An Affair to Remember-Sherlock Fanfic

Insanity

Sherlock picked his way through the debris that littered the hallway until they reached a dark room at the end of the corridor. He stopped and took a deep breath. Only the crunch of John's wheels on the broken glass kept Sherlock from running.

"It's in here," he whispered and pulled a flashlight from within the folds of his coat. Without a word John wheeled closer and laid a hand on his arm. Sherlock enjoyed the touch for a moment or two, then proceeded forward.

Laura sneezed and Irene wrinkled her nose when the smell of rot and mildew reached their nostrils. "God, what a stench," Mycroft said pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.

Sherlock smirked when the starched material came into view. "Still getting your hankies ironed I see."

Mycroft looked back at Sherlock in exasperation. "Just get on with it, brother mine."

Sherlock grinned proceeding forward. Piles of rusted out equipment lay scattered around the room and he shivered when passing an abandoned gurney, humming under his breath.

"What's that song your humming?" John asked, entranced by Sherlock's seldom heard voice.

Sherlock frowned in irritation. "Who knows?"

"It's 'Be Still My Soul' from Finlandia," Mycroft answered in a soft voice.

Sherlock shrugged it off. "Whatever you say, brother mine." He looked around the room, eyes glazed over and his jaw went slack.

"What's he doing?" Laura asked.

"Oou, this is the exciting part. He's reconstructing every detail in the room just as it was when he last saw it." Irene replied in excitement watching Sherlock. John wheeled closer to Sherlock blocking Irene's view. "Ah, how cute he's attempting to protect his mate." She cooed.

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped shaking his head. "Mycroft, give me a boost so that I can climb up on that metal cabinet over there."

Mycroft looked in the direction Sherlock pointed out. "Brother mine, the cabinet in question is quite rusted out."

Sherlock gave Mycroft the look. "I don't need your input. Just give me a boost."

They all watched Mycroft when he again pulled out his hankie, placing it over the palms of his hands and lacing his fingers together. Sherlock smiled and his eyes tinted with malice when he ground the souls of his shoes into an unidentifiable pile of muck. Trudging forward he stopped just in front of Mycroft. For a moment they stared at each other, then Sherlock looked away placing his foot into Mycroft's interlocked hands. Mycroft sighed when Sherlock pushed off his hold, dispersing the once white handkerchief into the foul air. John watched its descent in fascination. It floated through the air, then fell to the ground expelling more mildew.

Sherlock scrambled to the top of the cabinet, testing its strength. Once he felt satisfied that it would hold his weight, he stood up and stretched towards the ceiling.

"Sherlock, be careful." John called out wheeling his chair back and forth.

Sherlock felt along the ceiling until he found what he was looking for. A secret panel. They all watched in anticipation when he reached inside and held up a key. His victory was short lived though, for the cabinet groaned, creaked, then gave way, unable to sustain his weight. Its usefulness came to an end when Sherlock plummeted through its center.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John called out in a frantic tone.

After a few moments, Sherlock's muffled reply echoed back at them. "Yes, now get me out of here. The doors are rusted shut." He held the key tightly in his hand like a crucifix, willing himself to be calm.

Mycroft worked at the doors, pulling at them until he fell back onto the ground in a heap. "Here, move aside." Irene ordered, sweeping past him. They all watched in fascination when she pulled out a device that looked like an average ball point pen, turned it on and began to cut away the locks that imprisoned Sherlock with a miniature laser beam. John wheeled closer. When the doors opened he was the first one to reach the cabinet.

Sherlock's pupils were dilated and his heart beat fast, only calming when he noticed John's anxious face peering into his own. Without a word he nodded to John, then maneuvered himself to an upright position. With a bored look he said, "Well, here's the key. What next?"

Irene reached for it, licking her lips. Before she could grab it from Sherlock's hand, Mycroft stepped in. "I'll take that."

Irene turned on him in a rage. "It's my key from my family."

Mycroft sighed. "It's much more than that and you know it. The British government is not interested in the money. The safe deposit box holds secrets."

Laura stepped forward. "Well, I'd better get what's coming to me."

Mycroft smiled. "Oh you will dear, you will."

Laura sighed and looked over at Irene. "The Holmes boys are so dramatic, aren't they?"

Irene didn't look back. She just stared at the key. "We will leave for Switzerland day after tomorrow. If I know my grandfather, there will be another puzzle once we open the safety deposit box."

Mycroft stepped forward. "We should stay at my house for the night. It will be safer."

Irene raised an eyebrow. "I doubt you have the security that I do. We're staying at my flat."

Sherlock's head ached and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't banish Daniel's face from his memory. Irene and Mycroft argued, each attempting to usurp the other's authority. "Stop, you can stay wherever you want. John and I are going home to Baker Street. Text us with the travel plans." Then without another word he wheeled John out of the room.

***

Once back at Baker Street, Sherlock lit a fire in the fireplace and settled down in his favorite chair. He still hadn't uttered a word other than the necessary instructions to the cabbie, letting the familiar dark mood take him in its undertow.

"Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced over at him noting how pale and worried he looked. "I'm fine. You look exhausted. Let's get you to bed." He started to hook up John's motorized wheelchair device, then John stopped him.

"Sherlock, carry me up. Will you?" John's voice made the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stand on end. "That is if you're not too tired."

In an instant Sherlock was across the room. He gathered John in his arms, marched up the stairs, then lay him on the bed. Once he was comfortable, Sherlock lay in between John's legs staring at his prize. His hands shook, reaching for John's belt buckle. Though nothing that sprang out at him was a surprise Sherlock gasped when he looked down.

"John, you're beautiful," he moaned.

John stroked himself, then looked up at Sherlock. "Then devour me."

Sherlock's pupils blew wide open, his mouth watering when he heeded John's command. He let his tongue swirl in lazy stokes from the moist salty tip to the root, then to the top, sides and underneath, not missing an inch. God, I'm thorough, Sherlock thought swallowing. God, the noises he makes. His scent, his taste, undo me every time. He took John deeper into the back of his throat. "Come on, John, come for me. I want to drink your JIZ."

John would have laughed at Sherlock's use of the acronym, 'JIZ', but he too far gone, his hips pumping so that he could slide further down into his husband's warm oral cavity.