Chapter Text
The morning came slowly for Sherlock, which is a good thing considering how exhausted he was when going to sleep last night.
He looks outside of the windows. It's finally sunny, a great change from the last few days with its grey sky full of clouds that had done a number on his moral, already bored out of his mind after resolving their last mystery.
Sherlock takes his pocket watch lying on his bedside table and reads the time. Almost 9am. Perfect. It leaves him plenty of time to get dressed and ready for breakfast.
That's when he feels a weight on his right side. He looks down and sees an arm. He knows who it belongs to immediately, which brings out a little smile on his face.
He gently turns a bit in his lover's embrace and stays lying on his back, just watching James. He remembers going to bed alone, despite his protests, but James wanted him to get a full night of sleep and not be bothered by another presence in his bed. Sherlock will admit to having pouted a little, but other than a laugh, James just gave him a quick kiss, a goodnight, and left the room to go back to his.
So to say it's a surprise to find him here is an understatement. But one he doesn't mind in the slightest.
He slowly takes James' hand and brings it to his lips to place a kiss there. He uses the opportunity to slide from under James' arm and get up, gently replacing the hand on the matress, glad he didn't wake him in the process. If he's here, Sherlock suspects nightmares to have made an apparition during the night. If they were of him or something else, he doesn't know. What he does know is that James was in search of comfort and probably slept poorly. That's why he's going to go down alone for breakfast this morning.
About fifteen minutes later, minutes where he tried his best not to make the wooden floor creak and almost fell once trying to put on his clothes, pants to be exact, quietly, Sherlock is out of his room. He's heading towards the dining room, when he runs into his brother having the same goal. A quick scan of the taller man shows Sherlock his tired eyes and slightly slumped posture, very odd coming from him, even that early in the morning.
The night has been difficult for more than on person it would seems.
"Good morning, Brother dear. Rough night ?" asks Sherlock.
A beat of few seconds, where Mycroft just stares at Sherlock, before regaining his senses and responding, clearing his throat.
"Good morning to you too, Brother dear. And no, not at all." but the smile he wears seems forced and his eyes are not leaving Sherlock, like he's afraid he'll disappear if he looks away even for a second.
Sherlock is about to walk towards the stairs, confused by this side of his brother, when Mycroft suddenly moves forward and wraps him in his arms.
Sherlock completely freezes. The situation is so unprecedented that he doesn't know how to react. Mycroft squeezes him even more, his head next to Sherlock and his breaths coming out a bit quivering. Sherlock has just the time to finally put his own arms around his big brother when Mycroft suddenly pulls away, returning at a safe distance. He sniffs once. The brothers look at each other and Mycroft is the first to break contact, going for breakfast.
"Come on, Sherlock ! Food won't wait for you. If there is no more tea when you come down, it will be on you !" Mycroft says while going down the stairs, as if nothing happened.
Sherlock is still frozen in place, wondering what the bloody hell happened, his arms still extended from where he embraced his brother. Finally gathering his thoughts, he shakes his head a bit and follows him, keeping this mystery to resolve in a corner of his mind.
When he enters the dining hall, Mycroft is in the process of seating and their mother, who is an early bird, is already there too, as usual, talking vividly with Mrs Crowle, his daughter to her right.
"Brothers." says Beatrice with a nod.
"Beatrice." they both answer.
"Ah, Sherlock, my dear !" his mother exclaims upon seeing him. "Come and sit. You must be hungry. You went to bed without eating much yesterday."
Sherlock recalls the headache that followed him the whole night.
"Sorry about that, Mother. My head hurt quite terribly and I was longing more for my bed than my supper." he says with a reassuring smile.
"It's alright. I asked Mrs Crowle to make you your favorite tea and breakfast today. Sit and eat."
Sherlock takes his place at his usual seat and dives in when the plate appears in front of him, courtesy of their cook. The food feels good after almost a day without it due to nausea. He really could have done without that blow to the head.
Sherlock's halfway through his cup of tea when he hears his mother and brother start a conversation about some dogs he heard in the night.
"You're right, Mother. Those dogs continuously howling around bedtime almost ketp the whole house awake."
"Yes, they did ! I thought these poor creatures were going to go at it all night in the cold." Cordelia chimes in.
Sherlock stops paying attention when they start wondering whether the dogs belonged to the farms west of the domain, or north. A calm atmosphere sets in, only broken by Mrs Crowle wandering about in the kitchen.
That is when James enters the room.
"Good morning Mrs and Miss Holmes. Mycroft. Sherlock." he greets them.
They all respond.
"Good morning, James ! Come sit." Cordelia cheerfully answers him.
His mother has been fond of James since the moment she met him and it seems she's not about to stop.
James sits next to Mycroft, on opposite side of Sherlock. They smile at each other and Sherlock resumes eating.
Breakfast over, Sherlock rises up, intending to go the the living room, read that interesting book he discovered yesterday in the library, but James has other ideas apprently.
He barely makes it out of the dining room before his lover appears next to him.
"Sherlock," he says, grabbing his left arm. "Why don't we go for a walk in the woods near the manor ? A bit of fresh air would do you good, don't you think ?" he asks with his charming smile.
From the other room, Sherlock can hear Beatrice saying "How subtle" under her breath. His focus comes back to James.
"Actually, I was about to go read that boo-"
"Please."
That stops him in his tracks. It's the first time he hears James says this word, seriously and urgently. He looks at him and is surprised to find sorrow in his eyes. Like he's looking at Sherlock as if it might be the last time he sees him.
"All right." Sherlock answers slowly, showing the door.
They leave the house and wander a bit in silence before reaching the trees bordering the estate. The sky is clear and the sun shines bright. The weather is almost too warm.
Sherlock's been observing James during their little trek and the only explanation to his jumpy and nervous attitude is that he wants to ask him something.
He's proven wrong when, well hidden by the trees surrounding them, Sherlock finds himself pushed into the trunk of one them and urgently kissed. Sherlock responds in kind. One of James' arms slips around the hollow of his back and settles there and the other one comes up to tangle the hand into his hair. Sherlock's own arms circle James' neck to bring him even closer. James kisses him as if their last kiss was a lifetime ago, hand gripping at his hair and his tongue insistent in Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock breaks for air, but James chases after his lips and kisses him once again, like he can't get enough of him. Sherlock happily complies and lets his lover have his fill.
They finally part, after what felt like eternity lost in each other, breathless but a wide smile adorning both of their faces.
"Not that I'm complaining, not at all, but what is this about, James ?"
The smile lover's face dims a bit and his gaze drifts away like he's lost in his thoughts. Sherlock starts to regret asking when he has to shake him a little to bring him back after James stayed silent too long for his taste. James seems to come back to himself.
"What ? Can't a man just wants to kiss his boyfriend ?" he says, his smile back, though less genuine. "To have him all for himself for a bit ?" He goes for another kiss when Sherlock puts a hand on his chest to abort the action.
"James."
His lover then really looks at him for the first time since they left the house. The toothy smile is gone and the sadness in his eyes is back full force, though it never really left.
"I dreamt about you." he simply says.
"Well, I am most flatt-"
"I dreamt that you died. That day, in Constantinople." he interrupts quickly, like he couldn't wait to get the words out. His hands come up to rest on the back of Sherlock's head, caressing the hair there, as if needed grounding for what he was about to tell. "I dreamt that you died, on that ridiculous tiny bed, before I could come back to you." he starts, the words having a hard time coming out.
This surprises Sherlock, who had never seen James in such a state.
"You were there, so silent and limp in your brother's arms." His eyes find Sherlock's. "And when I came close to you, you were so cold and pale." He closes his eyes, a single tear finding its way across his cheek that Sherlock is quick to wipe away. He opens them again and despair is all Sherlock sees in them. "You didn't respond to me. I told you I loved you and you didn't respond. And I though that was it, that that was how it ended for the both of us, and I thought that too when I woke up last night. I thought you really were gone for a second. That's why you found me in you bed this morning. I came to check on you, but I couldn't leave you."
Sherlock can't help but take the man in his arms and hold onto him tightly, trying to erase the pain the man he loves is feeling just by holding him there.
He knows James loves him, but to realise how deep his feelings go is always a bit of a shock to Sherlock, a shock he's pleased to have every time. The same goes for him obviously. He adores James and would do anything for him. And just the thought of something taking him away from him forever is unbearable. He tightens his hold, chasing those unwelcomed thoughts, and focus on the man in his arms he's desperate to reassure.
"You should have woken me up, James." he murmurs, for James' ears only.
"No, no, you needed your beauty sleep." he jokes weakly, chin staying on Sherlock' s shoulder, but the smile seems to be returning on his face by the sound of it. Telling this to Sherlock seems to have lifted a weight from his shoulder. "And you're here with me. This is all I need to recover from some stupid nightmares." James pulls back to kiss him again, slower and gentler this time, savouring the moment.
"On another note, I remember running into your brother last night in my desperate search for you. If I believed in those things, I'd say he just had the same dream I just had about you. He looked like he was cheking on you just like I did." James says, his face thoughtful.
Remembering his little encounter with Mycroft this morning, everything becoming suddenly crystal clear, Sherlock smiles, secretely touched by his brother's love. But to preserve the statu quo of their brotherhood and to save face, he answers seriously.
"Now that's preposterous."
Moriarty laughs.
"Maybe you're right." James finally says before kissing Sherlock again.
They finally lose themselves in each other
One wanting to forget, the other wanting to reassure, surrounded by nature, the sole witness to their love.