Let The Shadows Win

Funny What Fate Had In Mind

Sherlock POV: It never felt good to lie to John, especially when Sherlock knew that John would never do him the same dishonor. Yet he knew that if he admitted to seeing Mycroft and Victor constantly about his house, well John might become worried. The last thing Sherlock wanted to do was admit what his diseased brain was conjuring up and then get thrown into another penitentiary or get put on some sort of anti-hallucinogenic drug. No he wanted to live his life, because the people he saw were never hurting him, no they provided him company when he would have otherwise been alone. They were loyal to him, they were constant, and they were kind. Even tonight as Sherlock sat and talked with John he was aware of their presence, now lurking in the shadows just beyond his sight. For even Mycroft allowed Sherlock his privacy, considering that he was too dead to be able to impose. The night ended when their bottle of whiskey ran dry, long after the opera record had silenced itself and the chirping of crickets penetrated the boards. The house was getting quite hot, yet Sherlock had managed to find some fans to at least get the air moving around inside. The windows were going to have to be fixed soon, and of course Sherlock knew a window expert who would be ever so willing to help out. When finally the two of them marched up to bed Sherlock had some hesitations of going into Mycroft's room. He knew of course that there was no other option; however he was still rather afraid of getting in trouble. As a child he had never been allowed inside of Mycroft's room, for Mycroft had valued his privacy to an extent. And of course Sherlock had been in here to clean it up, change the sheets, and set up mouse traps. Yet why did it feel so different now that the sun had set, and that he was marching towards Mycroft's bed with John's hand still in his own? When Sherlock finally stepped nervously into the room he saw immediately that Mycroft was present, standing in the shadowy corner so as to be half concealed in darkness.
"You're not intending to let him into my bed?" Mycroft snarled, looking at John with a rather disgusted glare. Sherlock didn't answer; instead he kicked off his shoes and went to search in his bags for the pajamas he had packed away. They were still from his childhood, for he had no other clothes from after the penitentiary. And so this bag had merely all the clothes he had salvaged from the wardrobe down the hallway, the one that was now filled with irrational princess dresses and almost every shade of pink on the color scale. The wardrobe that sat in Mycroft's room had been untouched, and honestly Sherlock had no intentions of disturbing it. Inside were presumably all of his brother's suits, ties, and shoes for every occasion. Much like Sherlock, Mycroft's wardrobe was comprised mostly of all of their grandfather's clothes, most of which were suits and formal wear. And so the brothers always looked as if they were dressed for a wedding whenever they went out, and Mycroft had certainly gotten the taste for such elegance. His wardrobe had always been so neat and organized, and Sherlock dared not disturb such precision. Sherlock changed while John went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, complaining a bit about the rust in the water before quieting down once more. When John was finished Sherlock swapped with him, noticing the imperfections in the water before letting the tap run a little longer, and finally it began to run clear once more. When finally Sherlock was done preparing himself for bed he walked back into the bedroom to find that John had already made himself at home, nestled shirtless underneath the blankets that had housed Mycroft for all of those years. Mycroft himself was already jumping about in anger, yelling to Sherlock to get John and his 'filth' out of his bed, yet Sherlock ignored him to the best of his abilities. Now that he knew John was watching for signs of his hallucinations he had to be sure not to address them when there's any chance he could be noticed, for he knew that John would fuss and send him to some sort of psychiatrist, who would in turn send him back to the pit. He wanted to avoid the pit as much as possible, and so he hid from John that little secret so as to make himself appear sane.
"You look comfortable." Sherlock commented, walking up reluctantly to the bed and crawling under the covers despite his hesitations.
"I am quite comfortable." John agreed with a grin. "You being here only makes it better."
"I feel honored." Sherlock smiled, reaching over to switch off the lamp and plunging the room once more into darkness. Mycroft was still yelling; however there was a sense of peace in it all. Sherlock allowed himself to lean over into John's chest, smiling even though John would never know, and appreciating the little things that they had made possible. The very idea of living in this house with John had always felt like something of an impossible dream, yet tonight it was possible. Tonight and for the rest of the nights they shared on earth, it was possible to lay against John's chest and listen to his familiar heartbeat, he could be rocked back and forth by the man's breathing and he could feel him humming every so often. Sherlock could be with John and suffer no consequences, face no obstacles, and hear no fuss at all. For they were meant to be together, anyone who knew them or knew of them surely realized that was a fact. If they weren't destined for a forever in each other's presence then why would they have been brought together in the first place? Why had John's terrible car broken down a couple of miles from Sherlock's house if not with the intention of him hiking up to ask for help? And why else would their eyes have met that special way, their hearts have jumped to a mutual rhythm, and their lips met so perfectly, like puzzle pieces connecting? Yes, soulmates meant that they were destined to some sort of eternity together. And tonight seemed like the perfect sort of way to spend eternity, just curled up together in an innocent sort of drunkenness, staring up in the darkness until at last their dreams took over and stared at them back.