Suppressing Dread-Sherlock/London Spy Crossover

Hello, happy Wednesday I have just posted a new chapter of Parallel Lovers

Suppressing Dread

The surrounding s of Mycroft’s club were meant to intimidate, but John wasn’t buying.
“So, let me get this straight. You are now telling whom I can or can’t remain friends with?” John whispered through clenched teeth.
Mycroft sighed and as he placed his fingers in a steeple like position just underneath his nose. “John, I am begging you for your sake and Sherlock’s, have nothing to do with the man who calls himself Alex.”
“And Danny?” John asked as he pursed his lips and leaned forward.
Mycroft remained silent and then spoke with a quiet precision that gave John the chills. “Unless he parts company with Alex, then no. Danny is an expendable pawn that will be caught in the undertow.” For a moment Mycroft looked pensive and then he smiled that charming smile that put John’s teeth on edge.
Anxious to get back at Mycroft John stepped into his personal space and then jabbed a finger at Mycroft’s chest. “I thought you were the British Government.”
Mycroft looked away from John, focusing his attention on the dust motes that danced in the afternoon light from the windows. “The Government is changing, John. It is becoming more encompassing, streamlined in order to deal with our perceived enemies.”
John paced back and forth. “Now you’re just being dramatic.” Mycroft reached out and grasped John’s arm. Surprised by the physical contact John held still for a moment. “John, please believe me when I say that I will not be able to protect you or Sherlock if you both persist in this friendship with Alex and his partner.”
John jerked his hand out of Mycroft’s grasp and then shouted, “Go to hell, Mycroft.” He then smiled at the outraged look of the club’s stuffy inhabitants as he let the door slam.
Sherlock listened to John’s tirade about the conversation with Mycroft earlier in the day. When he was finished Sherlock sighed, “John, I told you that no good could come of double dating. Maybe next time you’ll think it through and heed my advice.”
“I’m just about sick of the Holmes brothers’ advice,” John shouted and then stormed out.
Mrs. Hudson edged into the room with a pained look on her face. “Are you boys having a domestic again? The slamming of doors is really not good for the old beams of my flat.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he said, “Mrs. Hudson, I could care less about your old beams. Now get out I need to think.”
Mrs. Hudson sighed and then said in a matron like tone, “Sherlock, he’ll be back don’t worry. I remember when my ex-husband and I would argue like that the makeup sex would be…”
“MRS. HUDSON, OUT NOW,” Sherlock roared.
Once she had left Sherlock let the quiet of the room wash over him. What was so important about Alex, so important that Mycroft would threaten himself and John? It was a puzzle. A puzzle that Sherlock couldn’t resist.
John marched around the city until he was exhausted. He then settled into a pub. After his fifth or sixth libation, John laid his head down on the table, too tired to call a cab.
“Looking for a psychotic cabbie?” A familiar voice asked.
John looked up and there stood Sherlock, tall, imposing, alluring like a Greek statue that had just come to life. In a trance John took Sherlock’s hand and shivered. “Sherlock, your hands are so cold.”
Sherlock didn’t say anything he just drug John inside the cab. “221b Baker Street,” he ordered and then turned his full attention on John.
John knew that look. “Sherlock, I’m drunk are you trying to take advantage of me?”
Sherlock scooted closer to John, unperturbed by John’s alcohol breath as he whispered, “Yes, Doctor.” Before John knew it Sherlock put his hands on either side of John’s face, kissing him hard.
This continued on for a few seconds until Sherlock’s hands moved lower. “Hey, no shagging in my cab. Get out.”
Sherlock’s face was flushed, his lips red and swollen as he grabbed some money out of his pocket and threw it in the front seat. The cabbie counted it, whistled and then in a grudging tone said, “Fine, carry on but the clothes stay on.”
Sherlock waved him off and then proceeded to work on his Doctor. Rain beat down on the roof of the cab, threatening to wash away its inhabitants. Though Sherlock heard the water, the wind and the thunder of the storm he ignored it, suppressing his dread with the feel of John’s touch.

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