Work Text:
Sherlock tapped away on his laptop, determined not to make eye contact with John. In the past ten minutes, John had stormed around the flat in a huff, and then he'd collapsed into his chair and read the newspaper with such force that Sherlock seriously feared for the structural integrity of the paper. Worse still, it looked like he was gearing up for a second round of flat-storming. Any eye contact was just asking for trouble, as he'd doubtless be on the receiving end of a lengthy rant about the Perils of Dating.
He was just about to contact Mycroft when his mobile vibrated with a new text.
Has John left yet? MH
No. She stood him up and he's sulking. Loudly. SH
Oh Lord. Which one? MH
The teacher one, I think. I can never keep track. SH
Make an excuse and come over here then. MH
Send a car. SH
Of course. Five minutes. MH
"Molly has some new tissue samples she wants me to examine," he said, without making eye contact.
"Now? She doesn't usually work the night shift."
"I think she's filling in for someone. Must run; she said they need them soon. I'll be back later."
"Want me to come with you?"
Not unless you'd like to have sex with Mycroft. Not as if I'd let you. "No, I'll be fine. Back soon." He gave John a tight smile and grabbed his coat and scarf. He didn't even bother to put them on as he dashed down the stairs, worried that John would decide to follow him.
He glanced at his phone as he put on his coat in the front hallway. Four more minutes. John would expect him to hail a taxi, not wait on the pavement for an unmarked black car. With any luck, he wouldn't look out the window, but his luck tonight hadn't gone particularly well. John had seen to that.
They always met at Mycroft's townhouse. He'd just wanted to indulge in the novelty of sex in his own bed for a change. John's atrocious luck with dating and his determination to follow Sherlock around London like a homeless puppy made that an increasingly rare option. It's alright for Mycroft. He doesn't have a flatmate to evade.
He closed the front door behind him and stood in the entrance. If John looked out now, he'd be beyond his line of sight. Three minutes. If a car pulled up outside the flat though, John was sure to look out of the window. Better to have the car meet me on the next road down. He hurried down the road, as close to the buildings as he could manage, and texted Mycroft.
Have the car turn onto Melcome. I'll meet it there. SH
It's stuck in traffic. Another ten minutes at most. Wait in the station, I don't want you to freeze. Sorry. MH
Your concern is touching, but I'd rather freeze than endure the teeming masses. You know I avoid the tube like the plague. SH
If someone gave you samples of the plague, I suspect you'd be at Barts, analysing them. Still, point taken. I'll meet you on Melcome. MH
Sherlock read the text twice. Mycroft was actually in the car? That was almost unheard of.
His phone buzzed again.
Surprised? MH
Sherlock smiled.
A little. You never meet me in the car. SH
It's been a long week. I want all the time we can get. MH
I am not having sex in a car. SH
I certainly never suggested we should. My bed is far more comfortable. I just wanted to see you. MH
He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Half of him wanted to shoot back some biting remark about sentiment, and the other half thrilled to its rare display. It took him longer than usual to compose his reply. Mycroft would notice. He couldn't deny that he wanted to see him just as badly, but he didn't want to come right out and say it, either.
Agreed. SH
That should be sufficiently vague.
He pulled his scarf more tightly around his neck to seal out the cold.
Almost there. MH
Sherlock peered back down Baker Street and could make out the dark shape of the chauffeured car, waiting in the line of traffic for the lights to change.
When it pulled up, he quickly opened the door and got inside.
Mycroft awaited him with a warm smile. "Hello," he said, softly.
"Hello, Mycroft." Sherlock smiled back at him, glad to finally be together.
There was no trace of the bickering and cynicism they displayed around others, just a fondness they never let anyone else see.
"The whole evening has been a bit of a disaster, hasn't it? I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know you wanted to meet at yours."
Sherlock shrugged. "I feel as though I should apologise, except that it's entirely John's fault. Well, his girlfriend's fault, really. Perhaps you could find him a better girlfriend." He'd meant it as a joke, but they simultaneously stilled and squinted their eyes in thought.
"That's really not a bad idea, but I'll deal with that later." He pulled Sherlock in closer and gave him a soft kiss. "It's nice to see you."
Mycroft's lips were warm and Sherlock pulled him back in for another kiss. "Mmm," he agreed. Sherlock eventually pulled away and leaned up against him, enjoying the warmth and Mycroft's mildly intoxicating scent: fine wool and expensive cologne.
Mycroft placed his hand on Sherlock's thigh as the car darted through traffic, back towards Kensington. With one finger, he idly traced patterns on his brother's trousers.
After a few minutes, Sherlock abruptly stilled his hand.
Mycroft looked up, concerned, but Sherlock just smiled as he moved Mycroft's hand much further up his thigh in a clear invitation.
"I thought you didn't want to have sex in a car?"
"Unless your definition of 'sex' has gotten awfully comprehensive, Mycroft, I think we're fine. Besides, we're almost there; not even you can get me off that quickly."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should."
Mycroft's hand brushed teasingly across his crotch and Sherlock arched up to meet it. His brother capitulated and Sherlock moaned at the deliciously firm pressure Mycroft applied to his groin.
"Don't get too excited, Sherlock," Mycroft said, his voice low and dark. He nipped at Sherlock's ear, then added teasingly, "We do have to look like brothers when we go into my flat." His hand kept moving, and Sherlock had no intention of stopping it.
"We are brothers," he replied in a rough voice. "We're just not normal."
Mycroft's mouth was doing delicious things to his neck when his phone buzzed with a text message.
They both ignored it.
Thirty seconds later, it buzzed again.
Sherlock fumbled for it in his pocket and tossed it to the other side of the car.
They went back to their kissing, but when the phone rang a minute later, neither of them was surprised.
"Bloody hell! One night. Is that so much to ask?" Sherlock fumed, before he found the phone and retrieved it from the floor. His voice was calm and a study in boredom as he answered, "Yes?"
"It's John. Are you at Barts yet? Lestrade just called and he wants us to meet him at a murder scene. I have the address."
"Text it to me. I'll meet you there." He disconnected.
"It's fine," Mycroft started, although the disappointment in his eyes and tone of voice told a different story.
"No, it's not," Sherlock replied with a devious smile. "I refuse to let him completely ruin our evening. I didn't say when I'd meet him, and we just pulled up at your flat. I'd say 'the vagaries of London traffic' earn us at least a half hour of vigorous sex on that comfortable bed of yours before I have to go anywhere."