Sherlock makes a soft, contemplative sound; he's still leaning very slightly against Mycroft's shoulder, as if it's a muscle memory from his childhood days. As a little boy he'd quickly discovered that leaning on his brother afforded him an excellent view of Mycroft's sketchbook, or the sheet music he was reading, or something he might be building for school. It was a safe position, a position of knowledge and warmth, and now that he's older it's a little startling that that hasn't changed.
"It wouldn't work," he says. "It's too different. And anyway the problem isn't the attraction. It's..."
He pauses, trying to think of the right words, the right way to communicate the shape of this thing that's so wholly outside the realm of their experience.
Briefly, he recalls one of Mycroft's secretaries--an ambitious but anxious man whose accent placed his upbringing near Cornwall. While his brother was consciously careful not to betray himself, that secretary had given them away in a very specific manner. Every so often Mycroft would say something, or make a reference to their strange childhood, and the man would have an unconscious moment of looking utterly surprised... as if he were hearing certain words in certain combinations for the first time, as if he had suddenly stepped into totally unknown territory and found it fascinating.
He'd been replaced by Anthea four months later. But the image stuck with Sherlock; if he'd noticed it, he knows, Mycroft must have picked up on it too.
"I'm never bored," he finally manages. And it's true: while they have something that passes for a domestic routine, John is constantly surprising him. The cocaine had been an escape, a way of speeding up the world around him, but its effects had been predictable. Even now that he and John are intimate, he's constantly discovering things.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-06-15 03:23 am (UTC)"It wouldn't work," he says. "It's too different. And anyway the problem isn't the attraction. It's..."
He pauses, trying to think of the right words, the right way to communicate the shape of this thing that's so wholly outside the realm of their experience.
Briefly, he recalls one of Mycroft's secretaries--an ambitious but anxious man whose accent placed his upbringing near Cornwall. While his brother was consciously careful not to betray himself, that secretary had given them away in a very specific manner. Every so often Mycroft would say something, or make a reference to their strange childhood, and the man would have an unconscious moment of looking utterly surprised... as if he were hearing certain words in certain combinations for the first time, as if he had suddenly stepped into totally unknown territory and found it fascinating.
He'd been replaced by Anthea four months later. But the image stuck with Sherlock; if he'd noticed it, he knows, Mycroft must have picked up on it too.
"I'm never bored," he finally manages. And it's true: while they have something that passes for a domestic routine, John is constantly surprising him. The cocaine had been an escape, a way of speeding up the world around him, but its effects had been predictable. Even now that he and John are intimate, he's constantly discovering things.