe something doctor-like? I mean . . . just be yourself."
"Oh," John said, feeling a bit silly now. "I thought...right," he nodded. He hurried up stairs and took the suit off, folding it back into the box and closing it up. He put on his dark jeans, a white button up shirt, and a navy jumper over it. He looked himself in the mirror again and left his room nervously, hoping this was good enough. Despite his reluctance to go, he still wanted to make a good impression.
Sherlock went into his room and dressed. He put his toiletries into his bag and headed back out. He looked up at John and smiled. "Yes, that looks good, you still look handsome but more comfortable," he said. He handed John a packet of biscuits. "Here, put these in your bag in case you need a snack on the way."
"Oh, thanks," he said. "Is it going to be a long time before we eat?" His stomach growled softly, and he looked down at it as if he could scold it quiet.
"It'll depend on how long the drive takes, we can always stop if you want," Sherlock said. He looked out the window. "The car's here. Let's stop downstairs to let Mrs Hudson know we're leaving." He put on his coat and grabbed his bag.
"We don't have to stop," John said. He was about to mention that he could just eat all of the biscuits when he realised what Sherlock said. Telling Mrs. Hudson they were leaving to see Sherlock's parents for the weekend was not going to do anything to help the fact that she thought they were a couple. But he found he couldn't bring himself to say anything, for some reason feeling guilty about making Sherlock lie about where they were going. So he simply shouldered his bag and kept quiet.
"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called as he headed down the stairs. She came to her door. "We're off now," he said.
"Tell your mother and father I said hello," she said. She looked up at John and then at Sherlock, who shook his head softly. "Well, have a good trip," she said, leaning in to give Sherlock a hug. She whispered, "Tell him before you arrive." Then she looked up at John and hugged him as well. "Good luck," she said, putting a little kiss on his cheek.
"Okay, that's enough," Sherlock said, turning. "Come on, John, let's go."
They headed out to the pavement and got into the car. As the car pulled away, Sherlock turned to John and said, "Comfortable?"
John nodded, adjusting the bag at his feet. "Why was she wishing me luck? Should you be preparing me for anything?" he teased. Mrs. Hudson hadn't made a single comment about the trip, and for some reason that didn't sit well with John.
"Do you remember earlier when I said my parents weren't well? That wasn't quite the right word . . . what I mean was, they're not . . . happy." He swallowed. "Like a lot of parents, well, mothers, I guess, mine feels the need to . . . interfere with her children's lives. I know she goes on, but I suppose I've just learned how to not hear it. However, Mycroft is not quite as clever in that respect, and the last time they spoke, he . . . improvised."
John narrowed his eyes a bit, suddenly remembered how positively amused Mycroft sounded on the phone. His breathing became very controlled suddenly. "Why am I coming to your parents', Sherlock?"
"My mother wants her sons to be less . . . married to their work, let's say. She, mistakenly I might add, thinks that making that change would make us happy. To stop her from hassling him about his lack of a . . . companion, Mycroft offered her . . . us."
"Us," John said, matter of factly. "I am going to murder the both of you! Your parents think we are dating and no one thought to correct them? Is that what we're going to do now? Are we going to set them straight?" Somehow he knew that wasn't the case, but he had to hold out a bit of hope. It was bad enough little thoughts kept slipping into his brain now and then but this -- he couldn't do this!
"I'm afraid not. Mycroft told her you and I are a couple. The purpose of this weekend is . . . to convince her of that fact. There it is. I have a feeling that you might be angry about this. Do you think you'll be able to be angry during the drive because I don't want them to assume I've chosen an angry boyfriend."
John couldn't help an exasperated laugh. "Oh yes, how very inconvenient for you. Let me just get myself under control," he snapped. "Are you guys insane? How are we supposed to fake that -- I mean -- why can't we just tell them? We can say he misunderstood the relationship or . . . or he believed the rumours . . ." His anger faded as he tried to find a way out but then swelled up again. "You tricked me! You tricked me into coming because you knew that I wouldn't!"
"Now John, listen. You seem to have misunderstood me. The goal is not to refute Mycroft's story -- it's to prove it. But don't get so worked up. You just said it yourself -- at the flat, we just live our normal lives and, as you never seem to stop pointing out, people already think we're a couple. It's not like I'm asking you to . . . consummate our relationship in front of them. I really believe that we can be as we normally are, and that'll do the trick. They'll just be using the word boyfriend instead of flatmate or . . . friend. That'll be it, I'm sure."
"That won't be it! Mums want to know . . . stuff. When we realised we wanted to be more than friends, who asked first, how did the other respond, where was our first date, what are our plans for the future, what we see in the other, what's our favorite thing about them -- " He was rambling on as questions fired in his head. "We need a back story and side stories so we can be prepared for what she might ask! And couples . . . I mean, kissing good morning, holding hands, pet names! Will we have to sleep in the same bed? Didn't anyone think to plan this out?"
"John," Sherlock said sternly. "Listen to yourself: do you really think that neither Mycroft nor Sherlock Holmes 'thought to plan this out'? Here," he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to John who looked it over.
FIRST MEETING: Mike
FIRST DATE: Angelo's
FRIENDS: Mrs Hudson, Graham and his wife, William and Harry (gay)
FIRST FIGHT: John pouting about Sherlock's sleeping habits
FAVOURITE GIFT: A leather bound copy of a book from childhood (John: Just William, Sherlock: Charlotte Sometimes)
FAVOURITE PERSONALITY TRAITS: Sherlock's cleverness, John's loyalty
FAVOURITE PHYSICAL TRAITS: Sherlock's hair, John's smile
WOMAN: Mary
MAN: Henry
"No pet names," Sherlock said. "They'd never believe I'd allow anyone to call me by a pet name."
"I -- oh," he mumbled, looking the paper over. Suddenly he didn't like how formal it all was despite his little panicked speech. He set the paper down between them and pinched his nose as he thought about it all. He could fake it for two days, couldn't he? If he told stories about things they actually did -- then he remembered the note and not mentioning the cases. Okay. But he could still . . . just come up with things. It was just two days. He sighed a bit defeatedly. "What else do I need to know?"
"John, please," Sherlock said reaching over and tapping his leg quickly. "Don't look so worried. Mostly all we have to do is tell the truth -- talk about cases, places we really have gone. Even arguments we've had. There's a plethora of information already there."
He looked out the window for a moment. "Here's the thing: my mother's the clever one, so if you start to feel uncomfortable, turn your focus to my father. I really do not believe my mother will try to deliberately trip up either of us, I think she'll just be more . . . pleased. The names at the bottom are our back-ups. If one of us ends up having to make something up, if it involves a man, his name is Henry and a woman will be called Mary. So if she brings it up to the other one, we'll be able to use the same name."
He pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and took a sip. "And yes, I'm afraid we'll have to share a room. I really don't see why that needs to be a problem. As far as touching and kissing -- you seem to forget that my parents have known me my whole life. Do I seem like the touching, kissing type? I'm afraid even a handsome doctor boyfriend is unlikely to change that. No offense, obviously."
John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Mycroft said not to talk about cases," he said, pulling the note out for Sherlock. "I'm sorry I overreacted. I -- it'll be fine. Just two days, right? I can do that."
"Not the details -- I mean, places, things like that. Not the cases themselves, she needs to believe you are the most important thing in my life so nothing about my or Mycroft's work, which I suppose would mean no politics," he glanced down at the note. "And he's right, definitely don't bring up smoking." He handed the note back to John. "But really, John, just be yourself. You're lovely, you know, just the kind of man any mother would be proud to have as a son-in-law." He immediately looked out the window again.
John stomach flipped, making him smile softly and distracting him for a moment. Then his brain caught up. "Son-in -- does she think we're engaged? I thought I was just your boyfriend! If I'm your fiancé that's going to require extra stories, Sherlock."
"No, he didn't say we were engaged. It was just a figure of speech," Sherlock said. "Besides, don't flatter yourself -- I'm not about to give my hand in marriage so quickly, even if the sex is mind blowing." He pulled a face at John.
John flushed lightly, huffing out a breath and punching Sherlock's arm playfully. "That's not funny!" He laughed quietly. "I'm already stressed enough about this. You think this is going to be easy, but you'll see. It's going to be a difficult two days," he warned lightly.
"No domestic violence, please," Sherlock said, rubbing his arm as if John had hurt him. "Listen, you've been to war, you're dealt with complex medical emergencies and you've been in some pretty dodgy situations with me. This will be much easier than any of that. I promise," he smiled at John to convince him (and a little bit to convince himself as well).
"Right. I'm just going to think of it as an undercover mission," John said. He tried not to think about how long they'd have to keep up the charade after they left, or if some story would leak through about a tragic break up. He wondered how his mother would feel about that. "I'm sorry I got so mad. I suppose it's not the worst thing."
"No, Mycroft being there as well -- that'd be the worst thing," Sherlock said. "Anyway, how was your day?" Sherlock could see it wouldn't be too much longer until they arrived and he wanted things to feel more normal for both of them before they got there.
"Long," John said. "I'm kind of hoping we can get to bed quickly tonight," he admitted.
"Yeah, look, if you want to avoid uncomfortable dinner conversations, you might want to avoid phrases like that," Sherlock said. He looked at his watch. "We'll probably eat soon after we arrive. They seem to eat earlier and earlier every year. You won't need the suit -- that'll be for Sunday. Tonight's dinner will be something light, we might be able to talk them into eating out tomorrow, but Sunday will be a big dinner cooked by my mother. She's a good cook, you'll like it."
"I'm obviously not going to tell everyone at the table I'm eager to get you upstairs," John smiled. "I'm just whining anyways. I'm excited to try your mother's cooking. Will Mycroft be there for that one?"
"Let's hope not," Sherlock said. He looked out the window. "Look, I've just been thinking here and I was wondering, hand holding -- definitely out of the question? I don't mean all the time, I was just thinking . . . it might be nice if they could see us walking up to the house like that. I mean, we don't have to . . . "
"Oh," John flushed lightly. "It's not out of the question -- I mean it'll be expected, yeah? We can walk up like that, of course."
"All right then," Sherlock said, smiling a little to himself. "Good." The car exited the motorway. "It won't be long now . . . any last questions? Should we have a safe word or something?"
"I don't think we can abort the mission now, Sherlock, safe word or not," he chuckled. "But if I need you to bail me out of a question I'll just . . . .rub my nose or something." He smiled.
"Okay, but don't accidentally rub your nose because I don't want us to end up in the middle of some farcical misunderstanding." He adjusted himself a little as the car pulled up to the house. He looked over at John and said, "Thank you for doing this, John. Thank you."
John looked over at him and smiled softly. He didn't know why they couldn't just tell his mum the truth, but now that he was involved he found himself feeling a bit excited. "Yeah, sure," he said. "No body parts in the fridge for two months," he added.
"Well, now that's just taking advantage . . ." Sherlock said, smiling. He got out of the car and went around to meet John on his side. He held out his hand and they headed up the path.