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He wonders how much of this afternoon is orchestrated by Mycroft when he approaches the front of the small café and the clerk does not bat an eye as he takes his hand.
“Miss Holmes? Right this way.”
Sherlock bites back the correction of missus from his lips though he is aware he and his husband’s marriage is hardly legally binding.
“You think he knows all of that?”
“It’s hardly relevant, Jon.” Sherlock replies once he is left standing in front of Mycroft's choice of table. Mycroft raises an eyebrow as he examines Sherlock’s choice of dress.
“Rather flashy, don’t you think?”
“When your wardrobe consists of anything but those dreadful grey suits then I will allow your opinion of my own.”
Sherlock smooths the back of his red gown as he takes a seat. He knows the extravagant dress he is wearing is making a statement but he can hardly care less. It is Jon’s favorite color after all.
Mycroft says nothing in reply and instead motions the waiter over with a wave.
“May we get another cup of tea, please?” He says, turning to Sherlock with a questioning look.
“White.” Sherlock tells the waiter, voice quiet enough to mask not only his tone but his annoyance as well. He did not miss the empty placemat and extra chair that had been at the table when he had approached Mycroft, his brother already having seated himself and looking distinctly uncomfortable to be in such an austere location for food and drink.
“Is that a new development?” Mycroft asks about the choice of flavor as he watches the waiter walk away.
Jon, who has been silent the whole time the waiter stood over them, snorts.
“I practically live with the bloke my whole childhood and he forgets my favorite tea? Does he even know what you like, Sherry?”
“Jon is feeling adventurous today.” Sherlock simply says, ignoring the scoff from Jon at his blatant lie.
Mycroft’s mouth twitches in discomfort as he notices his error and instead pushes on.
“How is the Good Doctor? I was under the impression he was to be joining us but I see you decided against it?”
John was a consideration that Sherlock had made when organizing the initial outing. It had been some time since his last correspondence with Mycroft and as with all mysteries of his brother, Mycroft had requested Sherlock explicitly bring along Jon to their little lunch. He had also suggested Sherlock dress comfortably as it was not business nor work related.
The sheer idea of putting Jon and Mycroft alone in any modicum of space almost had Sherlock rushing to bring John along as well for damage control. He knew relying on John in such a way was unhealthy, however, and ultimately steeled himself to go alone.
“You’re not alone, Sherry. I’m right here. So’s Mycroft. If he even counts.”
“My husband did offer to accompany us today but I rather felt…homely.” Sherlock explains slowly.
Jon makes a gagging motion and a rather dirty comment at Sherlock’s mention of his lover.
Sherlock does not hold back the smile he gives Jon but does not deign to relay his comments in Mycroft’s presence.
“Ah, of course. A brotherly reunion is what you had in mind. Don’t let it go unsaid that I planned this for nothing, Sherlock. I did want to speak to Jon as well. How are the both of you?”
“I am just peachy!” Jon says as the waiter brings over his cup of tea. He mimes wafting the smell of it to his nose and closes his eyes in mock bliss. “The other day I convinced Sherry and his man to go out on those big fancy boats. Didn’t think he’d listen to me, but Watson convinced ‘im. He's a good man, he is. Cares what I think too.”
“Jon.” Sherlock huffs under his breath, gritting his teeth in frustration. Mycroft does not miss the clench of his fists on the table.
“I applaud your efforts to make it look like you care, Brother. But you know as well as I that your efforts to communicate with Jon is nothing but a false attempt at placating my hallucinations.”
“That’s rather rude of you to say, Sherry.” Jon says with a frown. “I’m very real.”
Mycroft sighs with his whole body, he is tired but not from this conversation. Sherlock knows he must have moved some very important meeting or other to be here with him today but right now he can hardly care.
“Sherlock, despite what you may believe, I do care about you. And I-I want to understand. This isn’t me playing along with a delusion. Is he trying to speak to me, now?”
“I’m crazy.” Sherlock whispers. “I know I am and you think it too.”
“Speak for yourself.” Jon says dejectedly. A spoon now in his hand to stir the tea in boredom. Sherlock tries not to think of how the liquid does not react.
Mycroft reaches out to lay a hand over Sherlock’s clenched one, he grips it firmly, coaxing it to relax. “You and Jon hurt no one by existing. He protects you. He is a part of you, and I love you and all that entails. I know Jon is something that can never be separated from your conscience and that means I love him too.”
“Listen to your brother for once, Sherry.” Jon says his own hand hovering above Mycroft’s shoulder in thanks.
Sherlock rubs hurriedly at the moisture gathering his eyes with his free hand and shakes his head. This is why he chose not to involve John in this matter. Despite Sherlock’s misgivings of the circumstances of this situation he does miss his older brother dearly. It had not gone unnoticed in his time abroad the strings that were pulled and even after his completion of his education and subsequent engagement; Mycroft failed to cease his continuous support.
Even Mycroft’s dreadful letters included incessant asking after Jon’s wellbeing despite Sherlock’s countless requests to stop goading him on.
“Jon’s got his hand on your shoulder.” He says tentatively. “He says I should listen to you.”
Mycroft breaks out into a wide smile and hurriedly clears his throat and schools his expression into something that Sherlock decides looks much less terrifying.
“He’s right.” Mycroft says firmly. Retracting his hand and giving an approving nod into the vague space of where Jon’s seat is. “You two have been doing well then? I’m sure Watson is practically running up the walls if my memory of what trouble you two get into serves me right.”
Sherlock rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms defiantly.
“It’s the other way around. I’m going to go insane. More than I already am. That was a joke by the way, don’t look at me like that.”
Jon shakes his head, Sherlock ignoring any further comments from him.
“I’m the one being driven mad. My husband is a terrible worrywart and a terrible influence on him.” Sherlock waves a hand towards Jon’s general direction. I’m rarely allowed half of the adventures I got up to when I apprehended the many criminals in Cordona-”
“You did shoot a good number of people when you shouldn’t have.” Mycroft interjects.
“With good reason!” Sherlock interrupts. “It doesn’t matter. I can hardly get by with a papercut without my husband demanding to treat me. And boats! My God! Do you know how close to the ocean I’ve been because of this absurd man?” Sherlock motions towards Jon once more.
“You aren’t afraid?” Mycroft asks with curiosity.
“I’m terrified!” Sherlock exclaims as if Mycroft had just asked an extremely redundant question.
“But you had fun!” Jon says with a laugh.
“But I had so much fun.” Sherlock relents, shoulders sagging in defeat.
A rush of pride and affection fills Mycroft at the knowledge of his brother’s newfound freedom and quality of life. He is at ease knowing there are others who can care for and protect him in the ways he deserves. The way that he had wished to be able to do when they were children.
“And Sherry?” Mycroft asks. “How is she?”
Sherlock sighs, closing his eyes and nodding with a smile. “She’s fine, Mycroft. Doctor Watson did leave me a request that you ease back on your spending. He says you’re showing him up when it comes to the quality of my wardrobe. The man can hardly afford to outspend what you do on the gowns that get delivered to our home.”
Sherry is not an entity like that of Jon or even a separate persona. She is just…a part of Sherlock. He is a man who enjoys wearing dresses and does not mind if he is mistaken or interpreted to be a woman because of it. He rather enjoys it at times when he is acknowledged as Watson’s wife, basking in the attention he would be less inclined to receive were he to dress as a man.
This part of Sherlock he is not shy from sharing with Mycroft. Coming home one day after a rather successful hunt for information while disguised in his youth, Mycroft had hardly bat an eye at his state of dress and simply inquired if he would prefer an update to his closet.
“I insist on only the best for my beloved sister.” Mycroft shrugs, knowing that this is Sherlock’s way of letting him know that he is safe. That Doctor Watson is aware of all and any of the personal matters of his heart and mind that plague Mycroft with worry that Sherlock would be rejected for. “However, he can rest assured that I will try to hold back on spoiling her.”
“Wait! Sherry, what about the rubies?” Jon exclaims in sudden realization.
“Ah,” Sherlock pauses, “Jon is right. There was a rather beautiful pair of earrings we spied on our walk here. We rather think Sherry would appreciate them.”
Mycroft chuckles in agreement. “Of course, would she like to point them out to me after our tea?”
Sherlock nods eagerly, gloved hands now fisted in his red sun hat in excitement.
“She’d be delighted to.”
-
Jon lingers back from the two brothers as he watches Sherry drag Mycroft rather forcefully towards the jeweler’s display down the street. Their elbows interlocked, he can see Sherry’s mouth moving rapidly as he points to a piece in the window.
He watches as Mycroft carefully moves so as to not dislodge Sherry as he quickly signs a cheque, trading paper for the earrings in a seamless motion.
Gingerly, Mycroft raises his hands to each of Sherry’s ears to fix the jewelry to him. There is something muttered that Jon does not hear but he smiles when he sees a light in Sherry’s eyes twinkle.
He places a quick kiss to Mycroft’s cheek before they part ways, Sherry quickly running to where Jon has been waiting in the distance.
“How do I look?” He asks with a smirk as he takes Jon’s hand in his own.
“Watson’ll love it.” Jon says smiling, taking in the warmth of Sherry’s hand. He wishes he could feel his touch back but he knows he wouldn't have it any other way.