Emotions?
By Pet the Nyan Cat
A/N: There are slight spoilers for those watching the latter of Season One of Sherlock going into the second season, so I would highly recommend you not to continue reading if you would not want to be spoiled. Have fun reading if you do decide to continue though, thank you! ^.^
Chapter One
'..When? When did it start?' Sherlock wanted to shoot the yellow smiley face back in his flat. Or maybe Jim Moriaty's annoying Cheshire smile. Sherlock didn't know when his feelings for his flat mate, John Watson, started. But they surfaced when John opened his coat, revealing the bomb strapped on him that could possibly kill the ex-army doctor. The mixed emotions of surprise, worry, guilt, regret and anger all surfaced at once that the 'consulting detective' didn't know how to sort and keep them in.
They must've showed on his face, for John uttered a soft, "Sherlock…" The curly-haired man grabbed a gun from his coat pocket and unlocked the trigger, pointing at Moriaty. "Oh, Sherlock." The suited man said in a sing-song tone. Sherlock clenched his other fist and prepared to click the trigger to end Moriaty's life. But then a red light flashed and stayed at the center of the bomb on John. Sherlock glared at Moriaty, his mouth curling into a small snarl. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sherlock." Moriaty smirked and more red lights flashed on John.
"Wouldn't want your loyal pet to get hurt, would you? So drop the gun." The dark eyed man let his façade drop. "DROP THE GUN!" He screamed, his neck pulsing, showing veins that signaled anger. Sherlock wisely dropped his gun and it slid, going near John. Moriaty smiled. "Good boy." He sang. John moved quickly, his speed and stealth revealing his training in the military all those years ago. He grabbed Moriaty by the man's collar and a gun clicked next to Moriaty's ear. "Sherlock! Run!" The blue eyed man roared, ready to sacrifice himself for the detective. "No John." Sherlock's face hardened and he reached into his coat. More flashes of red dots appeared on John and Sherlock. Moriaty's grin returned, wider than ever.
"Ta, Sherlock Holmes."
And with that, Sherlock felt a sharp pain at the back of his head and blacked out.
The trembling man let his grip on the gun tighten. "Damn you," John hissed, ready to pull the trigger. "Nuh uh, not yet, Johnny boy." The 'consulting criminal' swiftly slapped the gun out of John's grip. The older man was ready to tackle him down but was kicked sharply on the side. John let out a yelp and tried to tackle the other man down again. But this time, he was grabbed by Moriaty and the latter whispered harshly into his ear, "I'll find out what he sees in a stupid man like you".
John's blue eyes widened in shock, then he grimaced in pain as Moriaty pressed against his blossoming bruise caused by the harsh kick delivered to his side. Moriaty snapped his fingers and the injured man felt a sack thrown over his head and tightened. He felt light headed. He couldn't breathe properly. Everything was going out.. He felt so.. so...
It was quiet. Eerily quiet. His head throbbed behind his closed eyes. His lips felt dry and chapped. He felt a buzzing in his ears. His back ached and his limbs hurt. His neck felt like it was elevated on a hard surface.
John kept in a groan of discomfort and opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. It looked like he was in an abandoned warehouse of some sort. It was chilly, and the man noticed there was a pale green sheet covering him while he was lying on the floor, his head lifted up by a sack of some lumpy fruits. "Awake now, Johnny boy?"
Moriaty appeared from behind a stack of large, empty cans. "Been out for a few hours now, deary, it's 4 in the morning now." "Where's Sherlock? What have you done with him?" John asked angrily, getting up not-so-elegantly. The taller man's dark eyes seemed to have darkened further. "Worried about what happened to your... friend?" The last word was hissed out darkly, making John wince.
"Well... Yes." The older admitted, looking at the dirty, rough ground beneath him. Moriaty smiled, which surprised John greatly. The man gripped John's chin roughly and pulled it up so that his eyes would meet John's bright blue ones. "Now I see..." Moriaty said softly, dangerously. "See what?" John asked, confused.
His chin was released and he gazed hotly at Moriaty's dark orbs. The man ignored John and looked to his mobile's smooth screen, typing in some things and keeping the phone back into his pocket. "The helicopter's here."
That was the last thing John heard before he was knocked out with a jab to the back pf his head with a butt of a gun.
Moriaty stared at the two unconscious men laying next to each other. The angular nose of John twitched and the slicked back haired man didn't notice the small smile that softened his face. His eyes swept over to the cramped form of Sherlock, his curly hair falling on his pale face gently.
"Sir? We're here."
The man was cut out of his stupor and he jumped down the helicopter, his shined shoes landing with a sharp click on the cemented surface. "Bring them to my room." Moriaty ordered to the pilot. Without waiting for the man's response, Moriaty strode to the elevator and clicked open.
Inside the elevator, the decor was elegant, the mirrors and lighting clearly showing Moriaty's status. He clicked 'P' and waited for the doors to shut.
"Wake up, wake up, wake up, John, John. hey." A soft slapping on John's left cheek slowly roused him from his unconscious darkness. His blue eyes opened slowly, sleep still clouding his vision. "Huh? ...what?" John moaned out, shifting slightly, causing him to awaken his bruises from the numbness. The man groaned and sat up slowly, making sure not to get up too fast or his headache would worsen.
Sherlock's expressive gray eyes stared unblinkingly at John, studying the older man to see what might have happened to him. "The bruise, on your side, did you do anything to attempt to heal it?" The curly haired man asked the other.
John shook his head. "No, why?" "Feel it, does it seem unattended to in your opinion?" Sherlock questioned dryly.
The doctor lifted his shirt to reveal his stomach toned from war training and action and also numerous scars that were scattered throughout his torso. He reached to feel his head and felt it gently. His eyes widened slightly with surprise.
"It's... It's nearly healed!" John whispered.
"Correct," Sherlock responded, his mouth twitched.
"But… But… How, Sherlock?"
"Do you think I could've done anything? I have no medical training whatsoever and I wouldn't have any supplies to help you. I've looked around in this room we're locked in and all the cabinets are empty."
"Then…?"
It was then when John has a sudden realization. The man who brought them both to this place. The man who was giving them all those challenges. Jim from the IT. Jim Moriaty. John's hands trembled as he remembered how close he was to death. How he saw his life flash by him as he decided to sacrifice his own for Sherlock.
TBC…
A/N: So, uhm, please leave reviews to give me your opinions for this, but no flames please, criticism yes, no hating, I'm sensitive on that, lol. And I'm also seeking for a BETA reader to help me out here, I don't think Word's enough to help me refine this, haha. XD So yush, please leave reviews and check out next week for the following chapter!