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“Hello, brother dear. How are you?” Sherlock says into his phone, in one of the simultaneously most arch and most charming tones of voice John’s ever heard from him.
John, as he is seemingly bound to do for forever more, follows Sherlock at about a pace behind (he knows how to march, of course, but he’ll always have the shorter legs).
There is a lengthy silence as Sherlock listens, for once. Mycroft must be making his dissatisfaction known over their twenty-three minute long breach of security.
“I know – stop talking, Mycroft – I know what I did; I am dreadfully sorry about it all. I would offer to compensate you, but we both know that you need me more than I need–”
“Have you worked out yet how I got hold of the card in the first place?” Now, Sherlock’s voice holds a touch of impatience. “Wrong.” Triumphant smirk. “Although you’re quite correct, it was foolish to leave me alone in your office. No, it was eighteen months prior, back when we both had to go and visit Mummy and we... yes” Sherlock confirms, but there is something quietly indecent about the way he says yes and about the way his eyes close briefly. “Are you alone? You are allowed to say it out loud, if you want. You’re normally so bloody careful, but you were in the bathroom afterwards and there was your coat, waiting, left draped over the foot of the bed.”
Sharing a bed in a hotel room, John assumes. Sherlock must have hated that.
“I found your wallet in your coat pocket and took your ID. And all the banknotes, so you would think it was an ordinary thief. And to annoy you, of course. I suppose you normally would have checked through all your possessions before leaving, but you were somewhat distracted on our parting as I recall it.” There is a pause, and then Sherlock gives a deep laugh that, to John’s ears at least, sounds absolutely filthy. He starts to feel a little too warm, though still not yet entirely sure what’s going on.
“It was, wasn’t it? Yes... Yes, Mycroft. Listen. I need you to let me back into the base. Only for another thirty six hours.”
Sherlock is very manipulative whenever he wants to be. Which is most of the time. But John assumes Mycroft is far too wise to Sherlock’s ways to be fooled by his usual tricks.
“Why? Well, you’ll be doing something very wonderful for me. So why don’t I do something very wonderful for you in return? ... It has been years since I last let you, hasn’t it?”
Another pause to allow Mycroft to retaliate, and John is telling himself under his breath that the images running through his mind cannot be what the Holmes's are discussing, it cannot.
“Oh, stop professing guilt, Mycroft, it doesn’t suit you. Yes, I’m absolutely serious. Wouldn’t you like me obeying your every command? You liked that last time. Where are you now?” Sherlock’s voice is at its smoothest and darkest by now, and John can barely believe they’re still walking through the middle of a genteel village in Dartmoor.
“Oh good, I like your office. It’s very you. Very private, as well. By the sound of your breathing, I assume you’re hard by now. Imagine if, right this moment, you had me naked and braced against your desk...”
Close to gasping in surprise, John immediately slows down so that he can walk out of Sherlock’s earshot, but Sherlock, as if nothing whatsoever is wrong and he’s on the phone talking about the weather, impatiently motions for John to keep up. He obeys, looking up at Sherlock for a moment, and notes yet another sight brand new to him that day: Sherlock slightly flushed in the cheeks.
“Don’t call him that, Mycroft. No John’s not here, he’s back at the hotel. Stop worrying. What else would you like? You could sit back in your desk chair, spread your legs. You like the leather, don’t you? And then I’ll kneel in front of you; head bowed; Holmes Minor. Remember when I was just sixteen, and you told me that you wanted–?”
Another pause.
“Yes, I’ll even do that. If you promise to let me past security. And people think I’m the depraved one...”
It’s as if Sherlock’s forgotten John’s there. Except Sherlock never forgets things like who is present and who is not.
“Oh, you need me to ‘stop saying such things’? I do hope you’re not like this later on. ... I know, I can hear your breathing. So, are we agreed?”
The tone reverts to a more business-like one to arrange the logistics, as Sherlock made sure Mycroft did not go back on his word. “Concentrate! Less than thirty six? Even geniuses need time,” Sherlock retorts. “Alright, twenty four hours in exchange for one night of me subservient, and that’s my final, very generous, offer.”
“I’ll text you,” Sherlock says in a quiet, low, thick voice. “Yes, as soon as I get back to London. Goodbye, Mycroft.” And Sherlock ends the call and stops walking, for they are back at their car.
“You’re blushing, John,” Sherlock says without looking at him (voice now brisk and entirely unaffected), and John doesn’t even bother to try and deny it because he knows that Sherlock will have already worked out why. Anyone could have made that deduction, never mind Sherlock bloody Holmes.
“We’re able to get back into Baskerville,” Sherlock tells him. “Get in the Land Rover, and try and calm down before we reach the gates.”