Pantomime
part eightJohn pressed a kiss to Mary's lips as he stood with his arms around her, his cheek pressed against hers as she tried to carry on at the stove, bacon sizzling away in the pan. She chuckled, one hand resting on his arm around her waist. In her other hand she held the tongs out safely away from both of them as they glistened in pork juices. The morning sun was already casting itself over the floor and cabinets. A beautiful morning with a beautiful woman and the smell of delicious foods; John couldn't have been happier.
"I'm starting to get used to this smooth face thing you've got going on," Mary said, nuzzling just slightly against his cheek. Her fingers and the dangling peals of her bracelet brushed against the hairs of his forearms as she ran her hand along his exposed skin. "Careful you don't get burned. You should probably wait until I'm finished with the bacon until you decide to get all cozy."
"Nope. Too late. Should have thought of that before you let me kiss you." He squeezed her tight, setting his body flush against her back. "This is where I've landed and here is where I'll stay," he said. She smelled of grease and brown sauce and he felt he might quite literally eat her up.
Mary giggled and gave his arm a warning pat as she brought the tong arm down to carefully maneuver the dancing pork belly as it cooked along in its fantastic juices. He felt the prick of a few renegade grease spits on his flesh but said nothing and refused to move. His favorite part of the weekends had always been spending the night with her in his arms and waking to her peaceful snores. He'd missed that. Missed this. Her petite frame fit comfortably against him and the softness of her body was very inviting on a Sunday morning. Were it anything other than bacon, he might have suggested it wait for a while and scoop her off and away towards more private surroundings.
"Did something happen last night?"
John paused, holding her tighter. "Nothing you need to worry about." Breaking and entering, crime scene tampering, gunshots fired, awkward confessions of who-knew-what. "Sherlock and I had a pretty normal day together."
Mary leaned her head back on his shoulder, looking at him crooked with a smile on her face. "Normal for you includes running from the cops in handcuffs holding hands."
"I knew I should have never told you half of those stories." John kissed her cheek and slid his hand down her arm to take the tongs from her. He didn't want to think about normal with Sherlock. He didn't want to think about eighteen months spent sharing a flat and a resulting lifelong tenancy. He didn't want to think about a violin concerto with no audience. He didn't want to think about the skull's reprisal of his role. This part of his life, at the very least, still made sense. He needed Mary. She grounded him and with his head full of Sherlock he needed that stability.
His eyes glanced towards the other room where the skull and its hidden treasure sat in silence. It would only take four little worlds and maybe a total of ten steps. So easy. No bother. Slip on the ring, have breakfast, live life.
He picked up the bacon with the tongs, careful not to splash grease on his beloved as he emptied the pan and placed them on the kitchen roll. "Mary?"
"Mmm. Yes, John?" She was leaning with most of her weight supported by him, eyes closed with her face next to his.
"Sebastian Moran!" Sherlock exclaimed as he walked into the room.
The soldier was too used to the outbursts to be startled but Mary went stiff in his arms, eyes flying wide open with her weight wholly against him now. John let go of the tongs and grabbed her instead, helping them both not to fall over.
"Timing," John muttered under his breath. He looked over at Sherlock, the man already dressed and looking smart in his suit, laptop--John's naturally--casually tucked under one arm.
The detective eyed them both, an uncertain look shaping his face as he paused for just a moment then went about his business without a further care spent on either. He flipped the laptop out in his arms, awakening it to a mess of windows and files which he swung around to show his friend proudly. "Mycroft provided the information we needed from Adair's computer last night."
He hadn't slept then. John wasn't surprised but he wasn't exactly happy that some habits died hard.
Sherlock was buzzing as he continued in his latest unveiling. "By comparing his contacts to the information I've been compiling over the years on Moriarty's current connections I've found one very substantial link. Sebastian Moran, marksman extraordinaire; Moriarty's right hand man and current head of his London based operations."
It was not what John wanted to speak about in front of Mary but impossible not to pursue. In any case, the actual case was a much better topic to revisit than their conversation the night before. He was grateful in that respect that his friend had such a one-track mind. "You think that's the guy from last night?" He asked, keeping his reply vague, keeping it safe. Sherlock was hardly one to take a hint but one never knew with him anyway. He was the most observant idiot ever to grace the planet. "Hang on, if he's so high up and important, how come this is news to you that he might be the one still waiting with a sniper rifle to finish the job?"
"Because I didn't have what Adair had." Sherlock pressed a key, one of the five walls of text sliding away to reveal a calendar. "A schedule, John. Places and times of secret card games to which Sebastian Moran has been in regular attendance. You can't chase an invisible man but with this he's practically standing in front of us. No surprise he's back at the tables. Business isn't exactly booming with Moriarty out of the picture and a certain someone making things that much more difficult overseas." He smirked, obviously referring to himself and proud of it. He pointed at the screen, calling John's attention to three highlighted boxes in March. "There are only three more dates on Adair's schedule: tonight, Thursday, and next Saturday. Disguising ourselves won't be difficult, nor will gaining access."
"You think they'll actually still be holding those games?" John tightened one arm around Mary, feeling her growing tense at his side.
Sherlock nodded, snapping the lid to his laptop closed again as he spun around the table's edge to set himself up on the fold-out surface on the wall. It had already become his spot with the customary clutter building up over night. "Adair's murder isn't a high profile case and the police aren't looking for this information so I doubt they'll uncover it. They'll be there. And so will we."
John nodded but felt Mary wrestle from his grip, arms opening wide as much to gain attention as to gesture at the tall, thin man. Sherlock looked over at her, a rather pompous look raising his brows into the curl of his overgrown bangs.
"Wait, sorry, I'm confused." She took a few steps forward, leaving the warmth of John's side. Her voice was pleasant but her face was harsh. "You found the person who you think is trying to have John killed and you're going to go play cards with him?"
"Normal. Remember?" John joked.
She didn't laugh. She turned to him, standing between the two men, replacing worry with fear as she crossed her arms below her breasts. "John that isn't... does it have to be tonight?"
"Well... The sooner we get this guy, the sooner things can go back to being safe. And Sherlock won't really eat or sleep until we've got this taken care of so it's... not really in anyone's best interest to wait."
"I know. I just...-"
"Three," Sherlock interjected, apparently bored with their conversation. He pointed to her arm. "Your bracelet. You were missing four pearls yesterday. Now there are only three empty settings."
Mary glared. "You're changing the subject, Mr. Holmes."
"Making an observation."
"About jewelry? This is John's life at stake here! John, please don't go. I'm trying my best with all this but if I know you're out there with murders I don't know that I can just sit at home and not do something."
Sherlock left his space and the laptop as he paced towards Mary, hands on his hips. He tended to look quite a bit more intimidating in his coat. Without it, he was a tad too delicate to be fearsome. He had stature on them both, at least, and he looked down at Mary with an unfavorable air. "Alerting the police will send Moran into hiding," he said.
"It will also keep John alive. What's more important?"
The detective said nothing. Mary held her ground in his stare, chest slightly heaving with the effort she made to keep herself from taking their argument further. Neither of them was a push over and both were quite set in their ways. John felt his presence was needed.
He took hold of Mary's arm, giving her a brief squeeze as his eyes searched one face and then the other. "Look, it's early. I'm starving. Let's eat and we can talk about all this later. Card game isn't until tonight, right?"
Sherlock nodded. "Nine-thirty."
"Plenty of time then to discuss this after I've had breakfast." John smiled, considering his own position as having won as Mary breathed out at last and turned back to the plate of kitchen roll and bacon. John raised a brow towards Sherlock. "You going to be having any?"
"No, better review the rules of poker," was his unsurprising reply.
John pinched a slice of bacon between forefinger and thumb and held it out towards him. "Just one. Look, it's not even good for you. And it's really hot and burning my fingers already so please take it. I'm serious; it's burning. Take the bacon."
Sherlock frowned but snatched it from him, looking at it disdainfully as he turned away. He held it between his teeth as he took up the laptop and proceeded to the sitting room, leaving John and Mary once again alone in the kitchen. It was a small victory but John would forever take what he could get when it came to forcing the detective to take care of himself. He put his fingers in his mouth, the grease burns annoyingly sharp but unsurprisingly delicious.
"John..."
John looked at Mary, giving her a tired smile. "Please. I meant it for both of you. We'll discuss it all later. I want our kind of normal this morning."
Mary's eyes caught a bit more sparkle in them as she kissed him once more, grabbing the pot of heated beans to scoop out onto their plates.
It was doable. As John sat with his girlfriend having a quiet breakfast, knowing Sherlock was off in another room doing his own thing, there was certainly a small vein of hope running through the atmosphere. He could make it work. He had a feeling he and Mary both could make it work in a world yet again divided into Sherlock and everything else. The only other option was... There was no other option as far as John was concerned.
He cleared his throat, sweeping a slice of toast across the juice from his beans. "So, how're the kids? That Tim still trying to sneak a touch of your bum?"
Mary smiled over the rim of her tea cup. "Are you jealous of a eight year old?" she asked.
"Jealous? No, me? When I was his age, I loved getting hugs from ladies like yourself too. It's the only time in life when you can go face first into a woman's lap, grab her around the backside and it be considered sweet."
She chuckled, putting a hand on his thigh. "I don't see you as the type at all. I bet you were the teacher's pet or the moral police of the playground."
She had him there. He nommed his toast. "And what about you? Ace student and know-it-all? Perfectly pink princess?"
"Actually, I was a tomboy."
John smirked, shaking his head just slightly. "You? Overalls and trainers?"
"And shotguns and slingshots." She sat up with a bit of importance. "My father was in the military. I was the son he always wanted but never had. Hunts at ten, safari at thirteen. Posh tomboy, mind you, but the only skirt I owned was part of my school's uniform."
John couldn't keep his face from cracking into a wide smile. The mental image of a young Mary following hounds on horseback was more archaic a scene than he'd intended to find in her past. She spoke often about her well-missed father but rarely on herself during the years when he lived. Her childhood was the story of a man, not of the girl she was at the time. John understood the feeling and the compulsion. He'd spent eighteen months being part of Sherlock's life rather than having a life that just happened to include Sherlock.
He found his mind, just for a second, wondering what his friend had been like when he was a young school boy. He found he couldn't imagine it. Sherlock was only capable of existing in his mind as the man he'd first met at Barts. Any other incarnation was simply fantasy, as though the man had been made in the ether and simply put down on earth just as he was. He was denying parts of Sherlock's humanity, he knew, but as the previous night's thoughts had proven, it was better not to linger on the past of a man who had never before had a friend.
John pushed the renegade thoughts aside. This was his time with Mary. Thoughts and concerns about Sherlock could and most certainly wound wait. He took her hand from his thigh and brought it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "You'll have to tell me all about it sometime. You. As a young girl."
She smiled and nodded, drinking again from her tea. A normal conversation, a normal morning in. John told himself he wasn't looking forward to anything other than just this. It really didn't take all that much convincing; love was stronger than a desire for danger.
He spent most of the afternoon with Mary. They laid on the couch, her in his arms, watching a DVD while Sherlock paced from one room to another, walking back and forth from upstairs or the kitchen depending on where in the house Mrs. Hudson could be heard. John tried not to feel sorry for him. He could join them if he wanted to put his disguise back on, or if he decided to trust their landlady with the secret he'd intrusted them. He could go through his boxes if he was bored or find something of his own to do on the laptop he had confiscated. Sherlock's pacing were like a toddler's screams and John knew if he didn't make Sherlock come to some other conclusion than that being obvious would gain him John's attention, he'd learn to expect it. He was impressed with his patience to some extent at least. For all his visual cues that he was wanting of John's time, Sherlock did not say a word to disturb them. No, the interruption came from the trill of his John's phone's text alert.
Mary pulled herself away from him and stood, walking across to the table where the phone sat. She picked it up and brought it to him, opening his screen as she walked. Her face took on a curious pinch. "John, who's arse is this?"
John turned red and cast a scowl across the room. Sherlock seemed to have chosen that time to make his trip out of John's immediate line of sight. The devil. "Nobody's. It's nothing. Just... a bad joke. Message from Harry?"
She gave him a bull-shit look but handed him the phone without making it an issue. "Not unless Harry spells her name 'Mycroft' now."
John let out an exasperated sigh and took the phone from her.
If you value your life, tell him goodbye. -Mycroft Holmes
"Did you read this?"
"Yes."
John took in her worried stare and cursed the interfering man. He really didn't need any help in alarming his girlfriend. What he often did need help in was far too often not up for bids.
If you're so worried, help us.
"John... maybe you should listen to him." Mary settled back on the couch facing him, the palms of her hands running from his stomach to his chest over the maroon cardigan. "It's his own brother, right? If even his own brother thinks he should go, it must be for the best."
"Mycroft thinks I'm as much a danger to Sherlock as Sherlock is to me. This isn't about this Moran guy Sherlock was talking about. Not entirely." John put his free hand to her waist, dancing his fingers against her back.
Mary shifted closer to him. "How could you be a danger to anyone?"
He wasn't sure if answering her honestly would sound more like boasting or a confession. It was one of the few things he currently agreed with Mycroft on: John had made Sherlock vulnerable. The machine didn't exist as simply a conduit of logic and brilliance anymore--not solely. For every new emotion he learned to savor came an unwillingness to lose it. A man who sacrificed his own health for his work knew of only one way to fight back against the loss of his new-found humanity. Sherlock was an all or nothing sort of man with no boundaries. It was both endlessly infuriating and breathlessly touching.
"Well, I was a soldier. That makes me a very dangerous man." John smiled at her, keeping to half truths and non-answers. He pulled her closer, her chest resting against his as she laid down against him with her cheek to his chin. Her hands were possessive in their strength as she wrapped them around him.
His phone chimed again.
This is your second warning. -Mycroft Holmes
John felt like asking him not to bother in the future but put the phone down instead. Mycroft wasn't worth his time. He wrapped his arms around Mary, holding her while she held her worry inside. He kissed her head and stroked her back. The DVD was nearly over.
"You're going out with him tonight, aren't you."
John nodded. She sighed. There was an uncomfortable silence that gave no impression it was caused by interest in the end of their movie.
"It's important," John said finally. "For our future. For a lot of things." He looked towards the skull again. He'd come so close to asking her that morning. Why not now?
Mary tucked her head under his chin. "John.. if you had to chose between him and me..."
John's blood froze in his veins. If she were Sherlock she'd notice the skip of his heartbeat, the change in his breathing pattern, the tremble in his hands. He was glad that he wasn't nearly so transparent to her. He swallowed and took a deep breath, eyes drifting from the skull to the ceiling. "Are you asking me to?" he asked.
"No, I just-"
"Don't."
The strictness of his voice made her flinch. John did not move to comfort her with a stroke of her back or a kiss to her head. He laid still, as still as possible, letting his own body deal with its short burst of panic.
"Don't.. ever ask that. Not hypothetically, not for real, just... don't."
She paused, hands smoothing out over his shirt. "Will I not like the answer?" she asked in a whisper.
His tone dipped in warning. "Mary."
She sat up, pulling away slowly. She kissed his lips to which he responded minimally, his face drawn in deep lines of discontent. "I'm sorry, Love." She ran her fingers over his hair, cupping his cheek for one last kiss before rising from the couch. "I know you and Sherlock have a lot to plan for tonight. Will you text me? Let me know everything is going okay?"
John nodded, sitting up once her weight had left him. He swung his legs round he right way and leaned forward, breathing into the shadows of his palms as he hid his face behind his hands. He didn't want to be mad at her. "Yeah, I'll text you when I get a chance. Just please don't call the cops if I don't. Leave this to us."
Her fingers brushed through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. "Okay. I trust you, John. I love you."
"I love you too." He put his hands down and offered her a smile as she stepped away and left though the open doorway.
The skull on the mantle with his wide toothy grin seemed to mock him from across the room as the door downstairs closed shut.