I don't own anything. Nope not me, BBC Sherlock and all it's characters belong to their owners.
John often wondered how he got himself in these situations.
It had been only a little two days ago when Sherlock got word of another case and wasted no time accepting when DI Lestrade showed up asking for help. A murder on the outskirts of London. John couldn't help but think that Sherlock got a little too much pleasure out of these kinds of cases, but by now he was rather used to it.
That afternoon they were out examining the crime scene and while John himself couldn't see much more than a broken and dead body lying in the field, a bullet wound leaking blood from his head and chest, Sherlock seemed to figure out the man's entire life story with a few glances. As always, John was impressed, though he didn't vocalize it.
Sherlock told Lestrade what type of person he was looking for and they headed back to the flat. John would have thought that that would be that if they weren't being shot at that very night.
Sherlock had refused to alert the police, saying that someone else would do it and either way they would just get in the way. He ran to the window, scanning the street and catching sight of a fleeting man before sitting on the couch and quickly entering his Mind Palace.
When they were shot at again the next day, the bullets piercing the window and shattering glass onto the floor, the two men gave chase but soon lost the shooter in the midst of the crowd. They returned to the flat and spent the rest of the day analyzing the bullets and fixing the window.
It was only this morning that Sherlock had drug John out to investigate the area in which they had lost the man and John was a little bit shocked when they actually managed to spot him. The shooter hadn't seemed to notice them as he walked at a brisk pace, turning onto a less busy street. John and Sherlock managed to keep close without alerting the man.
And that was where John was now, walking casually as possible as he followed gunman to the hideout of a possible killer. Most would call him crazy, but this is what he did. Him and Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective and his blogger.
John watched the man before him, his heart racing, knowing that if he were to turn around, the man would know they were following him and more than likely wouldn't be afraid to shoot. The army doctor tensed as the man's shoulders shifted in their direction and before he knew what was happening, Sherlock had John pressed against the wall, his dry lips pressed against his own. This kiss was short enough that John had hardly any time to catch onto what was happening before Sherlock pulled away.
"What the hell?" he cried, wiping his mouth as he took a step away from the taller man who didn't appear to be paying any attention.
"That man was about to spot us, I needed a way to look inconspicuous as there was no way to hide and that was the first thing that came to mind," Sherlock explained.
John looked at him, his mouth agape, looking about ready to punch the detective. "That… what do you mean—"
"We're losing him John," Sherlock stated as he began his usual brisk pace.
John all but growled as he jogged to catch up with the long legged man. He wasn't sure what he was more angry with. The fact that Sherlock had kissed him and then brushed it off as nothing, or the fact that John was feeling something from it, something that wasn't anger, something that was more than what a friend should be feeling for the other.
John managed to keep his mouth shut as they followed the shooter down to an old apartment situated in the basement of an old abandoned manor. The place reeked of mildew and beer and held a chill colder than that which was outside. The blonde was wary to enter as the whole place seemed ready to topple down at any moment. Sherlock, on the other hand, had no qualms entering the dilapidated abode and managed to take out the shooter from behind before John was able to catch up.
"How do we know he's even here?" John asked as they stared at the body of the barely breathing man on the floor.
"Oh he's here. That door is the only way out, the fire his still glowing, so recently put out then and only by a few minutes. Everything piled at one end of the couch, he was expecting somebody, probably this man here. He heard probably saw us out that window and ran this way," Sherlock said as he led John to the back of the house. Now, if you were to try to hide, you would automatically want to go to the closest hiding spot available, but this man wanted to do more than that, he wanted to take us by surprise, to have the upper hand and seeing as he is a killer, he would most likely be in… here." He swung the door open to reveal a bare room with simply a bed, dresser and night stand and a well-dressed man sitting on the edge of the bed examining a pistol.
The killer turned to them and smiled. "Very good Mr. Holmes, though I'm sure you could have found me without all the deductions, as you said, there is only one way out and you two were blocking it. Such a pity, I was really hoping this could have gone on a little longer." He pulled back the hammer and aimed it at Sherlock. John froze, his gaze flickering between the two.
"Now, let's do this nice and simple. You let me go and never bother me again and I won't shoot you both dead."
Sherlock was almost laughing. "Do you really think it's that simple. You're a murder Mr. Barnes. And in a matter of minutes, the Yard will be here to arrest you, so even if you ran, you wouldn't make it very far."
Barnes' face grew serious as he aimed the gun to the side and fired the wall beside Sherlock's head. The taller man barely flinched as John ducked a little. "Do you think I'm joking?" Barnes stated. "I've killed before, I wouldn't mind doing it before. You and your little boyfriend here, two for one special."
John opened his mouth but then snapped it shut, now was not the time.
"But that first one was an accident wasn't it, at least the first shot, the one to the chest that barely missed the heart. You posture, gaze and steady hand tells me you're a marksman, you wouldn't have missed that shot if you were trying for it. So what was it, friendly brawl gone wrong?"
"Right you are Mr. Holmes. Patrick was one of the most annoying men I ever met, we often got into fights, but this time he brought a gun. I was scared you know and when he pointed it at me I freaked out and knocked it from his hand, next thing I know, he's lying on the floor spilling blood all over. He begged me to help him and finally I couldn't take it anymore and shot him in the head, just like I'm going to do now. You're starting to annoy me Mr. Holmes and I can't handle being annoyed."
The gun went off and John found himself on the floor wrestling the gun from Barnes' hand. Finally it came loose and fell with a thud to the floor. John straddled the man, panting slightly as he pinned him to the floor.
A few minutes later, Lestrade came with a team and Barnes was in the back of his car within minutes, seated beside the still unconscious shooter.
"Nice work once again Sherlock. Though I wish you would have called us sooner and we could have avoided this whole fiasco."
"I knew you would be here. Any earlier you would have only been in the way," Sherlock stated.
Lestrade couldn't help but smile, despite the offensiveness of the statement. "Well thanks again, until next time."
Sherlock nodded as John waved as the DI climbed back into his car. Sherlock was already walking down the street before Lestrade even started his car, heading out to a busier area to find a taxi.
"Sherlock!"
The consulting detective paused and turned to look over his shoulder as the shorter man jogged to catch up with him. He started moving again when the blogger was at his side but was forced to stop when John called his man again a little more sternly. He knew that tone. It was the tone that said he had done something wrong, something John didn't approve of.
"What is it John?" Sherlock asked in annoyed tone.
"Do you think I haven't forgotten?" John snapped.
"Forgotten what?" he asked, slight puzzlement crossing his features.
"Earlier when you…" the army doctor pursed his lips, unable to even speak the words out loud.
"When I kissed you?" Sherlock asked easily. "John that was nothing, that was…" He trailed off, taking in his bloggers glare and stance, one that said he was holding back the fist that wanted to make contact with his face. He had explained that the kiss meant nothing, somewhat of a lie on his part, but he couldn't exactly go off telling John, a man who had on numerous occasions proven he was straight, that he had even a hint of feelings for him. The other half had been true of course, it was the first thing that came to mind and it was his way of hiding in plain sight, but still, for John to be this upset was something he was having trouble understanding. He expected John to be a little miffed, but he had assumed he would be over it by now.
Without warning, John's hands flew up and Sherlock couldn't help but flinch slightly. He was surprised though, when John grabbed hold of his jacket and tugged him down letting their lips make contact for the second time that day.
This second kiss was much different than the first. It was a little more heated and emotional, a little more passionate. Their lips did more than just make contact, the caressed each other and spoke silent words of unspoken feelings against each other. It was a kiss that left them both shocked and breathless as they broke apart and stared at each other, unsure of what to do or say, afraid to end the moment, end the bliss and fall into that sea of inevitable awkwardness that would surround them the moment one of them broke gaze or spoke.
It was John who took that leap, staring into Sherlock's ever changing eyes he said the words Sherlock least expected.
"And that was for kissing me."
Well, Sophia here. This wasn't as... exciting as I had originally hoped, but I hoped you enjoyed it all the same! Please tell me what you think, I strive on comments. This is my first Sherlock fic so I'm sorry if it isn't entirely splendid, I did my best. Anyways, thank you so much for reading!