For the war! Angst/fluff. Please enjoy! I love reviews. People's opinions are the best!
Sherlock was lounging on the couch, thinking about the peculiar feelings he had been experiencing as of late. His chest would heat up with warmth and he couldn't think straight. It seemed to occur whenever John was around. Opening his eyes, Sherlock noticed the sun was peeking through the shades. A quick glance at his watch told him it was already noon. Where was John? Did he go to work?
It's Saturday, John doesn't have work, he chastised himself. Sherlock found it odd that John wasn't awake yet. He slowly crept up the stairs, avoiding the loose step, and made it to the John's door. Sherlock cracked the door open and peered inside, only to find it empty. He flung the door as wide open as it could go in a sudden panic. His eyes scanned the room frantically, and he spotted a flash of white on the crumpled bed sheets. He raced over and snatched it up.
Come and play Sherlock. Old rehab centre, you know this one very well.
He was downstairs with his coat and scarf on. Reaching into the drawer, he pulled John's gun out and stuck in the back of his pants. Sherlock went outside and hailed a cab. One pulled up to the curb and he nearly flew the door off its hinges in his rush to reach his destination. Sherlock was on his way to the one place he thought he'd never see again. When the cab arrived at the facility he tossed a wad of money at the cab driver and stepped outside onto the pavement.
A shiver ran down his spine at the mere slight of the worn down establishment. All the bad memories came bubbling up to the surface. A scream came from inside, sending him into a sprint. It came from a small room at the end of the hallway. It had one TV monitor and on the screen was a man, hanging by his arms. It was his blogger.
From what Sherlock could see, John has been cut, whipped and beaten. Blood was pooling below him and it covered his chest and face. Sherlock's chest tightened and his breath became shallow. He was scared, that's what he felt. He couldn't bear to look at the screen anymore.
"John." Sherlock whimpered and felt tears run down his cheeks. "I will find you." Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement on the screen. John's head had raised and he was looking directly at him, confusion mixing into the grimace of pain.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock's eyes widened in shock. Can he see me? Is this a just a recording? Before he could further access the situation, Jim came onto the screen and turned to look at the camera.
"Glad you could join us, Sherlock!" He had a sly grin on his face. "I hope you enjoy the show with poor Johnny here." He walked over to a small table and picked up a rod. A red-hot glow illuminated the metal stick. Sherlock knew what was going to happen. Jim dug the rod into John's stomach. John's screams pierced his heart, it was all his fault…
"Stop!" He didn't care that there were tears staining his cheeks. "Jim stop! Leave him alone. Please!"
Jim yanked the rod away and put it back on the table. "But that's no fun. You asked politely though. I will leave him alone for an hour. But once that's up, I get to have my fun." He left the room. Sherlock took his chance to search every room. He only had an hour.
Knowing Jim, he searched the rooms farthest away from where he was. When Sherlock was done with those, he went through every door he had passed. The next door was the one that belonged to his room. As he touched that handle, memories flooded into his brain. Slowly opening the door, his eyes landed on his best friend. He looked at his watch. He had wasted three-quarters of the hour. They needed to get out.
He ran over and grabbed John's sides. Sherlock got lost in John's green eyes. He snapped back into reality and untied his arms. John fell into his arms winced in pain. "John, are you okay?"
"Now who's the one asking stupid questions," he said with a smirk, but the chuckle in his throat caused him to wince.
Sherlock couldn't help the smile that stretched his lips. He had butterflies in his stomach. But he faltered when he reminded himself John was in pain.
"Well isn't this sweet." The voice rang in the room. Shit! They were too late. He lowered John into a sitting position on the ground and stood up on his feet. As he stood he reached behind him to ensure that John's gun was still there. He wanted to end this once and for all.
Jim sent him a smug grin. "Oh Sherlock, I thought you were better than this."
Sherlock kept his gun trained on him. His finger hovered over the trigger.
"I know you won't shoot. You enjoy this little game. The chase." Jim turned to leave with confidence but it was gone in a second. His brain was splattered on the wall and door. He fell lifeless to the ground.
Sherlock felt relief fill his body. He put the gun in the back of his pants and knelt down to John's level. Slowly, he pulled John into his lap and held him close. Tears began to flow again. The realisation hit him harder than a bullet. I love John.
"Sherlock." John reached up and wiped a tear away. "It's okay. It's all over. I'm fine." John cupped his cheek. Sherlock relaxed into the touch. He lifted John up bridal style and walked out of the room.
"Sherlock! You can put me down! I can walk!" John wrapped his arms around his neck though, worried he might fall. Sherlock couldn't help the blush creep up his neck and face.
"This is much easier, John. Besides, you like it." He felt John hide his face in his shoulder, and he couldn't help but smirk.
Once they were safely out of the rehab centre, Sherlock put John down. He called Lestrade to come up and take Jim's body away, along with contacting the local emergency hotline. He was glad Greg didn't ask questions. The body was cleaned up and out of there before he could blink. Sherlock helped John as he hobbled over to the ambulance when it finally arrived, lights flashing and sirens blaring. He knew it would have embarrassed John if he carried him. He watched as the doctor and nurses checked his flatmate's body. They told him he only had a couple broken ribs and deep cuts. They bandaged him up and let him rest with a shock blanket.
Sherlock's eyes ran over the blanket fondly, as it reminded him of their first case. He sat down next to John in the back of the vehicle. He couldn't stop the blush on his face when John wrapped the blanket around them both. He felt the weight of his friend's head on his shoulder. Sherlock slowly took John's hand in his own and squeezed it lightly. He turned to see those green eyes staring up at him.
Their faces were inches apart. "John..." He was cut off by John's lips against his. They fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces. It was filled with passion. They pulled apart when they realised they needed to breathe.
"I love you too, Sherlock."
Sherlock leaned in to meet John's lips once again. It was perfect.
Stay tuned for fluff next week!