[personal profile] nickelsandcoats
Title: I'll Give You Everything You Need (You've Given Me Everything I Want) 19/? || at Ao3
Author: Sarah/[livejournal.com profile] nickelsandcoats
Rating: PG13 for this part
Spoilers: Spoilers (eventually) for all of season 2!
Word Count: ~2,800 for this part
Pairings: Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Lestrade
Warnings: AU.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Mycroft's never given his feathers to anyone before, but one person wins him over without even trying.
Notes: For [livejournal.com profile] flying_dreamz's prompt here at my shuffle meme post. She asked for #103, which were "The Resurrection Stone" from the Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II soundtrack and "Amy in the Tardis" from the Doctor Who: Season 5 soundtrack.

This is a sequel to Here Is What My Heart Will Give You (and Here Are the Things I Will Give Up for You). You really should read that one first before you read this story or this story will not make any sense. One last note: this story is set pre-Here Is What My Heart Will Give You (and Here Are the Things I Will Give Up for You) and will eventually end up post-Reichenbach. Expect lots of angst.

part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || part vi || part vii || part viii || part ix || part x || part xi || part xii || part xiii || part xiv || part xv || part xvi || part xvii || part xviii

Moriarty has been released.

What? When?

This morning. Even I cannot hold him indefinitely without charges and concrete evidence of those charges, and since he declined to give us much, he forced our hand. We had to release him.



Have you told Sherlock and John?

Greg’s mobile rang forty-three seconds after sending that last text. “Hello?”

“I have not told them, nor have I told my mother. In fact, none of them even knew he was in custody, and it needs to stay that way.”

“Sherlock will figure it out.”

“He may or he may not.”

“You have to tell them,” Greg said sharply. “They have to know the danger they’re in.”

“They know he is alive and they know to be vigilant. John and Sherlock are safe enough. It’s you that I worry about.”

“I’ve told you before, I can keep myself safe. I have been trained for this.”

“No.” Mycroft paused. “No, you haven’t been trained for anything like what this Moriarty can do.”


“Gregory, please. I’m asking you not to fight me on this.”

“What do you know?” Greg asked after a long pause.

Mycroft shifted his weight, tapped his index finger against the back of his mobile. “Too much,” he replied. “Too much, and not enough.”

Greg let the silence unspool as he took that in. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

Mycroft huffed a sigh through his nose. “Unfortunately not. I’ve a meeting somewhere I cannot tell you about, and I won’t be back until Thursday.” He paused and added, “I am sorry I did not tell you sooner, but this meeting was just scheduled this morning.”

Greg’s fingers tightened on his mobile as a brief flash of irrational panic swept through him. Knowing this Moriarty, it made him nervous to think that Mycroft would be out of his sight for four days, even though he knew that Mycroft had enough security and other protections that would keep him just as safe, if not safer, than he could. “I understand. Just…be safe. I love you.”

“I will,” Mycroft said solemnly. “And I love you.”

Greg let out a breath and rang off, flipping the little mobile in his hand as he considered what he should do next. Things between them were still a little fragile, and he wanted answers, not more brushing off (even though Mycroft’s brush offs were polite and well-meaning, they were still frustrating). He had already spoken to John; maybe Sherlock would be willing to talk. He stuffed his mobile back into his pocket and grabbed his jacket and keys, calling out a brief farewell to Donovan as he headed down to the lifts.

Outside, the sun was making a valiant effort to break through the clouds as Greg headed for his car. If he had looked up, he would have noticed the man sitting on the opposite rooftop, watching him through a pair of binoculars as he opened his car door.

Sherlock was at home when Greg knocked on the door, barely waiting for the lazy “Come in” that Sherlock gave as Greg pushed it open. Sherlock was dressed for the day, leaning against the window and watching the street below. His violin was on his chair, but the bow was still held loosely in his hand.

“Have you seen John today?” Sherlock asked without turning around.

Greg paused for an instant before he sat in John’s chair, resting his fingers against his temple as he leaned on the arm. “No. I’ve not heard from him, either. Why?” He tired to keep his voice calm. With Moriarty on the loose, there was a possibility that John was in trouble.

“I’d know if he was in danger.”

Greg jumped a bit. Had he said that out loud?

Sherlock turned to face him, tapping the bow on his leg. “No, you didn’t say it out loud. I’d know because of our bond. He’s just….”

“Just what?” Greg leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees.

“Nothing.’ Sherlock picked up the violin, returned it and the bow to its case, and then sat down himself, tapping his fingers lightly against the arm of his chair.

The two of them watched each other for a few moments in comfortable silence before Greg said, “I’m sorry about your father.”

That was so clearly not what Sherlock was expecting him to say⎯the shock flickered across his face before he could control it. “Who told you about our father?”

“Mycroft. He told me what happened, and Jesus, Sherlock, no kid should ever have to go through that. So, I know it’s not much and it’s far too late, but I’m still sorry it happened.”

Sherlock looked away, pressing his lips together. John would know what that expression meant, Greg thought, but he couldn’t parse it himself. “Thank you,” Sherlock said stiffly. He sniffed, tugged at his lapel, and then looked at Greg again. “What else did you come here to talk about? Clearly you have no case for me or else you’d not have sat down.”

“You said you’d know if John was in danger.”


“Can you tell what he’s thinking?”

“No. Just a general sense of his emotions. Right now, he’s upset, but I don’t know why.”

“What did you do?”

“I did nothing,” Sherlock said primly. “I told him a story last night, and I may have upset him a bit afterwards, but to be fair, he made me upset first. And that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

Greg quirked a grin at him. “I’m sure you’ll sort it out soon enough.”

“I was merely wondering if he’d confided in you. The two of you seem to be friends.”

“We are, but I’ve not heard from him for a few days, now.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Greg, scanning him. Greg stood firm⎯he’d been on the receiving end of that stare far too many times to be intimidated by it now.

“What do you really want to ask me?”

“How do I contact your mother?”

Sherlock blinked. “You can’t.”

“But you can.”

“Of course.”

“I met her just the other day, but she left before I got to say more than two words.”

“Did you? Hmmm.” Sherlock leaned back against his chair, rubbing his index finger against his bottom lip. “Why do you want to talk to her?”

“None of your business.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his defensive tone. After a moment, he said, “You are not one of her children, so you cannot call her. Your only option is to wait for her to come to you. If she has need to speak with you, she will find you.”

“Can you call her for me?”

“I could but I won’t. Mother does things her own way; I won’t be the one to disrupt that.” He looked at Greg, watched as his shoulders slumped a bit, and added, with genuine remorse, “I am sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” John asked as he pushed the door closed.

Greg turned to look at him. “Nothing.” He glanced at the tension on John’s face and said, “I’ll leave you two alone. John, give us a ring soon, yeah?”

“Sure,” John said easily as he swung the bag he was carrying on the only clear spot on the kitchen table. “But you don’t have to leave on my account.”

“No, I need to get home anyway,” Greg replied as he stood up.

Sherlock’s voice stopped him with his hand on the knob. “Have Mycroft tell you the story of Angus,” he said.


“Tell him to tell you the story of Angus and his selkie. It will help him remember things, and it will help you understand.” Sherlock glanced at John, eyes tight with something Greg couldn’t identify.

Confused, Greg looked at John, who just nodded. “It’ll help,” John affirmed.

“Right. I’m off.” Greg pulled the door open and clattered down the stairs. Neither Sherlock nor John said goodbye⎯they were too busy trying to avoid the other’s eyes.

“You left without saying goodbye this morning,” Sherlock said, voice flat.

“I did.” John’s chin came up, his arms crossed.

Sherlock tipped his own chin up, looking up at John who was standing behind his red armchair. “You said you wished I’d told you that story earlier, John. Why…” He broke off, looked away and then back. “Do you have doubts? Do you wish you’d not said yes?”

John exploded. “Christ, Sherlock, how can you say that? I have never, not once, wished that I had not said yes to you. After all we’ve said and promised each other, and you ask me that?”

“But you did have doubts.”

John’s gaze skittered away. Sherlock’s heart was in his throat as John gave a terse nod. “But not in the way you think,” John stated, talking to the top of his chair.


“I doubted because I didn’t want to hurt you more.” John sighed and came around the chair, dropping into it. He clasped his hands between his knees and looked at his ring, twisting it as he spoke. “I couldn’t imagine causing you the pain I knew you would be in for the rest of your very long life once I died and you were left alone and unloved. But, I was selfish, too.”

Sherlock snorted in disbelief.

“I was! The doubt disappeared when you handed me that feather. The look on your face…you looked like I was the one who hung the moon and the stars, and I couldn’t imagine not having the happiness you could give me, and I could give you⎯it wouldn’t have been fair to deny either of us that. So I said yes and determined that I would make you as happy as I could until the day I died so you would have those memories to sustain you.

“But then, I was also worried that you had seen how much I loved you and that I had somehow forced your hand, made you want to bond with me because I wanted that commitment from you and you didn’t want to make it. Hearing that story you told me would have allayed those fears. I think it will do wonders for Greg and Mycroft. That story is what I needed to hear⎯that it was your choice and I wasn’t selfish enough to make you do something you didn’t want to do.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

John shrugged, a wry smile quirking his lips as he said, “It didn’t seem important. And besides, it doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

“Promise me you’ll tell me if something’s bothering you,” Sherlock said, voice low and urgent.

John’s brow furrowed. “Of course. What brought that on?”

“Just…I do not want there to be anything we might regret left between us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” But Sherlock picked up his violin again, drawing the bow across the strings in a melody that made John’s heart ache. They didn’t say anything else that night.

Once he arrived home, Greg puttered around the kitchen, reheating some takeaway he had convinced Mycroft to get the previous night, opening a bottle of lager, turning on the telly. He sank down into the sofa and let the evening news lull him into a bit of a stupor. His mobile rang not long after he’d rinsed off the plate he’d used, and he hurried back to the sofa to answer it.

“Hello,” Mycroft’s voice curled into his ear.

“Hi. Had a good day?”

“Fair to middling. I can’t talk long, but I do need to tell you something.”

“I do, too.”

“Go on.”

“I went to see Sherlock today. He told me something interesting⎯something about you telling me a story about a selkie.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah. John said it would help. Actually, they both did.”

“I see. Anything else?”

Greg squirmed a bit. “I asked him to call your mother for me. He said he couldn’t, and that I had to wait for her to contact me.”

“What do you want to talk to her about?” the surprise was evident in Mycroft’s tone, and Greg bit back a grin⎯it wasn’t often that he pulled one over on his partner.

“None of your business.”


“What did you need to tell me?”

“Oh, yes. The feather of mine that you have⎯do you still have it?”

“Of course.”

“Where is it?”

“In the bureau.”

“Keep it with you, on your person, at all times, please.”


Mycroft huffed. “I asked Mummy to give you that feather so that I could have a sense, no matter how dull and faint it is, of your well-being. It would be stronger if we were bonded⎯”

“Sherlock said something about knowing if John was in danger.”

“Precisely. If you have that feather on you, I can track your location and know if you’re in danger much more accurately and much more quickly than I could using more traditional means.”

“What aren’t you saying?”

Mycroft paused. “You know me too well. All I can say is that I’m worried, and this will make me slightly less so.”

“What happens if I lose it or if it’s taken from me?”

“Then I’ll know something catastrophic has happened. Gregory, please, will you promise to keep it with you at all times?”

“Of course. I wish…”


“I wish I had the equivalent for you. You’re not the only one who worries. Especially not now.”

“Just keep my feather close. I assure you, Gregory, that if you do, you will know if something happens to me.”

“What will I do? If something happens to you, what will I do?”

“Go on,” Mycroft said gently. “Live. That’s what I would ask of you.”

Greg’s throat closed up. They listened to each other breathe, the soft crackle echoing in their ears before Mycroft broke the spell. “I have to go. I will see you Thursday, not a minute after.”

“Okay,” Greg whispered. Then, louder, “Be safe.”


Greg rang off and tapped the mobile against his lips for a beat or two until he finally shook his head and headed down the hall for bed. He left the hall light on, just in case Mycroft came home early.

The first clue in Moriarty’s game came with the missing Reichenbach Falls painting. Sherlock stared down at Lestrade’s case notes, thinking back to the promise he had made John only a few weeks ago. This was bothering him⎯history was gearing up again, spinning its creaky wheel. Their story always ended at Reichenbach, and Sherlock wondered if this was this modern Moriarty’s version of it.

He laid awake the night the painting had been restored to its proper place, listening to John breathe. Sherlock wondered how much of Moriarty and the Fall and its aftermath John remembered, or if he simply tried to ignore it. Sherlock could not forget the countless times he had pretended to die in order to kill off his foe. He had thought that in this life, the Pool would have been their Reichenbach. Moriarty had never returned from the dead in the same life, and this worried Sherlock.

How would the story end this time? Every other time, he and John had reunited, retired, and died within days of each other. But now, with Moriarty’s power an unknown quality, Sherlock felt the first frisson of fear lick its way up his spine. He needed a plan⎯actually, he needed several plans for he and John. One for if both of them died, one for if John died and Sherlock lived, one for Sherlock having to deceive John and leave for a time without him, and one for if Sherlock died and John lived.

But the catch was that John could not know. Everything could come crashing down if John had to be left behind⎯the most common scenario that had happened in the past was that Sherlock had to fake his death in order to hunt down the last of Moriarty’s crew and keep John safe. John had always forgiven him after his return, but the deception was necessary in order to keep Sherlock’s cover.

Looking down at John, whose head was resting on his shoulder, Sherlock wondered if he would have the strength to leave half of himself behind when, not if, the time came. And there was a new problem⎯John would know he was still alive, thus making it more difficult for him to play the grieving widower.

There was only one solution⎯Sherlock would have to break their bond if it came to that. His heart shuddered at the thought, and he reflexively hugged John closer, making him grunt in protest.

Please, let him live, Sherlock thought as he finally dropped off into an uneasy sleep. Please, don’t let him do the unthinkable because he thinks it will bring him to be with me. Please, just let him live.

part xx

Date: 2012-09-13 10:58 am (UTC)
ext_157015: Girl Genius (Afraid)
From: [identity profile] noirrosaleen.livejournal.com
*hugs herself*

It'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay...

Date: 2012-09-18 04:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] nickelsandcoats.livejournal.com
It'll get worse, but then yes, it will be okay. *hugs*

Date: 2012-09-13 12:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com
I read this last night but my eyes were too heavy to comment.

The storm clouds are gathering and there is a current hanging in the air... One sees everyone scurrying to take some sort of refuge to minimize the damage.
The suspense of what is going to happen is electric -also delicious!

Date: 2012-09-18 04:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] nickelsandcoats.livejournal.com
Oooh, I'm glad it's getting suspenseful! I've been hoping that I've been balancing the "move plot forward" sections with the "needed backstory sections" well enough to keep the story moving and getting more tense, and not bogging it down!



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