nickelsandcoats (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nickelsandcoats) wrote2012-04-22 10:56 pm
nickelsandcoats) wrote2012-04-22 10:56 pm
Fic: I'll Give You Everything You Need (You've Given Me Everything I Want) 11/?
Title: I'll Give You Everything You Need (You've Given Me Everything I Want) 11/? || at Ao3
Author: Sarah/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nickelsandcoats
Rating: PG13 for this part
Spoilers: Spoilers (eventually) for all of season 2!
Word Count: ~1,100 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: Forflying_dreamz's prompt here at my shuffle meme post. She asked for #103, which was, for this part, "SHERlocked" from the Sherlock Season 2 soundtrack by David G. Arnold and Michael Price.
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
Sherlock and John beat Greg into the house by five minutes. “Mycroft?” Greg called as he ran up the stairs, following the sound of voices. “What is it? You’d never send a car for me to bring me home unless it was something important⎯” He broke off when he burst through to the study, blinking in shock at John Watson, who was standing right in front of him. “You’re…you’re dead.” Greg reached out, fumbling for the back of a chair, gripped it tightly. He would not give in to the watery feeling that manifested itself in his knees. He would not faint. Would not. It was only John, who had been dead and now was standing in front of him, expression full of concern.
“I thought he knew.” John was saying to Mycroft even as he was gently guiding Greg to sit in the chair he was clinging to, checking his pulse as he did, “About⎯I thought you’d told him.”
Mycroft’s eyes widened a bit as he shook his head sharply at John, every centimetre of his lover’s body screaming at John to stop talking right now.
Greg frowned. “Tell me what?”
“Nothing.” Mycroft looked down at his shoes for a second before meeting Greg’s eyes. His expression softened as he said, “Gregory⎯”
“No,” Greg held up one hand, expression hard. “Explain this to me. I went to John’s funeral. I saw Sherlock covered in his blood not ten minutes after his death. How is it that he’s standing here?”
The other three men exchanged looks.
Greg huffed and stood up. “Right. Apparently I’m not to know, then.”
“Gregory⎯”
John, ever perceptive, cut in quickly. “It’s not important right now. There’s something else going on here that we need to get to the bottom of.”
“Not important?” Greg spluttered. “I’d say learning how you came back from the fucking dead is pretty damned important!”
“Moriarty is back,” Mycroft said into the spaces between their words, making all three of them stop and stare at him.
“Say it again,” Sherlock ordered.
“Moriarty is alive.”
“How?” John asked. “We all three saw him die.”
“There never was a body,” Greg said quietly. “I wrote the report on that case. There was no body recovered at the scene.”
Mycroft, Sherlock, and John all looked down at their feet for a moment. No one said anything for several heartbeats.
“Will someone please just tell me what the fuck is going on!” Greg half-shouted, frustration making him pace.
All three looked up at him, startled.
Greg kept pacing, not looking at anyone as he snapped, “First, John’s come back from the dead, and good for you, mate, I’m dead chuffed to see you and you’ve made Sherlock smile again, which is more than what he’s done since you were gone. Second, a master criminal, who, from what I managed to get out of the three of you, nearly killed John and Sherlock and did kill a slew of people when he blew up a block of flats is now also apparently alive. And third,” and here he stopped and looked Mycroft dead in the eye. “And third, you’re keeping something from me.”
Mycroft’s mouth tightened, but he held Greg’s gaze.
John and Sherlock were looking between the two of them, shocked.
“You mean to say you’ve not⎯” John started, but a look from Mycroft made him swallow the words before they were given voice.
“I won’t deny it,” Mycroft said softly.
Greg turned his face away, mouth twisting in an unhappy line.
“But I did it and will continue doing it for your protection.”
Greg laughed bitterly. “I trust you, Mycroft. I have no secrets from you. You’re a Holmes, I wouldn’t have them anyway, but I give you everything freely. And here you are, telling me that I’m not to be trusted with yours.”
Sherlock and John shared a quick glance and then retreated, closing the door quietly behind them as they headed to the kitchen to make tea (for John, Sherlock would not drink the cup John made for him) and to think (Sherlock about what to do about Moriarty, John about how to keep Sherlock alive and sane while they set about finding the bastard).
Mycroft saw them go and let himself slump, looking smaller and far older than Greg had ever seen him, and it made something pang deep inside Greg’s heart. Mycroft should never, had never, looked like that ever before, and it scared him to think that this man who kept himself so carefully under control could be vulnerable.
“I’m sorry,” Greg said.
“For what? You’re right, I have kept something from you, but it really and truly is for your own protection.” Mycroft’s hands gripped the back of the sofa, knuckles white. “I want to tell you, and I will, someday. I swear that to you. Believe me when I tell you that it has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you. Please, tell me you believe that.”
Greg took a deep breath. “I believe you,” he said, heavily, “and I trust that you will tell me whatever this is someday. But⎯” he held up a hand as Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, “but I want to know how the hell John Watson is alive. I saw Sherlock covered in his blood. I saw what losing him did to your brother. And now I’ve seen him standing here in this study, taking my pulse. How?”
Mycroft sighed. “I cannot tell you that.”
“Mycroft⎯”
“It is part of my secret, and if I told you, someone could get that information from you, no matter how much you wanted to keep it secret.”
They were silent a moment, each thinking of Moriarty and torture and confessions screamed out in the long black agony of pain.
Mycroft crossed the room and gathered Greg into his arms. “I only want to keep you safe. You can’t tell what you don’t know. When all of this is over, I swear, I will tell you.”
“Would you bring me back, too?”
“Hmm?”
“If I died. Would you bring me back?”
Mycroft’s sigh stirred the hairs resting on Greg’s forehead. “I did not bring John back from the dead.”
“Would you bring me back?” Greg’s tone was more forceful as he pulled back to look Mycroft in the eye.
The power imbued in the three repetitions sent shivers up Mycroft’s spine. He heard his own voice come as if from a great distance as he answered, “There is no power that exists in this universe that would prevent me from bringing you back. I would not allow anything or anyone to stop me.”
Greg looked at him, a little wild, a little strange, as he whispered, “Good,” and then claimed Mycroft’s lips with a snarl, staking his claim on his lover.
********
Note: I am so sorry about the delay! Updates may be a bit sporadic until after May 11, which is when I graduate. I will do my best to get part xii up before then, but it may be a bit.
part xii
Author: Sarah/
nickelsandcoatsRating: PG13 for this part
Spoilers: Spoilers (eventually) for all of season 2!
Word Count: ~1,100 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
flying_dreamz's prompt here at my shuffle meme post. She asked for #103, which was, for this part, "SHERlocked" from the Sherlock Season 2 soundtrack by David G. Arnold and Michael Price.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
Sherlock and John beat Greg into the house by five minutes. “Mycroft?” Greg called as he ran up the stairs, following the sound of voices. “What is it? You’d never send a car for me to bring me home unless it was something important⎯” He broke off when he burst through to the study, blinking in shock at John Watson, who was standing right in front of him. “You’re…you’re dead.” Greg reached out, fumbling for the back of a chair, gripped it tightly. He would not give in to the watery feeling that manifested itself in his knees. He would not faint. Would not. It was only John, who had been dead and now was standing in front of him, expression full of concern.
“I thought he knew.” John was saying to Mycroft even as he was gently guiding Greg to sit in the chair he was clinging to, checking his pulse as he did, “About⎯I thought you’d told him.”
Mycroft’s eyes widened a bit as he shook his head sharply at John, every centimetre of his lover’s body screaming at John to stop talking right now.
Greg frowned. “Tell me what?”
“Nothing.” Mycroft looked down at his shoes for a second before meeting Greg’s eyes. His expression softened as he said, “Gregory⎯”
“No,” Greg held up one hand, expression hard. “Explain this to me. I went to John’s funeral. I saw Sherlock covered in his blood not ten minutes after his death. How is it that he’s standing here?”
The other three men exchanged looks.
Greg huffed and stood up. “Right. Apparently I’m not to know, then.”
“Gregory⎯”
John, ever perceptive, cut in quickly. “It’s not important right now. There’s something else going on here that we need to get to the bottom of.”
“Not important?” Greg spluttered. “I’d say learning how you came back from the fucking dead is pretty damned important!”
“Moriarty is back,” Mycroft said into the spaces between their words, making all three of them stop and stare at him.
“Say it again,” Sherlock ordered.
“Moriarty is alive.”
“How?” John asked. “We all three saw him die.”
“There never was a body,” Greg said quietly. “I wrote the report on that case. There was no body recovered at the scene.”
Mycroft, Sherlock, and John all looked down at their feet for a moment. No one said anything for several heartbeats.
“Will someone please just tell me what the fuck is going on!” Greg half-shouted, frustration making him pace.
All three looked up at him, startled.
Greg kept pacing, not looking at anyone as he snapped, “First, John’s come back from the dead, and good for you, mate, I’m dead chuffed to see you and you’ve made Sherlock smile again, which is more than what he’s done since you were gone. Second, a master criminal, who, from what I managed to get out of the three of you, nearly killed John and Sherlock and did kill a slew of people when he blew up a block of flats is now also apparently alive. And third,” and here he stopped and looked Mycroft dead in the eye. “And third, you’re keeping something from me.”
Mycroft’s mouth tightened, but he held Greg’s gaze.
John and Sherlock were looking between the two of them, shocked.
“You mean to say you’ve not⎯” John started, but a look from Mycroft made him swallow the words before they were given voice.
“I won’t deny it,” Mycroft said softly.
Greg turned his face away, mouth twisting in an unhappy line.
“But I did it and will continue doing it for your protection.”
Greg laughed bitterly. “I trust you, Mycroft. I have no secrets from you. You’re a Holmes, I wouldn’t have them anyway, but I give you everything freely. And here you are, telling me that I’m not to be trusted with yours.”
Sherlock and John shared a quick glance and then retreated, closing the door quietly behind them as they headed to the kitchen to make tea (for John, Sherlock would not drink the cup John made for him) and to think (Sherlock about what to do about Moriarty, John about how to keep Sherlock alive and sane while they set about finding the bastard).
Mycroft saw them go and let himself slump, looking smaller and far older than Greg had ever seen him, and it made something pang deep inside Greg’s heart. Mycroft should never, had never, looked like that ever before, and it scared him to think that this man who kept himself so carefully under control could be vulnerable.
“I’m sorry,” Greg said.
“For what? You’re right, I have kept something from you, but it really and truly is for your own protection.” Mycroft’s hands gripped the back of the sofa, knuckles white. “I want to tell you, and I will, someday. I swear that to you. Believe me when I tell you that it has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you. Please, tell me you believe that.”
Greg took a deep breath. “I believe you,” he said, heavily, “and I trust that you will tell me whatever this is someday. But⎯” he held up a hand as Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, “but I want to know how the hell John Watson is alive. I saw Sherlock covered in his blood. I saw what losing him did to your brother. And now I’ve seen him standing here in this study, taking my pulse. How?”
Mycroft sighed. “I cannot tell you that.”
“Mycroft⎯”
“It is part of my secret, and if I told you, someone could get that information from you, no matter how much you wanted to keep it secret.”
They were silent a moment, each thinking of Moriarty and torture and confessions screamed out in the long black agony of pain.
Mycroft crossed the room and gathered Greg into his arms. “I only want to keep you safe. You can’t tell what you don’t know. When all of this is over, I swear, I will tell you.”
“Would you bring me back, too?”
“Hmm?”
“If I died. Would you bring me back?”
Mycroft’s sigh stirred the hairs resting on Greg’s forehead. “I did not bring John back from the dead.”
“Would you bring me back?” Greg’s tone was more forceful as he pulled back to look Mycroft in the eye.
The power imbued in the three repetitions sent shivers up Mycroft’s spine. He heard his own voice come as if from a great distance as he answered, “There is no power that exists in this universe that would prevent me from bringing you back. I would not allow anything or anyone to stop me.”
Greg looked at him, a little wild, a little strange, as he whispered, “Good,” and then claimed Mycroft’s lips with a snarl, staking his claim on his lover.
********
Note: I am so sorry about the delay! Updates may be a bit sporadic until after May 11, which is when I graduate. I will do my best to get part xii up before then, but it may be a bit.
part xii