Disclaimer: Sherlock, along with its characters, location, etc. are the property of BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do not own them, though I definitely wouldn't mind being on a first name basis with Benedict Cumberbatch ;)
Summary: AU after TEH. No Mary. Some criminals catch up to Sherlock and John and capture them. Sherlock and John realize that they have bigger feelings for each other, but is it too late? Johnlock slash, but nothing explicit. Fluffy ending. One-Shot. Mild language warning. Rated T.
…..
Caught
…..
"That was…wow." John was hunched over in the hall of 221B, trying to catch his breath. Him and Sherlock had just been involved in a high-speed chase across London – on foot.
Sherlock had already caught his breath, and was angrily pacing up and down the hall.
John sighed. "What is it, Sherlock?"
"We should have caught them before we came back here!" Sherlock threw up his hands in anger. "You know the only person at Scotland Yard I trust is Lestrade, and he's not on the case! We should have made sure the criminals were caught!"
"I'm sure the police can handle it from here, Sherlock."
Sherlock gave John a look that said he was the stupidest person in the whole of London.
"I highly doubt that, John. Some of those officers couldn't pour water out of a boot with the instructions on the heel." Sherlock angrily stomped up the stairs to their flat and slammed the door behind him.
Sighing, John followed him. He could be a right pain in the arse sometimes he thought as he opened the door of the flat.
When he entered, he saw Sherlock sprawled on the couch, fingers steepled under his chin in his typical thinking position.
He really does look rather cute in that position… John started to think. He stopped himself abruptly. Since when did he start thinking Sherlock was cute? I must really be losing my mind…sure Sherlock is an attractive guy, but I'm not gay! John tried to convince himself. It wasn't working.
He sighed and trudged into the kitchen to make tea for him and his flat-mate, ignoring the pestering thoughts in the back of his head that were telling him he was falling for his best friend.
In the sitting room, Sherlock was watching John, a look of mild curiosity on his face. He enjoyed watching John move about, seeing the fabric of his shirt stretch whenever he moved his muscular shoulders. He, unlike John, didn't have any problem admitting to himself what was going on.
He was falling for John, just as John was falling for Sherlock.
Lost in his thoughts, Sherlock barely registered the muffled clunks and bangs coming from downstairs. John, however, did notice.
He strode to the door of the flat and opened it. "Mrs. Hudson, are you all right?" he called down the stairs.
Suddenly, a big, burly man was in the doorway, shoving John backwards toward the armchairs on the other side of the room.
"I assure you, Doctor, Mrs. Hudson is just fine." He snarled. The man shoved John down on his knees.
"Hey! Get out of here, and leave John alone!" Sherlock had abruptly stood from his place on the couch, advancing toward the intruder.
"Not so fast, mate!" another man rushed in through the open door, shoving Sherlock forward and pushing him down to kneel next to John.
"You two are the reason we're on the run from the police." The first man snarled. He had an ugly black tattoo on the side of his neck, which curled up behind his right ear. The other man didn't have tattoos, but he had a short buzz cut, so short his scalp was clearly visible.
"No, I assure you that you are the reason you are being chased by the police. You shouldn't have committed a crime if you didn't want to do the time." Sherlock snarled.
The tattooed man swiftly pulled a gun out of his jacket and slammed the nuzzle against Sherlock's forehead. The other man did the same to John.
"Sherlock…" John muttered, fear dripping from every syllable.
"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock inched his hand sideways until it brushed up against John. He reached out and grasped his blogger's hand, entwining their fingers together.
Neither of them cared if this affection was showing their deeper feelings for one another. They just squeezed the other man's hand, bracing themselves for the gun to go off and end their lives.
Suddenly, there were two clicks, and everything went black.
…..
Sherlock woke suddenly, opening his eyes and blinking quickly.
Or at least, he thought he had. Everything was pitch black, he couldn't see anything.
He groped around to try to figure out where he was. He felt that his hands and feet were bound, but he was not tied to anything. Therefore, he was free to move about the room.
Suddenly, it clicked. He remembered exactly what happened.
"John?" he called out quietly. His voice was hoarse from disuse. Must've been out for a while… he thought.
He didn't get an answer, but he heard shuffling coming from a few feet away, so he flipped onto his stomach and inched his way over to the noise.
After a couple minutes of sliding on his stomach, using his feet as a propeller, his head bumped up against something soft and warm.
Suddenly, a familiar scent, a mixture of tea, paper, and musky aftershave, enveloped him. John. Home.
"John?" he whispered again. He sat up and moved closer to the body on the ground.
He heard a faint moan and knew John was beginning to wake up. He felt John roll and try to sit up.
"Sherlock?" his voice was also hoarse from disuse.
"Hold on, John, don't sit up. I'm going to use my teeth to undo the ropes around your wrists." Sherlock commanded.
"You could hurt yourself." John grunted.
"Better me than you." Sherlock twisted and flipped back onto his stomach, inching forward until his face was hovering over John's bound hands. He dug his teeth into the ropes and tugged. They really weren't tied all that well, and it only took him a few minutes to release John's hands.
As soon as his hands were unbound, John flipped into a sitting position and undid the ropes around his ankles before untying the ropes around Sherlock's wrists. Sherlock bent forward and undid the ropes around his ankles before sitting up and cupping John's chin in his hand.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
"Fine." John replied. He reached up and covered Sherlock's hand with his own.
"I didn't mean physically." Sherlock whispered. He tilted his head forward so his forehead was resting against John's.
"Oh…I'm just glad to be alive, Sherlock. I thought they were going to kill us on the spot." John responded.
"Well, I'm glad they didn't. I couldn't handle losing you, John…" Sherlock whispered.
"I can't lose you again, Sherlock. Not now. I just…can't. It would break me. Promise me, Sherlock." John muttered urgently.
Sherlock tilted his chin forward and brushed his lips against John's softly. "I promise, I will do everything in my power to keep us both safe. And together. I swear it, John." Sherlock replied. He went to draw back, but John reached forward and pushed both hands into Sherlock's curls, pulling him forward for a more passionate kiss.
Sherlock, now sure he had deduced John's feelings correctly, leaned into the kiss, placing his hands on John's waist.
Soon, before either of them noticed it, they were on their feet, bodies pressed together, lips locked in a fierce kiss.
Sherlock parted his lips slightly and pushed his tongue out, licking John's closed lips. John gasped and opened his mouth, allowing Sherlock to slide his tongue in. One of John's hands moved from Sherlock's hair and made its way to his hip. Both of Sherlock's hands were clamped down on John's waist, pulling him impossibly closer.
John wasn't sure how long they stood there kissing. It could have been only a couple minutes, or it could have been an hour. All he knew is that he finally had everything he wanted.
Except to get out of wherever the hell they were being kept.
Sherlock drew back after a while, panting slightly. He pulled one of his hands from John's waist and traced his finger along his jaw.
"Still not gay?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.
"Shut up, you." John lightly punched Sherlock's shoulder.
"If you wish." Sherlock leaned forward and placed another kiss on John's lips. He reached his hand up into John's short hair and pulled him in for a moment, relishing the contact, before pulling back once again.
"We have to get out of here." Sherlock stated.
"Agreed." John panted. "As long as I can get more of that when we do."
Sherlock smiled, though John couldn't see it in the dark.
"Rest assured, John, that there is more where that came from." Sherlock grasped John's hand and turned, feeling his way around the room. He felt the walls, looking for signs of windows or cracks or anything that could get them out of there. There was nothing.
John, on the other hand, was busy being blown away by Sherlock's kissing abilities. He was paying no attention to Sherlock dragging him around the room. His sole focus was on how good it felt to finally kiss Sherlock, no matter the circumstances. And how bloody good Sherlock was at kissing. Seriously, he had never had such a good snog in his life, and he and Sherlock were being held against their will in a dark empty room in God knows were. He was impressed.
"Ugh, nothing!" Sherlock growled. He didn't let go of John's hand, just entwined their fingers and stood there. "We're going to have to fight them to get out." He muttered.
"Sorry, what?" That had caught John's attention.
"We're going to have to fight them, John." Sherlock repeated.
"And how the bloody hell do you propose we do that, Sherlock?" John replied exasperatedly.
"Not sure yet." Sherlock muttered. He strode over to the locked door he'd found in his exploration of the room. "Hey fellas!" he yelled.
"Sherlock!" John whispered warningly.
"No choice, John." Sherlock squeezed the hand still trapped within his own.
The door opened suddenly, and light blinded the two men.
"Morning." The guy with the neck tattoo was standing in the doorway, a gun in his hand. "You've been out for three days. Must've been a strong sedative." The man chuckled before shoving the Sherlock and John backward into the room and pulling on a chain hanging from the ceiling.
Light instantly filled the whole room, throwing the bruises on Sherlock and John's wrists into sharp relief.
"Why do you have us here?" Sherlock growled. He grasped John's hand tighter.
"Because you two found us and ratted us out to the cops. You deserve to be punished." The man replied, walking deeper into the room.
"Where's your buddy?" Sherlock asked.
"Upstairs. Killed him last night. Didn't want to share the profits from the robbery. It's just me now, boys." Apparently, the man didn't realize he had just made a grave mistake disclosing this information to Sherlock.
In an instant, Sherlock had let go of John's hand and leapt forward, grasping the gun in the man's hand and pulling it upward.
"Oh, no you don't!" the man yelled. He pulled the gun back, but his finger slipped on the trigger.
There was a bang, and a body fell to the floor.
…..
Lestrade couldn't believe what he was seeing. Three days, and this was where Sherlock and John had been.
They were on the outskirts of London in an abandoned house not far from Baker St. He looked down at the bodies on the floor.
He couldn't believe this had happened.
"Sherlock…" he muttered.
"What do you want, Lestrade? The man pulled the trigger himself. Killed the partner then tried to kill us. Unluckily for him, I wasn't going to go down so easily. We struggled and he pulled the trigger. Nothing either of us could have done." Sherlock snapped from the ambulance. John was next to him, and their fingers were entwined once again.
Lestrade was staring down at the bodies of the two robbers.
"There was no other way?" Lestrade questioned.
"We couldn't escape from the basement. It was that man's fault that he brought a gun and pulled the trigger." Sherlock replied. John was silent.
"All right, all right." Lestrade muttered.
"Can we go back to Baker St. now?" Sherlock asked angrily.
"Sure, yeah, that's fine. Just come in tomorrow for some questioning." Lestrade replied.
"Fine." Sherlock snapped.
He had called Lestrade on the robber's phone as soon as he had shot himself. He was there within ten minutes. This was all well and good, except that it had been three hours since, and they still had not been cleared to go home. He was getting angry.
"Do you want an officer…" Lestrade began to ask.
"We'll catch a cab." Sherlock stood from the ambulance and strode down the street, John's hand still clasped in his.
It didn't take long for them to find and hail a cab, and soon they were marching up the stairs of 221B to their flat. Once they were inside, Sherlock offered to make some tea.
For the first time since the gun went off, John spoke. "I think I'm just going to go to bed, Sherlock." He muttered. He made to turn to go up the stairs before Sherlock caught his wrist and held him back.
"Why are you going up there?" Sherlock asked.
"To sleep, Sherlock." John responded.
Sherlock pulled back, dropping John's wrist. He had a hurt look on his face. "I just thought…after what happened…you would want to…to sleep in my room…" the detective muttered.
Suddenly, it clicked in John's brain why Sherlock looked hurt.
"Right, sorry, Sherlock. I'm just going to go upstairs and change into some pajamas and come back down, all right?" John replied hurriedly.
"No, it's fine, John…" Sherlock started.
"I'm serious, Sherlock. I just didn't think about it." John gave Sherlock a look that said I promise I'll be back before hurrying upstairs to change.
Sherlock turned and walked down the hall, entering his room and quickly changing out of his suit and into a t-shirt and pajama pants.
Soon after he was finished, John entered the room quietly and shut the door behind him. He laid his pillow, which he had apparently grabbed from his bed, at the head of Sherlock's bed – their bed – and laid down. Sherlock soon followed, and they laid in silence for a few moments.
Finally, Sherlock spoke. "I'm sorry about what happened, John. I know you were worried I was going to be killed." Sherlock lifted his hand and placed it on John's arm, idly stroking it. "I should have been more careful. I apologize."
"It's fine, Sherlock. It had to be done. I was just worried…" John replied.
Sherlock turned on his side and laid his head on John's chest, hearing the steady heartbeat.
"Still…" he muttered. He lifted his head and placed a soft, passionate kiss on John's lips. John kissed back eagerly. After a moment, they realized they were both too exhausted to do much else, so they broke apart. Sherlock replaced his head on John's chest, soon falling fast asleep.
Neither man had ever been so happy.