Chapter Text
John slept the night away and woke to a lavish breakfast which Sherlock practically hand fed him, his Guide nearly purring with satisfaction and contentment. After washing up they spent a bit of time just nuzzling and kissing each other but the anticipation was too great, both of them dressed quickly and left their suite to join the group waiting for them in the conference room. John was trusting that the doctor on staff had Bill and Victor well in hand, he didn’t have time to spend seeing them. He’d slept far longer than he would have liked but there was nothing he could do about that now. Mycroft was waiting next to Lestrade, both men tense, “Everything is prepared?” John looked up at the tall man.
“Yes Sir, a car will take you to the landing pad. There are teams waiting to be deployed as ordered.” Mycroft didn’t need to say more than that. John knew how aware the once-diplomat was of his own fragile existence. One untended detail could endanger John, and Sherlock would not tolerate that. Once mistake could risk Sherlock and if that ever happened, Mycroft was witnessing the tangible result of raising John’s ire. Everything would run as smoothly as he could manage with the resources he had on hand, and in the country, no one now had more access than Mycroft, thanks to his Primes.
“Surveillance?” Sherlock was terse.
“Eyes and ears confirm your suspicions. They’ve gone to ground at the location indicated.” Mycroft’s jaw was set. He wasn’t any happier than Sherlock was that their mother had chosen to shelter Richard Brooke in their ancestral home, openly choosing an outsider over her own flesh and blood. “The entire district has been flooded with our people. Collateral damage will be localized.”
John nodded briskly. He intended no mercy but he wasn’t a mad-dog to go in guns blazing indiscriminately. He was a surgeon, and he would be precise. He had two lives to terminate, that was it. Anyone else who died at his hand would do so at their own provocation, and not John’s. Suddenly he was nearly consumed by the rage of passionate love Sherlock felt for him, his Guide was acutely aware of John’s mental processes, admiration burned just as brightly and it was all John could do to keep from blushing furiously.
Sherlock complained loudly but John made him change out of his bespoke suit and into tactical gear, the Kevlar vest producing an almost childish tantrum as Sherlock protested every single piece of protective clothing John dressed him in. “I am not a delicate flower! John, I will be in no danger.”
John remained calm as he fastened a final buckle, “No, of course you won’t. I just think you look hot in all of this.” Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut and his cheeks turned crimson as John laughed softly, pulling his lover down for a tender kiss, “I won’t risk you love, not a bit. I’m going to protect you every way I know how, and we don’t really know what might happen. I’d rather be as prepared as possible, especially since I know you won’t be good for me and stay in the helicopter or anything.
Sherlock nearly squawked indignantly as he shouted, “IN THE HELICOPTER?” he was sputtering now, “I am not hiding in the helicopter like a helpless infant. I’m not entirely useless!”
“I know love.” John kissed Sherlock tenderly one more time before brandishing a thigh holster for a rather savage looking knife, “Like I said, hot.” he winked and enjoyed the resurgence of Sherlock’s blush. Calmly John strapped on various weapons and when he was done Sherlock’s blush had calmed and he was looking speculatively at his mate, “What?”
Sherlock glanced down at his armaments, “How do you know I can use these?”
John shrugged, “Well I can. You can do a bit of what I can do now, I can do a bit of what you can now. It seems logical.” There was very little need for weaponry, but if that’s the way the fight went John wanted everything at the ready.
Sherlock nodded and helped John get dressed in similar fashion. The tall man had a bit of a crooked smile on when they were ready, “You’re right John. You do look a bit amazing in all of this.” John laughed again and enjoyed the short but heated kiss Sherlock gave him before his Guide slung his arm easily over John’s shoulder and led him outside to their waiting vehicle.
Mycroft appeared with a small bundle which he handed to Sherlock silently. When his Guide unrolled it John saw a large variety of metal tools, some thin and twisted, others straight. Sherlock smiled and tucked them in various pockets all over his body and gave John another kiss. There was a lot of respectful silence wherever they left, not one person spoke a word out of turn, and everyone worked with maximum professionalism. John was bemused at first but Sherlock looked around with great satisfaction. John’s blush bloomed against his will when he realized people were eyeing him with something akin to awe, and Sherlock was reveling in it.
Once they were onboard the flight took on a surreal quality because the information they could perceive side by side was almost mind-bending. Flying together was a very different experience, clearly proximity to one another amplified their abilities, and both Primes were wonderfully distracted by examining their environment from a new perspective, not just flying over communities and farmlands, but experiencing minute changes in the weather, the feel of the lay of the land, the populations of not just people but all the living things all over. They passed over the country in an almost dreamlike state as they enjoyed themselves.
By the time they landed John had achieved a state of tranquil serenity. The Holmes ancestral home was only a couple of kilometers away. John and Sherlock stood together in a field of flowers, adjusting each other’s gear until they were both comfortable. Stamping their feet to make sure their boots weren’t going to be a bother John took one more kiss from Sherlock before leading the way through a small copse of trees. He’d never been here before but Sherlock had grown up on these lands, John knew them because his Guide did. Easily John extended himself far outside of his corporeal form, his awareness stretching outward, flowing in an ever increasing sphere until the woods around them sprang up in John’s mind like a three dimensional map. He could see their teams hidden away behind various obstacles. Allowing his senses to range as they needed he opened his mind and let all the information flood through.
The house was massive as befitted its history. It was heavy, made of stone and slate, stately and unforgiving. Armies could dash themselves to pieces on the exterior of such a place if it were locked down but hubris had its place in all things, the locks on the doors could not stop John or Sherlock, and the few people within were never going to be a hindrance. Blinking a single time John walked briskly forward, deftly making his way in near silence toward his target. Sherlock quickly learned how to place his feet as John did, and was soon ghosting along in near silence behind his Sentinel. Even if there had been guards John saw a hundred ways to slip around them. Still ever cautious he narrowed his focus along his intended route and discovered alarms along the doors. Sherlock was the one blinking now and a barrage of technical information flowed between the two of them.
Even the dew on the grass did not betray them with damp trails. They made it to the house unnoticed, their senses winding together once again so Sherlock was monitoring everyone inside while John used his knowledge combined with his medical skills to deactivate one device after another. Once completed Sherlock took great enjoyment in picking the lock, mentally reminiscing of all the times when he’d done the same as a youth. John laughed silently and brushed his fingers down Sherlock’s back in a loving caress. He adored his Guide so much, every moment with him was bliss.
The door opened silently and both of them wrinkled their noses as the Richard’s scent wafted out. As with elsewhere the compound had been used heavily, there was no escape from its almost overpowering sweetness. John wondered if Richard realized it had no effect, at least not on the Primes. Apart from making him feel a bit like sneezing it didn’t seem to be hampering him at all. John didn’t need to look around to see what was around him. He could sense servants working in various parts of the house, and deep in the centre, enclosed in a small suite of rooms lounged two men. Realizing the heavy overlay of scent would prevent them from being able to tell one person from the other by their smell was supposed to be a tactic to confuse him, as well as make him suggestible which thanks to his unique bond to Sherlock, had still failed to work. They had no idea he was unaffected. John smiled and loosened his knife. I love you John. That addictive warmth was back and John smiled, returning the feeling with just as much ardor as his lover.
Their mutual silence continued and John knew their associates were surrounding the house even now. They made note of the locations of the different men and women but they weren’t who John and Sherlock were searching for. They made their way through one long hallway after another, soundlessly ghosting past one unsuspecting maid or butler after another until they finally stood in a broad corridor that was heavily carpeted and fitted with ancient furnishings and large paintings. Various people were moving around them in other rooms and hallways but right here they were alone. An ornately carved door was firmly closed on a space within but that would hardly hamper John, and Sherlock could vicariously discern information filtered from his Sentinel’s mind. The Primes ignored everything around them, both men listening intently to the conversation inside.
Moran’s voice was instantly recognizable, “Stop pacing around baby, you can’t call anyone until tomorrow, all you’re doing is wearing a hole in Mrs. H’s carpet.”
A high-pitched and heartily amused giggle followed, “Oh Sebby, like I give a fuck what that dried up old cunt says about her carpet, though hand woven Persian is rather special. All I want are her two boys, both of them. I almost had them Sebby! Explain to me again what went wrong?” The amusement faded and intense dissatisfaction had taken its place.
Sebastian snorted contemptuously, “Why do you want Mycroft? Sherlock I understand, he’s pretty and I don’t mind sharing, but the older brother?”
“Tish tosh Sebastian, don’t be jealous. You know I’m all about what’s inside.” the laugh that followed was dark and unstable, “Mycroft is wicked and powerful, no he’s not beautiful the way the lovely Sherlock is, not on the outside, but inside. Oh yes, Mycroft is lovelier even than his sweet delicious little brother, and oh, to have him in my hand. Mmm, yes my love I know you don’t mind sharing, that’s why I don’t kill you.”
Sebastian’s laugh was hearty and fond, “Whatever keeps you happy baby. Still this was a lot of effort to get a couple of bed-boys.”
“Fucking them is only one of the things I’m going to do, and won’t that be fun. They are going to be so very entertaining, why between the lot of us there simply isn’t a single naughty plan that could go wrong, just imagine in Sebby. We could have the world right in the center of our greedy sweaty little palms.”
“You should have killed the Captain when you had a chance.” Sebastian reminded calmly, “I’m telling you, don’t underestimate Watson. He had a real reputation in the army, and doctors don’t normally get reps like that.”
Suddenly Brooke was nearly hissing with fury, “That little usurper! How dare he bond with my toy? You’re right sugar-plum, I should have opened his throat when we took my baby back. Still, how else would I have found out how far they were willing to go to get him back? I had to know, you know I did!” Brooke was almost whining now, petulant and upset sounding.
Moran was almost crooning, “Aw baby, don’t be sad! Everything worked out exactly the way you thought it would, no one else could have laid a trap like that and you did it. It’s not our fault that idiot Mycroft couldn’t keep tabs on his brother! For fuck’s sakes what the hell is so wrong with the chastity collar anyway? At least we could have kept the little bastard from stretching his neck for the first Sentinel to sniff in his direction.
Brooke was laughing in little broken gasps now, “Oh Sebby, I love the way you think. Yes sweetling, we’ll do that next time. Kill Watson for me and we’ll collar Sherlock until we find a better Sentinel for him. Victor was such a disappointment. Oh well. At least he’ll die knowing what a failure he is, him and that simpering nurse he’s attached himself to.
It was to Sebastian’s credit that he grew still and silent at those words, and even through the barrier between them John could smell Sebastian’s anger and disgust, “Murray isn’t dying, not because of your thing with Victor. He’s a good man, a soldier. He’s earned his free pass a hundred times. No baby, you’re not going to.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” screamed Brooke, “If I want that late-bloomer dead he will die!”
The Primes felt Moran get to his feet suddenly, his soft voice cold and flat, “James. You are not killing Bill Murray unless he attacks one of us.”
There was a brief silence before the newly verified James answered, his voice petulant and fond at the same time, “I don’t know why I bother trying to keep you happy anyway. Fine, your girlfriend can live.”
Moran’s voice was still soft but now filled with the heat of desire, “You are one crazy little shit Moriarty. I love that. You keep me because you like the way I fuck you, and you like the way I kill for you, and you just like the way I say your name.”
“I hate being called Richard Brooke. Do you know how many people have tried to call me Dick?” the petulance was back but there was no trace of the killing rage that had consumed the small man so recently.
“Six baby, that’s how many bodies we had to bury.” the fondness hadn’t dimmed a bit and John was scowling. Six people dead because a madman was offended about a nickname? “Richard Brooke is a brilliant cover, it still makes me laugh. No one gets it and all of them are supposed to be geniuses, what’s with that baby? You’re too clever for them, and I love that too.”
“Sebby you do know how to say all the right things to keep me happy.” Sherlock was working in front of John now, his motions nearly silent but John could hear the tumblers of the lock shifting position, and suddenly the door to the inner rooms clicked open, “The door!” shouted James.
“Fucking hell!” shouted Moran as John and Sherlock stepped into the room together. John recognized Sebastian Moran instantly, his semi-tactical outfit making the dangerousness of him that much more apparent. John also recognized James Moriarty from the sketch that Mycroft had shown them, momentarily marveling at how well his likeness had been caught. James had flat brown eyes, cold and calculating. His suit was simple and elegant, perfectly fitted and sumptuous looking without being overwhelming. John could see why Mrs. Holmes thought so well at him, he fit her shallow standards perfectly. Moriarty’s body was fit and small, he moved with weird grace, almost slinking behind Moran who had produced a knife, “Captain Watson.”
“Colonel Moran.” a pair of sharp salutes were exchanged even as both men positioned themselves in front of their lovers, “We have a bit of business.”
“Do we now?” Moran was easing Moriarty backward toward a wall, “I can’t imagine what.”
Moriarty was peering at John from behind Moran, and his face was filled with anger, “Well aren’t you a surprise?” he spat out.
“I’ve been saying that since the day we met,” replied Sherlock happily, “He’s really quite amazing, a game changer. Hello James Moriarty, I’m very pleased to meet you at long last. I do believe making my acquaintance has long interested you.”
“Sherlock. Well, this isn’t quite how I planned starting our new lives together, but it is rather dramatic and I do love drama.” John watched as Moran was nudged forward, with a careful hand John reached behind him and pushed Sherlock back toward the door, their minds linked still I might need to spin or something, I don’t want to get caught on you.
Of course my love, whatever you need. Sherlock melted back gracefully but John could feel his lover loosening his own weapons. With a grim smile John accepted that he might only need to put down Moran. That was fine with him, they weren’t here to ask questions. Two dead men were still standing in front of them and that was number one on John’s “To Do” list for today. Out loud Sherlock replied, “I promise to stay with you until death do us part.”
Brooke/Moriarty laughed with delight, “Clever boy! Oh yes pretty one, till death do us part.” John’s mind unfettered itself once again, unfurling gracefully away from him to encompass not only the house but the grounds as well. The expression on his face must have been very telling because Richard’s face went from gleeful to cautious in an instant, “Something is up precious. Daddy has a bad feeling.” The man’s voice had become a sing-song, his high sweet voice a bizarre indication of the madness within.
Moran went from being arrogantly relaxed to on point within an eye blink. “What have you done Watson?” he demanded in a hard firm voice.
“Nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place Sebby.” replied John calmly. He drew a blade and watched the Colonel grow still. John’s army reputation had definitely preceded him. “I’m putting an end to this. You have threatened my Guide, I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to do, I am protecting him. I like to do a good job, I enjoy the sense of closure.”
John shrugged. So far nothing was impressing him. Sure this man held sweeping powers and had countless influential people in his control, but right now all he had was a single soldier to keep John from tearing him apart, and frankly John had doubts that Sebastian would be able to be much of a match. Still, better to be prepared so John made sure to let no detail go unnoticed.
People were swirling all around them as everything kicking into gear. Sebastian’s attack was swift and savage, and to John’s surprise James was right behind him, a long wicked blade already in hand. Sherlock! John was determined and Sherlock was unafraid, merely drawing blades of his own. There was no time to worry because a blow of terrific force had just been thrown, one that John deflected just before it landed. Sentinel or not Moran was a real threat. Undaunted John simply did what he’d done before and allowed himself to react to each and every move the man made.
Distantly John saw that Sherlock and James were cautiously circling one another, Sherlock’s inexperience offset by his protective gear. Even an awkward strike would cut through Moriarty’s suit like it wasn’t even there. John had no time to try anything because Moran fought with a savagery John had never encountered before.
Sebastian Moran was a human weapon; that much was clear. Victor Trevor’s skill was pathetic in comparison. This man was a stone killer, hardened in battle, tempered in the dark alleys of Moriarty’s underground empire. The knife in his hand was weapon enough as he deftly sliced through the air, narrowly missing John again and again. Moran shifted from one style of fighting to another effortlessly, simply wearing whatever skills suited him best at the moment and enhanced though he was John had to put real effort into returning some of what he was getting.
Sherlock was in a bit of a spot. He’d been backed into a corner and for the first time a thread of panic was beginning to develop. Without thinking about it John and Sherlock’s minds merged seamlessly once again and suddenly it was like John was fighting two battles at once. The triumphant look on Moriarty’s face was nearly as enjoyable as the look of sweaty concern on Moran’s.
Sherlock was flexible as well as long limbed. Suddenly it was as if he were dancing with the smaller man, and the look on Sebastian’s face was one of horror and desperation as he fought with John to get closer to his lover. It was clear that Moran’s entire being was devoted to the love and protection of the madman who was still trying to extinguish his Guide’s life.
A door opened and John heard a soft inhalation of air before everything turned to madness once again. The room was first plunged into darkness which was actually an advantage because John knew what was about to happen and closed his eyes immediately. He knew there was one more heartbeat in the room now despite the fact that scents, colors, and flashing lights were all doing their best to disorient not just himself, but Sherlock was well. John, Moriarty is gone. I can’t find him. John searched with his mind and located the small man hiding behind a tall china cabinet. With glee Sherlock practically pounced forward and resumed the fight just as the third mysterious presence attempted to glide up behind John.
The newcomer wasn’t expecting a wide armed blow across their chest which revealed their status as a woman, and John knew he’d found the missing third of the evil triumvir that was attempting to take over his homeland. With a snarl he lashed out again, this time with his foot as he extended himself forward to shove Moran away for a second even as his leg came up directly between the thighs of his new opponent. He could sense the shock of pain from her, and felt a vindictive moment of triumph because even though women weren’t as vulnerable as men, it still bloody well hurt to be kicked in the most sensitive part of your anatomy by steel shanked boots.
“Bastard!” spat a woman’s voice breathlessly, “I’ll fucking kill you for that.” the woman hissed and now John was seriously pressed to protect himself. Moran and the woman both came at him simultaneously and only John’s enhanced senses allowed him to weave out of reach of flashing blades that attempted to slice and cut at him. He could feel Sherlock fighting, Moriarty was skilled as well, not as skilled as Sherlock sharing John’s abilities but more comfortable with them which the detective was not. Sherlock was still hesitant as he battled, pausing a little too long between attacks, unintentionally opening himself up for attack but John couldn’t spare more than a worried Move faster thought tossed at his lover.
Sherlock moved faster and John focused on the people currently attempting to disembowel him as a tag team event. With a snarl John kept his eyes closed, wrenched out a second blade and set to work. He was sick and fucking tired of this shit already and all of it was pointless. Rage began spill out and John snarled a second time before he leapt directly into Sebastian Moran’s wide-open arms.
The tall soldier had not expected to be cannonballed by the small soldier in front of him but John was feral now. Moran fell backward and landed with a thump onto the floor, his attacker straddling his hips in a grotesque parody of intimacy. Almost delicately John shoved the tips of his knives into the muscle of the man’s shoulders, neatly piercing the flesh to sever the veins and arteries that gathered close. Almost instantly he yanked his blades out and struck a second time, this time surgically severing the tendons that allowed the large man to raise his arms.
The woman leaped forward and John rolled away as her knife flashed down to where his back had been. Her shout of dismay was answered with his laugh of almost mad glee as she stabbed her partner fatally, missing his heart but skewering his liver so deeply her knife rammed into the floor beneath him. Moran was gasping, his legs kicking ineffectually as he lay there.
The woman wasn’t slowed in the least despite her chagrin. With a shout she was on her feet and moving toward John even as Moran drew the blade from his own body. Sherlock and Moriarty were moving about the room, the distracting lights and noises suddenly cutting off to leave an almost disconcerting silence that made all their panting breaths and grunts of effort that much louder.
She was petite, a small and almost jolly looking woman with yellow blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes. John might have thought her beautiful at one time but now all he noted was the racing pulse at her neck, the way her torso moved from side to side as she positioned herself for attack, how her feet slid neatly into place and then he smiled. “Mary don’t.” cried Sebastian weakly from the floor, “Stop.”
“Shan’t. This little puke owes me blood.” Her voice was warm and friendly, a happy voice in other circumstances but right now was not one of those. Mary as she was so named was filled with righteous rage.
“Seb!” Moriarty’s panicked shout caused all three of them to turn to look. Sherlock had the smaller man pinned against the wall. Without pause he drew back his arm, a long knife firmly in hand, and right in front of all of them Sherlock cut the heart right out of the villain once known as James Moriarty.
“JIM!” Horror was in both voices as Mary and Sebastian literally wailed the man’s name out. Sherlock had moved so quickly, deftly cutting the flesh right beneath the man’s ribs, flicking his wrists exactly right there and there before he dropped the blade and extracted the organ he’d just won, brandishing his gruesome trophy to the devastated remainders of his inner-circle.
“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” shrieked Mary. Abandoning Sebastian and John both the small woman ran toward the Guide, producing new knives that she hurled at Sherlock as she moved. It was John’s turn to shout when a small blade struck Sherlock directly over his heart and stayed there. That moment hung in the air, John’s pain and anxiety exploding in a storm of fear and terror like he’d never felt before. He felt it sink into his lover’s body, he felt how it nearly kissed the fragile beating flesh it had been aimed at and silently he said take it out she’s going to strike it home. Neatly Sherlock’s hand came up and he plucked the short weapon from his bosom just as Mary’s fist came forward open palmed. Swiveling on one foot Sherlock stepped away so that she crashed gracelessly into the slumped corpse of the now thoroughly deceased Richard Brooke before he moved back again almost instantly, mimicking John’s earlier pose as he sat on her hips and smiled down at her. “Don’t.” she begged. “Please stop.”
“Shan’t.” said Sherlock pleasantly before he ended the conversation terminally. Mary bled out onto James, her throat slashed wide open by her own knife. “No amount of dry cleaning is fixing this!” complained Sherlock petulantly as he flinched away from the warm spray of blood. “That was a bit dramatic.”
Moran was still on the floor, attempting to sit up as his own life oozed away from him. John ignored him and went right to Sherlock. Using his sleeve to wipe the blood from his Guide’s face John kissed him hard, “You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re okay, so wonderfully alright.” John knew that for all of Sherlock’s external calmness he was anything but.
“You killed them.” Sebastian couldn’t stay upright. He slumped over, “You killed them.” his voice was blank with shock. “Why?” he sounded confused now, his eyes fixed on the lifeless bodies of his partners.
John stepped away from Sherlock slowly to turn toward the soldier now breathing his last. With a slow blink of his eyes John walked toward the dying man, his step nearly predatory as he reached for the last blade he had waiting. Sinking to one knee beside Moran John leaned forward and spoke in a kind voice, “You threatened Sherlock. I won’t stand for that, not ever. You tried to hurt him, and that will never happen. You took him from me and for that alone I would have hunted you down and ended you.” John’s voice was soft, patient. “I’m an honorable man, well, for the most part. I’m going to do you right, don’t worry. You were a good soldier for a very long time, that you chose the path you chose is something I can’t judge but whatever else you did serve once, and because of that I’m going to give you this mercy.” Sebastian relaxed. He lay back on the floor, his body limp and unresisting as John placed the tip of his knife directly over his heart. Their eyes locked and with a single thrust John killed Sebastian Moran.
Sherlock came over, and greedily they clung to one another, their mouths tacky with blood and sweat as they kissed each other hungrily. Desperate hands wandered, assuring each other that their lover was unharmed, that nothing needed tending, that they were both alright. They were.
John allowed himself to become aware of the rest of the house and property once again. The building was filled with their people, the workers inside the building already removed and contained in vehicles outside, their legal status to be determined as soon as possible. Many would be honest servants of the house, long time carers for a property that was otherwise unused. Others would be tied to the now late James Moriarty and they would need to be detained and questioned while all others were released. That was a problem for Lestrade and Mycroft to sort out. “Come on love, let’s leave this place.” urged John softly. Sherlock nodded and put his arm around John’s shoulder to lead him from his old home.
What happened after they stepped out of the building was vague. John and Sherlock were acutely aware of only one another, and though they gave orders and spoke with people the only thought in their minds was the need to leave and to return home. “Find a place to land that’s closest to Baker Street.” ordered Sherlock, ruthlessly commandeering a helicopter pilot, “Now.”
A sharp salute was instantly given and the Primes were led to a small vehicle that already had the pilot buckled firmly into place. Once again John experienced the strange sense of connection as they flew over the fields and communities, but despite that all he could think was Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock and though they were buckled into their seats their fingers were tangled together as tightly as their thoughts. Merging as best they could both men silently whispered words of love and devotion back and forth, sustaining each other during the almost painful wait before they could be inside their haven.
The helicopter dropped them off on the roof of a posh hotel where they were whisked via lift down to street level where a long black car waited to rush them directly to their front door. Anxiously John unlocked it while Sherlock crowded up behind him, the taller man nearly kicking it shut behind them as he urged John to race up the stairs and into their flat.
The second their door was bolted closed John and Sherlock were pawing at one another, fumbling fingers undoing buckles and belts, zippers and clasps, pushing away layer after layer, discarding remaining weapons as quickly as they did their clothes. Their mouths met again and again until they were finally naked and kissing their way to the shower. “John.” this was the first word Sherlock had uttered out loud since they left the chaos of battle behind. “My beautiful John.” there was such love in Sherlock’s voice, it was achingly beautiful.
“My wondrous Sherlock.” replied the soldier ardently because that’s exactly what Sherlock was, a wonder. How had he existed before this? How had life had any meaning whatever before he’d stumbled into the life of the most amazingly magnificent person imaginable? “So perfect. All mine.” John was almost delirious with worshipful devotion, his lover was so many incredible things, John would never be able to love him enough but he was going to try.
The hours passed in a sensual blur as they took turns worshiping each other. Affection and lust were present in equal measure, neither man feeling the slightest bit fatigued no matter how long their passions ran hot and hard, or slow and deep. They made love. They fucked. They ravished each other in as many ways they could manage. John loved the sight of Sherlock on his knees nearly as much as he loved being on his knees for his lover. He loved feeling Sherlock inside him, could not get enough of feeling his mate entering him with his tongue, or his fingers, or his cock. They drained each other dry, hungry for more, incapable of stopping until a new day arrived and their bodies simply could not take it anymore. They slept.
During the day John sensed Mrs. Hudson creeping about, and later in the morning Mycroft showed up, discretely waiting in the foyer until his Primes could peel themselves off their sheets, take a brief but absolutely mandatory shower, and make themselves somewhat presentable for public viewing. John didn’t say a word as Sherlock called his brother up, just putting on the tea he desperately needed and gratefully demolishing the large breakfast platter their not-housekeeper had provided. Mycroft waited patiently until Sherlock had also had some tea and at least half a slice of toast before beginning his report. “James Moriarty, Sebastian Moran, and the woman now identified as Mary Morstan have been posthumously charged with endangering Primes and their deaths listed accordingly.”
“Medical experiments for the lot of them.” said Sherlock glibly and John nearly spat out his tea with a laughing snort, “I’m not joking John. Have their bodies delivered to Molly and we’ll have them in pieces in no time. You promised me some time in the lab!” Sherlock looked petulant.
“Whatever you want my darling. Mycroft, make that happen.” John was smiling warmly at his young lover who now looked indecently pleased with himself. Mycroft smoothly made the call, clearly unsurprised with the decision. “At least they’ll be useful somehow.”
“Indeed Prime Watson. The family home was filled with their records. Clearly Moriarty had no idea how quickly Prime Holmes would be able to locate him with your remarkable assistance.”
John ate for a while longer and watched Sherlock eat the rest of his toast with an exuberant amount of jam on each piece. “What now?”
Sherlock crunched noisily and looked up at his brother who answered, “Now we put Sherlock’s original plans into place.”
Ah yes. Sherlock had outlined a rather grand scheme days ago, it seemed like a lifetime ago actually. “Do I get a recap? You know I’m not as sharp as you two.”
“Hush John, you are a genius at many things, don’t belittle yourself.” Sherlock wrapped a loving arm around his soldier and gave him a sweet jam flavored kiss, “This is the plan.” Sherlock explained it again. They’d already accomplished the most difficult part, the removal of the many hinge-points for effective corruption of nearly every system that made the country run. “New people are in place and all of them are going to be monitored by Pairs. That will be their purpose, to ensure that the people are cared for as they deserve, that everyone is assured of equal human rights, and that we will no longer tolerate the hidden oligarchy that has glutted itself. The Irregulars will act as intermediaries and ambassadors for all manner of things. This is the beginning of a very new society, one that will hopefully benefit the many instead of the few.”
That’s what they did. The hours, days, weeks, months that followed were chaotic and hectic as massive changes were instituted. There were gaps in the beginning of course but the Primes were generous with their resources and retained more and more people to their personal service until finally the entire country was connected as tightly to them as the day John had managed to link himself to every Sentinel available. As each issue was addressed other issues found ways of healing and slowly their new world knitted together. The economy stabilized as people grew confident that their homes were secure, that their jobs were well paying, that their children were schooled in safety, and that any problem of any sort could be taken to any Pair on the street and be dealt with.
The homeless network still existed after a fashion but it was voluntary. Anyone who wanted a home or needed help was assisted. People who had once eked out a dismal existence at the bottom of everything were lifted up and taken in but there were many for whom the life could never be given up. Places to eat were plentiful now, many restaurants offered hot meals that were pre-paid by customers for no better reason than they wanted to, so anyone who decided to not find a permanent place to lay their head were still taken care of. Social issues were dealt with, major obstacles to care and healing falling away one after another until health care was freely available, and resources were no longer pinched and stretched further than was useful. John was adamant about that. He knew far too many cases of people who lingered without help, he’d make sure that did not happen again.
During their off time Sherlock reveled in his lab work, gleefully dissecting all three corpses with Molly’s assistance, grimly reporting gruesome facts to John. Both Primes had discussed and agreed to keep regular work hours, and to try and live a relatively normal life as they could manage despite the fact that they were the two most powerful men in the entire country. Sherlock learned to ruthlessly delegate responsibilities, and no one dared cross John by doing shoddy work. They made time for each other, sometimes spending an entire day in bed together to recoup some of the emotional energies they had expended doing their duty to the people but no one seemed to mind. The great and very obvious love between the Primes was something the people were proud and sentimental of, and the Pair were welcome everywhere they went.
They met other Primes. Nearly all the Pairs were unequal, one Prime and one Guide or Sentinel of ordinary abilities. A rare few Pairs were full Primes like John and Sherlock but none came close to the London Pair’s raw power except one. Several of the monetary elite had reached far into the east to procure an elderly Pair with a stern and nearly harsh reputation for judgement. John and Sherlock were stopped in the street right in front of their home by a small group of hopefully indignant business people who vaguely thought that the elder Pair would somehow displace the London Primes. They were quickly disabused. John stood comfortably at ease though Sherlock was strung tight as a bow, ready to react in any way necessary when the group parted to reveal the theoretical replacements. The Guide was a tall woman with a heavily lined face but raven-black hair. She wore a long red gown that clung to her from throat to ankle, trailing behind her in ribbons that looked like blood. The Sentinel was a tall spare man, thinner even than Sherlock and taller too. His hair was mostly white but his eyes were sharp and piercing, his gaze razing over the Pair in a flicker. “Shura. This is Annushka.” Shura’s voice was gravelly but warm, and Annushka’s eyes twinkled almost merrily though her face remained sober. The Pair clasped hands and to gasps of dismay from their hosts they bowed deeply to John and Sherlock, “Grant us your time, if you will it. We have much to discuss.”
One conversation led to two and an invitation to see their home. Since they were traveling far everyone decided to meet in Moscow where the elder Pair would arrange for the London Primes to meet other Primes from other countries and so it began. One cup of tea at a time John and Sherlock changed the world. One Prime Pair after another listened to their tale, of what they had accomplished and at the end of every meeting they made the same request. John always deferred to Sherlock’s final decision but in the end the answer was always yes. It taxed their internal resources greatly but time and time again the London Pair offered themselves up to create massive Pair Links to clear cities, towns, and slowly over time, entire countries, of the poisons that were killing them. It took their entire long lives but they were glad to dedicate themselves to it, solving the greatest mystery of the ages, how to gain peace.
At the end of their days John and Sherlock knew their final moments were coming and that was fine, all fine. Their hearts beat nearly in tandem so when one stopped so would the other. They would never be parted, not even for that. They’d lived a rich and full life, they’d met all their goals, and together they changed one last thing. No longer were organizations like the Tower above the law despite all the good that had resulted from John and Sherlock’s reign. Such power would not always rest in the hands such as they two, so carefully they re-wrote the laws and guidelines, ensuring that the people would be cared for, that the Pairs and Irregulars would always be there as saviors and support and not as monitors and guards. When it was their time to go, the world would be ready to continue without them…but not yet.