An excerpt from one Johnlock stories of mine, that remains a work in progress since 2018, just like the rest of them.
The Diogenes Club was a tomb of silence, a place where the air itself seemed to have been curated in 1890 and never breathed since. Sherlock hated it on principle—the stillness felt like a personal insult to his kinetic mind—but today, the stakes required the one man in England who saw everything and felt nothing.
Sherlock and John stood in the wood-paneled inner sanctum. Mycroft Holmes sat behind a desk of dark oak, his umbrella leaning precisely against the corner. He didn't look up from the file he was reading for a full minute, relishing the power of the silence.
"The white queen," Mycroft said finally, his voice a dry rasp. "A trifle nostalgic, wouldn't you say, John?"
"It’s a threat, Mycroft," John replied, his hand resting casually on the back of Sherlock’s chair. "The Minister’s daughter is gone. If the Vanquished Set is being used as a calling card, then the shadows are moving again."
Mycroft finally looked up. His eyes, so similar to Sherlock’s but filled with a weary, bureaucratic weight, flickered from John’s hand to the slight, almost imperceptible way Sherlock was leaning toward the doctor.
A slow, thin smile touched Mycroft’s lips."Oh, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, leaning back. "I see the 'chemical defect' has moved from a temporary malfunction to a permanent hardware installation. I must say, John, I expected more restraint from a man with a millitary background. But then again, you always did have a penchant for lost causes and stray dogs."
Sherlock’s jaw tightened. "Mycroft, if you’re finished with the amateur psychology, we have a kidnapping to prevent from becoming a massacre."
"Amateur? Hardly," Mycroft chuckled, his eyes dancing with a rare, sharp mirth. "It’s fascinating to watch. The Great Sherlock Holmes, once so terrified of a human touch that he’d practically vibrate out of his skin, now looks as though he’d bite the hand off anyone who tried to move him three inches away from you. Tell me, do you still hide in the lab when he flirts with you, or have you finally accepted that you’re a man of... substantial passions?"
"Mycroft," Sherlock warned, his voice low and dangerous.
"Don't mind him, Sherlock," John said, his thumb tracing a slow circle on Sherlock’s shoulder, a deliberate move to further annoy the elder Holmes. "He’s just bitter because the only thing he’s intimate with is the British tax code."
Mycroft’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of profound boredom. "Hardly. I have the security of the realm to keep me warm."
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As they left the club and stepped into the cool London drizzle, Sherlock was still fuming. "I am going to burn that club to the ground one day."
"He was just baiting you," John said, catching Sherlock’s arm and pulling him to a stop under a stone archway. "And he wasn't entirely wrong. You are a man of substantial passions."
ASKDLFHLKSHDF PEACOCK!!! (I think that's the emoji you signed off with?)
Okay firstly, I am HONOURED you have shared one of your drafts with me!!! Seriously I feel so special!!!
Secondly, I feel you SO MUCH on "a lot of drafts for years and none of them done". I have 9 of them in various fandoms currently sitting on my GDocs, LOL.
Thirdly, I and – I feel confident in speaking for others in this regard – many others would LOVE to see this fleshed out and finished!! If you ever do, please let me know!! I would love to see where this one goes!! I have reread it quite a bit!! <3
Thank you SO MUCH for sharing with us!!!! I would love to see more <3
