fffffuuuuuuuuuu--

[punchmeitssubtext]

It was shaping up to be a pleasantly slow Saturday afternoon at Baker Street. After a late-starting morning, they'd sorted through a handful of emails and texts together, then Sherlock had settled in with the violin and started playing a medley of The Who. (Living with John had brought his musical knowledge forward by about a hundred years, albeit in a sort of patchy way.) About halfway through "Teenage Wasteland", though, he stopped abruptly.

"God, I've just remembered. We're out of eggs and it's Sunday tomorrow. I'm going to run downstairs--do you need anything?"

Comments

[fighting_northumerland]

If the next words out of her mouth were When are you going to make an honest man out of my Sherlock? then John wasn't sure anyone would survive his ensuing meltdown.

"That doesn't sound like a question," he finally settled on, fighting to keep his voice level.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"One hears rumors," she responded. "People have rather sordid imaginations. I'm merely trying to ascertain the truth for my own peace of mind." She sipped her coffee before adding, "Particularly since we haven't been getting the regular news update at Christmas."

Sherlock looked like he was ready to scream.

[fighting_northumerland]

Oh, this was a farce. John moved close enough so that Sherlock could feel the warmth of his body, but not quite touching.

"Sherlock visited my family this Christmas," he said, in lieu of an actual answer. "We had a lovely time. They approve of him."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Do they?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "And why would he need approving?"

"Because--university wasn't a phase, all right?"

The words nearly exploded out of him, blurring together and a little strangled. He'd gone red, rather suddenly, though whether that was from humiliation or anger was anyone's guess.

[fighting_northumerland]

John's arm reflexively wrapped around Sherlock's waist, pulling him in close.

"We're long-term, Mrs. Holmes," he said, in a tone of voice that dared her to make something of it.

[punchmeitssubtext]

She put down her coffee cup, just watching them for a moment.

"That's all?" she asked, very steadily.

[fighting_northumerland]

John looked to Sherlock and back to the man's mother. Neither of them revealed anything helpful.

"Yes...?" he replied, uncertain. "We're uh, involved. And such. Wasn't that the concern?"

[punchmeitssubtext]

"You're still clean."

"Yes." Sherlock was trembling slightly, more like a shiver than anything else.

"And you still work with the police and Crown Prosecutors."

"Yes, of course, but I don't see--"

"So the only thing you've been hiding from your family is this--this--" she gestured at John.

[fighting_northumerland]

"Yes-- no. No, we weren't hiding any--" John gave Sherlock a hard look. "Well, I wasn't hiding anything. Just being discreet."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"I wasn't--" Sherlock looked a little insulted. "Yes. Discreet. Which I seem to recall learning about from you," he added, pointedly, more at his mother than to her.

"So he's not your dealer?"

"What--no!"

[fighting_northumerland]

"I'm a doctor!" John cried out, exasperated. "For heaven's sake- I promise I am doing nothing untoward with Sherlock and that we are perfectly happy and no one is selling or consuming drugs!"