Protect and Destroy
Hello! This is my first Sherlock fic ever, so I was a bit scared to post it. There are so many great authors and I'm afraid this isn't quite as amazing. But I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!
Fandom: BBC!Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John, one-sided Jim/Sherlock
Rating: T (one suggestive line and the fic has dark themes)
Warnings: Well, some spoilers for TGG (The Great Game) but not really, since this is an AU ending for TGG. Also, slash and dark themes.
Summary: AU end for TGG. Sherlock's thoughts written in second-person narrative.
Oh yeah, in the last paragraph Sherlock is mocking Moriarty, if you don't get it.
No.
I don't want you to touch him. I won't let you touch him. Take your slimy hands off him! Stop licking his neck with your contaminated saliva, stop gripping his hips in that bruising manner.
Stop touching something that so very clearly belongs to me.
Your steady hand starts shaking when he starts to approach John, those big soulless eyes fixated on John and John only. You can feel your heart stuck in your throat as you try to swallow the fear that has approached on your face. It doesn't go away, no, sheer panic is visible in your eyes and you know he can see it. The triumphant smirk on his face confirms it.
You know exactly why he is doing this. Displaying your emotions so visibly was a huge mistake, now he believes he is controlling the situation and also your mind. You try to gather the remnants of your self-confidence and pride, but in vain. The pistol falls to the floor, emitting a noisy clatter when hitting the plaque.
He has just slipped his long, sickeningly pale and spidery fingers under John's waistband. The shaking from your hand spreads through your body in a bolt wave. His eyes widen in surprise and he chuckles. Chuckles like a goddamned schoolgirl.
'Let's see what you think about this', his face seems to say to you, but there is no voice. His eyes are wide open and staring at yours. It's the most loathsome look of 'adoration' you have ever received, you know that he is attracted to you in some very unpleasing and disturbing manner. You close your eyes, trying to remove the scene in front of you and you open them, just to find that the disturbing stare and those hurting hands on John are still present. They're your reality. You should be used to criminals and crime scenes, you who are the world's only consulting detective. But no, this is something different. Something once forgotten is bubbling in the pit of your stomach once again.
Love.
Must save John. I can't let John die. I can't let John die!
Blinded by the sudden rush of emotion, you bend down to pick your pistol up again and point it at Moriarty, ready to shoot. You click the pistol, but you won't shoot, you can't shoot. The myriad of red dots are forming a heart right above your own heart. He is so thoughtful, expressing his psychopathic love for you on a time like this. You were willing to express your emotion through a graceful hail of bullets, and even willing to shoot the bullets into a shape of a heart, just to return his beautiful love message. But you couldn't send it, his 'heart' would kill you before your declaration of love would reach its recipient.
Truth be told, he means nothing to you. He is just another psychopath, one with a powerful organisation behind him and an exceptionally boring life, but just a psychopath after all. He isn't the devil himself, not that you believe in religious stuff in the first place, and you are not afraid of him. You are not afraid of him for the sake of yourself, he wouldn't kill you. At least not in such a dull and predictable way. You don't consider your life important, not now when there's someone else's life at stake, and that someone means everything to you. Not that you'd ever admit it, even to yourself. But on a moment like this you can't stop the feeling from flowing inside of you and suddenly you know how much John means to you.
John means so much to you that you're willing to put your own life and safety on stake.
The look on your face hardenes as another emotion fights its way through your icy mask, anger. You stare at him with unseen rage in your eyes, face flushed scarlet and your other hand clenching even harder to your pistol. He looks amused and somewhat relieved. Like he's been waiting for your mask to crack, waiting to see the tiniest chink in your armour.
Oh. That is what he's been waiting for. You close your eyes and mentally slap yourself in the face for your stupidity. Now he knows your weakness for sure, he knows what makes the almighty Sherlock Holmes weak and plead for mercy. You can feel your icy armour fall down, exposing your vulnerable self. That's what he has been waiting for, a simple way to manipulate you. A simple way to conquer Sherlock Holmes. You can't believe you fell for his stupid trap.
His face lits up and he bursts into an uncontrollable laughter, bruising John's exposed hips with his short but sharp nails. He swings back and forth and drags John with him, throwing his other arm around John's throat, almost strangling him. In a sudden movement he throws your beloved to the cold plaques of the swimming hall. Giggling, he continues staring at you and snorts at the quick flash of pain in your eyes.
You realize John is lying right beside the bomb, but John himself doesn't seem to realize that his newfound 'pillow' is something that will explode in less than an hour. You can't move, can't run to John and drag him away from this horrid nightmare, can't cradle him in your arms and kiss him with all your might, you can't pretend this isn't real. The only thing you can do is scream.
Your voice is raspy from all the screaming as you close your mouth. You've just spent five minutes screaming John's name, causing the said man to flinch and realize the danger. You are relieved. He looks bored and is scoffing at you. Your heart starts to beat faster and faster when he starts to approach you. John's face frozes when he sees him move towards you, hands spread wide open like when one's expecting a hug.
It isn't a hug. It is a gentle slap on your both cheeks and then his sharp nails dig their way in between your collarbone, pressing down hard. He is shorter than you but you can still see the flaming fury in his eyes as he bruises your silky, ashen skin with all his might. All you can do is to wait for his next move.
Trails of blood are running down your chest as he stops. He is smiling again, almost apologeticly but still triumphantly. Your mind can't seem to form coherent sentences. He backs and mutters something about 'getting his hands dirty for the sake of his disobedient toy'. You cock your eyebrows, but don't dare to oppose his views, since it could endanger John's life. You are helpless and he knows it.
"My dear, have you made your choice?" You frown at him and take a deep breath to collect yourself. Yes, you've made a choice. The only choice that doesn't contain him leaving the place alive. The only choice to save you and John from his manipulation. You blink your eyes furiously, trying to contact John and warn him to stay away from the explosives.
The bomb is lying right behind your enemy.
"Yes, my dear Jim." You smile wickedly at him and point your gun straight at the bomb. You click your pistol and shoot at the set of explosives. You've got one moment to say farewell to John. One final glance is exchanged between you and John.
The bullet hits its destination.
You smile at John and he smiles back at you.
Everything happens in a rush. The minute your bullet hits the bomb, he backs a few steps and vanishes into the darkness. You know he'll survive, he'll continue to play this little game of his, he'll continue to torment your life. But you'll be prepared next time. You'll beat him next time.
It wasn't a real bomb, no, it wasn't a bomb at all. But it was something dangerous. You can't shed the feeling of uneasiness, that something bad is going to happen. He wouldn't have fled if everything was fine. No, there was something suspicious about that 'bomb'. The package was emitting clicking noises and a small hissing noise. It's not explosive, you're sure, but what...
Gas. It is gas. You're not sure what kind of gas it is, but it's definitely poisonous. Deathly poisonous. And paralyzing, you can feel your body stiffen and your breathing hitch. John... you have to get John out of the building.
John is sitting on the floor, gazing at the ripples in the water, frozen to his spot. There isn't a lot of time to get out, the gas is spreading and infecting yours and his bodies. You force your legs to drag themself to John, succeeding. You wrap your arms around the frozen statue-like man. Warmth spread through your paralyzing body when you were close to John. Nuzzling your head against his shoulder, he startles and looks at you with fear-ridden eyes. You want to sooth him and tell him it'll all be fine, you want to but you can't.
"John, we need to get out of here. The gas is spreading and we'll die if we stay here." You stare at him intensely, but can't seem to get a connection. You only receive a stare. The fear on John's face makes your heart wrench – you grip his coat and pull him even closer to you.
"John? We really need to go now. Can you walk?" He is quiet for a while, then coughs and shakes his head violently. You don't need to be told twice, in a second John is cradled safely in your arms. He is heavy, you can't deny that, and your body is weakened by the gas, but you can't stop now. You have to save yourself, and John. You hold your breath to prevent the polluted air from destroying your inner organs, and jog to the door clumsily.
After a long and painful journey through endless hallways and doors, you finally reach the exit. The door is pulled open roughly, you're using your final energy to open the door. Cold air hits you in the face as you frag yourself through the deserted yard. You can hear the sirens wail in the distance, they're on their way to the pool, late as those jerks always are.
He is gone. You're a bit disappointed, you wouldn't think he'd give up so easily. But just a bit, right now you couldn't be more relieved that he's gone. John's safe, you're both alive and those nitwits are coming. You couldn't care less about some consulting psychopath's whereabouts.
Your knees give in and you fall to the ground, John still cradled tightly in your embrace. He opens his eyes and stares at you with a small smile on his face. He knows you're both safe now. He leans up to hug you tightly, and you reciprocate to the hug. When you're sure John doesn't see, you let a small smile curl onto your lips.
You feel like kissing John, and so you do. John's eyes widen in surprise as you plant your dry lips on his, but doesn't seem to be bothered as he kisses you back with all his might. It's a quiet moment at midnight, outside the public pool, hands grasping each other and lips intertwining intimately. It's a moment you would never exchange for anything. On that moment you are sure that John loves you, and you love him back. On that moment the big bad world right around you two seems to be a bit further away.
Lestrade and Anderson the Stupid arrive approximately ten seconds after your kiss ended. You glare at them, explaining that you don't want to comment on anything right now. You pull John up from you embrace and get ready to leave. Tomorrow was for telling the details to Scotland Yard, tonight was for you and John.
You grip John's hand and smile at him.
"Let's go home."
No one touches John and gets out alive. No one hurts John and gets out alive. I will make you pay for this. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I'll chop your burned body to pieces and feed those pieces to animals. You won't get away with this, Moriarty.
Can you hear me, sexy? You won't live.
A/N: Pardon my grammatical errors, I'm not a native speaker.