Uploaded: Jan. 18, 2011
Status: currently addicted to BBC's SHERLOCK
"He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag. Much."
John lifted the hem of his jacket, hands automatically looking for a handgun that wasn't there. "Oh, shi-"
"What?" Sherlock knew what was running through his flatmate's mind and moved his hand over to John, a gun in his hand.
"I wish I had my-"
"Don't mention it." Really, don't. He had brought it for his own piece of mind, not John's. And really, why would the idiot leave his gun at home when they're going through a game like this! Where was the sense?
Golem ran, his shadow thrown up in high relief on the wall, a figure too big to be human. The chase was on. And just as quickly, it was off as the assassin climbed into a car that screeched as it pulled away.
"No, no, NO! It'll take us weeks to find him again!" Hands running through curly strands, tugging on them in frustration.
"Or not…I have an idea where he might be going." The calm voice shot through the plans clouding his mind.
"What!" How could this man, who wasn't as smart as he, nor had the deductive skills required, know something he did not?
"I told you, someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book, come on."
And that right there was why he kept John around, why he allowed the shorter man to follow him to crime scenes, even if he was dull witted and couldn't understand his thought process. Neither could Lestrade, or Donovan, or god forbid, Anderson. But he kept them all at an arm's length, or further. John was much closer. And occasionally he had a good idea.
"Golem!"
A shadow looks up as Sherlock's voice rings about the amphitheatre. John's gun was already up and ready to shoot.
"John-!"
"I can't see him, I'll go around."
Sometimes he felt like the army doctor could read his mind. Though more likely, he was used to similar situations and knew what was needed of him. The words barely out of his mouth before he runs off to the side to form a two pronged attack on the assassin.
"Who are you working for this time?"
The lights were flickering on and off as Sherlock looked desperately up into the seats. He needed to figure this out! He'd already figured out the crime, but he wanted to know all the details, all the connections, how everything fit.
Hands wrapped around his mouth and nose, pressing hard, blocking any chance of breathing air. His own hands scrabbled for purchase against the larger, and stronger, opponent Sherlock struggled for breath.
Images of the solar system lit up the stage around them, strange spots and designs of the night sky playing havoc on his vision, already blacking out its own dots in synchronized perfection.
John jumps onto the stage, arms straight, gun cocked, hands steady and sure. Washed blue eyes, wide with the panic of not being able to breathe, widen further as they focus on John and the image he presents.
Never had Sherlock ever seen him look this way, intense, focused, and ready to kill. He imagines this is what John looked like the night he killed the cabby so Sherlock wouldn't ingest the pill.
"Let him go. Or I will kill you."
The words were soft in tone, but hard and finite in their meaning. If he could have, Sherlock was faintly positive he might freeze were he ever to be opposite this John.
The lights were still colouring the stage and despite Sherlock's thrashing in the Golem's hold, John aimed true and fired a shot.
Sherlock stumbled as the hands loosened and pulled him backwards. He scrambled away from the dead body, a gruesome snarl on the monster's face, yellowed teeth visible. A small, round, bloody hole, dead centre of his forehead.
"You know," He gasped, gratefully dragging air back into his lungs, "That's the first time you've deigned to help me, out of the three times I was being strangled."
The left corner of John's mouth twitched up a bit and he returned the remark.
"Not possible. You were only strangled twice. This time you were being suffocated."
A leather-clad hand waved away the inconsistency, far too enamored with air for the moment to really care about semantics. He heaved one more time before standing up and jerking his coat straight. A haughty look of derision passed over the dead assassin and the man who saved his life. Again.
"Shall we?"
John smirked.
A/N: Lemme know whatcha think. I found it odd that John didn't shoot Golem when he had the chance. So through the amazing thing that is fanfiction, I changed it to how I thought it should be :p